#knight!Ghost

[ghouljams]

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRwkb466/

this tiktok reminded me of your knight!ghost and i started biting my fist so hard ITS LITERALLY HIM i had to reread the series its so good i love all your interpretations of characters i love big burly men who have a soft spot

i frequently just binge read all of your content your writing style is so yummy i put it in my mouth

It's literally him I've written him doing that with the pat pat to his thigh and everything. It's my favorite act of service and devotion that Ghost does. My favorite little thing that he does for his princess, and he does it all the time.

If you complain about your feet hurting, or your shoe feeling loose, Ghost will drop to his knees. You complain so infrequently, and he's well versed in how uncomfortable you have to be in order to voice it, that he has no hesitation in his actions. He settles on his knees and looks up at you through the grate of his helmet, strips his gloves off and pats his thick thigh purposefully. He doesn't care if you've got mud on your shoe, or if you need to steady yourself with a hand on his shoulder. He rolls your skirts delicately up your shin, lets you bend over him to help hold them up. Step on him as hard as you like, he can take it, there's no pain he wouldn't take from you.

Ghost will tie the soft lacing on your shoes, will cradle your ankle in one of his big hands as he inspects your shoe. He'll rub his thumb against your skin, and take his time drawing the laces into a neat bow. He might even brush off some of the dirt clinging to the leather of your shoe. It's the only work he does that feels fulfilling. A perfect display of his subservience to you, of your reliance on him. If he's feeling particularly demanding he'll make you lift your other foot after he's tended to the first, retying and dusting off your laces. Just so he can have a little longer on his knees for you. You look your best with the sun haloing you.

A man like Ghost is meant to be on his knees. He'll take every opportunity to be right where he's supposed to be.

[danibee33]

The Queen’s Guard- Chapter 7: Trust

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

cw: dark themes, *pls read at your own discretion*

word count: 3.8k (everything in italics is a flashback)

[<<<< chapter 6]

You still feel the faintest tremble in your fingers, your cheeks ruddy from the cold night air that breezes over your skin and through your hair. The world seems so bright, even in the darkness- like you could see every wonderful, beautiful thing in a way you simply couldn’t before. Like you were lighter than the winds, and higher than the sky. You feel like you could be flying.

And if you had known just how good being dead feels, you certainly wouldn’t have waited so long-

+++

“What?!”

Simon places a finger over his lips, silently shushing you; and you know better, immediately regretting the outburst, no matter the shock that lingers in your system, discretion was still paramount—

Your clandestine meetings had been growing more frequent; waiting for the moment he would be relieved for the night and your handmaids had flitted away to their own rooms, their own lives- so that you could slip behind the heavy wool tapestry that now hangs over the entrance to the tunnels.

You always meet in the same spot, making your way to the small adjoined alcove where you would find him waiting- either toying with his daggers or simply staring ahead, lost in thoughts you so desperately wished to hear until he heard your muffled footsteps, the sound of fabric rustling, that alerted him to your presence.

He would usually still be in his armor, his helmet sat carefully to the side- but this night, well, you couldn’t help but to admire the way he looks for a bit longer than you’re proud of.

Instead of black steel, he was covered in warm linens and rich leathers, still dark in nature, with a riding cloak over his shoulders and most of his face concealed under a heavy cowl. But when he saw you, you could see how his whole demeanor shifted. You watched his shoulders relax and the tension bleed away from his expression- watched his eyes flicker and glow in the candle light as he reached out for you, pulling you into his arms just as he did nearly every night now-

But, you weren’t in his arms anymore, no, you were pacing fervently- one hand propped on your hip and the other tangled in your hair,

“Simon, are you sure? I mean- this- this is ludicrous-”, your voice is quiet again, but each word feels labored and breathless, your lungs unable to fill themselves properly, “What you’re suggesting-”

Tentatively, he steps forward, capturing your arm easily, your name spoken so softly, in a way that conveys patience and gentility while still demanding your attention, “Breathe, My Queen.. C’mere-”

He wraps you into a tight hug, letting you bury your face in his tunic, and gods- the way his scent fills your senses, his overwhelming heat, the mass of his arms caging you in, protecting you from yourself. And when he speaks again, you lean in even more just to feel the baritone reverberate through is chest and right into yours,

“There is no other way.” Simon starts, “None that would assure that they’ll never come searchin’ for you.”

The moment he feels your breathing settle to an acceptable rate, he steps back, but only far enough to frame your face in his hands- those damned eyes prying you open; not in a destructive way, no, but in a way that reassures you, that tells you he can see your trepidation, your apprehension. A look that tells you he only wishes to open you up so that he might take them all away, let your burdens rest on his shoulders-

“Do you trust me?”

Your answer comes without pause, because it’s not one you have to give a second thought to as you turn to kiss the inside of his palm, your lips brushing against the rough skin, “Of course.”

And there must be something about the conviction in your voice, or the sincerity beaming in your eyes, because Simon sweeps you into a burning kiss so suddenly, your mind has to catch up to your body as you pull yourself closer to him- enjoying how exposed the feel of his torso is to you in these thinner layers. You swear you can feel the delicious bulk of his muscle flexing against you, your hands venturing over the breadth of his chest, reveling in how it heaves with each breath.

“I want you..” You whine into his mouth, your back now pressed into the frigid stone wall, one of his hands still tenderly cupping your jaw as the other holds your waist.

Most every meeting you have with him of late devolves into this; into feverish kisses and eager touches, you know he craves you just as much you hunger for him- more than that, you yearned for him. But, no matter what you do, or how far it goes, his self-control and willpower seem to far surpass your own, and it always ends with him holding you still- pressing sweet kisses against your forehead and your hair, his voice so kind and soft that it could bring tears to your eyes,

“I know, sweet girl..” He whispers, still kissing you, though you feel his hands tensing- ready to put a halt to it if he feels even the slightest slip in his control, “You already have me- m’yours. Only yours. But not like this-”

This time when you whimper out his name, fighting vainly to push his hand lower, your aching core so desperate for his touch, he groans; it’s a low, gravelly noise, his lips pulling up into something resembling a snarl just before you watch his head roll back.

He pulls in a deep, drawn out breath, inhaling through his nose and exhaling just the same- once, and twice. And you realize now, just how close he had let himself get to breaking his own self-enforced oath if he was having to fight it this hard.

Taking one more deep breath, he finally meets your eyes again, moving slowly and cautiously to tuck a stray bit of hair behind your ear. You let him fawn over you for a moment, your head tilted back to rest against the wall and your own gaze nearly as dark as his,

“No. You deserve more than this, love..”, he traces your bottom lip, eyes focused on the plump, pink skin there before flitting up, “When I have you, I don’t want it to be in some dark, musty tunnel.”, he pauses again, tilting his head to the side, “And I won’t have our first time be tainted by the memory of another man’s bed-”

Your breath shudders when Simon leans in again, nuzzling gently against your cheek- the tip of his nose grazing over the flush peak before he plants a kiss in the same spot, speaking again as he repeats the motion,

“No, little queen.. I want to take my time with you. I want to taste every part of you, starting here-”, a sharp gasp fills the void around you at the sensation of his tongue just above your pulse point, still hot and wet when he kisses it with a smirk on his lips, “and here..”

He gently pushes your hair out of the way, exposing your shoulder so that he could mirror the action there as well, drawing yet another breathy little whine from you,

“Stop it, you insufferable brute..” You speak the words through clenched teeth, and yet, your hands pushing down on his shoulders give an entirely different story- but he does stop, standing again to tower over you, completely unfazed by the daggers in your eyes.

And the cocky grin on his lips turns into something much warmer, his eyes not so ravenous anymore, “Believe me,” he savors your name, letting it sit in the air between you before continuing, “when I say I intend to replace every memory of him, or anyone else, I mean it. I want to show you what it’s supposed to feel like, in every way.”

+++

You pull back on the reins to come to a stop at Simon’s side. The horses’ breaths are hard and fast, much like your own, a cloudy mist of hot air dissipating as fast as it comes with each heavy snort. The castle is far below you now, just a speck in the distance, the valley it’s settled in perfectly illuminated under the dazzling full moon,

“Still think we have ‘til mornin’?” Johnny’s voice breaks the silence, his red stallion giving a tired chuff as it hooves at the cold dirt below.

Simon turns back to answer with a shrug- though his eyes land on you first, searching for your nod of approval before glancing to where the Scot waits, “Should. But, we won’t stop yet, the horses can go for a bit longer-”

You dig your heel in just enough to prompt your mare forward. The dark beast is familiar to you- chosen because she’s one of the fastest the king owns, owned, and it shows as you quickly catch up to Simon, taking your place just on his right flank, with Johnny bringing up the rear.

The plan was to ride as far as the horses could go, hopefully putting you outside of the borders of the kingdom before the alarm is raised, before whatever poor soul unwittingly discovers your treacherous crimes-

No.. don’t think like that. It had to be done.

Against the wind, you focus on Simon’s hulking form before turning your head long enough to catch Johnny’s eye. And you hate how sad he still looks, hate the grim set of his lips, and the consistent knit in his brow- there’s been no bright smiles this time, no boisterous banter, or snarky quips. He was still angry with you, and yet, he couldn’t stop watching you like you might vanish if he blinked too long.

But, you don’t blame him. How could you-

+++

Tap-tap … Tap-tap-tap

The world comes into focus again at the sound of your guard’s beckoning- you’re back in the Grand Hall, sitting on the throne, the weight of your crown perched on your head pulls uncomfortably at your scalp as the man in front of you rambles on and on. Something about the year’s bountiful harvest, and you can’t be sure what else, but gods, his voice feels like it grating against your eardrums.

You just can’t be bothered to focus on such trivial things, not when your mind wanders to the promise Simon had made to you- to take you away, to save you. Though, you suppose he’s already saved you in so many ways, more than you could ever make up to him, but you swear to yourself that’ll spend the rest of your life trying-

Hiding the exasperation in your tone, you raise your hand, “Very well, Lord Barclay. Thank you, for your time, and your very thorough survey.”

Simon’s arm is placed under your hand before you’ve even attempted to stand, it’s not an unusual or uncomely gesture, he had done it many times before, but holding onto to him like this now feels too intimate. Because you know how warm his skin is beneath yours, how firm the muscle is under the cold steel and unforgiving leather of his gauntlet-

“Thank you, Ser.” You say evenly, only sparing the most fleeting glance upward to find his eyes already on you.

It sends a shock through your system, and yet, there’s an odd sense of pride that trickles through you as well. Knowing your deception, knowing you can hold him as such, and he can look at you like that, with those around you none the wiser of your indecencies, your unbecoming thoughts-

And it’s only a matter of seconds, from the moment your fingers are settled over his forearm to the time you’re standing, but it’s enough to reignite the ever present burn you feel for him,

“‘Course, My Queen.” Simon bows his head as customary, but just like the first time you met, he doesn’t avert his eyes, and his coy expression does nothing but stoke the flame within you. But, you have a sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly what he’s doing, and that he quite enjoys playing with fire.

—--

By the time you get back to your rooms, the sun had nearly set, the once brightly lit hallways now glowed warmly with candlelight and the remnants of dusk as you stop outside your door.

Simon opens it for you, ushering you inside before relieving the other guard. He would be there all night tonight, which meant you wouldn’t see him until morning- and while the thought of him still being close, guarding your rooms, is comforting as it always has been; you already find yourself missing his touch, his warmth, and it had only been a week’s time since you got your first taste-

Gods, you’re hopeless. And never have you felt more like a spoiled brat than you do in this moment, giving Simon one last pitiful look before the heavy door clicks shut.

The candles in your entryway were already lit, but you find it odd when you round the corner to see your bedchamber still dark, save for the milky light filtering through the windows. Which is the only reason you see the odd shadow hunched over on your dressing bench, and a strangled sort of gasp lodges itself in your throat when it moves- slowly, at first, lifting its head to face the dim light.

“Johnny?”

You turn to grab the nearest candle stick, not registering how the hot wax splashes onto your hand as you set it down again. But, now that you have it, you’re not sure the light helps or only makes it worse, because now you can see just how disheveled he is- his hair is a mess, from the wind or from him running his hand through it, you don’t know. And his eyes.. he’s looking back at you with a wild gleam, his lips parting as if he might say something before they clamp shut again. The ties on his tunic are loose, the fabric hanging open, exposing the tan skin underneath and small chain hanging around his neck-

“Johnny- I.. What are you doing here?” You step closer, seeing the familiar paper in his hand, his fingers creating wrinkles and indentations from how hard he grips it, like he’s afraid to let go of it, but it almost seems to pain him at the same time.

And you know exactly what it is. It’s your letter, the one you wrote to confess your intentions, your plan to die. A morbid living will-

“Oh, Johnny.. I’m- I sent a raven-”

“Shut up.” He growls, and it stuns you, hearing the anger in his voice directed at you. He moves to stand then, not to get any closer- but to just look at you. Eyes lingering on your crown, and over your face, searching for something you can’t see or understand as he takes a small step forward, his mouth twisted into a thin line and his throat bobbing.

Seeing him like this is unlike anything you’ve felt, you think. Seeing your immutable Johnny on the verge of tears, his usually bright eyes, dark and stormy- your chest feels like it’s cracking open the longer the silence fills the space, until your own tears spill over, staining the rug in perfect little droplets. But what can you say?

‘Oh, I’m sorry you thought I was dead- but surprise! I’m not.’?

What could you possibly say to make it better-

“How dare you..” When he finally speaks, you hear the syrupy rasp in his voice, one tear rolling down his cheek- and then another, tangling in his unkempt facial hair, “You selfish, stupid girl! Why would ye write this? Huh?”

He doesn’t shout, but you can tell it’s taking everything in him not to- the restraint shows in the red flush of his skin and the rigid set in his shoulders, the rage in his eyes as he looks down at you before shoving the letter into your hands. Your own tears haven’t stopped, and you feel frozen in place, wracked with guilt and anguish and frustration,

“I’m sorr-”

Johnny huffs out a sarcastic laugh cutting you off, running a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots,

“I thought you were dead.. DEAD, Sunny. And you’re sorry? That’s all you got?”

It’s the way he waves his hand at you that causes you to flinch, and that terrible frustration blooms into full blown anger when he turns his back on you. You crumple the paper in your hand, forming it into a deformed sort of ball so that you could chuck it as hard as you can, aiming right for the back of his head,

“Selfish? I’m selfish?” You hiss, watching with satisfaction as the paper ball hits its target, bouncing off his head and rolling somewhere you can’t see, “My whole life has been serving others- and I’m the one who’s selfish? How rich coming from you, MacTavish.”

He turns on his heel, a look of heated confusion on his face, “What’s tha’ s’pose to mean? Like I haven’t served? Who do y’think is out there fightin’ your wars, your highness?”

With a short scoff, you turn away from- wiping the moisture from your face and yanking the crown from your head so you can toss it on the bed, “Oh, enough of that! What happened to ‘not a lord or a queen’? Are we not just us, anymore? Is that all you see?”, you gesture back to the crown, “Because that’s not me- that isn’t all I am-”

Just as quickly as it had come, your anger fizzles out, the flashfire smothered with a sadness so deep, so profound, you’re not sure what do with it,

“I was tired, Johnny. Weary, down to my marrow-”, a broken sob tumbles out as you wrap your arms around yourself in a lame attempt to find comfort, “I never meant for it to be selfish, I only thought I was doing a favor. For myself, for you. I can’t explain it..”

You watch his own flame die out with your words, watch the furious glint in his eyes settle- and when he steps forward, you don’t try to stop him, you don’t stop him when he pulls you into his arms, or when he presses a long kiss to the top of your head,

“I know, I know- I’m so sorry.. I dinnae mean a word of it, I know you’re not selfish. Hells, you’re probably the most selfless person I’ve ever known. But, Sunny..”, he pulls your face up, wiping the tears and mucus away, looking down at you with a softness you weren’t expecting, his big hands cupping your cheeks and jaw, “When I- When I thought you were..”

He bites his lip, breathing through the word on his tongue- not wanting to say it out loud anymore than he already had, “I thought I lost you..”

It comes out in a whisper, his eyes, still brimmed with tears, so steady on yours it makes your breath shorten- because he had never looked at you like that, and you had never seen him the way you see him now, had never given a thought to the idea of wanting him to hold you like he is now, wanting him to look at you-

No, no- he’s Johnny. Just Johnny.. Your best friend, you had grown up together, seen every stage of each other- from kids to scrawny pre-teens, awkward teenagers at best, you had both seen the other at their worst. So, why are you so surprised to look at him now, and see how handsome he’s become, how tall he’s gotten, and how well he fills out his clothes-

Stop, just stop- you admonish your own thoughts, he’s still just Johnny.. He’s not Simon.

“I know..”, you say, blinking away the tears and wrapping your hands around his wrists, “But, never again. I promise, Johnny.”

That seems to break his hypnosis, focusing on your words, on the feel of your skin on his- he shakes his head, releasing you gently and clearing his throat, the tension that had been there only moments ago gone dormant, “What changed?”

You glance over your shoulder, looking towards the entryway, wishing you could see Simon for just a second, “Well.. we’re hoping you can help with something.”

“We?”

+++

Simon’s path takes you deep through the forests, and as soon as you reach the river, you follow its meandering trail for the better part of the night- guided by the moon and stars, your trio traverses land that you had never seen, much less touched. And you only wish for a chance to see it in the sun, hear the birds singing, and the breeze rustling through the boughs; watch the water babble and flow, glittering in the sunlight.

But, there is something otherworldly about experiencing it at night. You hadn’t been outside the castle walls after dark, ever, now that you think about it- never mind on horseback.

And never mind the fact that you’re doing it to run away from your life, your identity left behind.. everything you’ve ever known..

So, why aren’t you afraid? Why have you never felt more content, more safe, than you do right now? Through the soreness and discomfort, the adrenaline still teeming in your mind and body, all it takes to settle your thoughts is meeting Simon’s gaze- still so steadfast and assured.

Or feeling Johnny’s calming presence next to you, warm enough to cut through the chill. Even if things aren’t as natural between you as they used to be, you know you could still lean on each other, that he would be there for you, and you for him.

But there’s something about the odd tension that still lingers when he looks at you, like invisible tendrils that bind you, pulling and stretching. But you don’t understand it, you only feel the strain, like a warning or an omen, something threatening to snap. But it won’t just yet.. not now-

Simon comes to a slow stop, you and Johnny following his lead up the high ridge. And faintly, you hear the crashing of waves, the wind picking up wildly as you break the treeline.

The cliffs, ones you had only seen as a child, glow brilliantly in the sunrise. It’s enough to steal your breath, and make your head spin. They had brought you home.

You’re so entranced by the glorious sight in front of you, by the sting of your hair whipping across your chapped cheeks, that the feel of Simon’s hand on your leg almost startles you,

“We’ll stop here for the day.. eat and rest.”

He lifts you from the saddle, keeping his hands stretched over your waist until he’s sure you're steady on your feet, “Are you all right, my queen?”

Johnny watches from your peripheral, meeting your eye for a split second before you answer, a tired smile on your lips,

“I’m not your queen anymore, Simon..”

[chapter 8>>>>]

taglist: @spxctorsslxt @ssc7514

[ceilidho]

I am salivating at the mouth for a CRUMB of knight ghost carrying off his chosen bride who is just being the BIGGEST pain in the ass and doing literally everything she can to not let this hulking knight take her away from her home, it’s all I’ve been thinking about since that little snippet you shared earlier

Knight!Ghost and his temperamental, sour wife who kicks and screams and puts up a huge fuss when he picks her out from a lineup and refuses to go home with him. She's been trained not to make a fuss in front of company because she's supposed to be a gentle lady, but everyone can see the way she stomps around and hisses whispers at her parents and begs them not to let her leave - all in clear sight of her to-be husband, who stands there silently as if it's not happening.

Then at one point, Ghost's impatience just overtakes him and he stomps over to where she's currently complaining to her mother and tosses her over his shoulder. Just grunts "we're leaving" and turns around with her hanging off his shoulder, looking completely dumbfounded because no one's ever treated her this way in her life.

Maybe he makes her sit in front of him on his horse for the long trek home instead of in a pretty carriage because he knows she's not accustomed to riding for long periods of time :(( So she's whimpering and whining that her thighs hurt and it's not fair, and Ghost has to murmur into her ear in a low voice that she needs practice for how much she'll be riding him in the coming months.

[ghostsgrl666]

knight!ghost x handmaiden!reader who can't keep their hands off of each other in corridors and secret staircases, who have to pass each other ten times a day as they both fulfill their castle duties but by the middle of the day ghost can't stand it anymore. He sees you hanging laundry just outside the servant's quarters and he sneaks up behind you, big hands engulfing your hips as his mouth swallows your gasp of surprise. knight!ghost who stares a hole through your tight, full bodice all night during the banquet as you pour drinks and pretend not to notice. knight!ghost who sneaks every night by candlenight through the dark underground corridors of the castle to get to your room, to climb into your tiny bed and press his face into the back of your neck. knight!ghost who has to ride into town the next day to help the king investigate the suspicious dissapearance of one of his lords, the same lord who had gotten a little too drunk and a little too handsy with you at the banquet.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ok but what if

What if Ghost was a knight (again) and then there's a spoiled, presumptuous lady who's bored (again)

She's the kind of princess who was dearly loved because she was a girl. No one knows why, because everyone knows girls are a liability. But she has been treasured and sheltered all her life, she always got everything she wanted, and now she's stupid enough to fall for Simon who has lived a life full of war and torment and who is not the kind of stray dog you would want to feed.

Our poor lady doesn't know she's playing with fire when she's toying with her father's (Price?) most loyal soldier: a brooding, tall, broad man who got his knighthood after this campaign or that. This outlander, Simon, catches her attention because he rarely speaks and never smiles, but makes her smallclothes wet because he has an ill look about him: a broken nose and a thin lipped, downturned mouth. This sir is looking everyone from under his brow like they're mere children in his eyes. The only time she's heard him speak is when he's barking orders in the courtyard.

She teases and teases and teases him: flirting every chance she can get, giving him soft brushes that barely remain within the bounds of propriety. She bestows heated stares that linger a little too long, she licks and parts her lips when they walk past each other in the cold, dimly lit corridors of the castle. He never returns any of her flirts.

Except the stares.

She can feel his eyes on her even when she's not looking. That coal-like stare is fixed on her wherever she goes: it's hot and cold at the same time, like embers that are kindling under long-forgotten ashes.

He's interested… But only in a way that a hungry, beaten, suspicious dog is interested when it's staring at a meaty bone, trying to decode if it's a treat or a trap.

He finally has enough one day when she dares to smile at him: softly, knowingly, like a whore in a tavern.

The gauntlet closes around her neck like an iron collar. She can smell the horses and the sweat and the dirty leather as the man she has dreamed of seizes her and pushes her back against a wall.

"Is this what you want? Hm?"

She finally hears him speak: dark, gravelly, and borderline exhausted from all the games she plays. Were he to hold her a little more tightly, she would call it a choke, a soft and slow strangling. The intensity is enough to make her heart flutter and her stare escape somewhere to the grey stone wall. There's no way she can meet that heated stare, now filled with flames and lust.

The knight she used to fantasize about is about to snap. The stoic, cold man is about to lose control at any given moment, and she's about to lose her maidenhood along with that shattered self-control.

He presses his whole body against her: leather and steel and hardened muscle, all that rough, well fed, thick flesh forged in countless battles is pressed against her frame like she is nothing but a flower. Her woolen dress is a poor shield against all the hard ridges of his armour, the pommel of his sword digs into her side painfully, but she pays it no mind. There's something equally as hard and demanding pressed against the apex between her legs. She's forced to rise to her toes from the way he drives his swollen cock up her cunt, and even if there's layers and layers of clothing between them, she can feel the heat of him.

"'S not a good idea to tease a starved dog," he snarls while watching her lose her confidence. All of it, because it was only ever a charade. A silly daydream of a silly young woman, just an attempt to distract herself, a pastime game that happened to turn into a dangerous obsession.

And he growls. He actually growls like a hound when she's suddenly so weak she can't even provide him with an answer. It's a dark rumble that meets her chest, a hot, slow breath that passes across her frightened skin. She feels like floating: his cock raises her from the ground as he tries to fuck into her through their clothes. The ironclad hand has never even seen mercy as it turns her head to the side for him to have a good sniff of her neck and hair.

"Sir," her lips tremble; her whole jaw is making it clear that she's about to cry soon. There's not enough stones on the wall for her to count if he decides to take her here. "Simon…? Please, sir. I'm a virgin…"

[milkteahood]

a ghost for a knight

medieval au, chapter 1

Simon Riley x fem!reader

Summary: your father, the king, makes his strongest knight keep watch over you due to you constantly disobeying the rules.

slow burn romance, eventual smut, age gap (reader is in her 20s while ghost is in his late 30s/ early 40s)

You thought he was merely a myth. Or at least, sort of. You heard the whispers, the other knights talking, but you never actually saw him.

Your father, the king, wasn’t allowing you to leave the premises of the castle, as you were the only heir. To you, he was just a story, a ghost. And to him, you were the same thing, for you had no idea your father was keeping you a secret. Only the most loyal to the family knew about you. So Simon had no idea why the king summoned him.

***

“That is a very good idea Your Highness” the advisor spoke.

“I just want her to be safe is all. She… she really inherited my temper” the king closed his eyes and rubbed one of his temples.

The crack from the secret passage was just enough for you to listen to the conversation. Someone was coming. Someone that was supposed to keep you safe. Safe from what? you thought to yourself. It’s not like I’m allowed to go anywhere.

As quiet as a mouse, you tiptoed away from the passageway and back into the labyrinth hidden into the castle. You knew every door, every crack. In case of a war, you could easily escape. Spending your free time hidden within the walls, listening to everyone’s conversations was something you found incredibly amusing. You knew which of the servants liked you and which couldn’t stand you. The only thing you found bothersome is not getting there in time to listen to your father’s whole conversation. You wanted to know who was coming. Is he planning to marry you off?

***

Exactly two weeks after the initial hearing of your father’s conversation is when the whispers started getting louder. “He is here” “The Ghost” “The Night” “The King’s most trusted” “The Myth” “The Legend”. And it was during one of your latin classes that the servant interrupted to announce that you were supposed by the king.

“Your Highness. The King is summoning you to the throne room” the servant spoke with a bow.

“What is it about?” you asked raising an eyebrow.

“I do not know princess”

“Very well”.

And with that, you stood up, a million thoughts running through your head.

Making your way down to the throne room, beautiful dress dragging behind, you felt a little anxious. After taking a few breaths, you let it known to the guards was alright to open the doors for you.

There stood your father, his advisor and a man. He was dressed like a knight and wore the kingdom’s crest, but you have never seem him before.

Your father’s voice broke your chain of thoughts.

“Y/N. Please step closer. There is something I need to tell you”

“Yes father?” you approached, giving him a small bow. He might’ve been your father, but he was also the king.

“I am aware of your little getaways” his tone was cold, but not angry.

You didn’t dare say more. You knew it was just a matter of time until he found out about your sneaking away from the castle into the forest.

You could feel the man’s eyes on you. He was taking you in.

“I have considered locking you away too” your father continued after a pause “but I know what I raised. You’d eventually escape a cellar too. So, there he is” he gestured towards the man “Sir Simon Riley. The most trustworthy knight and soldier I have. He is from now on in charge of looking after you and keeping you safe”.

***

“I cannot believe this” you finally spoke once you were far enough the hallway “I have been given a nanny”

“Seems like it, princess” Simon said.

“Don’t get smart with me”

He didn’t respond.

***

And so there he always was. When you studied, he was in the room. When you slept he was just outside. He only spoke if spoken to and always walked a couple steps behind you. Only when you’d request him to walk by your side did he ever do that.

There was no more sneaking away into the secret passages. That was something your father didn’t know you did, and you didn’t know just how much Simon reported back to him.

Life began to feel increasingly boring. You felt almost trapped, even more than you previously did. So you started to hatch a plan. How could you get away from Simon, even if it was just for a couple hours. The best solutions are always hidden in plain sight. Simon only ever left your side when you wanted to rest. Of course, he was just outside your door, but you had all the room to yourself. All the room and all the ways outside of it.

So that same evening, you told the knight who was worse than a shadow at this point, that you felt incredibly tired and would return to your chambers earlier.

“As you wish, princess” was all he said as he took his place in front of your door.

You changed out of your gown and into something more suited for what you were about to do.

A wave of adrenaline washed over you as you slipped your shoes off, as to not have your footsteps be heard, and very quietly opened your window. The sunset was magnificent, the breeze cool against your skin. Your room wasn’t very high up, making it very easy to decent off its balcony.

The grass was a little wet under your feet, and you took your sweet time to enjoy this little freedom. But, just as you were about to make a run for it through the palace’s garden, a strong hand wrapped itself around arm.

“Did you really think I was that stupid?” he almost hissed at you.

Your whole mood completely deflated in that moment.

“Well… I sure hoped you’d be” you replied.

His grip on you only tightened, enough to tell you he wasn’t in the mood for your games, but not hard enough to actually hurt.

“I just, really wanted to see the sunset”

“You can see it from your balcony” he replied coldly.

“But”

“No”

“I’m the princess!” you protested.

“And I answer to your father, not you, brat”.

He almost dragged you back inside, marking the first night Simon moved into your room. The king was right, Simon thought. You really were a flight risk. And when his head was on the line, he really wasn’t going to take any shit from a brat half his age.

do not repost my work anywhere. Reblogs are welcomed and appreciated.

pictures were taken from Pinterest. I take no credit for them

[cntloup]

Queen!Reader proposing to Knight!Ghost

Knight!Ghost saves Queen!Reader from an attack

Finding out you're pregnant :)

Miscarriage | pt2

Vikings attack your land | pt2

[the-whispers-of-death]

Reader is male & his hair is described to be long enough to reach his nape (long hair symbolizes a time of peace in his culture). I just made up kingdom names. Part One, Part Two

**

After a morning in council with your advisors, seeing to your subjects and their grievances, you were in desperate need of some stress relief. So you put on your armor and made your way to the training courtyard where veteran knights and trainees alike where training, your hands itching to have a sword in them.

"My king!" Several knights around the training courtyard cried out at the sight of you, bowing. But your eyes were trained on Ghost, who ha stopped the training match he was overseeing.

"Sir Ghost, I wish to spar with someone. And I figured you were the best knight of mine to spar with," you said, walking over to Ghost. You smiled at him, able to look him into the eyes easily since you were around the same height. "If you're up for it, of course. If not, I can spar with someone else."

Ghost shook his head. "No, I can spar with you, my king." He gestured for someone to bring you both training swords and shields. "It would be honor to help you keep your swordsmanship skill sharp."

You laughed at that, placing your hands in gloves before taking a training sword out of the two you were given and taking a shield in the other hand. "Are you keeping my swordsmanship skill sharp or am I keeping yours sharp?" you teased, waiting until he held a sword and shield before getting into position.

"How about both, my king? Neither of us can get rusty."

You nodded in response and those were the last words spoken between you two as Ghost strikes first, swinging his sword. You parried with your own and pushed him back, quickly striking back just as quick as he struck first.

Since they were training swords, they barely made dents into either of your armors. Still, the act of swinging and wielding the sword was enough for you, enough for you to love the thrill it gave you to spar with your knight.

Parry, block, strike.

The movements seemed so rhythmic, your sword and shield an extension of yourself. Even then, exhaustion was wearing on you both as you could feel it settle in your bones and see his balaclava and white mask start to get soaked with Ghost's sweat. Your movements were starting to slow down, but neither of you were giving up yet.

That was, until Ghost unarmed you. One second you were thinking of parrying his upcoming strike, the next he was sending your sword flying in the air and away from you. You heard it clang against the ground, signaling the end of the match.

"Well done, Sir Ghost," you said, panting. A small smirk made its way onto your face. "Though I'm quite glad that my knight is good enough to best me. Means I'm placing my life in the right hands."

Ghost straightened up from his hunched stance, nodding. "You gave me a run for my money, my king," he said, though that might've been to make you feel better about losing the match.

You chuckled and followed him to where his canteen of water was, watching him pull up his balaclava enough to reveal his mouth. You greedily watched him take a sip of water, a few drops dripping from his mouth and down his chin.

He must've seen you watching him because as soon as he finished drinking from the canteen, he didn't cap it again, instead he offered it to you. "Are you thirsty, my king?"

"Oh, I can't drink from your canteen, it's yours. I'll be fine," you replied, trying to refuse the canteen, but he wasn't having it.

"Nonsense, you must be thirsty after out sparring. Drink, I don't mind," he murmured, his gruff voice softening just softly.

Ghost didn't let you hold the canteen, instead tilting it himself so you could drink from it. Your eyes closed as the water hit your tongue. It was an intimate gesture, but everyone else in the courtyard was too busy training to watch you two.

You made sure not to drink too much of his canteen, pulling away when you were done. "Thank you."

You watched him cap his canteen again, nodding in response to your thanks. Silence washed over you two for a few seconds and you were about to excuse yourself when he spoke.

"You seem troubled, my king." Ghost turned to you once his canteen was set down on the bench again. "Come, sit with me please. Talk to me."

He sat down on the bench and you hesitated before sitting down. Your weary bones felt relief at sitting down. Sure, you best the morning sitting on your throne, but you hadn't relaxed since you woke up, not until now.

"My advisors are worried that I don't know how to rule this kingdom during a time of peace," you murmured, your voice soft so no one else heard word of your advisors basically thinking you were unfit to lead the kingdom during an era of peace.

It was true that when you took the throne from your father when you were twenty-four, Eridies had been in war with Loria for at least a year and the war lasted until six months ago which meant the kingdom had been at war for eight years. Your reign had started with war and a warrior king was what you had been for eight years. Just because you ushered peace to the kingdom, didn't mean that you knew how to keep peace.

Ghost huffed at that, clearly thinking differently. He hesitated for a few seconds before he rested his gloved hand on your knee.

"My king, you've been doing a wonderful job of ensuring the peace you've won stays. You might have been a warrior king for the past eight years, but you've had a kind heart and a heart of a peaceful king. You care about Eridies, its people," he said, rubbing his thumb against your knee. "I have no doubt you'll continue to keep the peace alive."

Your eyes flickered from his hand on your knee to his own eyes, holding eye-contact.

This man, a man you had never fully seen his face, was a steady presence by your side for the past eight years. You never went into battle without knowing he'd be covering your back, your own personal shadow. You knew him like you knew yourself, he was like a sword; an extension of yourself. You didn't know what you were like without him and you found, you didn't want to know what life was like without him by your side.

A smile graced your lips and you rested your hand on his, squeezing it gently. "You know, I think as long as I have you, I won't mind listening to the people's grievances over one farmer stealing the other's crops," you said, intending on lightening the mood.

Judging by the soft chuckle, a sound only you managed to get from him, your response had its intended effect. Ghost turned his hand over so your palms were facing each other and he could intertwine his fingers with yours.

He knew what he was doing was dangerous. He should be keeping his distance from you, but you pulled him in like no other. Every time he wanted to pull back, his heart drew closer to yours. It felt like your soul was intertwined with his, trying to come together to form a whole soul.

"I'll be by your side for as long as you need me to, my king. As long as you'll have me."

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

[http-paprika]

IVY AND IRON THORNS

the epigraph / sir simon riley x lady reader / a medieval au / masterlist

Branches bow and break under the weight of the wind, it howls and sings as the knight straggles through the gardens, unable to make sense of his thoughts. Walls of stone tower over him, ivy clinging to the old rock and his mask has never felt more suffocating.

“Simon!” Her voice fills his ears as she follows after the knight, her dress brushing against the stones of the footpath and damp grass.

Though the sky threatens to break open and pour out on them, she follows and seeks. Unrelenting in the way she’s captured his body and soul, consumed by the feel of her hands and gleam in her eyes.

The knight sinks to his knees when she finally finds him in the maze of hedges, roses, and bushes. Looking up to her shining face as his lungs struggle to fill with air. “I’m sorry, m’lady.”

taglist @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @ghostlythots

[techs-cyarika]

Knight! Ghost this, King! König that (hehe king-king, can we please give that man a fanon name??)

WHAT ABOUT PRINCE! GAZ???

On GOD if this man doesn’t get more recognition….

But I’m telling y’all I’ve been thinking about it all day like Gaz being the prince of a kingdom and he’s well loved by all his people

Like Knight! Price is highly regarded by the king, possibly captain of the guard, and started Prince! Gaz’s weapon/knight(?) training

And knight! Price DID NOT take it is easy on Gaz just because he was the prince. If anything Price pushed him harder than any of the other boys in training because as Price says, “An army is only as strong as it’s leader”

Gaz built a strong relationship with the knights and soldiers around the castle by spending so much time training with them, they all have a lot of respect for their Prince and would be honored to follow him into battle

Prince! Gaz loves tournaments, his favorite event??? JOUSTING

I’ve been thinking about it a lot, I mean A LOT (a couple months ago I was thinking about a knight!Ghost X Princess! Reader au and even then all I could think about was what a god Gaz would be at the joust)

Gaz loves the thrill of a roaring crowd, his stallion excitedly prancing under him, his opponent clear in his sights, and the satisfying break of his lance against hard steel

I don’t think Gaz has ever been unsat in an official tourney

Also? hello?? GAZ THE GALLANT???

I’m throwing up thinking about about being the lucky lady that Prince! Gaz gives his rose to before his run in the list 😭

[ghouljams]

KNIGHT!GHOST I LOVE HIM I WANT HIM TO SAVE ME AND HOLD ME

God don't we all. He wants to save you too. He will save you from everything, from the world and from yourself, and most important of all he'll save you from him. He won't let you be tainted by his blood stained hands, he won't let you be ruined by his-

God, why is he tested like this? Why does he clench his ruinous fists as he lays in bed and thinks of you. Thinks and thinks of you. Thinks of the way your nightclothes drifted like moonlight around your body. Thinks of the way your figure had ghosted through the soft fabric, the way your chest moves with each breath, the way you hold your skirts up for him to tie your shoes. He thinks of you, God, he thinks of you the way a man thinks of a woman. He thinks of you and his traitorous body responds.

He thinks of you as he fists his cock, thinks of your perfect pussy, thinks of dragging his tongue through your folds and the way you press your fingers to your face when you're embarrassed. He thinks of the way you'd gasp and claw at him, the way you'd whine that it was too much and still hold him against your precious cunt. He thinks about the way you'd mewl when he split you open on his cock, and how tightly your body would wrap around him. Gorgeous, precious thing, his princess, his girl, his to take care of until you're sick of him. He thinks of pressing his lips to yours, dragging his mouth along your skin and tasting the salt of it, hearing the soft moans that fall from you as he fu- no, as he makes love to you.

He spills over his fingers when he thinks of you calling his name. Traitorous, ruinous. He finds a rag and wipes his hand clean, his lips curled in disgust. To ruin you like that... He'll save you from it, save you from himself, don't you worry.

[danibee33]

No one:

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

[ceilidho]

the way I start sweating reading about Knight!Ghost and Princess!Reader. Like I need this fic to survive. Gruff Ghost who can’t let his little wife disrespect him in public but never does more than put her over his knee and spank her?? And is so sweet to her otherwise, spoiling the shit out of her???

But like…what about Knight!Ghost and a bride gifted to him after a neighboring kingdom was defeated? He got to choose from a lineup and went with this little spitfire that stared defiantly at him and he was just like “yes this is mine now”

I’m sorry, I go just a little bit feral every time you post and grace us with your thoughts about all these different AUs

Knight!Ghost who’s never wanted a thing in his life, who’s worked and served since he was just a boy, maybe found wandering in the woods after the village he was raised in was burned to the ground and he was the only survivor, rescued by a nearby kingdom’s cavalry.

All he’s ever known is servitude and loyalty and his own internal code that he’s been following since he was a boy. Ghost has carved into something menacing and tough so that he would never have to endure what he did as a child. He’s become something nameless (maybe he doesn’t even remember Simon Riley, wouldn’t recognize that name if someone said it to his face because that was a lifetime and a family ago that was all burned to the ground).

All he knows is loam and dirt and blood and the smell of sweat behind his helmet. Up until his king magnanimously decides he’s worthy of a bride. And Ghost fiercely does not want to be responsible for a wife - he doesn’t want anyone apart from his king to feel like they have sovereignty over him, he doesn’t want someone to wait for him at home, he doesn’t want to disappoint someone when they find out he’s nothing but a cold hard shell of man that’s only good for fighting and killing.

And then he sees your face in the lineup, pretty and delicate. There’s a cut on your cheek from where someone threw you to the ground and it lights a fire in his belly. Suddenly all he can think about is being tied to you, keeping you warm and safe by the fire in his manor, pulling you into his chest at night under the heavy furs draped over his bed, twisting his fingers in your hair until he can pull you gently by the roots up onto your tiptoes so you can meet his lips.

“That one,” he grunts, nodding to where you’re standing still in the lineup, staring at him with distrust. “Her or no one.”

[ghostsgrl666]

pt 2. Knight!ghost who unlaces your corset carefully, trying to remeber how to breathe again as your skin becomes exposed to him. Knight!ghost who kisses every inch of you, memorizing your plush body and worshipping the path to your aching cunt. Knight!ghost who laps at you like a man starved, who gets so caught up in the feel, the smell, the taste of you that he goes on for hours without realizing it, strong hands keeping you from writhing away as you come over and over again. Knight!ghost who finally looks up at you as the morning sun begins to lighten the dark sky, who takes you in his arms and slowly takes you apart with each thrust into you. Fingers coming up to your face to wipe away the tears that fall down your face without losing his rhythm for a second. Knight!ghost who whispers into your hair as you both come down, sweet verses and poetry about a goddess divine who has captured him, body and soul, heart and mind. You can only manage to kiss him in response, savoring the hum of his words against your tongue before you both drift to sleep, his warm steady breaths a lullaby of the dawn.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Ok but what if I had to continue this story about Knight!Ghost and Presumptuous maiden!reader

She can still feel his breath on her, but the huge body pinning her to the wall ceases to move.

"...What?"

It’s pure shock.

She’s dropped so quickly she has to take support from the stones behind her.

She wouldn’t have to: Simon grabs her by the arm and prevents her from falling forward and back towards that plated chest. His eyes search for hers, and she looks up at the knight who almost raped her – in the corridor of all places like she’s nothing but a common whore. But for the first time ever there’s genuine shock, even fear in his stare. The remnants of lust flicker back alive every now and then, but mostly he looks like she just hurled a powerful curse at him when she told him she’s a virgin.

"I'm sorry,” she tries. “I’ll–I’ll never do it again. I promise."

"Bloody fucking…"

He looks her up and down, the leather straps of his armour wailing from his still heaving chest. She should bolt, now, when Simon has taken a step away from her and is clearly puzzled and confused. But she can’t: those eyes rise to hold her captive again. And now, there’s anger in them.

"You should be whipped."

"For what...?"

Her chest is heaving, too. She never knew how low her voice could get when there's want in the air and in her veins.

"You attacked me, sir. I should have you whipped," she continues like an absolute fool.

"Don't test me, girl," he slurs behind bared teeth. She finally remembers how to shut up.

"Tsk."

Simon nudges his head towards the stairway leading to her quarters. Get out while you can, the gesture says, and she gathers the hem of her heavy woollen dress and flees.

She never believed her miserable begging would stop or sway him. Simon is bound by oath and honour, or then he doesn’t want his master’s wrath upon him. Her worth is between her legs; they both know it. Defiling the king’s daughter could lose him his head.

She climbs the stairs, slips into her room and bolts the door. It should probably be strange that she’s left aching by what just happened. It should make her wake up from her silly dreams, that the only thing stopping this man from raping her is other men, not her feelings and sensibilities.

It should be considered a doom, not fate, that she only wants him more.

…

Simon never participates in the tournaments, but this time, rumour has it that he’s planning to join.

In a distressed hurry, she makes preparations for the great day. There can be no other reason for him to joust other than the wish to win her favour back. His actions speak louder than any words, and just for the sake of that, she has kept her promise. She walks the halls as if the knight called Simon never even existed. She won’t look his way even when he has his back turned on her. She only dreams about him when the moon is full and there are no more candles burning in her lonely room.

But it’s hard.

It’s difficult, and it’s a horrible fate she has to suffer, because now it’s he who can’t keep his eyes off her. Now it’s Simon who has suddenly caught her scent, who is suddenly interested in dangerous, stupid sports such as jousting that could injure or kill a man. But he’s willing to do the thing he apparently hates most – along with the fevered attention of insufferable, flirtatious maidens – because he needs a token of her favour. She’s sure of it: that’s why she embroiders a tiny ‘S’ on her finest, most precious handkerchief.

The tournament day is as beautiful as can be. Her heart is about to rend itself out of her chest when Simon approaches her, riding across the field in his heaviest grey armour. He’s surrendering himself at her mercy, and at the mercy of other people’s ridicule, rumour and gossip by making it known that he thinks himself worthy of her blessing. She wonders if she’s the one being played now: she can’t decipher why he would refuse her one day, then fight to gain her favour the next.

He accepts her silken handkerchief with a blank expression, but his eyes betray the inner turmoil when he sees the embroidery. A plain, simple token would have sufficed – the adorned ‘S’ is a bit too much, it's a clear sign. It’s ten times more clear than her earlier games, ten times more blaring than her vivacious little flirt. She could've embroidered the sentence “If you come up to my room at nightfall, I will let you in,” on it and the meaning would've been just as obvious.

He tucks it under his breastplate and gives her a sideways look that is filled with both distaste and longing. Only Simon can speak entire sentences through his eyes. They say, “You’ve gone too far,” and “If I come out of this alive, you’ll get whipped, or fucked, or both.”

And one thing she never knew about Simon was that he could joust better than anyone. There’s one dead, three wounded and five humiliated by the time Simon is declared the winner of the tournament. Everyone understands now why he never joins these things: he will only rob the fun of other knights by toying with them.

Her chosen one accepts the king’s words and the crowd’s applause with a stern but slightly painful expression. Simon would rather be anywhere but here, but endures being the centre of attention for the rest of the afternoon like a good, patient dog. Then he disappears somewhere, done with being the sudden pet of the people. The next time she sees him is in the morning as she descends the stairs.

“Fawn.”

She flinches from the now familiar dark voice. He’s been waiting for her, and almost prowls forth from the shadows when she’s floating down the steps. There’s a good few feet between them, but she can feel the heat emanating from him. Simon is always blazing like the sun, and he's always tired, downright exhausted, encumbered by pain or something worse.

“Do you always forget your promises so quickly?”

She corrects her posture under his tall shadow; she should’ve known there would be consequences for that handkerchief.

"What crime have I committed now?"

Simon never expects it when she fights back. Long, pale lashes cover the brief bafflement in his eyes, then he reaches for something under his tunic. Her heart skips a beat – he has kept it against his skin, right over his heart, instead of under the plate where he tucked it at the joust.

"This belongs to you," he holds it between them like it’s nothing but a piece of dirty cotton he wants to get rid of. Or then he doesn’t want to stain it with his hands – who knows? This man is so full of contradictions she’s having a hard time getting to the bottom of his soul. She has all the time in the world to study different characters here in the castle, but Simon remains a tightly locked mystery.

"No,” she lifts her chin proudly. “It belongs to you."

His nostrils flare for a moment – a sign of anger or exhilaration; you’d need a powerful witch to tell.

“A knight should return the lady’s favour if he survives the joust,” he mutters, clearly trying to make an effort to speak finely to a fine lady.

“You don’t have to. I made it for you.”

He grunts with frustration, then shoves her gift back inside his tunic. Then he tilts his head. A strange, dark little smile rises on his lips.

"Fawn. Did your father ever beat you?"

It’s only morning, but Simon makes it feel like they’re having this conversation in the cold, damp dungeons. Her heart shudders at the foul words, and yet, she fights to maintain eye contact. She fights both tooth and nail to look straight into the abyss.

"No."

"I can tell."

Insolent bastard, is her first thought at such audacity, but two can play this game, is the second. She takes a slow step forward and rejoices silently when Simon struggles to remain still.

"If I was your wife…" she starts softly, "Would you beat me?"

His nostrils flare again as he looks for a trap where there is none. She’s standing before him without any shields, with no weapons, and he still can’t tell, the poor man.

"I don't beat women," he finally spits. Then he succumbs to the impulse to get away from her, although it looks like he’s struggling to do so, too. He has to wrench himself free, and it gives her more power to rise rooted: to meet his crude manners, the arrogance of a dog.

"You'd never be my wife," is the last thing he says, so quietly that it’s nothing but a mutter; a sullen whisper. The birds have fallen silent, or then she can’t hear them anymore. The golden light that pours from the narrow windows makes it suddenly seem like this morning could last an eternity.

"Why not?" She whispers back.

The moment shatters – her knight escapes like he’s the fragile little fawn now. The clatter of his armour makes it known how much of a hurry he’s in to get away from the golden light... And from her.

[victoria-grimesss]

Knight!Ghost Headcanons

masterlist

->Pairing: Knight!Ghost x Princess!Reader

->A/N: I'm a bio major not a history major so I apologize for any inaccuracies.

When you became of age of course your parents, the King and Queen needed someone to protect their sweet, precious, and adored daughter.

They requested the best knight in all of the land, Ghost.

You would be sitting in the throne room when you first laid eyes on him. The large doors opening and the light dancing off his armor as he approached your parents. Your breath was nearly taken from you as you gazed upon the large man in-front of you. He would bow as accustomed greeting them and they would give their approval.

He would protect you with his life, you were beautiful no doubt many men and women would kill to marry you, but alas you will be arranged with whomever is best for politics.

He would walk with you out of the throne room and to wherever you go within the castle walls or outside.

You frequent the rose garden, and he stands stone-still as you walk around the blooming flowers and giggle and laugh all while watching him. He's so out of place in the garden. A big strong man coated in impenetrable dark armor surrounded by pastel flowers and twisting vines.

You would ask questions about him and his life, and he would respond in short, gruff, and thickly accented answers. Your stomach would erupt in butterflies when we would speak, you had never encountered a knight as all-consuming as him.

He never strays far from you, when you go to town or the port to watch the ships everyone would avoid you, giving a wide berth to the two of you.

He admired the way your dress coated your body and your hair looked so smooth and silky, he assumed it felt better than any imported silk ever could.

He shouldn't have these feelings for you, but he wants to draw his sword when a boy you are meant to court greets you and you do not repay the same affections he gives you. Your words are short with him, almost mean. And your eyes drift to Ghost frequently as you talk with the young man, they would rake from bottom to top, your gaze heavy on his eyes and he returns it.

He smirks under his helmet, knowing your affection is directed to him.

He would stand near the door when dinner is served. He would watch you eat delicacies many would kill for, you would get drunk off of the finest of wines, then he would escort you back to your room.

You would hang off of him, ditzy and bubbly as you sing small parts of songs as the two of you walk, well you stumble and he nearly carries, you down the hallway.

Eventually you grow too tired to walk any further you sit in a hall chair and refuse to get up. Ghost grows irritated at your antics and eventually just slings you over his shoulder.

"Oh my, what a strong knight you are. I shall request you carry me everywhere from now on. I do fear my feet may fall off from all this walking about the castle." He does not respond but the arm that grows tighter around your waist tells you all you need to know.

He would place you on your plush bed, you still drunk off of wine would laugh as he stands still at the end of your bed.

You would grow quiet and hum lightly at the sight of him in your quarters, at the end of the bed. To most he's that stuff of nightmares, but to you he's the creation of your dreams.

You would sit up, letting down your hair your hand would trace down you neck and corset,

"You know... I just can never see myself marrying those boys my father sends me. I've always loved knights. May I ask, do you like princess's sir?"

He would stiffen at your words, it is his job to protect you even from himself and his needs. Perhaps if you were not intoxicated he would play into your game but for now he tells you to sleep and leaves the room, he enjoys the pout that paints your face as he leaves.

He thought this would be an easy job, to protect you till marriage but he's finding it's the most difficult he's ever had.