Simon "Ghost" Riley x male reader fantasy AU
(first installment of me taking inspiration from prompts people are putting into AI to generate fics for them. True fanfic writers stand against AI doing our job for us.)
MonsterHunter!Simon x male reader
words: 7057
Tags: slow burn kind of, violence, slight gore, medieval/fantasy, not beta read, just fluff in this one, male reader has a name but its only mentioned like once, get comfortable it's a long one
He fought the evil in this world, or at least that's what he told himself. Ever since he was young, that's what he saw himself doing- the only thing that he felt gave him worth. Fighting vampires, werewolves, all manner of sinister creature, and sometimes, even himself.
This isn't what the world wanted for him, at least not when he was young. His father was the town butcher in the village he grew up in. His old man taught him the trade, but it never satisfied him, or more, it never made up for the wrong he felt he did just by taking up space. So, when he was old enough, he left his home village with just a few gold pieces, his father's old boning knife, and the clothes on his back to travel to the city for one purpose- the join the king's army. This is where he would find himself.
It turned out he had a talent. He had natural instincts, was obedient, and adaptable. He quickly got assigned to the part of the king's army that dealt with monsters. At first, it was off-putting for him. He had only heard about these creatures in fairy tales and mothers trying to dissuade children from playing by themselves in the forest. But once he saw they were very real and very bloodthirsty, he found his purpose.
Eventually, this routine service as a king's knight was not enough. They were too slow for him. So he left the knighthood and began to pursue the creatures himself. But he barely recognized himself now.
He became a well-known monster slayer in the region, and through his good deeds, got a variety of different rewards from different folks, including wizards and witches. They bestowed upon him many spells which improved his being. They made him stronger, faster, more sturdy than a normal man. He often found himself trying to forget this. However, he knew he did not choose the best profession to be subtle. There were tales of a brawny, intimidating knight that went across the land saving cities and villages. This was not preferable to him.
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The winter was unusually harsh this year, which made things harder for you, but you weren't in the worst position. You made plenty of money leading up to the cold season with your pelts, and you had plenty of game meat in the cold storage outside. Nothing out of the ordinary, really, but being stuck inside during these snow storms was mind-numbing. You were sitting next to the hearth, enjoying the warmth of the blankets and reading in the firelight, but then there landed a heavy knock on the door.
You were puzzled, thinking maybe you had just heard a branch fall against the cottage wall. But then the knock came again. Who in their right mind was outside during this storm? You stood up, wrapping the furs around your shoulders and carefully opening the door, sighing when snow fell in through the doorway.
Your eyes widened when they finally took in the figure standing outside. it was an armored stranger. What the hell was a knight doing out here? Your cottage was a mile outside the city limits. You were used to travelers stopping by your home for a rest or a small meal, but a knight? You just opened your mouth to speak when a heavy, gravely voice spoke from the front of the helm.
"Could I stay overnight? I won't be a bother."
You were quiet for a moment, debating your answer, but ultimately decided that you had no real reason to turn away a traveler in need. You stepped aside, pulling the door far enough for him to come in.
You watched him step inside, dragging snow in with his feet and falling off his plated shoulders. You closed the door gingerly, not wanting any more snow flying in and lowering the temperature of the house. For a moment, he just stood still in front of the hearth, armor and all, staring into the flames. A strange character, for sure. You also noticed that he was large, as in, very tall and broad. He dwarfed you, a grown man. But, it was no matter.
As if realizing you were staring, he finally moved, beginning to take off his armor. You began to pour wine, but never took your eyes off him for more than a fleeting moment. He was so methodical, every moment seeming to have a very determined purpose, but he hesitated only when reaching for his helm, almost as if he didn't want to remove it. After a moment of contemplation, he slowly took it off, but you couldn't see his face in the shadows casted by the fire. He laid his armor and swords gently on the wooden floor and draped his red cloak across it.
He stood quietly in front of the fire, presumably warming up, while you set the table briefly- just wine and bread. You even set out the butter. A king's knight deserved the best. You finally beckoned him to sit and eat.
He sat down, but not before some clear deliberation on if he really wanted to engage in the conversation he knew was to come. When he finally sat, the wooden chair creaked beneath him. This was the first decent look you'd gotten of him. Without the armor, he wasn't as bulky, but he was still tall and broad. You pushed the cup of wine and bread toward him, taking the opportunity to speak.
"What brings you outside the city?"
He didn't answer immediately. He stared at the food and drink in front of him. It had been at least 3 days since he had eaten proper food. He looked at it like a dog that wasn't sure if the food could be trusted yet. His hands rested on his knees, tension visible beneath his skin and muscles twitching. The firelight danced across his skin, and his figure casted jagged shadows upon your walls.
"Hunting."
You raised your brow a bit at that answer. You kept your tone easy as not to seem too incredulous.
"Hunting? You need a knight's armor to hunt?" You let the silence hang there for a moment. "Unless you're not hunting game."
He finally lifted his eyes. This was the first time you'd made eye contact, and it was intimidating to say the least. They were dark, only visible because of the fire glistening in his pupils. The look wasn't exactly hostile, but more calculating or judgmental. He let out a slow breath through his nose. The husky voice came out once again.
"Not game."
These short answers were becoming typical. It was only then that he finally reached up to grab the cup of wine you had poured for him. He took a drink from it, and his movement enabled you to see more of his face.
It was rugged. His features were sharp and rough, scar tissue littering the skin. His hair was a light brown, stubble littering the lower half of his face. The light caught the melting snow flakes that had been caught in his brows and eyelashes. You found him almost mesmerizing, and you took a drink from your cup to gather your thoughts.
"What game are you after then, Hunter?"
He found the nickname funny, but he didn't laugh. If anything, the tension in his shoulders lessened just slightly as if the title was comfortable to him. He finally reached for the bread, taking a careful bite and savoring it. A small noise, almost a hum, came from him, like approval. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and his eyes met yours again. They were not as cold this time.
"Vampire."
You felt your mouth go a bit dry. That was not the answer you expected, but what exactly did you expect from him?
"Vampire? I've only heard about those in tales, but I've seen one before, not that I get much company around here anyway." You paused for a second before leaning in slightly. "Is it true they can make themselves look like regular people?" He sat his bread down and in that moment, the fire seemed to stop dancing and the air felt still.
"Yes. They're perfect mimics- faces, voices, even memories if they've feasted on enough of the victim's blood. One moment, you're speaking with your brother, the next, it's tearing out your throat." He seemed to get tense again, like he was getting worked up. When he spoke again, it was quieter. "I've seen whole families, whole villages, get drained."
You couldn't tear your eyes away from his. It's like there was something keeping you there, forcing you to look deep into them. You were slowly memorizing every part of his face, but there was something in his expression you couldn't quite place.
"Memories, too? Sounds fantastical, but I'm sure there's plenty out there that I haven't seen before." He looked away while reaching for his cup, taking a long drink from it like a man parched. He savored the taste of it.
"Not fantastical. I've seen it all happen with my own eyes."
"I can't imagine." That was the only thing you could think to say. You felt bad for him in the horrors you were sure he had seen, but that didn't feel like the best thing to say right now. There was a certain heaviness in his words, and now in the silence hanging between you, like pain. A shared guilt. He didn't elaborate anymore, but changed the subject.
"The butter is good." While the abrupt change surprised you, you nodded.
"Thank you. I bought it from one of the women in the city market. I am fortunate that my pelts sell for good coin." You gestured toward some of the furs you had hanging up and the work table in the corner.
He got up, moving to inspect the furs. His gaze narrowed onto it, almost assessing. He respected good craftmanship and artisans. He nodded once, which was likely the highest honor you would get from him.
"That's how I make my living. I travel to the city and sell them before the cold months come."
His hand finally reached out and ran over the fur. His touch was gain not rough, but very methodical. Another quiet sound, like a hum, accompanied his movement.
"Skilled work."
You gave him a brief smile, always happy to receive compliments on your work. He finally turned back to look at you and made his way back to the table with eerily quiet footsteps. His height was even more apparent at this moment as you sat before him. He didn't sit, but he nodded in agreement.
"The winters always seem to get colder year after year. People need the furs."
"This one's worse. This storm came over three days ago and has not stopped." A moment passed. "I've been tracking that vampire five days through this blizzard."
You were surprised that he mentioned the vampire again, but did not push.
"Well, don't let me keep you. I'll grab some pelts and stoke the fire. You can sleep by it." He didn't respond, he just stepped back out of the way, letting you work.
You grabbed the pelts and a small pillow, setting them near the hearth, and then you put more firewood in. The man knelt in front of it, taking in the warmth. You again took in his face in this now direct light, studying him. He uttered a thank you, and you took that as your leave. You retired to your bedroom. Your cottage wasn't large, but you were lucky enough to have a separate room as your chambers.
The house fell into silence as you slept, only the soft crackling of the fire and wind outside making sound now. He stayed awake for a while. He always had trouble sleeping, or relaxing. He sat quietly, watching the flames in the hearth. He could hear your breathing from the other room if he really focused. Every so often, as he dozed, a long would collapse in the hearth and it would wake him, but it did not bother him. He only really slept for a couple hours at most that night.
It was scarcely dawn when the sound of him putting on his armor woke you. You quickly got up and grabbed one of the fox pelts you had hanging up, presenting it to him.
"Take this. it's cold out there. Consider it a gift."
He stopped abruptly, mid-motion, one pauldron already on his shoulder. His eyes were locked onto the pelt for a few moments, as if considering whether to actually receive it. He was not the type to give or take gifts, but this felt different to him. Where he originally planned to up and leave without a word, he now felt obligated. He carefully grabbed the pelt and ran his hand over it before stuffing it gently into the armor he already had on, making sure it was secure. When he finally looked down at you, he looked the most human he had since you met him. It felt like the eye contact lasted hours, when it was in fact only a few seconds. Before you could tell him not to worry about giving anything back, he turned to his small satchel.
His hand searched the bag for a moment before pulling out an object and putting it into your hand before you could object, then going back to putting on his plates. When you opened your hand, you found a silver necklace with what looked like a wolf's fang pendant. You examined it, feeling the weight in your hands. The craftsmanship on it was superb. You put it around your neck. You spoke with a smirk.
"From one of your escapades?" You watched him place his helm, the last bit of his armor, and then he turned to face you again, the helm making him even more intimidating.
"A werewolf."
He didn't elaborate on how exactly he got it or how it became jewelry or why, but you didn't feel the need to pry. The pendant felt warm against the skin of your sternum. You saw his hand on the handle of the door, and you spoke.
"You're welcome back any time you need dinner and a warm place to sleep."
He didn't speak at first, didn't even meet your eyes. His hand was simply paused on the door handle while he contemplated. You couldn't decipher what he was thinking or feeling, but you had a weight of anxiety at his silence. When he finally glanced at you over his shoulder, he gave a nod. Then, he opened the door and stepped out into the wintery forest.
You watched as he walked away, his feet sinking into the deep snow. There was a heavy feeling in your chest, contrasted starkly by the warmth of the wolf's fang. His presence had filled your home in an unfamiliar way, and you found yourself missing it once you closed the door. You found yourself wondering if we would actually come back one day.
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You didn't go out to the city, or outside in general, for a long time. The cold was too harsh and the snow too deep to travel any great distance. You stayed inside, body warm but heart chilled as you found yourself hoping the Hunter would come back. You didn't get another knock on your door for weeks, and when you finally did, hope filled you. Maybe this time you could even get his name.
But it wasn't him.
When you opened the door, it was a stranger. You're typically not averse to new people, but there was something different about this man, something strange, perhaps described as sinister. He was deathly pale, gaunt. He was almost uncanny, not quite normal. You could feel his eyes digging into you like jagged daggers. You felt your mouth dry as you spoke.
"May I help you?"
The man's eyes, which were once locked onto yours, traveled down to the pendant hanging around your neck, and he leaned forward slightly. His presence was invasive and uncomfortable. He gave you a slow smile, thin and polite, but a little too big. As he stared at your jewelry, his expression contorted into something twisted- not admiration or longing, but more like recognition. When he finally spoke to you, his voice was thick and smooth, but also slick and strange.
"That's a rare piece you have there." He stepped forward toward the doorway, invading your space even more. You let yourself put a hand over your chest. The tension in the air was palpable and you were on edge.
"A friend gave it to me. Now tell me, what's your business?"
"A friend?" he asked, voice mockingly sweet. "The Ghost gives gifts now? How very sentimental."
His uncanny smile stayed upon his face as he took another step closer to you, and his eyes gave a glint of annoyance. When you didn't step away from him, his grin only got larger, and that's when it became visible to you-
Fangs on either side of his smile. This man was not human.
Your hand darted to the toolbelt that stayed around your waist, grabbing the boning knife out of its sheath and bringing up to aim the point at the vampire's throat.
"Listen, stranger. I don't know who the Ghost is that you speak of, but you do not have permission to enter my home, so I suggest you back away." This made the monster freeze, but only briefly, just for his expression to drift into calm once again and his eyes to fill with fury.
You heard a low hissing sound escape from his throat as he seemed to back away. Relief only filled you for a fleeting moment before the vampire reared back and lunged toward you.
He knocked the knife from your hand as one of his wrapped around your wrist, jagged nails digging into soft skin. His other hand moved to swipe toward your sternum, trying to grab your pendant. Before he could even fully wrap his hand around it, the pendant began to emit a warm light that grew more and more until it nearly blinded you. As you shut your eyes, you heard the high-pitched sizzling and warm stink of burning flesh. You fell backward onto the hard wood floor, and when you could finally open your eyes, you saw the vampire standing just outside your home in the snow. His face and hands were now blistered and irritated, warm steam rising from the burned flesh. When his eyes met yours, he let out a deep snarl before running away into the blanketed forest. You jumped up and slammed the door, leaning against it with a tired huff.
You were now left with a hundred questions that only the knight could answer, but there was no telling when he would come back to your home again. You wrapped your hand gingerly around the pendant, residual warmth running through your hand and blood trickling down your arm.
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It was several weeks again before you received another knock on your door. After living in paranoia for this long, you instinctively grabbed your boning knife again. When you finally opened the door, you were relieved to see the Hunter standing outside. His familiar black armor was coated with snow again, but this time, his helm was already off.
You weren't sure exactly how to feel in this moment. You were angry, anxious to ask questions, but another large part of you was happy to see him alive and well. What's more is he seemed to feel the same way, his once tense face softening at the sight of you. You stepped aside, allowing him entry. As soon as you closed the door after him, you spoke.
"I hear they call you Ghost."
He sighed.
"They do." He paused, but didn't look at you. "Did something happen?" as if he could feel it. You stepped toward the fire.
"A vampire came to my door."
The air went just as still as him, and colder than the winter outside. You could feel the tension in his body from where you stood.
"When?" sharp and rough, with his eyes burning into yours. Vampires didn't make themselves known without reason.
"Over a fortnight ago, but he hasn't been back since. Though, I suspect he didn't go far." Ghost's jaw visibly tightened, and he began to look around the room as if looking for something.
"Did it hurt you?" he asked quietly. You let out a slow breath and walked toward him, making eye contact only for a moment before you began to lift his satchel off his shoulder and take off his cloak. As upset as you were at what happened, you couldn't bring yourself to be upset with him, especially when he inquired about your safety with such doe eyes. Ghost tensed up for a second, unused to such an intimate gesture, but he let you do it.
"It tried, but the pendant burned him."
Ghost only nodded as he let you help strip his armor off. He didn't seem surprised at the detail about the pendant. Once he was only down to his woolen tunic, pants, and socks, he stood silently by the fire and watched you prepare the stew that was cooking in the hearth pot. His eyes gleamed with something. Maybe comfort, or gratitude?
"Are you going to tell me your real name?" His chest stilled mid-breath. To him, his real name meant vulnerability. You were asking for the man beneath the armor.
"Simon."
You nodded and stirred the stew casually while he was drowning in his own inner turmoil.
"Okay, Simon. My name is Maximilian, but you can call me Max." Simon let the name stir around in his head for a moment. He thought is was a solid name, unassuming and unpretentious. This felt intimate to him. The sharing of names, real names, was not an exchange for people who were just passing through each other's lives. This meant permanence to him.
You ladled the stew into bowls and took them to the nearby table. Once you were both sat, you didn't linger in silence.
"Tell me about this pendant you gave me." Of course, Simon took his time answering. He first took a gingerly bite of his stew.
"Werewolf fang, enchanted by a witch."
"Why did you give it to me?" You found yourself staring at him again, taking in the enchanting details of his face. and he didn't seem bothered by it.
"Didn't want anything happening to you."
You felt a strange pang in your chest, a fluttering feeling in your gut. You had told yourself that warm food and a safe place to sleep were probably his motivation. Who wouldn't want to preserve that? But now, you had confirmation of what you had silently been hoping for. You found yourself relaxing in your chair for a moment before asking a harder question.
"Did you know I would be hunted down?" His grip on the spoon tightened visibly like he hated that question. You saw a flash of what looked like guilt on his face.
"I suspected. They like to follow my trail." So the pendant was not only a gift of gratitude, it was damage control. You felt like you should be angry, but you couldn't bring it upon yourself. You didn't think of yourself as collateral.
"I'm not one to hold a grudge."
He seemed relieved. He simply nodded again, but more as if he was trying to convince himself that you were telling the truth. He seemed even more relieved when you changed the subject.
"Were you successful while you were gone?" He took a bite before he answered this time, chewing slowly as if savoring the flavors.
"Found a nest of vampires. I killed two, but one of them got away."
You eyes met at his last statement, a silent agreement that the one who got away from him is likely the one who had assaulted you.
"I have a feeling he knows you're here." No answer after that, at least not immediately. Simon took the time to finish his meal before speaking again.
"I should stay close tonight," he stated. There was another pang in your chest.
"I'm sure all will be well," you assured as you got up and took the bowls. Simon watched you, but didn't help with the tidying. That felt too domestic for a man like him, but he did go around your cottage to make sure the door and windows were locked and secure, peering through the shutters. It was almost endearing. When you were done, you stood by the hearth to warm up. Simon sat on the floor beside you. He seemed almost comfortable now, less like a man intruding in your home.
You only looked down at him for a moment more before turning toward your bedroom.
"You can help yourself to anything if you should need it. Goodnight."
He nodded back to you. He felt your offer was strange, but he felt cared for. It was only after your bedroom door clicked shut that he grabbed one of your fur blankets and settled for the night.
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You woke at dawn and went into the main room to see Simon already awake. You cut a piece of bread.
"Were the pelts enough to keep you warm? It was especially warm last night." You saw the fox pelt you had gifted him draped over his shoulders.
"They were more than sufficient." The compliment on your craftsmanship made you smile. You began to put on your winter layers.
"I'm going out to hunt for fox or hare. You're welcome to accompany me." Before he even answered, Simon got up and began to put on his own extra clothing and grab his sword and sheath. He was never one to stay idle.
"I'll come."
When you were both fully insulated, you grabbed your bow and arrow and opened the door to step out into a foot of snow. Even with your face covering, you could feel your face begin to flush with the cold. Simon felt it too, but he was used to the feeling. He quietly fell into step beside you. Your and his eyes scanned the white landscape any sign of tracks or movement.
Once you found a good place to settle, you leaned against a tree and sat quietly, and Simon sat beside you. Your hands sat with the bow at a rested position, ready to draw at any moment. You whispered into the quiet, breath creating a cloud of warm fog.
"Do you hunt your own game frequently?"
"No," he said with a soft shake of his head, "never took to it. My father taught me how to butcher. My brother was the hunter of the family."
"Ah. A good trade to learn. I learned the basics of making pelts from my father before he passed, then I apprenticed with a master. I learned many things from him." You were quiet as you debated asking about his family, but just as you opened your mouth, you were interrupted by the sound of crunching snow. Both of you whipped your heads around to find the source, but instead of a fox, it was a different creature- the same one that showed up at your doorstep.
You and Simon both rose to your feet and turned toward the monster. Dark, shadowy features were stark against the white snow. Simon reacted before you could even think, stepping out in front of you, putting himself between you and the threat, his sword drawn from its scabbard with a sharp hiss of grinding metal. A low grunt came from his throat, almost primal.
You could feel your chest tighten. You internally cursed yourself for not having more foresight, for being so careless as to put yourselves out in the open. You took a few steps back, readying your bow as you began to watch the fight in front of you.
Simon made the first move, lunging forward toward the vampire. He directed an overhand slash toward it, and it landed between the shoulder and neck. You gasped at the sound of sliced flesh and crushed bone, watching dark blood begin to pour down its body and soak the snow beneath. What really made your stomach turn was not the gory sight before you, it was the fact that the vampire didn't even stumble. Watching the two fight was like witnessing two unstoppable forces collide.
You could feel your gut begin to churn. You began to stumble your way through the snow to get away from the path of destruction. They were both landing blows on each other, slinging blood every direction, but neither were backing down.
You were now away from them, not far enough to spare yourself of the details, but far enough to avoid becoming collateral damage. But you couldn't just stand by. You readied your bow, using all your weight to draw. All your experience hunting wild game proved useful as you took aim, your eye landing directly on the creature's body. You took in a deep breath, and with the exhale, you released the arrow.
it was a perfect shot, landing squarely where its heart would be. You felt proud of yourself in this moment. No, you couldn't be a burden on Simon and sit idly by while he fights.
The vampire's head turned quickly in your direction. There was no dismay, no pain or agony on its face- only fury. It firmly grasped the arrow and tore it from its sternum, flesh and bone going with it. You felt yourself about to retch, but you had no chance. It threw the arrow back at you, with the same power as you had produced but without the bow. Before you could comprehend what was happening, you felt a sharp pain in your abdomen. You looked down to see the arrow embedded in your flesh. Not too deep as to be fully buried, but enough to be stuck there by the arrowhead.
You groaned, eyes wide as you fell back. You were in shock, heart pounding and breathing too fast as you watched blood begin to soak your tunics and furs. You dragged yourself to the nearest tree, hiding yourself from the fight. You could hear it continue on, Simon's harsh assault on the vampire's body and the occasional groan when a blow was his human body. You tried to focus on something other than the fight and the blood pooling on your clothes, but it was impossible. Hunting and skinning an animal was nothing like seeing someone get killed or having an arrow in your stomach.
You stayed this way, but you were unaware of how long. Every second seemed to drag by so slowly. It was only when the forest went silent that you first stilled, and then you slowly turned to see around the tree. What you saw was the vampire's body laying limp in the red snow beneath it, but its head was detached, decapitated, laying several feet away from its body. And you saw Simon walking toward the body. No, not the body- walking toward the head. He stared down at the head for a moment before raising his foot off the ground and putting his weight on it. He then raised up his sword and drove it straight through, and that was your breaking point. The sound of breaking skull made you vomit, coughing up any acid and bile you had.
The sound of your retching made Simon snap out of whatever train of thought he was in. Once he saw the state of you, he put his sword back into his scabbard and ran over to where you sat. You heard him curse under his breath at first while his eyes raked over your body. Finally, he wrapped one arm around your waist and the other hooked your arm around his neck, and he hoisted you up with just his own strength. This was of no matter to you at this moment as he began to help you back to your cottage. You did your best to hold up as much of your own weight as you could, but found yourself useless in this endeavor.
When Simon finally got you back to your home, he quickly got you to lay by the hearth. He began to rummage through your things, every cabinet and chest, and he brought back a bowl of water and rags. He gently grabbed your face, making you look at him. When your eyes met his, you felt more grounded. You watched the sweat drip down his forehead, and in this moment, it was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. Your hand grabbed the one that rested upon your cheek and you did your best to listen to him as he spoke.
"Okay, it's alright, just listen. We've got to get this out of you." A desperate whine left your throat at the thought of him pulling out the arrow. It hurt going in, but you knew that now that the adrenaline had worn off, it would hurt even worse coming out. Your hand squeezed his, and you found yourself shaking your head.
"I can't, I can't do it." He shushed you.
"Yes, you know you can. You're better than that. Take a deep breath."
Your eyes widened but you took in a breath just in time for Simon to pull the arrow out quickly. You threw your head back as you let out a yelp. It felt like he tore your insides out, but when you looked down, there was nothing of the sort.
With quick hands, Simon began to take off your pelts and tunics. You let him do as he needed since you didn't have the willpower to do it for him. Once your layers were gone, he took one of the rags and put pressure on your wound. As much as it hurt, it was leagues more tolerable than the arrow coming out. Then, he wet another rag and started to clean your chest and stomach of smeared blood. Everything now seemed to slow down again. You watched Simon's hands work, and when you looked up at his face, it was filled with focus and concern.
He ended up dressing the wound with some old cloth. You let your hands drop onto the floor by your sides, exhausted. Your chest was still heaving from the pain, but things felt more controlled now. When you finally could center yourself and think more clearly, you still found yourself looking at him. You felt too many things to describe, but one thing you could figure out was the guilt. You swallowed hard to try and alleviate your dry mouth, then spoke with a gravelly timbre.
"I'm sorry."
He finally looked you in the eye after this whole time, and when he did, you didn't see anger, you saw something more akin to sadness.
"Don't do that." You didn't have the energy to argue with him as your eyelids began to feel heavy. He pulled a fur blanket over you, paying special attention to make sure it wasn't heavy on or irritating your wound, then sat next to where you lay. As you drifted off, you could've sworn he had his eyes on you.
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You slept a lot during this time. The next time you woke up, it was pitch black outside, the only light being the dim fire you laid in front of. As you stirred, Simon grabbed a cup of water and some of your bread. You tried to sit up by yourself, but fell back. He moved himself behind you, holding you to sit up with his own body as he held the bread and water to your mouth. You were feeling exhausted, and in any other context, you'd feel that this is much more intimate. Your curiosity was a greater force than your pain.
"Why do they call you Ghost?" Simon seemed surprised, less by the question than the fact that you were using your limited stamina to speak. He sighed, but not in annoyance, more like reminiscence.
"Friend gave me the name. A witch." He seemed surprised again that this answer seemingly satisfied you, or perhaps you were just too tired to keep yourself awake to ask more.
This cycle of waking and sleeping continued for almost two days, but the latest time you woke up, you felt different. You were shaking. Not just a shiver, but fully shaking even though you laid in front of the hearth. You felt sweat dripping down your face and body, and when you tried to move, you realized that you're in agony. Your abdomen felt like it was on fire, burning and tearing through skin. You could barely see through the tears, so you began searching for something, anything, with your hands, and ended up finding an ankle. Simon was jolted awake out of his rare sleep to the most pathetic, sickly version of you he was sure he'd ever see. He quickly moved to you and let his hand rest on your face. His brows furrowed at the heat radiating from your skin
He scooped his arms under you to carry you to your bed, getting you away from the heat of the fire. Snuggly in your bed, you looked up at him through your teary, tired eyes- the ones that said "I don't want to die, Simon." It was heart-wrenching for him.
"Stay right here, don't move. I'll go into the city to get medicine." He made his way to the door, but not before giving one more glance in your direction at your shaking figure.
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The trip to the city was not enjoyable, to say the least. It was below freezing temperatures outside, and the walk to the city gates was two miles. But Simon knew he had to be back soon.
Navigating the city was a better affair. If there was one advantage to his work, it was that he knew exactly where to find who and what he wanted. He went straight to the witches' tavern, ignoring the lingering eyes and faint whispers, to find the very same witch that had given him his name, one he knew he could always rely on in a dire situation. Moreover, he now owed her a very, very big favor.
When he finally made it back to the cottage, he threw open the door, tore off his cloak, and went straight to you. He got on his knees next to your bed and pulled two bottles from his satchel. You felt a cold hand on your glistening face as he brought one of the bottles to your lips- the one from the witch.
"Drink it. This one will heal you." It tasted foreign, something familiar but you're not able to describe. He brought the next bottle to you. "This one will take the pain away." That one was actually familiar- opium and hemlock. You knew you wouldn't be lucid for much longer.
"Please stay?" He froze for a moment, his eyes searching yours for something he couldn't even quite name.
"I was never going to leave."
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The next time you woke, you were expecting pain, shaking, and dread, but it never came. You felt worn down and tired, but you didn't hurt and you didn't shake. You instinctively put your hand over your stomach, where the cloths were, and you looked under them. All that was left was a scar. When you were finally sure you weren't dead, you realized that Simon was right beside you. He had fallen asleep on his knees with his head resting on the edge of your bed. You gently put your hand on his shoulder to wake him.
Simon woke with a start, but was pleasantly surprised to see it was you. As you looked into his eyes, you saw pure relief, like he was going to be brought to tears. You smiled and let out a quiet laugh.
"Simon. Thank you for saving me. Thank you for helping me." He leaned closer to you, eyes raking over you, especially where your wound was, as if trying to make sure this was real. His voice was gentle when he finally spoke to you.
"I will always help you."
You couldn't help but let out a grateful, tired laugh, and without really thinking, you pulled him into a tight hug. You felt Simon's hands hovering over you, as if he didn't know exactly what to do, but the rest of his body seemed to relax into it.
You began to pull away, but stopped when your faces were only mere inches away, like you were trapped by each other's gazes. You stayed that way for what felt like hours, simply studying each other's faces. Finally, you leaned closer into him until your lips were just brushing his.
At first, Simon didn't move, he just let you softly kiss him, like he was giving you time to change your mind and pull away. But when you didn't, he finally gave in to his own desire. He leaned into the kiss. His hands came up to rest on your waist and jaw, while yours found his neck, running through his hair.
Simon kissed you like he had been dreaming of it since he met you. He slowly stood from his crouch only to lean over you on your bed, and his knee came to rest beside your legs. You opened your mouth, giving him allowance to deepen the kiss. The meeting of tongues encompassed just how much this moment had been dreamt about.
When you finally broke the kiss, you still stayed close enough to brush your lips across his cheek as you whispered to him. The soft warmth of his skin radiated to your lips.
"Simon?" He dragged his nose against your soft skin and stubble while his fingers grazed freely against you.
"Yes, love?"
"Promise you'll always come back here every time you leave?" He hummed against your skin, the rumbling vibrations of his chest giving you goosebumps. He gave your cheekbone a chaste kiss before he spoke.
"I'd never go anywhere else."
OKAY its finally done. let me know if you liked it and if you want some smut to go with it.
