NOTE: yes this was inspired by short king Napoleon and his yearning for his wife, bc every woman deserves that much love. I was originally gonna make this about Choso but I started to miss my blue eyed king. Anyways I kinda love how this turned out, giggling and kicking my feet in the air as I was typing this out LMAO.
From the Muddy Trenches of the Northern Front:
My Dearest, My Only Soul,
I have not seen your face in three weeks, and already I am convinced that the sun has forgotten how to shine. This wretched northern border is nothing but gray skies, ceaseless rain, and mud that threatens to swallow my boots whole. Nanami tells me I am being dramatic. I told him he lacks a soul, which is why his armor always looks so perfectly polished while mine is caked in grime.
They call us the realmâs greatest defense, but what good is being the strongest knight in the kingdom if I cannot even hold my wife? I spent the afternoon pretending to listen to Shoko discuss supply lines, but in truth, I was only remembering the way you laughed when I dropped that entire tray of pastries last month.
The campaign is tedious. The enemy forces are stubborn, but they are no match for us; we will break their lines soon enough. Yet, victory means nothing if it keeps me from your side. I wake up in the dead of night, reaching for you, only to grasp cold canvas and the smell of wet wool. It is a cruel torture.
Write to me instantly. Tell me you miss me. Tell me you are wasting away without me, just as I am without you. If a letter from you does not arrive by the next courier, I might just ride back through the enemy lines myself, consequences be damned.
Ever and completely your devoted husband,
Satoru
â
From the Comfort of the Hearth:
My Dearest Satoru,
Your letter arrived soaked in rain and smelling faintly of wet dog, though I suppose I must blame the courierâs pouch for the latter.
You are being entirely dramatic, my love. Nanami, as usual, possesses the soundest mind in your entire regiment. You have been gone for less than a month, yet your letter reads as though you have been exiled to the ends of the earth for a decade. Pray do not ride back through enemy lines; I would rather not have to explain to the King that his star knight abandoned the vanguard because he was lonely.
The manor is quiet without you, it is true. I do not have to hide the sweets from your voracious appetite, and the floors remain remarkably clean without your muddy boots tracking through the halls. However, the bed is indeed too large and too cold without you stretching across the entirety of it.
Do your duty, protect your men, protect me, and listen to Shoko. You are the strongest knight the realm has ever seenâyou will be perfectly fine. Stop picking fights with your commanders and focus on bringing yourself home in one piece.
With all my love,
Your wife
â
From a Command Tent, Past Midnight:
To the Cruelest Woman in the Kingdom,
How can you be so terribly reasonable when my heart is breaking? I read your letter by the light of a dying candle, hoping for words of desperate yearning, and instead, you praise Nanami and celebrate the cleanliness of our floors! You wound me deeper than any sword ever could.
We had a skirmish today. It was a decisive victory, of course. I shattered their vanguard with a single charge. Everyone cheered, the others wept with so much relief you would think I delivered their wifeâs babe, and all I could think was: I wonder if she is reading in the garden right now.
I am bored, my sweet. Miserably, terribly bored. The strategy meetings are an exercise in listening to old men drone on about maps, and I am tempted to set the next map on fire just for some excitement. The only thing keeping me sane is the ribbon you tied around my hilt before I left. I press it to my lips before every battle. Arenât I incredibly romantic.
Do not tell me I will be fine. I am a man dying of thirst in a desert, and your letters are the only drops of water I receive. Tell me you wept when you read my last letter. Lie to me if you must! Just tell me you want me home tomorrow and I will make it happen. Please.
Your miserable, adoration-sick husband,
Satoru
â
From the Sunlit Garden:
Satoru,
If you set fire to the war maps, I will personally ensure you are banned from the kitchens for a year upon your return. Do not try me.
I did not weep when I read your letter, but I did smile so fiercely that the maid asked if I had received good news. You are a terror on the battlefield and a child in your correspondence. It is a wonder the kingdom sleeps soundly knowing its grand protector is currently pouting in a tent because his wife told him to be sensible.
The spring flowers are beginning to bloom in the courtyard. The blue ones remind me of your eyesâthough the flowers are much quieter and far less demanding of my attention.
You speak of thirst, Satoru, yet you forget that I am holding the well. Win this war. Secure the borders so that no more husbands have to march away into the rain. I know the burden you carry, even if you mask it with complaints and theatrics. You will hold the line, because you are Satoru Gojo, and you will come back to me because I expect nothing less.
Take care of yourself. My heart is with you, always. And do not talk about delivering babes anymore.
Your loving wife,
Who loves you
â
Dusk on the Northern Front:
My Sweet, My Salvation,
Tomorrow we march for the enemyâs main stronghold. The others say it will be the bloodiest clash of the entire campaign, the one that decides the fate of the borders. How poetic old men can be. The others are tense, sharpening their blades in a silence so thick you could cut it with a knife. And here I am with a quill and ink.
But I am not worried. In fact, I am practically vibrating with impatience. The sooner I break their gates, the sooner I can leave this miserable, sodden north behind and fly back to your arms.
I have your latest letter tucked safely beneath my breastplate, right against my heart. Your scoldings are the finest armor I possess. You told me to win this war and secure the borders, and so I shall. Do you remember our wedding vows? I will give you a victory so absolute that the King will have no choice but to grant me a permanent leave of absence to do nothing but follow you around the manor like a stray dog.
Expect my next letter within the week, my love. Once the stronghold falls, I will send a courier with the news of our triumph. Hold the well for me just a little longer.
Your fiercely devoted, forever husband,
Satoru
â
From the Manor, Seven Days Later:
Satoru,
The week has passed. The official royal couriers arrived in the capital this morning with tidings of a glorious victory at the northern stronghold. The bells are ringing across the city, and everyone is celebrating the end of the war.
Yet, there was no private rider bearing your coat of arms.
I know the aftermath of a siege is chaotic, and I know you must be buried under administrative duties and the demands of the Kingâs generals. I am trying to listen to my own advice and remain sensible. Geto would tell me you are simply being careless, and Shoko would tell me you are sleeping off the exhaustion.
But please, Satoru. Just a single line. Write to me to tell me you are whole.
With all my love and a growing impatience,
Your worried wife
â
From the Manor, Three Days Later:
Satoru,
Ten days now. Still nothing.
I have asked the garrison commander in town if any news of casualties has been held back, but he assures me the list was complete and your name was spectacularly absent. He looked at me with pity, assuming I am merely an anxious wife. Iâll have him butchered the next time I see him.
They do not know you like I do. You are too arrogant to fall in battle, which leaves only two possibilities: either you are gravely injured and hiding it from me, or you are being entirely thoughtless.
The blue flowers in the garden have fully bloomed now. I sit by them every afternoon, waiting for the sound of hooves on the cobblestone driveway.
If this is a jest, Satoru, or some twisted way of getting me to admit how desperately I miss you, it is not amusing. Consider it admitted. I miss you terribly. The manor is too quiet, the bed is too cold, and I am sick with worry. Write to me. Please.
Please again,
Your wife that misses you
â
From the Manor, Midnight:
Satoru,
I am writing this because I cannot sleep, and leaving my thoughts on paper is the only way to keep my mind from fracturing into a thousand terrors.
Where are you?
Even when you were surrounded by enemy forces, you found a way to smuggle out four pages of complaints about the mud and the soup. Now that the enemy is defeated, there is only silence. I have stopped pretending to be the reasonable, calm wife you accused me of being. I am terrified.
If you are alive, if you can hear the wind blowing south from the mountains, know that I am calling you home. Do not dare leave me alone in this world, Satoru Gojo. You promised me a victory, and I expect you to deliver it in person.
Please Satoru
â
Epilogue:
The ink on the eighth letter was barely dry when the heavy oak doors of the manor's study creaked open.
You didn't look up immediately, your eyes blurred with exhaustion and the dim candlelight. "I told the servants I was not to be disturbed untilâ"
"Not even for the grandest husband in the realm?"
The voice was rough, raspy from weeks of shouting commands and breathing in battlefield dust, but it was unmistakably his.
You dropped the quill, the black ink splattering across the pristine parchment and your nightgown as you stood up so fast your chair scraped violently against the floorboards.
Standing in the doorway was Satoru. He looked nothing like the pristine, untouchable knight who had marched away months ago. His silver hair was unruly, his cloak was torn and stained with blood, and travel-grime. His heavy armor was dented and scratched in half a dozen places. He looked exhausted, with dark shadows bruising the skin beneath his striking blue eyes.
But as his gaze locked onto yours, a familiar, blindingly arrogant grin broke across his face.
"I didn't write," he said, stepping into the room, his heavy boots thudding against the floor you had bragged about keeping clean. "Because a horse moves faster than a courier if you ride it into the ground. And I couldn't spend another second waiting for ink to dry."
You didn't care about the mud. You didn't care about the ruined letter. You crossed the room in a blur, throwing yourself against his chest. The cold, hard metal of his breastplate pressed into you, but beneath it, you could feel the frantic, heavy thudding of his heart.
Satoruâs arms wrapped around your waist, lifting you completely off your feet and burying his face into the crook of your neck. He held you with a desperate, crushing strength, inhaling the scent of you as if he were finally breathing real air after months of suffocating.
"I told you Iâd be fine," he murmured against your skin, a low, rumbling laugh vibrating through his chest, though his hands were trembling as he held you. "Did you doubt me for a second, my sweet?"
"You are an absolute monster," you whispered, gripping the fabric of his torn cloak, tears finally slipping down your cheeks. "I was frantic and sick with worry."
"I know," Satoru smiled, kissing away the tears as he finally set you down, his blue eyes burning with that familiar, intense adoration. "I met the courier on the road and took your other letters from him. You missed me. You admitted it in writing. Iâm keeping them forever. Iâve thought of framing them.â
Knight!Simon Riley x princess'maid!Reader âč àŁȘ Ë mdni (18+)
âč àŁȘ Ë request
cw: unprotected sex, creampie, cum eating, fluff. this is a part two to a request in which the reader is a black woman, so it is written with that in mind, although anyone can read it, it is also a part two but can be read as a standalone.
a/n: very short but I hope you love it...it has taken me a genuine eternity to get around to writing this and I am soso sorry about that!!
Moonlight spilled across the gravel paths and the rose bushes, turning the garden silver and soft. The air smelled like damp earth and blooming jasmine. You were pushed up against an oak tree, with your skirt bunched at your waist, breath quick with the kind of nervous excitement that only came from these secret escapades with Simon.
Simon, who was currently fucking you from behind, held you pressed against the oak, the rough bark scraping your cleavage and scratching your soft skin with every thrust. You were sure he would apologize the moment he noticed a scrape, but the mere thought of him leaving marks on you was enough to make you gush around him. The ripped linen, and the faint scratches, were the only reminders of him you could carry throughout your day.
Simonâs voice vibrated against the side of your neck as he pinned you harder against the oak, his armored knee nudging your thighs wider. "Fuckâlook at you," he hissed, his palm scorching hot where it gripped your waist. "Taking me like you were made for it."
You whined, the sound pitiful even to your own ears, but Simon only chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder before sinking his teeth in. The bite stung, the pain was sharp enough to make your cunt clamp around him.
"Gonna squeeze me dry like that, sweetheart" His hand slid down your belly, callouses dragging over thin linen, dipping beneath your bunched up skirts before his fingers found your clit. He was not much of a talker during sex, so whenever he let out more than a choked groan you shuddered.
"Please⊠pleaseâŠ" You couldn't find the words, could hardly think past the way he was teasing you, his fingers moving in maddening circles over your sensitive flesh, the way his thick cock drove in and out of you. There was no one within earshot but the thought, the memory of the guards patrolling the castle walls earlier sent an undeniable thrill through you.
"Please what, sweet girl?" Simonâs grip on your hip tightened as he drove into you harder, his breath hot against the nape of your neck, against the side of your face, your shoulder. Your hands shot up to grab the tree in an attempt to focus, the oak bark scraped your palms, the sting nothing compared to the way his thick cock stretched you just right, filling you completely with every rough thrust.
You whimpered, high and desperate, but Simon only growled, his teeth grazing your shoulder. "Fuckâso good, Si." you muttered, your voice raw, wrecked and messy just the way he liked you, just like him.
And god, that was the thing about Simon. He wasnât smooth. Wasnât poetic. He was real, all rough hands and sharp glares, his love showed in the way his fingers trembled when they brushed your skin after filling you up, in the way he looked at you like you were the only thing keeping him grounded.
His thrusts became erratic, his touch less careful with you, fingers gripping harder, hips pushing and hands pulling you every which way. You choked on his name as pleasure coiled tightâtoo tightâbefore snapping, your orgasm crashing through you like a wave. Simon groaned, his hips stuttering as he followed, burying himself deep in your soft cunt with a groan.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the weight of his body against yours, his hot cum dripping down your thighs, and the rapid thud of his heart against your back as a reminder that this battle worn knight, this hardened man, loved you fiercely.
He pulled out of you and watched as his spend dripped down from your hole onto your thighs, sticky and messy, before he knelt down between your legs and cleaned it up with his tongue. He pressed kisses as he made his way up to your cunt, flattening his tongue to lap up the thick globs of cum from your body. Once he was satisfied with his work, he pressed a kiss to your thigh before he got up, finally allowing you to turn around, to see his flushed cheeks and beautiful eyes.
His eyes scanned your body for injuries, your face for discomfort, and when he found you were safe and sound he pressed his lips to yours, allowing you to taste a mix of his and your juices. "'m sorry I was harsh, lovie," he spoke between kisses. "did so good for me...love you s' much." His hands, so capable of violence, cradled you with heartbreaking gentleness as he pressed his lips to your forehead.
synopsis: Your husband proves he is perfectly fine.
requested: Dangerous army general (knight) Taehyung, feared by everyone in the kingdom for his fearless, bold, expressionless handsome face, a manly man who reeks of testosterone but soft just for oc (healer), his wife - kind, soft, and oh so feminine, mature lady. Their sex - rough but soft. I hope you are getting it bc being rough is his nature, but soft is his love for her that breaks his rough nature.
warnings: mdni, 18+, dark knight! Taehyung, healer! reader, husband! Taehyung, wife! Reader, mention of war, mention of battle, fingering, semi-public, bathtub, desk, bed, slight mating press, cream pie, unprotected, Taehyung is down bad, he just shows it weirdly, kth is big wdym, etc.
wc: 3.5k+
A/N: First time writing knight trope, kind of nervous - it's not historically accurate, but it's my world, and you're just living in it lmao I hope you enjoy
[BE VERY AWARE, SMUT BELOW THE 'KEEP READING' TAG]
You know the battle is over, and your husband is coming home because the bodies stop showing up.
Men fighting the wrong side of the war and encountering your husband or your husbandâs men, are wounded and captured and sent straight to you like itâs a courting gift. And after they pledge to the rightful crown, youâre the one who steps in to heal them.Â
They tremble even with your soft touches, and it isn't until one of your assistants is helping you rebandage a wound that they realize who you are married to. Their eyes widen, fear crossing their features as they shake at the mere mention of your lover.
And for good reason.
Your husband struck fear into many on the battlefield, his eyes hooded and dark like the armor he wore. He was without mercy, the last thing you may see before he swung his sword. And the only reason the men who came across him were given the graciousness of living another day was because of you.
You, his wife, were the complete opposite of him. His hands were rough, scarred, hands meant for death, while yours were soft, gentle, hands meant for healing the world he was trained to destroy.
It was also why you were in this medic tent, only miles from where the battle was taking place.
You were the best healer of your kingdom, a title passed down generations in your bloodline. Some may call it a gift, the way you were trained to stitch up even the worst situation. And others just figured you were favored, but either way, people flocked to be seen by you, to be healed from their aches and pains. And it was your king who had asked you to be here during the war.
War wasn't a place for a woman. To be surrounded by so much death and blood. But you and the people who helped you were as crucial a part in winning this war as your husband was.
Not that Taehyung was pleased by that.
As an army general, the highest-ranking knight, Taehyung's shoulders carried the weight of fighting for his people, for his king, but most of all, for you. And it's why when severely wounded men were brought into your medical tent, lips chapped, struggling to breathe, they knew to tell you, even if it may be their last breath, that your husband loves you.
It sounds morbid, and it is, the way you tried to heal while a man blabbered, "he says he holds you in his mind always!" The man's teeth chatter, and the words swirl around your mind as you try to placate him from the adrenaline racing in his veins.
"Sir, please lie down."
"Says he will come for you!" The haunted eyes swam with fear, like his only choice was death or playing messenger that allowed him to see another day.
"Sir-"
It was an endless cycle of men wounded and shaking, grabbing onto you like a lifeline and playing as pigeons with scrolls relaying your husband's words to you.
And that's why after another long day of trying to mend the broken, you're pissed. Everyone knows whether you're wounded or not, you come to the medic tent to be seen and cleared. Everyone. No exceptions. And yet, your husband does not come.
You know better than to fear the impossible, that he may be one of the fallen. That he doesn't mean to break his promise of coming home to you.
It leaves you in a slight panic. Your mind swirling with the unthinkable as you set your shoulders back, your jaw clenching as you marched to a specific tent. His tent is one of a thousand tents in the encampment. And the one Taehyung gets to call home was one of the bigger ones, a luxury, given his higher rank and command. And as his wife, you were graced with the privilege of sharing it with your husband.
Your eyes narrow when it comes into view. A white tent dirtied by mud, secured by rope, and patrolled by foot soldiers dressed in full armor.
Your makeshift home is in the middle of the encampment, protected by many smaller ones that housed ten to twelve soldiers each, and it was guarded twenty-four hours a day. It was another thing to add to your list of annoyances, including that you'd give up your tent if it meant your people would be better off.
As you think this, you still acknowledge the foot soldiers guarding your tent with a smile, nodding your head in greeting as they stand more at attention. "My husband." You don't ask, but your voice is soft like the fur blankets provided during the winter, your only concern being to verify with your own eyes that your husband is inside and alive.
"M'lady," the soldier on the left bows his head, and you're close to just shoving past them. "Sir Kim is inside."
Oh, thank the king.
"Thank you," you flash another charming smile and give them a look soon after, "when you are done here - remember to be checked before supper."
A chorus of "yes, m'lady" rings in your ears as you move the flap of your tent back and step inside before letting it fall into place behind you.
The inside of your tent is cozy. Rugs are layered on the floor, a bed with furs was to your left, a wooden desk was to your right that held miniatures of battle strategies you did not understand, and a bathtub was in the back. It was all the privileges of your husband's rank, and you had done your best to make it a home while you both were far from your actual one.
You had watched endless nights of Taehyung leaning on the desk, going over battle tactics until the sunlight rose once more. You had given up nearly the rest of the furniture you were previously provided to the other soldiers who needed it more, and you tried not to dwell on the fact that you got to go to sleep in a bed and not in a cot like many others.
And out of habit, you slipped off your shoes barely two feet inside before your eyes met your husband's.
Taehyung stood tall in the middle of the room, fully in armor, beside the sword and shield he had left next to the desk. His hair was wavy, falling in front of his piercing eyes as he took his time taking off his armor piece by piece. He had already removed his helmet and pauldrons, moving onto his breastplate as you watched.
"You didn't get checked out." You don't greet him; instead, you close the distance between you two and help him unbuckle the straps at his waist, your eyebrows furrowing as you do.
"I didn't need to." His words are blunt and to the point, and you step back as he removes his shin guards with expertise. He's left in mail and padding, his shoulders broad, his waist lean as he gives you a look that asks for a challenge. And when you don't speak right away, he continues to strip, shedding all of his clothes until he is naked.
Years of training in the knighthood, in guarding the king and his subjects, had made your husband strong. His body is sculpted in ridges and lines like marble, near perfection, but you may be biased in that regard. He barely glances at you before turning on his heel and heading towards the bathtub, making you bristle with renewed anger.
From where you stood, you could see the steam spiraling up from the tub, and you knew it had been freshly filled with steaming hot water just for your husband. "Do not walk away from me, I'm not done talking to you." You huffed, following your husband as he stepped inside the tub, sinking into it until the water reached just under his chest. His arms hung around the rim, his head tilting back as he gave you another look.
"I'm fine." The two words send you over your boiling point, and your hands go to your hips as you scold him.
"Only someone careless would say such a thing! This is why everyone gets checked over; you are not the exception, Kim Taehyung." Each word you hiss brings you closer to him, and the amused smirk he gives you does nothing to calm your nerves.
"Woman, I said I am fine." Only you would ever be allowed to speak to him as you have. And normally, even if that was true, you never did. You were always soft and kind, the support he didn't know he needed until you were brought into his life.
But that doesn't stop you from telling him off when needed, which was now.
"Fine? Your armor is covered in blood. Am I to assume it's not entirely yours? That you weren't harmed at all?" You rant, and Taehyung follows your movements with sharp eyes. He watches the way your eyebrows pinch in frustration, your hands waving about as you point a finger at him.
In all honesty, he was going to see you. But one of the stewards had informed him that they had prepped a hot bath for him, and his aching muscles screamed for that more than his mind debated checking on the wounded brought to you. It was entirely selfish, and he knew that, but a little part of him would rather just be looked at by you in private anyway.
So, that's why he doesn't hesitate. While you rant at him, his arms reach out for you. He grabs you by the waist, and in less than three seconds, you're straddling his hips, your bottom half soaked by water as you gasp in shock. "Taehyung!" Your hands instinctively rest on your husband's shoulders for balance as he tilts his head back more with a wolfish grin. "I am still clothed!"
"And I told you, I'm fine." He murmured low and sure. His large hands held your waist, keeping you anchored over his lap, and it caused your cheeks to flush in color. "Do you want me to show you just how fine I am?" He asks you with a small eyebrow raised, a voiced challenge as one of his hands slides under the water line.
His calloused fingertips glide down your waist, then your thigh, until he reaches under your wet dress, and up to your pretty pussy. And that's when he shows a little teeth while smirking, his hand cupping your pretty cunt as your thighs tense. He watches you from under hooded eyes, waiting for you to stop him, knowing you won't.
You are acutely aware that your husband is naked underneath you, his cock swelling and pressing into your thigh as his fingers brush over the fabric separating you from him. You are also acutely aware that soldiers are guarding right outside, and you weren't hidden behind walls but merely in a thin tent. "Taehyung, people are outside."
Your warning falls on deaf ears as Taehyung relaxes further, his fingers gliding up your covered puffy folds until his fingers dip further to press into your pretty clit.
The moment he does, your thighs spread more out of instinct, your arms giving out as your chest melts into his. Your hand comes to the back of Taehyung's head, your fingers curling into his hair as he drawls rough, sloppy hearts into the sensitive nub between your swollen folds with a cocky grin. "Am I supposed to care?" His voice is low in your ear, his lips brushing your earlobe as he continues to make you dizzy with his touch.
"Someone will hear," you whimper, and Taehyung slips his other hand between you two. His knuckles brush your inner thighs before you feel him tear the little fabric covering your sweet pussy from him. It makes you gasp at his strength and audacity to be impatient as his fingers spread your folds apart, giving him more room to play with your pretty pussy.
Taehyung takes. He doesn't ask. His life was meant to serve in everything he does. And he takes the most pleasure not serving his people, or his king, but you - his pretty wife.
"Let them hear you. Let them know who makes you feel this good," Taehyung demands, and two of his fingers sink into your cunt in one smooth plunge. His fingers curl deep, stretching your gummy walls as his other hand grabs your chin, pulling your head back to look at him as his fingertips find the soft, spongy spot inside you with ease.
He pulls you into a rough kiss, swallowing your whimpers as he abuses the tender spot over and over again, working you open as you lay your hands on his chest for stability. The water in the tub ripples with the movement of his arm between your plush thighs, and his tongue coaxes your mouth open to deepen the kiss, stealing your breath as heat pools in your lower stomach with each stretch of his thick fingers. He had you melting in mere minutes, your mind swirling as he added another finger to your cunt.
"My love," your mewl is said across his lips, and he groans low in response. You were rocking your hips, riding his fingers almost shyly as your cheeks flushed a deeper color.
If you thought you were dizzy from his touch, nothing compares to how he feels when you make such sweet noises on top of him.
Kim Taehyung was a fierce warrior, death incarnate on the battlefield. People parted from him like the Red Sea, cowering at just a mention of his name, but not you. You were his everything.
The sun rose and fell for you in his mind, and his heart was always going to be yours. So, when you hold onto him tighter, your thighs quivering as he stuffs you deliciously with his fingers, he gives you no mercy - just like he was trained to do in everything in his life.
When you cum, it's with a cry of his name, your gummy walls milking his fingers like it was his cock as you shiver in his lap from the pleasure. His fingers never stop moving, fucking you through your orgasm as his other arm holds you to him, forcing you to ride it out as he rubs your clit into sensitivity.
You're boneless when he finally slips his fingers from your fluttering hole, the water in the tub has grown cold as he strips your dress from your pliant body, letting the wet fabric puddle over the side of the tub.
"You believe I am fine, now?" Taehyung asks as he lifts you, making you cling to his wet body as he carries you out of the bathtub with ease. "Or should I convince you some more? Hmm?"
You can barely recover, processing his words too late when he sets you down, bending you over his desk. Your body is slick with water droplets rolling down your legs, your wet skin staining the map laid out on the wooden desk as Taehyung stands behind you. He holds you in place with one hand on your hip as he guides his thick cock to your weeping cunt, gliding his fat tip between your puffy folds.
He doesn't warn you. He doesn't go slow. He takes you in one swift movement, bullying his cock inside you as he did on your wedding night, stretching you open until your jaw slacks and your eyes roll to the back of your head.
When he reaches the back of your sweet pussy, the head of his cock greets your soft cervix with a filthy kiss, and he drapes his body over yours until his lips are by your ear. "Wives shouldn't fight their husbands." You can feel his smirk, his teeth nipping your earlobe before he holds the back of your neck, keeping you in place as he slides almost all the way out.
He sets a brutal pace, filling you balls deep with each thrust, knocking your hips into the wooden desk as the miniatures rattle, falling over from the force of his hips smacking into your ass.
The room fills with the lewd sounds of his cock pounding into your dripping cunt, making you squelch around his thick shaft as you moan so sweetly for him. He pushes the noises from you, sliding in deeper with each thrust as your fingers curled around the desk for support.
"Not too worried about anyone hearing you now, huh?" He murmurs low enough for just you to hear, and your pussy throbs around him in response.
He feels too good, molding you to his cock as he forces you onto your tiptoes. And your pussy tells him just that when you happily suck him deeper, making it harder for him to leave you, not that he ever wanted to in the first place.
Taehyung's teeth gritted, and his jaw clenched as your whines grew louder. He knew the two foot soldiers in the front had to hear you by now, and it only made his stomach flex, heat pooling low enough that his balls tensed in warning.
But he wasn't going to cum first, not if he had anything to do with it. And much to your impending orgasms' displeasure, he slips from your weeping cunt with a growl, flipping you around until you are facing him. "You don't get to cum unless you're looking at me, just me. Only me."
And then he's lifting you again, carrying you to the bed with his hard cock pressed against your sweet pussy. He lies you down on the furs, pushing your legs up until your cunt is on full display for him, and giving him the perfect angle to fill you up again. He uses his weight to fuck you hard and slow, smacking into your G-spot with each pound of his hips against the back of your thighs.
The primal need to get you to the edge, milking his cock while looking at him, burns hot in his chest. He doesn't tell you to be safe or kiss you goodbye before heading into battle; he doesn't tell you sweet nothings in your ear when you go to sleep with him. He doesn't know how to say I love you out loud.
But he knows how to show you.
He shows you by surviving another day and coming home to you. He shows you by winning every tournament in your honor, caring for the land he wins for you, and keeping you safe.
And he shows you his love for you when he gets you cumming on his fingers, his tongue, and his dick until your eyes are glossy like the way you coat his cock with your sweet arousal.
Your cunt flutters when he leans over you, his face inches away from yours as he keeps eye contact with you. His one hand pushes your knee up, keeping you open for him as his other hand finds your clit, and it's like your wedding night all over again.
His hips roll deep and hard, pushing soft gasps from your pretty lips as he rubs sloppy hearts into your little nub, pulling you closer to the edge as he watches ardently. He doesn't say I love you; instead, he makes you cum so hard your eyes water.
Your mouth drops in a silent scream, the breath leaving your lungs while your body locks up underneath him as you cum. Your pussy gushes hot and wet all over his cock, milking him with each flutter of your gummy walls as he keeps fucking you, prolonging your high until your legs quiver in ecstasy.
And when your pretty pussy creams a filthy ring around his cock, his head finally dips, falling into the crook of your neck as your ears ring in the aftershocks.
You can feel his breath hitch, his fingers dimpling into the fat of your thigh as he presses his hips into your ass urgently. His cock swells, twitching deep inside you when he finds his orgasm shortly after yours finishes. And he keeps his face hidden as he cums, rope after rope of his white gooey seed filling your pussy to the brim as he groans softly in your ear.
It's the hottest thing, feeling such a powerful man shudder on top of you, stuffing you full of his cum, and it makes your pussy flutter again, milking every last drop until he is mindlessly fucking it deeper inside you.
When he finally leans back onto his knees, he slides from your cunt gently, watching his cum seep from your puffy folds and onto the furs with heavy eyelids. He watches how your legs stay parted, your breath coming up as pants, as you look up at him with stars in your hazy eyes.
Taehyung gives you a loving smirk, happy his wife is fucked out because of him, and speaks up. "Are you convinced, my wife? Or would you like me to use my tongue next?"
Knight!Simon who sees the way you stare after him, one of the queenâs waiting ladies. For some reason, despite your often messy appearance, she keeps you tucked close to her side almost all the time. Like the queen is afraid for you, wanting to keep you close and protected.
It makes no sense to Simon, who sees the way your arms flex when you carry out the laundry. The way youâre quick to snap at others like no other lady would, the way youâve busted more noses of lower servants than he can count when they tried to hurt another lady. The way you stare at the steel of swords and armor, a dark want in your eyes before you turn away. You keep your hair short- wrapped in silken shawls tight to your throat to hide your boyish length, he assumes. Your dresses are often much simpler, easier to ruck up and tuck into your belt when there are no men about.
Simon can taste it. Taste the man hidden beneath the dress, angry and bitter and gross.
So he corners you one night- when he knows youâre about to go off duty, in the dark hallways of the castle. He pins you to the wall by your throat- and very much unlike a lady, you viciously struggle. Yanking and loudly slamming your fists against his armor, kicking and spitting on his helmet. He glares down at you through the holes in the metal, licking his lips like heâs excited.
You think heâs going to hurt you- take your honor by force- but he doesnât. Instead, he leans down in your snarled face.
âWhy do you play pretend in that little dress?â He asks- rugged voice deep, scratchy from years of smoke heâs inhaled. Your foot- currently shoved against his hip, stops in its tracks.
âThe fuck are you talking about?â You growl, your silk shawl half undone- your shorn hair sticking out in an unseemly manner. Nothing like a waiting lady- or a woman, for that matter.
âYouâve got everyone fooled, but I see you. Why pretend to be this, boy? Hiding in silks when you should be in steel,â he grunts, and your face turns so flustered it makes his cock twitch beneath his suit.
âBecause Iâm a lady, ser. They donât let anything with a cunt in the ranks- thanks to fucking cocks like you!â you snarl back- fist coming up to collide with his helmet- hissing when he doesnât budge and your knuckles split.
âYou are no lady, cunt or not. I know a man when I see one,â Simon grunts, ripping down the collar of your dress- just like he thought. Your tits taped down, pressed flat. You look mortified, desperately trying to yank his hand off, your blood smearing against the metal of his glove. He can feel drool pooling against his tongue- the need to lap up the red liquid dripping from your hand.
âYou- you cannot tell anyone, ser- please! The queen- she has sworn to secrecy, you are sworn by your allegiance to her-â you start to beg, only for the man to laugh.
âYou think Iâd have you strung? Daft mutt. I want you in my guard,â he says it like itâs simple, matter of fact. You twitch, eyes wide as saucers. âWh- what? But- I am not trained-â
âIâll train you. Get you medicines to help your voice deepen- the Kingâs second in command. He is like you, thereâs more than you know. In exchange- let me have a taste of your little cunt. All I ask,â he says, laughing when you snarl and spit at him again.
âYou think I would exchange my purity for freedom?â You spit, a satisfied feeling in your belly settling at the sight of your spit making his eye twitch.
âCut the shit, boy. I know what you do in those ladies chambers, youâre no pure virgin. Servants talk, you know,â he grunts back- chuckling at the way your face visibly darkens with embarrassment.
â⊠do they speak of dissatisfaction?â
âThey speak of a tongue and cunt so sweet they feared theyâd never sleep with a man again. Funny thing, since you were a man after all,â Simonâs voice drops to a conspiratory whisper, making you growl.
âAnd how will you convince my queen to let me go?â You snap, shivering when the bridge of his helmet brushed against your nape.
âI have spoken with the king. Truly, my desire is not a necessary part of the deal. I just want to see if the rumors are true,â Simonâs voice is scratchy, soft and growled with a need. Your eyes catch his, that pitch black brown like a black hole sucking you in.
He was serious. Really serious. You could- be a knight. Discard these robes- tear off your shawl and never have to hike up your skirts again. And Simon, the ghost knight, wanted you to fuck him.
Your hand slowly came to wrap around his thick wrist, a new darkness pooling in your gut as you met his glare.
ââY gonna show me your teeth, boy?â Simonâs voice is rich with want, excitement burning in his core as he takes in the newfound certainty on your face.
âLift that stupid helmet and find out, old man,â you snarl back.
Simonâs free hand has never ripped off his helmet so fast in his entire life.
Summary: A masked knight stumbles into your village. You offer your help and a place to stay, which slowly blossoms into something more.
Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | Also on AO3! | Masterlist!
You were tending to your garden when a monster burst out of the forest.
He was enormous, with a skull for a face and a body full of scales. You startled, grabbing your shears to defend yourself, but as his shimmering form staggered forward, you came to your senses and realized that the scales were just chainmail. He was in full armor, winking silver in the daylight, and his breastplate engraved with the King's insignia.Â
Not a monster, then, but rather a knight. Likely injured, given his ragged breathing and the uneven sway of his gait.Â
You dropped the shears and leapt to your feet, sprinting to catch the knight before his legs buckled. Lowering him into the grass felt like trying to lay a boulder to rest, but you managed regardless, aided by the familiar rush of strength that always overtook your limbs in times of urgency.
âWhere are you hurt?â you asked, kneeling at his side to survey his body. His armor was scuffed yet devoid of bloodstains. Any number of maladies could be hiding beneathâcracked ribs or heat stroke, contusions or fever. You had a fix for most of them, but you couldnât work without proper examination first.
âBack off,â the knight groaned, weakly lifting a gloved hand. To swat you away, presumably, but he was so sluggish that you dodged it with ease.
You dipped your head low and peered into his black-rimmed eyes, the only part of his face heâd left uncovered. The skull was nothing more than bits of silver metal studded to dark fabric, giving the impression of bones.Â
Youâd never met this man before, but youâd heard enough stories over the years to recognize him. The masked knight, brutal and revered, a member of your King's most trusted Guard. Him and three valiant others, traversing distant lands and seas to fight for your Kingdom. He kept his face hidden from the world, the girls at the market had prattled, but they spoke of his handsomeness as an irrefutable truth. How could a man with such an alluring tale be anything less?
âSir Ghost,â you pleaded, testing the name youâd learned from the market girls, dodging another swipe of his paw. âIâm a midwife, and I have knowledge of medicine, but Iâm not a doctor. Iâm just a womanâI mean to say, I have no authority to cause you harm. Please let me help you.â
His gaze darted about, taking in what little he could of his surroundings while laid flat on the ground. You prayed that heâd catch sight of something that would lend your words some credibility, whether it was your stout cottage at the forestâs edge or the red raspberry plants youâd been pruning before his arrival.
âSomethinâ I drank,â he finally rasped. âPoison.â
âPoison,â you repeated. You looked over his body again, but there was no exposed skin to check for rashes or measure his pulse. âDo you know what kind?â
He managed a slight shake of his head, glaring at you all the while. You were too deep in thought to fully register his animosity. Given that he was still lucid, the dose couldnât have been too potent, but you needed to act quickly. You knew the antidotes for common poisons in your region, and you could just administer them all in hopes that one would take, but fetching them from your cottage would cost time you werenât sure you could spare.
You combed through the knowledge the previous midwife had imparted you with, a strong-willed woman who had also been your mother. Sheâd taught you medicine by spoken word alone, by having you recite her own sweeping principles instead of facts from dusty books. Sheâd insisted the finer details were intangible, that youâd pick them up with experience. If she were still around to guide you now, her instructions wouldâve been simple: if it shouldnât be there, remove it.
Swiftly, you repositioned yourself behind the knight, gripping the straps of his breastplate to hoist his head into your lap. You settled one hand on the back of his neck and scrabbled at his front with the other, searching for the edge of his mask. He thrashed in protest, attempting to knock you over with what little strength he had left. You braced yourself and held your position, even as his armor dug into your thighs, scraping over the thin cotton of your skirt.
âIâm sorry for this,â you said, as gently as you could manage. You yanked his mask upward, dislodging his metal skull. âI promise I wonât look.â
Except you did, just for a fraction of a second, to confirm that youâd exposed his mouth and the lower half of his nose. Then you screwed your eyes shut, willing your mind to forget the sight of him, blindly feeling around for his lips. You pressed two fingers against the seam of them, catching the bumpy edges of what you knew to be scar tissue.Â
His breath was hot on your skin. After a heavy moment of hesitation, he relented and opened his mouth for you.Â
You promptly shoved your fingers down his throat, twisting his head just in time for him to vomit into the grass.
***
Once the knight regained enough energy to sit, you hauled him up to his feet, draped one of his tree-trunk arms over your shoulders, and guided him to your home.Â
He collapsed in your bed with a pained sigh while you busied yourself with scouring your shelves, searching for the vial rack that held your antidotes. Youâd brewed them a month ago for the sake of refreshing your skills, another practice instilled in you by your mother. You were grateful for her now, grateful for her always.
âIâm sorry,â you said again, lifting his mask a second time to tip the contents of each vial down his throat. Fervently, you prayed that your treatment would prove effective, that the knight hadnât fallen victim to a poison you couldnât cure. Your village existed at the fringes of the Kingdom, and you couldnât begin to fathom how far youâd have to travel to find him help otherwise, or if youâd even have enough time to do so.
You quelled the anxiety the same way you handled stressful deliveries, by staying on your feet and keeping your hands productive. You brought him water in the only unchipped cup you ownedâthe earthenware was turning brittle, having been in your family for generationsâand a damp rag to wipe his mouth, pointedly looking away until you heard the rustle of fabric being tugged back down. Then you inspected him for a third time and fought back a laugh.
A living, breathing mountain of a knight, the first youâd ever seen in your lifetime, laying sick in your tiny bed. For a moment, you allowed yourself to wish that your brother still lived with you. He wouldâve been delighted with such a visitor, wouldâve attacked this strange man with a thousand curious questions at once, injured or not.
âYou must be uncomfortable, laying in your armor like that,â you said, crouching on the stone floor to level your gaze with his. If he were a regular patient, you wouldâve taken his hand as you spoke, but his glower alone was more than enough to deter you. âSir Ghost, may Iââ
âTouch the mask again and Iâll slit your throat,â he warned. His voice was drowsy, slurring at the edges, a sure sign of the medicine taking effect.
Slowly, you pulled the gauntlet off his massive right hand, oddly elated when he made no effort to resist. You felt his wrist for a pulseâthe rhythm consistent but harried, quicker than it shouldâve been. His skin was pale and scarred and shone with sweat. It was truly sweltering in here, with the combined heat of the summer day and two adult bodies jammed into a room meant for one.
âYouâre burning up,â you murmured, more to yourself than him. You set the gauntlet on the floor beside you, then reached for the other.
You carefully removed each item of his armor, fumbling with the complicated buckles and straps, feeling as though you were shelling a behemoth river crab. The knight was complacent as you worked, having drifted into a feverish sleep even as you jostled his body in your efforts. Beneath the armor, he wore a simple black tunic and pants, sweat-drenched and pulled taut over muscle. He smelled like itâd been some time since heâd last bathed, like sweat and dirt and leaves.
You fetched a second rag, dipped it in a bucket of cold wellwater, and ran it over all the bare skin you had access to. His hands and feet and collarbones, his eyelids and the visible sliver of neck between his mask and shirt. You wanted to do more, but not without receiving his permission, so you resigned yourself to waiting.
The sun had set a while ago, your only indication of how much time had passed. You scrounged up a hunk of stale bread and a handful of berries for dinner, eating at the old wooden table that doubled as your workstation. Then you fell asleep, slumped over in your chair while dazedly contemplating what youâd feed the knight once he was awake.
***
You rose at dawn. The knight was right where youâd left him, still asleep in your bed with his armor neatly arranged on the floor. His breathing was even and steady, his skin dry and warm. You checked his pulse again, relieved to find it slower.Â
There was no telling how long itâd take him to return to consciousness, so you went about your chores like usual. You tidied your workstation and drew more water from the well, tended to your garden and started a fire at your small outdoor hearth. You chopped vegetables for a simple stew, something for both of you to eat once he woke up. It wouldâve been nice if you had some meat to add, but you didnât want to venture all the way to the butcherâs in case he woke in your absence.
Around midmorning, you stepped into the very line of trees the knight had stumbled out of. You werenât sure what your objective was, but you felt compelled to follow the trail of footprints heâd left in the dirt, as if theyâd lead you back to wherever he came from.Â
Since childhood, youâd considered the forest sacred, wild and unruly and belonging to no individual. You loved the cool shade of the trees, the chatty birds and squirrels and hares, the clumps of wildflowers that bloomed each summer. Today, however, the beauty was marred by the sight of a broadsword abandoned in a patch of grass, right where the footsteps ended.
Your breath caught in your chest as you stared at it. Silver and sleek, undoubtedly belonging to the man in your cottage, the blade crusted over with a thick layer of dried blood. You were near the riverbank, but the rush of water was barely louder than the sound of your own heartbeat hammering in your ears. Why was such a violent weapon here, so close to where you lived, and whose blood was on the blade?
You lifted the sword with considerable effort, swallowing down your unease. It was more unwieldy than youâd expected it to be, clearly forged for someone significantly taller and stronger than yourself. You persisted regardless, lugging it all the way back home.
When you opened the door, you took two steps and came face-to-face with the knight. He loomed over you, deathly silent, poised like heâd been waiting for your return all this while.
âYouâre awake! How areââ
He took you by the throat and slammed you against the wall so harshly that your shelves rattled, followed by a short cacophony of glass shattering. The sword clattered to the floor as your hands flew to your neck, clawing at his grip. He pushed back harder, choking you with enough force to make your vision swim.
âStop,â you cried, flailing uselessly, kicking at his legs to no avail. âPleaseâplease, Sir Ghoââ
âHowâd you know who I am?â
âEveryâeveryone knows,â you wheezed. You dug your nails into his forearms, rewarded by the slightest release of pressure to take a single gasping breath. âThey tell stories ofâof you and the Guardâpleaseââ
He released you without warning. You collapsed to your knees, coughing and sputtering at his feet. Then he was the one crouching down to meet your gaze, except you were too busy reacquainting your lungs with the air to make sense of his sudden shift in behavior.
âDidnât realize I was so popular âround here.â
His voice was rougher than itâd been yesterday, no longer thin with sickness. The black around his eyes had rubbed away to a faint grey, revealing the pale, pinkish skin beneath. You sucked in another greedy breath and tentatively felt your neck, terrifyingly aware you were being watched. Your skin was tender, likely bruised.
âThe forest separates us from most of the Kingdom.â Each word made you wince, scratching your throat on its way out. âYouâd think people would be less interested in its happenings, but the distance only makes them even more curious. You could buy a loaf of bread with a good enough story.â
He leaned in even closer, settling one hand beside his fallen sword. âIs that what you were looking for? A good story?â
âI was just looking to help!â you yelped, scrambling back against the wall as his fingers curved around the handle. âI have no ill intentions, I promiseââ
âDunno if I can believe that,â he said. The blade looked natural against his frame, less like a weapon and more like an extension of his own limb. âAlready broke your first promise.â
You thought back to yesterday, when youâd briefly exposed his face to save him. The rising fear in your chest was replaced with a hot burst of indignation. Your floor was a mess, broken vials and discarded armor strewn about. Youâd toiled an entire day to save this man, had retrieved his sword for him while he slept in your bed, had imbued each of your actions with as much kindness and reverence as his status deserved. And then heâd nearly strangled you in your own home.
âAre you a fish?â you blurted out.Â
The knight went still. âWhat?â
âShow me where your gills are,â you snapped. This was becoming dangerous, but you couldnât bring yourself to stop speaking. âNext time Iâll help you drink from there instead. Our village has no doctorâeven if someone else found you, they still would've called on me to tend to you. Just look.â
You swept an arm out, inviting him to inspect the single room that held your entire life. The shelves along the wall, chock-full of herbal remedies and supplies; the blemished worktable with its mortar and pestle and two rickety chairs; the chest at the foot of your bed that held your scissors, linens, and what little valuables you owned; the birthing stool tucked away in the darkest corner of the room, draped in white cloth to protect the wood from insects and dust.
Except the cloth was askew, and one of the latches of your chest was undone. The shelves youâd spent hours upon hours organizing were haphazardly arranged at best. Had he gone through your things while you were out?
âAlready did,â he said gruffly, confirming your suspicion.
You gaped at him. âThen how comeâwhyâd you attack me?â
âHad to make sure.â Of what, he didnât say. He stood with his sword in hand, impassively peering down at you. âShould watch your tongue, girl. A mouth like thatâll get you in trouble.â
âAnd if I donât, Sir?â you asked. His words were unsettlingly familiar, reminding you of how your mother used to chide you for talking too much, for behaving too untoward. âWill you choke me again?â
He loudly exhaled through his nose. âI just might.â
***
You hadn't shared a meal with a man in ages. Ghost followed you outside, sitting opposite the hearth as you served him a bowl of stew and the last of your bread. Both of you were barefoot and quiet, the midday breeze a reprieve from the stuffiness of your cottage.
Ghost ate like he was afraid his food would grow two legs and run away. Heâd peeled back his mask just enough to reveal a strong jaw and lips bisected by a large pink scar, the same one youâd felt yesterday. You wouldâve found it endearing, had he not squeezed your neck so hard that it currently hurt to swallow.
âDo you know where youâll go next?â you asked, in lieu of asking how on earth heâd ended up in your tiny, backwater village. Youâd be lying if you said you werenât curious about him, attack notwithstanding, but you also knew better than to directly pry at political matters.
âCanât say,â he grumbled. You set your own bowl aside when you noticed his was empty, reaching for the pot over the hearth. âHave to wait âtil my Guard finds me.â
His Guard. You ladled him a second serving as you wracked your memory for what you knew of the other men involved, but all you could think of was the market girls speculating what itâd be like to have a knight for a husband. Some immature, ugly part of you wanted to scorn them for it, but it wasnât as if they had a choice the way you did. How could you fault their interest, when marriage was the most surefire path towards securing a comfortable life? When knights were known to be good, honest men, leagues better than the ones youâd all grown up with?
âThereâs a tavern further in the village. I can take you there, if youâd like.â
His reply was stiff. âDonât have much coin on me.â
âI doubt theyâd make you pay." Your village hadnât seen such a well-ranked, intriguing visitor in yearsâthey'd be falling over their own feet to host him, laud him with more comforts and fineries than youâd ever be able to afford. âBut youâre welcome to stay with me, if you prefer that instead. Though it wonât be as lavish.â
ââS fine,â he muttered. A bird flew overhead, cawing loudly before disappearing into the trees, while your stomach turned at the realization that he was legitimately accepting your offer. âBest to stay by the forest.â
âAnd I'd be able to watch over your recovery,â you added lamely, unsure whether it was for his sake or your own.Â
A woman like yourself, housing a formidable man like himâif he really did stay with you, the rumors would be salacious and inevitable. The pretense of his illness mightâve provided you some shelter from scrutiny, if his condition hadnât already drastically improved. Thanks to your own hands, you noted, with no small amount of pride.
âWhereâs your husband?â
The pride went away.
âI donât have one,â you said, gritting out a smile. Given that heâd rifled through your belongings, he mustâve already known this. You chalked the question up to him testing your trustworthiness; a mental trial to complement the physical one. âI have a younger brotherâthis land is in his nameâbut he lives with our aunt on the coast.â
He mightâve known this detail, too, if heâd seen the sheaf of letters in your chest. Youâd never read them, but you knew their contents like the back of your own hand. Joyful and lilting, so full of light that just thinking about them made your chest ache.
âA bit old to still be unwed, arenât you?â
âAre you sure youâre a knight?â you thoughtlessly asked. âI thought they were supposed to be gentlemen.â
He glared at you. It was tiring you out, having to gauge his expressions based on his eyes alone. You stuck your spoon in your mouth to keep yourself from digging the hole any deeper.
***
On Ghost's third day with you, you took him down the winding path to the market square. Occasionally, you came here to peddle your own homegrown herbs and remedies, but this time you had a list of tasks to complete. You first dragged him to the tailor for new clothes, paying extra to have them made in the darkest available fabric, then to the butcher's and baker's shops. To nobodyâs surprise, you drew attention everywhere you went, stares clinging to you both like burrs.Â
Somewhere in between, he finally slunk away from you, muttering something about a horse. You breathed a sigh of relief and finished the rest of your shopping like normal, blissfully alone.
When you finished, you caught sight of the girls you usually spoke with, all clustered near the center of the square. Though you were several years older and had little in common, you enjoyed their companyâthey were bright and energetic, albeit a little too eager to gossip about other villagefolk. Today, however, dread curled in your stomach as they approached, already knowing who their target would be.
You lingered awkwardly at the edge of their huddle, scanning the rest of the market for your new houseguest, but it seemed as if he'd vanished into thin air. Maybe he really was an apparition and you had finally gone crazy. Except the girls had seen Ghost too, and now they were expounding on each and every one of their observations about his appearance and demeanor, forcing you to listen and accept that the brute existed in the same reality you did.
âHeâs so tall,â one of them gushed.
âAnd so strong,â echoed another.
âHe must be fed well in the Kingâs castle,â you said mildly, forcing indifference. It was one thing to badmouth Ghost to his face, another to disrespect a knight in public; insulting a man opposed to insulting the Kingdom.
âHowâd you meet him?â
It felt traitorous to admit the full truth, so you didnât. But what lie would you tell instead? That you'd found him in the forest while you were mindlessly frolicking about? That he'd been sent by the King to resolve some nonexistent matters in your irrelevant village? That your paths had crossed unexpectedly, but he'd treated you with so much kindness and benevolence that you'd offered up your own home in exchange for absolutely nothing?
âHe was passing by and needed someâŠassistance," you settled for saying. A simple statement, not technically untrue.
âIs he injured?â
âHow long is he staying for?â
âCan you convince him to speak with us?â
âAre you done?â
The last question was lower than the rest, spoken close to your ear. You nearly jumped out of your skin, whirling around to find Ghost standing behind you with his arms crossed. The muscles in his forearms were firm and flexed, the silver of his mask glinting in the sunlight as if it were jewelry, simultaneously pretty and intimidating. How long had he been lurking there? You hadnât heard even a single footstep in your direction.
âYes, Sir Ghost,â you said breathlessly, gripping your basket tighter. You ignored the girlsâ stunned faces and headed back together.
***
The following evening, you were called to a neighboring village to assist with a delivery. Ghost was sitting on the floor, polishing his armor with one of your rags and some sort of oil heâd gotten at the market. You scurried around him as you packed your things, performing your usual ritual while doing your best to avoid encroaching his space. The expecting motherâs eldest son was waiting outside, having brought his horse to fetch you.Â
âIâll be out for a while,â you said, rummaging through your chest for your scissors. âIf things go well, I should be back in the morning.â
He made a short noise of acknowledgement, sweeping the cloth over one of his greaves. A single leg of his was capable of more force than your entire bodyâwith how many patients youâd tended to over the years, you were no stranger to human anatomy, both male and female, but Ghost was another specimen entirely. Broad and impendent, perpetually tense.
âHave you ever seen a woman give birth?" you asked, just for the fun of it.
His hands didnât stop moving, but you couldâve sworn they faltered, just for a faint moment. You held your breath for his reply, waiting for him to scoff and call you stupid or simple or daft.
âOnce,â he said roughly. âHelped my mum.â
âReally?â
In the four days you'd spent with Ghost, this was the first scrap of information heâd offered up about his life. But this wasn't an inconspicuous fact, like his surname or where he'd grown up, but rather one that was disturbing, borderline morbid. Even in the most dire of circumstances, childbirth was an affair strictly reserved for women; Ghostâs family must've been truly isolatedâor impoverished, or bothâif he had to assist his own mother. It was difficult to imagine him in such a situation, to imagine him witnessing a process so gruesome and complex as a mere child. To imagine him having a mother, a father, a younger sibling.
He carried himself like he didnât exist beyond his knighthood. But maybe that was typical for men of his status, and you were just ignorant of the custom. You finally found your scissors resting above your collection of letters, wrapped in tight layers of cotton. You retrieved them and skimmed your fingers over the covered blade. Ghostâs sword was propped against the wall beside your bed, clean and polished and close enough for him to grab in his sleep.
âItâs a violent experience,â you said. âDonât you think?â
He didnât reply.
***
You returned home just before dawn. The early morning air was crisp and cool, clouds rolling over the sky as it began to lighten. You tiredly pushed open the door, baskets balanced on your hip. The room was cloaked in shadow, only partially obscuring Ghost at your table. His eyes were open and trained right on you.Â
You nearly keeled over right then and there. âYouâre already awake?â
ââS morning, isnât it?â
You werenât sure why you were so surprised. Ghost usually woke even earlier than you did, moving about so quietly that it never disturbed your sleep. Youâd given him your bed and set up your own small bedroll on the floor each night, as far away from him as possible to give the illusion of decency. There wasnât enough distance in the world to make this an appropriate arrangement, but it wasnât as if there was anyone else around to bear witness. Besides, youâd aged out of the marriage market a long time ago. You didnât have much of a feminine reputation to protect.
You sat your baskets down and collapsed in the chair across from him. Your body was exhausted, but your mind was still deliriously alert. After a night of nonstop work, the familiar sights and sounds of home should've been enough to settle your thoughts, but Ghostâs presence had you feeling even more jittery, like he was another problem youâd been called upon to solve.
The last person youâd sat at this table with was your brother, before youâd sent him away to live by the sea. Youâd tossed berries for him to catch in his open mouth, taught him how to grind herbs with your pestle, arm-wrestled him until heâd grown strong enough to defeat you. And now you were sharing the very same space with a knight. One who choked you, kept his identity a secret, and addressed you as girl instead of woman or midwife or any other decent moniker. Your situation had become so ridiculous that it was almost funny.
âIt was my favorite kind of delivery,â you said, even though he hadnât asked. âSimple, with no injuries. The baby took her time coming out, but she and her mother both ended up healthy and well.â
He said nothing, just like you'd predicted. You folded your arms on the tabletop and rested your head atop them. It was less than comfortable; your back was sore from travel, and your dress reeked of blood and honey, the latter of which youâd slathered on the motherâs skin to cleanse her after delivery. You desperately needed to wash, but the mere prospect of drawing water had your limbs aching in protest.
âWhatâs your least favorite?âÂ
You picked your head back up. While Ghostâs mannerisms were nothing short of impossible to understand, his words were much easierâhe was either gruff or goading, only bothering to speak to you out of necessity. But this question of his was wholly unnecessary, bizarrely sounding like genuine interest. You mulled over your response, wondering if you should lie, spout something silly or charming. You were a poor liar, though, and he didnât seem like he had the temperament for silliness or the willingness to be charmed.
âWhen only the mother dies,â you said.
He blinked at you once, twice. His lashes were pale like butter. âNot the child?â
âThey don'tâa baby has nothing to lose.â The sleep deprivation was jumbling the words in your brain, but you didnât want to stop talking, not when you'd finally gotten him to start. You rubbed your eyes, cringing at the scent of copper clinging to your hands. âBut a mother has so muchâI mean, if she dies, thereâs a lot more sheâll be leaving behind.â
This was a soldier, you reminded yourself. A man who fought and killed other men in battle. You didnât have to explain the weight of death to him.Â
âYouâre dark,â Ghost groused, as if he was any better. âThought midwives were supposed to beâŠâ
âBe what?â
His eyes narrowed at your prodding. You shrunk back on instinct, then firmly squared your shoulders. If your poor manners or contrarian beliefs truly affronted him, youâre sure he wouldâve punished you by now. He was a dog with blunt teeth, you thought, all bark and no bite, until you remembered the sword by your bed and the yellowing bruises on your neck.
âTender,â he said finally.
âI can be tender!â
He exhaled. âProve it.â
You pushed yourself forward, leaning in until your legs jostled his beneath the table. Entirely improper, just like the rest of your behavior, like the rest of your life. Ghost's form had become more visible as the sun rose, the light muted by the cloudy overcast, but still bright enough to reveal how easily he dwarfed the chair. His large hands rested on his large knees, the skin of them crisscrossed with large, faded scars.
âMy good Sir,â you said, pouring as much sweetness into your voice as you could muster. You sounded more crazed than kindâyou didnât talk like this often, and by often you meant ever. âPlease allow me to express my utmost gratitude for your service. Thank you for protecting our beautiful Kingdom. May I serve you breakfast?â
âStop that,â Ghost immediately said. âStick to being rude.â
summary: steve is sworn knight to the princess of the kingdom and sister of the king. the two share a quiet moment alone and reminisce how he came to be in her service.
warnings/inclusions: afab!reader. medieval!au. knight!steve. bit of angst.
a/n: i've been desperate to write some knight steve for a million years. reading way too much arthurian legend recently for my own good. feels like this will be a series...
âDid you ever think you would wind up in a place like this?â
It was an innocent enough question, one that roused Steve from his drifting to sharpen once again. He shouldnât have drifted at all, mind you. His job was to remain watchful, to never lose focus, even if the waters of the river glimmered like little tumbling jewels, the heat blanketing his cheeks in a gentle kiss from a kind sun, half sheathed by pillowed clouds. Late spring, a sea of flowers in a clearing of brush, the quiet of a morning outside the castle walls. A daydream made true.
He clutched his sword in its sheath, straightening, his eyes settling on you. This was not his time to waste. It did not matter how many other guards were a few shouts away. He should have been paying attention. âHow do you mean, my lady?âÂ
Even in his haze, heâd never lost sight of you. Perched on the river bank, skirts slipped scandalously high to bunch across silken thighs, your legs drifting carelessly through the water of this forgotten corner of the world. Your brother, the King, would only agree to send you out with his noble band of knights, who lingered not so far away, patrolling borders of the grove with expert care. A princess out of the castle was of high importance. His beloved sister, the Kingdoms sweet Lady. But Steve was your sworn knight. He was the shield at your back, and the only one who may linger wherever you might tread.Â
Your head tipped back slowly, lashes blinking up in a sleepy sort of manner towards him, a smile playing on your lips. A smile reserved just for him, he wondered, as it was too familiar, too tender for anyone else so strange. You had an air of laxness around Steve. A trust, he felt, to be vulnerable. Something so sacred to him. Something he never took for granted.
Softened curls slipped from your shoulder, his eyes helplessly trailing the curve before righting themselves back again at your face.Â
âWhen you fought the battle at Khyborne.â You clarify, lying back against the grass, strands of hair and grass weaving between one another in the breeze. Steve took a step closer, even patient. âWhen you won your Knighthood. What had you been thinking?âÂ
You would be the only one to ever ask him something like that â what he thought, how he felt â no one else could have ever given a damn. What were the thoughts of a farmerâs son to anyone? What was his worth? A boy who could not read until you had begun to teach him not so long ago. A man who could not point to your neighbouring kingdoms on a map. And yet every day, you asked. Question after question, little things here and there, a million musings over and over until he swore you might know his mind better than he himself did.Â
There was no satisfaction for you no matter how many answers he gave. You always wanted to know more. His life had been so unremarkable, heâd thought. But not to you. Never to you.
He smiled. âMy lady, Iâm not sure I was thinking anything, otherwise Iâdâve had the good sense to run the other way.âÂ
You scoffed, stretching, feline, a cat in the sun â all lithe limbs and draped in finery, ethereal, if heâd known the word. Sensual, a word he tried very hard not to acknowledge. He swallowed thickly.
âYouâre brave.â You stated. âYou were a knight even when you werenât one, otherwise you would have run.âÂ
Steve smiled, amused. âIf you say so.âÂ
You grinned back, toothy and joyous. âMhm. And Iâm always right, arenât I.âÂ
You werenât. You very much werenât. But Steve liked how much you believed so. He could not count the times you had forced yourself into great deals of trouble by some silly plan or poor words or strange adventure, nor the times heâd managed to only just coax you out of them, often at the risk of his own hide.
If he were honest, heâd admit how fond he was of such a task.Â
He chuckled, taking another step closer. âIf you say so.âÂ
You seemed to ignore his teasing completely. âBut did you not think much of it? Really? It was lost if not for you.âÂ
He watched you sit, resting upon the heels of your palms, turning ever so slightly to speak in that earnest way of yours, recounting his own story as if it were magic. Like he were some fable, some hero or warlock or king who the poets would write about when he was nothing but ash and bone, returned to the soil and the spirits.
âKhyborne would have fallen. All those people⊠I think you forget sometimes. You forget how many you saved.â The way you looked at him, he felt like something grand. Like someone worth telling stories about. Like someone worth looking at. He could believe it all if the stories came from you. But when he remembered that day, when he woke from trembling nightmares choking on smoke and blood and the sounds of screams, he felt anything but. He remembered the coldness of his fear, the sickness that came with knowing something horrible was about to happen.
He settled to kneel before you, dipping to catch your gaze. It was hard to long so much for your attention, and yet to suffocate under it all the same. He felt pinned, raw and exposed in your admiration. Desperate for your praise and vulnerable to your mercy. âPrincess⊠what is it you wish to know?âÂ
You blinked, a sudden bashfulness clouding your expression, as if you had been carried away by your thoughts. âDid you ever think it would bring you to the palace guard?âÂ
Everything within him softened at your tone, an involuntary response, smoothed like a stone under water. You shaped him so easily. âNot in my wildest dreams.â
Your legs lifted from the water, curling up upon the grassy bank beside you, and Steve was steadfast in keeping his expression fixated on your own, no matter how the delicate bend of you enticed even the most innocent, wanting of glances. What he wouldnât give for a moment, a breath, a chance. A single second for you to be his. To let his heart bleed dry in your palms, to feel your secrets murmured against his skin.
Your body shuffled closer, voice dropping to a near conspiratorial whisper. A tone meant for friends, companions, for lovers. The world closed in, just the two of you.
âAre you glad?â
His brow arched, a silent question, the delicate urging of your confession â what you really wished to ask â from your lips. âI mean to say,â you tried again, embarrassment creeping across your throat, âit is not so adventurous to be my sworn knight. All that standing and waiting and following and suchâŠâÂ
Your gaze slipped towards the stems beneath your fingertips, blades twirling around delicate, restless hands. His eyes followed, wrist twitching with an ache to reach, to settle you.
âWhen you were knighted, you could have chosen differently. I sometimes wonder if you regret it. Or why you chose it, maybe.âÂ
Steve was not an educated man. No one would ever credit him as learned or wise in the annals of time. He came from nothing, knew nothing but what the world taught him. The sky and the sea and the land and its people, his animals on the farm and the travellers that passed through. He knew what a pickpocket looked like before they struck, and which mushrooms in the forest would kill you outright, but nothing of science and languages and fancy books bound by monks and warlocks and keepers of time. He found, though, that observation was a skill heâd been blessed with. He could note the shyness in your tone, the wine flush staining across your cheeks, the way you avoided his stare as if it might burn you. Your insecurity, near timidness, as you asked him what must have felt like something vulnerable to you.Â
His impulse to comfort you never shook, not once, in moments like these. It was in his blood, in the very marrow of him. From the moment he first laid eyes upon you, that very first inhale, his aimless life from a nowhere countryside to a sideways city as a would be apprentice, had found purpose. A heartbeat to sync to. Footsteps to follow. Someone to protect, to guide, to shield, to live and die for.Â
He recalled it even now. Freshly knighted, brought before the king and court, on a busted knee with a smoke rasp in his lungs, burns still wrapped in ointments and linens from a healer â the royal healer! If only his mother could have seen him â heâd been asked that fatal, undoing question. What reward a man could crave for such a good deed as his own. To save a city and thousands inside. To end a siege.
Heâd only asked for one thing.Â
To swear himself to the Princess. To protect her with his life.Â
Steve removed a singular glove, an undeserving hand, marred yet steady, and pressed two fingertips below your chin, guiding you back to him. His words unwavering.
âI am exactly where I wish to be, My Princess. Take me back, and I would swear my oath to you over and over again. I am yours.âÂ
In any way you would have me. Until the end of my days.
He watched the way your lip trembled, mesmerised, the unconscious turn of your body that leaned closer and closer into his orbit. He knew he could not move to meet you, was forbidden to in all ways conceivable, but may the gods help him if he was meant to pull away.
Your eyes closed, face settling against his touch, a soft nuzzle into the coarse skin of his hand, a flower in the dirt. Your sigh made him ache. "I am afraid to go back."
A stark reminder. He knew what awaited you at the castle. All too well, knew the life you were being herded into. Like cattle. Helpless. His jaw clenched.
"I won't let anything happen to you." It was a promise. A vow. How he would achieve it, he could not say, but the words were an oath to you. A bond unbreakable, sworn to the only abiding force he would ever follow. His lady.
Fluttering, the wings of a bird, your lashes parted to look at him. "If they weren't here, you'd smuggle me away, wouldn't you?"
A halfhearted laugh slipped through you, though Steve knew the sound of defeat. Your ring of protectors, far out of sight, a tight band of reinforcement. Not just to protect, but to keep. No one to get in, no way to get out.
Steve nodded, solemn. "Weeks ago. You know I would have."
A pause. A sigh. A rustle of wind through the trees. The two of you breathed in what felt like the very last moment of freedom, his hand on your cheek, your legs drying in the sun, the sounds of the birds and the river and the wildness of a world neither of you would ever know all a mournful melody.
Steve allowed his hand to drop, a silent offer to tie your shoes, an unspoken language shared between the two of you. It needed not be said. He was your willing servant, always, and you, his trusting master. But somehow more, and somehow less, when you brushed stray curls of golden brown from his eyes, and his thumb circled a tender press into the bone of your ankle at the last tie of your ribbons. More than friends, less than lovers.
Composed, re-gloved, Steve guided you back to your feet, and felt your steadying breath ricochet through him.
"Well. I suppose I cannot delay it any longer. Shall we go meet my future husband?"
Final chapter of Vows of the Land is complete! Coming tomorrow.
I've enjoyed writing this series, but looking forward to writing some other characters before coming back to Gator. I'll still accept requests for short fics, headcanons and drabbles for him. But I do have another series planned for him later.
Upcoming series:
The Crown Between Us- Knight!Steve Harrington
The kingdom of Highcrest is overjoyed to learn of the betrothal of the Princess of House Redwyn, to that of Prince Florian Vaelmont of Solmere, a decades-long fued broken by the promise of marriage. For Sir Steven Harrington, the news threatens to bring his greatest treason into light. Love. When the Solmere Royalty arrive in Highcrest, they bring not only the promise of an alliance, but also a test of loyalty, duty, and familial values and expectations.
