#knight!simon

[cod-indulgences]

what do you want to see next up on the former queen/knight Simon medieval AU?

anal (Simon's a dirty dirty man)

exhibitionism (showing off Queenie for the guys)

assassination attempt (Simon rips a guy's head off)

Voting ended onJul 6

[thetravelingtyper]

Red Thread Of Fate (Knight! Simon x Magic! F! Reader)

This is a play on a book idea of mine about threads that bind the worlds together!

Word count about 1300

Masterlist

The light filters in from between the blinds as a form shifts through the dark. He was a wraith, haunting the hall, and is haunted himself. A mask hangs loosely from his fingers as he paces quietly.

What were those moments in between the dreams? Lucidity walks and pulls him under. When did it turn to love?

The mood shifts with a passing glance as you sleep soundly. You had come home after a normal day to an empty cottage as usual. The aloneness was an old friend to you at this point. 

“Spinster, cursed to love death himself.”

Their cautious whispers lifted as you passed in the market, an old wicker basket in the crook of your arm filled with herbs and flowers. Despite all you did for the village, they dare speak of you like this?

The sheets pull taut as you move, some unease settling onto your sleeping face. The figure in black moves on instinct. A gloved hand reaches to caress your cheek, your movement calming in his grasp. There is a sigh. 

-

The empire had fallen, bloodshed and tears stained the land, and the peace from ancient times had been broken. He had led the revolution, astride a black horse, clad in silver steel; he was the hand of justice and the tyrant's reprieve. It was on a lone summer day, the cusp of fall, clutching the land, when he met you.

Shadows chase his sight as the spear lodged in his chest tightens his breathing, his horse carrying him down the moonlit path. The forest grew thick with tension as the Capitol burned a bright star on the horizon. Simon had led the final charge, breaking down the walls and rushing into the fray; it was only when his second-in-command thrust the spear through him in betrayal that he began to see. Starlight guides his way now; on the cusp of death, he collapses in a glade, towering willows caging his soul in as the fae begin to stir. 

“Here comes death, a soul lost to the path.”

But even as his vision swam and the stars fell above, there was satisfaction in the killing of the emperor and the severing of sinew and flesh. Blood seeped an offering into the ground below, and as he drifted into eternal sleep, the fae stopped singing.

“What's this/ a soft hare/ in the wolf's breath.”

Soft hands work quickly, pulling off his helmet and mask, as his vision finally fades in the dark. There is a chime, clear as silver bells, and there is pain. Scorching, searing pain burns his chest, and he grunts, hands clenching into fists as the spear is yanked out and spirits fill the gaping hole in his chest. The following voice is a balm.

“Easy, Sire.”

He relaxes back into the grass as his armor is discarded piece by piece. The angel he decides in delirium is efficient as a smell of salve crosses his chest. 

You work quickly, hushing the worried neighs of the horse, A kind spirit despite her size. She murmurs for her master in a quiet voice. The fae dance in the moonlight, some straying into your sight, curious, but you wave them off as you finish with the salve.

“His spirit is drifting; I must seal it.” 

You pull a sharp knife from your satchel and swipe it along his chest, splitting the thick linen of his shirt to expose a marred chest. The blood seeps into your fingers as you dig in yoru satchel blindly before producing a quill.

“I am sorry, Sire.”

You address him before touching the quill to the blood seeping from his wound. 

-

Simon jerks awake in a panic, his heart racing as he sits up in a simple bed, a tightness in his chest slowly releasing; he can feel the threads, gossamer in the daylight filtering into the room from the window. They string all about the room, and he feels a knot in his chest as there is a knock at the door.

He calls a low come in, and the very radiance of life enters.

Dressed in a deep forest gown, the length of your sleeves trails along the floor as you enter. Dark eyes widen when you approach, and he feels the tug then, a solid ruby thread bound to his chest pulls taut, and you stumble in surprise. He acts on instinct, finding his footing as he rushes forward to steady you, bandaged arms tightening around your waist.

You blink up at him with silver eyes, distilled moonlight that glows warmly. He stares into your eyes before coming to himself, yet he lingers, fingertips spreading along the fabric of your dress as he pulls himself up to his full height. 

You pull back first, a hand reaching up to the knot in his chest. 

“The threads have settled,” you eye the red fateline, “despite some unforeseen consequences, Sire.”

Simon traces the red thread to where it anchors in your chest. He had heard the tales, a spinster of fate in the Old Woods, but he paid it no mind; he had no time for fate when he had an empire to besiege. He knew of the threads, the binding between worlds and souls, but he had never been gifted the Sight to see them. But here he was, tangled in gossamer threads and, with the blood thread before him…

“We are fate-bound.” He speaks deeply, calmly even, flexing his sword arm as he looks himself over, but makes no motion to move. You realize then just how close he was, startled by his admission, you step back, but dark eyes anchor you down. 

“Would you run Fate-Seer?” 

His eyes are umber, the deep woods and liquor. There is then a keen shine in them, and he reaches a hand up to pluck at the red thread. It chimes throughout the room as a tender heat warms your heart. 

“No.” 

It comes out small, defiant even, as you step forward. His hand lifts as a grin flitters onto his scarred lip, his fingertips brushing against yours where they rest at your side. He murmurs something softly, a prayer to the guardian mother, perhaps, before dipping his head down to yours. Blond hair curls, dried from a wash, rid of sweat and blood. There is a bandage wrapping his left shoulder that curls up his neck; your work is clean and precise. 

“Mother bless me.” He says quietly, and you can feel his breath on your cheek, heart pounding as he observes the curves of your face. His fingers open and take your left hand, warm in his grasp. His fingers search, tracing along your knuckles, finding no ring.

“You are unmarried?” He asks quietly, finally engulfing your hand and holding it. 

“Yes.” You answer simply, but your heart is burdened by the prospect. 

He watches the downshift of your eyes, a frown pulling his lips down. He then lifts your hand in his, bringing it to his lips and pressing a kiss to your bare knuckles. Your cheeks warm, and you dip your head shyly.

As your eyes fall, you see the mended hole in his chest, just shy of his heart. Spiraling script, inked in blood, stains his pale skin. Lines of thick muscle trail down his torso, disappearing under plain black pants. He is in all ways a warrior, scars and healed puncture wounds dotting his skin. You could never have imagined such a person for yourself. 

It was a trick of fate, you think, never before had the threads bound You!

Your eyes trail back up to his. There is a quiet intensity there, and the world seems to swallow up the sound as he leans forward, his other hand coming to your jawline, thumb brushing your lower lip.

‘I will keep you safe.” He murmurs.

And you believed him.

[bone-trash]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Call of Duty (Video Games), Game of Thrones (TV), A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley, Simon "Ghost" Riley/Original Male Character(s), John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley/Original Male Character(s) Characters: John "Soap" MacTavish, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Original Male Character(s), Original Female Character(s) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Historical, Knight!Simon, prince!johnny, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Brothels, Established Relationship, Feelings Realization, Praise Kink, Degradation Kink, Jealousy, Friends With Benefits, Soft Simon "Ghost" Riley, Top Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish Loves Simon "Ghost" Riley, Simon "Ghost" Riley Loves John "Soap" MacTavish, Top John "Soap" MacTavish, Threesome - M/M/M, Toxic John "Soap" MacTavish, Possessive John "Soap" MacTavish, Face-Sitting, Face-Fucking, Simon "Ghost" Riley Has a Large Penis, John "Soap" MacTavish is Bad at Feelings, The author does not share the characters opinions of sex workers, The creation of intricate rituals as an excuse to touch the skin of your devoted knight, Pining John "Soap" MacTavish, Gay Simon "Ghost" Riley, Bisexual John "Soap" MacTavish, Puppy Play, but only in terms of endearment, Voyeurism, Exhibitionism, Dom/sub Undertones, Dom John "Soap" MacTavish, Sub Simon "Ghost" Riley, if the roles even apply, Mutual Pining, Pining, John "Soap" MacTavish is In Denial, Period-Typical Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, canon typical behavior towards sex workers, aka Game of thrones is full of assholes so expect assholeishness, Denial of Feelings, author puts men in situations Series: Part 4 of The Hunt Summary:

The Prince was enthralled. He knew his loyal hound to be nothing but the most competent lover, he’d made sure of that. He’d been a skittish pup the day John had selected him for his guard and promptly taken him to bed, but their couplings had always been of a more ferocious nature and John had preferred it that way. There was no need to woo one who was already in your service.

Prince John and his hound sneak out to a brothel for some privacy and feelings begin to arise

~~~

Heyyyyyy MORE FANTASY AU FOR THE BABIES

Happy Pride Month!

[shotmrmiller]

Bathmaid! Reader and Knight!Simon dying from an ambush <3 then bathmaid!reader wakes up in 09 wife's body in the 09 universe then later she gets out into 22 where knight! Simon went

how cursed would that be, though?

knight!simon fought viciously, but he was only human. exhaustion began to slow his body down.

the beginning of the true end had begun when you took an arrow to your midsection— the chainmail vest that he'd haphazardly shoved you in, penetrated by an eleven-gram arrowhead.

how had it gotten past his shield?

it didn't matter; you bled out in seconds.

simon, the knight in bloodied, dented armor died when his maiden did.

-

and then you stir awake, in a warm bed with simon(?) next to you.

but where's the jagged scar that stretched from his temple down to his chin?

what're the strange clothes he's wearing?

where's his armor? his horse?

where are you?

-

whoever this is that wears simon's face. you scream at him— ragged, furious— that whatever this witchcraft of his is, he'll burn at the stake for it.

his face contorts with his confusion, and then he opens his mouth to speak.

your english is not his.

this simon is not yours.

but there is nowhere for you to go, in a time you weren't born in.

so you continue to be his 'wife' and pretend to love him, until you wake up one day and realize that you're no longer pretending.

until he's the one that leaves you behind, this time.

you go to sleep in mourning, and wake with a knife to your throat in a different setting altogether.

not again.

you lock eyes with your captor and your archaic language falls from your lips unbidden.

my knight.

his eyes widen with recognition and removes the blade from your neck.

my maiden.

your hands instantly cradle his face and pull him down to brush your lips against his.

this...this is your simon.

this made my head hurt. terrible things happen to those that meddle with time, they say. so who tf doin' all this?

[synnicall]

Knight!simon with one of these full face plate bad boys. It’s giving Elden ring.

(Also GoT Gregor Clegane anyone? No?)

[you-remind-me-of-the-babe]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Thanks for the tag @sillyunicorn, I love your happy!Baz (how did we not realize we need this trope?).

This is a snippet from an as yet unpublished chapter of Beastly, in which Baz finds himself slipping into an animalistic mind due to the curse, and needs something to anchor him in order to keep a grip on his human mind:

I try to conjure something, or someone, in my mind to anchor to. I imagine a familiar face. Blue eyes, bronze curls, freckle-kissed skin. I imagine Sir Snow is here with me, reaching out a hand. My human mind clings to this imaginary vision. I try to hold on with everything I have. I’m lying on my side now, with my arms wrapped around myself. I start to squeeze my upper arms with my hands, imagining it’s Sir Snow squeezing them. “Breathe, Baz,” he says. “Deep breaths love, you can do this.” I keep breathing and squeezing, staring into his blue eyes.

Read more on AO3

I’ll tag @meenawrites @urban-sith @xivz @facewithoutheart @mostlymaudlin @palimpsessed @sharing-a-room-with-an-open-fire @captain-aralias @martsonmars No pressure, just love!

[shotmrmiller]

Knight! Simon coming to bathmaid! Reader covered in blood and after everything he kisses her hoping till heal her wounds, he later takes care of her like she has to him multiple times.

-🤡

Ps. You better have been drinking water

knight!simon i stg is such a simp for her, it's unfunny. He's never cared about a woman until now.

He takes her away to the 141 estate covered in blood, and tells her that if she marries him, she'll never have to worry about working to put food on the table again.

lowkey coercion, but he just wants to keep her safe— preferably with him.

Simon tells her to think on it, but for now, just worry about healing back up.

i have been diligently drinking my water today!!

[shotmrmiller]

Okay, hear me out, you mentioned Kingdom Come, so the bath house ladies there are always wearing some dress over their chemise/shirt, but in reality they didn't have to, they might wash men just in their chemises...when this piece of clothing gets wet, it's pretty see-through, so now imagine Knight!Simons face when this happens and he can see your curves...but he also realizes that other men you wash, might see you like this, he is like nope, mine, so he pays you so much that he is your only customer...

my vision was that he's your only customer because if he has to hear you talk about any other clientele, he might just lose his cool.

if he visits the bath house, and you're busy?

he's stomping in there and dragging out the fool by his cock. ooh! and then if the poor victim feels that he needs to defend his honour?

he'd pull out his pathetic weapon only to come face to face with a sword that has a name engraved on it.

it's the name of a master swordsmith, a guarantee of quality.

the he'd take a real good look at who owns it, only to realize it's knight!Simon.

whoops. so sorry, my liege.

anyway, he needs to get you out of there without twisting your arm about it, so for now, he pays you a ridiculous amount of coin just so you're always available for him.

and when he's not around, you're not allowed to wear just a chemise.

cover up, boss' orders.

commenting on the sheer, wet chemise when he's in the bath, he's rock solid under the soapy water, and the lip of the wooden tub is splintering under his death grip.

you're a vision.

bless your relatively naive soul, so trusting with him— you have no idea that he's eye fucking you as bend over to check the temperature of the bath water with your hands.

god, he can't wait to marry you.

oooo!