a little tenderness with king!ghost because you guys deserve it
one night when he returns from battle or a long journey on horseback, and he’s bone tired. hasn’t slept properly in weeks, has back aching from nights spent on the cold ground in camps. he had the servants wake you in the middle of the night and bring you to his bedchamber
and when you get there and it’s just the two of you alone, you reach up to take off your nightgown but his hand grabs your wrist, roughly tugging you towards him where he’s sat on the edge of the bed. confusion written on your face as he moves to lay down and pulls you down with him
shifts you so your laying right on top of him, your cheek nestled into the crook of his shoulder. chest to chest, you lay there uncertain on what’s coming next but soon his hand rests on your back, slowly moving up and down the crevice of your spine
and when you feel comfortable enough, you wrap both your arms around one of his, snuggling further into his shoulder. nothing in the room besides the sounds of his heavy breathing, the slow rise and fall of his chest making you feel sleepy. your thumb ever so slightly rubbing circles on his bicep whilst your other hand reaches down to intertwine with his idle one
you wait for him to pull it back, afraid you’re getting too comfortable especially when you feel him tense slightly at the feeling of your hand gripping his. but he doesn’t, instead he just squeezes yours ever so slightly, his other hand still rubbing your back as he does
occasionally, he reaches down and gives your ass a light squeeze before moving it back up to its original place. and soon he feels your body go heavy and limp atop of his…
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Your king + queen + jester ghoap x reader fic? Drabble? Anyway it’s worked its way into my head and I can’t think straight, you’re amazing!!
Thank you ahhh > _ <
The morning sun crept through the velvet curtains, gold spilling across the royal chamber.
And there he was. The King. The fearsome, untouchable Ghost.
Pinned. Absolutely pinned.
Simon lay flat on his back, crown nowhere in sight, mask discarded on the bedside table. His arm was hooked protectively around you, your face tucked against his chest, crown of your hair a mess against his skin. On his other side, Johnny was sprawled like a starfish, one leg thrown haphazardly across the King’s waist, mouth open as he snored softly.
Three bodies knotted together under one blanket, the kingdom’s greatest secret: its monarch didn’t sleep alone.
“Simon,” you mumbled against his sternum, voice still groggy. “Court… in an hour.”
“Don’t remind me,” he muttered, eyes still closed. His voice was rough, almost petulant. “Five more minutes.”
From the other side of the bed came a muffled, sleep-drunk laugh. Soap cracked one eye open, hair sticking in every direction. “If we’re late again, the council’s gonna start a revolt. ‘Specially if they find out it’s ‘cause their glorious king’s been playin’ little spoon.”
Simon tensed. “I am not the little—”
“Yes ye are,” Soap cut in gleefully, tightening his arm around him like a koala. “Look at ye, all cozy and cuddled. Adorable.”
You bit back a giggle, propping yourself up just enough to kiss Simon’s jaw before he could argue. “He’s right. Adorable.”
That earned you both a scowl dark enough to curdle milk—though the tips of his ears flushed scarlet.
Then came the knock. Loud. Impatient.
“Your Majesty? Council is assembled!”
The three of you froze.
You could practically feel Simon’s soul leave his body as he shoved at Soap, who only clung tighter, laughing into his shoulder. “Go on then, mighty king, lead us to duty with bedhead and love bites.”
You were already stumbling out of bed, yanking a robe around your shoulders, trying not to laugh. Simon was half-dragging, half-carrying Soap off him, growling curses under his breath while you searched for his crown.
Minutes later, the three of you stumbled out of the royal quarters. You, still tying your robe; Soap, bells crooked on his half-buttoned motley; and Simon, hair mussed, jaw tight, crown slightly askew.
To the world, he was the unshakable monarch.
To you and Soap? He was just your grumpy king who’d woken up late because his consort and his jester wouldn’t stop cuddling him.
Arranged marriage! With ghost where she’s from a small island and ghost comes to collect taxes well the island is just a few hundred short they can make it up next year? Right?! Nah ghosts is like mmmmm I’ll take what yall call a princess mean while she’s struggling as much as the other fokes on the island so when Simon takes her way and finds out she’s never lived the simple life he makes it his mission to show her the good that can out of this arrangement smutty if you would 😭 I’m obsessed with the arranged marriage trope with ghost he’s a cutie patootie
Arranged Marriage w/ Simon Riley
Holy moly I love this…
Thank you for this idea @creepytoes88 I hope you don’t mind that I made him a king, I just wanted it to flow with giving her a better life and the tax collection <3
King!Simon Riley x Reader
Archipelago
CW: Being sold by your family to pay off debt, sharing a bath, oral sex (f receiving), orgasm bc simon knows what to do ;)
Word Count: 2,623
Twisted fingers hooked under the bark, knees scraped with stagnant flora, coiling limbs of bushy thorns blistering around the tropical plains. There was a subtle burn that sunk through your thighs, muscles gnawing at your bones before you finally settled on a thick branch, wind hissing in your ear, almost warning you. You paid no attention.
Pupil-blown eyes stared off to the view in front of you, lapping in the vicious strain of turquoise, untouched coral glistening an array of colours under the harsh sun. There was a trickle of sweat that ran down the back of your neck, your hair thrown into a rough bun as you shielded yourself with raggedy, overworked fingers.
You watched the skerries surrounding your island, a flurry of birds swooping low before nestling down on the warmth of the rocky floor. It was a peaceful sight. Nothing but the low crash of waves to be sound, the occasional calling of a fellow Islander working its way through the palms and out of the sand, before landing in your ear.
You felt the prickle of pain shoot through your feet as you landed on the ground, the grass covered in speckles of yellow dust sticking in between your toes as you hurried down to the village. Any bit of tranquillity soon disappeared as your eyes locked into the sight of the townspeople, the Island far too small to accommodate such needing families.
“Y/N! Where have you been? The King shall be here soon and you’re off running with the fairies.”
Your Mother’s tone was harsh and reprimanding, her eyes tight with wrinkles as she scowled, chucking a makeshift broom at you. You weren’t exactly sure what the difference of you sweeping would make, the life you live here, swept or not, is strikingly different to the one of a King. No matter how beautiful your Island is, your feet are permanently stained with grains of sand, skin is littered with dull scars and fresh scratches.
You understood her worry, offering her a gentle, apologetic smile as you followed her bustle of orders. Your Father was the village Chief, a wise man who led the people to survive without the worry of advanced civilisation.
You were seen as a headcase to the others. A woman whose head wasn’t fixed well enough to her shoulders. A dreamer. Your mind was amplified by the need to do more, to see more. Untouched beauty too turns mundane when you’re not allowed to experience it.
As night fell, the waves seemed to settle, burying themselves in the crops of sand that spanned around you, 10-legged creatures hiding away in the cocoon of a cracked shell. Palms slept with the safety of coconuts that would blossom into the town’s delicacy, the meat tender on the tongues of children, the water fuel for the fishermen. There was a large bonfire lit, the earthly crackle occasionally popping as a spark flew out, hissing against the cool air before dispersing into a drag of smoke.
Girls chattered around you, smoothing down their appearances as they used crushed berries on their lips and the apples of their cheeks. You were never fussed about the King, hardly paying attention to him on his previous arrivals if he even bothered to show up. You took note of his lack of empathy, normally sending one of his men in his place, unbothered by the Island that’s supposed to fall under his command.
You heard the ship pull up, wood striking against the ground as it split between the beach, a carved woman tangled to the figurehead, flowing hair etched between wood and a man’s knife as she breached the island. They were a loud bunch, deep voices echoing across the Isle as your father walked down to greet them formally.
The air grew silent, thick smog suffocating the air as your father appeared, his figure shaking as he hobbled towards you. Toughened hands gripped your cheeks, stroking the sun-kissed skin to comfort you.
“Father, what’s wrong?”
“We- We’re short on our taxes,” he gulped, a hand planted in your matted hair as you scrunched your brows together.
“But how? We’re sensible, we work harder- How?”
“Things happen beyond our understanding sometimes, sweetheart, just know me and your mother love you very much.”
“I know? Why are you-” you stalled “- Why are you telling me this? What’s going on?”
“The King needs a wife,” he hiccupped as realisation set in, spine snapping into a cold flush as you attempted to wriggle free from your father’s grip.
“No-“
“I have to, Y/N, I don’t have a choice!”
“A choice? There’s always a choice! How could you do this to me?” The strain of a sob wracked through your chest, your heart beating eerily slow against your rib cage as you wailed out for your mother who only walked away, her face concealed by strands of hair. Hands coiled around your biceps, dragging you towards the ship as you carried on, cementing your heels into the dirtied sand to anchor yourself.
“Stop resisting,” A harsh voice spoke into your ear, nails breaking the surface of your tender skin as you nipped at the air, wriggling. Your limbs felt mangled as you were thrown over someone’s shoulder, your stomach caving in with a penetrative force as you choked on the air, saline tears streaming down your face.
Aching skin collided with the sand as you were thrown onto the floor, leather boots staring back at you as your head cocked up. His figure was tall, dressed in all black with a row of medals displayed on his breast pocket. His stare was dark, irises the colour of burnt whiskey, pale lashes flickering down at you before looking back up. The rest of his face was covered by a woven garment, handcrafted to perfection, painted with a white skull.
“Did you find it necessary to throw her at my feet like she’s some dog?”
“Your Majesty she was res-“
“It is a yes or no question.”
His voice was thick with malt, a hidden arrogance underlying his words as his eyes spoke for him. A veiny hand was offered to you, light scars tracing his knuckles before he lifted you, admiring you for a brief second.
“She’ll do. I’ll be back in 6 months,” The King spoke roughly.
The sea breeze was tranquil given the circumstances, the ocean rocking your tears to a halt as you huddled yourself away in the captain’s quarters. Your body was trailed with layers of silk, dirtied clothes moulded to your skin as you sniffled. There was a vast smell of salt, almost suffocating you as it burnt through your nose and hair. You scrunched your skin, rubbing at your nostrils before nestling yourself into a pillow.
You awoke to the sound of commotion. You took in the handful of women surrounding you, their hair tied back in a tight bun, protected by a frilly cap. They wore black and white dresses, aprons attached to their fronts and smiles on their faces.
“Good evening, your majesty. Shall we run you a bath?”
You sat up, hands creasing against the sheets below you as your eyes adjusted to the new scenery. You weren’t on the ship anymore.
“Where am I?” You choked out, huffing your chest out to look more intimidating. In reality, you look cowered, skin droopy with betrayal, burst blood vessels evident under your eyes.
“In your private quarters, the King requested we come to you, settle you in.”
You scowled, “I just want to be alone.” They left in a hurry, feet skidding against the floor in a squeak as they shut the large oak doors behind them.
The room was one for Royalty. The large bed was dressed in golden sheets, red swirls detailing the plush headpieces, solid gold baubles along the edges as tall stakes met the ceiling, lace hanging from them for privacy. Your feet hit the polished marble floors; calloused skin not used to such luxury that you almost yelped in unfamiliarity. Glass trickled from the overhead chandelier, an arrangement of crystals advocating flickers of light across the room, an occasional rainbow seeping through like a diamond in the rough.
Oil paintings hung from the walls, detailed gold wrapping around them as the figurines stared at you dauntingly. A plethora of books rested on shelves, a comforting sofa tucked away in the corner, highlights of red bursting through the stuffed pillows, plucked by the finest of feathers.
The room felt suffocating, the air a terminal sickness that wove into your lungs as you realised the severity of the situation. Your father – your parents, had sold you away to the King to pay for lost taxes. You were a miserable sight as you huddled over onto the floor, chest collapsing with cries as you attempted to grip the material beneath your knees, desperate for the sensation of sand.
Simon watched you intently from the door as he cracked it open, a deafening cough sounding from him as you looked up at him, bewildered.
“I understand the circumstances aren’t the best, but your people owed me, and they chose you as collateral.”
“I want to go home,” you hiccupped, facing away from him in humiliation. His leather shoes hit the floor, striding up to you in only a few steps.
“This is your home now, and in a few weeks, we shall be wedded. Whether or not you choose to invite your family is up to you, but I shall not tolerate disrespect. If you didn’t want the maids to tend to you, that’s fine, but I will.”
You watched his stalking figure disappear into another room attached to your quarters, the heavy pour of water indicating that he was running you a bath. You rose to your feet anxiously, popping your head around the corner as you took in the room. A large tub was carved with porcelain, wide in size with golden feet, bubbles guzzling under the powerful stream as the scent of lavender filled the air.
“Undress,” He spoke as you cocked a brow.
“In front of you?” You scoffed.
“You didn’t want the maids, now you have me. Undress.”
Your clothes itched as they were ridden from your skin, bare body flushed under the light as you attempted to conceal yourself from his bruising vision. The water scolded you as you sunk in, muscles relaxing instantly under the soothing oil. It was an irregular feeling.
You heard him shuffle behind you as you turned, eyes gawking wide as you took in his naked figure, cock resting low against his thigh. A squeak slipped through your lips as you turned around in a fluster.
His mask was off, his face a welcoming surprise. His brows were thick, bulging above slit frames, his nose slightly crooked with a masculine appeal to him.
“What are you doing?” you gasped, chest tight, eyes bulging.
“Bathing,” he practically snarled, “move over.”
Your belly felt hot, the unknowing feeling of arousal seeping through your pores as you adjusted in the water, the liquid rising as he stepped in before you were pulled back against him, bottom flushed against his thighs. You were tense.
“Relax, it’s just a bath. We will not do anything until you’re ready but after marriage, I will need heirs.”
“Heirs? I don’t even know your name!”
A hand coiled around your waist, tugging at the tender skin for a moment before it rested, settling at your upper thigh.
“It’s Simon, Y/N.”
“How do you- “
“What kind of King would I be if I didn’t even know the name of the woman I’m marrying?”
The air was hazy with steam, almost suffocating you as you felt yourself relax against his hard chest, delicate twirls of hair tickling against your spine. As your body settled, Simon washed you, entwined rag lubed with delicate soap as he massaged it into the crevices of your skin, any dirt seeping into the water. His fingers were long as they massaged against your scalp, digging any knots out with a gentle force before rinsing it.
You found yourself refreshed as you settled into the sheets once more, body fresh with a floral scent, skin drenched in almond oil, the glistening reflecting against the flame of the fireplace. The bed sunk in as Simon crawled in next to you, menacing frame wracking against yours. It was silent, the usual sound of waves and birds no longer hushing you to sleep.
Your fingers twitched as you played with the hem of your nightgown, letting out a low, exhausted breath.
“I shall not hurt you for as long as you are mine, Y/N. I hope you grow to trust me and understand that I am a man of my word. If you allow me, I would like to show you who I am and the life you can have here.”
You swallowed. There was an itch inside you that couldn’t be scratched, his words only adding fuel to an uncontrollable flame as you turned to face him, cocked up on one arm. Your gown hung low, strap dangerously low on your shoulder as he adjusted his vision back to your face, lips parted with a flushed manner.
“I’ve never experienced anything before.” Your voice was low, an evident streak of self-consciousness staining it as you averted your gaze.
“Let me help you.”
Rugged fingers lifted your gown up, silk resting against your stomach in a hunched manner as Simon gripped at your thighs, spreading them lewdly. He huffed out a hum of appreciation as you jolted in embarrassment. You were so open, so exposed to fresh eyes.
“No one’s ever touched you here?” He asked. You shook your head, gazing down at him with an unspoken innocence. You felt his lips curl against your thigh as he placed a gentle kiss to it, letting it rest against the warm skin before two fingers pulled apart your lips, glistening folds presented before him.
You felt pleasure tickle up your spine as the King placed a small kiss against your clit, a mewl escaping you as you instinctively attempted to press your thighs together. He let out a tsk as he looked up at you, amused by your reaction.
“Relax for me,” he said, arms flushed around your thighs before his tongue soaked up the middle, your juices drenching his lips as you squealed, your fingers wrapping into his dusty hair as he ravaged the taste of you.
The noises you made were wanton, slopping breaths soaking the air as he worked against you, slurping you into his mouth with an aggravated need for you. His teeth grazed against your sensitive clit, wrapping his lips around it before sucking, an obscene scream sounding from you as he continued the assault.
“Taste so fucking good,” he quipped, holding your belly down in place as your hips lifted, clit overstimulated by the amount of pleasure it only just began receiving.
“Sim-Simon, I feel strange- somethings happening,” you croaked, pulling at his hair in an attempt to stop him.
“Let it happen,” he growled, his tongue thrusting against your entrance as a finger pressed against your nub, rubbing it in circular motions as you began to hold your breath.
The pressure in your belly was turmoil like an unknown danger was approaching. Simon didn’t stop, the sound of your breath hicking stirring something primal inside of him as he held you down before the pressure inside you popped, a broken whine piercing the air as you came, hips rocking desperately against the King’s face as he growled against your heat.
He pulled away, spit slick against his chin, cocky smile on his face as you panted, chest rising and falling in a synchronised fashion. Your legs closed instinctively, wetness seeping between your bottom as you shivered, satisfied clit throbbing.
King!Ghost X Reader (This is more of a headcannon than an actual fic Sorry. I was short on time. I'm at work and the patient peed the cot :| )
King!Ghost who finds a Lord’s pretty daughter and decides you will be his bride. Despite your protests you are married within the week. Can’t refuse the King of course.
King!Ghost who holds exclusive shows. A different couple on display every time. Your deeply uncomfortable, but also intrigued by the idea, so you attend with him every time.
King!Ghost who after the third or fourth time attending, tugs you into his lap. Legs spread across his, a hand tugging your dress up. No one is looking at first, and your eyes are fixed on the couple on stage, trying to ignore the way his hand moves your panties aside.
King!Ghost who knows people are now watching the way his hands dip in your folds, working slow controlled circles. Mouth nipping your neck as you fight to suppress your moans.
King!Ghost who despite your small resistance has you up on stage the next week, bent over a chair as he buries himself in your soaking cunt. Whispering cruel words into your ears—
“Such a slut for enjoying this.”
“Bet you love the people seeing their queen get used.”
King!Ghost who despite everything would never let the people talk bad about you. The second someone tries to mention the parties he holds, suddenly there’s a surprise execution.
long, shaggy blonde hair that falls across his face, covering the large scar that goes across his left eye all the way down to his lips
there’s no chair for you. there’s his throne where he sits, and then you in his lap or splayed out at his feet with your head resting upon his knee. even during feasts, you’re draped across his lap, head dizzy with wine and mead
If he’s feeling nice, he’ll let your head loll against his shoulder and sleep despite the noise of his rowdy soldiers. until he gets bored and wakes you up, sending you to bed with a lazy flick of his wrist
he doesn’t kiss you, even when he fucks you. you got one kiss at the altar, all tongue and teeth. his big paw gripping your jaw roughly, his heavy breaths warming your face as his spit glistened your lips
when he returns from battle, he’ll always say the same thing to the servants waiting at the doors of the castle
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what would king!ghost do if he was walked in on while fucking his queen?
nsfw content below
he’s not stopping, whoever had the nerve to interrupt you would have to pry him off you with a crowbar. but he’s not happy about being disturbed. his pretty girl was all blissed out underneath him and now she’s trying to kick and push him off, tugging covers to try and preserve her modesty
so now he’s gotta wrangle you, pinning your arms down so he can keep fucking his cock into you at his usual brutal pace
depending on who interrupted you and for what would dictate his reaction. if it’s a servant coming to tidy your bedchamber, he’s grabbing the nearest candelabra or flagon to launch in towards the door, growling that the next person who interrupts him will be flayed alive in the town square
but say it’s one of his chancellors or high-esteemed knights coming to bring him some important information, he’ll flip you both around. Sitting against the bedframe and manhandling you on top of him, delivering a loud smack to your ass and telling you to carry on servicing your king whilst he deals with business
this big, malicious brute whose name is used to instil fear in even the toughest men. the name told to naughty children in their bedtime stories as they cower under their sheets
littered with scars and face torn up from a life lived in endless battles. rippled, taut muscles and heavy armour that you hear creaking and stomping down the halls of his cold, dreary castle
man of few words because his actions speak for themselves. his army brutal, fearless soldiers who take no prisoners, only leave behind corpses and cries of widows
you were gifted- no, taken from your home in the dead of night. your life traded like cattle by your father in an attempt to keep his small kingdom safe. didn’t work. ghost took you as his wife and let you watch the town burn down as he carried you towards your new life on the back of his steed
he’s unforgiving, cruel, calculated. barely speaks to you but fucks you like you’re nothing more than a whore from the brothel
Been thinking of king!ghost I love that nasty, hypocritical man bruh
Also hormonal, pregnant queen, she's been having cravings and an attitude lately, he indulged in getting whatever she craves because of course, his heir needs to grow strong, her tantrums are amusing as log as they aren't directed towards him, that one time when a poor servant dared to suggest to eat more protein instead of the pastries she's been eating all day? His queen threw a Candlesticks at the wall and the servant almost felt their soul out of their body.
What a show, fucking beautiful, his woman turned into a tiny tyrant, god help her ladies in waiting.
oh he loves it so fucking much
everyone in the castle begins avoiding you and your wrath, except him. he makes a serious effort of having you in his presence when you’re like this. just so he can ragebait you. he’ll tell the cooks you asked for a specific food he knows you don’t like, just to watch you flip your shit when they put it in front of you
loves your grumpy little face and the way you roll your eyes at every single thing someone says to you. when your ladies are showing you the latest fashions shipped in from paris, you just snap at them, “does it look like I can fit in that right now?!”
when you’re heavily pregnant and just tired and aching everywhere, this is when simon must host a feast to show everyone his newest accomplishment, you.
his aggravated little queen, swollen with his heir. oh, and she gets so annoyed when people approach simon to congratulate him on his accomplishment,
“why are they congratulating you? you didn’t do anything. this brat isn’t pushing on your bladder every 5 minutes. ridiculous!” you’d scowl, shoving his hands off of you and folding your arms over your chest
he’ll just smile, watching you with a pleased look in his eye. thinking about how he can irritate you again tomorrow
