#Knight!steve

[littlebabyyd0ll]

THE LION AND THE LAMB, PART ONE

Forced to leave your home land for the hand of the man your sister had previously been wed to, you find yourself travelling from heaven to hell. Fallen angels couldn’t really be beautiful, could they?

warnings: reader is barb’s sister, explicit themes of death, gothic genre, vampirism, arranged marriages. r’s father physically and mentally abuses her. slight NSWF themes within. you are responsible for your own media consumption.

kinktober day one my angels!!! enjoy!! 18+ only.

main masterlist ! series masterlist ! kinktober 2023

Unbound cobblestone lurches the carriage side to side once more, like an abandoned ship far out at sea, taken captive by the powerful hold of Poseidon. It wasn’t much long ago that you were sea sick from the choppy waves, accompanied by your father and his men on your travels from the bright light of your home, to the drizzling haze that was cast over the country of Hawkins. Oh, how it lived up to its reputation. Hawkins was a dark and dreary place, constantly overcast and damp with the rain that fell upon stone homes and muddied roads. The people of the country watched your bright golden carriage with an unsettling known certainty, a grimace which they all shared under the rule of their king. Draped in their dreary colours of grey and stained white, as though all colours were banned from the land. It haunts you, the undead look in their eyes as you clutch at the windowsill whilst rolling past. 

These were to be your people, your devout servants of the kingdom. 

No life shimmered in their eyes. No hands raised in warm welcomes and waves of the sight of their new queen-to-be. The people of Hawkins were used to this parade, used to the shining golden riches come from afar, accustomed with the cycle that would meet their new queen. For it happened on repeat, to every suitor that King Edward was engaged to marry. You knew, too. For it had been your sister, only months ago. 

Forcing your eyes away from the rain sodden faces of the kingdom’s people, you turned back to the other lively body in the carriage. Your father, crown tall and proper upon his head, paid no attention to the villagers as you rolled on past. His sharp gaze was unwavering on the scroll in front of him, the one composed by the King of Hawkins himself. A proposal of marriage to the King, your father, for the hand of his second eldest child, the last daughter in the line of succession. You. 

Of course, despite what happened with Barbara, your elder sister who was sent mere months ago to be wed to King Edmund, your father had been delighted by the offer, and had readied your things to leave within the hour. You had faced treacherous oceans and sinking roads to get here. All signs to turn back, to rid yourself of this fate, to run and never return. And, yet, here you sat, dress full and far too outlandish for the style of the people here. The sweetheart neckline of your glimmering, ballet-slipper pink dress seems foolish for the weather, as do the puffed sleeves that fall upon your shoulder. The corset is tight and restricting, but the ribbons that cinch the back of the gown are simply delightful and princesslike. You stand out like a sore thumb in a land like this. 

Nerves prickle under your bare skin, and suddenly your tiara weighs heavy. You see the way that your father eyeballs the number of riches that King Edward has offered for your hand and have to force yourself not to sneer at the all too familiar look. The same look that he got when King Edward had written for Barbara’s hand. As your time as princess you have come to learn many things, but one in particular. 

Men will do anything for power, glory and riches. 

“Must you go through with it, father?” Your voice is softer than intended, has none of the strength and authority that your mother once had. You had hoped to plea with him, to present a case like the sinners in court, though you truly were an innocent in all of this. 

There’s barely even a look of recognition as your father’s dull tone fills the emptiness of the rumbling carriage. “The relationship of two kingdoms is not something I am willing to endanger for your personal happiness, daughter. You will fulfil your duty as your mother did, as did your sister.”

“And look what happened to them both.” You interfere, small hands bunching at the tulle of your dress, one of the most expensive in your collection. Only the best to impress your husband-to-be. “They are dead, father. Cold as stone and buried six feet under. Are you not convinced that the same awaits me? Awaits any girl that is forced into the clutches of a powerful man?” There it is; the passion, the fire, the dare. It's the very thing that makes your father’s nostrils flare and has his hand swinging towards you. His jewelled, golden ring pierces the delicate skin upon your pigmented lips and has your face barrelling towards the small window. 

Your surprised gasp is overthrown by his tone. “It is that very attitude that surely killed them both. You will do well to remember your place in this world. You are nothing but a pawn. You are a peace treaty between lands. If your blood is the one that is spilled, so be it. My sons are becoming great men, and they are to be my legacy.” He leans forward, glaring into your tear sodden eyes. He traces the stains that run down your cheeks, sadistic pride fills his bones. He is no more family to you than King Edward. You may share blood, but he is no father of yours. “Nobody will remember the losses of a few princesses. King Edward has ruled for a glorious lifetime. You are not his first wife, and you will surely not be his last.” The words sting at your heart, to know that he is willing to bury you under a gravestone for gold, for numbers on parchment. “That is your fate, daughter. Loathe it, spite it, I do not care. But you will obey it.”

Of course you would. That was your duty. But the truth bares no kindness, no comfort in the depths of its sadness. You force your gaze away, force yourself to stop the rapid rise and fall of your chest, and dab the wound upon your lip with the handkerchief halfheartedly thrown at your lap. Your glossy eyes watch as the bumpy hill rises, and the stone walls come into view. The castle is magnificent, tall spires piercing the swirling skies and mighty defences standing proud as protection, though no one has dared to invade Hawkins in almost two hundred years. The thought had your stomach churning. Gossip of King Edward told a thousand different stories, some say that he is hypnotically handsome. Some say that wives fall dead because they grow jealous of his untimely beauty, one that they could never parallel. Others say that they drop dead at the sight of him, for he is so old that they would rather die than bed him. No one could tell you the age of the king, even when you had offered a satchel of gold. 

Once more, all good fates called out to you, begged at you not to exit the carriage and not to follow the path to the chain strung doors. And yet, a part of your soul yearned for the dark wood cast in iron. You ached to find out if the rumours were true, ached to be wed, ached to live as queen, as you had dreamed as a little girl. Subconsciously, as your father’s men knock repeatedly at the wood door, you raise your hand to the dried blood upon your lip, camouflaged with freshly applied rouge. In the depths of your heart, you hoped your fiancè to be a kind man, a man that did not strike, a man that gave you the best in life, a man that adored you. All you had was hope. 

A great groan comes from the pushing of the heavy doors. King Edward’s men appear either side of the growing gap, heaving with all their might to open the doors. The inside is dark, much darker than the outside of the castle, only the flickering flames of tall candles are enough to lighten the walkway. The carriage is opened for you, yet you await your turn. Of course, your father barges past you and steps on the once pristine fabric of your dress. A muddied footprint stains it now, and reflects the notion that your father will always be one step higher, one step in front, and he can easily kick you back down again. With a shaky breath your hands raise up, adjust the tiara that sits heavy upon your head, and you force yourself to take the hand of the footman awaiting outside of the carriage. 

Drizzling rain falls onto the sapphires of your crown, the very same shade as your father’s surcoat. He talks as though he is the most important man amongst them, his words directed to a very uninterested looking Viceroy. He’s tall, unusually tanned for the people of Hawkins and the constant coverage of clouds. He’s also rugged, knightly looking, with mid length  hazel tassels of hair falling at the back of his neck. The King’s second in command bears scars upon his forehead and upon his cheek, and yet the most noticeable thing about him was how simply bored he looked to be listening to your father. And then, he catches sight of you. 

Timid little you whose dress is stained at the bottom from the mud on the ground. Timid little you that looks up at the magnificent castle with saucers for eyes. Timid little you who bares her neck and chest, all dressed up to appease her future husband. Timid little you, who is absolutely perfect for his King. 

“Princess.” The man calls, voice smooth as he side steps around your father, who does not seem best pleased to be interrupted. You, on the other hand, seem startled to even be addressed. You stand a little straighter, as though all the lady-like lessons that our maid had taught you growing up all came rushing back to the forefront of your mind at once. The Viceroy walks towards you with ease, his outfit a deep murky brown, adorned with the glimmering of shining golden buckles. They each hold the crest of King Edward’s court. He bends at the waist at the same time that you curtsy in greeting, bowing your head and begging that the tiara does not fall off. The chestnut haired man stands tall once more, one arm over his chest, the other proper behind his back. “My name is Steven, your majesty. Sir Steven, and I wish to make your stay here as pleasant as possible. It shall be my name you call if you ever face any difficulty. The king wishes you to have an exquisite time.” 

Sir Steven’s smile is enough to have you enchanted. It distracts you from the meaning behind his words: stay, time. As though none of this is permanent. He smiles at the mere sight of you, pretty in pink and so juxtaposing from the environment around you. The only other signs of colour come from the members of your court, your father, your ladies stepping out from the carriage behind your own. So much alike many of the brides that have come before you. Steven outstretches a white gloved hand towards you, beckoning you to walk alongside him. As you walk, you cannot help your full of life eyes to cast one more glance down the slopes if the mountainous hill that the castle sits upon, and down onto the villages below. You almost feel that if you squint hard enough, you can see where life meets death at the horizon. 

The halls of Munson Castle are dim and dark. The only sounds available in the dinginess are those of your ladies’ shoes upon the wooden floor behind you and the flickering of flames from the torches mounted to the walls. It seemed as though every magnificent window was guarded closed by large drapes of fabric curtains. No sunlight entered the halls, and the flames were just about strong enough to illuminate the paintings upon the walls. Great murals of battles from hundreds of years ago, some even considered myths, aligned the walls. Victors and losers alike, some of your ancestors were pictured in the paintings. Hundreds of years on, you wonder if your marriage to Edward would disappoint them, for he too was an ancestor of many people in the paintings. Thousands of years ago, your two kingdoms had been at war. No more, not with a marriage that came long ago, yet another wife that had died the night of their wedding. 

The thought propels you into memories of Barbara. This place was going to be her home, her beginning, her kingdom to rule as queen. Your heart rate spikes at the thought of how she would react, to your stealing of her husband. Would she get angry? Would she warn you of what had happened to her? She may even haunt these halls, dead in her pristine white wedding dress. For the Kingdoms of the Old, this was an extremely uncommon practice that only King Edward insisted upon. Usually brides-to-be were coated head to toe in gold, silver, bright colours of riches enough to show off the status of the family. King Edward only ever dressed his brides in plain white dresses, the only sign of riches coming from the measly tiara he would have them wear. A flimsy, silver thing with absolutely no jewels whatsoever. At least, that's what the servant’s gossip had said. None of your family had attended Barbara’s wedding, far too at a loss with the death of your mother. Your father had shipped her away without as much as a goodbye. At the very least, you still had his presence. There was always something to be thankful for. 

Your hand still laid delicately upon Sir Steven’s palm as he walked you through the halls. 

“King Edward wishes to convey his deepest apologies for not being able to meet his bride-to-be, princess.” Spoke Steven, motioning for guards to open up another set of large and heavy doors. This one led directly into the throneroom, large enough to host magnificent balls and could just about fit the whole population of Hawkins inside. “You see, His Majesty deals with the court in the daytime, he spends his hours locked up inside of the Place of Arms. He holds his meetings there, you see, and that is your King’s only rule.” Steven suddenly drops your hand, his face deadly serious. You're sure that the expression on your face reflects the swirling inside of your stomach. “King Edward is a kind King and an even kinder husband. He only forbids you from ever entering the Place of Arms during the day.” Slowly, you nod in acceptance of Steven’s words, of your future husband’s wishes. Is that who he is to be? A man you never see in the day, a man who only ever wishes to bed you at night, who does not care for what you preoccupy your time with? “It is imperative that you understand, princess. There is no entrance to the Place of Arms. Never within daylight hours. What goes on behind those doors are for the King’s knowledge only.” 

It’s nothing more than a whisper, your voice. A gentle, “I understand.” And a subservient bow of your head. Just as you had been taught, you are appeasing your husband before having even met him. 

But it is this very moment that Steven takes notice of the state of your bottom lip. His voice gently beckons you upward, encouraging you to look him in the eyes. He does not meet yours, however, chocolate irises far too entranced at the dried blood. “How did this come to be?”

The gentleness surprises you, and in a fleeting heartbeat, a moment of misjudgement, your eyes betray you. They fly towards your father’s figure, watching as he scrutinises the two thrones upon the raised flooring of the great hall. Though they are far more magnificent than those of your home, the ones that your brothers will surely kill each other to sit upon, he stares at them as though they are nothing but a spec of dust, floating through the air. 

Steven notices immediately. “I will have word sent to the King.”

“No.” You instantly reply, eyes growing wide at the brashness of your tone. You sputter, “Forgive me. I-I just mean that it is nothing worth consulting his majesty over.” Your eyes tell a thousand stories, rhymes and riddles of all the times you have had to cover up injuries before. “Please.”

“He will find out, princess. Either through me, or the gossip of the servants.” Steven is sincere in his words, only looking you in the eye. “Let me soften the blow. He won't be best pleased, your grace.” 

Something aches within you. Had he taken a keen interest in Barbara like this? Does he pretend to care for all of his wives before they are cursed with untimely deaths? You wish not to know, face pale and hands shaking. 

“Would you be kind enough to take my daughter to her quarters, Sir Simon? She ought to ready herself for the ball tonight.” Your father approaches with his loud voice and his even louder footsteps. You are quite sure that if it were practical enough, he would have shoes of gold. “A perfect bride takes hours to perfect her beauty for her husband.” slowly, he takes a stand of your hair and curls it around his finger. An act which would seem harmless for some, yet you know its true meaning; a warning. Do not disappoint him. 

In your mind, the idea of your father’s obnoxiousness makes Steven more likely to tell the King that he had been the one to strike you. Perhaps that is what possesses you to speak so harshly. “His name is Sir Steven, father. You will do well to remember it.” 

Regret will surely come soon enough. But for now, you allow Sir Steven to escort you out of the ballroom, and all the way to the east wing, to your new quarters. 

Everything is ready for your arrival. The room is simply divine, despite its darkness. The sun is soon to set, so you believe. Everything is magnificent, the four poster bed, the mirror tall enough to be a giant, a great vanity and even soft, plush chairs for your relaxation. You gaze at it with fearsome admiration, a look that your ladies lining the walls have never seen before. Steven watches you with a growing sadness from the doorway. For you hold the same look in your eye that your sister had before you. And he knows that you too should await the same fate. But for now, he lets your girlhood run wild, and allows you to bask in all things prenuptial. 

“I will be back to escort you to the ball, your majesty.” He turns to the girls that watch you adoringly. “Ladies, this could be the most important eve of her life.” He turns back to you with a smile. “Make her feel like the fairest of all.”

And he disappears, closing the door with an unknown swiftness. It takes a mere moment before the act of your ladies drops, and they too fawn over all that is around you. You each squeal and laugh, completely enamoured by the riches and the newness of it all. Ladies Nancy, Robin and Erica gush over the luck you are presented with, and they tell you that you are destined to be the one true love of King Edward, that this marriage will be different to all those before. They speak whilst undressing you and leading you through a little side door into a spacious room, one with a sparkling golden bathtub at its centre. 

For the hours that follow, you are simply girls. The best of friends, readying one for a night of parties and celebration. New beginnings lay ahead of you, and yet they look at you the same way that they always have. With love, the same way that you used to look at Barbara. They tell you the quickly acquired gossip as they scrub underneath your nails and rake their fingers through your hair. 

“The King’s maid said that he is of fine beauty.” Nancy giggles, lightly fingering at one of the crimson rose petals that float on the surface of the water. Her sapphire coloured sleeves are rolled up as she leans over the tub, head resting against her arm. “And he is most kind, treats his people with only the best.”

“Am I the only one who saw the villagers as we rode in?” You murmured, watching robin as she fiddled with your fingernails. “They seemed so… lifeless. They bore no excitement to have a new queen. Everything here, it’s so different.” The words fall slowly and riddled with anxiety, and your ladies share a knowing look. “I wonder if she felt the same, coming here. If she were as scared as I.” 

“There can be no man worse to wed than your father, princess.” Erica speaks from behind you, gathering water to push away the soap in your hair. “The king, though his lovelife has been misfortunate, appears to be a good man. He has restored peace, it has been years since the last war broke out. The maids say that he is compelling.” You sigh quietly. “You cannot allow yourself to live in fear of what you do not know. The future is exciting. You ought to breathe, and forget about everything. Tonight, you are nought but a princess, a fiancé, about to meet her husband-to-be.” You can hear the way that she smiles through her words. “And we promise to make you look so saccharine that you take his breath away.”

They do. They always do. You almost can’t believe yourself as you look upon the mirror. The dress that had been brought up to your room was a deep blue, the blue of your court. Its neckline delved into your chest and dropped into ruffles of timeless lace that led straight to your waist, cinched by the strength of three girls and a corset. It fell all the way to your toes, where you had grown a few inches from the heeled shoes presented to you. As before, a mighty tiara sits pretty upon your hairline, glimmering in the candlelight. The ladies had pushed half of your hair up and styled the rest to cascade down your delicate shoulders. Nancy had insisted upon your collarbone being visible, insinuating that the show of skin would have your betrothed hardly able to control himself.

You weren't so sure that you liked the sound of that. 

“He will not be able to breathe when he gazes upon you.” Robin gushes, lightly adjusting the pearl necklace upon your neck, right over your pulse point. “He will wish to move the engagement from a week long to no more than a day.”

You roll your eyes. 

“It is true!” Nancy murmurs from behind you, her dainty hands laying delicate little forget-me-nots, the flower of your kingdom, into the flowing locks of your hair. Thank heavens that they had thought to preserve and bring the flowers, for the land of hawkins was half dead, You haven't seen much more than overgrown shrubbery on the way here.  “We have truly outdone ourselves, though it helps to have such an exquisite canvas.” 

“You ladies are really working hard to ensure I have you in my favour.” You laugh, adjusting the tiara in the mirror. Your ladies had also changed into their ball gowns, though nowhere near as regal and outlandish as your own. “Once I am wed I assure you that finding you the most perfect Lords will be at the top of my list of priorities.” 

If I live past the wedding night, you think, but do not speak. There is no purpose in killing their uplifted spirits. 

“Tonight is about you. Do not fret upon us.” Erica grins, shooing away Nancy and Robin, helping you down from the pedestal in front of the mirror in your larger-than-life room. Her hands are warm against your skin, despite the ever growing chill of the castle. You grip onto her for life, holding on to something so valuable, something of home. Erica turns you slightly, giving one last adjustment as Nancy and Robin both come to stand by her sides. They each hold a matching grin, watching you with a lifelong earnestness. “Our princess.”

“Your future Queen.” Comes another tone, much deeper than possible of the three girls that stood in the room with you. You each turn to the now somewhat familiar man, Sir Steven, as he lingers upon the doorway. He still bears the dull brown colour, though now his uniform is much more exquisite. His tunic is stark blue, matching the colours of your Kingdom. He also wears brown and red on his overcoats, the colours of his kingdom. It is a peaceful statement, the joining of two kingdoms. 

You wonder if he wore that to Barbara’s engagement ball. 

Steven looks at you with his big brown eyes, taking in the sight before him. Even you have to admit, you feel like a glowing star. “You look divine.” He murmurs, lifting his arm and outstretching it towards you. Your dainty hand falls into the crook of his elbow effortlessly. “The king shall admire your vision for years to come.” 

And it suddenly hits you. Tonight is about you, this is all for you. You and your future husband, who you will meet in mere moments. He is mere rooms away as Steven escorts you towards the throne room, and you suddenly realise that these could be your last living moments. If the rumours about King Edward are true, this could truly be your last eve alive. You could fall dead at the very sight of him. Perhaps he is a terribly old man who wants nothing more than for you to bed him and give him heirs. A pretty plaything. A pawn to another man’s game. 

You shudder a breath, one that has your chest pushing harshly into the unforgiving corset. There’s a burst of light in the depths of the dark hallways. It comes from the cracks in the ajar door of the trone room. There is a faint tune of music, great orchestral music alike. Your footsteps sound faintly as you grow closer, no match for the chatter and music and dancing. Steven can feel the sudden sharpness of your nails through his overcoat, and murmurs lowly. “Relax. You will be perfect.” 

You wish you could. 

But the nerves do not die as you stand with Steven in front of the great double doors. Your heart pounds wildly as the herald by the door announces your name in a great bellowing shout. You tense as the double doors begin to widen, and the light becomes ten times more eminent. Steven drops his arm, and your weak arm falls limp at your side. The dancing and chattering has stopped, and the music has become mellow, gentle to welcome you into the room of your new kingdom. The first thing you can see is the bright glowing lights, candles everywhere, and suddenly the room is anew. There is no darkness, no shadows creeping down your spine. The room is alive. As are the faces that stare back at you, so many Lords and Ladies, perhaps even royalty of different kingdoms. It is easy to spot who is of Hawkins, their red emblems pinned neatly to the breasts of both tunics and dresses. They part like waves of the sea, and the aura inside the room bides you in without thought. Some greater nature pulls you in, tugs you by force, and has your feet moving one step after the other into the middle of the room. 

You stop in the middle of the ballroom, beneath a magnificent golden chandelier. The gold flickers and shimmers with the flames around it, like stars overhead. You hope that all good fates and gods are watching you now, and will bless your soul. For right now, you feel like a fox against a pack of archers. Every person in the room stares at you, at only you, and yet they do not whisper a word. You turn, spinning on the spot, trying to identify someone, anyone. To find some familiarity amongst strangers. It does not come, the sense of relief that you so desperately sought. Instead, as you stop turning, a group of people in front of you begin to move, parting once more from one another. And then, the music begins to pick up, something deep and meaningful, a tune of the kingdom. Your eyes do not part with the scene in front of you, and still no pair of eyes stray from your figure. Scared. Alone. Until you see.

Black polished shoes graze against the wooden floor. They dazzle in the light, leading to an obsidian pair of breeches, belt loops adorned with hanging golden chains. A flowing material flutters behind the figure lightly, connected to his shoulders, hung by a golden chain to his frilled tunic. The sleeves of his shirt are long, yet his arms are defined enough to be conveyed. The figure that your eyes rake up is tall, taller than any man you have ever known. Your heartbeat impossibly quickens as your eyes meet raven curls, twisting up towards the most handsome face you possibly had ever seen. Sharp jaw and cheeks, dark features enhanced by his pale skin. King Edward looks celestial in all of his grace. He stops a foot or two in front of you lightly trembling form, and he’s so tall. Not lanky, built enough to convey his strength and he fills out his clothes. But that is not what captures your attention most, no, your future husband’s eyes are something of a fairytale. He stares at you softly, despite the sharpness of his eyes. They're brown, yet so much deeper and darker than Sir Steven’s. You swear that something swirls within the depths of those irises, and you are sure not to be mistaken when there is a flicker of gold and blood red, at the closest points to his pupils. 

The King is magnificent. 

Suddenly you feel as though you might fall to the wife’s curse, for his looks and beauty are far  too fine to be of this world. 

He could be an angel, or he could be the devil. His motivations seem unclear, for if he were just marrying for the nations, he would never stare at you the way that he does in that moment. King Edward looks at you as though you are the rarest jewel in the land, something to be cherished for millenia to come. He looks at you how the most adoring, caring husband would to his dearly beloved wife. It burns your chest. What is all this for? Is he merely just a shining actor, ready to do what he will to get you into bed?

But the King does not speak, he only moves. His eyes remain the same as he slowly circles around you, soft, gentle, yet observant. He is vetting you, ensuring that you would be the perfect wife, the perfect woman. You can remember the way that the maids in the castle back home had gripped at your hips and told you how a king would adore them, what they could do, what they could create. They saw you as a baby making machine. It’s not the same now, for you can feel the icy cold tingle left in the wake of King Edward’s stare. He observes your hair, fingertips grazing the ends lightly before he plucks one of the clusters of forget-me-nots out, and pockets it next to his neck tie. Blood red and sapphire blue. His eyes continue around you and his hand falls back to your hair, slowly pushing it away from your shoulder and neck as he comes back towards your line of vision. He seems to take in the sight of your pearl necklace, and Nancy was right, for you swear that his eyes darken at the sight. You flush at the realisation; The King wants you. He finds you more than pleasing, and you seem to have passed his evaluations. Relief floods you – the poorly hidden cut upon your bottom lip had not deterred him.

You feel tiny under his gaze. You can barely breathe, and you feel as though your heart is trying to escape from your chest. It would be impossible to match him, to be acquainted with his wealth, his power. You would surely forever be known as the princess who did not deserve such a man. 

And yet, King Edward falls down to one knee. He lowers himself, far lower than you. At first, you believe him to be bowing. But the reality is far different. The King produces a golden ring, a deep, dark ruby red jewel encrusted with a halo of darling diamonds. It sits proudly between his own ringed fingers, presented to you, and is probably worth more than anything you have ever owned. Across the room, you can practically hear your father encouraging you to take the ring, to take the King as your husband. 

“Princess,” his voice is so unlike anything you have ever heard before. So rich and smooth, yet intoxicating and deep He speaks as a King, with power and authority. His voice can be heard over the orchestral music, he is so respected. So adored. “I present you with this ring as a symbol of our unity. Of two kingdoms. Take this ring, and I will give you anything you could ever ask for, anything your heart could ever desire. Swear yourself to me, as my wife, as my Queen, and you shall have eternal glory.”

You raise a trembling hand towards him. Words cannot convey the sudden compelling that you have, the need to take his hand, to fulfil what he has promised for you. You feel air-light as you speak almost breathlessly, “I swear myself to you, King Edward.” 

The pressure of your corset seems to have faded. You can breathe freely as soon as the ring slips onto your finger. His hand is cold as he reaches for your finger, chilled as the winter’s snow. You jolt, though do your best to contain it as your skin makes contact with his own. You’ve surely never felt something so cold before, and yet never felt so warm. Heat and bliss dance around you as the ring slips over your knuckle, and falls perfectly into place against your skin. 

You admire the jewel for a moment, take in the fact that it now resides there, upon your very own finger. You take in the fact that King Edward had not seen you and rejected you in a moment, instead fallen to his knee and presented you with a glistening ring. Your heart soars, and your eyes travel to meet his. Those around you have began to dance once more, shouting their cheers for their king. You are certain that you heard Robin’s squeal in there somewhere. He watches you intently, as though a creature so beautiful had never existed before. He seems mystified, perhaps even as much so as you are. The King looks at you as though there is a halo upon the crown of your head, and God had delivered you here on a silver platter himself. 

Edward raises your entwined hands, presses his cool lips against your knuckles, and drags you further under his spell. You spin and spin, until you realise that it isn’t only in your head, and the two of you are dancing, hand in hand, his other at the curve of your waist. You can feel the way that his thumb glides over the fabric of your dress, the subtle admiring of such fine clothing. King Edward is a force that hits you like a storm.

“You are a rarity.” He murmurs to you, eyes flickering golden. His lips entrance you as they move, something so compelling yet familiar to you. Did those lips ever meet Barbara’s? How many of his past wives has he held this way, presented such fine jewellery to? King Edward has ruled for a glorious lifetime. You are not his first wife, and you will surely not be his last. It is as though he can detect a disturbance within your aura, the King moves to pull you closer. Your breath hitches as you feel the solid wall of his chest, the brushing of his thigh against your dress. “A fine jewel, something men like I could only ever dream of.” The forget-me-not in his necktie sways with the movement of his dancing. His voice lulls you, but his hands have you more alive than ever before. “The stars are shining down upon me tonight. Being King has brought me many fortunes, but you, my heart, are the most supreme of them all.”

You can almost hear your maids back home, telling you what to say, how to bat your eyes, how to smile. Yet it almost comes on unconsciously as you speak to your newly betrothed. “I wish nothing more than to prove myself to you, my King. I will serve you well as your Queen. Forever, I am indebted to you.” 

There is an incessant presence between the two of you, something that shifts in the air and pushes the blood through your veins. Though you have never felt it before in your life, you know what it is – arousal. Something you only learned of after one of Barbara’s ladies was caught in the stable with a young knight, and Robin spent the eve explaining the ways that people come together to procreate. You wonder how soon after the marriage King Edward will want to consummate. It is a clear thought in his own mind, for he looks at you as though you are the most divine meal, served on a silver platter. 

“I am the luckiest man in the whole kingdom.” He murmurs, eyes flickering from your neck to your eyes. “Sir Steven often overexaggerates, but he did not lie when it comes to your gentle beauty and charm. You are the finest bride-to-be.”

And, suddenly, something stirs within you. His words push you head first out of the trance he had gently swayed you into, and now you remember the absurdity of it all. The fact that Barbara was here, in your place, and now dead. The burn of arousal turns to a burn of fire, churning deep within you. You blaze. 

“Finer than my own sister?” You do not allow yourself to physically sneer, not in front of all these people, but your tone is enough for the King. He watches as you lean yourself away from him. “Or even the wife before? Will you say the same to one of my nieces, when they turn of age?”

But Edward does not falter. He does not grow angry, he does not shout, he does not strike. His eyes remain that same calm and cool. Golden, brown. His gentleness is suffocating. “I understand how–”

“The girl forgets herself.” A drunken tone interrupts. One you are all too familiar with, one that you avoid with great caution. Your dance with King Edward falls apart as you both turn to the stumbling figure of your father, who just happened to be passing as you spoke out of tone. A goblet is gripped tightly between his fingers. He drinks enough for half of the ballroom. Your father sneers openly at you, raising the goblet. “Nothing a simple drubbing won’t fix. She will take it, your highness, she will grow to understand her place.” Your father grumbles, swigging his mead. “Just as her mother did.”

The king straightens beside you. 

You can feel his energy change at the mention of harming you, the idea that he should be the one to set you right with a physical hand. The King towers over both you and your father, and in the short time that you have known him, you are determined in your knowledge that he has far more power and authority than your father. 

“I hope you make jest,” the raven haired man speaks your father’s name lowly. Said man lowers his chalice, waveringly glancing between you and Edward. “The princess knows her place…” King Edward steps forwards, his dominance unmistakeable. Your father gulps. “She is the future Queen of the most powerful kingdom in this corner of the globe. She is my bride-to-be. I had hoped that my loyal servants had lied about the cut upon her saccharine lips. Perhaps, you forgot your own place? I would loathe to have to prosecute you ‘pon means to harm the future Queen.”

Your heart soars. Your lip stings dully. Your eyes are glassy and the shape of hearts, because nobody has ever, ever stood up for you like that. It is clear to you now - Edward is a fierce lover, and a loyal man. He works to protect you, protect his kingdom. You ache for the harsh words that you had previously spoken, how you had intended to harm his feelings. Here he is, protecting you from the torture of your own flesh and blood. Forget the rumours, the curses. In front of you is a human man protecting his newfound love. Perhaps you are different to all of his past queens, for you are sure that he cannot fall this quickly each time, cannot care so. 

Your heart begins to beat for the King of Hawkins. 

Your father breaks the stare between them first. He is no match for the pale, tall and built figure in front of him. Not to mention the sword-clad guards lined up against each wall of the ballroom. Sir Steven has drawn closer at the scene, his fingers grazing the metal of the hilt of his sword. His eyes are dangerous and dark, watching intently as your father begins to stumble backwards, his aged brows pulled together. 

Edward watches him go with a blank stare, yet still so intimidating. Most of the crowd around you are still dancing their hearts out, feet uncontrollably moving. As though they are destined to never stop, not unless their King tells them to. Perhaps it is not you that is a pawn, but them. 

A cold, gentle hand falls at your elbow, gripping lightly. Your eyes reach those of King Edward’s, but they are suddenly unfamiliar. There is no gold, no hint of red. They are almost obsidian black, the same tone as his curly hair. You can feel the invisible string pulling your brows together as you take in the sight, dainty hand moving up towards his face. The warmth of your skin caresses his cheek, thumb ghosting across the skin under his eye. 

“Your eyes…” you murmur, wracking your brain for a logical answer. “They have changed.” 

“They have not been the same since I set my sights on you, princess.” The King’s free hand meets yours, sandwiching you between his cool skin. “They will never be the same again.” 

You believe him wholeheartedly. You can see the meaning of his words within his eyes, and your heart bleeds for him. In fact, you are sure that you have already passed over your heart to him, pushed your hand inside your chest and dug around until you reached the beating organ, your vessel of life, and handed it over to him. 

The feeling lingers, once more underneath the spell of King Edward, throughout the eve. You are enamoured by him as he walks you through the throne room, introducing you to the strange people of Hawkins. Some of them look at you as though you are a piece of meat, and you are sure that you can feel the King’s grip on your waist tighten. They all seem to have a similar aura about them, like they share a hidden secret. They stare intensely, but you assume it is because you are an outsider. Still, King Edward puts you at ease. He speaks so freely, so smoothly. He shows you your future throne, shows you the deep, red ruby set at the crescent of the golden chair. It matches your ring entirely, and the King does not comment when you speak on their likeness. What else could you expect? It is the colour of his court, after all. You are still enamoured when he sneaks you away from the courtroom, when he steals you from the knowing stares of your ladies, who happily let him take you away. They steal your chalice of wine and usher you with shooing hands, winking wildly. 

You grin like a child, unable to contain your excitement,  in a way that you haven’t in so many years. Not since the last festival of light, back in your home kingdom, with your mother, when she had sang to you, span you in dance, braided your hair. You had not known a giddiness quite like this in such a long lifetime. You cannot help the way that you giggle as you run hand in hand through the flame lit halls. Your hair sways behind you, flowers surely falling from their neat positions. The clipping sound of your heels fills the hall, and King Edward’s somehow fall silently. You suppose in hindsight that it is due to his meticulous battle training, his tactics. 

The King takes you out to a courtyard, one that is filled with some of the first signs of life that you have seen since arriving in Hawkins. Flowers bloom in the midnight moon, something exotic and unseen of your land. Some are bright red, others variants of orange and yellow. They hold so much life, so natural and yet completely supernatural at the same time. He speaks their names slowly, guiding you through them with a gentle hand against your spine. You have never heard of the plants before, never been so in awe of the world’s beauty. 

King Edward watches you. His eyes take in the way that you kneel to be closer to the horticulture, the gentleness of your fingers as you test the leaves. He grows to quickly adore the soft nature of your voice, the inquiries of your genuine questions. He answers them with the same love in his eyes that you hold in yours, and suddenly you feel as though you could be his wife blind. Help him rule his kingdom without as such as a hiccup. 

“You will make the most beautiful Queen.” He speaks to you towards the end of the night, when the two of you have tucked yourselves away in a corner of the ballroom that Sir Steven made you return to. King Edward looks down at you as he speaks, large hands holding a chalice which he tips towards your lips. Obediently you open your mouth to him, the red wine burning upon your tongue as it slips past your healing lips. “So adoring, so fine. I wish for my people to serve you as they do me. I will arrange for you to visit the townsfolk with Sir Steven tomorrow, to see how they live.” You try not to think of their solemn faces, the death in their eyes. “You will grow to love them as your own, Princess.” 

“Anything you wish, My King.” The words come after a swallow of the alcohol, the King’s eyes following a falling drop of crimson as it cascades down your chin. His eyes flicker once more, a new sort of hunger hidden behind them. “Will you do me the pleasure of accompanying myself and Sir Steven?” 

His gaze shifts again, and something swirls in his chest — you can almost see it happening. 

“My duties lay elsewhere in the daytime, Princess. I did ask Steven to assure you of this,” 

“He did.” You’re quick to interject. “It was merely wishful thinking, my King. I apologise.” 

“You never have to be sorry.” He murmurs, dark eyes injecting a cooling sensation into your very veins. King Edward has put a spell on you, a spell that would surely soon have him chasing after you.

A spell that will have you running from the daylight. 

#<3 eddie munson #eddie munson! abby’s version #abby’s kinktober ! #dark! :0 #multiple characters #vampire #vampire!eddie #stranger things fanfic #stranger things au #knight!steve #eddie #eddie munson smut #princess!reader #Eddie Munson au #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader

[kittttycakes]

this was originally something I sent in a couple asks to @poppy-metal on anon about (since this is a sideblog boo) but I’m just having a lot of thoughts I gotta flesh out and feelings about princess!reader, knight!steve, and highwayman!eddie and I’ve gotta get them all out

contents: fem!princess reader, knight!steve, highwayman!eddie, eventual steve x reader x eddie, implied fantasy levels of peril that does not end up playing out, fantasy renaissance setting (think Ever After or honestly any fantasy media you like that maybe doesn’t pay too much attention to historical accuracy in the name of having fun and having good vibes), frankly alarming use of commas and parenthesis, pining

a/n: 2.4K because this ballooned wildly out of control, part one of maybe more?

a/n 2.0: part two is here!

you’ve known steve your whole life, almost, he’s always been your most loyal knight, and you’ve always handpicked him as part of your guard any time you have to travel because he’s the one you trust the most to keep you safe

(he’s been in love with you since the day you met. once you gave him your favor at a tournament and he’s kept it with him ever since, after he won. he would risk it all to be with you but can’t imagine putting you in a position to refuse him, and so he puts all of that love into keeping you safe, and hopes you can feel it when you press your hand to his as he helps you in to your litter)

{you know. you have always known and you would run away with him if he asked but you have also always known who you are: an expendable princess to a kingdom with too many heirs and not enough land that will, someday soon, no longer exist, once the kingdoms nearest to yours realize how easy it would be to take, but that’s not your story. this is}

you’re traveling as quietly and as carefully as you can, because there are rumors of highwaymen in this wood, because you are unmarried, because the other (dwindling) guard and the other larger carriages have been diverted to the other heirs closer to the throne, and so it is only you, and your most loyal {most beloved} knight on horseback and the driver of your carriage and the nurse turned companion you’ve had since childhood who has a tendency to doze off the moment the wheels begin turning, meaning that you can, if you are quiet, talk with steve through the window as he rides alongside you

(and he can pretend that his heart isn’t breaking, because this may be the last time he can be with you like this, because this isn’t the travel of moving houses in the summer, this isn’t traveling to a foreign court to strengthen an alliance, this is something else. you are going to meet a prince, and maybe he will marry you, and then…and then he can’t think about it any more)

{and you can pretend that your heart isn’t breaking, either, because you have been privately assured that this is the last chance, if this man you have never met does not want to marry you, then you’ll be sent away to a crumbling nunnery at the edges of the kingdom because you are quickly becoming more of a liability than an asset and you can’t decide which is worse, to lose steve and to lose this closeness because a man you have never met before comes between you, or to lose steve at the gates of a nunnery and spend the rest of your days in quiet contemplation, thinking about what could have been if you had been born to any other station}

but it is a beautiful day and the woods are quiet and you have this moment now, with steve, almost perfect, almost alone, until he stops, abruptly, and holds up his hand for the driver to stop as well, and when you start to ask him why, he starts to tell you to wait a moment, which is all the warning you get before an arrow embeds itself in the top of your carriage

and maybe - maybe if steve loved you less it wouldn’t have happened the way that it did, but he is so focused on the threat from above in the trees and from the men coming down the road towards you that he does not think to check the road behind or beside you

you don’t even have time to scream when a pair of strong hands pull you out of the carriage and down to the road. you stumble, just a little, because all your life you’ve been treated as if you’re made of glass, all gentle touches and hovering hands and the concern in your lady’s maid’s eyes when she thinks she may have stuck you with a pin. but this is different - there is care here, this person doesn’t want to hurt you, but they do want you to move quickly and get down

the driver has already made a run for it into the trees and no one makes a move to stop him, because by the time he reaches the nearest town, it will be far too late. your companion, who has only now woken up, is screaming inside the carriage, but that isn’t important now

what is important is the man behind you, with one hand on your waist and the other over your mouth, the press of his heavy rings against your lips, not enough to hurt but enough to feel, and a soft gasp as you realize that this is the first time any man has touched you so intimately

what is also important is that steve, for all of his skill as a knight and for all of his love for you, is horribly outnumbered, with enough men to spare to unload your trunks and even one to suggest to your companion that, perhaps, she might like to try running back down the road until she reaches the town before or a kinder traveling band, whichever comes first

you can see it in steve’s eyes, when you’re walked around to his side of the road, your own eyes wide with panic but not fear, not yet, because it’s all happened too fast for you to be afraid. until, that is, you hear the man holding you [“that’s a good girl, darling, keep walking this way”] and you remember every story you have ever heard about highwaymen and beautiful young women. but you can see it, how much steve loves you and how angry he is at the men that have surrounded the both of you and how deeply, deeply he feels like he has failed you and you try to show him that you don’t blame him, not for this, as he’s forced to lay down his sword

“you can take whatever you’d like. just let us go,” steve is using that tone of voice that you recognize as his most reasonable but barely restrained at the same time, just the barest hint of a threat underneath the veneer of reasonableness and courtly politeness drilled into him since birth, and you still want to scream but maybe just a bit less now, because even when he’s outnumbered six to one, he’s still steve

the voice that comes from behind you sounds just as reasonable as you feel it rumble against your back, but there’s a humor there, as if he’s barely stopping himself from laughing at a joke that only he knows - “I did think about it. I’d planned on it, really, but then—”

and he takes his hand away from your mouth to hold out to one of his men, adjusting automatically to bring his whole arm across your waist, so you can’t run to steve like every cell in your body is screaming for you to do, pulling you more firmly against him.

“I saw this. and I’m pretty good with maps, like knowing whose territory I’m in, I suppose, so imagine my surprise when I saw this lovely royal seal on this message to your hosts.”

and he holds it out in front of you, the parchment unsealed, the crest imprinted in the wax split down the middle, the details of your kingdom and your dowry and how advantageous an alliance would be. and your blood runs cold

you didn’t realize you intended to say anything before you started talking. “you can have all of it. the jewelry—there’s a false bottom to the trunk, under my dresses. you can have—here—“ and here you start to pull the pearl tipped pins from your hair, the careful construction of your maid tumbling down piece by piece as you try to push them into his hand, the one holding the parchment still, as steve’s eyes beg you to stop talking

“I’m not—we didn’t want—the roads are dangerous, so we…so I don’t have…much of my jewelry on me, but you can have it all, I don’t want it, just let him go.” steve’s face is still composed but his eyes—his eyes are horrified as the last words leave your mouth, but you don’t think you’re leaving the woods anymore, and you’d rather he go than see what might happen

but you’re surprised, nearly shocked, when the voice behind you drops the parchment and presses the pins back into your hand and says, with just a tinge of the horror you see reflected in steve’s eyes, “I think you’d better stop that, princess. this isn’t exactly the place. we can discuss this like [and here he looks at steve] like gentlemen, somewhere more private. I’m sure if your father can afford such a generous dowry, he can afford to pay just a little ransom for his daughter and her knight.”

it’s only after - after the trunks have been carried away, after the man with his arm around you instructs the men to clear everything away, after the horses are given over to his men - that you see his face for the first time, and get his name

he’s still holding on to you as his men finish pushing the carriage into the undergrowth of the forest, the road looking as undisturbed as it did when you first arrived, as casually as if he does it all the time {maybe he does}, that he says, breath brushing against your ear and making a shiver run down your spine - “I’m trusting you not to do anything foolish if I let go of you. I can do that, right, princess?” and it feels mocking, the way he says your title, but not unpleasantly so, and you shove this feeling down and push it away—

“I won’t do anything, I promise. you have my word.”

and he lets you go. you aren’t expecting it, after having him solidly behind you for what felt like an hour but was probably barely ten minutes, so you stumble, just slightly, and steve is immediately there to catch you, hands catching yours and pulling you straight, eyes searching yours as the man behind you strolls over to face you both as if he hasn’t a care in the world

dark hair, dark eyes, and that smile—

he’s looking between you and steve, looking at your hands, and smiling as if this is a gift, the brightest jewel in your collection, the shining point of the circlet hidden in the top of your trunk

“I hate to tear the two of you apart but I’m not sure I can trust this one—“ he nods at steve “not to do something heroic and probably stupid if I let the two of you stay together for our brief journey to our next stop.”

and while he isn’t wrong, you’re just a bit offended that he doesn’t seem to consider that you might do something just as stupid and heroic as well

“I’m not leaving her,” steve replies immediately, voice like ice, like the sharpest his sword has ever been

“I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” the other man replies easily, and this is when you hear his name for the first time, when two of the men carrying a trunk pass by and one starts to ask “eddie, should we—“ and he replies by swearing first and then “what did I tell you about the names?” to which the other man does have the grace to look shamefaced and apologize before abandoning his question and moving on

you tuck this information away for later, not knowing why it seems important

“she’ll ride with me,” steve continues, as if he is still in charge, and you know that this is not going to happen as soon as the words leave his mouth because you know steve and you can see in his eyes that even without a weapon, with you on his horse with him, he would make a run for it with you

“she’ll ride with me, actually,” eddie replies smoothly. “collateral, if I need it, and an easy way to keep you attached to our little party. no offense meant, princess.”

you’re looking between the two of them, eyes unable to settle on either, some of the fear you felt earlier finally disappearing because if he means to ransom you, you’ll be unharmed, but steve—

“absolutely not. if you think i’d allow my lady to ride with a complete stranger who has already attacked us once—“

“an attack in which no one was harmed,” eddie adds in what is no doubt meant to be a helpful and reassuring tone, if it weren’t for the undercurrent of amusement

and you can see it before steve even replies, you know that, at best, you’ll be here listening to the both of them argue for as long as they have breath, or, at worst, steve will put himself in real and present danger by saying something without really thinking it through, and so you surprise yourself by cutting in

“I’ll ride with you, on one condition.” you draw yourself up to your full height and try to look as commanding as your mother could be on her better days, even as you try to ignore the fact that you aren’t currently in a position to demand anything of the man planning to hold you for ransom

“she speaks!” eddie looks positively delighted, although you can’t imagine why “if that condition is in my power to give, you’ll have it, my lady,” and he looks at steve again, at the last, words an echo of his own, although you can’t say he’s nearly as reverent [not yet]

“I want your word, as a—as a gentleman, that no harm will come to myself, or to sir harrington, while we travel with you, and in return, I will ride with you.”

his smile, when it comes, is disarming - real, genuine amusement as he looks you in the eyes and says “it’s been a long time since anyone called me a gentleman, but for what it’s worth, you have my word.”

and - god help you - you believe him

#highwayman!eddie #knight!steve #princess!reader #steddie x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #steve harrington imagine #kittycakes writes

[poppy-metal]

when will someone torture themselves with desire for me. just thoughts of torment at all hours of the day because they want me so bad they yearning consumes them they look at me and want to tear me apart limb from limb so they can eat my heart so no one else can have it or touch it or make it beat. they'll settle for their fantasies, for their hand beating around their flesh as they imagine unspooling me and being inside me in all the ways that are possible. its enough, they think. it has to be it has to be it has to be.

#poppy speaks #feeling poetic tn #the feralness that comes with desire is something i think about often #anyway. #knight!steve #vampire!eddie #hehe

[stevesbipanic]

If anyone in stranger things deserves a real shield with a heart on it it's Steve. Imagine Knight!Steve with a shield and his crest is like a heart with a crown around it.

#steve harrington #hes the shield #protector steve #stranger things #stranger things s4 #st4 #stranger things season 4 #knight steve #knight!steve #heart with a crown is Steve's crest

[stvharrngton]

okay so since i am a whore for taking care of injured men, i'm thinking about this:

there's so many thoughts, so so many thoughts

omg yes. love all of this so much

you hated seeing him like this but you knew it came with the role but seeing him so close to crossing that line more often than not was hard on you, like you burst in to wherever he’s laying with tears already stinging your eyes and you just wanna yank his armour off him but you know you have to be careful. cause you don’t wanna hurt him anymore than he is but he holds your hand so tight and his fingers are laced between yours and he’s squeezing every time you dab at his wounds, whines and winces leaving his lips every time and he’s hissing through his teeth but even though steve is the one who’s injured he’s still praising you every time you hesitate going back in to clean his wounds deeper and he’s like ‘please, my love, you have to keep going’ and yeah once he’s all bandaged up and a little more stable he’s taking your hand in his again and bringing your knuckles to his lips as he grazes them in a soft kiss and he’s still a little out of it cause of the pain and he just rambles on and showers you in sweet nothings about how he couldn’t do this without you, how sweet and lovely you are cause you always take care of him when he gets hurt <3

#steve harrington #steve harrington headcanon #knight!steve #ivy<3 #asks #k.hc

[beezywriting]

i'm gonna cry if i don't think about something cos i feel slightly horrible rn so sit down, let's talk knight!steve

his hair would grow out past it's normal length when the two of u escape cos duh? no blade except for his fucking sword. and you'd be obsessed <3

I don’t want you to cry nor does Knight Steve it any Steve! Let us discuss him.

Okay because hold up. It would get longer and lighter from being out in the sun. When he uses some spare string to tie it back out of his face when he’s doing something? Hnnnnnnnnng. I would simply cease to exist???

I also think he’d like for you to comb through it with your fingers now that’s it’s longer. Help him “style” it so to speak for the day. He would also like you to comb through it if he was having trouble sleeping.

#ivy 💛 #knight!steve #we don’t deserve him

[maddipoof]

OMG WAIT DELLA

Do we still simp for knight!Steve?

ATHENA

IS THAT EVEN A QUESTION?!?!!??

do you understand how many tiktoks i sent @inkluvs of medieval culture and fashion?!???????? (not that many because i’m afraid of annoying them, BUT THE POINT STANDS)

I love knight!steve and the day that I see a fan art of him in one of the puffy shirts with the low cut in the front (i have literally made 6 of them and i don’t know what they’re called) is the day i can die happy

#athena my beloved patroness🪷 #dell’s moots #knight!steve

[inkluvs]

whore

#he's cute #love me some wounded men nom nom #ivy is writing ! #knight!steve

[sp1rit-realm]

sentences!!!

He turned back to you with the intention of only looking for a second, but once again he ended up staring. the fact that you could so easily immerse him into you, the thoughts circling his mind of things so unfamiliar and foreign to him, without even speaking to him was terrifying to say the least.

knight!steve <3

UGHHHHH I CANNOT WAIT

#ivy 𓇗 #knight!steve #SENTENCES!!!

[sidekick-hero]

no no dragon eddie and knight steve is exactly the correct brain rot direction to go from that post. stand strong in your beliefs

YOU SEE THE VISION!

Knight Steve offering himself up to be the strong hero facing certain death by fighting the dragon the whole kingdom is afraid of. Only to find dragon!eddie who is not afraid of him but flirts with him relentlessly, showering him in compliments, touching him all the time, handling him like part of his treasure.

How could Steve not be infatuated? He always liked his romantic adventures to be just that - adventures. And what's more adventures than hooking up with a dragon?

#mail #aidaronan #steddie #dragon!eddie #knight!steve #monsterfucker!steve #don't look at me like that peeps #stranger things

[kittttycakes]

contents: fem!princess reader, knight!steve, highwayman!eddie, eventual steve x reader x eddie, slow burn, fantasy renaissance/medieval setting, pining, implied fantasy levels of peril, significant hand touching and flexing

a/n: 3.4k because this really ran away from me, part three coming in the next week or two! find part one here

you can remember with perfect clarity the last time you rode double, before you were too old for it, before it was unbecoming. one of your many young cousins in front of you, racing your sister on your favorite horse at the smaller, summer house in the country, far from the prying eyes of the entire court and pointed words about conduct befitting a princess of the realm

{you can also remember, but would never admit, a much more recent memory: riding pillion with steve one day, chest pressed to his back, arms around him, the feeling of him slipping away as you prepared to leave the carefully maintained woods at the same summer home, dismounting gracefully and taking the reins to lead you back to your family. you would never admit to thinking about this more than you should, and you will never know that he dreams about it. he lies easily about finding you lost after your siblings had outpaced you, and no one questions this, although you have always been a strong rider}

this is much different. this - your hands bound in front of you with gentler care than you would have anticipated, with the softly braided belt from your blue gown, one that had been safely stored in your trunk; this - sitting in front so that you can hold on to the pommel as the unfamiliar horse takes the hidden path through the forest on sure feet; this - an unfamiliar man’s arms around you, his chest firmly against your back, his hands holding the reins loosely; this - your heart pounding with something other than fear, for reasons you can’t name

you look to your right, tossing your head impatiently, your hair still loose after tearing out the pins. you’re looking for steve, you need to see him, to know that he’s still there. you have always been safe when he’s with you, and even though everything about your present situation should make you think the contrary, you know with a certainty that you cannot explain that he will keep you safe now

eddie laughs behind you, just once, a soft, amused exhale as your hair hits his face. “is this a distraction, or a weapon?”

“neither,” you reply, tone a little sharp, until you see steve just a few steps behind and to the right. you relax so slightly, shoulders rounding just a bit, spine losing just a touch of its steeliness, that you don’t expect eddie to notice. he does

he’s glancing between you and steve, steve and you, eyes quick and alight with something that you think might almost be warmth and the barest hint of amusement. you don’t want to think about why this might be, and so you turn to face forward again, this time purposefully moving your head quickly enough for your hair to hit him in the face once more

“definitely a weapon,” he says behind you, voice in your ear. “highly effectively, I’ll give you that.”

you almost don’t reply. almost. “you’ve disarmed me. I do what I can.”

“I did no such thing. I disarmed your knight; if you chose to abandon your hair pins - which, if I might add, I don’t think make for much of a weapon - I can’t be responsible for that.” even without seeing his face, you know he’s smiling, which is the most frustrating thing of all. you’ve heard the stories and the songs - the knight is the one who’s supposed to be courtly and charming, and the brigand or pirate or cruel noble brash and rough and everything the knight is not. but this hasn’t been like the stories or the songs, at least, not yet

too much has happened today, and you want to spend the rest of however long this unexpected journey will take in quiet planning, because you are already afraid that your family can’t or won’t pay a ransom for both you and steve, but you can’t resist - “I still have them, you know. one’s particularly sharp”

you have a fleeting moment of regret {your mother had always told you that your sharp tongue would be the death of you one day} the last thing you expect is his laugh

turned towards the forest ahead, eyes on the trees and the faintest outline of a path as if you might memorize where you’ve been, you can no longer see steve, but you can picture the look that remains on his face if you try hard enough

it’s a look you’ve seen only once before, after he was unhorsed with more force than generally considered polite by a considerably larger rider in a tournament held for your seventeenth birthday, years ago, and you leaned down from your platform to gently lay a woven circlet atop the head of the man who bested him

if you were less focused on trying to weigh your father’s affection for you against the coin in your family’s coffers, you may have tried harder to puzzle out what this meant: the same expression in two very different contexts, but with one very crucial element in common (you, in close proximity to a man he doesn’t believe deserves to even touch the hem of your gown)

you lose track of time, riding through the forest, deeper into the trees and further off the path than you’ve ever been on land that your family doesn’t own, although it can’t have been more than an hour’s ride, judging by the position of the sun in the sky

the inn appears as if out of nowhere in a spacious clearing, the scent of woodsmoke and something roasting over a fire drifting towards you on a slight breeze as you approach. there’s barely a path leading to it, and any thoughts you may have had about someone helping you at the inn disappear immediately when the other men with your trunks are immediately greeted by a small group of people exiting the inn at the sound of the horses and helping to unload what little you had with you

eddie dismounts, slipping away so quickly that you notice the lack of heat at your back before you notice he’s gone

“stay right there for me, princess.” he pats the side of his horse, dangerously close to your thigh. “I’ll help you down once I get a few things settled inside.” he leaves before you can protest, knowing that you can’t dismount from a horse as tall as his with your hands bound in a way that won’t cause you to twist an ankle at best, or fall flat on your face at worst, and knowing that his horse would hardly listen to you if you tried to encourage her to make a run for it. you are many things, but a fool is not one of them, and you know a woman alone in an unfamiliar forest can only meet her end in one way. you have no interest in being that woman today

the other men are busy looking through your trunks and eventually carrying them inside, talking with who you can only assume are the other members of their group, and although you know you’re undoubtedly being watched, you still aren’t surprised when steve dismounts beside you and reaches up to help you down as he has a hundred times before

his hands are strong but careful as he guides you, keeping you steady as your feet gently touch the ground. his eyes meet yours, gaze as intense as always when he looks at you, and asks quietly, just for you, “are you all right, my lady?”

it’s the reverence in his voice that almost tips you over an edge you didn’t know you were close to as the stress and panic and fear {fear that you won’t be ransomed, fear that steve will be harmed, fear that you aren’t as afraid as you should be, not when there is relief that you don’t have to meet a strange prince in a strange castle, not now, maybe not ever} struggle to break their way through the walls of your resolve, but you leave your hands in his for longer than you should and whisper back, “as well as can be expected, given the circumstances. I’ve never been kidnapped for ransom before, I don’t think I know what to expect.”

he almost smiles, and you count this as a victory. “you’ve never been kidnapped at all before.”

“thanks to you,” you say, and then stop as his face falls. he starts to pull away and you hold on to his gloved hand with both of yours, still tied. “I know you’ll keep me safe, won’t you?” you ask softly, looking up at him

and without hesitation he replies, “always, my lady. always”

you start to reply, to tell him that you knew before you even asked, but movement catches your eye and you see eddie leaning against the doorframe of the inn, watching you both. you can’t tell who has more of his attention, and you tuck this information away for later. it feels important, but you can’t say why

steve is untying your hands, deftly unraveling the loose knot, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist. even through the leather of his glove, it sends a shiver through you.

you look up at him, struggling to form the words that you need, but you needn’t have bothered. eddie is already walking over to the two of you, eyes firmly on you, at least for now

“impatient, princess? I thought we’d had a comfortable ride,” and he smiles at you, all teeth, but in a way that you don’t find unpleasant {quite the opposite}

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reply, taking a few careful steps away from steve, one hand rubbing your other wrist, for his benefit only, because there’s barely even the slightest indentation remaining on your skin. “I think we’d be foolish to try, with your men surrounding us as they are. but it’s very rude to keep a lady waiting.”

you’d taken a gamble {your nurse turned companion always said your mouth would be the death of you}, and you know you’ve won when his eyes light up and his smile widens. “my deepest apologies, my lady,” he replies, smooth as silk, and before you know what he’s done, your hand is in his, skin to skin, his lips barely brushing your knuckles as he genuflects in front of you, a touch mocking, but there’s something genuine there too, something you can’t quite pick out

you sense more than see steve’s instinctive movement to place his hand on his sword before realizing it’s gone. his hand clenches into a fist instead, hand flexing open almost immediately again as all of the lectures about the behavior befitting a knight he ever had growing up crash down on him at once

you remove your hand from eddie’s with the slow grace that you practiced endlessly at your mother’s insistence when you would have much rather been doing absolutely anything else at all {reading one of the tiny pamphlets of stories your maid smuggled in to you, picking flowers in the gardens, walking through the woods with steve to escort you}

eddie straightens again, still smiling, as he sweeps his arm towards the inn. “your palace awaits,” he says, clearly pleased with your earlier exchange. you almost smile, but catch yourself. this man, this stranger, has kidnapped you and stolen your belongings, you remind yourself. he plans to ransom you for your weight in gold or jewels or a pardon for past crimes or whatever he decides he wants, and you should be frightened of him, you tell yourself sternly, but it’s hard to be afraid of a man with such kind eyes

you look over at steve, and he inclines his head, ready to follow you, as always. you stand straighter, spine like the sharpest lance, and sweep yourself into the inn, the small train of your dress brushing against the surprisingly clean rushes as you look around the common room

the fire is warm and inviting, and the room is filled with talk and the sound of laughter as you survey the members of the group that kidnapped you. none of them are outwardly frightening; they are only men, you think, and you can’t decide if this is better or worse than what you were anticipating

you don’t have to think about this for very long before eddie is stepping in front of you and gesturing towards the stairs. “most of your things are already upstairs,” he says. “and I’ve taken the liberty of asking them to prepare the best room for you.” he looks pleased by this, and you almost want to ask what that means, but steve is at your back, encouraging you to take the stairs without touching you

eddie goes up first, and you follow, steve flanking you close behind. eddie opens a door towards the end of the hall to a well appointed and well lit room, the last of fingers of the afternoon light streaming in from a sizable window. there’s a painted screen in front of what you assume is the fireplace. the bed is freshly made, and one of your trunks sits at the foot of it, but the wardrobe in the corner is cracked open enough for you to see the shirts and coats inside, and there are papers and the detritus of the papers’ owner scattered over the desk near the window. you realize with a jolt that this is his room, and before you can turn towards steve or open your mouth to protest, he beats you to any objection you might have

“I will, of course, be taking a different room down the hall…and I would offer the same to your pet knight, but I don’t think I could convince him to leave you.” from another man it would be an insult, but it sounds…different, coming from eddie. teasing, but not mocking. amused, but understanding

“I go where she goes,” steve replies, staring eddie down once more. “I’ll keep watch outside her door, tonight. You should keep that in mind.”

for the first time that you’ve seen, eddie becomes serious, smile fading as he looks between the two of you and says, “she’s safe here. no one would lay a hand on her, or they’d have me to deal with and one less hand. but my men wouldn’t, in any case. you have my word.”

steve looks at him for a long moment, considering. you can see his brow furrowing deeper as he weighs the word of a highwayman. “give me my sword back, and I’ll take your word.”

“you and I both know I can’t do that…but I can continue to pretend that I don’t know you have a dagger and a set of knuckles on you right now. I feel like you could do some damage with those,” he says, and he smiles slightly again, looking steve up and down

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” steve replies immediately, “but if I did, I’d tell you that I could take on every man you have even without them if it meant keeping my lady safe.”

you can feel your traitorous face grow warm at his words. you’ve always known he would do anything for you, deep in your heart, but you haven’t been in a position to acknowledge it in so many words. it wasn’t safe then, and it hurt too much, but now things are different, and you tuck his words away close to your chest to examine every syllable in detail when you’re alone

eddie nods shortly and holds up his hands. “hey, I believe you. no arguments from me. if you want to stand sentinel outside the door, who am I to stop you? but I’ll leave you alone to get comfortable.” he smiles at you again. “my lady,” he bows, lower and even more theatrical than before, and you smile before you can stop yourself. “I took the liberty of asking them to set a bath for you, if you’d like, after traveling. I’m sure your knight can keep a watch on the door for you.”

“that was—kind of you,” you reply, feeling as travel weary as you would when moving to your summer home, your body ignorant of the fact that this was not a pleasant trip but a kidnapping, at least in that regard. you have to stop yourself from thanking him. you can’t thank your kidnapper

“you are, of course, welcome to join us for dinner whenever you’d like. both of you,” he adds before nodding at steve once more and leaving, keeping the door open when he does. the small consideration for what is proper tugs at you in a way you didn’t expect

steve waits for his footsteps to fade before turning to you. you can see on his face that he wants to immediately start planning your escape, but you can see what he can’t or maybe won’t: there is no escape from this inn, surrounded by eddie’s men, with no horses to speak of

you cut him off before he can speak. “I’m sorry,” you say softly, “but you know it won’t work. I know it won’t, so you do too, even if you don’t want to know it.”

“there has to be a way—”

you step closer, take his hand, press it between both of yours. “there isn’t here, not now. maybe—maybe later, but not here. we need time. we don’t know what he wants for us, not yet. once we do, we can make a better plan. but I’m so tired, steve,” his name leaves your mouth in a whisper. “could you please stay outside while I bathe? I won’t be long, I promise.”

he looks down at your joined hands, but doesn’t pull away. “of course, my lady,” he replies, voice impossibly soft and only for you

you let go carefully and watch as he goes to stand outside the door, closing it securely behind himself. you peek behind the screen and are surprised but pleased to find a still steaming tub of water, so you waste no time in tearing at the laces of your gown {thankfully on the side, today, and not the back} and stripping out of your layers

slipping into the tub is pure bliss. the soap isn’t as fine as your own, but it isn’t as coarse as you may have expected from a roadside inn, and there is a soft linen sheet warming in front of the fire for whenever you choose to exit. you take care to keep your hair out of the water, not wanting to bother with drying it, but you spend longer than you thought you might in the copper tub, skin pruning and water cooling around you

eventually, you force yourself out, wrapping yourself in the sheet and remaining by the fire for a few moments, enjoying the warmth. you feel better, more yourself, and you realize now that you have an opportunity. the highwayman’s papers are still on his desk, and you’ve always been a curious person

securing the sheet more firmly around yourself, you walk to the desk, taking in what he’s left behind. an account book, which you flip through quickly before realizing it won’t be much use to you. with mounting frustration, you realize that all of the papers covering his desk are in a code that you can’t recognize or break, not without time, and you realize this must be why he was comfortable leaving them as they were. you pick up a few of the coins, some you recognize and some you do not, and you feel along the wood for any drawers you may be missing. none reveal themselves, but you do notice something you missed. hidden under some scraps of paper and crumpled missives is a ring

you pick it up, feeling the weight of it. it’s real gold, you can tell that much, and this doesn’t surprise you, but the crest on the face of the ring does. you sit down heavily on the bed, ring still in the palm of your hand. you’ve seen this crest before. you were always very good at keeping track of the kingdoms your family knew of, traded with, kept alliances with

you hold the ring in your palm and you remember, years and years ago, at your first ball, dancing with a boy not that far in age from yourself. you remember kind brown eyes and a hand, so nervous, on your waist, as he moved you across the dance floor. you remember, and you close your fingers around the ring, unintentionally digging the crest into your palm, as you realize that you have seen those kind eyes again, and you don’t know which would be worse: that he did remember you, or that he didn’t

#highwayman!eddie #knight!steve #princess!reader #steddie x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #steve harrington imagine #kittycakes writes

[poppy-metal]

Not sure how it would work for Eddie, but for Knight!Steve who’s a bit of a perv, I’m almost 100% sure he gets a kick out of being the ONLY ONE who gets to see the princess all flustered and sweaty when he’s drilling his cock into her, like it’s such a high for being being the only one who gets to hear her screaming his name and begging for more when she’s supposed to be this proper little innocent thing

hhhh specially when you're betrothed to some other asshole in another kingdom </3 he knows you better, knows what you like and how to protect you. knows any other stupid prince wouldn't be able to make you cum how he could. wouldn't take care of you as good as he does.

thinking of guards stood posted outside your room, while you whine into your sheets and grip steves hair as he licks into your cunt. these stolen moments feel so good, when steve gives into temptation and teaches you new things. all you have to do is mention your engagement and hes huffing through his nose and glaring and pushing you onto your bed.

he'll always take care of his princess <3

#ask #knight!steve

[fettuccin-e]

I hope fanfiction writers know that I think of them like celebrities

I literally scream a little bit whenever one of them interacts with a comment i made on one of their posts like they are literally famous in my mind

thank you fanfiction writers you are literally sometimes the only thing keeping me alive 

#moon knight x reader #fanfic #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron fluff #santiago garcia x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader

[beezywriting]

beezy if he was a knight he’d have to be european

steve with an accent akdjskdksk

and caking you “my love” “dove” “my dear”

“who gave you that idea my love?”

i don’t even know what that’s in context to i just came up with if akdjsjsjsk

Dove always gets me. It’s so sweet and tender.

Maybe she mentions if they were somewhere else things would be different or better?

Idk. I’m gonna die tho I do know that.

#ivy 💛 #knight!steve

[maddipoof]

della i'm sad and i wanna talk about knight steve so i offer u,

waking up really early and steve's just next to u waiting for u to wake up, cos let's face it he's a morning person/sociopath, and he's got this little glimmer in his eyes cos he's just so in love with u <3

I’m crying I just started it and it was so good then my phone shut off and I lost it lajdjendjdn 😭😭 I’m a whore for Sir Steve and commas so please bear with me

So it’s the three of you, Sir Steve, you, and squire Dustin. You’re on your journey away to wherever it is you’re going, probably to sir Eddie to perform the marriage in his kingdom that offered him sanctuary.

It was Dustin’s turn to keep watch the night before and as usual, Steve wakes up with the first sliver of the sun. So he sends Dustin to his tent and goes back to lay with you. Just admiring you, how soft and peaceful you look now that you get to rest. You’ve been so exhausted, so high strung the last few weeks on the run, he’s noticed it in the way your brow has taken a permanent furrow, your mouth taking a permanent frown. Both only broken for a moments rest, looking out at beautiful things ahead. Sparkling lakes, vibrant sunsets, the view of a swaying flower field from the side of a mountain. But his favorite look, his absolute favorite vision in all his days, is the way you look at him. The way your eyes fill with such adoration and your face just radiates joy when you get a moment alone. Even in a crowded tavern, people jostling against you every five seconds, in thick disguises. He pulls you closer, an arm firm around your waist, and plays up the act of a dashing knight, just for you. And the smile you give him is…heaven.

But that’s not what he’s seeing now, no, this is his other favorite thing to see. You completely at peace, lost in a dream, clearly a good one if your little lazy half smirk is anything to go by. And he just looks, and adores you. Tracing your eyebrow down to your cheekbone, pulling his hand away when he notices you stirring. You subconsciously let out a whimper at the loss of contact, one he wouldn’t have picked up on if he wasn’t so close to you. He moves closer and smooths his hand over your waist then up your back. Playing with the ends of your hair and pushing you closer.

He thinks he might cry looking at you. His only idea of love forged by the marriage of his parents was nothing to emulate he was sure, and the great romances he read of were something he thought he could only ever dream of. Never imagining it’d ever be something he’d really find, especially after taking his vow.

But you’re real, and you’re leaving your whole life behind for him, you’re his and he’s yours, and you love him and he loves you.

His sniffles are what wake you up. No tears but you notice an unusual shine to his waterline, only two short sniffs, loud enough to steal you from your dreams. But you’d argue this reality is better. Waking up to the birds singing from one side, the brook splashing from the other, and the love of your life looking at you like that. He presses his hand flat against your back between your shoulder blades, pulling you in even closer, gently rolling you both over so he’s hovering over you with a leg between yours to keep from crushing you. “I love you” and he says it so…reverently. You’re confused for just a second, not used to waking up to such a declaration, but that’d never stop you from saying it back. He kisses the space between your brows in hopes they’d relax which they always do.

Your thumbs run back and forth over his cheekbones, “I love you”

He lowers himself further into your touch, wishing he could stay there forever

#sorry but this really took a mind of its own #it’s way too long #ivy❤️ #knight!steve #he’s in love with you #sir Steve #is so very whipped #the end almost got real smutty I’m so sorry #I’m too scared to write it

[age-of-moonknight]

“Systemic Approach (Part Two),” Avengers Unlimited (Vol. 1/2022), Infinity Comic, #64.

Writer: Mat Groom; Penciler and Inker: Caio Majado; Colorist: Pete Pantazis; Letterer: Joe Sabino

#Marvel #Marvel comics #Marvel 616 #Avengers Unlimited #Avengers Unlimited Infinity Comic #Moon Knight comics #latest release #Moon Knight #Marc Spector #Jake Lockley #Steven Grant #Captain America #Steve Rogers #hey Mr. Groom excuse me but how did you get access to inside my head because this is pretty much exactly what I could have wanted in life #because don’t get me wrong I love Mr. MacKay’s run but one thing I’ve been missing is just Steven - Jake - and Marc interacting #(and I was hoping that the name of this arc was in reference to the Moon Knight system but I hadn’t dared hope too much) #which means there’s so much I love here #love Jake’s jacket and the acknowledgement that the people he mingles with are in no way lesser than Steven’s socialite #or Marc’s superhero ilk but rather the people who often just need some help (whether that be through Steven’s funds/business acumen #Jake’s hands-on social support #or Marc’s /very/ hands-on support method of boxing villains over the head) but could be the least likely to get it #and !!!!! an acknowledgement that the system is a strength and an invaluable asset to Moon Knight work !!!! #and that it was Khonshu’s influence that was largely the problem as opposed to the system’s neurodivergence !!!! #and an acknowledgement from Cap of all people! I WEEP #it just means so much to me: Marc getting some support both from the system and from Cap #as well as how in character this is for Cap #as some of my favorite moments of his are where he reaches out to those deemed by others too ‘unstable’ or ‘unreliable’ to ever amount to #much in the grand scheme of things and he asks them to be Avengers #recognizing what invaluable talents they posses #could the cynical say this reads like a Saturday morning psa? sure but this is an infinity comic with Cap. Enjoy it for what it is akshsksj