#knight!Steve harrington

[flowercrowngods]

⚔️ bard!eddie/knight!steve part 2 (~6k)

After the confrontation with Lord Harrington, Eddie is riddled with feelings of anger, guilt, and shame. At a lavish banquet, he finds his world turned on its head once more and he begins to understand just who his love really is.

⚔️ read part 1 here (~4k)

Eddie spends a maudlin few days wallowing in newly found misery and dramatically bemoaning the lack of inspiration and muse, to which his uncle merely instructs him to help him in the smithy, claiming that physical exertion would help with the wretched guilt. 

Eddie is loath to let go of his feelings just yet, though, hoping they would turn into self-righteous anger at the Lord after all. But he has no such luck. Night after night of pondering the Lord’s words and the hurt expression Eddie was met with not even a fortnight ago leave not a shred of doubt as to who is at fault. For years, unwittingly or not. 

But wit is not what will get him out of this mess, no. It can only be cleared by sincerity and vulnerability — something that Eddie has sworn to never show this town again, only worsening his predicament.

It tears away at him for days upon days, leaving him unable to sing, unable to play, unable even to sleep, cooped up though he is in the room of his childhood. It is a time he longs for with an aching heart, if only to take back his promise to never be vulnerable within these walls again, if only to be sure he doesn’t betray himself more than he betrayed Lord Harrington and both of their hearts. 

Time, seemingly done with Eddie’s mental back and forth, eventually pulls the floor from beneath his feet one night when he finds a written invitation from Princess Chrissy to attend her banquet tomorrow night as both highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest. 

At the banquet, Eddie knows, he will see Lord Harrington again, and there will be no way to avoid him any longer. He imagines there will be more scalding glances, more sharp words from a sharper tongue, and more of his honour questioned. 

And the Lord would very well be in his right to do so. 

With a deep sigh and an even deeper pit in his stomach, Eddie goes on his pitiful journey to find some rest beneath the sheets. 

~*~*~

It is always a lavish affair when Princess Chrissy decides there is something to celebrate, and despite his nerves and a horrible anxiety that has been his steady but unwelcome companion all day, Eddie finds himself smiling at the view of the ballroom. 

It occurs to him how far he has come as he takes it all in, his eyes surely wide as saucers at the display of grandeur and opulence before him. Men and women alike dressed in finest fabrics and the brightest of colours, servants bustling about with wine and delicacies for the Princess and her guests. 

Years ago, the people of Hawkins took it upon themselves to chase him out of the city, and not even the Princess’s grace and friendship were enough to make him stay where clearly he was not wanted. And now here he is — highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest. He cannot help but feel vindicated and proud, having spited Hawkins and her people like this; he has sailed with pirates and travelled with adventurers, learned from master craftsmen and sung for emperors. 

All of it to show this city that he is more. That he is better. 

And yet, he reminds himself with a heavy heart, he cannot sing today, and Hawkins will be the victor once more.

Eddie reaches for a goblet of wine offered to him by a most curteous girl flashing him a shy but charming smile, and it is almost enough to improve his mood, almost enough yet for him to gain the courage to approach the Princess about his predicament. He follows the servant with his eyes as he brings the wine to his lips, stalling the inevitable just a second longer, when suddenly they fall on a familiar, tragically glorious figure clad in the deep blue colours of his family. 

Lord Harrington, tinged in hues of gold more than anything else as the light of the flames dancing along the walls and ceiling alike catches in his hair in a way that Eddie has heard will make kings succumb to madness, is laughing along to the excited gesturing of a woman Eddie cannot seem to recognise. But it is not she who has caught his eye. It is Lord Harrington, standing there with a look so impossibly gentle and a dress so regal that it makes Eddie’s legs weak and his heart ache. 

Where is that pompous air that Eddie remembers so well? When was it replaced with elegance and beauty so blinding, accompanied so wonderfully with that smile on his lips? And how can a man who has been wronged so endlessly still smile like this, look like this, hold himself like this? Like the world is but an old friend he likes to carry on his shoulders so it can have a better look at what is ahead. 

Like the kindest songs must always have been about him, wittingly or not. Like he is more, so much more than what Eddie thought him to be. Like he is exactly who Eddie needs him to be. Wants him to be. Has dreamed him to be. 

And still, despite the fondness in his eyes and the lavish joy displayed by everyone in the opulent room, Lord Harrington has a steady hand on the sword by his hip. It is only for display of his rank as a knight and as a Lord, likely blunt and too light for proper defence, let alone offensive strikes against a sudden enemy. 

But Harrington’s hand is woven around the hilt. Clinging to it, as though reassured by its presence. As though anxious were he not to feel it by his side, cold metal and leather resting against his palm. 

His words echo in Eddie’s head again. Making a mockery of me, stealing from me every chance to tell my tale in my own voice, in my own tempo. Entire kingdoms will know before I will have had the chance to wake up from a nightmare, and they sing about it, sing about pain they did not have the misfortune to suffer, sing with a smile, with booming voices because you make them. And yet the only one without a voice remains the one who slew the beast.

Stealing a man's right to flee from the horrors he lived through, acquainting every tavern in this kingdom and the next with his horrific and desperate deeds.

Can he not flee? Can he not lay down that feeling of horror even on a night like this? Need he cling to his sword, any sword, like that, even unconsciously? Did he forgt about the sword on his hip before the Knightmærs? Was it Eddie who made him cling, who kept him from forgetting, even for one night, that dangers tend not to lurk in the well-lit corners of a golden ballroom?

The guilt threatens to devour him wholly, and Eddie might just let it if only some of the weight were taken from Lord Harrington’s shoulders. Desperately, Eddie tears his gaze away from the Lord’s hand and back up again, travelling over ocean blue and sunset gold, drinking him in more hungrily than the wine in his hand. 

As though summoned by Eddie’s pathetically beating heart, Lord Harrington chooses that exact moment to look up and away from his partner, and by some cruel twist of fate, out of the hundreds of eyes in this room, he meets Eddie’s. The gentleness fades, the smile paling into something tinged with regret, and it takes every ounce of strength Eddie has not to cross the room and fall to his knees to beg forgiveness. 

He swallows and lifts the goblet to his lips once more, his breath hitching as Lord Harrington mirrors him, and they both take a slow, excruciating sip, their gazes never once wavering. 

I will not sing tonight, Eddie promises, wondering if it is at all possible that Lord Harrington has the gift of clairvoyance and knows exactly what Eddie is thinking. I will do right by you, even if it is too late. Even if it costs everything. 

In the end it is Lord Harrington who looks away first, his attention caught once more by his companion, and Eddie withers as he sees the gentleness returning to his gaze. He is not quick enough in tearing away his eyes, however, because Harrington’s companion, another bard, he assumes fom the look of her, turns towards him just a second later — and if looks could kill, Eddie would find himself dead six times over. 

Fate does not possess the grace to let him die on the spot, however, the daggers in the bard’s eyes not sharp enough to end his life, but more than sufficient to snuff out any sense of bravery he could have possessed to approach Harrington anytime soon. Eddie finds himself almost grateful for the admittedly rather lame excuse that only comes to prove his cowardice, but he decides not to dwell on it for now. 

Or he tries, as he downs the wine in one go and lets his eyes travel in search for familiar, friendly faces, and finding the Princess already approaching him with a smile so bright and warm it alleviates the anxiety thrumming through him. 

“Eddie!” she says, smiling even wider when he remembers to bow before her — something they had to practice a lot when they were children and she would sneak away from her lessons and appearances to play with him instead. It feels like a lifetime ago; she is the prettiest person he knows — always has been, but she kept the spark of glee even as an adult. It makes him weak in the knees with happiness, having her friendship so deeply ingrained in his soul even after all this time. 

Her eyes travel over his doublet made of silk so deeply red it appears black if the light plays a trick on your eyes. It is one of his finest possessions, and it takes everything within him not to preen in front of her. 

“And to think of the way you scoffed so offhandedly when I told you ages ago that silk would suit you. You have grown to be so very handsome, my dearest friend, I can hardly take my eyes off you lest I have to fear your untimely disappearance once more.” 

Eddie smiles, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, entirely aware that he had not yet enough wine to solely blame it on that. 

“I am here to stay for the time being, Your Highness, so fret not. If only to show Hawkins how right you were, my dear, for I do look fabulous in silk.” 

Chrissy laughs, a joyful sound echoing through the hall and pulling many a pair of eyes toward them, but Eddie pays them no mind even as nervousness makes an eerie reappearance in the forefront of his mind. 

“I cannot wait to hear you play tonight,” the Princess continues, unaware of Eddie’s dilemma. There must be something in his face, though, for she reaches out to take hold of his hand. “You will, right? Tell me you will, Eddie. What reason have you to look so filled with gloom?” 

Eddie turns his hand to hold onto hers, propriety be damned even as he hears a gasp or two followed by scandalised whispering. For Hawkins, everything he does is scandalous, even merely existing. Holding the Princess’s hand is but another item on the list. 

“Forgive me, my Princess, but I cannot play tonight.” 

“But—“ 

“It is the Knightmærs that you long to hear, and it was always a dream to fill these halls with song sprung from my own feather, believe me. But it seems I am a fraud, and I need to do right by someone first before I will ever take to my lute again.” After a moment of silence he adds, “If you should like me to leave, I understand. But I will not sing.” 

The Princess looks at him for a long time, reading something that might be written behind his eyes, but she keeps a hold of his hand. 

“He sought you out, then.”   

Eddie’s heart falls as he grasps the meaning of her words. She knows about Lord Harrington and his involuntary ties to Eddie’s renown. Everyone in this room might know, might have heard of his deeds, might have seen his wounds as he returned from the battlefield that seems to follow his every step, while Eddie was out in the world living a lavish life with the title he earned from another man’s tales of valour and agony. 

“He did,” Eddie whispers. “And I need to make things right. He never deserved that.” 

She frowns, a crease appearing between her brows that does nothing to hide her gentleness and beauty. “Never deserved that? But Eddie, you made a hero of him! You wove battles he fought out of he goodness of his heart and the bravery in his bones, wove them into tales grand enough to outlast even the passing of time itself! I know many a knight who would kill to be made into that kind of a hero.” 

Even as she speaks, Eddie shakes his head, vehement to contradict her and make her see what he himself took so long to understand. 

“It is not I who turned that man into a hero, my Princess, that was his own doing. What I did was turn him into a legend, turn him into something untouchable by real emotion when he… seems to be so full of them! I took his story, all of his stories, and made them my own, stole the words out of the deepest dungeons of his heart and wrote epic ballads about pain that is strong enough to bring the bravest man to his knees with sorrow and— I took from him what was only his to give. The right to grieve. The right to be his own person. The right to his story, his pain, his own consequences to come from actions he was forced into.” 

Eddie swallows, beginning to understand, really, the scope of his actions as he speaks the words for the first time, and his throat rapidly closes up on him. 

“I took all of that and made it my own, and in the end it was only I who gained something. And worst of all, he never complained to me. Never exploded in my face or, or exposed me for the fraud that I am. In fact, it was I who confronted him about disappearing whenever I would sing my Knightmærs, because I found myself with hurt pride and—“ 

A breath, forced into his lungs to keep the tears welling in his eyes from spilling. 

“That man,” Eddie finishes with unsteady voice but iron conviction. “He deserves the world. He deserves better. He is a hero and he deserves to have a choice, but he is too good to make it. So I am making it for him.” 

He tears his wandering gaze away from the silhouette that seems to always pull him in, no matter how hard he tries to stray, and lays them on the Princess.

“I am not playing tonight.” 

Chrissy, too, has tears in her eyes after his speech, and she reaches up to cradle his face with both of her hands. Warmth floods Eddie where before he was bereft, and it takes everything in his power not to lean into her hold. Not when people are watching them. Gentleness like that is reserved for quiet, dark corners on stormy days long since past. 

“Oh, Eddie,” she says, her laugh a little wet. “See how much you have grown. You are the best person I know; always have been. You are forgiven, my dearest, loveliest friend. I shall not make you play, and I shall not stand it if people disapprove of it.” 

Relief washes over him, his body still trembling ever so slightly from his passionate outburst and fear of rejection, and he smiles as he casts his eyes down. 

“Thank you, Your Highness.” 

She hums and wipes at the wetness beneath his eyes before retrieving her hands. 

“Anything for you, Eddie. Anything in my power.” She turns to leave and Eddie has not the strength to ask her to stay, not when he knows she has royal etiquette to follow. But before leaving him to his heart still heavy with guilt, she speaks again, “It will be fine. I know it will.” 

God, I hope so. 

Eddie doesn’t dare to look and see if Lord Harrington and his bard were in earshot just now. Instead, he turns swiftly and retreats to one of the lavish balconies to clear his head with some fresh air. He finds it blissfully empty as he takes a trembling breath. 

It will be fine. I know it will. 

Eddie breathes, crisp air flooding his lungs that he does not feel all that deserving of, but he is grateful for it nonetheless. He cannot blink away the image of Lord Harrington’s downturned eyes, the smile that adorned his lips but a moment before fading in the face of Eddie’s presence. He cannot keep his heart from racing, hammering away rapidly at his ribcage, mimicking a spooked bird’s fluttering wings. Aiming to get out. Out, out, out, away from its hold and back where it belongs. Back to the man dressed in the blues of his family, the colour of his name, like armour against any sorts of attempts dared by lowly boys who think themselves to be bards of great renown.

It aches, his heart. And with every beat against his chest, the pain only carries further until it reaches his eyes with stinging force. It is a pain of guilt and sorrow, mixing with a longing so deep that it cuts him in half, torn though he is. 

Just one more breath and the air will be enough to tear him apart down the middle, right through his heart that is long past saving. The feelings he has been harbouring for years for a love unknown have not disappeared with Lord Harrington’s accusations. Instead, they merely gained a face and a name, turned into something real. Shifted, just so, to make room for the reality of Lord Harrington and every tidbit of information Eddie can learn about him, even when he tries not to listen, even when he tries to let go of misguided emotion for a man whose heart he has broken and abused already. 

But everyone talks about him. Now that Eddie knows where to look, he sees the respect for Lord Harrington in everyone’s faces. Sees the gratitude, sees the fondness, sees the reverence. 

Eddie closes his eyes against it, but it only serves to make the images more vivid. Lord Harrington positively gleaming in that ballroom, shining as golden as the sun right before she bids the day farewell, looking so fondly upon his friend. His bard. His companion. Looking so regretfully upon Eddie. Looking until he could no longer bear it. 

He needs to leave. It is sudden, that urge, filling the cracks of his being and glueing him back together with that all too familiar feeling that he’d thought himself to have moved past on the same day that he left Hawkins all those years ago. But it is back now, getting stronger by the second, urging him to leave, leave, leave. 

He will talk to Lord Harrington and beg for his forgiveness later. Tomorrow, surely, or the day after. In a fortnight at the latest, or in a month. But for now, he has to leave. Needs to leave. Must. 

On unsteady feet, and with an unsteadier heart yet, Eddie turns abruptly and all but stumbles his way back through the large doors and into the ballroom, which has filled with even more guests and even more servants and even more people who will steal the air from right beneath his nose. 

It leaves him frazzled and shaking, and his heart falls anew when he realises that he needs to cross the room to leave. 

As if pulled in by string or higher power, Eddie finds Lord Harrington immediately, the man’s broad back turned toward him. His hand still rests on his sword as he watches his friend — the bard with daggers in her eyes — approach the dais, lute in one hand and flute in the other. It’s a thin one, and made not of wood but of some kind of metal, and Eddie feels a flash of jealousy at her blatant display of talent and proficiency in more instruments than one. Even greater jealousy still when Lord Harrington keeps his attention on her — oh, and how well Eddie is acquainted with his attention, heavy and intense and leaving him hungry for more. Starving. 

He yearns for it. Longs to approach the stage and join the other bard as she begins to play, if only to be in the vicinity of that attention. That affection. All that gentle intensity. 

But he can’t. 

So he turns, twisting away from the mirage he so longs to touch, feeling phantom tingles on his palms where he imagines strongly enough. Entangled in the web of guilt, longing and imagination, though, he twists a little too far and nearly falls over his feet in his haste to get away. And then he quite factually runs into a figure he’d hoped to never see again, much less share the same breath as them. 

Before Eddie can utter an apology and continue on his way out of the ballroom and back to the safety of his childhood bedroom where the ceiling is a little closer to him and the air won’t feel quite as stuffy, Jason Carver’s voice cuts through the room and his patience alike. 

“Munson,” Carver sneers, somehow managing to look down on Eddie even though they are of the same height. “So the rumours are proven true at last! I did not think you possessed the gall to show your face here again. But you seem to be a lot stupider than you let on — and you do let on a lot.” 

The throng of people around Carver make themselves known with a vile chuckle at Eddie’s expense, and if he were a stronger man, if he were a more vicious man tonight and not hung up on guilt and longing, he’d have a snide comment on the tip of his tongue. 

As it is, though, he stands no chance but to let Carver speak on. He seems to have climbed in rank, moved on from being a simple guardsman to someone wearing white silk and a decorative sword on his hip. It is more imposing than Harrington’s, the hand around the handle more like a threat to Eddie than anything else. Especially accompanied by that sneer. That godawful, entirely too punchable curl of his lips. 

“Though the good Princess proves her taste in music and people once more, servicing her people and not letting you play on an occasion such as this. What a shame it would be for all of Hawkins to have your… talent… be showcased like that. What humiliation for you. I’m glad she chose a bard who can sing. And play. And entertain Her Majesty’s guests accordingly.” 

Carver’s words cut deep, and there seems to be no end to them. It shows on his face, Eddie knows, but he can’t… Suddenly he’s young again, suddenly he knows no longer who he is, who he wants to be in this world and how we will get there. Suddenly the urge to run away is no longer gluing him together but tearing him apart, tearing him in every possible direction just to get away from Carver and his lackeys, until he will shred himself into a million pieces. 

And still he has no words to retort the venom leaving Carver’s lips. He is shaking, fuming, something boiling inside him, and yet he has no words. 

Just as Carver opens his mouth to spit yet more lies about Eddie and his craft that leave his ears ringing, something behind Eddie makes Carver’s big mouth snap shut with a loud clack. 

Before Eddie can regain control over his mind and body to turn around and see what happened, a familiar voice fills the silence so blatantly left by Jason Carver. 

“Such vile words from someone who knows neither talent nor skill himself, and who displays an utter lack of craftsmanship and tact.” 

Lord Harrington speaks in such condescending tones with Carver that it makes Eddie freeze all over again, not daring to move lest he pull that condescension toward himself. And still he aches to turn around and drink him in. 

He stands so close. Eddie can almost breathe him in, and it’s almost enough. 

Before him, Jason flushes an angry red, unprepared to be confronted thusly by Lord Harrington, who outranks him in both title and popularity — and, perchance more importantly, in eloquence and intelligence. 

Carver’s mouth remains firmly shut, but Lord Harrington is not done yet, it seems, as he moves from behind Eddie to his side, the hand on his sword so dangerously close to Eddie’s hip. It takes all his might not to sway and lean to the side just briefly, just to feel the warmth of his hand through his clothes. 

“You know, Carver, I found myself pondering whether upon the arrival of Eddie the Bard you would find yourself starving for his attention once more, the same way that you did when you and your band chased him away.” 

The blood freezes in Eddie’s veins and yet he feels flushed with heat, especially when people turn toward them with curious and scandalised eyes.

Lord Harrington is not perturbed, however. “And here you are indeed, yearning for his words directed at you, aching for his attention, and wishing at least one of his songs were dedicated to you, written in your honour. Unfortunately still, you wouldn’t know honour if it spat you in the face. And you have miscalculated, good man, for you are irrelevant to a muse such as his, and too much of a coward for heroic tales of valour and sacrifice. The only thing you know to sacrifice is my patience. You are of no greater importance to this world, this kingdom, and  even this very moment, Jason, than an overgrown roach in a dead man’s kitchen.” 

The noise that leaves Eddie’s throat is not as embarrassing as the one Carver makes, and covered, too, by several gasps sounding around them. Lord Harrington has drawn quite the crowd — and for once he doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it, smirking as he is, regarding Carver like he means every last word of what he just said. 

It makes Eddie weak in the knees. 

And Lord Harrington takes yet another step forwards, placing himself between Eddie and Carver, shielding him not only from the man’s words and presence, but directing the attention of those around them away from Eddie. Pulling it towards his own person and Jason’s form, trembling with anger and humiliation. 

Eddie blinks, heart racing again, his mind running faster than a spooked race horse. Why would Harrington come to his rescue? Why would he pull all the attention toward himself when he should be rejoicing in seeing Eddie humiliated and beaten with his own weapon of choice? Why, when all the good Lord should want is to see Eddie fall from grace and from his high horse alike? 

Jason is sputtering some kind of response, but Eddie is transfixed by ocean blue and sunset gold so close to him that he could melt into him if only he had the right. So transfixed, indeed, that he doesn’t hear what Jason has to say. It is only when Lord Harrington speaks again that the world returns to him. 

“Leave the bard alone, Carver, you humiliate yourself with the way you’re leeching off his attention like a schoolboy with his first bout of attraction.” And then, closing the gap between them and speaking into Carver’s ear, just loud enough for Eddie to hear, Lord Harrington says, “Leave him alone. Speak of him again anything but praise, and I will have you emasculated per royal decree, and I shall see to it myself.” 

Where before his face was flushed red, all the colour now leaves Carver’s face as he blanches and swallows heavily. He looks between Harrington and Eddie, confusion and fear so clear on his features that Eddie would grin if he weren’t so shaken by the Lord’s actions and words. 

Carver takes flight the very moment Lord Harrington steps back, and suddenly Eddie finds himself alone with him. 

And words have not yet returned to him, especially when Harrington turns and lets down the smirking mask of condescension and instead regards him with an expression of worry and gentleness. 

“Are you all right?”

Eddie blinks, all but feeling the confusion and wonderment spill out of his big, dumb eyes, unable to hide it from Harrington and his golden skin. 

This is the man who has slain the man possessed by the Devil himself and took in his younger sister to live with him and get an education. This is the man who protected the Princess and this whole kingdom so many times, slaying foes and beasts alike and returning home a hero who refused his own celebrations. This is the man who would be King if the world were anything like Eddie wants it to be. 

The man who smiles so fondly, so gently, upon the people dear to him. The man who opens his estate in the winter to those whose houses stand no chance against the cold bitterness of the season, and thus defeats both lonesomeness and bleakness in one graceful gesture of kindness and compassion.

And still, this is the man who had his life twisted and glorified in song and poetry, the man who had the floor pulled from beneath his feet when his pain was made into something desirable. The man who stands in a ballroom filled with joyous laughter, wine, and dance, and keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword. The man who was wronged so endlessly by the ingenious bard who claimed to love him. 

And yet. He stakes his claim. He stakes his claim on Eddie. Protects him. Rather publicly, too, and now everyone knows of a connection between them that doesn’t exist, a connection that Eddie snuffed out before it had the chance to spark because he was so obsessed with the notion of grandeur and drama and love. A love that would survive it all. A love that would slay beasts and brothers possessed, a love that would be immortalised in song and poem, a love that… 

Would look at him the way Lord Harrington does. 

But it’s not love. Eddie knows nothing about love. How could he, when he hurt the man so? How could he, when he cannot find even the simplest apology, when he cannot utter a single word with the way his throat is closing up on him so rapidly in the face of that tenderness. 

“Eddie,” Harrington gathers him out of his reverie, a hand on his forearm. “Would you step outside with me?”

Another claim staked right through Eddie’s fluttering heart. He cannot bear it. Stands frozen to the ground.

“You need not have done that,” he says at last, his voice no louder than a whisper. It makes the Lord lean in closer, as though he has difficulty to hear Eddie otherwise, though he’d like to imagine that Harrington is just as drawn in by Eddie, and is powerless against it. 

The man smiles, though there is no fondness in it, and Eddie wants to recoil. 

“Jason wouldn’t know talent if it spat in his face. Which,” he adds as an afterthought, “is not a suggestion.” 

Despite himself, Eddie smiles genuinely, feeling a bit of the ever-present tension lift from his shoulders. “Do my ears deceive me, or am I right in my understanding that you think I have talent, milord?” 

The smile fades a little, leaving behind some hidden trace of genuineness that weighs so heavy in the air between them even as Harrington inclines his head politely. As though Eddie deserves politeness. As though he were of a higher standing than he is. And higher yet than Lord Harrington himself. 

“I would have to call myself both fool and liar to claim otherwise,” he says, his tone shifted to match his posture. Reverent, almost. Eddie wants him to straighten those shoulders and look down on him again, to do everything in his power to stop the wild beating of his heart that still cuts the words right from his tongue. “You have a way with words that is yet to be matched.” 

He looks up again when Eddie says nothing, and their eyes meet. Lord Harrington’s beauty is unmatched, and Eddie finds himself willing to look at him forever. Wanting. Longing. 

Whatever spell the Lord found himself to be under until just a second ago, it shatters now, dissipates into thin air as his expression shutters. And where before it was Eddie’s words that dealt nothing but damage, now it is his silence, for Lord Harrington steps away from him with a regretful expression and inclines his head once more. 

“Forgive me, I overstepped. I am aware of your opinion of me, believe me, I just… I simply… Forgive me. Please. Good night.” 

He turns, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword as though he were drowning in the ocean blue of his family name and the sword were keeping him afloat. Not a trace of pompous air emanates from him, and Eddie finally feels himself tearing in two as in that gold-sparked moment his knight and Lord Harrington become one right before Eddie’s eyes. 

And the bard is helpless when he calls out, “My Lord.” Nothing, as Lord Harrington steps away from him. “Steve.” 

He stops. 

And so does time. 

But Eddie didn’t think this far ahead, knows not what to say, how to make sense of the words trapped inside him that leave his hands trembling and his legs shaking, words that he needs to bring in the right order yet, lest he ruins everything again. 

There is only the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart against his ribcage and the eyes of their unwilling audience turned towards them. The eyes of people who want to see Eddie fail. Who want to see him flail and fall and crawl back into the winter’s night months after his birth, left outside his uncle’s doorstep as his father lost his life over years of debt he had no means to pay off. 

“I…” 

Words fail him. When he needs them most, when he needs them not as a weapon nor as a caress, they deceive him. And Eddie watches as his time runs out, like sand pouring between his fingers no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it. 

He watches, desperately, as Lord Harrington tears himself away. As he weaves through the groups of people, reaching for a goblet of wine as he does, and downs it in one go before he reaches his bard where she is standing off to the side for a short break. He watches as she takes the Lord’s hands in hers and pulls him into a quiet corner and then through a large door onto one of the balconies. 

He watches until his vision blurs with tears unshed. He watches until he can no longer stand it, and flees from the ballroom as more of a coward than ever before. 

tagging: @itsall-taken @pukner @mugloversonly @devondespresso @hellion-child @fairytalesreality @maya-custodios-dionach @awkwardgravity1 @bubblemixer @paperbackribs @the-redthread @stevesbipanic @gregre369 @chaoticvictorianspirit @cuoredimuschio thank you for reading, i hope this was okay 🤍

[inkluvs]

fields of white clover

knight! steve harrington x fem!princess!reader

content warnings: time period discrepancies. cinderella reference kinda. royal au. steve is literally obsessed with you. hopper as a father figure. this is pretty much just world building.

summary: steve catches sight of you at a ceremony and finds you fascinating <3

a/n: posted 2 months or so ago originally (copy and pasting the original a/n bcos most of it still applies), i wanna thank @maddipoof for being my cheerleader n figuring out all of my incoherant thought with their super special decoder abilities <3 also @livingintheupsidedown ; @crappymixtape ; @ghostlyfleur ; @forevermoreharrington ; @theemporium ; and @beezywriting since they all read bits of it i was unsure about <3 also this is just the set up for future stuff and nothing really happens <3 it's just steeb being sorta head over heels for u <3

part one // series masterlist // taglist

You didn’t quite understand what you were doing with hundreds of nobles and servants around you. You knew what it was, of course, a ceremony; the kind you were required to be at to prepare you for your future, but you'd been spared any more details. It was funny, the way you’d been told that your presence was of the utmost importance this time in particular and still you had been given no details on why you had to be there, nor were you given details on why you couldn't sit in your regular seat. 

You normally wouldn’t mind it, the extent to which you’d been kept in the dark, but it would be helpful to know why there were so many pairs of leering eyes, staring at you like they were waiting for you to mess up. 

The majority of the time you had a choice. Whether or not you wanted to attend had always been an opportunity you'd chosen to take every time it had been offered. So much so that despite never having been taught about the process of swearing fealty in detail until you were fifteen, you’d been able to recite the oath at any given moment since the age of ten. 

Using your hand to shield your eyes from the sunlight, you noticed a man a couple of meters from you doing the same. He was tall, his hair a honey blonde in the sunlight. Something about him made him look ethereal despite not being able to see the details of his face. The way the light was reflecting off the metal of his armor and towards you, the direction shifting ever so slightly when he turned his torso gave him a sort of glow. There was a dull ache in the back of Steve's eyes. The throbbing only increased as he squinted, his eyelashes fluttering as he looked around. 

The way his curiosity seemed to heighten when he caught sight of you was similar to that of a child when they're told not to do something. It was the way he knew he shouldn't stare, that somebody would reprimand him later, but he couldn't help but think that there was something off about you. He didn’t know how he came to that conclusion, perhaps it was how out of place yet well-adjusted to your surroundings you seemed. It seemed like you’d done this before, so much so that you were bored. 

Steve couldn't if your uninterest intrigued him or offended him, maybe it was both, the irritation leading him to find curiosity in your nonchalance. He also couldn't tell why his train of thought was leading him there, maybe he was just as uninterested and you'd been the first person to openly display it, or maybe he simply found you that captivating. Something about the way you presented yourself was inherently enchanting to him. Suddenly, Steve from his thoughts, the whistle of the wind was no longer the only thing he could hear as heat rose to his cheeks.   

“Something catch your eye?” a familiar voice quipped. Steve shook his head quickly before shifting his attention to his surroundings, almost disoriented before he remembered where he was and what he’d been doing. He looked back to see who’d asked only to realize it was the face of a man he’d half recognized, not quite sure of his name. He turned back to you intending to only look for a second, but once again he ended up staring. The fact that you could so easily immerse him in you, the thoughts circling his mind of things unfamiliar and foreign to him, without even speaking to him was terrifying.  

Somehow, Steve composed himself enough to notice the king’s attempt to gather everybody's attention. In a matter of minutes, everybody had quieted down, waiting for the king to speak as the wind bit at their skin.   

The king took his stance next to you, standing tall above the crowd on the dais with the queen on his arm. He nodded once to the herald and looked across the crowd. The same routine as every ceremony.   

“My beloved subjects,” but you were new, “I am honored by your service and fealty. There is no prouder king than I, standing before you.” A lady in waiting possibly, “Time and again you have shown your strength, honor, and allegiance to your king, your royal family, and your country. You have my endless gratitude.” No, you’re too beautiful for a lady in waiting.

“But I would be doing us all a great disservice if I did not extend my thanks to my daughter,” a duchess, maybe, “The princess.” The king’s words echoed in the pavilion as the crowd muttered with uncertainty. He held his hand out to you, and you stepped forward hesitantly.

She’s the princess.

“The relentless devotion she has shown to our country and our people is beyond words. There is no greater love than that of your princess to her kingdom. I am certain she will be a most beloved queen, and as that time draws nearer, as does her coronation. Your next pledge shall be not only to me as your king but to her as your crown princess as well. I know you will all do well to honor your allegiance to her as she shall to you.”  

Everything seemed to come together in his mind at once, why you had looked so bored and why you struck him as different than anybody he’d ever met before. Now that he thought about it, you must’ve been to at least twenty of these ceremonies, each with a similar if not exactly the same speech and the same people. As much as he hated to admit it, Steve felt a stab of pity for you. He was only able to continuously attend such events since he had a choice, at least the majority of the time. And though he would never say it, out loud he still didn’t always enjoy every one he’d been to.    

And suddenly he was moving forward. He’d found himself lost in thought yet again, unaware of the fact that he'd been moving till somebody behind him bumped into him. His boots suddenly felt tight against the sole of his feet, his legs stiff as he fought the urge to turn around and leave. He wouldn’t do it of course, but somehow the thought of getting closer to you made him jittery. He flexed his palm before squeezing it into a fist, repeating the motion until his muscles became less tense.   

Steve couldn’t remember when he’d started this habit of sorts, just that it was now second nature to him, subconsciously flexing his hand and then squeezing it into a fist when he was trying to control himself or occasionally when he needed to focus. He was doing the latter now, still repeating the action as the leather heel of his boots sunk into the grass, the dirt muddy from rain the previous night. He stopped walking just as abruptly as he’d started, now a few inches from the dais.     

Steve looked at you again, except this time he was close enough to notice the slight pucker in your brow. The sunlight was no longer obstructing his vision as he saw you instinctively straighten your back with the weight of thousands of leering eyes. The pucker in your brow seemed to ease as the crowd dispersed, your eyes raking over the crowd until they caught sight of him staring back at you. Your lips twitched as you considered how you should respond before you decided on simply smiling at him. Steve mirrored your expression, and he felt a sudden sense of relief surging through him at your lack of reaction. It took him a moment to realize you were motioning him to come closer, and another minute for him to work up the courage to do so.  

You slowly lowered yourself off of the dais, praying that nobody was paying enough attention to you to notice before you landed on the ground. The grass crunched under your feet and you. Steve couldn’t tell how but you were more captivating up close. His eyes strayed to the curve of your lips, tracing the soft dip of your waist apparent in your kirtle.  

And suddenly, in a whirlwind of motion, you were gone. Steve looked around for the deep maroon of your dress, turning around until he noticed a scrap of the fabric left behind on the dais. He looked to his left and then his right before carefully pulling the cloth from the nail it had gotten caught on. Looping it around his wrist once, he tied a knot, just tight enough that it wouldn’t slip off. 

It wasn’t wrong, right? He intended to give it back to you, though he didn’t have the slightest clue when that was.  

- 

Steve’s back ached when he woke up. He didn’t know why, and he also didn’t know when he’d gotten back to his bed, but that was something to think about later. Instead, he was worrying about what he’d do with the shred of your dress, which was still on his wrist despite his tendency to move around in his sleep. 

“Are you up yet?” a familiar voice pierced through the momentary veil of silence in the manor. He sat up, fiddling with the fabric in an unsuccessful attempt to undo the knot he’d tied the previous day. Hopper saw the deep maroon of the fabric before he could hide it and Steve sucked in a breath through his teeth, waiting for his response. 

“How did you get that?” he paused. Steve opened his mouth to reply but Hopper's eyes went wide as he cut the boy off, “Tell me you didn’t steal it.” 

Steve shook his head almost instantly, appalled that the thought had even crossed the man's mind. Hopper seemed to deflate with relief. 

“I found it,” he explained vaguely. Hopper held back a laugh at the boy's unclear clarification.

“Yeah?” Steve nodded, “who’s is it?” 

And suddenly, over two decades' worth of barriers Steve had built around his vulnerability fell all at once. He looked at Hopper like a guilty little boy, like he’d accidentally dropped and shattered his mother's vase and he’d been caught near the scene. He looked at Hopper like he was scared of his potential response. The intensity of his gaze softened at the boy’s silence. He somehow seemed to understand Steve’s sensitivity regarding the subject.

“I found it on the edge of the dais,” he wasn’t technically lying. 

“You still aren’t answering my question,” Hopper said quietly. 

“You won’t be mad?” the man shook his head earnestly

“I found it at the ceremony yesterday,” Steve paused, thinking over his next words, “It’s from the princess’s dress, got torn on a screw” 

Somehow, when the words finally started falling from his tongue, they wouldn’t stop or slow down, the sentences he strung together becoming more rushed and incoherent with each passing one, the words toppling on top of one another and slurring in his throat as he recalled what had happened the previous day. 

“You should’ve seen her,” he trailed off, his eyes staring off into space as he smiled all fond. Hopper smiled at the boy’s lovesick demeanor, an odd sense of pride filling him with Steve’s vulnerability. It wasn't often that he opened up, so Hopper made sure to recognize it when he did.

“Are you going to give it back?” he prodded gently. Steve nodded.

“Next time I see her, yeah,” he replied, frowning as he did so. Steve hated the uncertainty of it all, the fact that he didn’t know when he’d see you next, or that he didn’t know what you wanted to say to him the previous day. He detested the spontaneity of it and the idea that he didn’t know the next time he’d bump into you, having been used to rigid rules and calculated decisions, yet Steve thought he could get used to it for you.

[marvel-ous-m]

Faire Thee Well

"Love had not been kind to them in this life, but maybe love would be kind to them in another. " 🥀

WC: 9,850 | Rating: Teen and Up Audiences | Tags: Temporary Character Death, Reincarnation, AU: Renaissance Period, AU: Modern Day, Soulmates, Hurt/Comfort, Right Person Wrong Time, Platonic Stobin, Platonic Hellcheer

I attended my first Ren Faire with my best friend, @lamoabss. We saw a joust, we said "hey, that's Steddie coded", and we decided to do something about it. They have created some BREATHTAKING art for this fic, which you can view here. (Their art for this fic is quite literally one of the coolest things I've ever seen). Getting to collaborate with one of my closest friends on such an emotional story has been an absolute dream come true, and I hope that you enjoy it as much as we enjoyed creating it!

Snippet below the cut!

“You know something about today. Something that you are not telling me.” Steaphan’s shoulders tensed at the sudden accusation from an all too familiar voice. The intruder was behind him, lurking in the tent’s entryway while Steaphan readied himself in the mirror and mentally prepared himself for the day’s events. 

On a normal day, such a trespass would be welcome- celebrated, even. 

Today was not a normal day. 

“We should not be seen speaking to one another before the joust, Sir Eduardo. We may be accused of collusion.” 

“That has not been a worry you have expressed before, my knight.” Eduardo’s response was quick, spoken with a flirtatious lilt. 

Steaphan’s heart strained in mourning of what was to come. “Enter the tent you fool, lest you draw more attention than you surely already have.”

Eduardo stepped out of the entryway, letting the tent’s curtained doorway fall shut behind him as he moved towards where Steaphan was standing. “Such kind words spoken today. Pray tell, what have I done to earn this warm welcome, my heart?” 

Steaphan turned on his heel so that he could face the knight whom he had come to love so dearly. “You must drop out of the joust. Claim that you have fallen ill, feign injury, anything . You cannot fight today- we must not fight today.” 

Eduardo’s playful expression fell away, replaced by something far more worrisome. “I knew it. You know of something- what is it?” 

“Nothing that has been confirmed, my rose, but you must listen to me. I had a vision in my sleep. The crowd grew bloodthirsty, and with our kings not being on good terms… they called for a match to the death, and my king allowed it. We were made to decide which one of us would fall at the hands of the other, and-” 

Steaphan’s ramble was ceased by Eduardo, who stepped forward to place his palm on Steaphan’s bare chest, over his heart. “-but this has not been confirmed? Your king has given no sign of seeking bloodshed on this day?” 

“Nay, but it would not be the only time a vision in my dreams has manifested before mine eyes. When I was a boy, my mother told me that we have sorcery in our lineage. At the time, I thought she was weaving fantastical stories for her child, but now I fear it may be true. I cannot bear to see you befallen by my own hands, nor can I allow you to shoulder the burden of slaying me with yours.” 

Eduardo took a deep breath, then moved his hand up from Steaphan’s painted chest so that he could cup the knight’s cheek. “I cannot disobey my oath, Sir Steaphan. I dare not bring dishonor to my king. If your vision is true, I will either face combat and be killed by thy hands, or be slain for my cowardice upon my return to my country.”

“I cannot be the cause of your death, my rose.” Steaphan rested his hand atop Eduardo’s, and met his heart’s piercing gaze with his own watery glare. 

“Then let us pray that thy mother’s stories were just stories, and that thy dream was just a dream.” Eduardo took a half-step forward, crossing the distance between himself and Steaphan so that he could capture the man’s lips in a searing kiss. 

Their expression of love was broken by the sound of trumpets and a roaring crowd, their signal that they would be due to begin the joust in mere moments. 

Eduardo broke the kiss and raised his hand to trace the woven plaits of the intricate braids in Steaphan’s hair for what could very well be the final time. “Whatever happens on the field today- my love, you must not blame yourself. We are but pawns in our master’s feuds. In life and in death, I swear to hold no grudge against you for the actions you must take.” 

A tear rolled down Steaphan’s cheek, wetting the war paint brushed over his eye. “You must ready yourself for combat, my knight. I will see you on the field.” 

Eduardo nodded silently and returned to his place in the tent’s entryway. Before making his leave, however, he turned back around to face Steaphan, and gave an exaggerated bow. “May thy lance by steady, and may thine aim be true.” 

Steaphan clenched his eyes shut and took a shaky breath, then exhaled the air in a sob. “May thy lance by steady, and may thine aim be true.” 

Eduardo gave him a final sympathetic look, then exited the tent, leaving Steaphan to finish his preparations for the joust. 

Click here to continue reading, and to see the art made for this fic!

[moonpascal]

self insert x canon will always hold a special place in my heart

[morganbritton132]

Steve and Eddie arguing in the background while Dustin sets up a science experience on a live stream. Eddie nearly breaks a microscope swinging around an extension cord and Steve is like, “you’re a menace to society.”

Eddie: Really because only one of us willingly joined the fight against evil and big government.

Steve: It’s because I’m a hero!

Eddie, smiling: Yeah, you are!

Dustin: That makes you the princess in distress.

Eddie: If a big hairy man carries me out of certain death, I’ll die happy.

Dustin & Steve: You’re not allowed to die!

[runraerun]

Steddie Amnesia Fic — 3/3

Part 1 | Part 2 | AO3

wc: 3k | rating: T | cw: head trauma, brain injury talk | a special thank you to @dame-zoom-a-lot for betaing! <3

The days following Steve’s Houdini act are fuckin’ tense, to say the least.

Eddie had messed up. Royally.

He could’ve sworn that when Steve took off, he’d ducked into the Recovery Center, y’know, the place he was supposed to go! If Eddie had known Steve took a detour and missed the building entirely, Eddie would’ve ran a lot fucking faster than he had. Especially after…

Well, no point in shying away from it anymore; after Steve confessed his love for him.

And how did Eddie return the favor? By being a total bone head and losing Steve for the entire goddamn day! Not to mention a good chunk of the night. Jesus… It’s no wonder Robin’s still sore.

Now, in Eddie’s flimsy defense, Steve had thrown him for one hell of a loop. One that Eddie was still seeing double from. He’s still having trouble wrapping his head around what he’d heard; Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington, King of Hawkins High, being into Eddie ‘the Freak’ Munson, the drug-dealing ne’er do well hailing from the Forest Hills trailer park. Forgive him for finding the threads a little difficult to tie together! He’s not exactly Steve’s usual fare.

But it had happened.

Things have fundamentally, metaphysically, allegorically and subatomically shifted between the two of them—there’s no getting away from that, no matter how long they try and dance around this.

Steve said he loved Eddie. Love.

That isn’t something you just move on from. At least, it isn’t something Eddie can move on from. Especially when he didn’t even get to say his piece!

The trouble is that Robin’s in all-out guard dog mode with Steve, keeping Eddie at arm's length even after a whole goddamn week goes by. Sure, she’d accepted his apology (albeit begrudgingly), but she isn’t exactly keen on letting Steve out of the house without her by his side—much less with Eddie. It would be kind of heartwarming if it weren’t so goddamn annoying.

Steve isn’t some damsel locked away in a tower, and Eddie wasn’t some knight in shining armor, planning to scale the side of a stone tower to avoid the sleeping, fire-breathing dragon…

But as Eddie stares up at the fire escape attached to the side of Steve and Robin’s brick apartment building… he'd be lying if he said he didn’t sort of feel a little shiny.

Part of Eddie can’t believe it’s really come to this, but… he just can’t stand the idea of wasting another goddamn night tossing and turning, going over and over Steve’s words in his mind. Thinking about the way Steve’s hand felt in his, the way his eyes went all soft when he told Eddie he—he loved him…

Jesus H. Christ, this is way beyond his skill set—he’s way out of fucking league here, but there’s nothing for it. Eddie needs to settle this, once and for all.

So, he takes his bandana from the back pocket of his jeans and presses the flat of it to his forehead while his hands make a tight knot in the back. He zips his leather jacket as high as it’ll go and gives his hands a shake to try and get the jitters out.

It’s not exactly a helmet and plates of armor, but it’ll have to do. Eddie takes a breath, steels himself, then climbs on top of a precariously stacked pile of milk crates that he’d crafted and leaps for the steel ladder. As soon as his feet leave the plastic tower, it collapses under him, clattering to the ground. Eddie knows he shouldn’t look back, but he sneaks a peak over his shoulder and… yep. He really shouldn’t’ve looked. He’s not that high up, but it’s enough that if he falls, he’d be feeling it tomorrow. Might even bust an ankle if he landed wrong.

He turns back to the task at hand; getting to Steve.

There’s a terrifying moment where he’s not sure if he can pull himself up, but somehow, he finds the strength to do just that. If only Coach D’Amour could see him now!

He grunts as he pulls himself up onto the platform, belly getting scratched against the grates as he goes. Eddie scrambles to get his legs underneath himself. Then, he stands, dusts himself off and takes the win, graceless as it was.

The fire escape is rickety and fucking loud as he takes the steps two at a time. It’s cold enough that even the quickest touch of the steel railings drains all the heat out of his fingers, so he just keeps them balled up, swinging at his sides. The wind is especially chilly up here too, something he hadn’t noticed on the ground, but now that he’s up a couple of floors there wasn’t anything for the wind to buff off except the side of the building and, well, Eddie.

By the time he reaches the third floor, his nose is running and no doubt red and irritated looking, and he’s woefully out of breath.

Kind of a pathetic knight, he thinks as he sniffs back the worst of it, wipes the underside of his nose on the sleeve of his jacket to get rid of what’s left.

The light in Steve’s room is on, reaching out to him through the lines of Steve’s shut blinds.

His hand is raised, wind-chapped knuckles knocking against the glass of his window before he can plan out what he’s going to say. He just wants to see Steve. Get eyes on him again. Work this out.

It’s a painful few seconds before Eddie can see movement from inside the window. He bounces on the balls of his feet as he impatiently waits for Steve to let him in. His breath fogs the window.

Then finally. Finally! The blinds are pulled up. He smiles and—

Oh Christ on a cross. That’s not Steve.

Eddie’s stomach damn near falls out of his ass as the woman on the other side of the glass screams, as shrill and high as if she were next to him.

And of course she’s in a fucking towel.

Eddie slaps one hand across his eyes and the other up in surrender, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Shit, Jesus, I—I’m not a pervert, I swear!”

Debatable, his brain supplies, entirely unhelpful in an emergency situation. But hey, what’s new?

“I was looking for my friend, not—Please stop screaming!” He screams.

“Eddie?” A familiar voice calls from below.

The hand on Eddie’s eyes lift and looks down through the metal grates under his boots. “Steve!”

Steve’s hanging half out his window, peering up at him with a bewildered expression on his face. “What’re you doing?”

Eddie holds his arms out like it should be obvious. “Seeing you!” He snaps.

Eddie’s attention is briefly yanked back to the scandalized looking woman in the window in front of him. “I’m—yeah, I’m gonna—” He backs away, and swings around the escape before thundering down the stairs, shouting another apology up in his shameful retreat.

Steve backs up in order to let Eddie in. He climbs in as gracelessly as ever, all knees and elbows, stiff from the cold. He slides the window shut behind him once he’s in, dropping the blinds for good measure.

He wonders if Hopper is getting a call about a long-haired, wild-eyed, deranged looking peeping Tom at this very moment.

“Smooth.” Steve says from behind him, an edge of playfulness.

When Eddie turns and finally gets a good look at Steve, who looks especially comfortable in his flannel sleep pants and worn sweater, hands on hips. “I was looking for you.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Steve snorts softly, “third floor, remember?”

“I counted! Ground floor, first floor, second floor, third floor.” Eddie says, using his hand to indicate his pattern of thought, moving it up a tick with each floor.

Steve scoffs, shaking his head. And even though Eddie knows Steve’s laughing at him, he can’t help that warm feeling that pours through him, filling him up. All his cracks and edges, sealed up with Steve’s effortless being.

“No.” Steve raises his own hand, mirroring Eddie’s. He begins notching as he explains, “ground floor, second floor, third floor. The ground is the first floor, dude.”

Eddie frowns. “What? Since when?”

Steve levels Eddie with a flat look. “Since like, the civil war, dude.”

Huh. Eddie frowns. Mulling over the new bit of information. That would’ve been nice to know.

“Why were you even doing out there in the first place? We have things called front doors. And, y’know, phones.” Steve crosses his arms across his chest, losing a bit of steam as the words left him. Like he’s realized exactly what Eddie being here, in his rooms, meant.

“I had to see you.” Eddie says, like it’s not the most obvious thing in the world, “Face to face, just me and you.”

“Can’t we just—I don’t know, pretend all of… that never happened? Hell, it might drop out of my head one of these days anyway. Lots of shit does.” Steve’s says, sounding so fucking defeated that it sends a sharp pain through Eddie’s chest.

“Hey,” Eddie makes a face, gets in Steve’s space, “don’t be a jerk to yourself.”

He ducks his head in an attempt to meet Steve’s downturned gaze, which he reluctantly returns. He’s got these big, warm eyes, the color of dark honey—the kind that are hard to look away from, so Eddie rarely does. He’a got a staring problem, he knows, but… damn. Can you really blame a guy?

A nerve in Steve’s jaw jumps when he clenches his teeth together, and salt pools begin forming along the rim of those familiar eyes. When he speaks, it’s stiff. Barely above a whisper. “I’m embarrassed, alright?”

“You don’t gotta be embarrassed, man.” Without thought, Eddie’s hands go to Steve’s arms, fingers hovering around his elbows. Eddie tilts his head again to try and keep eye contact again but Steve seems determined to avoid it.

“Easy for you to say.” Steve huffs, and sits down on the edge of his bed, slipping out of Eddie’s hold, arms still crossed over his chest. “You didn’t totally humiliate yourself in front of your—friend.”

The word, one in which Eddie holds in a most sacred of views, sounds distinctly hollow when Steve says it.

“Steve, listen to me, just for a sec, alright?” Eddie gets down to the floor, one knee buried in the carpet while the others bent out in front of him. “This is my fault.” He confesses, voice full of remorse.

Finally, Steve looks at him. His brows twitch together as he makes a face. “Bullshit.”

“No, it’s true! I—I didn’t mean to, but I’m not exactly big on the whole impulse control thing, as you know, and, thinking back on things I probably… I probably let a few things slip.” Eddie explains, his rings clinking together lightly as he gestures with his hands.

Steve, however, doesn’t look any less confused. He blinks. “What?”

Eddie lets his head fall forward in a moment of defeat as he attempts to gather up his fleeting thoughts. It’s like chasing wet, feral cats up there!

Still, he picks himself back up. For Steve.

“What I’m trying to say is…” Eddie puts his hands on Steve’s knees. Feels the warmth under the soft, worn flannel. The hard muscle. Alive, whole. He tightens his grip. “Steve, I’ve been crazy about you since the first time I ever saw you. Don’t roll your eyes—I’m serious! You sat in front of me in math one year and you forgot your pencil. We were having a test that day, and you asked me if you could borrow one of mine, so I let you have the one I was using. You chewed up the end of it, squashed the eraser to all hell, but then when you gave it back to me, you smiled, thanked me and said, ‘I owe you one.’ It—okay, yeah, so it sounds, like, really small, and probably pretty pathetic, but… I was totally starstruck, man.”

At some point in his little spiel, Steve had uncrossed his arms. So Eddie takes the opportunity to clumsily take Steve’s hands, his insides feeling like a kicked hornets nest. Buzzing. He swallows. “I still am.”

Steve keeps his mouth shut, but there’s a knot in him that’s loosening, Eddie can tell. He’s just gotta keep tugging. He squeezes Steve’s fingers.

“The feeling was cranked up a few hundred clicks because of all the, y’know, near death experiences we went through together. But you get it now, right? You get how this is all my fault?”

“Eddie, you don’t have to—” Steve starts, hands stiffening in Eddie’s hold. Slipping away. But Eddie holds firm, decides to just fucking say it. If Steve could, Eddie could too.

“I’m in love with you too.” He blurts out, and now that he’s said it out loud, it’s like there’s a dam that gets busted inside of him; he can’t stop the rush of words that follows the confession. “That’s what you were seeing. That’s what you were noticing. I thought I was being slick, just keeping it friendly or whatever. Flirting, yeah, but I didn’t think you’d ever actually reciprocate. Because, honestly man, I’m not really used to people taking me all that seriously. ‘Zany, pot-head Eddie, can’t trust anything that comes out of his crooked mouth!’”

Eddie shakes his head, scoffing at his own blind spots, “But… you saw right through that shit—right through me. You didn’t make it up in your head, Steve—you felt it. You were right.”

Steve’s got a funny look on his face, but he nods. A lock of hair falls over his forehead, but he doesn’t remove his hands from Eddie’s to fix it. “You love me?”

That’s like asking if the sun would rise tomorrow morning. Of course. Of course.

Eddie pulls one of Steve’s hands and flattens it onto his chest, over the leather.

“Every time my heart beats, it's your name it calls out, man.” Eddie says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when he sees the red creep up on the apples of Steve’s cheeks. “D’you feel it?”

Steve gives a breathless chuckle, hesitating for a split second before he nods, playing along.

Electricity hums under Eddie’s skin, the resulting static snaps in the air around them. Eddie presses Steve’s hand against the wall of his chest a little harder, so that he can feel the pounding a bit better. Then Eddie whispers in time with the rhythm of his lovesick heart, giving it a voice, “Ste-vie, Ste-vie, Ste-vie…”

He keeps chanting until Steve’s grinning, eyes glued to their joined hands. It’s a fleeting thing, though. Eddie watches as that hard-won smile drops and a pinched look takes its place. “Even now? Eddie, I’m not—I don’t think I’m the same person I was before.”

“Are you kidding me? Especially now. In sickness and in health, right?” Somewhere in his brain an alarm sounds, but he doesn’t pause long enough to acknowledge exactly why, lest he lose momentum, “look, Steve, even if you are a little different from the guy you were in high school, you’re still you.”

A beat passes. “What if I never get better?”

“Steve, you will, the doctors said—”

“But what if I don’t? Jesus, Eddie, what if I get worse?” Steve’s voice had gone progressively more hushed as he spoke, as if he were so afraid of its possibility that even voicing it felt risky. Made it real, even in that small way. It’s something Steve’s thought about, Eddie realizes. Agonized over, even.

“Then I’m the lucky son of a bitch that gets to take care of you.” Eddie says, sure as shit. Truthfully, he can’t think of anything else he’d rather do, even if Steve hadn’t done a completely insane thing like falling in love with Eddie. His love isn’t conditional. “S’long as you’ll let me.” He tacks on.

It’s like a wall crumbling. Brick by brick, Eddie watches Steve’s resolve collapse. The rim of his eyes shine with unshed tears, his brow relaxes and his chin twitches. “You sure you want that?”

He scoffs, eyes wide. “It’s all I want.” He answers, quickly. A reflex. Who wouldn’t want to be with Steve Harrington? Eddie thought he was lucky just to be in the same fucking orbit as the guy, but now…

Now, as he watches a smile slowly spreads across Steve’s face—fucking Adonis incarnate—it feels like he won the goddamn lottery.

“Okay.” Steve utters, so softly that for a second Eddie thinks he’d imagined it.

“Okay?” Eddie asks, trying his damndest to keep from imploding. He’s fucking vibrating in his skin.

Instead of answering Eddie, Steve decides to clarify himself by leaning forward and pressing his mouth against Eddie’s.

Fireworks go off inside of Eddie, every inch of him. All lit up. Feels like he’s shining just as good as any knight.

One of Steve’s hands snake their way behind Eddie’s neck, pulling him closer, while the other remains held over Eddie’s jackrabbiting heart. Their lips part, and their kiss deepens. Eddie tries to keep up.

They eventually end up on Steve’s narrow twin bed laying side by side, legs entangled, kissing until their mouths go dry. Eddie swipes a calloused thumb over Steve’s cheek, savoring the feeling of the barely there stubble, the heat from the blush that never seems to subside.

They don’t speak for the rest of the night. Not even a ‘goodnight’ after Steve crawls over Eddie to flick off his bedside lamp, tugging the comforter up around their shoulders as he settles back into the safe harbor of Eddie’s arms. They don’t need words. Not tonight, anyway. Tonight, all they need to do is to rest.

Whatever comes after, they’ll deal with it together.

—

Tag List: (if you’d like to be added to a permanent tag list for all my Steddie fics, please comment/message me! ◡̈ thank you for reading, everyone!)

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[queenariesofnarnia]

a mouthful 🤭

various male characters x f!reader (let that imagination go crazy babes🤩)

warnings: just a bit of a non descriptive blowjob, 18+ mdni !

wc:200

one hand was in your hair that you spent time perfecting. his almost animalistic groans filled the small room that he dragged you in. his hips move at a steadily increasing as he thrusts into your mouth. 

“look at me baby” he commands gently, his free hand under your chin. you meet his eyes seeing his pupils blown in pleasure. you can feel spit running down your chin and tears form as his cock hits the back of your throat. “you look so pretty like this” he coos at you. you thank him with your mouth still full but he knows. his thrusts begin getting sloppier when you begin massaging his balls. 

“i’m so close baby are you going to swallow it like a good girl?” you nod enthusiastically answering his question. he chuckles between grunts as he hits the back of your throat one last time his warm release coats your tongue and throat. he wipes the tip on you lips leaving some cum behind. “open up let me see. go ahead and swallow” as he watches you do so he smiles at you lovingly, pulling you up for a kiss. “now lay down my love it’s your turn”

[variety-fangirl]

Thinking about reader having a tough time, a tough couple of weeks, of just feeling awful. Your mental health had taken a toll and gotten bad again. You weren't exactly sure what specifically set it off this time. It was most likely a combination of things.

Your workload had picked up due to the increase in your rent, which put you financially out some, and you didn't want to bother others with that problem. You would feel too awful to even think of asking. You'd put on some weight due to the late nights and long hours working, so you didn't have as much time to prepare proper or healthy meals, which of course meant you had been snacking on the go. You'd overheard a few of your coworkers make some unkind comments on your weight and how "unkempt" you seemed as of late, whilst they finished early and had a dual income, so they didn't understand. But that had given your demons some fuel to get to work.

You were one of the very first people in and one of the last out. You had finished late every night for the last two weeks, running on caffeine, instant foods, and fumes. You pushed yourself, every day, just to make ends meet and it still didn't seem enough. You had almost fallen asleep a few times at your desk and had to down an energy drink or hurriedly drink coffee to stay awake.

You also had slacked on the household chores, which meant things were more messy and disorganised than you liked. It meant everything felt chaotic. It made things difficult to find when you were rushing around and late. You also felt like your relationship was suffering because of it, which just added the final nail in the coffin. Plus, your boyfriend seemed to be ignoring you as of late. So everything was just too much.

It was finally the weekend. You finally had some days off to do what was neglected through the weeks. You thought you'd start off easy, you did the mounds of laundry that needed washing. But the whole time, you were mentally berating yourself for not doing it sooner. You next cleaned the kitchen, mopping the floor and disinfecting the surfaces. Which is then followed by the living room and dining room. But, again, you just kept thinking about how gross and lazy you were, punishing yourself for not taking care of it.

You were doing mental hoops of insults, all the while making your mood worse and throwing you further into a pit of depression. You spent the whole of Saturday cleaning, putting away, and sorting your solo home out. You wanted to do nothing more than relax, but your brain kept saying how you didn't deserve rest or to relax until everything you'd neglected was completed. You hated it, which made you hate yourself.

It took you 5 hours to do everything. It took all of your energy to force yourself back upstairs afterwards. You still had more to do up there, so you got to it. You sat down on the floor where you had set out the weeks' worth of piles and piles of laundry to put away, but you quickly got frustrated and overstimulated with exhaustion. You just wanted a nap, things to be easier, and to stay on top of things. Was that so much to ask for? Apparently.

The tears began falling and refused to stop. Weeks of pent-up and pushed-down emotions had finally caught up to you and erupted. You were sobbing, loudly and hysterically, as you curled in on yourself and fisted the laundry in your hands. You were tired, so fucking tired. Of everything. You just wanted to go to sleep and not wake up for a while. You knew it wasn't healthy, this lifestyle that was taking absolutely everything out of you, but you didn't know what to do or how to break the cycle to give yourself some reprieve.

But here you were. The fumes that were running on nothingness had finally caved in under the mass of enervations and pressure. You weren't sure how long you sat there wailing and sobbing out your frustrations and complete exhaustion, just holding yourself and pulling at your hair. Your phone had vibrated multiple times in a short period but you just couldn't physically move, you couldn't do anything but weep to your heart's content. Not that you could look at your phone anyway, your vision was blurry from the constant stream of tears.

At some point, you hear the door open and footsteps coming up. Coming straight in your direction. You knew you had never unlocked the door from last night when you came home late. And only one person had a key to your place, your boyfriend. You watched with teary vision as he came around the doorway and walked towards you, pushing the laundry out of the way so he could kneel in front of you.

"W-what are y-you doing h-here?" You gasped out, whimpering about him seeing you in such a state of disarray and collapse. He had never seen you have a breakdown before, he'd naturally seen you cry, but not this bad.

"You butt-dialled me, sweetheart. I was so worried and stressed out that you wouldn't answer me and just kept sobbing. I dropped everything and came straight here. Think I broke multiple speeding laws to get here." He breathlessly chuckles as you giggle sadly through your tears, an accidental whimper following. You feel his hands gently grab your face to look at him.

"Talk to me, my love. What's wrong? Do I need to kill someone for you?" He half-jokes, a look of pure worry filling his beautiful features. You shake your head in his hands as you reach up to grasp his wrists in your palms to ground yourself.

You tearily explained everything to him, spilling all your stresses and worries to the man you love. You knew he wouldn't ever judge you or invalidate your feelings, so you felt comfortable laying everything out for him. He listened, hooked on every word, and patiently worked with you. All while stroking your face lovingly.

Once you were done, you sobbed once more. All the emotions pouring out of you in one go. He made you feel safe and gave you a space to be vulnerable and transparent with him. That was irreplaceable.

He wordlessly pulled you into his lap, manoeuvring you where he wanted you. You just let him, ending up with your face in the crook of his neck and straddling his lap. You immediately latched onto him, wrapping your arms around any part of you could, your hands fisting his clothing for dear life. He stayed there for some time, comforting you with sweet words and back rubs, until you calmed down enough. He was patient and kind, giving you everything you needed.

He eventually picked you up with him as he stood, not once releasing you and walked to your bathroom. He started the water, letting it warm up as he placed you down on the floor. He undressed you slowly, placing feathery kisses in the pattern and traces of where his hands once were on each and every inch of exposed skin, all the while adorning you with compliments and telling you how much he loves you. You were now crying for a completely different reason, but much less aggressively.

Once he finished his worshipping of your body, he undressed himself, discarding both of your clothes in the hamper. (So thoughtful). He then helped you into the shower, following closely behind, and proceeded to wash and massage every bit of you. He completely pampered and worshipped you, from your hair down to your toes. He took his time, being the most gentle and soft that he had ever been with you or anything in his entire life. He made all your stress and worries melt away. He allowed you to wash and tend to him in return after a lot of convincing, expressing you wanted to and it would make you feel better.

You worshipped him in return, not wanting to make everything about you. Especially with how well he was treating you, he always did, but he was extra attentive tonight to help meet your needs.

Once you were both done in the shower, he dried you and carried you into the bedroom. He spent the next hour on top of you and in between your legs. Being slow, affectionate, and gentle. His lips kissed every inch of skin he could while making love to you, wanting to express every bit of his emotions he could to you. You received mindblowing orgasm after orgasm, all while your hands stayed intertwined. And afterwards, you fell asleep on his chest with one of his arms wrapped around you and the other stroking your hair.

You were awoken the next morning with breakfast in bed from your favourite breakfast place, your favourite flowers and a fully cleaned home. Which of course made you cry again but from happy tears. You spent the afternoon in bed, making love and enjoying the calm and happy mood.

By the end of the following week, he was fully moved into your place, after a few months of dating. He made you cut down on your work hours, claiming to handle everything and helped you to keep on top of anything that needed doing. You were so thankful he was yours and didn't know how you would ever repay him.

(Multi) I had Simon, John, Johnny, Gaz, Gojo, Geto, Megumi, Nanami, Marc, Eddie, and Steve, in mind while writing this.

[ivuhe]

Me when a character looks like they're one push towards the light

[flowercrowngods]

Suggesting/Requesting Eddie having a crush on the valiant knight Steve Dustin goes on about, not realizing it's Steve "the Hair" Harrington and the way he reacts when he realizes they're the same dude. Cue adjustment period.

hi! first of all thank you for the prompt 🥰 i slipped and kinda decided to take your ‘valiant knight Steve’ quite literally and made this a medieval/regency au with knight steve and bard eddie, kinda enemies to lovers. it totally got out of hand, so this is part 1, with all my apologies to your original prompt 🤍🌷

Eddie smiles as the fields and forest that surround Hawkins come into view, kissed by the early afternoon sun with more affection and richness than the city probably deserves. It looks different this time of year, the green seems deeper than he left it, and nostalgia paints him a picture of glory and welcome that would make any traveller linger at the sight. 

He knows it’s only the magic of coming home, the thrill of having been gone so long that he needs to learn his town a-new, and the curiosity of a poet that makes his heart beat faster; but it’s his life’s blood to embrace all of that. So he spurs on his trusty horse to make it home even just a minute sooner. 

The people’s reactions to his arrival come in multitudes, though Eddie can respect the healthy dose of mistrust with which they regard him. He has made a name for himself after all, a bard more than a jester these days, but most people don’t tend to forget the pretty face they chased out of the city on multiple occasions. 

He lifts his head in greeting as he passes the elderly Wheelers as they’re tending to the flowers lining their windows, and grins with glee at both the disapproving scoff and the wary nod he gets in return. 

He’s in good spirits. Great spirits, in fact, the sun shining down on him, welcoming him and lighting familiar paths for him to tread again after years of absence. Hawkins will see his glory, his success, his victory, and it will pale in jealousy and regret. They cannot chase him away this time, not with the title of royal bard and winner of the bardic competition three years in a row. 

If his travels have taught him anything, it’s that he is pettiness acts as a wonderful motivation.

Of course, he shall also see his friends again. One of his saddlebags is half full with their letters that have accumulated over the years, all of which Eddie has kept for reasons of muse and a heart entirely too soft for his own good.

Most of all, though, even more than proving his worth and success to his city and its people, it is curiosity that brings him home. 

Dustin and his friends have been mentioning a most valiant knight, waxing poetic about his glorious deeds and his kinder heart — or, as poetic as they get, which is hardly at all. Which consequently made Eddie write no less than five ballads about the stories they told him, three of which have made it into songs yet, one of which he was made to play in every tavern on his long journey back to Hawkins and to Princess Nancy herself on more than one occasion.

The Knightmærs, as he calls his little collection of poeterey, his pride and joy about a man he has yet to meet. Tales about maidens saved and brothers defeated, hearts stolen and retrieved with the gentlest gestures, and children protected against the evils of night, expecting naught but friendship. And friendship he got. 

If Eddie’s heart picks up yet another notch at the thought of meeting this knight as the familiar city walls tower before him, he allows it for a second before announcing himself to the guards. They looked wary upon his approach and blanch now as they hear his name; Eddie does not hide his laughter this time and preens as he is told to ride on. 

“Oh, Hawkins, old friend,” he mutters under his breath, not even bothering to hide his smile. “You and I shall have so much fun, shan’t we?” 

~*~

He barely makes it to the home he has been sharing with his uncle since the ripe age of twelve with minimal fuss, unsaddling his horse and guiding her to the trough, when he hears it. 

“Eddie!”

Halting in his motions the currycomb, he looks up from the rusty brown that shines red like embers in the sun and spots Dustin racing down the street towards him. 

He lowers the comb and steps around his horse, grinning at his rapidly approaching friend. 

“Why, good day to you, young traveller, what brings you to my humble abode?” 

Dustin doesn’t falter in his approach, doesn’t even slow down, and Eddie braces himself for impact. Years of experience have made him quite practiced in handling tackle-hugs, but Dustin has grown quite a bit since he last saw him, and they both stumble backwards when Dustin’s arms wrap around Eddie in a way that seems to press all air out of his lungs. Eddie laughs as he hugs his friend back with as much ferocity. 

“I’ve missed you! I was writing to you this morning when I remembered you said you’d come this week. I didn’t think it would be today!” 

“I came as soon as I could. Such is the Munson way, or did you forget?” 

Dustin shakes his head and finally lets go, though Eddie yearns for another hug. It’s been too long. The boy has grown. He’s hardly a boy anymore, though he shall always remain as such in Eddie’s heart. He smiles and ruffles Dustin’s locks, realising with a pang that they’re almost of a height now. 

An ache like homesickness settles in his gut and wears on his heart heavily. 

“What is it? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” he shakes his head, smoothing out the curls he’s put in disarray. “It’s just been too long. And I’ve missed you, too. You’ve grown quite a bit since last we talked.” 

“I have!” And he looks so proud of it, too, preening a little under Eddie’s faux scrutiny, and it’s what makes him pull Dustin against his chest again. 

Eddie continues taking care of his horse, feeding her, combing through her mane, making sure she has as much comfort as he can provide after their long days of travel. Dustin sits on the fence and watches him tend to her, feeding her the occasional apple when he thinks Eddie isn’t looking. He hides his smile and pretends not to see. 

God, but he has missed his friend. 

Their twosomeness is rudely and entirely too quickly interrupted by Lord Harrington of all people, who hurries down the street in search of Dustin. 

Eddie never did like the lord and his pompous appearance coupled with his rude personality. He always acted like a prince among men, subject to many a jest in Eddie’s younger days. On one memorable occasion, Eddie managed to steal the lord’s clothes and swap them with his own, making him walk about in linen rags and torn-up trousers. 

Days later, all of his lute strings ripped just as he was getting ready to play at the tavern, and he never messed with Harrington again — even though there was a parcel three days later with new lute strings and his old clothes he had made the lord wear. No note attached to it, because Lords didn’t stoop down to converse with lowly peasants even for revenge. 

So, seeing Harrington now on the very first day of his being back, it sours Eddie’s face and his humour. 

“Why, Lord Harrington,” he speaks before the man can get a word in. “To what do I owe the displeasure of seeing you here? Have you suffered a fall from grace yet, or was it a hit in the head that left you disoriented, bringing you to my humble abode?” 

Harrington frowns at him, though Eddie deems to detect confusion more than distaste. 

And then he has the audacity of not even answering to Eddie’s ruse, simply ignoring him and instead turning around to Dustin. 

“Dustin, Master Clarke is expecting you. I will not cover for you once more.” 

“But—“ 

“Spare me,” Harrington says, hands on his hips now, and Eddie is starting to feel defensive over Dustin. How dare his lordship come and steal his best friend away when he hasn’t even been home for an hour yet? 

Before he can get so much as a word in, however, Dustin is already jumping from his perch on the fence and trudging towards Harrington, rounding the man and leading the way up the hill towards the castle. 

“I’ll come back later, Eddie,” Dustin says over his shoulder, and then he is gone, rounded the corner, out of his sight. 

Harrington, however, lingers. Eddie raises his eyebrows in question and challenge, and the Lord scoffs a little. It’s like he wants to say something — but what could it be? What could Lord Harrington have to say to him, years after they last saw each other? 

He does look stunning, Eddie has to admit with a grudge against his self and his integrity. The golden light of the afternoon sun catches in his hair, likening it to strands of gold that kings and queens pay alchemists across the world to procure. Eddie, for a moment, feels like he has found it in Lord Harrington’s hair and the skin of his face, but he quickly snaps out of it, cutting off that particular train of thought before it can run away form him. 

“I hear you are a bard of great renown these days.” 

The words catch him off his guard, for Eddie was sure that the Lord would not attempt to converse. Yet it seems that propriety still has a tight grip on him. 

Does Harrington like his ballads, his plays, his poetry and sonnets? Has he heard them? Or has he heard of them? Has word travelled across the countries, telling of Eddie the Bard and his brave-hearted muse his soul yearns for and his quill bleeds for?

Eddie is not sure which option thrills him more, but whichever one it is, it makes him smile, feeling quite bashful and yet proud. 

“So you hear,” he says, approaching the stiff Lord. “What exactly is it that you hear, my Lord?” 

He swallows, following Eddie’s steps with his eyes, turning his head when the bard circles him slowly. “I hear you sing of beasts slain and brothers banished, a knight at the heart of your ballads.” Eddie smiles at that, knowing that Harrington has at least heard of two of his Knightmærs. I hear it sounds like mockery, the knight but an object of your hyperbolic fascination and flowery imagination, his pain and bravery nothing to you.” 

He stops dead in his tracks, his feet planted right before Harrington. The Lord looks like he is taking personal offence to his works, and it irritates the bard. 

“And what, Lord Harrington, would you know of fascination, pain and bravery? I cannot imagine you have faced a lot of hardship in your life, and the only acts of bravery you had to chance upon were mislead in the name of false honour.” 

“False honour,” Harrington repeats, his words like poison, sharp and dangerous as the sword’s blade at his hip. “You would know something about that, I imagine, telling stories of which you have no idea. Immortalising glory where there should be sympathy.” 

Eddie studies him, the frown between his brows, the hard line of his jaw, set and calmed to keep more words from spilling. Imposing, this Lord is. A sight for sore eyes even in his  purely misplaced anger. 

Eddie huffs, his eyes travelling between the Lord’s where they are standing so impossibly close. 

“Sympathy,” he repeats. “Nobody, my Lord, wants a ballad of sympathy. It is glory that the people seek!” He steps back from Harrington, gesturing with his arms as he dramatically recounts the lessons he has learned over the years, passionate for his craft. “Glory, heroism, heartbreak and love! Yearning and longing and deeds of an aching heart, that is what the people want to hear. That is what deserves to be immortalised in art, in poetry, in song! I shall forgive you for being so painfully unaware of this, my Lord, but I shall not stand to be in your company much longer, calling my work lacking or a mockery when it is borne out of nothing but loyalty, fascination and love.” 

They are close again, because Harrington did not step back when Eddie approached him once more, his feet planted like a tree, fierce and strong and unbudging. 

It is intoxicating, though Eddie blames half of it on the passion and the rage, on the bravery that possessed him to send the Lord away, or the fierceness with which he came to his muse’s defence. 

Harrington swallows again, his eyes wandering over Eddie’s face once more, lingering at his lips, both their jaws set in determination and perhaps a sudden tension.  

“Forgive me for insulting you with my company,” he speaks at last, his voice nothing but a rasp. “You will find there is an irony to your words soon. I shall not rob you of that discovery. I ask you do not take it out on our mutual friends when you do, Munson.” 

And with one last glance, Harrington turns on his heel and hurries up the hill, too, leaving Eddie puzzled and quite dazed upon the lingering warmth of their close proximity. 

When did Harrington become so handsome? There was a fire in his eyes that Eddie got to witness for just the blink of an eye, but he wonders where that comes from, what it means, and what other secrets he holds. 

Perhaps, if he cannot meet his muse, the knight Dustin has only ever referred to as Steve, Harrington might serve to inspire a ballad or two himself.

~*~

Harrington catches his eyes on more than one occasion over the next days. Eddie is invited to the castle to play for Princess Chrissy, though she greets him like an old friend and makes him sit close to her at the banquet. Right beside Harrington, who merely nods at Eddie, his fists clenched as Chrissy asks the bard about one of his ballads — the one about the valiant knight slaying a horde of monsters to keep the kingdom’s children safe. 

The Lord must really hate Eddie’s work. It fills him with spiteful glee, for some reason, and he makes sure to play and recite all of his Knightmærs that night. Harrington excuses himself when Eddie hasn’t even made it halfway through his songs, and he doesn’t return that night. 

He takes personal offence now and vows to make the Lord’s life as difficult as he can. 

But still there is no sign of Steve. 

Eddie is starting to get frustrated. 

He was supposed to be here, stand tall and proud with a smile on his face upon seeing Eddie, sweep him off his feet, make him swoon, dare Eddie to fall in love with the face long after the name. 

His mood is sour, and only sours further when Harrington rounds the corner and stumbles upon Eddie who is tuning his lute for tonight’s banquet. The annual royal tournament is set for the next morning, so everyone is in a good mood. 

Well, everyone except Eddie. And Lord Harrington, by the look on his face. 

“Munson,” he says, straightening before he bows his head in greeting. “Forgive me, I was looking for some quiet. I shall look somewhere else.” 

And, somehow, that is enough to snap his patience that was already wearing thin. “Why can you not stand being in my presence, sir?” he asks, rising from his seat. “Does it disgust you so to be around mere peasants?” 

Harrington looks taken aback, shock and confusion clear on his face before a frown takes its place and washes away all further emotions. 

“It is not your presence that bothers me, nor the nature of your birth.”

“And yet you leave every time I so much as strum a tune, Lord Harrington, ready to throw both caution and propriety to the winds. Leaving me to wonder what it is that I have done to deserve such treatment.” 

Eddie finds himself walking closer and closer to the Lord, coming to a stop not one foot before him. He is drawn in by his presence, his charm as alluring as his cold silence. Everything about Lord Harrington intrigues him, horrified as he is to admit it. But with Steve not around to catch his eye and captivate his heart and mind alike, he simply has to find inspiration elsewhere. 

And the way Harrington’s face is taken over by a dangerous expression is the most inspiring, alluring thing he has seen in a while, even though it is directed at him. 

“How can you have the audacity to feign confusion over my disdain, bard,” he hisses, and Eddie shivers slightly. Harrington does not even have the sense to step back, staying right where he is, so close, so improper. “How can you pretend it is not my life you have taken and made your own, singing songs and telling stories, making into nothing but a jaunty tale recited by drunkards with no regard to the blood it was written in.” 

Eddie blinks, not quite catching up with the point Harrington is making. 

“What—“ 

“You sing your ballads, your histories, your Knightmærs like you know what they mean. Making a mockery of me, stealing from me every chance to tell my tale in my own voice, in my own tempo. Entire kingdoms will know before I will have had the chance to wake up from a nightmare, and they sing about it, sing about pain they did not have the misfortune to suffer, sing with a smile, with booming voices because you make them. And yet the only one without a voice remains the one who slew the beast.” 

Lord Harrington speaks to him as though he takes offence at the content of Eddie’s ballads, offence at the reality of their background. But what right does he have to take offence when his songs are based on heroic deeds, recounted to him first hand by his very best friend. What right does Harrington have to question the truth behind them? 

“If it is a matter of truth that concerns you, let me reassure you, my Lord, that all of my ballads are based on true events. I ask that you do not call me a liar, no matter how great your dislike of my craft.” 

“It is not a liar that I call you, but rather a thief.” 

Eddie gasps, offended now. “What do you suggest I have stolen, then?” 

“A person’s right to their own story. To their own nightmares. A man's right to flee from the horrors he lived through, acquainting every tavern in this kingdom and the next with his horrific and desperate deeds.” 

“How dare you call his deeds horrific,” Eddie hisses now, feeling protective over his knight. “How dare you accuse me of ill intent when every word out of my quill is written with nothing but love and admiration.” 

“For whom?” Harrington challenges, disdainful and cold. “Only for yourself, your vanity, your overgrown sense of artistic ambition.”

“No,” he shakes his head, hands clenched into fists as he finds himself incredibly close to Lord Harrington, their faces only inches apart now. “It is love for this person I have never met, whom my dear friend has told me about. A man who has kept me awake at night as I was pouring over letter after letter, hoping he should be well. It is a love so strong it has to be turned into art, into song, love that should be sung in every voice of the kingdom.” He scoffs, stepping back to catch his breath. “I do not expect you to know such a love when all you have in your cold heart is disdain for all things beautiful. You would never know bravery if it looked you in the face, you would never know love if it was the very fabric that makes this world. It would slip through your fingers, my Lord, for you would be busy yearning for the day your life found its meaning.” 

He is seething, heaving breaths, out of control over the words tumbling out of his mouth. Insulted in his pride and his muse, offended, hurt. Confused, still, as to why the Lord hates his songs with such vigour. 

“Is that your opinion of me?” Harrington whispers, though even in that toneless voice of his lies so much that Eddie cannot begin to decipher. 

“Yes,” he whispers back, the fight leaving him now, the very air sucked out of the room they share. “I believe I made that clear just now.” 

Harrington takes one step closer once more, but Eddie does not budge. 

“Then I suggest you forget that knight of yours,” he says, quiet and final. “And forget the idea you have of love. To love someone is not to turn his nightmares into song. To love someone is not to look him in the eye and insult his very existence even further. You love yourself, your craft, your mind. But you do not love him. You would not recognise him if he shared the same breath as you.” 

Eddie huffs, just barely able to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “And what makes you so sure of that, Lord Harrington?” 

A smile twitches his lips, though there is no mirth, no glee. “You have just proven it to me, Mr Munson.” He takes a step back and evades Eddie’s eyes. “I believe you should return to the fest now. Good night.” 

And with that, he turns around and leaves. 

Eddie finds himself rooted to the ground, air returning to the room now but still he is unable to catch his breath, staring ahead as he is. 

Words echo in his mind as the picture paints itself and a horrible, horrible realisation dawns on him. 

You will find there is an irony to your words soon. 

How can you pretend it is not my life you have taken and made your own?

But you do not love him. You would not recognise him if he shared the same breath as you.

You have just proven it to me, Mr Munson.

But… There is no way. There is no way that Dustin’s friend, Dustin’s knight and protector, his saviour, Steve, should be the same as Lord Harrington with his careful, quiet, disdainfully quirked eyebrow. 

Except, Lord Harrington collected Dustin from Eddie’s home, speaking with him in a tone filled with such familiarity, they cannot be mistaken as anything but friends. 

And Lord Harrington had listened with such rapt attention when Eddie played his jaunty tunes and the well-known classics at the banquet days ago, looking like he enjoyed Eddie’s play. His face had only soured when people started requesting his newer original songs, his fists clenched upon the opening chords of The Knight and His Nightmare, leaving the hall altogether when people requested more. 

You sing your ballads, your histories, your Knightmærs like you know what they mean. 

Eddie’s heart falls when he realises what he has done. How blind he was to the frowns and the tension, how deaf to the hints and insinuations, how ignorant he was of the pain he inflicted on Lord Harrington. Lord Steven Harrington. Steve. 

His Steve. And yet not his at all.

He falls back onto the bench, dazed, as the weight of his realisation settles inside his chest. 

onwards to part 2

[hawkinsbnbg]

Dragon!Steve and mercenary!Eddie.

Steve Harrington was a dragon.

Once upon a time, he would kidnap a princess, imprison her in his tower, guard the said tower, and await his doom delivered by a knight in shining armor.

But this wasn't that kind of fairy tale. No, in this story, Steve and the princess were friends. Her lover was a fae who was his platonic soulmate, and the knight in shining armor was his brother in arms.

Still, no one, even Steve himself, foreseen it when a handsome mercenary arrived at his tower and stole his heart.

Steve never felt so adored in his long and boring life, but Edwyn "Eddie" Munson managed to do the impossible.

The man was good with his words, even better with his fingers when he scratched the itchy spots beneath Steve's scales and drew runes of protection and love on Steve's human body.

Eddie was also an attentive lover who brought Steve sparkly gifts every time he visited the tower.

In turn, Steve let the mercenary ride on his back in their adventures, let the man guide him to wherever he was pleased, and let himself be consumed in the amorous looks Eddie would give him when the man thought he didn't notice.

Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan had been suspicious at first about Eddie's true motive. They worried that the mercenary would betray Steve because, despite his peaceful nature, Steve was the most powerful of his kind. And frankly, many had hunted him throughout his life given that even a piece of his scales cost a fortune in black markets.

Their concern was warranted, Steve supposed, but he trusted Eddie to not do him harm. Yet, sometimes, when Steve couldn't sleep at night, he would think about the worst and decide that if Eddie asked, he would give the man everything.

After all, Eddie already had his heart.

In the end, Eddie only asked of him a vial of his blood to cure Wayne's illness.

The day the truth came out was when Eddie approached him and stated that his uncle couldn't wait any longer.

Steve could see the desperation and hope in those chocolate eyes that he so loved, and knew for certain that Eddie wouldn't fight him but would be on his knees and beg until he agreed to help.

Before things could go any worse, Steve decided to take the matter into his own hands. Literally.

"So you had approached me because of my blood," Steve smiled wryly at the sting of the betrayal as he let Eddie dress the gash on his forearm. They both knew the cut would heal in a few minutes, but Steve didn't turn down Eddie's help. Couldn't.

"You should know that I didn't only have your blood in mind," Eddie fastened the bandage's knot securely.

"What? Are you asking for my organs next?" Steve huffed out a bitter laugh. "I heard they're quite useful ingredients for rituals and potions."

"No," Eddie met his eyes calmly and guided Steve's hand to rest on his chest. "Please listen to the song of my heart and do know that it is never a lie when I say this: I've been wanting all of you for myself since I first laid eyes on you."

Steve blinked rapidly in bewilderment and awe. Every dragon had an innate talent, and Steve's was the ability to see only the truth.

Thus, when Eddie opened himself up so freely like that, Steve could also see the man's deepest desire. And what he saw made him blush terribly. This man was truly hopeless.

"You never do anything in half, do you?" Steve snorted.

"Once Uncle Wayne gets better, I will return to the tower and never leave your side again," Eddie held his hand tightly as if fearing he would take it back and peppered feathery kisses on his knuckles.

Those words sung true to Steve's heart. Yet, he also sensed the wordless yearning from his lover. There was only one way, wasn't it?

"I'll go with you, then. I think it's time for you to introduce me to your family."

"Are you sure?"

Looking at Eddie's hopeful eyes, Steve leaned in to kiss the love of his life soundly.

"As sure as gold."

They both chuckled fondly at the memory together. After all, the first thing Eddie had given him upon their meeting was a sparkling bar of gold.

[bumblebi713]

a very colourful dead by daylight page for your enjoyment 🌈

[florallylly]

eddie munson telling steve he's going to "treat him like a princess" and then immediately throwing him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes bc he's a dragon kidnapping the princess

[urrockstar-xe]

❤the xe-verse❤

here to help navigate ur journey thru the xe-verse!

❥ a little about me

requests are open!! please read the link above before sending asks

one-shots and imagines banners by @cafekitsune

❥ fem!reader - ★

❥ gn!reader - ☆

❥ platonic!reader - ✧

❥ smutty - ♥︎

fics under the cut :D

❥ imagines (definitions are wacky so in this case it's anything under 600 words)

tears, panic, noise. - chad meeks-martin ✧ ★

pretty - chad meeks-martin ★

study buddy - chad meeks-martin ☆

please, please, please - dick grayson ★

pros n cons - tasm!peter parker ★

❥ headcanons

jj maybank w a girly gf

steven grant w a witchy gf

❥ oneshots

potions test - sirius black ★

alone time - peter pettigrew ★

delicate lover - steve harrington ★

nail polish - steve harrington ★

six months - jj maybank ★

stargazing - jj maybank ★

meant for each other - jj maybank ★

bad friend - jj maybank ★

baby blanket - jj maybank ★

talk fast - jj maybank ★

got your back - jj maybank ★

comfort - jj maybank ★

never enough - jj maybank ★

precious - jj maybank ★

happy birthday - jj maybank ★

if u leave me - jj maybank ★

you are everything- jj maybank ★

melodic love - chad meeks-martin ★

liquid courage - chad meeks-martin ★

movie nights n pretty girls - chad meeks-martin ★

sneaking out - tara carpenter ★

i'll be right there, sweetheart - tasm!peter parker ★

math test - tasm!peter parker ★

detective sweetheart - nick amaro ★

❥ series

🕷 starstruck - tasm!peter parker ★

winter formal - starstruck pt 2

♡ the pogues react to pregnant!reader - a jj maybank headcanon ★

❥ Holiday specials

❥ valentine's day

forgotten valentines - peter parker ☆

steven's first v-day - steven grant ☆

3 teen boys vs 1 pretty girl - jj maybank ★

fuck valentine's day - elliot from euphoria ☆

valentine's day with dick grayson - a headcanon ☆

❥flufftober

mav n goose - jj maybank★

❥ xemas

decorating the tree - frank castle ☆

wrapping presents - steve harrington ☆

family scrapbooks - steve harrington ☆✧

snow day - marauders ☆

looking at lights - marauders ☆

mistletoe mishaps - jason todd ★

[homiesexual-or-homosexual]

Inappropriate Touches

Pairing: Steddie x reader

Warnings: King! Steve Harrington, Personal Knight! Eddie Munson, light to heavy petting, unprotected p in v, bj's, exhibitionism, nipple sucking, fondling, cunnilingus, male masturbation, they get caught (technically), bodily fluid eating, let me know if I missed anything

———

You’d been married to King Steve Harrington for about six months now. It’d been sort of an arranged marriage so your family could become allies with the Harrington royal family.

King Harrington’s parents were still around, but had stepped down to allow their son to take over so they could go off and “see the world”, whatever that meant.

It’d taken awhile for you to get warmed up to the newly made king, and his personal knight who seemed to follow the king around like he was a second shadow.

Both men were intimidating. At least six foot with broad shoulders. King Harrington was more intimidating when he was dressed in all his king attire, fancy dress clothes and shoes with a flowy cape that hung from his shoulders, and often accompanied with a simple crown on his head. And the king’s personal knight, Eddie Munson. He was often dressed in full body armor, a sword on his hip, and a white cape down his back that showed his authority.

Both men seemed to take advantage of your timidness when dressed up, which was often for Knight Munson. They often backed you into a corner and or sandwiched you between them and showered you with praise while their hands roamed.

Overtime, these praises and simply touches developed into more. It was a slow process that you barely took notice of until you were on your hands and knees in your shared bed in King Harrington’s quarters, your eyes blurry with tears as Eddie shoved his cock down your throat and Steve used you from behind.

And as you got more comfortable with these inappropriate touches, the more often they came, especially outside the bedroom.

You’d been called to something important this early morning, so early that the sun hadn’t even risen yet. It was so important that you don’t really remember what it was about. And you were so tired, but you refused to go to bed cause you knew that if you undressed you’d just be redressed the next time someone needed you. So you were in the castle’s library, huddled over in a empty corner as you read a book on a rather comfy couch.

The doors to the library squeaked open and thud shut. You paid it no mind until two sets of footsteps came your way. Before you could see who it was, a curtain of dark, curly hair blocked your view.

You leaned your head back to see Eddie, dressed casually but still with his sword around his waist.

“Whatcha reading?” He asks, a smile on his face.

“Something about dragons,” You answered.

“One where the princess is captured and a knight in shining armor rescues her?”

“Sure,” You tell him, barely even remembering what the book was about cause you were so tired.

Eddie hums, standing to his full height and resting his large hands on your shoulders.

“Where were you this morning?” A voice asks in front of you.

You look up and see Steve standing in front of you wearing a loose, white shirt with some soft looking pants.

“I was called to something this morning,” You answer him.

“Before the sun rose?”

You nod.

Steve hummed, his eyebrows furrowing, “I’ll have to talk to whomever needed you so badly this morning that you were woken up before the sun.”

“Something about trade routes,” You tell him.

“Well they should be able to wait until sunrise for that, or until I get up,” The king mumbles, obviously not too happy about his wife being woken up before him.

“Well, we found you and that’s all that matters,” Eddie reassures Steve, leaning down to kiss along your exposed neck, wrapping his arms around your front to grope at your chest.

You watch as Steve crouches to his knees, sliding his hands under your dress to squeeze at your thighs.

“Oh, this is what you wanted?” You poke at the two men, making eye contact with Steve.

“Of course,” Steve purrs, hands pushing up and up. “We missed you this morning.”

You only hum in response as Eddie starts popping open the buttons on the front of your dress, stopping just below your sternum, he unties the string of the front of your under shirt as well, exposing you. The curly haired man pulls the collar of both shirts so your shoulders are exposed and he starts leaving open mouth kisses along the skin, occasionally stopping to nip and suck at the skin, groping your expose chest as he does.

Steve leans forward and takes your left nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue and sucking on it. He slowly inches his hands around your waist and gently pulls your underwear down your legs. You watch as he stuffs them in his back pocket, a sliver of the lace sticking out. The man meets your eyes, mischief dancing in his eyes before he puts his full attention back on your breast.

Steve switches over to your nipple, leaving your left one wet and exposed to the cool air.

You’re fighting hard to stay quiet, lips pressed together and hand gripping the nape of Steve’s hair. You jump when you feel two fingers venture between your lower lips, feeling the slick that’s been threatening to spill out onto the fabric of the couch. A whimper slips past your lips when Steve’s fingers easily find your clit, gently pressing against the button.

Before you can get too lost in the pleasure, both men pull away from your body.

Eddie moved to stand at the arm of the couch, blocking the view from any prying eyes of the library, and he pats the arm.

You place a bookmark in your book that you’d forgotten about and set it on the nearby end table, awaiting instruction.

“Come here,” The knight instructs. “Hands and knees, sweetheart.”

You do as told, face heating up when you realize you’re face to face with Eddie’s crotch. You glance up at him and await his next movements.

Your attention is drawn backwards when you feel your dress move. You see Steve leaning down to lay on the couch under you, scooching upwards to disappear under your dress. Before his upper body fully disappears under your dress, you watch his hands untie the knot at the front of his trousers and pull them down just enough for him to pull out his erect cock. Steve’s hands disappear down your dress once more, moving to grip your thighs and pull you down.

“Sit,” You hear a muffled order.

You do as told, vulva meeting Steve’s awaiting tongue. Your breathing stutters and you almost slip into that certain headspace but fingers taps your cheek.

Your met with another erect cock, the head tainted a deep read.

“Open,” Eddie tells.

You do, watching Eddie’s cock disappear into your mouth. He stills when a comfortable length is in your mouth.

“Go on,” Eddie nods, encouraging you to move on your own.

You start, bopping your head up and down his length. Every movements back up brings your hips down onto Steve’s awaiting mouth. In which, spurred on by your movements, he starts his ministrations and licks up and down your vulva, dipping in between the folds and flicking against and around your clit.

You feel fingers join his tongue momentarily before a hand disappear from your legs and you being to hear a wet “schlick”, you assume Steve is jerking his exposed cock, simply turned on by the process of eating you out.

You turn your attention back to Eddie, sucking in every time you pull on his cock, earning moans from him and a hand on the top of your head. You feel saliva collect in your mouth and slowly slip from your slips, soaking into the plush cushion below.

You feel Eddie start to move with you and you adjust so your forearms rest of the arm of the couch and you arms can grip at Eddie’s trousers.

The longer you three go on, the louder you three seem to get.

Steve’s moans vibrate against you, making you jerk and grind against him with every noise. With the building pleasure in your abdomen, you can’t help but let moans spill past your vocal chords, the pleasure urging you on for Eddie. And with the harder sucking and faster bopping of your head from you, Eddie can’t help but groan and moan above you, eventually gripping your head with both hands.

The more the knight’s pleasure builds, the more prominent his thrusts into your mouth are. It ends up at the point where Eddie holds your head in place with both of his hands so he can fuck your throat at his own pace.

You sputter and gag, tears blurring your vision and saliva coating his cock and puddling onto the cushion below you. You’re gripping Eddie’s trousers and grinding down onto Steve’s mouth. The moans from both men and the sound of Steve jerking himself off spur you on, and you barely sense the knot in your lower abdomen until it snaps and white hot explodes from between your thighs.

Your moans build in pitch and volume as you cum, thighs shaking and your gripping at Eddie’s thighs, pulling at his pants.

Steve eats you out with vigor and he follows you soon after, the “schlick” growing in volume and speed, breathy moans vibrating against your center. His free hands grips your thigh. You can feel his trimmed fingernails digging into your skin.

As if on cue, Eddie follows both you and Steve in finishing. His thrusts are sloppy and hurried as he fucks in cum down your throat. His moans are more vulgar, groaning and cussing to himself as he rides out his high.

Slowly, even as Eddie stills rides out his high, Steve removes himself from under you. Fixing your dress so it’s not all crumpled up at the back of your knees.

Eddie slowly calms down, pulling himself from your mouth. He gives you a moment to swallow any remains cum and saliva before tapping your lips with the head of his cock. You open and watch as he squeezes the remaining cum from his cock.

As you close your mouth and swallow, Eddie pats your cheek with his fingers and you take that as a sign to settle down, still aware of Steve not fully removed from under you.

You watch as Eddie takes a handkerchief from a back pocket of his and as he wipes off his cock. You keep watching when he tucks his half-hard cock back into his underwear, and when he adjusts and ties his trousers back into place.

Eddie leans down to clean up your face, using a clean area of his handkerchief to clean up your face.

It’s when the handkerchief is back in the knight’s pocket and when he’s in the middle of a deep sigh does a someone clear their throat from around a bookcase.

Both of you jump and whip your heads around to the person.

It’s castle staff, looking nervous and awkward and he just caught you two in a rather intimate moment. He clears his throat again before speaking.

“Have.. uhh… either of you seen the king?” He asks timidly.

Said king removes himself fully from underneath you, his face is flushed and his forehead and cheeks are sweaty. He doesn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed as he sits up and turns to face the staff member.

“Yes?” He asks.

You notice he’s tying his trousers back into place. You had no knowledge of him cleaning himself up or tucking himself away.

The staff flushes and stutters, “Your parents are here, my king. They wish to see you.”

“Very well,” Steve sighs.

He moves to pull you to him so you sit back on your legs. He kisses you on the lips for a few seconds and hums at the taste before getting up, wiping his pants of imaginary dust. Steve moves around the couch to fall in beside the servant as he leads the king away from your corner of the library.

Before following, Eddie pats your cheek and gives you a wink before trotting after the king, curls bouncing on his shoulders.

You watch for a few moments before settling back into the couch. You take a few moments before realization settles in your chest and heats up your face.

You’d just been caught by a servant with both the king and his personal knight.

You heat up some more and bury your face in your, previously forgotten, book as you try to stave down the embarrassment.

[variety-fangirl]

Multi-faves (ongoing):

A wonderful masterlist for both myself and others (yourself) to explore. Will be continuously updating.

There will be a mix of smut, angst and fluff. I've only just started so bare with!

Also my fave 18+ links 😏. NO MINORS.

NONE OF THESE ARE MINE. CREDIT WILL BE GIVEN.

The fandoms-

COD:

Poly TF141-

Mafia!TF141*F!Reader by @i-am-hungry-24-7

Cherry Bomb (tattoo parlour au) by @swordsandholly

On The Run by @angel-eyes-and-devil-hearts

Soap and Ghost spying on you by @simonbrain

Simon Riley-

Dog Tags by @starstruckmiraclekitty

Riding Simon by @sunsetsimon

Being Protective by @dante-mightdie

Mechanic Simon by @ebodebo

Needy Sleepy Simon by @deunmiu-dessie

Car Sex by @oceantornadoo

Staring at You by @y-ckysstuff

Work Wife by @stargirlrchive

Nightmare in the Daylight by @ghostedbunnie

Mail order Bride by @bi-writes

No Warnings by @khioneee

John Price-

Filling you up good by @dumbbitchgalore

Possessive Over Assistant Reader by @evermoreal

Appreciation after you gave birth to his baby by @dumbbitchgalore

Lavender & Whiskey by @staytrueblue

Johnny Mctavish-

Try Me by @forsworned

Fade Into You by @frudoo

König:

Size Difference by @amaranthinespirit

COD 18+ Links:

Captain John Price by @riddlesweater

Multi by @bigguyenthusiast

Multi and Multi by @mrsparrasblog

COD ART:

Simon Undressing 🥵 by @tassodelmiele

Shirtless Price 🤤 by @tassodelmiele

Price tied up 🥵 by @tassodelmiele

JJK:

Gojo-

Pirate!Gojo x reader by @nezuscribe

His Moans by @urinejaeger

I Want You To Want Me by @goxjo

Toji-

Making You Want to be Mine by @metranart

The Grudge by @screampied

Virgin by @screampied

Sukuna-

Tight Fit by @m-ayo-o

Not Saying I Love You Before Sleeping by @kbwrites

Riding Him by @lxnarphase

My oh My by @tonycries

Pussy Drunk Sukuna by @tonycries

Pornstar Sukuna by @webism

Incubus Sukuna by @fatherbrat

Artist Sukuna by @rubyarerosies

Boxer Sukuna by @soleilchanson

Soft Sukuna by @lovegasmic

Megumi-

You Noticed Me by @lokissweater

Choso-

Pornstar Choso by @webism

Multiple men-

Hot to Go by @tonycries

I-T-G-I-R-L by @tonycries

Sweetest (cream)pie by @screampied

18+ Links:

Multi by @wild-jackalope

Megumi, Yuji, and Nobara cuddling by @tikklil

JJK Art:

Geto as Ghost Face by @aransmind

Moon Knight:

Stranger Things:

ST 18+ Links:

Enjoy lovelies!