#knight!eddie munson x princess reader

[pullhisteeth]

saturn return | eddie munson

hello! I'm back :) will leave a little author note at the end of the fic for u. but in the meantime: enjoy this medieval slow burn fluffy smutty monster of a fic (which has not been proofread because I am so tired) <3

in short: you're from royalty, and the illicit crush you're harbouring on your sworn protector is threatened when your father, the king, reaches the end of his tether and finally begins the search for your husband.

medieval/fastasy au with knight!Eddie and fem!princess!reader, smut (18+ only, minors dni!), implied virgin!reader, (one attempted) assault, general fluff and angst and fun fantasy frolicking, mention/threat of arranged marriage (brief), enemies to lovers if you squint but mostly a bodyguard au but he wears armour and you live in a castle.

14k words (!!!)

-

You had only seen your knight without his cuffs and cloak once before in your life.

When you were nineteen, you had a fling with one of the boys who tends the horses in the stables. It had been a wet summer and against your father’s wishes you’d spent many evenings returning to the castle sodden and smiling. Your afternoons were adventurous - too much so for your age, your mother would say over dinner - and your escapades to the woodland beside the keep resulted in muddy fingerprints up the curve of your thighs and difficult-to-hide bruises blooming below your collarbone.

You may have been reckless, but you knew better than to show up to court with purpling bite marks where the collars of your dresses did not reach.

On one of the rare sunny evenings, you had stolen away after supper to the balcony that extended across the western wing of the castle. It stretched from your quarters around the side of the building, ending at the room that had belonged to your sister before she had been married to a man who lived across the sea. The sun was low and the air was thick and so in your nightgown you prowled the terrace, fingers dancing along the worn stone and up the wilting vines. As you rounded the corner there he was - your sworn protector, a man who could be barely a year your senior, hunched in an old chair over his armour. You stopped behind the wall with enough haste that he didn’t spot you - or if he had, he never let on - and while he was engrossed in the work of polishing the silver, you watched.

He’d done away with his undershirt, most likely because of the stubborn, close heat, and though he was side-on to you, his chair facing out towards the mountains in the distance, he was hunched to his left, leaving you with a view you much preferred to the vast one beyond the wall.

The muscles across his back rippled as his arm moved back and forth over the metal. In the quiet of the evening you could hear small grunts and sighs, and as your eyes adjusted to the light you spotted silvery marks of healed flesh across his side. His back was speckled with freckles and as he moved, you took notice of his mop of hair.

Though your father’s knights were never required to wear their helmets in the castle, the hair that now flowed freely was usually tightly bound at the nape of your knight’s neck. You had never realised how long it truly was - nor how unruly. Brown curls stood in what seemed like every direction, swaying back and forth in tandem with his shoulder, glowing a slight auburn in the setting sun.

You had watched him for a while, listening to the sounds of his efforts and drinking in the way the light made his skin gleam golden. It wasn’t until the sun had set that you had made your escape, bare feet padding silently across cool stone.

Ser Munson - Edmund, or Eddie as he preferred - was assigned as protector of the King’s first daughter when she came of age, at sixteen. You had been a moody teenager, belligerent and stubborn, determined you did not need protecting, even if the protector in question was broodingly handsome and a challenge to crack.

Thus, you lingered around the castle while your sisters sought husbands and new lives. Your father, though a cunning ruler, was soft when it came to his girls, and so no man was worthy of a single one of them unless he made her happy.

And no man ever had made you happy. The ones who put themselves forward as candidates for your hand were, in most cases, perfectly nice men. Mostly wealthy, often handsome, but always boring.

It was always the same: they believed you to be the most beautiful princess in the history of the realm, and they would be honoured to wed you. But as your father’s eldest daughter you knew one thing to be true: every one of them wanted the throne, and would marry you to get there.

So you sought fun in lowly servant boys, stealing kisses from cupbearers and kitchen porters, running wild in the vast gardens of the castle, just out of grasp of your grumbling mother. One day, you’d tell her when she chastised you over monstrously glutinous dinners. One day a man will come here and sweep me off my feet. Until then, I am content with my lot.

After that evening when you were nineteen, you had not looked at Eddie the same way. His job was to follow you everywhere - well, mostly everywhere, unless you were behind a tree with the stableboy again - so it was difficult to not look at him. But those aimless adventures became tiresome, and your daydreams became occupied instead by the man who tailed your every move. Stableboys were getting married, all your sisters were getting married, every eligible nobleman for a hundred miles was getting married - but you remained, as did Eddie.

“So it doesn’t hurt?”

“No, your highness.”

Eddie stares straight ahead, off into the distance, answering your childish questions through gritted teeth. You grin at him, elbow on the arm of your chaise and chin cupped by your hand, enjoying this latest instalment of your petty little game: you ask him silly questions, Eddie’s cheeks go pink, and you get a good giggle and a kick out of teasing him. It began as something lighthearted, a test of the waters after that late night wander changed your perspective, but that was two years ago and understandably, Ser Munson is getting increasingly tired of your games. 

“Your highness, can I suggest that you get dressed? You’ll be late for-”

“No,” you yelp as he stands to move, sword clanking. “I’m sorry, I’ll bite my tongue. Don’t go.”

“But Miss-”

“Okay, okay, I’ll dress, just wait outside the door, will you?”

“I always do, your highness,” he says. “It is my duty.” You cannot see the smirk he sports as he turns his back to you; it is one he reserves only for himself, lest your ego get too big.

You deflate into your chair as he leaves, the heavy door swinging open. Three young maids are by your side as it slams shut, lifting you from your doze and tying you into a corset and skirt. Today you’re offered a deep navy gown, the colour of your family’s flag and perhaps the colour you look second best in.

At least it matches Eddie’s cloak.

You knock softly twice on your bedroom door, your handmaids tugging at the final details, and the guards who stand watch pull it open for you. You breathe in quick and deep, hands smoothing the satin across the top of your skirt, and step forward into the hall.

Eddie stands to one side, awaiting your direction. You follow your usual morning route, down the wide corridor to the stairs, which roll out into an even wider hall like dropped silk. Eddie’s cloak slinks across the stone floor behind you, and you yearn to make a joke, prod at him, get under his skin but you cannot, for many eyes are upon you now.

The Great Hall sits at the opposite end of the atrium to the staircase. The walls between yourself and the huge, towering doors are decorated for the brief return of your youngest sister, the most recent to wed - she is pregnant, and so there must be celebrations.

Floral garlands follow you as you make your way across the room, where, at the far end, your father stands in the doorway, watching, your mother by his side.

Peering glances follow you until other guests arrive and attentions are diverted. So you slow your step just slightly, enough that Eddie does not notice immediately and falls in line with you. Before he can correct himself, you lean in.

“Ed- er, Ser Munson,” you say, tone playful but slightly sinister, an indicator that you are brewing one of your schemes.

“Yes, your highness?” he responds neutrally.

“Ser Munson, would you please do me a favour?”

Long ago, Eddie learned to never respond to this query the way he is supposed to as your protector: Anything, your highness.

Instead, he asks: “What can I do for you?”

“You know that sword?” You twist slightly, tapping the hilt of his blade where one of his fists seems to permanently rest. “You’ve killed people with it, right?”

“Only when I have to, your highness.”

“How many, would you say?”

You hear him take a sharp breath in. You smile softly.

“Eighteen.”

“Eighteen,” you repeat. “Care to make it nineteen? Do me a favour and slice through my guts so I don’t have to bear another one of these idiotic ceremonies?”

If you’d paid closer attention, rather than sharing your gaze between Eddie and your father, who was ever-nearing, you’d have seen that your dear knight almost broke. This would have been the closest you’ve come to getting a laugh out of him, your stoic, stone-faced hero.

“That’d be highly inappropriate, your grace,” he says, composed. “And I’d surely lose my head.”

“Oh, but that’s your job,” you whisper. “To die for me! And anyway, I can’t go to hell alone, you’ll need to keep me company. And protect me from the ghouls. So maybe make it twenty instead.”

This time, you do catch it. The corner of his mouth twitches and something in his eye, the way it dodges you, gives him away. In your peripheral vision you see him open his mouth - it’s close to your ear, you almost hear the beginning of a word - but you’ve reached the end of the hall, and your father awaits. Eddie falls back again, a step or two behind, as you drop your shoulders and brace yourself.

-

Being one of many sisters is a difficult life. Impossible to prevent yourself from comparing their hair to yours, their eyes, the slant of their shoulders, their waists, their hands, and worse is the bickering, the competition.

Being the only one of them not to be married is the worst.

Twenty minutes ago, you stole yourself away to a corner of the Hall with a too-full cup of wine and three slices of the best bread. Here you camp, munching on the final crust, eyeing up the table across the room. How do I get a refill without someone asking me to dance?

With your eyes squinted and shoulders hunched in, you scarcely notice your knight down the wall. He’s on guard, back straight with his hand on the hilt of his sword - watching, as he is supposed to. Only his attention is distracted, because in his peripheral vision is you, alone, as always.

It’s only when you hear the familiar clinking of sword sheath on armour that you turn to see that he’s beside you, and in a rare moment of peace, he’s leaning back, letting the wall take his weight.

“What’re you looking at?” You eye him suspiciously, swallowing the final sip of wine. “Come to ask for a dance for one of those snivelling Harrington boys?”

You hear him scoff, though he’s smiling just slightly. “No,” he says quietly. “Why, do you want to dance with Steven?”

You scoff. “Do I fuck.”

“Language, your highness.”

“Please stop calling me that when dad isn't around.”

He glances at you, smiling still, and rolls his eyes. “Why aren’t you with the other ladies?”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “The Buckleys aren’t here. It’s no fun without Robin.”

“And your sisters?”

“Oh yeah,” you drone. “I just love being reminded by all four of them how lucky a man would be to have me and how I must get married because, oh, weddings are so lovely!”

He turns to look at you properly, silver collar creaking, and reaches over to take your goblet. “How many of these have you had?”

You drop your hands behind your back, looking down at your slippers like a naughty child. “Three.”

To your surprise, you feel the damp rim of the cup meet your chin, pushing your face up. Eddie looks back at you and keeps the pressure under your head so you can’t divert your gaze. Your cheeks warm, heat blooming under his watch.

“Fine,” you sigh, eyes dropping closed in defeat. “Seven.”

You brace for a scolding, expecting a telling off from your faithful knight, but when you look at him in the silence, you find him grinning down at you.

“You’re going to feel awful in the morning,” he tells you.

You look back at him a little dumbfounded, because he’s very close to your face and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him in such detail before. There are creases by his eyes from smiling, and there’s an old, white scar across his nose, which is crooked, presumably from old punches.

“Will you take me to bed, then, please?” you ask softly, and he lowers the cup slowly, placing it on a nearby table without looking away from you. You look back at him, trying your hardest through the fog to give him your best pleading eyes, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. He’s close, still; time suspends as he nears even more and runs his thumb along the underside of your chin. It is the first time in your life that your knight has ever touched you.

 You watch as he brings it to his mouth - it’s a deep, bruised pink, dyed by the wine from the rim of the cup where it had held your face up - and, taking his eyes off you, slides it between his lips.

It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been breathless around him, but it is the first time you’re face to face with him as the air leaves your lungs in a slow, desperate whine. It feels criminal, illicit, standing in the shadows at the back of the room, within reach of anyone who cares to look for you, watching Eddie lick wine off the pad of his thumb.

The festive music on the other side of the room ends and people around you cheer. Eddie’s smile drops and he straightens up as though kicked in the back, looking around like he just woke from a dream.

“Uh, yes- Your highness. I’ll escort you to your quarters.”

He steps back but holds his arm out for you to take. For a moment you just stare at him, incredulous, before wrapping your fingers around the cool leather covering his forearm and lifting yourself off the wall, your heart wilting as his guard rises again and your fun, playful protector is lost to duty once more.

-

The ceiling of your bed chamber hasn’t changed in fifteen years. You know because you’ve had many nights like this, staring at it forlornly, yearning for something you cannot and will not have.

When you were six, your father had the sleeping quarters across the whole castle redecorated, and you requested a fresco above your bed. Under the guise of education, telling your father that it would help you practise your knowledge of Arthurian legends, you asked for a depiction of the knights of the round table. Truthfully, you wanted to be able to look at Arthur every night before you slept.

Now, it makes you feel sick. It’s an ugly, truthless fairytale, spun to make little girls giggle and you despise every inch of it, regardless of how beautiful it may have appeared to you once.

In the dark, you can still make out Arthur’s faded features. He is plain, with cropped blonde hair and a silly chestplate, looking over the expanse of your ceiling to Guinevere, whose clasped hands by her cheek make the picture of a woman in love.

You turn over, frustrated, and cover your head with a spare cushion.

-

The stone of the balcony wall is cool beneath the palms of your clammy hands. In the courtyard, your sister’s carriage is leaving, followed by many horsemen from her husband’s house. They’ll return only when the baby is born, to christen him in the family chapel.

You sigh as she leaves the gates and lean your weight on your hands. It’s still hot out, too hot for so many layers under your dress and a corset so tight, and you’re too exhausted to carry the weight around. Your maids are nowhere to be seen because it’s the middle of the afternoon and you should be socialising, but you’re an adult. You can dress - and undress - yourself.

As you return indoors, you reach behind your back and tug at the knot at the base of your corset. After a couple of frustrated tries it finally gives, loosening so that you can hook your fingers under each stretch and pull it undone. You gasp for air, filling your lungs properly as your ribs expand, and use your shoulders to pull it loose enough for you to remove. You take care to place each layer gently over your chaise - corset, overdress, skirt. You’re left in your undergarments - a long, loose slip made of cotton - when you hear an unexpected knock and the door begins to open.

You jump, feeling suddenly exposed in so few layers. It’s unlike anyone to disturb you at this hour.

You tense even more when your knight, with his hair loose and his cheeks pink, pushes the doors wider. He stops in his tracks for a moment as he spots you across the room, flushed your own shade of mortified.

“Eddie,” you hiss. “Shut the fucking door.”

His eyes widen and he straightens up, knocked out of his daze. You expect him to retreat, but he moves inside and pushes the doors closed behind himself.

“I meant with you outside them, ideally,” you bite.

“I- Uh, sorry- My apologies, your highness, I-”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Sorry! Sorry, shit, I- It’s important, sorry.”

“So important that it requires you to see me indisposed?”

He looks at you blankly for a second. “I mean, technically I see you like this every morning when you interrogate m-” 

“Oh, shut up,” you spit, eyes narrowing. Your arms are still crossed over your chest, even though you’re covered from neck to ankle. “You know that’s different. There’s no robe or slippers between us now, Ser Munson.”

His cheeks bloom at that, pink slipping into fiery red. He breathes impatiently through his nose, clearly irritated by your prodding, and steps closer.

“Your highness,” he says pointedly. You roll your eyes. “Your father- His Highness requests your presence. In the throne room.”

-

“I refuse.”

“Darling, I-”

“No!”

Your father stands at the other end of the table, his head hung and his hands on the wood in front of him. You are in the room in which he has his important meetings with his council. Over the years you’ve tried a hundred times to get in here during such meetings, to no avail, but now all you want is to get out.

“You are twenty-one,” he says after a breath. “I’ve given you time, five years of it. You can’t remain unmarried any longer.” This conversation has only been happening for maybe two and a half minutes, but it seems more like an age; you’re exhausted from yelling already, especially at him. But it feels like the walls are closing in, your entrapment in a loveless marriage with a stranger now a certainty rather than a possibility. It’s beyond your power to stop the tears falling.

“You can’t make me,” you say through the thickness of your throat. Your arms wrap around your waist, squeezing, breath hiccupping on its way out.

“I can,” he sighs. “But I really don’t want to. It doesn’t have to be horrible. Your sisters, they’re all happy, why-”

“I don’t care about them. I want to be-” You stop yourself, because this isn’t something to talk about here, with your father of all people; you’d barely even talk to your mother about this stuff. But he’s looking at you again over the expanse of mahogany and his eyes are sad, because he’s fighting with his first daughter, and you break. “I want to be in love, father. I don’t want to be sold off to the highest bidder because I’m the eldest. That can’t be my life.”

He sighs again. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It is. There are fifteen houses coming here tomorrow, each with an eligible son. I’m letting you choose; it’s the most I can do.”

Your nose burns with betrayal and terror. Your cheeks are wet, tears falling into soft, wet spots on the front of your dress. Your arms squeeze your middle one last time before you turn, pushing past the Kingsguard who stand at the door, past the cupbearers and the maids, and past Eddie, who has been waiting for you outside. For the first time ever you don’t hear the familiar sound of armour following you, and for a moment you almost stop to turn and look for him, but you’re still crying and although it’s the middle of the afternoon, all you want to do is hide.

-

“It’s true,” Robin sighs. “I’ve been looking in our library, and I’ve counted at least three instances.”

You roll onto your back. Robin sits beside you on the plush of your bed, which has been remade by your maids so that there are no remnants of your painful, sleepless night. She strokes your hairline softly, looking down at you with sorry eyes.

“The most recent was eighty-three years ago,” she continues. “Lady Flora. She ran off with her knight, to be fair… But still!”

“I’m the eldest, Robin,” you tell her, trying your hardest to stop your words coming out in a hiccup; you only stopped crying this morning, and you’re in no mood to begin again now. “There’s too much expected of me. I can’t run off. I have to pick the right person.”

She takes in a breath. “Who says he isn’t the right one? Or that you’d have to run off?”

“Centuries of historical precedent,” you tell her flatly. When you meet her eye, though, you watch as she tries and fails to hold in a laugh.

“Since when have you ever cared about historical precedent?”

“Never, but that’s the problem.” You sit up quickly, knocking her affectionate hand back into her lap. “I can’t… This isn’t right. None of it is, but especially�� Him.”

“But in the centuries of historical precedent,” Robin says, a poor imitation of you, “There were people like you.”

“And what happened to them?” you ask with a huff, standing to pace beside your bed. “Exiled, abandoned, cut off, ridiculed… I can’t live like that, Robin. But- But I can’t exist here while he’s always around, right behind my back. He’s like my fucking shadow. I can’t-” You hiccup, a wet sound that heralds the return of tears. “I can’t move on.”

Robin watches you with eyes laced with a pity that makes you furious. You want her to fix this; it’s entirely irrational, but you’re lost, and surely someone somewhere has to take responsibility for this, fix it so you don’t have to feel anything anymore. Remove Eddie, replace him with someone lifeless and unfunny and ugly, hand you a beautiful, attentive husband on a platter and, most of all, take the pain away.

But it doesn’t work like that. You know it doesn’t.

“Your Highness,” Eddie says in a raised voice from beyond your door. “It’s time.”

You look at Robin, who looks back at you, her eyes wide.

“I’ll be a minute,” you shout back hesitantly as she rises and rushes over. You let her help you adjust your dress and she dips a cloth left behind by a maid into the basin of cool water by your bedside, wiping it gently over your cheeks in an attempt to reduce the blotches there.

Neither of you say another word. She takes your hand firmly and squeezes.

-

You hate this.

Although you’re desperate for anything but a pre-arranged marriage pact, part of you had quite genuinely hoped for some kind of miracle, that one of your suitors would be The Guy. In your restlessness the evening prior, you’d even let yourself fantasise that one of them, strikingly handsome in your daydreams, would appear at the foot of the throne and you’d feel it in that instant: love.

But in every version of this delusion, The Guy was faceless, nameless, a blur of a person until he wasn’t. Until he was Eddie.

In reality, your knight is out of sight for once, and you’re nearing hour three in the gardens, where the court musicians entertain the countless guests and wine is flowing freely for everyone except you. (With your father at your elbow all afternoon, it’s impossible to get a second cup. Your mouth is dry and your boredom inflating.)

You know better than to assume Eddie’s left the gardens completely, but there are too many people for you to see him.

Suddenly, you feel a sharp elbow nudge your rib.

You turn to your father and find him wide-eyed and pink in the nose - a tell-tale sign of frustration - nodding to the man standing opposite the two of you.

“Hm?” you hum, painfully aware of how obvious it is to the both of them that you weren’t paying a lick of attention.

“Lord Carver was telling us about his hunts,” your father says through gritted teeth.

“Oh,” you sigh, turning to the stranger. “How… Interesting. What do you hunt?”

“Deer, mostly,” he responds, puffing out his chest. His cheeks are blotched with pink and the caramel blonde of his hair is unpleasant. The pleasure of your attention is clearly feeding his ego. “Started on pheasants when I was ten. They’re far too easy now; I’m heading out tomorrow to try for a stag. Say, care to join me?”

“Oh, I’m flattered,” you say with a saccharine giggle and hand to your chest that your father can certainly see straight through. “But I don’t hunt. Thank you, though, Lord Carver.”

Lord Carver seems to take this somewhat personally, despite your almost sincere attempt at a polite curtsy. He comes over stoney, steel-eyed as though you’ve wounded him.

“No matter. Your highness,” he says flatly, bowing quickly to your father before turning on his heels and marching away.

You barely listen as you are accosted by the king for being so blatantly rude. Lord Carver is far from your mind because across the heaving mass of strange bodies, you can see your knight, looking straight back at you.

Your father hisses your name but you do not listen.

“I’m taking a walk,” you tell him. “Sorry, father, I just need a break. And… A glass of water.”

It must have rained this morning. The grass is damp beneath your feet, soaking slowly through the velvet of your lilac slippers as you push your way between bodies as politely as you can manage.

With your focus on the ground you do not see Eddie’s eyes following your figure through the crowd; you also do not see Lord Carver six steps behind.

The latter reaches you first, by quite a margin, a moment after you’ve broken free of curious strangers and can finally breathe again. Everything happens very quickly. In the shadow of a high wall, the man reaches for your arm like a viper. His fingers coil and the fresh garden air is replaced by his coddling breath on your cheek. He spun you so quickly you feel momentarily winded, enough to catch you off guard as your face scrapes the old brickwork. Spit hits your cheek and mixes with fresh blooms of blood as his pink face looms, dominating your field of vision - like a bear in a trap you feel helpless, his fingers around your wrist so tight you fear he may break your bones. In a moment you’re frozen stiff and he takes his chance, his lips pushing angrily into the stretch of bare skin above the collar of your dress.

“You’re a bitch,” he says, muffled by the skin under your jaw. You writhe and whimper but you cannot scream. “You humiliated me. See what happens to cunts like- Ungh-” 

The force of your knee between his legs is enough force to knock him back. Stumbling, he lurches forward again, only to meet your elbow, sharp and swift at his throat. The pathetic choking sound he makes mixes with the familiar sound of heavy boots; you turn to find Eddie, pink in the face, fist on the handle of his sword.

“Christ,” he pants, “Are you okay?”

Lord Carver coughs as he struggles to regain his balance.

“You-” Cough. “You bitch,” he spits, hand at his collar.

“Watch yourself,” Eddie growls, towering over the spluttering lord, his sword pulled only a few inches from its sheath - a warning: I will not hesitate. “I suggest you take your family home, Sir.”

Lord Carver looks up at him, red eyes watering and breath still catching. For a moment he seems to contemplate fighting back, but even you almost find yourself laughing at the possibility, until you look to Eddie and find a version of the man you’ve never seen before.

Your life, which Eddie tails endlessly from a few paces behind, always, is quiet. Mundane, boring, unadventurous; you rarely leave the castle grounds and when you do, it’s inside a carriage. Your bravest adventure since you were sixteen was taken barefoot, that evening after dinner, up on the balcony where you’d stumbled across your knight, bare-chested and panting.

You’ve teased Eddie before about how the lack of danger in your life must mean his own is boring. Though he never once gave into you, deep down you worry that it’s true.

Now, though, your knight is coloured a shade unknown to you. He’s come over like a shadow, eyes hard and brow set, and there’s a vein visible above the collar of his cape. Lord Carver seems to halve in size beneath his frame, and though he has never shown himself like this in front of you before, you’re sure of one thing.

Your pleading cry is too late, too weak - before you can intervene, Eddie’s fist makes contact with Lord Carver’s cheekbone. There’s a crack that, to you, is as loud as thunder, though the skies are as blue as they’ve ever been. As his back hits the floor, Lord Carver yelps like a wounded dog, and Eddie moves in on him.

“Eddie,” you plead, voice weaker still, your hands grasping his arm, “Leave him alone, I’m okay, please.”

In the commotion, you’d failed to notice your growing audience. You’re sure that if you let him, Eddie would give another punch, and another, but the man on the floor is bleeding from his nose and from a wide gash under his eye and your slippers are drenched through and so is the collar of your dress where your tears, unbeknownst to you, have been soaking the cotton.

“Please,” you hiccup, your hands squeezing, pulling Eddie backwards with as much strength as you can manage.

“Asshole!” Carver spits, his voice broken. Two men who resemble him are helping him up off the ground, the small crowd murmuring between themselves as they watch him stumble away. “You’ll regret this!”

It’s an empty threat. You barely hear it, in fact, because Eddie is finally turning to you, his shoulders dropping. His face softens the moment he looks at you.

“Are you okay? Did he- Where did he hurt you?” He asks again. People are dispersing but you pay them no mind because Eddie’s hands hold your face and it stings when he runs his gloved thumb over the gash on your cheek. You wince and his grip on you tightens, as though you might slip away if he lets you.

As his arms wind around your shoulders, you push your face into the embroidered crest that sits by his heart.

“You’re okay,” he tells you firmly, sweet words murmured into your hair. “I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Your father’s booming voice cuts through whispering strangers like a whip. Eddie moves away from you so quickly that you almost choke.

Tears mix with old blood and you want to scream. You want these strangers to leave your garden, you want Eddie to clean your wounds, you want to run away.

You cannot have what you want.

-

Two and a half weeks ago, your father replaced your knight via a letter.

Ser Munson has been reassigned.

After two nights of bed-rest in your chamber, wherein you were seen only by your mother and two alchemists, your new knight - an older man, as old as your father and then some - made himself known at your door. He informed you of his new appointment as your sworn protector. When you asked after Eddie, he closed the door.

Two lonely weeks entailed many downward spirals. One evening after countless days spent rotting, refusing the attendance of your mother or father, you find yourself staring blankly at your reflection in the glass beside the chest that houses your dresses. The girl looking back is gaunt and her eyes are bloodshot. There’s an old cut on her bottom lip, close to healing but you’re sure you’ll bite it open again soon enough, splitting the skin so that deep red plumes can burst through and begin the process again.

You think about Eddie. What would he say if he could see you now? Over the weeks you’ve spent more hours than you can count thinking about how he’d held you, the words spoken into your hair, low enough to avoid unwelcome ears. His hands had gripped you so firmly that you’d almost felt whole again after Lord Carver’s grubby paws had violated you so horribly. Now you’re hollow.

His reassignment was surely your punishment: how dare you let yourself be so distracted that you humiliate a noble Lord to the point of such anger? How dare you humiliate him such that he wants to hit you, bite you, kiss you, hurt you?

Meals delivered by your maids go uneaten. You do not speak to your new knight, only catching a glimpse when he opens the door for attendants. 

At the dawn of a Thursday, your mother delivers the news that you are to stay behind while your parents visit your sister. You’re not sure which one of the four it is, but you do not care. With them gone, maybe you can go out; it’s early summer, after all, the weather is glorious, and you’re gasping for some sunlight and some respite from this stupidity.

-

When the sandbag splits, old hay spills onto the muddy ground.

Eddie’s sword is freshly sharpened and slices through the woven material like a hot knife through butter. He imagines Lord Carver’s face where the bag is tied together with string and watches it fall limply to the floor.

Outside in the courtyard, the sun is hot and shade is rare, and sweat beads on his forehead and drips to his chin. Other knights spar around Eddie, practising for nothing. His new position in the Kingsguard is, quite obviously, a downgrade, but only a few of his fellow knights have tried to get the why out of him: why have you stopped tailing the eldest daughter around? Why are you now forced to watch the southern walls in the dead of night? How did it happen? What did you do?

He chances a glance upwards, to the higher balcony along the wall, squinting under the sun. He doesn’t know if what he sees is you, standing in the shadow, or a trick of the light.

-

Your parents have been gone for two days, and the castle is like a ghost town. It’s never like this; even on late night escapades through the hallways, there are always maids at work, cleaning ladies and cupbearers. Guards on constant rotation, your father’s advisers wandering the halls having hushed conversations.

Tonight, though, there’s nothing. Your family’s absence is a moment of respite for the staff, who get a rare few evenings off to venture into town for some fun. You’re completely alone.

The long corridors look almost blue. The full moon is rising over the horizon and you’re enjoying an evening of freedom.

With most of the court staff out of the castle walls, you can’t be sure if you’ll find what you’re looking for tonight. He may have gone off with them, with his friends in the guard, down to a pub, getting drunk because he can, stumbling half-blind into a brothel like the rest of them do.

You shake the thought off because it turns your stomach, despite having no claim over the boy. It’s true that he may have gone but you’re searching anyway, because you’re driving yourself mad with guilt, and secretly you’ve missed him horribly.

You miss knowing he’s right outside your door, only ever a few paces away if you need him. You miss the blooming pink across his cheeks whenever you tease him, his stumbling answers and poor attempt at staying stony-faced and stoic. And you miss the smirk, though you’re sure he thinks he hides it well, that creeps across his face whenever you finish your teasing.

It’s your first time in this corner of the castle. Almost twenty-two years of living here, you’ve never had a reason to venture to where the knights stay. It’s a long way from your own wing - you’ve been walking for ten minutes and you’ve only just spotted a door. You’re treading softly in your favourite ruby slippers which, though you’d never admit it even to yourself, were surely chosen on purpose. You dressed yourself this evening, so there’s no use blaming your maids for the decision to drape you in scarlet.

As you come to a stop outside the room, you hold your breath and listen. You haven’t seen a single knight - not even your own new one - this whole time, but there’s somebody in there, and it sounds like they’re pacing.

Your hand reaches for the handle but just as you touch the iron, it twists on its own and the door flies open. You stumble forwards, losing your balance, but a familiar hand steadies you.

“Your highness?” He breathes, helping you back up. “What the- What are you doing here?”

You look at him. The man staring back at you is wide-eyed, those browns as pretty as ever but framed by new, dark circles. It’s difficult to see in the low light but he’s more tired than you’ve ever seen him. And though he seems sleepy, he’s dressed up in most of his on-duty getup, without the cape and sword.

“Eddie?”

“I thought the- Aren’t you supposed to be seeing your sister?”

“No, I… I stayed behind,” you tell him. A half-lie.

He looks back at you blankly. “Well,” he sighs. “We should… I should escort you back to your chamber.”

“No,” you say firmly. He does not invite you inside but you step over the threshold anyway, pushing past him into what you assume must be his bedroom.

It’s a plain room. The bed is low with old sheets, and there’s one candle burning on a table by the window. On the wall above his bed, he has hammered what looks like a letter into the plaster. And to the left of that-

“Is that mine?” You point plainly to the embroidery hoop. Even in the near-darkness you cannot miss the rosy flush you ignite across his face.

He scratches the back of his neck nervously. “Yes.”

It’s a small hoop, one you must have done years ago. A deep red rose, your favourite.

You look at it for a moment, and then to him. “Where have you been?”

He drops his hand. “I was reassigned,” he tells you.

“Why?”

“I don’t-”

“Why?” you press. He sighs and leans in the doorframe, arms crossing over his chest.

“After the… Incident with Lord Carver, your father thought it best that I be moved.”

“And now?”

“Now,” he sighs, “I’m on the nightwatch.”

“The nightwatch?!” you parrot. Even you, with only superficial understanding of the mechanics of your father’s guard, know that that’s one of the worst jobs. “But you… Why would he punish you?”

“Ask him,” he says bitterly, and so quickly that you know he regrets it instantly. “Sorry,” he corrects, “That was out of order.”

“Don’t apologise,” you say back, stepping past him into the wide hallway. It’s a brighter blueish-grey now, the moon nearing its highest spot in the night sky. You stop, turning to look at Eddie, and there’s a beat of silence.

He’s watching you quietly, and it takes him a moment to realise that you wish him to follow you. Under the moonlight you’re effervescent, your skin almost sparkling. The soft glow of the moon reflects a million times in your eyes like tiny diamonds. You’re so pretty it’s difficult to look away.

Eventually he closes the door behind him and falls into a familiar step, just behind your left foot. You walk and talk as you meander through random hallways, clearly unsure where you’re going but he says nothing, silently grateful to see you again and willing to walk every hall of the castle if it means stretching out the time before he has to leave you again.

“Why do you say that?” he asks. You turn your head to look at him, lost. “You told me not to apologise.”

You huff, striding forward. “You don’t have to respect my father around me, Eddie. It’s not like he respects me, or anything.”

“I don’t understand,” he says quietly. You bristle, frustrated that you’ve allowed the conversation to move to you. You’d intended to find out where he’d gone, not tell him about this.

“He can quite easily forget about me,” you tell him over your shoulder bitterly. “I’m happy to forget about him for a few days.”

“I… I don’t understand,” he repeats, and it irritates you double.

“For God’s sake,” you spit, stopping so abruptly that he almost crashes into your back. You spin and stare him down. “I’m a disappointment, okay? They left for their trip, and they left me behind. I’m useless. No man likes me, not enough to marry me, only stupid stableboys have ever come close to me. Something went wrong somewhere and now I’m here, heir to the throne and without a husband. And it’s. Your. Fault.” You jab your index finger to his chest for emphasis, but it’s meagre because you can feel the tears returning and you want nothing less than to be seen crying by Ser Munson. 

You cross the remainder of the hallways alone, Eddie left behind. Whether by choice or because of shock you don’t know, and frankly you don’t care. When you finally return to familiar halls, you push your way into your chambers and slam the heavy door as hard as you can behind you.

After a few minutes of pacing, having make-believe arguments with yourself in hushed tones, there’s a soft knock. So soft you almost miss it, but the eerie quiet of the castle has you jumpier than usual.

“Sweetheart,” you hear through the thick wood. “Let me in? Please?”

Maybe it’s your fear in the silence, or maybe it’s the way the rare sweetheart makes your stomach drop; either way you cave, rushing over and heaving the door open.

On the other side of the threshold, Eddie stands, hair unruly like he’s run his hands through it a few times. The curls stick out at odd angles and stand out dark against his alabaster skin.

Something in his eyes makes you break. The tears come thick and fast and before you can hide or apologise or close the door, arms wrap you up and his hand is on your back, smoothing patiently up and down.

It’s not the most comfortable hug; his armour is mostly leather and cloth but the toughness of it all makes it difficult to completely lean into him. As though he senses that, he pulls back, though his hand lingers on your arm where he gives you a squeeze.

“I’m sorry,” you hiccup, palms smudging wet tears across your face in an attempt to dry your eyes. “That was so mean of me, I’m sorry.”

“I just want to know what you mean,” he says, his eyes sadder than you’ve ever seen them. You dreaded this inevitability the moment you let the blame fall from your lips, but you owe him that much.

You sigh, look down at your feet, and resign yourself to truth.

“Father… He loves me, but he loves the throne just as much. And I’m the eldest, and I’m almost twenty-two, so…”

In your peripheral vision you see him sag, his shoulder dropping in premature realisation.

“He brought all those men here, and not one of them was even slightly as interesting to me as you.”

Eddie looks at you, at the tears that periodically drop from your cheeks to the floor, listens to you sniff and hiccup, and wonders how on Earth you exist, let alone how you’ve landed here, with feelings so profound for him of all people.

“That’s one of the nicest things anyone has ever said about me,” he tells you honestly. You look up at him and the sight winds him: you’re crying, and it’s sad and stressful and difficult but you’re so beautiful.

You giggle and to him, it’s the ringing of a thousand bells by a thousand angels. It’s golden and brilliant. “I’m surprised,” you say, your smile lingering. “You’re really very lovely.”

He steps forward and reaches up, taking your chin in his gloved hand. You look back at him and sigh without meaning to as he moves his hand to cup your cheek and wipes stray tears away with his thumb. It takes your mind back to loud music, seven goblets, and a wine-stained thumb between his teeth.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells you quietly. There’s no one around but this still feels painfully scandalous, like glass that could - and will - shatter at any moment. No sudden movements.

You smile into his palm. “Stop it.”

“It’s true,” he says as his thumb moves across your skin, over the remnants of the cut across your cheekbone, over expanse of skin to your lips.

You watch him as he takes a deep breath in.

“I wasn’t reassigned,” he admits to you. You match him, breathing deep through your nose, preparing for the truth. “Well, I asked to be reassigned. I had to plead, really, because your father… He’s a good man.”

You roll your eyes without thinking and feel your bottom lip quivering again, the tears reemerging.

“He told me I’d never be able to see you again,” you tell him in a whisper.

“That’s my fault.”

“What?” You lift your head upright and he drops his hand, bringing it to his hair instead to run it through the curls again.

“I asked that I be kept away from you.”

“Why?! Why on earth would you… What could possibly possess you?”

“I couldn’t go through that again,” he says. “I couldn’t be near you. It was too… Too painful, and I let it get the better of me when I punched Lord Carver.”

“You were protecting me,” you say flatly. “That’s- That was your job.”

The emphasis hurts. “I know,” he sighs, “But… I wanted to kill him.”

“I don’t understand,” you tell him. You despise the whimper your words come out with, the way your jaw clenches to hold back more tears. What you can see of his neck above the collar of his thick tunic and under the cover of ringlets of tired hair is blotchy, coming up rosy in uneven patches. Is he stressed? Nervous? Both?

Your vision blurs with tears and your nose burns. He looks back at you softly, just like always, his eyes dark and inviting. Your lip wobbles again and you hear his breath hitch in the quiet.

“Let me show you,” he offers as he holds your cheek again. You cannot help but lean in, head tipping to the left to feel the expanse of leather over your cheek, his thumb dancing softly across your skin.

“No, I- You have to explain yourself, I don’t-”

“Please?” He looks at you with those fucking eyes of his and you want to kick him and kiss him all at once. “Do you trust me?”

The urge to kick him persists but you nod anyway. Perhaps the kicking is not a frustration aimed at him but at yourself instead: why can you not tell him how you feel? Why does the possibility of what he’s about to do scare you so much?

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit to him in a whisper. You feel naked before him, though there’s layers of thick velvet and scuffed leather between the two of you, a hundred barriers of material, an aching yawn of distance that you find yourself disliking immensely. 

Can Eddie read your mind? It feels that way right now - you only uttered six words but he seems to understand you entirely at this moment. He drops his hand from your face, takes a step back, and as you watch him wordlessly unbuckle his armour, your stomach contracts and your soul becomes hollow in anticipation. He removes the belt that the sword usually sits on, and then his leather gauntlets, pulling each finger from the gloves and placing them, too, on the table. As he peels off each piece of his uniform, creating a growing pile on the wood and on your floor, you see, for the first time since that night when you were nineteen, the bloom of his flesh under his billowing undershirt. He’s paler now than he was then, though the moonlight seeping in through the cracks between heavy curtains over your windows is no match for the golden wash of colour he had once basked in. If you had any sense you’d laugh at the display before you: endless metal defences and leather covers come away from his body and pile noisily beside him. But you’re transfixed, fingers fidgeting, bottom lip absentmindedly between your teeth.

You do not notice him glance at you every so often. Between removing each greave, he looks up at you again, and there’s nothing he can do to stop the flurry of blood to his cheeks. He’s baring himself, and you’re looking at him like he’s edible; perhaps, to you, he is.

After many minutes filled only by the sounds of deconstructed armour, metal and leather, he’s free of it, and he stands before you in a loose shirt and cotton slacks. His pale chest is visible behind the deep, un-tied collar and your fingers itch, fidgeting still, yearning to know what it feels like.

“Talk to me,” he whispers. “Don’t go quiet on me now.”

“I saw you like this, once,” you say quickly, voice so low it’s almost a whisper. You’re looking at everything - his arms, his legs, neck, chest, hands - except his eyes.

He’s taken aback. “What?”

“Years ago. I was nineteen. You were outside-” You turn to look through the open balcony door behind you, at the bright white gleaming down on the stone beyond. “-polishing. It was so beautiful out there, but I remember watching you for ages.”

You turn back, eyes on his finally. As ever, they’re wide and deep brown and beautiful. “Sorry. I know that’s strange. And forbidden, I guess.”

“No,” he breathes, taking a step towards you. “No, it’s fine- It’s okay.”

The air is thick and between that and your corset, you can barely breathe. He’s inching closer and it’s difficult to know where to look.

Nobody has ever been this close to you before. Not truly; you kiss your father and mother on the cheek before heading to bed each evening, you give your sisters fleeting embraces, you've fooled around with stableboys and, of course, you once loved to lean into his space whenever you teased Eddie, but this is different. Someone electing to be so near, choosing to breathe your air and not flinching or pulling back, instead lingering just to let his eyes dance over yours once more - it’s new, and it’s addictive.

He’s breathing your air but you’re also breathing his. The hills of his cheeks are mere whispers from your own, and his nose, crooked at the bridge where it once broke, nudges yours so lightly that you ought not feel it. It takes your breath away anyway.

At the sound of your gasp he smiles, only slightly, but you’re so close you see it in his eyes. Crows' feet emerge, wrinkling happiness beside his temples, and you can’t help but return it. As you fight the urge to close your eyes you watch him as he watches you, bated breaths and whimpers. All of a sudden he meets your gaze and you stumble where your foot had been resting on your other ankle. The heel of your slipper slides across bare skin and your balance goes, but before you can panic or cry out, you are pulled in breathless by his strong arm around your back. There may be layers upon layers of fabric but you feel it anyway, the electric jolts up your spine where his palm presses firm into your waist. Whether he means to or not is unclear, but you’re chest-to-chest with him now, the firm bones of your corset pushed against his shirt.

Your fingers spread across the fabric of his shirt. Without meaning to, you venture upwards, fingertips meeting the small smattering of coarse hair there, under the cotton. You watch your hands like they’re moving on their own, until his finger, hooked beneath your chin, tilts you up to meet his eye again.

It’s happening, you think to yourself. But then his arm, still around your middle, tightens briefly and he’s gone.

You watch him cross your room, the few steps he takes to your bed suddenly a criminal distance, too far, far too far. He sits upright on the edge of it, legs parted.

“Come here,” he says, his voice a melodic tug at your core. You move to him, sliding each of your slippers off on the way, and stand hesitantly between his knees, holding your breath without thinking to. 

You can’t look at him. You caught a glimpse of his eyes and the way they’re looking up at you and you can’t. It’ll surely kill you.

He thinks you’re perfect, standing here, towering over him, relenting. His tough palms smooth over the layers of deep red velvet that lie over your hips, and for a moment he allows himself to relish in the small noises of shock you’re making before he urges you to turn around.

“You know,” he begins as his deft fingers untie and release the intricate ribbons at your back. “It wasn’t your fault.”

You turn your head towards him, as far round as you can. “What?”

“The… What happened, that afternoon. The way he spoke to you…” Eddie’s fingers still for a moment and you hear him take a deep breath. “The way he touched you. I don’t know what your father- what His Majesty said about it, but it wasn’t your fault.”

His left hand begins pulling at the ribbons again, but his right rests safely on your waist, as though he’s demonstrating something: how you should be touched, the way you deserve, soft and kind and gentle and wanted.

You hum in agreement.

“And I truly am sorry I punched him,” he says. “It- If I’d just told him to back away, it never would have become such… Such a thing, a big deal.”

“Eddie,” you breathe, grateful that you can get a lung-full again. You turn back to him in his grasp and take his face in both hands. Your palms are warm but they’re nothing compared to the flames of his cheeks, which almost burn under your touch. “I’m not mad that you punched him. I wish I’d done it, truly. But I’m never mad that you want to protect me.”

Your hands on his face startle him. You both sense it in the moment, how unlike you this is, to touch him so willingly and so carefully.

“I don’t think you needed me to protect you,” he says quietly, a smile emerging though he tries his best to hold it back. “Your elbow seemed to do a good enough job of that.”

Ah! The sound of your feather-light laugh fills a yawning gap in his chest that appeared two and a half weeks ago. It sounds even more beautiful than before, a twinkling spark of a sound, just for him.

“You’re funny,” you tell him. “I’ll always need you, Ser Munson. Don’t worry about that.”

He looks up at you from his seat on the edge of your bed with eyes that sparkle like the sky outside. Perhaps it’s the reflection of the faded stars painted onto your ceiling, or perhaps it’s just the sight of you.

Both of his hands are on your waist, now, as you stand between his legs. There’s a lot of material in your skirt, though, and it feels too distant still, so you reach behind your back to pull the remainder of the ribbons keeping your corset on, and pull it over your head. Eddie helps where he can from such a low vantage point, and as soon as it’s off and disregarded on the floor, his eager fingers are pulling the velvet dress down and away from your body.

“Fucking hell,” he heaves, “How many things do you have on right now?”

“You’re one to talk,” you giggle. “It took you five whole minutes just to free your arms.”

“Okay, but that’s important. I don’t want to lose my arms. This must weigh a tonne, and… For what?”

You hold his cheek in your left hand again while he unties various laces and undoes buttons. Your skirt has fallen away, as has the underskirt and the other, thicker layers. You’re left in your underdress, a simple white cotton embroidered at the collar. It’s nicer than the one he caught you in all those weeks ago, moments before your life seemed to tilt and slip away beneath you.

Under the fabric, your nipples harden in the cold, jutting out and catching Eddie’s eye.

“Is this okay?” He asks, pulling you in anyways, standing you safely between his knees, his wide hands tentative on your hips. “We don’t have to-”

“Yes,” you say firmly. “Please, yes.”

His hands slide over the hills of your behind to the backs of your thighs. He’s still looking up at you, eyes drooping when your fingers dance through his hair. 

“I meant it, though,” you say. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay,” he sighs, standing slowly. “I have all the time for you.”

The moonlight bleeds a sharp bluish hue but it doesn’t matter. Right now, as he says those lovely words, the boy is a golden ball of light, humming pinks and warm ochre. Your yearning arms wind over his shoulders as his breath mixes with yours once more, his nose nudges the swell of your cheek, his hands press firm into your waist. He’s slow with it, tantalising, keeping you whimpering and desperate, until he finally dips into you, lips on yours with a surprising urgency.

It’s magic, you are so sure of it. His mouth moves over yours with certainty: he wants to be here, he wants to kiss you. He’s wanted to kiss you.

All those fairytales that your wiry old school teacher told you were real, about spells and conjurings and spirits: it’s all real, surely, and it’s in this feeling. There’s no other way you can understand it, though in truth your brain isn’t entirely clear because his fingers are smoothing lower, bunching your dress in his fists to pull the fabric up over the stretch of your legs. All the while his kisses never cease; in fact, once you feel the cool air over the material of your underwear, you gasp and welcome his tongue with your own. Air is worthless to you now; all you want is Eddie.

Much to your dismay, he seems to disagree, pulling back from you to take a breath and lift your dress over your head. He whispers up and you raise your arms, letting him undress you quietly, and once he has, you daren’t open your eyes, instead winding your arms across your chest. You feel the nighttime breeze across the backs of your thighs and you tense knowing that you’re bare in front of him.

There’s a slow beat before you feel his hands again. You hear the dress discarded on the stone floor and then his rough fingers are gently, oh so gently, holding your waist. It’s like he thinks you could break.

“Can I touch you?” he whispers.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Of course you can.”

You expect more solid grabs of flesh, hands smoothing over the expanse of your stomach, maybe even venturing upwards, but you take in a surprised breath when you feel his mouth on your sternum.

His rough hands hold your lower back and he kisses, framing each of your breasts with rows of feather-light pecks, dancing blossoms of affection. You drop your hands to his hair as you let out a breath of satisfaction, tangling your fingers in the curls as his mouth rises.

The whine of your name that leaves your lips is met with his hands tightening, fingers almost curling into the flesh of your back. His kisses turn eager, frantic, crossing the mounds of each of your breasts. His hands leave you to pull his shirt over his head and it’s too much all at once: too much to see, feel, know. You can’t take it in before he’s kissing you again, less than kind as his arms pull your bare chests flush.

Your fingers explore new terrain, which is littered with freckles and white, years-old scars that stretch over his alabaster skin, each one a story that you hope he will tell you one day.

“Eddie,” you pant. He returns the sentiment, breathing your name over and over into your mouth as he sits back down and pulls you into his lap.

The rough of his slacks sends an unfamiliar jolt up your spine when your hips meet his. In the heat of the moment he’s pulling at you a little rough but your gasp draws him out.

“You good?”

“Just… Slow down,” you tell him, resting back on your heels with your hands on his broad, bare shoulders.

“Sorry,” he says. His face is flushed pink and his dark eyes are drooping. “Want to stop?”

“No,” you respond, too quickly to keep your cool. You shake your head. “No, I just- I’m scared I’ll go too fast. I like you too much.”

“I told you,” he says, moving in with his eyes on you. You nod, almost imperceptibly. He kisses your collarbone and then your shoulder. “I have all the time in the world for you.”

“What if someone catches us?”

He pulls back again and reaches up, moving hair from your face and putting it behind your ears. Tidying you up. Fussing over you. It’s nice.

“I promise that everybody who would even think to come anywhere near this room tonight is gone until at least tomorrow afternoon.” He kisses under your jaw, and it returns the shivers back down your spine. “They’re too busy getting drunk. Nobody’s thinking about us.”

“You promise?”

He kisses your chin. “I promise.”

A few years ago, your father entertained a visitor from one of the bigger cities. They had been on a ship for some years and they brought goods the likes of which you’d never seen before: round, vibrant, sharp fruits, powders that made food taste wildly different, and, your favourite, a small collection of fireworks.

In the light of a small bonfire, your father helped the visitor set the wooden tubes alight. They flew off into the air and sparkled, fizzed, popped. It was a display that you couldn’t help but gawk at, enjoying the sizzles and the colours in the deep January sky.

That’s what this feels like. His lips plotting a map across your bare neck, up over your jaw, until they reach your mouth, it feels like seeing fireworks. You keen into his mouth as he licks across your bottom lip, pulling it between his teeth gently before letting go, meeting your tongue with his own. His hands at your back pull you in and that flush returns between your legs. He keeps you moving slowly, a lethargic push and pull across his crotch. The dips and folds of the tough fabric there, paired with the growing hardness beneath, give you a friction that you chase instinctively. It’s coupled with a litany of praises whispered into your skin between kisses, and the combination is clearing your head and sending you dizzy.

“That’s it, you’ve got it,” he coos, “Nice and slow for me, yeah? Just-”

Through drooping lids you watch him, his face scrunching in pleasure as you rock against him. It is not lost on you that this feels just as good for him, but you can tell he’s holding something back.

His face relaxes, and he meets your eye. “Hey.” He nudges your nose with his own and takes a deep breath. “You have to breathe, deep breaths. Doesn’t feel half as good if you stop breathing, promise.”

You let out a sigh and a twinkling giggle and he smiles, wide enough that you can see his dimples. He continues showering you with sweet praises, urging you towards oblivion. Look at you. I don’t even need to tell you what to do. You’re so beautiful.

“Fuck- My god.”

The pace quickens as you chase the abyss. His hands don’t move, keeping you anchored to him, moving you back and forth. It’s bliss like you’ve never felt; your own hand could never get you this far. The friction of his pants between your thighs is perfect and your need is ferocious as your stomach winds like a coil.

“C’mon,” he encourages, “You can do it. You’re doing such a good job, c’mon-”

You fall forwards and rest your forehead on his shoulder, whimpering something desperate into his neck as your stomach tenses and bends. Please, Eddie, please, please, please.

A white-hot light sears the darkness behind your eyelids as you come apart for him. He’s calling you all sorts of filthy things but you can barely hear him, brain too occupied by the burning in your belly and his hands, which are seemingly everywhere all at once.

“Good girl,” he whispers into your hairline. He scatters kisses there as you catch your breath.

“Thank you,” you sigh. “Thank you.”

He laughs and you feel it reverberate through his chest.

As you slouch into him, feeling returning to each limb, you feel a foreign yearning in your gut, a relentless feeling that prompts you to squirm. Wriggling, your restless hands paw at his arms and his back and they move lower, until you meet the waistband of his slacks.

You whine into his neck when he won’t move to accommodate your impatience. His hands lure you back from your resting place so he can look at you, with your kiss-swollen lips and happy eyes.

“I need to know that you want this,” he whispers. He rests your foreheads together, the tip of his nose nudging yours.

All you can do is whine. You’re too elated to care to form words, but Eddie’s not having it.

“I need to hear you say it,” he tells you sternly. His eyes do not betray him: they’re steely and suddenly darker than ever.

You dip your head to kiss his jaw, nosing at his cheek, lips and teeth dragging along his skin.

“I want you, Eddie,” you tell him. His fingers tighten at the nape of your neck and pull you back, gentle but firm, as he watches you speak through obsidian eyes. “Please.”

He says nothing as he gives you one more kiss, soft as anything to the pillows of your lips, before helping you off his lap and laying you between the pillows at the head of your bed. You curl up there, the breeze colder still against the wetness between your thighs, which you squeeze together as you watch him stand.

He’s all lean muscle and long limbs. You let yourself gawk for the first time since that night on the balcony; you usually have to ration your glances at him, and he’s always covered by so many layers, so you allow yourself this luxury.

He knows you’re watching, so he makes a little show of it, bending down to get rid of the slacks. Before he does, you notice that the brown has deepened around his crotch with the stains of your pleasure. Acknowledging this makes you shiver, and though you feel you should be disgusted, it’s oddly comforting instead.

When he looks over at you, finally bared and unflinching, he takes a moment to take you in.

You’re still glowing, perhaps more so than before. Some of your hair is stuck to your face, plastered there in the heat of your first orgasm, but the rest of it is laid out around your head like a halo. It’s unfair that you can be so casually magnificent. You’re also not looking at him - well, not meeting his eye, anyway. The tip of your index finger is between your teeth as you take in the sight before you, Eddie as hard as he’s ever been, just for you.

“You sure about this?” he asks.

You look up at his face and break out in a grin. “Absolutely.”

He’s slower than you want, leaning over you, his knees on the comforter beside you, mouth lazy as he gives you kisses. You take and take, happy under his touch.

His hands are everywhere again. Your skin is on fire, aflame from the praise and the affection and the attention. The sensation of being so close to another person while naked like this is achingly unfamiliar but learning it is nice, new, natural. Though it’s nothing like anything you’ve ever experienced before, you’re finding that you like it. You like smoothing your hands over his back, feeling the dips and peaks of his muscles there, or around to the slight pudge of his stomach, just above a thatch of hair similar to your own. You like the feeling of his palms on your shoulders, down your arms, across your waist. You like that when he kisses you, you feel the nudge of his nose beside yours. You like that he appears breathless to you, like your kisses are preferable to air, especially when he becomes restless and impatient.

Above you, his hand moves south, fingers burying their way between your legs. Without realising it, you’ve been squeezing them together, desperate for any relief you can find, but his fingers are certainly better. They push your knees apart so that he can climb into your space, his waist framed by your thighs, the weight of him crashing into you as he dips again to kiss you silly. You wind your arms around his neck and pull him in, enjoying the proximity rather than fleeing from it, and feeling desperate without shame.

One hand hooks under your thigh while the other plants firmly on the mattress beside your head.

“You ready?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“I’m going to go slow,” he tells you, his lips moving against yours lest he get too far away. “Just tell me if you want to stop, please?”

“Yes,” you pant, “Yes, of course, please-”

The hand beneath your thigh escapes and he holds himself as you wind your arms under his, around his chest, pulling him in tight.

It’s definitely slow. A slow, tantalising push between your thighs, filling that gaping yearning within your gut. He’s big, though it barely takes you by surprise because of course he is.

He’s panting, biting his lip above you. “Fuck-” he gasps, “Shit- You okay?”

You nod as fervently as you can because words are escaping you and all you can think about is him, hovering over you, pushing into you, breathing your air and nudging your cheek.

“You feel- You feel so good,” he breathes, pushing further. You nod in agreement and tug him closer still, until he’s in as far as he can go, filling you to the hilt.

The proximity dazzles you as you open your eyes and examine his face. The scrunch between his brows, the freckles across his crooked nose, his teeth biting firm into his lip. It feels only natural to lean up and plot a path of kisses across the hills of his face, bright, happy kisses that relax him until he can kiss you back. He lets the weight of his body fall into yours, keeping some pressure on his arm so as not to crush you entirely, but the feeling of closeness is too comfortable for him to forego.

He speaks into the flesh of your cheek when he says, “I’m going to start moving, okay?”

“Yes,” you pant, and he does, pulling slowly away before pushing back. The friction of the movement over your clit adds to the swelling feeling of fullness each time he returns to you, and the pleasure is almost overwhelming. You take heavy breaths until they become moans, matched by his own noises. Your head is empty and all you want to do is become him; being here, underneath him, is never quite enough. Instead you wish you could, in this moment, under the stars and the moon and wrapped in the night breeze, merge with your knight and stay here forever.

Your lazy daydreams are interrupted when he groans and mutters some kind of praise into your hairline: You’re doing so well. Fuck, so good. And then, to your surprise, you feel his free hand traverse the expanse of your body, between the two of you, over the hill of your stomach until the pads of his fingers find your clit.

Holy shit. Holy shit. Perhaps you haven’t melted together, but this somehow got even better. His cock moves just as quick as he draws lucid circles with his middle and ring fingers over you. He kindles the flame like an expert as his mouth drops kisses messily across your own lips. That’s it: everything is messy, lazy, desperate. He moves and kisses and whispers please, come on, come for me, are you okay? I know you can do it, you feel so good, you’re beautiful.

The hot wire returns. It burns as it coils, tighter and tighter around an abyss in your gut, tugging on each limb like you might implode and become a black hole right here in your bed.

“Eddie, oh my god-”

“Come on.”

“Unngh- It feels s- So good-”

“Come on, sweetheart.”

His movements never relent as you come, the wire burning out in a white-hot bang. You yelp, moaning his name, and he keeps going through it all, kissing you silly all over your face. It’s only when you start to squirm that he slows, brings his busy hand out from between the two of you and smiles. He allows himself a moment to watch you, face lax and mouth agape, sweaty brow and hair a mess, before he taps your hollow cheek with his knuckles.

You open heavy eyes to look back at him and watch as he smirks down at you and brings two messy fingers to his mouth. He’s still inside you and he feels it, the way you squeeze him just slightly as he tastes you on his tongue, making a little show of it for you. He hears you gasp, panting like a dog, and even the moan that leaves you when he pulls his fingers free and they glisten in the low light. “Holy shit,” you breathe, and he breaks out in a grin before he can stop himself. “Holy shit, Eddie.”

“Happy?” he asks.

“Happy? Fuck yeah, I’m happy.”

His laughter is deep and loud, a rumble from his chest that makes you grin back at him.

“What about you?” you ask, eyes drooping again, bringing the back of your hand to your forehead. It burns there, like you have a fever. You must look a state.

“I’m more than happy,” he says, smiling. “You up for a little more?

You look at him. “Hm?”

“I, uh… I’m hard as a fuckin’ rock,” he admits, flushing, “And you… You feel so good, and I’d like to… Y’know.”

He feels bad for a second when your eyes widen and you look down quickly. “Oh, Eddie, shit, did you not- Oh my god, I’m so selfish, are you okay?”

Your hands are everywhere all of a sudden, pawing at his arms and his chest, your fawning interrupted by another bellowing laugh. When you giggle back, he winces, feeling it in the way your body pulls him tighter.

“I’m fine,” he assures you, “But I want to try something.”

“Of course,” you say.

“You sure you’re okay to keep going?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “I want to help you, I want you to feel good too.”

“Hold on, then,” he says, threading an arm between your back and the sweat-damp mattress. You wind your arms back around his neck and yelp when he swings you around, all the while keeping his cock firmly inside your walls.

“Fuck,” you splutter, planting your hands either side of his head.

He likes this view. Your face hovering over his, your knees either side of his waist. He holds you by the hips, feeling the curves and dips, pushing impatient fingers into the flesh at the base of your back.

“God, you are gorgeous,” he says. He likes this view, too, watching you flush and bat your eyelashes, made nervous under his gaze and by his lovely, genuine words.

“Not too bad yourself,” you respond, smiling, lifting one hand to push curls from his warm face.

This feeling is new but it’s lovely. Gravity pulls you onto him and it feels as though he’s somehow even deeper than before. His hands at your ass fist at the flesh there and he tells you he’s going to help you, that you may be worn out and that’s okay, and as he helps you lift yourself upwards, you get the hang of it.

You plant your hands firmly on the expanse of his chest and drop yourself down before pushing yourself back up again. It helps to sit upright so you do, letting him hold you and watch you and god, his face is a picture.

He’s scrunching his nose again, eyes tight as he huffs each time you drop onto him. He’s droopy and blissful as you move up and down, circling your hips just a bit, letting him guide you. It burns after so long but it’s nothing compared to the warmth in your chest watching him near the edge. His stomach tenses, the muscles flexing between your thighs, as his breathing becomes more ragged. And suddenly his arms come up your back and pull you down flush and inside your walls, his cock sits as far in as he can push it. You feel him stiffen and shudder and the warmth as he comes inside, hugging you close, his forehead on your shoulder.

He warns you as he pulls out, and then you lie still, spent, limbs going soft together. The sky is a pale blue-green now, the sun soon to cross the horizon. You can hear birds, and the soft morning light coats your skin in a kind of effervescent glow.

Eddie’s breathing lulls you into a doze, but after a short while he stirs. The space between your core and his is sticky and damp and it’s uncomfortable for a short moment, until he tells you quietly that he’s going to get up and get a rag. He moves you softly onto your back and you sigh, a happy, contented sound, watching him move around your space so comfortably.

He returns from the water basin with a damp cloth, cleaning the remnants of your night from between your legs. You wince when he does, only because you’re tired and sore and the cloth is cold, but he apologises and kisses the inside of your knee.

“Eddie?”

He’s at the basin again, rinsing the rag. “Mhm?”

“Do you really think everyone will be gone until the afternoon?”

You catch him smiling at your question, like he knows what’s coming.

“If you want to play it safe, lets say noon.”

“And what time is it now?”

He looks over to the clock, which sits above your mantlepiece, ticking softly.

“Early,” is all he says. “Early enough.”

“Stay with me?”

He drops the rag over the side of the basin and pads over to you. The mattress dips as he rejoins you, this time lifting your sheets to bury the two of you beneath them.

“I told you,” he says quietly, kissing the peak of your shoulder and pulling you in, his arm around your waist, “I have all the time in the world for you.”

-

The castle is bustling. People rush here and there, carrying armfuls of floral arrangements, buckets of wine, heaving plates of food. Your home is lively and noisy and your mother is pacing, directing the placement of each bouquet and chair.

In your chamber, the noise seems far away. Your maids finish tying your corset and your shoe ribbons before filtering off to complete other tasks. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror above your fireplace. Red really is your colour.

There’s a resolute knock at your door. The maids stand to attention and move out of your way as your knight pushes the doors open and you step through to the hall.

“Thank you, Dustin,” you say to him.

Your new knight, a replacement both for Eddie and for the man who took his place all those months ago, bows kindly at your regards. He’s young, younger than yourself and Eddie, but keen and worthy and you’re more than happy.

And then he appears, your beacon, a gorgeous vision of handsome beauty.

Eddie, Ser Munson, your knight. Or, rather, your former knight. He’s been promoted to fiancé.

He stands at the top of the stairs, looking back at you like you hung the stars. To him, you may as well have. You are all he has eyes for now, especially now, after giving up his duties and telling your father: Your daughter is my true and only duty.

“My god,” he breathes. You step over to him, too giddy to maintain any air of grace or class. Your step is more like skipping, your love for him giving you far too much energy to merely walk to him.

He holds his arm for you and you take it, leaning up on tip-toes to give him a chaste kiss to the cheek.

“How do you do it?” he says in a low voice, dipping his head so you can hear him as the two of you descend the stairs, Dustin in step behind you.

You’re smiling while you cling to his arm. “Hm?”

“How do you keep getting more beautiful?”

“Just think, Munson,” you say in a whisper, “By the time we’re one hundred, think of how beautiful I’ll be by then.”

“I dread to think,” he says sarcastically, squeezing your arm with his. You look up at him and the noise and fervour of the castle falls away. He looks back down at you and smiles, and it’s truly the only thing that matters.

The engagement party, your sisters, your parents, your birthright - what is any of it for, what does any of it mean, when you have the one thing you ever wanted?

-

author’s note  Hey! Thanks for reading (or scrolling all this way). It's been so long since I uploaded my last fic and I’ve been lurking ever since - I miss u all but there isn’t really any room in my life for writing anymore. I have loved doing this and thank you all so so much for reading everything! I’ll be about, so the blog will stay and you can read whatever you want whenever you want. I love ya, I’ll miss ya, see ya l8r!

[eddiesxangel]

Eddie’s Fantasy

[biancadjarin]

Looked up at me

with honor and truth

pairing: knight!eddie x princess!reader

18+! Smut and adult language.

a/n: I started reading @allthingsjoeq ‘s knight!eddie story and my mind immediately took a turn down a horny side street. Art by @mcbeanzontoast 🗡️

As you and your royal escort reach the end of a particularly long stretch of forest, the soft sound of lapping water tickles your ears. The setting Sun has casted a coral pink hue over the cloudless sky and the moon is starting to become visible.

“I think we should set up here for the night, trying to keep you alive all day is exhausting.” Eddie mumbles at you curtly. He begins to lay out a blanket and drop his satchel and sword on it, spreading out to take a sip of water from his canteen. You watch as a drop misses his lips and trails down his chin onto his shiny chainmail. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and tosses the canteen, laying back onto the soft blanket and with a content sigh.

As the sky turns darker, the ombré of colors fading from pink to purple to blue, stars beginning to twinkle in the distance. A soft breeze blows your hair around your shoulders, the first breeze you’ve felt after a long, hot day. You’re feeling sticky and uncomfortable, wanting to bathe before you retire for the night.

While Eddie rests his eyes you wander off toward the water you heard earlier. Not having to walk far before you come to a small ravine, a jagged short cliff above it pouring water into the mouth of the stream. The winding crystal clear, blue water stretches far past your line of sight, tall trees lining each side. You see a deer in the distance lapping a drink out of it’s edge. You bend down and touch the water and it’s a comfortable warm temperature. You head back to your makeshift camp and grab your things for your bath.

Eddie opens his eyes at the sound of a crow cawing in the distance. He looks around and his heart starts beating faster when he doesn’t see any sign of you. The looming threat of being beheaded nags at him as he starts to panic. He shimmies off his heavy armor and grabs his sword as he begins to search for you.

You’re sitting waist deep in the little river holding your apothecary jar of rose scented oils. The soft lapping around your hips and splashing spray against your back has you feeling relaxed. The early night sky smiles down on you, the full moon casting an ethereal glow over your naked body. You close your eyes and breath in the sweet scent of your oils as you rub them all over your body.

Eddie stumbles out of the trees and finally his heart rate steadies when he sees you. Until he sees your nude breasts and his heart starts hammering twice as fast. His round doe eyes grow wider and you squint your eyes when you see his silhouette.

“Uhhh..” he turns his back to you “Forgive me, princess. I got worried.” You giggle at his sudden manners. And his boyish shyness. “Tis not safe for you to be out here alone.” He chastises.

“But I needed to bathe Sir Edward.” “And you couldn’t wait until the morning?” He asks with his back still to you. “I like to bathe under the moon. Mother always says the most beautiful creatures come out at night.” Eddie shakes his head at your lighthearted tone. “I usually have Rosalind or one of my ladies in waiting help me. But since you’re all that’s here, you’ll do.”

Eddie peeks over his shoulder with raised brows and you smile at him, finger beckoning him to you. He walks towards you, bare feet crunching the grass beneath them. “Princess I don’t think it would be appropriate…” You shush him and toss the sea sponge at him. It lands in his hands with a wet plop.

Eddie takes a deep breath, he’s never seen someone so beautiful. You look like one of the mermaids or sirens he’s read about in his fantasy novels. The moon and stars are sparkling against the water that surrounds you and reflects in your eyes. He wades into the water and walks up to you with a grin that’s impossible for him to hide.

You wordlessly hand him the small glass bottle as you watch his eyes trail over your body. He pours the thick oil onto the sponge and begins to rub your shoulders with it respectfully. Of course you’re capable of washing yourself. Did a pretty good job of it before Eddie showed up. But this opportunity is too good to pass up. You feel your head lull back and let the waterfall cascade over your hair and shoulders. Your chest heaves up towards Eddie’s face and he forgets about the sponge, dropping it and using his hands to massage the oil into your breasts. A few rose petals cling to your skin as his fingertips squeeze the soft flesh. His thumbs settle over the perked curve of your nipples, teasing and tweaking them.

You moan as you feel his hands trail down your sides with a featherlight touch, caressing and squeezing every inch of you like he’s committing it to memory.

“Sir Edward?” He hums in acknowledgment as you pull his attention away from your curves. “When was the last time you had a bath?” You ask knowing full well most knights only bathe once a week, even royal ones. He looks up at you with a devilish grin, knowing where you’re going with this question.

He pulls off his thin cloth top and tosses it into the grass. He is toned and tanned, the body of a man who grew up doing farm labor and then began training and fighting with the royal guard when he hit maturity. The smooth planes of his chest lead to a softly toned stomach, the taut skin pulled over his flexing muscles. He looks down at his pants and hesitates for a moment. “Princess, I don’t want to offend you. But my body has a mind of it’s own. And I’ve had this” he grabs at the bulge in his crotch, “since I first saw you naked.”

You softly swat his hand away and pull his pants fully off, throwing them toward his shirt. His hardened length slaps up against his lower stomach and you bite your lip. His eyes are worried as they wait for your reaction, his cheeks tinted the same soft shade of pink as the head of his cock. Your warm, soapy fingers trail down his chest and stomach and grasp his length, you curl your fingers and begin to pump him.

“Fuck, prin-princess.” His voice strains. His eyes squeeze shut as he focuses on not cumming immediately. Your free hand gets lost in his curls, nails scratching at the base of his skull making him preen and purr like a kitten. You place a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth, his soft lips parting and chasing after yours.

You moan into his kiss while his hands pull your waist towards his, his strong hands squeezing your hips and ass. You feel the waterfall around you as he pushes you behind it, your bodies hidden behind the curtain of water.

“I could be killed for doing this.” He smiles against your lips. “If you want to stop?” You suggest. He laughs, “I’d rather die than stop.” His hand slips down between your wet bodies and settles between your thighs, where you’re wettest. Your forehead rests on his shoulder as his fingers slip around your folds and begin to circle around your delicate nub. The splashing sounds muffle your cries of pleasure.

Eddie’s mind is racing with thoughts. The feeling of your tight heat around his fingers, your soft body pressed against his, your breasts pressed up against his chest so close he can feel your heartbeat. He hasn’t bedded a maiden in a fortnight, being busy with his knight duties. But the maidens he’s used to are a pale comparison to you. Especially your lack of body hair. Only royalty can afford hair removal.

“Want you to take me Eddie. Deflower me.” You moan into his ear. He shakes his head, “Princess you know I can’t do that. Your husband must deflower you.” He whines. “I don’t care. I want you. Only you.” You say as you lean against the smooth, curved rock and wrap your thighs around his hips. You guide the long, curved length of him into your heat and you both shudder at the slight resistance.

Eddie holds you close as he rocks his hips gently, easing in inch by inch, feeling your tight spongey walls hug his cock like you were made for him. He kisses your neck as you whimper softly, pleasure taking over the stretching feeling. Eddie bottoms out and holds there for a moment, his balls pulsing against your asscheeks. He sets a fast pace as your walls pull him in with every grind of your hips. Every delicious ridge of him hitting all the spots deep within you that you never knew were there, his fingertips dig bruises into your waist while he holds you in place.

His grunts and moans sound like the wolf that almost killed you earlier and you smile as you watch him lose control. Your brave, daring knight, protective and kind, even behind the veil of indignant indifference he’s been showing you all day. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth as your legs start to shake around his waist, the force of your orgasm hitting you suddenly. You squeeze his cock tightly with each roll of your hips as you ride out your high and his movements become sloppy until he presses his hips flush to yours. You feel his hot seed shoot deep inside you and you hope he plants a beautiful flower there. He looks up at you through his wet bangs and smiles, the first real showing of emotion he’s shown you all day.

🗡️

🗡️

MASTERLIST HERE

[lavendermunson]

enchanted | knight!eddie munson x princess!reader

summary Eddie never saw you again after that night, you both were ten years old and sitting in a piano, just a couple of kids enjoying each others company but since you were a princess with an arranged marriage, you got trapped in a castle. You never saw Eddie again but he did, getting close to your windows to watch you, you grew to be the most beautiful he has ever seen. A re-encounter might change the world, even put upside down two different kingdoms.

tags +18, afab!reader, perv!eddie, mentions of jason craver sorry, best friends to lovers kind of relationship, masturbation reader and eddie, mentions of food in a nsfw way, set in some fairytale, mention of low self-steem. one use of y/n just one i swear it’s you won’t even remember it. i tried to be as inclusive as possible so i didn’t mention anything about the reader’s, no skin color, no hair color, no body type, if i missed something tell me! i want everyone to read this and picture themselves as a princess, although i did used she/her pronouns and the reader was born in autumn. mentions of death eddie’s mom

a/n i pictured a lot of princess from disney and also toon inspiration from bridgerton, it’s the first time i write something so long so forgive me for any mistakes. if you want me to keep writing this story don’t forget to mention it :)

wc 2.4k… i surprised myself

moodboard | next chapter

A few years ago two kingdoms decided to unite, building a wall to protect them both and agreeing on sharing everything. With this agreement also came the rule of “arrange the marriage of their second born children at the age of 20” The two of them being born in the same year made it easier for it to be more under control, thanks to their older siblings being already married or out of town.

Prince Jason, from the Craver family, was born in the light of the summer, and with it came his whole personality. He isn’t much of a charming young man, his soft hair shines under every light, even the fire, what’s supposed to be aggressive and dangerous. The boy used it in his favor, lighting his room every time he got a new girl on his bed from one of his famous parties.

From the second kingdom, Princess Y/N from the Willow family was born in autumn, just in time when the trees start to let go of their orange-colored leaves. She was a quiet girl, always surrounded by books, avoiding parties, and helping her mom grow all kinds of flowers. She’s never had a boyfriend, and always tried to keep herself busy until the day of her wedding, which she named “the end of her life”.

She didn’t like Jason, at family dinners, he always had a girl in his arms, he wasn’t polite and he was irresponsible. Didn’t have what it took to be a good prince, let aside the new king. The princess was about to turn 20, in three weeks exactly, she was scared of her future because she had too much more to learn, to see, to experience.

—

At the start of the cold winter, Eddie was born, the same year as the prince and the princess, his friends always joked about that “If you were born into the Craver family, you would’ve married the princess” he always laughed about that, knowing that only happened in his dreams, one time, after a private Christmas dinner with the Royalty, when his uncle Wayne became the Willow king’s right hand. Eddie was being trained by his uncle, in sword fights, first aid, horse riding, everything to serve as a knight to the Willow kingdom and to keep him close, but the long-haired boy hated it, he wanted to play guitar, play piano, conquer every instrument in existence, he loved music thanks to his mom who unfortunately died when he was a little boy.

Eddie had an innocent crush since that dinner, he was 10 the same as you, and you showed him the piano and started playing with it.

“You should come here and take classes with me, I'm pretty sure you’re going to be better than me. You have talent, Eds” You said.

“She said I can take classes with her, Wayne.” little Eddie begged his uncle to let him go “Pleaaase”

“No way son, you have to start training,” the older man said, with a frown on his face.

Since that day, you never saw Eddie again, but he did, when he gets a little too close to the kingdom and stares at your living room window where you read, every day, at 5 pm. He watches you bite your bottom lip when you flip the pages gently, your fingers rub the words as you furrow your eyebrows, he realizes he is head over heels for you.

—

It was a Sunday, the air was cold and the clouds were getting in the way of the sun making its light a little bit dim. Eddie grabbed a horse and some grapes, to keep him company while he watched you read, it wasn’t weird, right? He wasn't doing anything wrong, just an innocent act of… spying. His uncle stopped him after hearing the loud steps of the horse.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“I’m going for a ride, just to clear my head”

“No, you get back here young man” The voice of his uncle was louder, firmer, Eddie whined at the old man with a frustrated look on his face “Did you forget tomorrow you start working for real? We have to get you ready”

“Ready? I’m ready Wayne I just need a little time to myself”

“Nonsense, get back here you have to clean your armor”

They both get back in the little house, Eddie sighed as his uncle showed him the new armor.

“But it’s clean!” Eddie whined again, Wayne eyed his nephew annoyed, and tossed a cloth into the young boy’s chest.

“It’s not, it has to shine,” he said, Eddie sighed again, defeated. “C’mon”

Eddie stayed home that day, the first day he skipped his little spying routine, and thank god he did because what happened that day at 5 pm would’ve broken his heart.

__

“Just one kiss, please?” Jason said to you, getting the book out of your hands and throwing it aside.

“You are drunk at 5 pm? What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing! Just kiss me” he leaned in closer to your face, fingers touching your jaw “We are getting married, don’t you remember?”

“I do, I think about it every day and it makes me so sick, now I have a migraine because of your little tantrum” You push him away, and with all the strength in your body, gravity played a little turn and betrayed you, making you fall on top of him on the floor.

“Are we going to practice?” Jason had a grin on his face, his hands tightening on your waist. You get up quickly at the feeling of his touch, fixing up your dress you leave the room, not after scoffing at him and his absurd behavior.

—

On Monday, the kingdoms were throwing a celebration in honor of King Craven’s 60th birthday. Everyone in town was celebrating, having a big party for themselves with the excuse of their least-favorite King. The servants were getting the party started, Queen Craven decided to go with a ball instead of a casual dinner, where people from other towns would come to see the castle and have fun with beautiful gowns and expensive jewelry.

After Eddie met with the Willow king and queen, his new job was taking care of their little princess. He was excited about it but also nervous. He’s getting a chance to spend time with you, to watch you for a few more minutes than usual. It was a new sensation for him, some kind of anxiety mixed with enthusiasm, walking around with a heavy metal armor over his body relaxed him a bit, it was making pressure on his chest so his heart wouldn’t burst out, the only ‘bad’ thing was he didn’t have to wear a helmet, he was afraid his grin was too big on his face and decided to look for an empty room to make a little dance of celebration.

Finally one of the doors opens, and thanks to his bad luck he finds your room. You are currently in a large undergarment, looking at yourself in the mirror and making a disgusted face. You didn’t have a corset on because you hated them, but something was off with your self-esteem that day.

“Sorry, sorry i-” he said, stunned to speak at the sight of the beautiful princess. He also dreamed of seeing your body, it was better than his imagination would have pictured. The parts of your naked skin were glowing, he closed his fist trying to keep himself on edge, the desire of touching you, feeling your soft skin with his fingertips, and placing kisses all over you made Eddie turn around quickly, closing his eyes in an attempt to memorize what he just saw.

“Wait! Don’t go!” you said, getting in your dress as quickly as possible as he touched the door handle “Can you tie up my dress? It’s pretty difficult for me since i can’t reach”

Eddie opened his eyes wider, trying to ease his breathing and slowly coming up to you ‘Your wish is my command’ he said to himself.

He nods in your direction and gets closer, you move your hair to one side so Eddie can tie up the dress easier, and with his big fingers, he takes the laces of the dress tightening up a little, and makes a secure knot on your back.

“Please make sure you add a bow, i-it looks better that way” You peek your head over your shoulder for a second, he nods again and tries to make a proper bow, but it turned out nicely than he thought.

He rests his hands on your waist, looking at your reflection in the mirror, you keep checking if the dress looks good and trying to fix some parts of it that look loose. You didn’t mind Eddie’s touch, you knew who he was and what he was doing here (kind of). You were happy inside, you always wanted Eddie as a friend since that night when you were kids, and now you can keep him close, even better, speak to him and get to know him.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say, getting out of your pool of thoughts.

“You remember me?” he asks, eyebrows crinkled on his face, and you giggle looking at his surprised face.

“How could I forget such a pretty face?” Eddie flushes instantaneously.

“Me? You are the one who looks speechless” you blush, the little flirt game making your heart flutter.

“You think so? I believe this dress has something wrong, do you?”

Eddie takes his time to reply, looking at your reflection again he keeps looking for the mistake you were searching for earlier, but he seems to miss it. He gets brave enough to trace your waist and torso with his fingers, going up from your back and resting his hands on your exposed shoulders, rubbing them delicately. You shiver at his touch, something that you have never felt before, your tummy starts to feel funny and your breath hitches, the boy behind you is quick to notice your little squirm, he laughs at it and gently takes his hands off you, you miss his touch already.

“I don’t think so, it looks… you look really good” he says, giving you a look of reassurance. He misses your skin too, it’s been just a couple of seconds since his fingers ignited with your warm skin and now his hands are too cold for his liking. You turn around in a quick twist, locking eyes with him.

“So… you work here now,” you ask him, getting lost in his chocolate eyes.

“Yes, from now on”

“What do you have to do?” His cheeks feel warm being close to you, now he hates the armor that protects his chest from the warmth of your body.

“I have to take care of you, actually” You are quick to notice he is trying to hide a big smile “Your mom kept talking about your little trips to the outside and she wants someone to protect you”

“You think I need protection?” you cross your arms in front of your chest, Eddie brings his attention to your little act trying to look tough and he gets lost in your cleavage for a minute.

“N-no, I’m sure you are fine” he shakes his head and finds your eyes again “Since you’ve been back without a scratch i know you got everything under control, i mean… she only wants to keep me close to you so she can relax” he curses at himself for feeling so nervous all of a sudden, the fact that he didn’t know about your trips to the woods outside the kingdoms makes his blood boil, he kept tabs on you every day, all day, how did he miss this?

“I’m pretty sure she thinks there are monsters out there” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand “i only go out to read, sometimes i need to clear my head and be somewhere new, you know?” He nods, he understands perfectly, that’s what he said to his uncle just yesterday.

“Yes, but now I'll be doing my job and watching you” ‘like i used to’ he thinks to himself.

“Alright, i don’t mind you doing your job” You roll your eyes and turn around “I have to keep getting ready, can you wait outside?”

“Yes, of course” he leans his head to the front and you giggle at his movements “I’ll leave you to it”you giggle at his movements “I’ll leave you to it”

“I’ll take a lot of time, you can just go get some food and I’ll find you in the kitchen”

“If you need something i’ll be there, i have to take you to the Craven kingdom in an hour”

“Perfect, i’ll find you there” he leaves your room after listening to your words, you look at him with a soft smile before he closes the door and you run to the bathroom to clear your head.

You quickly realize you miss his touch on your body, the pool on your panties confirms it. You lift your dress and sit on the edge of the bathroom, reaching for your pussy and rubbing your clit over your clothes with your fingers, closing your eyes, and trying to focus on him. His masculine scent comes back to you, remembering his fingers touching you and the way he looked so good in that armor, you made sure to remember he had been working out to get the job. Your imagination takes you far beyond, it was almost as you were listening to his moans, but no, it can be, he is in the kitchen at this moment. Maybe he is eating a tiny cookie with his big hands, crust getting all over his mouth, maybe he is eating a cupcake while he gets frosting over his fingers and he sucks them clean, eating the bottom part while licking at his sugary lips.

But you were wrong, he wasn’t in the kitchen, he came back a couple of seconds after you went into the bathroom. He wanted to ask you something before you had to be in a public space, surrounded by people he didn’t like. But you weren’t there, he got worried for a second until his ears started ringing, recognizing your voice through the bathroom door and your shaky moans. His cock got hard just hearing you breathe in and out with a fast rhythm, he quickly got his hand under his pants and started to rub his dick, moaning at your pretty noises not noticing you could hear him, he managed to run to a bathroom close to your room to release his cum and wash his hands after. You did the same in your bathroom, quickly cleaning your cum so it doesn’t drip onto your clothes.

If that’s how both of you get after seeing each other for less than an hour, it would be worse when you have to be together day and night.

sorry i ended up like this :) if you want more i’ll be happy to write it, leave some ideas of what should happen next i’ll be reading you ♡ feedback is appreciated! don't forget to REBLOG TO SUPPORT THE AUTHOR!

tags: @stephanie-nicks76 ty for commenting luv. join my taglist in the form or comment here

[georgeweasleyslostearhq]

AT ALL COSTS

Pairings: Knight!Eddie x Princess!Fem Summary: the war in your Kingdom was over, so as a celebration, your father, the king, invites all of the surviving Knights to a party; a ball, of sorts. but one Knight catches your eyes. Sir Edward Munson. Warnings: slight mention of war and blood

A/N - i'm testing out multiple Eddie's for Princess!reader. there will be a Guard!Eddie as well, seeing which one we like best

•─────•♛•─────•

The men all stood in a line in front of you, all wearing the armor that they fought in as each name of the Knights were announced, one by one as they were called stepped up, taking off their helmet as they bowed to the King, to the queen, and you before going back in line

"Sir Francis Clarke" the presenter called out from the scroll.

the 7th man in the line took his helmet off before stepping up towards your father. then moving to your mother as she held her hand out for Francis to take, to which he did, placing a kiss to her hand before moving to you

you internally sighed as he looked at you briefly, bowing down and taking your hand in his, pressing a gentle, hasty kiss before going back to the line, every man had done this, barely kissing your hand with no eye contact.

there were much less men standing before you then you expected. when you were told the war was over and that the surviving knights would come over and present themselves, you expecting at least more than 30, but to have only 8 men standing there had shocked you. how could there only be that many men left?

as Francis went back to his place, keeping his helmet off, the announcer called to the last soldier. the one that stood tall and confident.

his armor was smudged with the dry blood of the fallen knights from the opposing kingdom, but his helmet remained polished, not a spec of dirt decorating the shiny silver as the presenter called his name

"Sir Edward Munson"

he lifted his hands before taking his helmet off, his long frizzy hair falling down to just reaching his shoulders, looking knotted as his fringe stuck to his forehead, probably from the sweat from being underneath the helmet.

as much as he looked tired, he seemed fine, his dark brown eyes wandering around and meeting yours as you stared at him, shifting in your throne.

he put the helmet between his armored arm and side as he stepped forward, bowing down to your father, moving to your mother, and then to you.

he knelt down, making it look easy in the heavy metal he was clothed in as he looked up at you gently, a small smile planted on his face as you brought your left hand up for him to take.

his gloved hand took yours, bringing it up to meet his plump lips as he gazed up at you, placing a lingering kiss to your knuckles, his mouth hovering over your hand as you looked down at him, blushing furiously.

he smiled, his dimples seeping into his cheeks before letting your hand go and standing.

you hand was still raised as you admired him walk back to the line before your father began to speak

"we all thank you for your service to protect this Kingdom" he started.

•─────•♛•─────•

you stood in the ballroom, crowded by people of the upper class dancing with their partners to the music.

you smiled in content watching as the men all twirled their ladies in sinc.

you looked down and had a ran your hand down the skirt of your overly large ball gown, feeling the silk and lace against your fingers

you looked up, noticing the tall figure of brown locks making his way toward you, his eyes furrowed, but he had a small smile on his face.

he was in a suit now, a white ruffled button on shirt underneath an aristocrat, dark blue and silver vest with a beautiful tapestry design and black suit pants with dress shoes.

his long hair was tied up in a neat bun, seeming to be freshly washed and brushed from when you last saw him a few days prior.

he looked even more handsome as before, cleaner.

as he reached you, he smiled brightly, his dimples seeping into his cheeks again. making you look away before you could blush

he bowed, offering his hand, to which you gave, still not looking at him

he kissed your knuckles again, his soft lips lingering before letting go, his hot breath on your hand making your heart flutter before he let go, standing up straight.

"your highness, you look very...beautiful, tonight" he spoke carefully, wondering if he was allowed to say that

Eddie watched you as you looked away, the heat rising to your cheeks not going unnoticed by him as he admired you, ever since the other day he felt drawn to you.

he knew he couldn't, he mustn't, he was a knight, and you were the princess, heir to the throne, but he couldn't help but feel an overpowering need to protect you, cherish you, love you.

"thank you..." you bit your tongue, trying to suppress the smile making its way onto your lips.

as he stood beside you, he looked out to the crowd

"would you like to dance?" he asked, holding his hand out for you to take

you looked up at him and down to his hand before beaming

"I would love to" you took his hand, letting him lead you to the floor.

he looked into your eyes as he took a gentle hold of your waist, grinning when you lifted your hand to grab his shoulder.

he then raised your hands together and swayed you to the music.

he twirled you and spun you, lifted and guided you as you danced to the songs that echoed through the hall, a big smile on your face as you stared up at him in awe.

the more you danced, the messier his hair got, slowly falling out of the bun he had tied it up in, the loose strands of curly brown hair flowing as he spun you around.

his grip on you was so gentle you could barely tell he was touching you, but the way his rough calloused hands rubbed against yours made your heart pound in your chest, the cold silver rings on his fingers sending shivers down your spine.

everything he did, every move, every glance every word he spoke, made you swoon as he pulled you closer to his frame by your waist.

when the song came to an end, a slow melody began to play, ringing in your ears as he looked at you carefully, slowly bringing you closer to him.

his hands softly snaked around your waist, drawing you in as you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders, leaning your head against his chest.

you tuned out the slow music as you listened to his heartbeat, smiling as it got quicker and louder in his chest.

you let yourself relax in his muscular arms as he moved you both back and forth, too in the moment to speak

you found yourself feeling too comfortable as he held you, your eyes had closed and your breathing had slowed. you were too vulnerable with him and you barely knew the guy.

you pulled away and looked up at him, clearing your throat, coming up with a reason to excuse yourself

"it is getting late, I should head off to get some slumber" you sighed.

you noticed the way his face fell when you excused yourself, but he smiled and let you leave, wishing you have a good night.

•─────•♛•─────•

"Your Highness" a deep voice said from beside you as you walked down the endless corridor.

you looked to your right to see one of the Knights, William by your side.

you mustn't've noticed him creeping up behind you as you wandered the halls.

but you did notice the cocky smirk on his face as he looked at you, the hairs on your arm stand, feeling unsettled under his gaze.

"Hello, Sir Bennet" you gulped, feeling his hand brush yours daringly

you swatted your hand away, subtly moving away from him to create space between the two of you, but space clearly wasn't something he understood, stepping closer, his arm pressing up against yours now, making you clear your throat and step away again, picking up your pace.

"you cannot follow me to bed, Bennet" you sighed, feeling overwhelmingly uncomfortable as he followed after you, not getting the hint

"oh? but I thought i deserve an award for my acts in the war" he said lowly, making your skin crawl, feeling sick from his twisted thoughts

"i beg your pardon" you stopped in your tracks, looking up at him with pure shock and disgust

"are you not going to give me anything worth while?" he asked selfishly

you took a deep breath before glaring at him

"i am not going to give you anything and suggest that i owe you what you think i owe you is absolutely disgusting and inappropriate and i would rather chew off my own foot than touch any part of you that you have to offer" you spat, wrapping your arms around yourself for some sort of protection, because at this time, there were no guards in this hallway.

"oh don't be like that, your Highness" he reached out, trying to touch your arm

"leave me alone or you will regret it" you moved away from him before he could touch you

"your Highness-"

"it sounded to me like she said to leave her alone" another voice called from behind you, to your left, making you turn around anxiously, only to see him

"Munson" William growled, seeming to be a warning

Edward looked over at you after glaring at William and frowned

"are you alright, your highness?" he stepped closer to you, feeling the need to protect you, and god did you want him to.

"I am now" you smiled gently as you stepped closer to him, the daggers William was sending the two of you not going unnoticed

Edward smiled back at you kindly, covering your frame with his own when you got near enough, letting him know you need him

"I would suggest you go now, Bennet, or would you like me to inform the King of your antics" he spoke deeply

Sir Bennet rolled his eyes and stormed off, shaking his head before Edward looked at you again, frowning

"are you alright, Your Highness?" he asked "did he hurt you?"

you shook your head in relief "no, no he did not, he might of though.."

he half smiled, gazing down at you softly

"well, you are lucky i came when i did then" he chuckled

you beamed at his words and nodded, looking down at the blue carpeted floor

"would you like me to walk you to your room just to be safe or...?" he questioned, his voice calm, soft, warm.

"yes please..." you mumbled, still looking down.

"well, lead the way, Princess" he grinned, letting you lead him.

you began to walk, keeping your pace slow, just so you could spend more time with this Knight.

"I must thank you, Edward" you began as he walked beside you, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

"please, your highness, call me Eddie" he chuckled, showing off his dimpled yet again

"Eddie, I really must thank you" you repeated

"whatever for?"

"who knows what he might of done had you not shown up, and I am in no shape to protect myself against a Knight" you replied, picking up the skirt of your gown as you led him up the stairs

"there is no need for you to thank me, I only did what i do best.. protect" he stated with a shrug

"is fighting not what you do best?" you questioned

"well.. if you think about it, your Highness, I fight to protect. and If i am good at one of them, it means I am good at the other, they connect, you see.." he informed with a confident smile

"well..Eddie, I think you make a great protector" you giggled softly, making him bow in amusement

"why thank you, your Highness, anything for you...r kingdom! anything for your kingdom.. gotta make sure they have a future queen to look up to!" he corrected himself before looking down sheepishly.

"oh, of course" you blushed

you looked over at him and smiled when he looked back at you, a pinky red hue making its way to his cheeks as you stare up at him for the millionth time tonight.

"you have got to stop looking at me like that, Your Highness" he broke eye contact as you both walked down another hall

"just call me Y/n.." you murmured, leading him to your bedroom door

he looked deep in thought for a second, tilting his head, scrunching his nose.

"goodnight, sweetheart" he smirked, slowly backing away from you.

internally, Eddie cursed at himself for being so stupid, calling the heir to the throne sweetheart? what got into him? but the look on your flushed face made it worth it.

your eyes widened in surprise, a furious blush painted on your cheeks, your hands intertwined with one another, your mouth slightly agape.

you were absolutely beautiful to him, but he knew it couldn't go any further than that.

•─────•♛•─────•

I like this a lot better than Stableboy!Eddie..

[littlebabyyd0ll]

THE LION AND THE LAMB, PART ONE

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

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

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

main masterlist ! series masterlist ! kinktober 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

Men will do anything for power, glory and riches. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You roll your eyes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You wish you could. 

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

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

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

The King is magnificent. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The king straightens beside you. 

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

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

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

Your heart begins to beat for the King of Hawkins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A spell that will have you running from the daylight. 

[gudfornuthin]

Held by Another (2/?)

Knight!Eddie Munson x Princess!reader

Edward Munson (or Eddie as you call him) has been by your side for most of your life. Now at an age where possible suitors compete for your hand in marriage, how will he fair watching on from the sidelines? After all, a princess and her knight? It could never work.

You can read part one here :)

~ten years ago~

It was early January, and snow had fallen across the Kingdom. The grounds were silent, aside from the soft chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves from the wind. The once untouched white dusting on the grass paths, now were littered with small footprints. The Princess had ran off from her morning etiquette lesson. Her teacher lost sight of the girl within seconds of making it outside. For an eight year old, she was certainly fast.

She ran and ran for as long as her legs could handle, until eventually stopping by a large willow tree. She hunched over, holding her knees and panting heavily. The princess was freezing cold, due to leaving so promptly without a proper coat. She leaned back and closed her eyes.

Lessons were getting harder and harder every passing year. Princess Y/N was at an age where she’d begun to understand the weight on her shoulders, knowing one day she’d be Queen. She wasn’t exactly opposed to the idea, she just wished to have more freedom. Seeing the other children her age go out and play, all the while she remained stuck learning about the correct cutlery for the correct meal, upset her dearly.

The princess didn’t hear soft footsteps coming from behind the tree. “I thought I’d find you here.”

She turned around and sees her friend Eddie, hair a mess and cheeks rosy red. He walked closer and leaned by her side, looking far off. Of course he would be the person to know where she’d disappeared to. This was their spot. Beneath the willow tree, the pair had first met, Eddie having ran away from his uncle, and Princess Y/N from her mother. They bonded immediately, sharing a passion for adventure and travel stories. Due to Eddies’s uncle working on the castle grounds, he would also be around frequently, helping wherever was needed. And also sneaking away to meet up with the princess when able to.

You finally decide to break the silence. “I’m not going back there. You’ll have to drag me.”

Eddie laughed. “You can’t hide out here forever. They’ll end up sending a search party.”

The Princess smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Eddie hated seeing his best friend so down, and not knowing what to do to cheer her up. They hadn’t spend as much time together since her lessons became more prominent and important. He would sometimes walk past the study window and see her sitting next to an older woman, her teacher she presumed, and not once did she appear cheerful.

Princess Y/N spoke up once more. “I just wish we could spend more time together. I feel happy when you’re around. My worries go away. At least for the time you’re with me.”

Eddie looked at the girl. He felt the exact same way. Like without her, a small piece of him was missing. They were both young, so these emotions weren’t always easy to understand or explain, but he knew he couldn’t possibly spend a day not in her presence. He thought hard, and stood up tall, the princess shocked by his sudden change in posture.

“I’m going to become a knight.”

She squinted and scrunched her nose up. “I’m sorry?”

Eddie stood in front of the princess fully, nodding his head. “That’s what I want to do when I’m old enough. I’ll become a knight. A protector of the crown, or whatever they do.”

“Why would you do that?” Princess Y/N stood up tall as well, “you hate following rules.”

“Yes, but becoming a knight means I can be by your side at all times. I can be there, day and night, if you need me to be. If that’s what it takes for you to be happy, I’ll do it.”

The princess smiled wider than Eddie had ever seen in some time. “I would really like that.”

~present day~

The princess stands on her balcony, overlooking the gardens. Most of the party guests had already left, besides a few saying their last goodbyes to the King and Queen. She rests her hands on the ledge and takes several deep breaths. The tight corset of her dress, along with the pressures of meeting a possible suitor, was making it hard to breath.

“I’d suggest taking a few steps back from the balcony edge. You look like you’re going to pass out.”

She swivels and, much to her delight, sees Eddie standing by the doors. She rolls her eyes as he moves closer to stand by her side.

“I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” She side eyes the knight. “Shouldn’t you be escorting some of the stragglers out of the castle?”

“They know the way out.”

The two bask in the silence, enjoying each others company away from the crowds. Away in the distance, the princess just about makes out the willow tree. Their tree. The leaves waving in the wind. She huffs slightly in good nature. Eddie turns to her.

“What is it?”

She shakes her head, playing with the rings displayed on her fingers. “Do you remember what you said to me 10 years ago?”

“I said a lot of things. I think I remember you telling me once that I never seemed to shut up.”

The princess ignores his quick jest. “You told me you wanted to become a knight. You would do it so you could remain by my side. For my happiness.”

Eddie moved a strand of hair from his face. He really needed a trim. “I’m surprised you would remember that.”

The princess moves to look at him completely. “Do you ever regret becoming a knight?”

“There are times. It’s a strenuous job. There’s a lot on the line.” Eddie looks deep into your eyes. “But then I think of you, I see your face, I see your smile. And I know it was all worth it. To be by your side. Whenever I need to be.”

The both breath in sink, not wanting to be the first to break eye contact. Sadly, it’s broken by someone else. Nancy clears her throat, alerting the two to break apart and look over to where she stands.

“Sorry to bother you both,” she subtly raises an eyebrow, “but the King requests your presence.”

The princess moves closer. “What’s going on?”

Nancy looks down, gulping. “He would like you to officially meet your possible suitor. Prince Steven Harrington.”

[aphrogeneias]

...right? — one-shot

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern!au)

summary: you're not sure of where you stand with eddie munson, but you're forced to confront your feelings after almost losing him.

word count: 3k

warnings: fluff and angst with a happy ending. jealous!reader. feelings of self-doubt. eddie munson is a sweetheart.

author's note: this one has been a long time in the making, and it may be a little melodramatic, but i'm doing a lot of self-projecting here, so be nice. thank you to @intrepidacious for reading it for me and giving me your approval <3 i'm sorry to all the girls named emma reading this, but i had to give that character a name.

We're performing tonight, if you want to stop by.

You'd been staring at this message for a couple of minutes now, unsure of what to do. You seemed to be in this dilemma a lot, as of late — to answer or not to answer, to show or not to show.

Too scared to show how you felt, but too scared to lose him at the same time.

Zoned out, you caught Robin’s hand flying in your direction from your peripheral. “Stop looking at your phone!”

She snatched it from your hand, still open in your conversation with Eddie. Robin whistled when she took a look at your screen, “Oh, I see. How are things with Mr. Headbanger?”

“You're talking to Eddie?” Chrissy chimed in from her side of the bed, lifting herself on one elbow to see you better with Robin between you.

The three of you had been like this all night, spread out on Chrissy’s queen bed, a sequence of old romantic comedies playing on her TV. There was an empty pizza box on her fuzzy carpet, and a half finished bottle of wine next to it, the second of the night.

You groan, trying to get your phone back to no avail. “Things have been… well, I think. Too well. I guess I've just been waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

Then, it was their time to groan.

Your friends like calling you jaded, but you consider yourself a realist.

It's been a topic of conversation between you for years. Ever since your last relationship ended, after you'd been left for another woman, when you swore off love for good — at first, they thought you were just grieving, it would take time to heal, of course, but you never really did.

You don't think you've ever been anything other than an open wound, in that sense, even before your ex. The high walls that were meant to protect you eventually became a prison you couldn't get out of. A princess and a dragon, all in one.

That is until Eddie Munson came into your life.

No one's ever made you want to drop those walls as much as he does. You'd met him through Chrissy, who’d been his friend since high school, and at first you thought he wasn't really flirting with you. He seemed to always be flirting with everyone, always getting a little too close. Until he asked you out, and you were still not convinced.

It could be a friend date. He could be after one of other friends. Maybe he was just passing time until he found someone better.

That was a few months ago, and Eddie hasn't gone anywhere.

He had a few shirts on your place, merch from various bands which you were growing fond of listening to them in his car. Shirts you would wear to bed when he wasn't spending the night, curling into bed with his smell on you. He'd made friends with your cat, and fixed your coffee in the morning the way you liked it, and left strands of hair loose in your shower.

A brave knight, that Eddie is.

Despite your closeness, and the honesty you see in his eyes whenever you're near him, neither one of you has put a name on what you have. It keeps you up at night, thoughts about calling him your boyfriend and have him laughing at your face. How could you be so stupid?

The thought of it brings tears to your eyes.

“What if that's it, though?” Chrissy interjects, with a gentle voice. Her small hand reached for yours, and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “What if there's no other intentions, no other shoe to drop? You have no reason not to trust him.”

“You say that because he's your friend.”

“Chris is right, babe.” Robin says, sitting straighter on the bed. “He’s never given you any reason to think like that. You need to let yourself go, just this once.”

You sigh, and mumble something along the lines of “Easier said than done,” as you sit up and pull your knees to rest your chin on them.

“You should go, by the way.”

Robin reaches to you with your phone in hand, handling it back to you. Her blue eyes are kind, understanding. Chrissy smiles from her place between you.

“Our local rockstar is waiting for you.”

You respond Eddie with a short omw <3 before your friends are pushing you out of your stupor, and into the street.

They’ve already finished their set by the time you arrive at The Hideout.

You're dressed entirely inappropriate for a dive bar full of metalheads and middle-aged bikers, but you don't let yourself think too much about it because no one really notices you coming in, except for the bouncer who compliments you on your old college sweatshirt.

The night is well beyond starting. The bar is full, and it takes you a while to find Eddie, but when you do, he finds you immediately.

He's at the foot of the stage, talking to his friends. The rest of the band is around too, and you wave at them as Eddie makes his way towards you. The smile that pulls on your lips is uncontrollable when he, with an excited smile of his own, takes you in his arms, wrapping himself around you. “Hi! You just missed the show!”

“I'm sorry! I was at Chrissy’s.”

You take a second to look at him closely. His wild hair is a little damp, and his Accept shirt has the sleeves cut off, which shows more of his tattoos. There's a studded belt on his hips, and you don't think too much before pulling him closer by it.

Eddie kisses you on the forehead, and his lips linger a little bit before pulling away. “Did you tell her I said hi?”

“Forgot to. But next time I'll make sure to send your regards.”

When he's close like this, you almost forget your doubts. When his arm is around your shoulders and he's pulling you close, the smell of his cologne and the last cigarette he smoked before going on stage cling to you, and you cling to it in turn.

“Good, and make sure to arrive on time next time too because we played your favorite and you weren't here.” He pouts dramatically, putting one hand to his chest.

The gasp you let out matches it. “Metal Health? Eddie, no!”

“Eddie, yes!” He shakes you a little, turning you in the direction of the tables. “We played Quiet Riot, and you weren't here to see it. Have to say I'm a little disappointed, sweetheart.”

Walking along with him, you stop when you reach a vacant booth on the corner. Turning to face him fully, you leave a soft kiss on his stubbled chin. “I guess you'll just have to keep playing it, then.”

“Does that mean you'll come to every show?”

There's no space between the two of you, standing chest to chest with each other. The rest of the bar disappears. “I might, if you'll have me.”

“Baby, I'll…”

The bubble you find yourselves in shatters and breaks when Eddie stutters, and turns, because there is someone poking him on the back, disturbing your moment. It's a woman, asking to speak to him.

You don't really register what she's saying. All you know is that you've seen her around before, and you know she's friends with the guys. Eddie apologizes to you as he's being dragged away for a private conversation. “I'll be right back! Don't go far.”

Nodding, you remain frozen in place.

They don't go far, but you can't really tell what they're talking about, but her hand on his forearm, slowly rising to his bicep, tells you everything you need to know.

You don't realize it but you're shaking a little bit, cold sweat prickling through your suddenly frigid skin. There's a ringing in your ears, and a lump growing in your throat, but you can't stop yourself from looking.

He looks beautiful like this. The light from the now empty stage hits his figure from the back, making him look every bit like the rock god he's always aspired to be. The frizz on his hair creates a halo around his head, and you think you might faint.

To his credit, he doesn't get any closer to the girl. Doesn't flirt back. His smile is polite, and he maintains a sensible distance, but that's not enough to ease your mind.

He's only keeping a distance because you're here. Your mind says, always the traitor. You're holding him back. He could be making out with a different girl every night. Maybe he is. Maybe he is and you're none the wiser. Better walk away now. Go, before your heart breaks.

It's already breaking, and you're the culprit.

You almost don't notice Eddie return to you, as your vision’s gone blurry.

“Sorry, Emma wanted to invite me to an after party. Told her I was busy.” There it was, his easy smile again. From a first look, you wouldn't think Eddie Munson smiles so easily, but it's always there, pulling on his full lips and showing off his dimples.

You would smile back, as usual, but it's like your face can't move.

“Just you?” You ask, “Not the rest of the boys?”

He laughs, but there's not much humor behind it. “Just me.”

“Aren’t you gonna say anything?” He is still grinning, raising one eyebrow at you, as if taunting you to speak up. Something rotten spreads through your insides, stirring them, rising like bile right through your opened mouth.

“Say what? It's not like we're dating, Eddie."

If regret could kill, you would be dead the moment you saw his face fall. Eddie's expressiveness is a double-edged sword — his happiness was contagious, but when he’s upset, there is nothing that could distract you from the way his bambi eyes plead to you.

You double down anyway, already feeling like a fool, but too stubborn to take back what you said.

"...right?"

“Is that what you think?” He asks, a pout on his pretty lips. “Is that what you want?”

“I… I don't know.” Your mouth is moving, but it's like you don't have control over what you're saying anymore. Like you can't even hear yourself, too taken by the dread that has taken over your body. “I think… What do you think?”

You throw the question back at him because you can't be the first one to say it. Because if he backs out, if you say what you really want — and it's him, he's all you've ever wanted, and the realization hits you like a punch to the gut — and he says it's never been quite like that, that he doesn't want you the same way, that he's just been passing the time, you would break.

Eddie looks away from you, then. His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, “You're not sure what you want, is that what you're telling me?”

“No! No, it's not like that.” You almost choke on your own spit, “I'm just…”

Scared. Of opening your heart, of rejection, of him leaving when he learns how much you want him, need him.

“If you're not sure of what you want, I think you should take some time to think about it.”

“But, Eddie, I…”

“Think about it, and call me when you know.”

One of his hands goes to your shoulder, squeezing it, and briefly running thumb over the fabric of your sweatshirt. He's turning around before you can stay anything, the lump in your throat too big to allow you to speak.

The room feels like it's turning upside down as you turn the other way, towards the door. It turns and turns on its axis, and you almost lose your balance as you're making your way out. You wave halfheartedly at the bouncer, who waves back at you in the middle of his conversation with a green haired girl.

Walking home, you have time to think of what you'd just done.

As the tears roll freely through your face, and you wipe them with the end of your sleeves, you think of Eddie’s sullen face, once full of life, now transpiring his disappointment in you. You'd let him down, and it was all your fault.

In an attempt to protect yourself, you pushed him away.

You imagine him back at the bar, with the boys. With Emma, ready to console him after what you just did to him. The thought of it just makes you cry harder, trying to control your breathing as you get closer to your apartment.

You did what you always do. Leave first, turn your back, clam up back into your shell. You just never thought you'd do that to him.

It doesn't take long until you spiral.

You did all you could after you got home. Tried to breathe, but it only made you cry harder. Curled up on the couch with your cat, a brown tabby that curled herself right back into you, and cried until there were no tears left. Ignored your friends’ messages on your phone, pretending everything was all right.

Tried to drink, but felt too sad to even open your fridge. Ran into one of Eddie’s hoodies hanging from the back of a chair in your room, and felt more tears coming, but no strength to cry.

Everything in your room reminded you of him — your unmade bed where he'd be lying on if you didn't screw up, the fantasy book he'd let you borrow on your bedside table, a polaroid of the two of you with your arms around each other serving as a bookmark.

You pick your phone, and it rings and rings. He doesn't answer. In a moment of panic, you leave a message instead, pacing through your room on your bare feet, still wearing the clothes you went out in. The cat on your bed follows your movements with her eyes.

“Hi, Eddie. I… You might not even want to hear from me right now, and I get that. Really, I do, but… You just need to know I know I fucked up. I didn't mean to do you like that, I didn't mean to say those things to you.”

Your voice trembles, just like the hand that's holding your phone to your mouth, but you keep going, “Of course we're dating, we've been dating for a while now. I was too scared to say anything because we never put a label on it and I thought you didn't want anything with me, I guess I just didn't want to be the first one to say it in case you decided this wasn't… that I wasn't… what you wanted.”

There's a few seconds pause as you take a deep breath, and release it in an anguished sigh. “What I'm trying to say is… that I like you. A lot. Have since the beginning. And I understand if you didn't want anything to do with me anymore because of what I just did, but… if you still want to talk, I'm… I'm still here, okay? I'm still here.”

When you're finished, you throw your phone back on your bed, and wait.

You're still pacing around the house, a mug full of tea in hand, when you hear your phone vibrating on your bed. You almost don't pick it up, but you do anyway.

Two notifications from Eddie.

Can I come over?

Are you still up?

Hands shaking, you answer with a simple Yeah. Key’s on the carpet.

The clock on your screen says it's 2:22 AM.

You hear your door opening not too long after that, the spare key turning on the lock, as you're sitting on the couch, writing like a kid that's to be scolded when their parents come home. The mug of tea is half empty at your feet, and now cold, just as your nervous hands as Eddie comes through the door.

Wearing a Metallica sweatshirt, an older one that you've borrowed before, one you know how soft it feels on the skin, he comes in and silently closes the door behind him, leaving the key on a small ceramic plate by it.

You cave in before he can say anything. “I'm sorry.”

Your chin is wobbling again, but you swallow it down, not wanting to make a scene. Eddie comes closer, and sits next to you, careful not to kick the mug that you left carelessly on the floor.

“No, I'm sorry. I should have said something, I should have told you what you meant to me sooner. You know… I've been calling you my girlfriend to everyone but to the person who matters the most.”

“Everyone?” You repeat, “Everyone who?”

“The guys. At work. Wayne…”

“You told your uncle I'm your girlfriend?” The word feels foreign in your tongue, but not unpleasant. Eddie looks sheepish, but the corner of his mouth twitches and lifts just a bit, one of those dimples you love making an appearance in your dimly lit living room.

“Yeah. Like I said, everyone but the one who matters the most.”

There it is. That earnestness, pouring through him, warming you up from the inside out.

“And I guess… Am I the person you mean?”

“Who else would it be?” He's tilting his head now, kind eyes aimed at you. You huff a weak laugh, them, relief hitting you in waves. Not thinking too much, you throw yourself at him, hugging him by the shoulders, and folding your legs under your thighs to be closer to him.

“I'm still sorry, though. Sorry that I made you think I had doubts, or that I…”

Eddie doesn't let you finish, shushing you with a hand on the back of your head, and another wrapping around your waist, keeping you in place. “It's okay, sweetheart. I'm sorry too.”

“Since we're both sorry, does anyone have to be sorry at all?” You mumble into his shoulder, taking in his smell through his clothes. It soothes you more than anything can, along with his voice vibrating through his chest, and the warmth of his body clinging to yours.

“I think we can discuss the details in the morning.”

He seals it with a kiss to your temple. You and your boyfriend sleep on that same couch, and in the morning, there is nothing left to say.

[mrsjellymunson]

The Biology Tutor

📕 Lesson 1: Female Anatomy

Series masterlist

Continue studying: Lesson 2: Male Anatomy | Extra Credits 01: Communication Skills | Extra Credits 02: French | Independent Study 01: Art | Independent Study 02: Creative Writing

Pairing: Virgin!Eddie Munson x fem!tutor!reader

Summary: Eddie’s failing class, so you decide to offer two different styles of biology tuition, textbook-based and *ahem* practical.

W/C: something around 4k (I didn’t do a word count after editing, sorry)

CW: 🔞 18+ MDNI!, NSFW, PWP, smut with a story. Exhibitionism (f), mutual masturbation (m+f), swearing, innuendo, pet names, slight sub/dom dynamic, subtle size kink? Both Reader & Eddie are overage. No y/n. Reader’s appearance is not described, it can be whatever you like.

A/N: A cute little bit of biology lesson-based smut. I’m a sucker for virgin!Eddie and wanted to see if I could write him. Let me know how I did! 😄

My masterlist

You’ve had a crush on the guy in your Biology class since the beginning of the year when you first saw him ranting on a table in the cafeteria. There’s something about him that’s so different from the guys you’d usually go for. You run in completely different social circles, you with the academically-gifted ‘Brainy Bunch’ (an eye-rollingly terrible moniker coined by the we-think-we’re-so-clever jocks), and him with his nerdy friends. Despite this you find him unusual and intriguing, not to mention hot as all hell. You guess the ‘freak metalhead’ look doesn’t work for everyone, but his long hair and rebellious dark ink are certainly doing it for you. You really want to discover what’s underneath those layers of denim, leather and torn shirts, your imagination only able to go so far as you ponder his form late at night in your bed.

However, girls talk, and you’ve never heard of him being with any of them, or even speaking to all that many. For all his bravado and apparent confidence, you’re reasonably certain that Eddie Munson is still a virgin.

And for some reason this draws you to him even more.

You’re pretty sure you’ve caught Eddie checking out your ass as it’s perched on a high stool while he sits behind you in the biology lab. On days when you’re in this class you’ve started to wear your tightest jeans, and your shortest skirts (though if anyone asked you’d insist it was a coincidence).

Somehow you’ve become inexplicably clumsy (but only in this class, how odd…), often dropping your pencil and having to bend over to pick it up, occasionally chewing on the end in contemplation when you know he’s watching, much to the chagrin of your teacher.

“Never put anything in your mouth in the lab, you should all know better by now.”

You smirk at the innuendo in Eddie’s direction and he quickly looks away, ears exposed by his lab-regulation tied-back hair a little pink at the tips.

You also often ‘forget’ or ‘lose’ equipment, asking him if he’s got a spare, or could he please get you a replacement from the cupboards, which he’s always more than willing to do (giving you ample opportunities to observe his denim-clad ass as he does so).

“Damn, I seem to be one test tube short. Eddie, would you be a doll and get me one from the cupboard?”, crossing your legs and subtly ensuring the hem of your skirt rides up just a little more.

Eddie looks you up and down (result!) and agrees.

“Thanks, you really are my knight in shiny, um, leather?” You wince slightly at your clumsy comment, but he takes it in his stride, continuing the bit by replying,

“Here you go, your majesty”, bowing theatrically and presenting the glassware to you atop his forearm, making you grin.

In another lesson: “Shit, I tore my filter. Eddie, do you have a spare?”

“Anything for the Princess of Biology.”

He gives you a little smirk, and you feel your cheeks heat slightly. You can’t help gazing at his strong, ring-clad hands as he hands you the little circle of absorbent paper.

It becomes somewhat of a game, you playing the Princess and he the rescuing knight.

But for all your teasing you genuinely do actually want to help him pass the class. You don’t want him to have to repeat the year - you’ve seen him play at The Hideout and you know he’s meant for greater things.

It’s just biology, it can’t be any harder than what little you’ve picked up about that complicated game he plays, which seems to be all numbers, convoluted plots and organising “campaigns”, whatever they are. You’re sure he could pass if he’d just apply himself.

Or, perhaps, he just needs the right tutor…?

You’d broached it with your science teacher, offering to help ‘any students who were behind’ for extra credits. After he’d agreed you’d approached Eddie that same day, offering to come to his home and help him with his overdue assignments.

He was confused and skeptical at first, thinking this could all be some elaborate prank, but you were gentle and persuasive, and he’d agreed to pick you up later that day.

You’re sitting on his worn-out sofa, draped with a well loved but soft blanket. You’ve spent the last hour trying to get Eddie to understand cellular respiration (“Isn’t it just, like, breathing in and out?” “No, Eddie, this is cell biochemistry, it’s a bit more complicated than that”), but nothing you attempt seems to be working.

He’s despondent, won’t look at you, and seems resigned to his fate of never passing this particular subject, interjecting with statements like,

“Look, it’s just not going in.”

“I don’t know how to make it stick.”

“I don’t think I’ll get it, Princess, even if you beat it into me.”

The innuendo (accidental or not) is driving you crazy. As is Eddie’s lack of self belief.

You’d even tried explaining it by using D&D analogies.

“Think of the chemical reactions like individual characters interacting in groups. Like, if this particular troupe disband and some make allegiances with another, the group has different skills and attributes now, right?” But after a promising start even that doesn’t seem to hold his attention.

In fact, the more animated you get and closer you sit, the more distracted and fidgety he becomes, unwilling to engage fully with you and shifting uncomfortably.

You move further towards him on the sofa, determined to give it one last shot, and force him to make eye contact with you.

Their colour and depth surprises you as you look into them properly for the first time, noticing their rich, swirling chocolate and whiskey hues.

Your eyes briefly drop to his lips, the soft pink, plump, velvety pillows looking mightily enticing. God, they’re perfect.

Goosebumps rise on your arm as you feel his surprisingly soft curls tickle your shoulder.

Okay, you knew he was cute, but up close? Fucking hell…

You lean across your notes and over to the text book that’s on his other side. Your thighs are touching, and as you twist the side of your breast makes contact with his arm. If he looked slightly down and towards you he’d be able to see right down the neck of your tank top. You kind of hope he does.

Huffing, you prod at the book with your hand, hoping that the diagram on the page might make everything clearer. The movement makes your boobs jiggle a little.

You hadn’t noticed he’d stopped breathing and he suddenly lets out a huff of breath, covering it with a badly faked cough. His cheeks have flushed a light shade of pink.

So, you definitely weren’t imagining all that stuff in class.

Fuck it. You consider this might be the only opportunity you might get to do this, so decide to grab it. After all, academic tutelage was only part of your motivation to get him alone, and something you’ve been thinking about for a long time, one of the fantasies that keeps you up at night, pops into your head. One that would definitely get his attention. And if you can’t help his confidence academically, perhaps you can help with it somewhere else. Call it interpersonal tutelage…?

With as much nonchalance as you can muster, you say, “Um, maybe we should take a break. Y’know, relax a little?”

You scootch away to the end of the sofa, putting your back against the armrest and bringing your feet up onto the cushion in front of you. You grab a couple of throw cushions and slot them behind you, getting comfortable.

Eddie seems to relax a little too once you’ve moved away, but still looks uneasy.

God, are you really going to do this? What if he screams and runs away, or worse, tells his friends, or your classmates..? No, you’ve been thinking about this for far too long. Oh, fuck it x 2…

Feigning a stretch, you arch your back and place your hands at the back of your waist, pushing your chest, and breasts, upwards. Then you move them to the sides of your ribs, glancing over the sides of your boobs, seemingly-innocently pushing them together. You move a hand underneath one of your breasts, cupping it gently in the crook of your thumb and forefinger.

Eddie is still sitting tensely on the front edge of the sofa cushions, stealing sideways glances at you through the curtain of his hair.

“C’mon, Eddie, get comfy with me. It’ll help, I promise.”

Self-consciously, Eddie shifts himself and sits facing you, cross-legged, at the other end of the sofa. You give him a soft smile, which he returns with a slightly bashful one of his own, afterwards rolling his lips inwards between his teeth.

Okay, it’s now or never. Are you gonna be able to concentrate on this, Eddie?

You hum quietly, and almost closing your eyes you run a palm down your chest and over your belly. You drop one knee slightly out to the side, and run your hand down the inside of your thigh and back up it, eventually pushing your fingers between your thighs and cupping your mound with your palm.

You see Eddie’s eyes widen and hear a stifled choke.

Your hand moves to fully cup your breast, and you lightly trace your thumb over your hardening nipple whilst the hand between your legs begins to apply gentle pressure, making you inhale deeply.

Eddie watches you, agape, bringing his hands together and clasping one hand over the other in front of him, you surmise to disguise his burgeoning bulge.

You open your eyes a little, keeping them soft and half lidded, and gently smile in Eddie’s direction, ensuring he’s still watching you.

Using both hands to pop the button and lower the zipper on your jeans, you tease yourself by running the pretty elastic trim of your your panties between your fingertips, pulling it slightly away from you and letting it snap back onto your abdomen.

“Uh…”, he swallows hard, and you internally groan at the sight of his Adam’s apple bobbing in that delicious neck, “What’re you doing..?”

“What does it look like I’m doing, Eddie? I’m… relaxing…”

Sighing out the last word, you choose this moment to slip your hand down the front of your underwear, sliding over your mound and dipping just the tip of one finger between your folds, feeling the wetness that’s already pooled there. Your forehead furrows a little and you let out a quiet, contented hum.

Eddie’s eyes widen further and his eyebrows disappear completely under his bangs, and he sounds a little like he’s suffocating.

He tries to move further away from you along the sofa, unsuccessfully however as he’s wedged against the other armrest.

“Uh, I can, y’know, leave, or you could use my room, or, I can take you home, or, or-”

He’s babbling, and looking everywhere but at you. That’s not what you want at all, and you’re also concerned that he looks so uncomfortable.

“I can stop, if you want…”

He rushes out a reply, almost shouting the first syllable.

“N-NO! Um, no, it’s okay, really.”

“Okay, Eddie, stay right there. Keep your eyes on me, I wanna give you a show.”

He looks even more shocked, jaw dropping open, and you think he might bolt. But after a moment it’s clear that despite being full of anxiety, fear and self-consciousness, his curiosity, hormones and horniness are winning out, and he fixes his gaze on you.

He manages to squeak out, “Ok-aay…”

You lift your hips, using both hands to push your jeans and underwear down your legs until they reach your ankles. You slowly splay your knees, finally exposing yourself fully to Eddie’s gaze. One hand comes back to your breast, and you pinch your fabric-covered nipple between your thumb and forefinger.

He takes in the sight before him, the soft fur around your core, your wet folds glistening in the dim light of his living room, your sultry gaze, the peaks of your hardened nipples now visible through the thin fabric of your top.

He lets out a stuttering breath as his hips involuntarily shift underneath him, trying to find some friction.

“Jeezus fuck, Princess, are you tryin’a kill me?”

You try to think of something that might help relax him.

“If it helps you can imagine that we’re still studying. How about a quick lesson in female anatomy..?”

You move your hand down and with featherlight touches trace your fingertips around your pussy.

“Now, this whole area is my vulva.”

Eddie gulps.

Making a vertical line you trace your fingers over your wet lips.

“These are my labia.”

Eddie’s lips press together and he lets out a stammering hum, closing his eyes momentarily before snapping them back open so he doesn’t miss a thing.

“Are you paying attention, Eddie? This part is really important. This-,” you inhale sharply as you trail your wet fingers upwards and make contact, “This is where you’ll find my clit- fuck-”

It feels so delicious you almost don’t manage to finish your sentence, and you let out a long, low hum. Part of you doesn’t want to stop, but you’ve got more planned. Moving your fingers down again, you say,

“And this, here? This is my vagina…”

With a smile, you watch him stare as you dip a fingertip into your sopping hole, letting out a low moan as you gradually slip it inside of you.

“You know what the g-spot is, Eddie? I can show you where to find it, if you want me to…?”

You slide your finger in further, curling it towards your front wall, almost managing to tickle that certain spot within and letting out a loud groan.

At the other end of the sofa Eddie gasps an inhale, whimpering slightly, and you see him press the heel of his hand into his crotch. The combination of his sounds and actions is making you impossibly wetter - the boys you’ve been with before didn’t do much of either, and you didn’t know how much it turned you on.

You watch his face as he stares intently at your weeping centre as you slowly, so slowly move your finger in and out a few times.

“D’you think you’ll remember that, Eddie?”

“I promise I’ll fuckin’ try, Jesus Christ…”

He swallows again, exhaling heavily.

Deciding it’s time for the main event, you bring the hand that was squeezing your breast down your body, moving your fingertips to your clit and applying gentle pressure.

“I want you to see how wet you make me, Eddie. I want you to know how much I enjoy you watching my ass in biology class, how often I’ve thought about it when I’m alone. How much I like checking yours out in those oh-so tight jean- oh!”

A particularly exquisite circle followed by a firm press on your clit makes you moan out loud. The combination of both your hands has you close, closer than you imagined you’d be at this stage. It takes much longer when you’re by yourself, and you’re surprised and excited by just how much you’re enjoying having Eddie watch you.

Eddie’s fully gripping himself through his jeans now and is breathing heavily through his nose. He looks big, and you salivate at the thought.

You really want to see what he’s been hiding inside that tight denim.

“Show me, Eddie, I wanna see you.”

Hesitantly, never having experienced anything even close to this before, Eddie mumbles,

“You, uh…?”

“I wanna see you. Take out your cock. Let me see all of you, please.”

He’s rubbing himself, and you can see how strained his jeans are, a wet stain now visible in the dark fabric.

Slowly, eyes never leaving your face and looking for any tiny indication that you’re uncomfortable or have changed your mind, he slowly undoes his button and pulls down his zipper.

His languid pace is killing you, but in a good way; you realise he most likely has no idea what this is doing to you.

He rearranges the front of his jeans, opening the fly wide and leaving nothing but a thin layer of checkered cotton covering his member. The tent it’s creating is impressive.

He watches you stare and run your wet tongue over your bottom lip.

Letting out a nervous breath between pursed lips, he pushes one hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, using his thumb and two fingers to hold his cock at the base. Using his other hand he slowly, agonisingly slowly, pulls the fabric out and downwards, gradually exposing his full member to the lights of the room and to you.

You pause your own movements and spend a moment taking it in. It’s long, with an impressive girth - you briefly wonder whether he knows what he’s packing - and it’s the prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen. Lengthy, veined, slightly curved, and thick, so thick.

Eddie watches your expression for a moment. Satisfied that you’re not freaked or about to run away screaming, he brings the rest of his fingers to join the others, wrapping himself fully in his fist and squeezing gently, causing a little bead of precum to collect on the tip.

You take in the sight before you for a few moments, then utter, completely honestly, “Eddie, in case no one’s ever told you this, you have a really beautiful dick.”

His face and neck turn the second-prettiest shade of pink you’ve ever seen.

“No one’s ever told me that before, Princess.” Adding, almost in a whisper, “In fact, no one’s ever seen it.”

He chuckles lightly through that last sentence, embarrassed at what he’s just admitted. The ego boost of your comments has clearly given him some confidence though, as he adds with a slight smirk, a little breathy as he runs the pad of his thumb unhurriedly over his tip, “You, uh, really think so?”

Oh, so he likes me watching him too?

You can’t take your eyes off of it.

“I really do, Eddie. It’s so pretty.”

As if to confirm your statement you resume your hand movements, adding another finger and resuming circling your clit with the other. You notice that Eddie’s started moving too, his hand moving over himself in a deft gripping and twisting motion, his hips bucking up every now and again.

For a few moments neither of you say anything, the only sounds in the room your combined panting breaths and the lewd movements of wet skin.

Your clit is swollen and supremely sensitive, and, pushing in a little further, your fingers just tickle that exquisite spot within you.

You moan as you imagine it’s Eddie’s pretty cock inside you. That he’s leaning over you, thrusting into you, hitting that spot effortlessly. Maybe even talking to you, telling you how good your pussy feels, how well you’re taking him…

Suddenly your eyes roll back in your head and your mouth hangs open, a gutteral moan emerging from your chest as you get closer and closer.

Bringing your attention back to him you mumble, hurriedly,

“Jeezus Eddie, I’m gonna cum, you wanna see me cum?”

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire fucking life.”

Eddie’s words come out in a spluttering rush and on his last word your breathing halts, your muscles lock and you cum, hard, clenching around your fingers and letting out an involuntary strangled scream.

Somewhere in the back of your fuzzy mind you think you hear Eddie let out a loud, “Holy shhhiiiit!”

You come down a little, opening your eyes and locking them with Eddie’s. You ride out your aftershocks, humming as you feel your fingers inside of you and your juices running down them. You eventually remove your fingers from your cunt, leaving its puffy wetness fully on display, and trace them around your lips and clit.

“F-fuck, Princess, that’s the hottest goddamn thing I’ve ever fuckin’ seen…”

Eddie’s red-faced and panting, his cock still very much standing to attention in his now vice-like grip, the tip an angry red and leaking copious amounts of precum. His eyes are blown dark, the chocolate rims almost completely obscured. His face and neck are flushed and he’s covered in a sheen of sweat, and he’s clenching his jaw, looking like he’s trying desperately not to bust.

“Are you ok over there, Eddie?”

“Shit, yeah, yes, I mean, fuck.”

Breathily, you ask him,

“Do you wanna cum?”

“Fuck yes, I just, I didn’t know whether you wanted me to.”

“Oh I do Eddie, I really do. It’s your turn now. You gonna cum for me? Please, let me see you lose it, show me everything you’ve got.”

He breathes out a loud sigh in what seems like relief. You like how good he’s being for you, learning yet more about yourself that you didn’t know before.

His fist speeds up as his other hand comes to hold his balls, deftly stroking and rolling the flesh. His brow furrows deeply and his lips clamp shut around a low moan. He’s staring intently at you, eyes flicking between your face and your still-dripping cunt.

Suddenly his expression turns to one resembling surprise, as his eyebrows lift and his mouth opens, a string of expletives leaving those perfect, plump lips,

“Fuck, fuck, Jeezus, motherf-, oh my-, fuckfuckfuuuck!”

His jaw drops as his abdomen contracts, and his eyes fix on your cunt as he jets hot ropes of white cum into the air and over his fist and t-shirt. There’s so much, and it seems never ending.

The sight is even better than you’d imagined it might be and your hips buck up into your hand, making you press your fingers into your clit again triggering another aftershock, and you find yourself moaning along with him.

For a few moments there’s more silence, aside from your panting and heavy breathing.

Eventually Eddie chuckles a little, and you huff a breath out through your nose with a smile on your face.

You’re both a sweaty, sticky mess, but neither of you care.

“Fuck, Eddie, that was…” You’re lost for words.

“Amazing? Incredible?” Seeing the grin plastered across Eddie’s face is easily as gratifying as all the other stuff you’ve done tonight.

You both giggle as Eddie says, “Fuck me, Princess, you’re definitely the best tutor I’ve ever had.”

Neither of you really want to move, but some cleanup is definitely necessary. Eddie takes the blanket from the sofa and throws it in the washer, cleaning up quickly in the bathroom, letting you know when it’s free and returning in a change of clothes, throwing the others in with the blanket.

As you both process what’s just transpired you share timid glances and half smiles.

You both sit on the sofa again as you start to pack up your notes and books. In another unforeseen realisation, you’re surprised at how much you’ve enjoyed Eddie’s company, and the warm feeling you get inside every time he looks at you is entirely unexpected.

You realise you’re gonna have to be the one to say something, and give Eddie a smirk.

“So, how about next time we do some practical revision on, maybe, male anatomy?”

He looks a little surprised, but certainly not unhappy at the suggestion that there might actually be a ‘next time’.

“You really wanna, uh, tutor me again?”

Nodding in the affirmative, you reply, “Oh yeah, I think we’ve both learned a lot this afternoon.”

Holding his gaze, you suggest,

“Same time next week..?”

Lesson 2: Male anatomy | Extra Credits 01: Communication Skills | Extra Credits 02: French | Independent Study 01: Art | Independent Study 02: Creative Writing

Series masterlist

Thanks so much for reading! 🙏🥰

A/N 2: This has become a miniseries, let me know if you’d like to be on the taglist, and/or my general one 😉

Likes are great, but please also consider supporting writers with comments and reblogs - they help fics get seen, and it genuinely means the world! 🌍 ❤️

My masterlist

[lokis-army-77]

At Home Book Club

Eddie Munson x fem reader

Word Count: 1.7k

While reading on the couch with your boyfriend you start to feel flushed, your book not helping. All you want to do is have him in your mouth.

Warning: 18 +. oral (m receving), cock warming, cum swallowing, kinda soft dom!eddie, i think that's it.

Thank you to @munson-blurbs for the book line ideas 💗

Masterlist

The plan was simple. Stay in and hang out. With the weather dropping thirty degrees overnight, it was the obvious thing to do. 

You sat next to your boyfriend, each of you cuddled up on the couch with a blanket thrown over you and a book in your hands. Eddie was reading one of Terry Goodkind's Sword of Truth novels and you had your own fantasy romance that you had been deeply immersed in for most of the chilly afternoon. 

The gas heater made a low hum as it warmed the small living room of your shared apartment, but that wasn't the heat that was making you uncomfortable.

The knight’s hand smoothed over the smooth taffeta of her dress only to begin bunching it up to reveal the white, cotton, split drawers the princess wore. He had exposed the plush flesh of her thighs, places no other soul had ever seen, save for the maids who helped her dress and bathe each morning.

Your book had turned from sweet romance to raunchy in a matter of pages and the heat pooling between your legs was becoming harder and harder to ignore. Especially when Eddie was so close to you that you could smell his cologne mixed with cigarette smoke. It didn't help that you were passing a joint back and forth.

She shuddered as he kissed up her leg from ankle to quivering, needy sex. She had never felt such anticipation, such a carnal yearning.

Eddie paid you no mind as he flipped through pages of fighting and magic like they would burn his fingertips if he held onto them longer than needed. 

Now, you were distracted. The book lay in your lap, open to the same two pages from two minutes ago. You had read and read and read the same sentence over a dozen times and yet you had no clue what it was saying. All you could think about was how your thighs couldn't stop clenching and your mouth was salivating way more than normal. And as you watched Eddie out of the corner of your eye, you knew it was because you craved to have him there. To have his cock nestled between your lips and your nose pressed into that wild thatch of hair above it. 

So, with a mischievous smirk on your face, you shut your book, tabbing your place with a random receipt lying on the coffee table, and threw the blanket off your legs. 

Eddie never once looked away from his book as you slid from your seat onto the floor. 

With a deft hand, you pulled the blanket away from Eddie's lap and crawled your way between his legs. 

He looked at you then. Eyes full of questioning. 

You say nothing as greedy fingers make for the band of his sweats. He doesn't stop you, only takes another drag from the blunt and looks back at his book. 

Licking your lips, you pull his pants down along with his boxers. Eddie helps you by pushing his hips up slightly. He's soft when you pull him from the confines of his clothes but you can feel him beginning to harden in your hand. 

You eagerly scoot closer, knees pressing into the bottom of the couch. With an open mouth, you take him into you. He's warm and you hum. He always tastes so good. 

Eddie gives you a sigh and scooches his way down the cushion widening his legs.

Since he's not fully hard yet, you can fill your mouth with him more comfortably than you could if he were fully erect. Still, he's big and stretches your mouth wide. As you suck on him, pulling him out of you until the very tip of him is left then smothering him back in, he becomes stiffer. 

Your tongue laves over his cock, pressing into the veins running the length of him. Spit is collecting in your mouth as you begin to bob your head up and down. 

Eddie stubs out the blunt in the ashtray on the side table and once it leaves his fingers, they are raking through your hair. He doesn't pull, he just rests his hand in your hair, wanting to touch you. 

Flicking your eyes up you are met with the cover of his book and you huff through your nose, disappointed at not being able to see him. He stays focused on his reading, only giving you a small reaction when you either deep-throat him or suckle on his head. 

Then, when you're tired of him not giving you anything, you pull off and reach out to push his book down. 

"Yes, sweet girl?" He asks tilting his head to the side, tutting at your pouting face.

"Does it not feel good?" You ask.

Eddie chuckles. "Corse it feels good baby."

Your brows furrow. "Then why aren't you making any noise?”

His eyebrows downturn softy into that familiar, mocking look he gives you when get all small and needy for him. “Want me to moan for you, is that it? Need me to let you know how good your perfect mouth feels?” 

You nod. 

“Ah- ah, baby. Use your words.”

“Yes.” You say, breathlessly, keeping your eyes on his. 

“Then I’ll make some noise just for you, baby.”  

Smiling, you take up his cock again and lick a sloppy, wet stripe up the underside of him. Starting from his sack to the very tip before engulfing him in your mouth hungrily. 

Eddie winks at you before going back to his book, only now he isn’t as quiet. His moans had you soaking through your panties and shorts. His pants and heaving breaths made your chest ache and your nipples pebble in want. 

Closing your eyes, you bobbed your head, up and down, up and down. Spit gathered in the corners of your mouth and dripped down his length. Your fingers dug into his thighs, nails creating half-moon crescents in his milk-white skin.

On one particular deep swallow, Eddie let loose a strangled cry but he kept reading. You had taken him so far into your mouth that he was touching the very back of your throat. Your nose was smushed against his hair-covered skin and a hand reached to play with his balls. 

You wanted to distract him. Distract him like you had been. Make him feel so good he could only think about one thing: you. 

Shaking your head, you took him as far as you could, gagging on him. When his hips jutted up into you, you knew you had him.

“That’a girl.” He moans. 

You hum around him before you pop off and kiss your way to his balls. They’re heavy on your tongue, warm. You suck one into your mouth, playing with it. Then you let go of it with a pop only to go to the other. You take your time, massaging each with fingers and tongue, pulling whimpers and strangled breaths from the man above you. 

Eddie lets out a long whine and his kegs shift, feet planting firm on the carpet for stability. His fingers slid back into your hair, pushing you into him.

 You pull off him again move back up to his shaft and lick it slowly, savoring the taste of his skin. Looking up at him under heavy lids and thick lashes you say, "Want you to cum down my throat, Eddie. Wanna taste you." He lets out a deep groan as your hand works him, making wet noises as you pump him fast. He watches with wide eyes, pupils dilated, as you bring your swollen lips back to his tip before taking him into your mouth again. 

“Fuck baby, just like that.” He grunts, head thrown back and book left forgotten on the couch beside him. Both his hands are now tangled in your hair as he guides you into a steady pace. His breathing is ragged and his legs are tense on either side of you. 

From the way his moans sound so desperate, you think he might be on the edge. You take him deeper, swirling your tongue around him until you can feel his legs trembling with pleasure. Your eyes are closed in concentration and you hear him take in a sharp breath, there’s a dull pain on your scalp as he tugs on your hair. 

Eddie’s hips begin to buck erratically, taking what he needs from your warm, wet mouth. You feel his balls growing taut in your hold. Your head bobs faster, taking him in shallow until he uses his hold on you to push you down onto him. Your throat constricts around his girth and you choke in surprise. 

You breathe through your nose, his musk filling the air and sending a tingle down your spine. With a loud yelp, he loses his control, cumming down your throat in thick spurts. You savor the taste of him as he pulls away from you, cum spreading over your tastebuds. 

He releases your hair and collapses onto the couch, his chest heaving as he comes down from his high. He eyes you, and the ghost of a content smirk plays on his lips. Eddie reached his hand to cup your cheek gently, his thumb wipes at the spend collecting in the corners of your vermouth and pushes it back in. 

You suck his thumb clean and sigh, finally able to get a full breath. 

“Did so good, baby, thank you,” Eddie praises, pulling his thumb from your mouth. 

Body racked with exhaustion, Eddie moves slowly to kiss you. Plush lips meet your own in something so soft and intimate it backes your eyes water. “Get up here and let me take care of you.” 

You shake your head, wanting to stay put between his legs. He looks at you confused, wondering why you wouldn’t want him to return the favor. 

“Wanna keep you in my mouth for a bit,” you explain shyly. Your oral fixation needed it. You craved to just sit there with the weight of him on your tongue. 

“Yeah? Then who am I to say no to you sweet girl?” Eddie adjusts how he’s setting, propping his back with a pillow for more support as he lays back and watches as you take his now-spent cock back into your mouth. 

You spend almost the next hour like that. Between his legs, head resting tiredly on his thigh with his cock settled on your tongue as he goes back to reading. Never had you been more content to be exactly where you were, content to be in his presence. Content to be his.

[biancadjarin]

eddie munson masterlist:

series:

kitten and eddie bear (mean!perv!eddie x innocent!fem!reader)

ch.1 ch.2 ch.3 ch.4(coming soon)

you're all mine (blurb)

miss americana and the heartbreak prince (eddie x popular!fem!reader)

ch.1 ch.2 ch.3

head over (chanel) heels (eddie x spoiled!fem!reader x steve harrington)

ch.1 ch.2 ch.3 ch.4(coming soon)

send me an angel (mean!eddie x bratty!henderson older sister!reader)

ch.1 ch.2 ch.3(coming soon)

oneshots:

waiting for a girl like you (stepbro!eddie x innocent!fem!reader)

a roll in the hay (perv!eddie x innocent!countrygirl!reader)

looked up at me with honor and truth (knight!eddie x princess!reader)

modern!eddie x waitress!reader (featuring modern!steve harrington)

halloween with eddie (eddie x fem!reader)

laying in bed with eddie thoughts

soft eddie thoughts

multipart (but can be read separately):

bully!eddie

cheater!eddie

stepbrother!eddie

perv!eddie

modern!fboy!eddie

other:

spicy X links🌽🔞

[lavendermunson]

knight!eddie munson x princess!reader

“Sorry, sorry i-” he said, stunned to speak at the sight of the beautiful princess. He also dreamed of seeing her body, it was better than his imagination would have pictured. The parts of her naked skin were glowing, he closed his fist trying to keep himself in edge, the desire of touching her, feeling her soft skin with his fingertips and placing kisses all over her made Eddie turn around quickly, closing his eyes in an attempt to memorize what he just saw.

“Wait! Don’t go!” she said, getting in her dress as quickly as possible “Can you tie up my dress? It’s pretty difficult for me since i can’t reach”

Eddie opened his eyes wider, trying to ease his breathing and slowly coming up to her ‘Your wish is my command’ he said to himself.

read the full work here

[homiesexual-or-homosexual]

King! Eddie Munson but w/ dragons

Pairing: King!Eddie Munson x Princess!reader

Warnings: Eddie is 21 and the reader is somewhere between 18-19, hopefully it's proofread enough, my first 5k I think, very very slowburn, like one creepy old man, a spoiled prince, you get slapped (not by Eddie), your dad and brothers are kinda eh, if I missed any then let me know

Word Count: 5k

Summary: You're of age now and your kingdoms throws a Choosing of the Suitors for you. On day one, a certain king catches your eye.

———

You sat on the far right side of the five thrones. Your mother and father in the middle, both of your older brothers on either side of them, and you on the far right side (if you were to face the thrones). A large dog-sized white dragon with blue undertones lounged across the top of your throne, eyeing the large crowd below with light yellow eyes. Its tail swayed, catching on the frills of your long sleeves.

You were dressed in one of your best dresses, hair done, and subtle makeup on your face. To mimic your big dragon, your dress was white with pastel lilac highlights, an add-on in honor of your favorite color.

You tried your best to sit up right, you really did, but today’s occasion just couldn’t grasp your full attention. You were Of Age now. Suitors of nearby kingdoms and far-off allies were brought to your father’s kingdom and displayed to you by their parents or executives, which were often older siblings, personal knights, or other older family members that were highly respected. But the suitors were either men that were too old for you, way too young for you, or something about them would throw you off if they were in your age group. You scanned over those in your age group, taking in characteristics but mostly how they watched you. Some looked as bored as you felt, but most looked at you with ill intent, never quite meeting your eyes. Your little dragon huffed and puffed at the men, which was your key indicator of which of them not to expect much out of.

You watch the announcer at the bottom of the steps announce the next suitor. You watch as a king and queen guide a boy about your age up the steps and stop on the third step down from the thrones.

“Good evening King Aven and Queen Victoria,” the king of the Morning Hills greeted. “I present my only son, William Hill. He has come of age, just like your princess. As your closest ally, I believe this will bring us even closer.”

Your presented suitor was a tall blond, his hair brushed back and his ice blue eyes scanned over you. He was rather fit, but still, just like others, nothing about him caught your eye.

“Oh yes, King Charles,” Your father spoke. “We are glad you’ve decided to present your recent Of Age son, and we will gladly consider him amongst the others.”

You knew what that meant. It meant that William Hill of Morning Hills was going to be the top most considered suitor of this week, as the Presentation of the Suitors usually lasted all week.

You and your little dragon huffed as you leaned an elbow on the arm of your little throne and smushed your cheek into your fist. You crossed your ankles and stared into the crowd, watching as castle staff brought in tables that surrounded the perimeters of the throne room so that when dinner was ready, everyone sat in the same room.

Four more suitors went by, none catching your eye. Until the fifth.

An older man, maybe in his late forties or early fifties and dressed in black and garnet formal wear led a boy, about your age, up the stairs.

The boy was dressed in king wear, black and garnet colored like the older man. A simple jeweled crown atop his head. A chain necklace adorned his neck, as did thick rings on both of his hands. He had long, dark, curly hair and dark chocolate eyes that seemed to pull you in like tar. He met your eyes, the first man to do so. He gave you and small wave, and you one back.

“Executive Wayne Munson,” The older man spoke. “Of the Mordor Kingdom. I present my nephew, King Edward Munson, son of King Munson. He became king at 17 years of age and is currently 20 years of age. I know things between our kingdoms have been tense in the past, but we hope to renew the trust between our two kingdoms.”

You look at your parents and brothers. They look tense.

Surely this kind looking boy can’t be the son of King Munson. The king that almost caused multiple wars and has killed many dragons in his reign of terror.

“Why aren’t you King, Wayne Munson?” Your father asked. “When you had the opportunity? Why allow a 17 year old kid to become king?”

“He was King Munson’s hier. Rightful to the throne,” Wayne Munson answered. “I would not be fit to be King. And I believed King Edward Munson would’ve done great things for our kingdom, as he has done and is doing currently.”

“Do you have your own dragon, King Edward Munson?” You father turned his attention to the boy, who’s been quietly observing you.

The boy, King Edward Munson, turned his attention to your parents, “King Munson, please.”

Your father stared him down, and King Munson only stared back with a small, sincere small on his face. It took a few seconds before your father nodded and muttered a “King Munson.”

“And I do,” King Munson answered.

“What kind?” You father pressed.

“A big red one,” The king answered. “I’ve raised him from an egg and he’s grown mighty big since then. As you might know, the Mordor Kingdom is known for our rather large dragons.”

Your father hummed, “And your kingdom?”

“Yes,” King Munson nodded. “We’ve replenished our dragon population and as well as have grown the wealth of my people. People live well and have what they need and want. My common folk are wealthy enough for a family of four and a dragon or two. We’ve opened our trades if you would like to discuss that further in the future.”

“Let’s just focus on the princess here,” Your father redirected the boy.

King Munson’s eyes drifted to you and he smiled, “Yes, let’s. I hope she will consider me. I welcome her with open arms and open doors.”

Your father nodded and waved them away. The announcer at the bottom of the steps was already guiding up another suitor and his parents. But you can’t take your eyes from King Munson. You follow his frame as he and his uncle settle at one of the large tables off on the left side of the room, easily in eyesight of you.

Your brother kicks your leg. You glare at him, before looking back at the present suitor. You huff and slouch back down, still stealing looks at your highly considered suitor.

Fifteen more suitors go by. Announcing their families, kingdoms, and whatnot. But none more catch you eyes. And soon, it’s dinner time. Castle staff bring in another table and sit it at the bottom of the stairs to the thrones and set the table.

Kitchen staff come out and line the tables with fresh meat, fruits, bread, and wines.

Your family makes your way down to your table, with your baby dragon at your side. You fill your plate with chicken slices, fruit pieces, and bread. Your wine is filled. You wait until your family’s four executives fill in the empty seats at your table to eat. Your father and mother sit on opposites heads, one brother for each parent and you sit by your father. You dig in once everyone is sat, tuning out the conversation at the table.

You notice your baby dragon is antsy, looking at the tables. You nudge him and give him the go-ahead. He scrambles and off and under the tables and you watched the faces of executives and suitors as your dragon passed over their feet. It’s your personal test of the suitors and a test of the dragons. Whomever treats your dragon best will allow you to be able to tell which suitors to consider and which to toss to the dragon’s pit.

You’re brought out of your survey by a hand on your thigh. You look who it is and it’s your father’s oldest and most trusted executive. You scrunch your nose and pull your leg away.

“No matter who you’re married off to,” He starts. “You’ll always be our little girl.”

You cross your legs and pull away more. You bring your attention back to the suitors, seeing the faces of those your dragon passed by. They were looking at you with multitudes of expressions but most whispering and gossiping to their parents. You went down the tables, seeing who your dragon was at now and it brought you to King Munson and his uncle. A little white head was peaking out from under the table and between his legs. King Munson seemed surprised but not upset, patting your dragon on the head and giving him small pieces of meat. He looked up at you with a look that was asking a million questions. You shrugged like you had absolutely no idea what was going on and smiled. The King seemed to understand what your plan was and smiled back.

It seems your dragon likes him and that told you everything.

“You need to control that dragon,” The executive from before said, distaste on his tongue.

“You’re luckily we let you keep him,” Your oldest brother sneered from across the table.

“Oh yes. Because we can control who dragons breed with,” You said sarcastically. “I’m not at fault for taking away Tungi’s eggs and handing them off to other people like they were stale pieces of bread.”

“You only got to keep that egg because that dragon of yours severely injured one of my trustee’s,” Your father argued.

“Did he survive?” You asked, eyebrows raised. You already knew the answer.

Your father went quiet because, yes, his trustee survived the wrath of a mother dragon.

“What are you considered suitors, princess?” An executive that sat diagonal from you asked.

“Prince Williams Hill,” Your father answered.

“And King Munson,” You added.

The table went quiet.

“He is a tyrant’s son!” Your brother barked. “His father had caused many wars and many losses. It was his choice to separate from the United Kings!”

“And our choice to drive him farther away,” You added on. “And his son, King Munson, wants to reinforce the ties and open trades! And I think it’s a grand idea! And so far, he’s been the only suitor to look me in the eyes and nowhere else, and actually address me when presenting himself!”

“Our concerns should be with allies, not what you want!” Your father growled.

“King Munson is a chance to reconnect with a past ally,” You pointed out. “So I am thinking of your allies!”

Your table went quiet and the horns of announcement broke the tension.

You looked and saw a Castle Staff in the middle of the room.

“As dinner comes to a close, we will start the Dance of the Suitors,” the man announced. “Suitors may find this as a chance to dance with the princess. Those who wait to have a turn will be given a lady to dance with!”

Tens of ladies walk in from the doors and file into the center of the room.

“Each dance will last for 15 minutes and in total for two and a half hours,” The announcer made his way out of the crowd. “Start!”

Just as you got up, your baby dragon, Alioth, scampered over. You told him to go back up to your throne and gave him a little piece of watermelon as a treat for being so good. You watched as he crawled up and onto your throne, happily open-mouthed chewing the fruit as he settled to watch you on the floor. Your family settled in their thrones soon after.

You turned and bumped into someone. You went to apologize but noticed it was William Hill. You noticed how his eyes hurriedly switched from your bosom to your eyes.

“Want to dance?” He held out a hand.

You held in a sigh and took it.

William lead you to the dance floor and walked you along to the sound of the orchestra playing in the corner. He placed his free hand on your hip and kept hold your hand in his other. His hand on your waist was too low for comfort so you adjusted. Then it was too high, his thumb brushing under your breast. So you moved it back down, and it was still too low. You just sighed and settled for that.

“Your little pet paid me a visit,” William noted.

“Oh yes,” You acted like your forgot. “Sometimes it’s so hard to control baby dragons.”

“I remember those days with mine,” William sighed dreamily. “They didn’t last long though.”

You knew that. You’ve seen the way he treats his dragon. You’re surprised he hasn’t been eaten by now.

“I’m luckily to be your future husband,” William told you like he was already for certain to be your future spouse. “I just know you will give me many children. We will just fill up the castle because of how many you will have.”

You scrunched your nose and took a step back to separate yourself from the blond boy, but he took two steps forward, smushing your chests together. He looked down and smiled, but not warmly. You huffed in response, looking out into the surrounding crowd to see if you could see King Munson.

“Looking for someone?” William asked.

Before you could answer the horn blew to signal to switch partners. And you gladly did.

Your next conversation didn’t go much better than William, and neither were their hands.

You went round and round and your head felt dizzy and your lungs felt heavy. Your feet hurt and all noise seemed to mush together by the end of the last 30 minutes. When the last horn to switch rang, you accidentally bumped into your last partner. It woke you from your daze and you apologized profusely, but your rambling was cut short when you realized who you bumped into.

King Munson stood in front of you. He was so much taller and broader up close. He was so intimidating and so inviting at the same time. His curly hair was slightly frizzy from the day’s events and he had freckles dotting his cheeks. His eyes weren’t a dark brown, almost black like you thought before but a warm umber color, but they pulled you in all the same. His gaze was kind and apologetic. It must’ve been the opposite of yours, all wide-eyed and surprised.

“Sorry about that,” King Munson apologized, offering a hand.

“No-no! I’m sorry!” You apologized. “I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’ve just been dancing for so long- and I’m rambling, sorry!”

“Don’t be sorry,” King Munson slowly guided your hand into his and settled his hand appropriately on your waist. “It’s been a long two hours and a half.”

He smiled down at you and lead you along to the orchestra that’s been going this whole time. It almost feels like it’s just you two in the room once you get going. His hands feel appreciatively warm and respectful. King Munson’s hands have just the right amount of pressure against your layers of cloth.

“I was visited by a friend earlier,” King Munson starts. “And I assume it doesn’t just have to do with him being a baby dragon?”

He knows. And you smile, a glint in your eye.

“Alioth,” You start. “I sent him on a mission. Whomever he likes, I like. A dragon knows, and thus, do I.”

King Munson laughs, “So any suitors catch your eye?”

“Oh, just this,” You trail off. “Dark, curly haired king that’s adorned with thick rings on his fingers and a chain necklace. He’s pretty handsome. He seems nice too. And I hear he has the largest dragons in all of the United Kingdoms. Now that’s impressive.”

“Oh it’s nothing really, sweetheart,” He smiles again.

Sweetheart.

You blush.

“He seems like some guy, huh?” King Munson pushes gently, trying to catch your eyes.

“And I’m glad to be dancing with him,” You smile.

“And I’m glad to be dancing with you,” King Munson compliments.

The horn to end the dancing sounds out. The crowd disperses almost instantly but it takes you and King Munson a moment to separate, allowing prying eyes to see where the princess has gone.

Everyone goes back to their seats and executives, and you back to your throne. Your brothers and father glare at you. Your mother gives no indication of how she feels. But Alioth greets you with chirps and purrs, his wings flapping excitedly. You all settle as the announcer from before settles on the third step up from the ground floor.

“Tomorrow!” He starts. “Suitors will show what they learned during knighthood to show their strengths and weaknesses. Details will be discussed tomorrow. And tomorrow, a new ritual will be added. The royal family and the princess’s dragon will observe suitors' dragons. As previously stated, details will be discussed tomorrow. Now. Suitors and their executives will be led to their temporary stay rooms where they will stay nightly for the rest of this week. Goodnight to you all and I hope to see you all tomorrow!”

Castle Staff fills the room, leading guests to the visitor wing of the castle. Kitchen staff come to clean the tables, and your personal, and your brothers’ personal, staff come to accompany you to your room.

Once to your room, your ladies undress you and clean you up. They fluff up your bed and bring food for Tungi and Alioth, knowing you’ll feed them once your ladies leave. They bid you goodnight after leaving a plate of fruits for you to snack on and shut your door.

Your rooms takes the highest tower of the castle, the top half modified with stairs and a large open room with a large opening in the wall for your dragons to take off form. Being the princess has its perks.

You make your way to your dragons’ quarters, food in hand. Tungi, a large white dragon with oddly shaped spines that go from the back of her head to the end of her tail, meets you at the top of the stairs. You butt heads with her, reaching up to her horns, that curl in. She purrs as you pull back.

You pour the dragon food on the stone floor and let your dragons eat. You sit with them once their done, leaning against Tungi’s warm body. Soon enough, you’ve fallen asleep with Alioth’s head on your lap.

You wake up to a knock on your bedroom door. It’s just after sunrise. And you remember, how did you get to your bed? You don’t have time to think as your personal ladies come in and usher you from bed. They feed you breakfast as they dress you and brush your hair.

Your ladies don’t dress you in as many layers today. Still dressing you nice, but no corset, and with enough airflow for wind to blow throughout the dress. They do your hair so it won’t be too bothersome today.

As if he senses you up, Alioth comes barreling down from the stairs of the dragons’ quarters. Your ladies laugh at him and feed him some of your breakfast. Afterwards, they lead you out and down to the back courtyard, where the suitors are already practice with dull swords and daggers, but mostly swords. You scan the crowd for King Munson and spot him in a back corner, practice fighting one of your suitors. You settle beside your family under an overhang.

The announcers lets his presence be known as he stands in front of your family.

“Today we will be showing off the strengths of the suitors and what they’ve learned during knighthood. They will be practice with dull swords and other weapons of choosing. We will start with one on one and then switch to groups after ten minutes,” The announcer speaks. “Lest, rules! No harm will be permitted. Any intentional harm towards passive rival with result in immediate termination and sent back home. Yeigh?”

The suitors respond.

“Begin!”

The suitors begin their practice fighting, the clang of swords and grunts of men sounding out. You’re at the perfect angle to see King Munson. He’s obviously had some practice with the sword he’s chosen. He’s precise and an expert at blocking, aware of all parts of his body. He dodges and ducks, pointing out the weak spots in his opponent. You notice that the king has tied his hair back, keeping it from making multiple disadvantages on his end.

You watch a mixture of King Munson and the suitors for the next ten minutes. They’re all good fighters, and you hear your father and brothers praise the men or point out weaknesses. You don’t notice your mother coming to stand beside you until she puts a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“I didn’t get to choose,” She speaks.

You look over at her, surprised.

“But you do,” She pauses to look you in the eyes. “And whomever you choose will be a good one. Any thoughts?”

You look at the fake fighting men again, watching King Munson.

“I like King Munson,” You tell her.

“He seems like a good boy,” Your mother says. “He’ll take great care of you. I can’t say the same for Prince William Hill.”

You nod, agreeing.

A horn blows. The announcers says it’s time to group together in previously selected groups. He pauses and allows the men to get together and then gives the signal to begin.

You watch as King Munson, Prince William Hill, and a third suitor are paired together. They start at the signal, hitting swords to show off their area of perception and the speed of their defensive reflexes. It hits about the five minutes mark before King Munson catches both your and his opponents by surprise.

King Munson pushes both opponents back by two steps. He knocks William Hill’s sword from his hands a few feet away and holds his sword to William’s throat, a forced surrender. Anticipating the third man’s move, King Munson, whirls around and knocks into the man’s wrist which causes him to let go of his sword and drop it. King Munson holds a dagger to the man’s throat. They both surrender and he backs off. He goes to help Prince William off the ground, but the blond boy slaps King Munson’s hand away and lifts himself off the ground.

Before the trio can engaged in more practice fighting, the ending horn goes off. The men put their weapons back where they found them and they’re all filed through the castle and into the front courtyard where the suitor’s dragons have been brought out for observing. The suitors and their executives join their dragons.

You tell Alioth to go get “his mama”, Tungi. You watch him as he flies to your tower and comes back with Tungi. Tungi seems to know what’s going on, as she’s heard you talk about this for a couple months now. She looks around the courtyard.

Your parents and brothers go around the courtyard, conversing with the suitors and their companions, but you don’t move from Tungi as you wait for her to move.

Your dragon looks around and sounds out a purring sound. You hear the other dragons try to match it. After a moment, Tungi locks her target on a dragon. She starts moving, and you and Alioth follow. You look and see she’s heading towards a, rather large, red dragon. His horns twist twice and point back, never lifting above the line of his brow.

You look for the dragon’s companion and find a very familiar curly haired boy. He meets your eyes with a smile and a wave. You wave back, and unable to contain his excitement, Alioth gallops forwards and barrels towards King Munson. The king meets your baby dragon with eagerness and pets him when Alioth crashes into him.

You meet Eddie just beside your dragons.

“Hi,” King Munson greets, smiling with teeth at you.

“Hi,” You say back shyly.

“Princess Y/n,” King Munson’s uncle steps forward. “It’s an honor.”

“Oh no, it’s an honor for me, sir,” You tell him. “I’m glad to hear your kingdom is doing well.”

“Yours as well,” The older man says. “But may I ask, what is this new ritual?”

“Oh yes! A couple other kingdoms do it as well,” You start. “The princess is still able to choose her suitor, but it’s important that her dragon has a say too. So this new ritual allows the princess to either confirm her already chosen suitor, which no one else knows about, or for the princess to filter out some of the existing suitors if she hasn’t made a choice.”

“But I hear this princess already has a choice in mind,” King Munson says.

“Perhaps,” You smile and rock back and forth on your heels. “But that’s me to know and you to find out.”

Just before you can continue your conversation, something warm and large nudges you. You look to the side and is met with a large orange eye with yellow flecks in the iris. The large dragon switches sides so he can look at you from the other side and nudges you again, almost knocking you over.

“Woah, Gourd,” King Munson catches you and gently shoves his dragon away.

Tungi puts her own face down beside Gourd’s and pushes him away, purring gently. Gourd purrs back. Their moment of calm is interrupted by Alioth who jumps up and puts his two front talons on Gourd’s muzzle, chirping up at him and talking with all excitement.

“Gourd?” You look at King Munson.

“Like pumpkins and stuff,” He explains.

“Do you have lots of pumpkins in Mordor?” You ask.

“Lots,” He nods.

You, King Munson, and his executive/Uncle Wayne Munson stand under an overhang for the rest of the afternoon, making small talk and people watching. You also watch how Gourd interacts with Alioth, nudging him around and blowing smoke at the youngling as a form of play.

As the sun sets, it blinds you but only for a moment as it’s blocked. King Munson and Wayne stop talking as you look over, seeing Prince William Hill creating the new shadow. He looks between you three before making eye contact with you.

“Wouldn’t you rather come converse with other suitors, princess?” Prince William asks.

“No, but thank you,” You say. “I prefer to stay with my dragon, and she prefers to stay with King Munson’s dragon. And King Munson and his executive are making lovely conversation at the moment.”

“Wouldn’t you rather consider an ally of your father’s?” Prince William presses. “A close ally. One that is more. . . suitable for you?”

“No,” You shake your head. “But again, thank you for your offer.”

Prince William opens his mouth to say something but is cut off by a horn sounding out throughout the front courtyard.

“Suitors!” The announcer that’s been helping announce and organize for this whole week long event starts. “Time to place your dragons back at the visitor stables and head back towards the dining hall in time for dinner. The royal family will see you there!”

“That is my cue, my princess,” King Munson straightens from leaning on the wall. “I will see you in a few, yes?”

“Yes,” You nod.

King Munson grabs your hand and kisses your knuckles before he and Wayne Munson lead Gourd away and back to the visitor stables. You watch them until they blend into the crowd of people and dragons.

You hadn’t notice Prince William walk away, but you shrug it off and go to meet your family in the middle of the courtyard. You tell them that you’ll bring Tungi and Alioth back to your room and that you’ll see them in the dining hall. You climb Tungi’s arm and up you go on your short journey to the dragon’s quarters above your own. Once there, you praise Tungi for her behavior and that you’ll feed her and Alioth after your dinner. Alioth follows you to the dining room and prances alongside you through the hallways. You get about halfway down the hallway to the dining hall before a hand grabs your wrist and pulls you off to the side and out of the way.

You’re met with disheveled blond hair and sharp blue eyes. Prince William. He still grips your wrist as he pulls you closer. Alioth pulls at his pant leg in an attempt to get Prince William to leave you alone, but the boy just shakes him off.

“What is with you?” The blond all but snarls at you.

“What?” You ask, having no idea what he’s implying as you try to pull away.

“We’re supposed to get married,” Prince William starts. “I’m supposed to be your chosen suitor. I’m supposed to be courting you, and you’re supposed to be all over me and so clung onto me that I can barely stand you by the time it’s our honeymoon.”

“Where do you get that idea? Who’s been telling you that?” You’ve had no news that this Choosing of the Suitors was supposed to end in an arranged marriage, if that’s what Prince William is implying.

“That executive of your father’s,” Prince William answers. “He said no matter what that we would be married and it is up to me to court you so it would end that way. But no matter what I do I can barely get you away from that son of a bastard king!”

You try to pull away again, “King Munson is no bastard’s son and you know that! He is as much of a suitor to me as you are! I just happen to be drawn to him very much because he’s very nice to me!”

“Nice shouldn’t matter!” William yells. “It should be your father’s allies that matter! Which is why this should’ve been an arranged marriage in the first place!!”

“Well I’m sorry for choosing someone that I like very much instead of thinking about my father!!” You yell back.

Your face whips to the side as a hand slaps you harshly on your cheek, making the skin hot and tingly. A gasp is torn from your throat and you’re in too much shock to cradle your cheek. Before either of you can say anything and voice speaks from down the corridor.

“Is there a problem here?”

You look over and it’s King Munson and Wayne Munson. You see King Munson speak some words to his uncle and Wayne walks towards the dining room. He eyes Prince William as he passes and disappears behind the large doors without a word. Steps echo as King Munson walks forward.

“Nothing that I can’t handle,” Prince William answers. “The princess was just out of line for a few moments. She needed to be reminded of who her superiors are.”

King Munson nods and stops just before you two, keeping a barely respectful distance.

“So if you don’t mind-“ the prince is cut off.

“I wasn’t asking you,” King Munson turns his attention towards you and waits for answer.

“No-no, King Munson,” You stutter, submissive under the eyes of the two men. “Just- um. . speaking, is all.”

The king eyes your face, obviously eyeing your reddened cheek. His eyes trail over to your wrist, still tightly grasped in Prince William’s hand. It seems to get tighter when King Munson’s eyes lay upon the connection, making you wince. That doesn’t go unnoticed either. He switches his gaze back to the prince.

“Well, as your superior,” King Munson starts. “I need you to let go of the princess.”

“But you are-“

“The son of a bastard does not make me any less king. And king I am, I am your superior,” King Munson says, threat in his tone. “And if you don’t let go of the princess, I will do it for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Prince William challenges. “What are you gonna-“

He’s cut off with a surprised noise as King Munson grips the prince’s shoulder and presses down on a spot with his thumb, instantly weakening his arm and sending him to the ground. King Munson brings you and him a few steps back as you both watch Prince William recover from the attack.

“Run along now, boy,” The king waves him off. “I have some words I need to say to the princess. They’re more important than your. . . threats.”

“My father will be hearing about this!” Prince William threatens as he wabbles his way toward the dining room doors.

“I’m sure he will,” King Munson nods.

King Munson waits for the doors to completely shut behind the boy before facing you.

Alioth, who’s been on the sidelines, bumps against King Munson’s leg.

The curly haired man glances down at your baby dragon and then back to you. He brings a hand to your red cheek, feeling the skin. There’s a small cut from one of the prince’s rings. The king wets his thumb with his tongue and wipes it over the small wound, cleaning it of previous debris.

“Are you alright? Does this hurt?” he asks.

“Just a bit,” You tell him. “It still tingles.”

“You’re welting,” The king notes. “Hopefully it will be gone by morning. There’s a small cut as well from his ring. And your wrist-“

You both look down as King Munson cradles your wrist in one of his hands, turning it over to inspect the redness and the small indents from where Prince William’s fingernails presses into your skin. It looks like a bruise will form on the outermost part of your wrist from the pressure.

“Does your wrist hurt?” he asks again. “It looks like it’ll be sore tomorrow, if not by tonight.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine, King Munson,” You take your wrist from his hand and hide it behind your back, away from his concerned eyes. “Do not worry about me. You can do that when we marry.”

“But if I do not worry now, who will worry?” He asks, distress swirling and mingling with the concern in his eyes.

“I’ve survived this long without you, King Munson,” You tell him. “I will survive a few days more.”

A light seems to go off in King Munson’s brain after a moment, “So we will marry? For sure?”

“You were considered,” You tell him. “And as my dragon chose, so did I.”

A big, teethy smile grows on the kings face, “Oh, I would kiss you, my dear, if it be allowed.”

“In a few days' time, King Munson,” You tell him. “But first, we must eat.”

[pullhisteeth]

my new fic is out! it took me a very long time to write so I would love to know what you think and as always, likes + reblogs are more appreciated than u can know ❤️

long time no see.

I'll be back soon. in the meantime, here's a moodboard for u. ⚔️🥀

A ♡

[gudfornuthin]

Held by Another (1/?)

Knight!Eddie Munson x Princess!reader

1k words

Edward Munson (or Eddie as you call him) has been by your side for most of your life. Now at an age where possible suitors compete for your hand in marriage, how will he fair watching on from the sidelines? After all, a princess and her knight? It could never work.

A/N: I’m excited to dive into this fic! I’m sure it’s gonna be cheesy and cliche, but I hope you enjoy either way. It’s safe to say this will have multiple parts but I’m unsure as to how many. The other parts will be longer than this as part 1 is just an intro. We’ll see how it goes :)

Thunderous applause can be heard coming from the ballroom. Quick footsteps from servants running back and forth with sparkling drinks on silver platters. Chandeliers light up the dance floor and couples spin and jump between one another. The atmosphere is booming. Today is a big day for the King and Queen. As there young daughter, Princess Y/N, is turning eighteen. A momentous occasion for the kingdom. For her parents. And for the people. However the one person who doesn’t seem to care much, is the Princess herself.

Y/N sits on the floor in one of the corridors leading to the ballroom, slumped down and looking anything but joyous. Her gown is wrinkled and the jewelled tiara lays next to her. She’s supposed to be having fun. But all Y/N can think about is the real reason why this party is taking place. Around the corner, her maid and best friend Nancy appears, red faced and out of breath. A look of relief covers her face as she spots the Princess.

“There you are, I’ve been searching everywhere for you! It’s almost time, they’re preparing the announcement.” Nancy says in exasperation.

Having known each other for a long time, Nancy could always tell when something wasn’t quite right with her friend. Y/N would shut people out and close in on herself, never wanting to face the problems that came her way. She’d also act cold, and become distant, using it as her only coping mechanism. Change wasn’t something the Princess liked. And the announcement Nancy speaks of is a big change.

“Do you think I still have time to run away?” Y/N jests, although the hope in her voice comes through clear.

Nancy sits down beside her. “You don’t mean that. Not really. In a few hours this will all be over.”

But that was far from the truth. As today is just the beginning for Princess Y/N. Today, her father announces that she is officially allowed to start courting. To find her Prince, and accept his hand in marriage. How sickening. Y/N knew this day would come. She just prayed for its delay. Hardly an adult, and already propped up as a trophy to be won. Having already been introduced to many of the Princes, she’s yet to find an appropriate suitor. Although it’s hardly her choice. As with her own mother, and hers before, the King will always make that final decision for his daughter. Whether she agrees or not.

Y/N rubs at her eyes, more than likely smudging the already ruined makeup. Nancy holds back from rolling her eyes, remembering how long it took her to perfect the Princesses look for the day. They both stand up and with little use of calming her hair, Y/N breathes in deep, and nods. Nancy takes that as a good sign and leads the young Princess down the corridor to the entrance of the ballroom. Silence overcomes from inside. A booming voice is heard.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, may I please present, Her Royal Highness, Princess Y/N!”

The doors open, and she smiles, continuing the facade as she always does. Walking down the curving steps felt like a challenge, eager eyes watching Y/N’s every move. She prays she won’t trip and make a fool of herself.

Finally arriving at the front of the room, she stands next to the King and Queen. They each take one of her hands, her mother squeezing tight. She knows what the poor Princess is going through. She’s just a pawn in this sad game. Soon to be passed over to one lucky man.

The King begins his long drawn out speech, captivating everyone in the room. Other than Y/N who has already zoned out. She scans the many faces looking at her father and soon enough spots the one instead looking at her. She stares back. He’s standing in front of a pillar, clad in heavy armour and hands behind his back. Messy brown curls fall at his broad shoulders. A smirk holds strong on his face, showing off the dimples on his rosy cheeks. Edward Munson. Or Eddie as Y/N always calls him. Her Knight in shining armour. Literally. But also her only friend, besides Nancy. They grew up side by side, and he has since sworn an oath to protect the Princess till his dying breath. Seeing him standing there puts Y/N’s mind at ease. She smirks back, rolling her eyes and subtly running a finger across her neck, conveying her wish of death rather than being in this room full of stuck up aristocrats.

The Princess didn’t joke often. Even Nancy could be too serious for her at times. But with Eddie it came naturally. He brought out the best in her. She couldn’t hold back her pure joy when he told her about becoming a Knight at the palace, knowing they’d have more chance to see each other.

Y/N reluctantly looks away from Eddie, thinking it best to listen in on what her Father is saying. Considering it is about her.

“I could not be more overjoyed at my Y/N coming of age. I’ve seen her flower into a bright, strong young woman.” It’s hard for the Princess not to cringe at his words. All meaningless at the end of the day. “But now the time has come to find her betrothed. A young Prince, right for my daughter.”

Y/N shivers, a sick feeling washing over her. Her future awaits. And she has no say. Once more, she looks over to Eddie, but finds his space empty. Her eye twitches and the fake smile returns, the Princess desperately trying to remain calm. Eighteen. And her life is already over.

[silent-stories]

The best babysitter

(Eddie Munson x F!reader)

That day, you were supposed to babysit your four-year-old cousin, Alice, but you'd completely forgotten that Max had asked you to help with a school project.

So, before you went to see Max, you left the kid with Eddie, saying you'd be back soon.

Eddie had been nervous all morning: he didn't have much experience with children and, knowing that many people thought he was scary, he was afraid she would get scared or started crying when she saw him.

"Alice, this is Eddie. He's a friend of mine. Eddie, this is Alice, my cousin." You introduced them leaving the kid in Eddie's arms, right out of his trailer.

He tried to hide the sigh of relief he let out when, holding her in his arms, she simply grabbed the pick attached to his necklace, played with it, turned it over in her little hands and looked at him curiously.

"Will you guys be okay?" You asked.

"Yeah, sure. Don't worry." He said as the little girl tugged at a strand of Eddie's curly hair, causing him to chuckle.

You thanked one last time and headed into the trailer in front of Eddie's to meet Max. Her project took longer than expected and after several hours, you went back to Eddie's trailer door, hoping everything went well.

You knocked hearing voices coming from inside but nobody opened the door. You lowered the handle, discovering that the door was not locked and you entered, to find yourself in front of one of the most wholesome scenes you'd ever witnessed.

Eddie and Alice were sitting on the floor, some books, pencils and markers scattered around them.

He was reading from a book a conversation between two characters, for the first he emitted a deep, low voice and for the second one more acute and high, making the little girl burst out laughing every time.

You closed the door behind you, without announcing your presence yet and you leaned against the wall observing the scene with a smile on your lips.

You noticed that there were two messy pigtails on the little girl's head. They weren't there when you brought her to Eddie so the only option was that he made them.

You giggled at the image that popped into your head. The tattoos on Eddie's arms had been colored in, probably with the markers on the floor, and there was pink nail polish on his nails. You wondered why the hell Eddie owned pink nail polish.

"Y/N!" The kid suddenly exclaimed, pointing at you.

Eddie turned to you. "Hey, you're just in time! We need the princess."

You joined them, sitting next to Eddie who offered you an amused smile. "I am already the ogre, the witch and the knight. Please be the princess."

You chuckled. "Okay."

"Finally the princess has graced us mere mortals with her presence!" He exclaimed theatrically, making Alice burst out laughing again.

"This is the moment when the knight declares his undying love to the princess, swearing allegiance to her until the end of his days!"

That was also the moment you realized you didn't just have a crush on your best friend; you were completely in love with him, but you didn't say anything yet.

There was a kingdom to save for the moment.