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thisapplepielife · 6 months

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Written for the @steddiemas challenge.

King Steve

Prompt Day 12: Hallmark Movie Tropes | Word Count: 9963 | Rating: M | CW: Royal Inaccuracies | Tags: King Ralph AU, Unexpected Royalty, Platonic Stobin, Happy Ending, Steve POV

This one is also available right here on AO3.

Loosely based on the 1991 comedy King Ralph, starring John Goodman, but this time make it Steddie.

Steve shoves the key into the lock of the Wienerlicious front door, and jiggles it just so, trying to get the damned thing to open. Robin picked this place as their next place of employment, and he's pretty sure it was just to stick him in another goofy uniform so she could call him dingus more often.

Jokes on her. He looks damn good in lederhosen, way better than she does in the milkmaid getup. So, suck it, Robin.

Even if he's too old for this shit. He's nearly thirty, and they're still bouncing from crappy job to crappy job, aimless.

He needs a purpose, but he just hasn't found it. Not yet.

He flips on the lights, and goes through all the opening procedures on his own. Robin won't be in until later, so he's gonna be on his own through the lunch rush. If there is a lunch rush. Sometimes, that's non-existent in this place.

And it seems like today is gonna be one of those days. He hasn't had a customer in an hour, and he's bored out of his goddamn skull. Just watching the hot dogs turn on the roller grill behind him.

Finally, the door swings open, and in walks three stuffy-looking men in suits. Glancing around the place like they're walking in front of a firing squad instead of into a fast food joint.

"Welcome to Wienerlicious," Steve greets.

"We're looking for Mr. Steven Harrington," the first one says in a British accent, and Steve narrows his eyes. He doesn't think he owes money to anyone. Especially not to anyone British. Robin and him might be scraping by, but they've managed to do it all on their own.

"Who's asking?" Steve asks, putting his hands on his hips.

"I'm Gareth Jones and this is Inspector Goodwin and Inspector Williams," the first man says, like that means anything.

Steve doesn't think he's committed a crime, Pink Panther style, but maybe? He wishes he'd stolen some cash or jewels, but he hasn't, so he's not sure why they've sent two inspectors all the way to the Wienerlicious to talk to him.

"And you're here for…" Steve trails off, moving his hand in a hurry up and spit it out motion. He'd rather get this over with.

"Well, sir, that's a private matter for us to discuss with Mr. Harrington," Inspector Goodwin chimes in, and they are definitely British.

"Then, I guess you're shit outta luck," Steve says, moving back to wiping down the counter. "If you decide you want to order something, you let me know."

He watches them look between each other, clearly debating this offer. But they step up to the counter and study the menu, with a hint of disdain, before ordering three number seven combos. Steve makes them, and puts down the red baskets on a tray. Taking their money, and handing over their change.

They're staring at his name tag. Fuck. He forgot he was wearing it.

"Are you Steven Harrington?" Gareth asks, leaning closer, nearly across the counter.

"And if I am?" Steve asks, taking a step back.

"Then we have an exciting opportunity to share with you," Inspector Williams says, gleefully.

"Listen, I'm not gonna, like, sell Amway or knives or anything. So, just. No, thanks."

They look back and forth, like they don't understand what he's talking about.

Steve sighs, "I have a job. I don't want another, no matter how much money you think I'll be able to make, so thanks. But, no thanks."

Because, yeah, he's in lederhosen, but he's working with Robin and he gets a predictable paycheck. It's a fair trade-off.

"Sir, please, just give us a moment of your time," Gareth pleads, and Steve is annoyed.

"Just arrest me if that's what you're here for," Steve says, nodding towards the two inspectors. Robin will sort it out.

"Oh, no, sir. Not at all. They're here for your protection, for your safety," Gareth says, and Steve wrinkles his forehead at that idea. He's pretty sure he doesn't need protection. "Please, just hear me out, sir."

"Fine, one minute," Steve says, following them to a table, and sitting down, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Mr. Harrington-"

"Steve," Steve interrupts.

"Steve," Gareth, the chatty one, says, but it seems physically painful for him to get out of his mouth, "it is my glorious duty to inform you that you're the new King of the United Kingdom, Your Majesty."

"The new King of what now?" Steve asks, because he's been King before. Sure, it was Hawkins High and not the United Kingdom, but he'll pass. He's grown and shit since then.

"Of the United Kingdom, and the entire Commonwealth, Your Majesty."

Steve laughs, because why wouldn't he laugh. That's ridiculous.

Then he remembers seeing the news headline that the entire Royal Family had been electrocuted and killed during a holiday photo session, and that they were searching their records for the next heir in line for the throne.

Steve bets they didn't expect to find him in lederhosen, slinging wieners with sauerkraut.

"But I'm an American," Steve finally says, shaking his head.

"We are unfortunately aware, sir," Gareth answers.

"Then, how am I the next in line? That makes no sense." Steve questions, he's never even been to England.

"On your mother's side. There's no delicate way to say this, but your grandmother had an affair with Prince Richard, and your mother was the product of that affair. So, you're in the line of succession for the throne through the House of Wyndam-Pryce bloodline."

"Okay, go talk to my mother then," Steve says, "she'd love to be a Queen."

"It doesn't work quite like that. See, there's what we call male-preference primogeniture-"

"Well, that's just sexist," Steve says, crossing his arms. He doesn't know what that last word means, but he definitely understands male-preference and can fill in the blanks.

"Yes, well, perhaps that's true," Gareth says, looking flustered, then looking excited, "but you could press to change that! As King. With the help of Parliament. You could work to change it."

"Now, Jones," Inspector Williams says, "you know the law prohibits Monarchs from solving problems."

"Yes, well," Gareth says, backing down a little, "that's a different issue altogether."

"This all seems suspect," Steve says. He wishes Robin were here. She'd know what to ask, what to say to all this. "If I'm not solving world problems, which to be honest, I'm not sure I'd be all that great at anyway, what exactly does this even entail? Is it not like being the President here?"

"No, that's more like the Prime Minister," Inspector Goodwin answers, "not exactly, but closer. You, as King, would be a ceremonial figurehead."

Steve is confused, but that's not exactly new.

"I don't understand," Steve says, because he definitely doesn't.

"You are the new King. It's your birthright, sir."

Steve is pretty sure he's not interested in any birthrights. He's seen Buffy. Kristy Swanson was hot, but he doesn't want any of that shit for himself. No fucking way.

Unless.

"How much does it pay?" Steve asks.

"Well, it doesn't, exactly…" Gareth trails off.

"Then, again. No," Steve says, moving to stand.

"But as the sovereign, it all belongs to you. To the Crown," Gareth says, and Steve starts picturing that and now it doesn't sound so bad at all.

"All of it?"

"All of it, Your Majesty," Gareth confirms.

"So, are you willing to go with us, Your Majesty? To England?"

And maybe he'd make a different decision if Robin were here to talk him out of it, but he nods.

"You can't go be the King," Robin says, pacing around the room, one of his shirts clutched in her hands. He jerks it out of her grasp, and stuffs it into his suitcase.

"Apparently, I can," he says, "and you can come with me."

She scoffs, "And do what? Be your lady-in-waiting?"

"Yes!" Steve says, he doesn't know what that is, but yes, if it gets her to come. Absolutely.

"Steve, no," she says, shaking her head.

"We'll get married really quick and you can be my Queen," he says, nodding his head, "think how fun that'd be? You and me? Ruling a whole country?"

"And the Commonwealth," she says, but shakes her head, snapping out of that idea. "No way, they'd make me have your babies."

"Ew," he says.

"Ew, right back at ya, dingus," she says.

"Then, I'll go first. Scope it out. And you can come later, once I'm settled in."

"This is a bad idea, Steve," Robin says, really talking with her hands.

"Careful, I'm the King," Steve teases.

"Not my King, dingus, you better keep that in mind," she says, and he smiles, pulling her to his chest.

"I wish you'd come," he says.

"I don't even have a passport," she says.

"Well, neither do I. But apparently, as the King, that doesn't really matter much."

"Oh, this isn't going to go well," she says, pacing again, worrying some more.

"Maybe not, but it'll be an adventure, right? C'mon. Come with me," he begs, trying to give her the eyes. But she's immune.

"Maybe later. If this sticks. I'll get a passport, legally, and come make fun of you in your stupid cape or whatever," she says, and he hugs her again.

A day later, Steve steps out of the black town car, and looks up. Jesus. This place is wild. Fucking crazy, it's a palace, like, for real. He still kind of assumed they'd been teasing when they showed up at his place of work, explaining that while he was once 46th in line for the throne, that he'd now been bumped up to number one. Just because the entire extended royal family died in a freak accident during a portrait session for their annual Christmas card.

That's a lot to swallow.

Do they not have a designated survivor? Robin has told him about that, in the US. They should have, it seems like. Most definitely.

Water, metal and electricity did not mix. And snap. They were all gone.

And now he's here.

King.

He's being led inside this freaking mansion, and it's way less funny. He's a freaking American. A bastard, apparently, and he shouldn't even be eligible for the throne. Robin looked it up. Made sure he knew that, as she railed on him for even considering doing this.

But they were desperate. And here he is. Steve Harrington, American. King of England. No, Great Britain? United Kingdom? The Commonwealth? He scratches his head and scrunches up his face. He doesn't remember. They went over this on the plane, but he's already forgotten. Shit.

He's just pretty sure it's not the King of England. Even if that sounds right to his American ear.

There's some old, stuffy British dudes waiting to lead him around, and he follows. But he's starting to think he can't be the King. Not again. He's pretty sure being the King of Hawkins High will be nothing in comparison to this. This is actual insanity.

Actual royalty.

They leave him in his new royal bedroom, and you could fit his and Robin's whole apartment inside this one room. He stands and looks out of the window, and feels homesick. He'd rather be in that tiny apartment with her, than here surrounded by all this opulence. He shouldn't have even agreed to get on the plane, especially not without Robin. They couldn't make him accept this offer, he's pretty sure. Even if they were pretty adamant about it, at the time. It felt like he didn't have a choice, even if he's pretty sure he did. Still does, maybe. He hasn't been, like, crowned or anything. He thinks he can still say no, and probably will.

He'd just been hand stomping lemonade and slinging hot dogs, minding his own business. He was just a little delirious and desperate for something new, anything at all.

He was bored.

And then there these stuffy dudes were, telling him he was the new King.

It all happened so fast.

He should call Robin soon, to let her know he landed. He really wants her to move here to be with him, if he decides to stay. Surely, that's something he could make happen, with all this money and all these resources.

Someone clears their throat behind him, and there's a guy, probably about his age, standing there, hands properly folded behind his back. When Steve looks at him, he bows his head at the neck.

"Hey," Steve says, turning to face him fully, "I'm Steve."

"I'm Edward, your private secretary, Your Majesty."

"What can I do for you, Eddie," Steve says, and he watches as the man cringes at the informality of it all. He just doesn't look like an Edward. He looks like an Eddie. But if he doesn't like that, Steve won't force it on him. At least not to his face. Not yet. He'll wear him down, first.

"Nothing for me, sir. What can I do for you?" Eddie asks, stepping a little further into the room.

"Edward, I think I'd just like to go to bed," Steve says, and Eddie moves towards the bed, drawing down the sheets and fluffing his pillows.

It's overkill. But nice.

"Thanks, you don't have to do that, but I appreciate it," Steve says.

"Your dressing room is over there. I'm sure there's some proper sleeping attire," Eddie suggests, pointing towards the right door. "And if you'd like a bath before bed, I can draw one for you, sir."

A bath doesn't sound half bad, but Steve is pretty sure he can run his own bathwater. He might be the King, and isn't that a stupid thought, but he hasn't forgotten how to do basic things for himself, not yet.

Eddie does it for him anyway, despite Steve's protests, and then shows him the little turtle bell on the marble ledge that he can ding if he needs assistance at any time.

"During my bath?" Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

And Eddie nods, "Any time at all, sir."

That's weird, Steve thinks, but watches as Eddie closes the big double doors, leaving him alone with his bath. He rings the little turtle bell, and Eddie comes back through the doors.

"Your Majesty?" he asks, hands clasped in front of him.

"Are there bubbles?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks taken aback, but quickly nods and produces a bottle of fancy looking bubble bath from a cabinet.

"Thank you," Steve says, smiling, and Eddie nods at him curtly, before leaving. Again.

Steve wants to ring the turtle, just for shits and giggles, but refrains. He wants Eddie to like him. He's close to his age, and maybe they could be friends. Well, maybe not, he's stuffy like his colleagues, just not as stuffy. That's for sure. Gareth and Inspectors Goodwin and Williams aren't exactly old, but they were a little uptight.

When he's good and pruney, he gets out, and wraps a towel around his waist. When he opens the doors, Eddie is standing there, at the ready.

"You can sit down, you know?" Steve says, walking around the edge of the bed.

"I really can't, Your Majesty," Eddie says.

"Says who?" Steve hollers from the walk-in closet, where he's pulling up a pair of silk pajama bottoms. They're nice, and feel good against his skin. He likes them. He's definitely not wearing the matching long-sleeve shirt though. No way. He can't imagine how uncomfortable that'd be to sleep in.

"Royal protocol, sir."

"Aren't I in charge now? So, if I say you can sit, you can sit," Steve says, coming out of the closet, towel drying his hair.

"That's really not how it works, sir," Eddie says, looking away from him. Clearly trying to get Steve to drop it.

He will, for now. But that man is sitting before this is over with. There's no reason for him to stand around all the time. Steve's worked retail. He knows how much that sucks, and he didn't even have to do it in dress shoes.

"Did you need help finding your top, sir?" Eddie asks, and Steve realizes that's why he's being so weird. Oh.

"Do I have to wear it?" Steve asks, pulling his towel over his chest. Maybe he's being weird, or creepy, right now. Is he sexually harassing his secretary? At home this is fine, normal. It's like a locker room, right? They're in his bedroom. But maybe that's not cool here, he has no idea.

"Well, no, sir," Eddie says, "but it would be proper. But you don't have to, I suppose."

Steve tries to slide in bed without flashing his hairy chest at Eddie again, pulling the sheets up to his neck.

"There, I'm in bed," Steve says.

"Very well, sir," Eddie says, pulling the drapes closed, nodding at Steve, and hitting the lights on the way out, "Goodnight."

"'Night," Steve says back, as the door closes, and then he's gone.

And Steve's all alone.

These sheets are super soft, and so is the bed. Steve closes his eyes, and thinks he'll be asleep in no time.

He wakes up to the sun in his eyes, as Eddie is pulling open the heavy curtains.

"Good morning, Your Majesty. Did you sleep alright?" Eddie asks, bowing his head at Steve, and Steve really needs him to stop doing that. It's unnecessary. Steve sits up in bed and scrubs his hand across his face. He did sleep well.

"Yeah, I think I did, thanks," Steve says, stretching, as Eddie goes into his closet and starts selecting clothes.

"We'll have to get you fitted properly today, but these should do for now," he says, laying out a pair of slacks and a dress shirt. A belt.

"Okay," Steve answers. He can wear that. That's not so bad. "What's on today's schedule?"

And he wishes he hadn't asked, because the list Eddie rattles off is never-ending.

"All that today, huh?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods. Then steps out into the hallway so Steve can get dressed.

He stands in front of the mirror, trying to tame his hair. He shouldn't have gone to bed with it wet, now it really won't behave. He might need to wash it again. He looks around, and realizes there is no shower in his bathroom. He's gonna need a bathroom with a shower, the bath was fine, but not for everyday use.

"Edward?" Steve says, opening the door, and Eddie follows him back in.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" Eddie asks, standing at attention.

"Is there a bathroom with a shower around here that I'll be able to use? I don't need it this morning, because of the bath, but in the future?" Steve asks, looking at Eddie.

"Yes, of course, sir," Eddie says, "I'll show you where that's at this morning."

"Thanks, also? Can I request some specific hairspray?" Steve asks.

Eddie pulls a little notepad out of his pocket, ready to take notes, "Of course, sir."

"Faberge Organics, the Farrah Fawcett spray," Steve says, and watches as Eddie takes notes. He doesn't even laugh at him. Maybe Steve should tell him it was discontinued, like, a decade ago. But it'll be funny to see how much sway this position actually holds. Maybe he'll send some staff member to find a lone can of it, long forgotten on the dusty bottom shelf of a drugstore.

"Of course, sir," Eddie says, putting the notebook back in his jacket pocket.

Steve steps out inside the hall, and isn't sure what he's supposed to do. Eddie must pick up on that because he holds his arm out, motioning for Steve to walk ahead of him.

"I thought I could give you a more in depth tour this morning, sir, if you're feeling up to that?" Eddie asks, trailing him.

Steve pauses, waiting for him to catch up. They start walking again, and Eddie's behind him again. Steve slows his pace, and Eddie slows his own. He feels like he's having to crane his neck back to even see Eddie as he explains all the rooms, all the antiques. The paintings.

That goes on for the whole tour of this floor, and then Steve waits at the top of the long, winding staircase. Eddie waits behind him.

"You do realize I don't know where we're going, right?" Steve says, holding his arm out, inviting Eddie to lead the way.

"Sir, you are the sovereign, no one walks ahead of you. Especially not your staff," Eddie says, and Steve looks at him like he's crazy, because that's a crazy rule. Steve is only King on a huge technicality. He's just a person.

But when it's clear Eddie is not moving until he does, he walks down the stairs, wishing Eddie would just fall into step beside him, at least.

And Eddie gives him the rest of the tour, from two steps over his shoulder. It's kind of weird and uncomfortable.

After the tour, he's led directly into a room to be fitted for new clothes, and Eddie stands nearby.

"We've prepared a few questions to ascertain your knowledge of English history," Eddie says, as they're measuring Steve for a new suit.

Having your inseam taken is a little distracting, even under regular circumstances. Having three different pairs of hands nudging under your balls, right after you've been declared King, is another level of distracting entirely.

"Okay," Steve says, uneasy. He knows he knows nothing about history, "but I can tell you it's almost zero, right up front."

Eddie looks at him and asks, "When Anne Boleyn failed to give him a son, Henry VIII had her…"

Steve thinks, tries to come up with a logical answer, and settles on, "Adopt?"

Eddie looks exasperated, "No. Beheaded."

"Jesus, that's a bit much," Steve mutters, and he swears he sees Eddie tamp down the barest hint of a smile.

"Please pick a fabric, sir," Goodwin says, draping some swatches over his arm and showing Steve.

They all look the same to Steve. Various shades of dark, most with pinstripes.

"You pick, Edward. I trust your judgment," Steve says, because he does. Eddie is dressed nicely, so surely he can pick the right thing for Steve to not look like he's wearing the curtains.

Eddie nods, quick and sharp, and then hands the chosen swatches over to one of the tailors. Pointing at three of them.

After his fitting, Steve is in jeans and a polo, even if Eddie fought him on it. "Here's a few traditional English dishes, sir, some of which you'll be served tonight. The kitchen chose things they thought you might enjoy, and I thought it might be prudent to make sure you're familiar ahead of time."

Steve nods. Okay. He can do food. He likes food.

"Roast beef with Yorkshire pudding, fish and chips, bangers and mash, and of course, spotted dick."

Steve's eyebrows shoot up as he looks at the bowl full of dicks in front of him that he had assumed were sausages.

He grabs the silver tongs, and picks one up, carefully inspecting it like it might be a bomb, before looking at Eddie.

"Dick of what?" he asks, scared of the answer.

Eddie chuckles, "You're holding a banger. A sausage," he clarifies, pointing to some other dish, "that's the spotted dick, sir. It's a dessert."

Steve looks and can see the raisins. The spots of the spotted name, he assumes. That's more reassuring.

"Please, sir, try it," Eddie says, so Steve lets him serve him a plate, so he can try everything so there's not an embarrassing incident at tonight's dinner.

"Sit, eat with me," Steve says, and Eddie shakes his head.

"No, sir," Eddie says.

"Edward, live a little," Steve coaxes, kicking out a chair leg, an invitation, but Eddie doesn't budge. Just stands at attention, a few feet behind Steve while he eats. It's good. He likes it. Even the spotted dick, which he can't even think about without laughing. How is he going to be able to eat it, or say it, in a public setting? Impossible.

"This is all good, I was scared what you might bring me, to be real honest," Steve says.

Eddie smiles, "Well, we went easy on you. I didn't think you were ready for the black pudding or haggis."

"I don't know what that is," Steve admits.

"For the best," Eddie teases, and Steve smiles at him.

"Tell me about yourself, Edward," Steve says, using his fork and knife to cut into one of the bangers.

"I'm here to serve you, sir," Eddie says, and Steve looks back over his shoulder at him and rolls his eyes.

"No, about you. Not about me in relation to you, just about you."

"Sir, I don't really…" Eddie trails off, like he doesn't know what to say.

Steve won't make him talk, but he sure wishes he would. He'd like to get to know him better.

"If you won't sit, would you at least come over here where I can see you?" Steve asks, and he's happy when Eddie concedes, and comes into his line of sight.

"How long have you worked at the palace?" Steve asks.

"Nearly ten years, sir. I've been a secretary for about two years, though. After my uncle retired, I was chosen to fill his duties."

Steve nods, hoping Eddie will continue and elaborate further. He doesn't.

So, Steve eats while Eddie stands by, quietly.

And it's weeks of meetings, fittings, lessons. Eddie and the rest of the staff are working diligently to get him ready to face the press and public.

Steve's trying. He really is, but it's a lot to comprehend. He doesn't understand all the rules, all the protocols, and he is constantly on the wrong foot. Doing something stupid, saying something stupid. He's never gonna catch on to this.

He flops back on his bed. He's going to make a fool of himself, and the Crown.

Eddie comes in later, and takes one look at him, and starts digging in Steve's walk-in closet. He comes out with an all-white outfit and instructs Steve to put it on.

Steve does. He's stopped fighting. Stopped asking why, a long time ago. It doesn't matter why, none of them care. He's just a small cog, in a big wheel. He's in charge, but he isn't. Not at all. None of his choices are his own. He's not sitting on a throne barking orders. He's following, trying to please the people around him. Trying to please Eddie.

Once he's dressed, Eddie takes him out to the yard of the palace, and gets down and straps big pads to his shins. They look like oversized, shin guards for baseball catchers. But padded. He was a catcher for one season in high school and hated it. It's the hardest job on the field, he's pretty sure. Pitching was easier. He did that in little league for a while.

He's standing there in his padded shin guards, looking at Eddie for guidance. Eddie hands him a paddle. Steve tries to hold it like a baseball bat, and Eddie laughs, while trying to help him correct his grip.

"This is a cricket bat, not a baseball bat, sir," Eddie says with a smile.

"Oh, so more like croquet?" Steve says, lowering the bat in front of him, and Eddie grins.

"You know how to play croquet?" Eddie asks, looking surprised.

"Sure," Steve says, "I might not be royalty, but I do come from a rich family. Back home. We definitely played croquet from time to time."

Eddie smiles, and nods, "It's not like croquet. You want to keep the ball away from your wicket, not aim it towards it," Eddie explains, helping him adjust his grip, again. His instinct is still to draw it up like a bat, twirl it around in his hand. Test its heft. But Eddie tells him to keep it down, in front of him, to protect his wicket, the three stumps and two bails balanced behind him.

Once Steve is in place, Eddie yells, "Bowler!"

And the guy downfield throws the ball at him in a goofy fashion, bouncing it in front of him, and Steve hits it. And it sails up and away. They do it over and over. This is something he's actually picked up on quickly for once, and it's fun. Steve hits the shit out of the next one, and declares it a home run.

Eddie laughs, "A maximum, sir, but yes, the same idea, I suppose. Six runs."

If it bounces to the boundary, it's worth four Eddie declares, and eventually Eddie goes to the other side of the little dirt rectangle, and they teach Steve how to run back and forth to accumulate runs that way, if he doesn't hit it out of the park.

"You can lead with your bat, sir, get it over the crease ahead of you," Eddie says.

"The line? The baseline?" Steve asks, and Eddie smiles.

"Yes, sir, that," Eddie grins.

And he runs past Eddie once more, passing in the middle, and he reaches up as they go past each other, offering him his hand, a high five.

Eddie clearly isn't sure about this, but still puts his hand up, and they touch as they run by each other, each headed to the opposite end from where they started.

When they've finished, Steve leans over, his hands on his knees, breathing hard. But he's happy right now.

Once he stands, he looks at Eddie, smiling, and asks, "Do you want to play croquet next?"

And Eddie laughs, honest to god laughs, and it makes Steve smile, big and bright. It's a great sound, and he hopes to hear it more often.

"Sure, Your Majesty, we can play croquet," Eddie says, and sends the pages to go find the equipment.

Pads shucked to the side in the grass, Steve watches as Eddie lines up his shot.

"Don't do it, don't even think about it," Steve says, breathing down Eddie's neck, taunting him as he tries to line up his mallet with the croquet ball.

Eddie laughs, and nudges him backwards with his elbow, and then freezes, like he's realized what he's done. Steve just shoves him back a little, hopefully assuring him that it's fine, that he likes this. That this feels normal, at least almost, and that's fucking priceless. To his sanity, to his heart.

He's homesick for Robin, for America, honestly.

He wants to watch baseball or basketball on TV. He wants to drive his car. He wants a pizza, a burger, or some fried chicken. Anything. He can ask for anything he'd like to eat, and they'll bring it, but it's always a fancy version. They seem to have an aversion to actually just going out and getting him the junk food he's missing.

This has been a huge responsibility to take on, one he doesn't fully understand, with a very steep learning curve. But right now, they are just two guys playing a sport together, for fun.

That he understands, fully.

"This is the most fun I've had since I've gotten here," Steve says, standing next to Eddie as he whacks the ball through the hoop.

"I'm glad to hear that, sir."

Once the game is over, Steve stands there in the grass, happy. He looks at Eddie, "What sport can you teach me next?"

Eddie just laughs, "Polo, I suppose. How do you feel about horses?"

And then it's back to the unfun parts. Steve showers, and throws on the clothes Eddie has laid out for him. And he attends meetings. He has his weekly Audience with the Prime Minister, one-on-one, without Eddie present. They always make him feel nervous that he's going to fuck up.

But it's only twenty minutes. He can do anything for twenty minutes.

Eddie works sports into his tight schedule, and Steve appreciates it. It's not everyday, but it's as often as they can fit it in, and they play and Steve pushes himself. To get better. To have fun.

To impress Eddie, a little, with the one thing he's been good at here.

Steve's having a bad day, and he's had enough, so he pulls a baseball hat over his head, and walks out of the front door. Nobody stops him, but he's pretty sure that's just because they've never had to deal with a Monarch that was trying to escape the way he is. But he's had all of this he can take today.

He doesn't get far down the road, before he realizes he is being followed. He turns and looks, and there's Eddie. So, Steve slows down, stalls, waiting for him to catch up.

"You coming with me, or are you going back to tattle?" Steve asks, and Eddie smiles.

"Where are we going, Your Majesty?" Eddie asks, falling in step behind him.

"I'm hungry. I want some food, some American food. Something I'm familiar with. No spotted dick, or whatever the fuck that was. Is there something around here that I'll recognize?" Steve asks, and Eddie nods, and then he waits for Steve to start walking again, keeping two paces behind him.

Steve glances back at him, "How did you end up working for the royal family?"

"My family. It's just what we've always done," Eddie says. "My uncle had this position before I did. When he retired, the last King asked for me to step in, to keep with some sort of continuity, I suppose. He'd known me for a long time, since my childhood."

"I'm sorry you lost your friend," Steve says.

Eddie pauses, like nobody has ever said that to him before, "Thank you, sir."

Steve nods, "Well, what would you like to do instead?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at him, like he hadn't expected the question.

"Working for the royal family is the highest honor," Eddie says, and Steve laughs.

"Okay, that's bullshit. You don't want to serve people. You don't want to serve me. That's not your dream. What do you want to do? What would make you happy?" Steve presses.

Eddie looks at him, like this might be a trap, even if it really isn't. Steve genuinely wants to know what Eddie likes to do. He wants to know anything Eddie will tell him. Which really, really hasn't been much. He's definitely not very forthcoming about anything personal.

"I like to play music," Eddie finally says.

"That's cool," Steve says, meaning it, "are you any good?"

"Not bad, I don't think. I play with my friends in a little four piece, when I have the time. The palace requires a lot of my time," Eddie says, and then looks embarrassed. "Not that I'm complaining. I'm happy to be at your service, sir."

"Steve," Steve says, "please, just call me Steve."

"King Steve," Eddie says, and smiles at him, just a little. Steve realizes Eddie's teasing him, and it makes Steve happy. Like they might be friends. Or could be, in time. He definitely needs a friend here.

"Well, that's not the first time I've been called that, so it's an improvement. For sure. But try to work it down to just Steve, in the future. At least while we're alone."

Eddie nods, but he doesn't look like that's going to be something he'll ever do.

They walk a little further, and Eddie stops in front of a Kentucky Fried Chicken. Perfect.

Eddie ushers him inside, and into a hidden corner booth, before going up to order. When he comes back, he gently puts down the tray, and acts like he's going to start setting everything up, like this is a state dinner. It's definitely not.

"Just sit. Eat with me," Steve says, and Eddie looks uncomfortable.

"That's really not…"

"Does it look like I care, Eddie? Please?" Steve asks, and he pushes a styrofoam plate in his direction, and starts loading it up.

"Are you a breast, leg or thigh man?" Steve asks, and Eddie blushes a pretty pink.

Steve's pretty sure he's not a breast man, and that's more than okay with him. Maybe he can use that in his favor, someday, hopefully.

"Anything is fine, si-"

"Steve," Steve corrects.

"Steve," Eddie whispers, like he might be caught and reprimanded.

Steve smiles, and puts a couple different pieces on Eddie's plate, then some mashed potatoes. Gravy. A couple biscuits, and looks at Eddie as he pushes it his way.

Eddie is just looking down at it.

Steve reaches down and picks up his thigh with his hands, and takes a bite.

"Finger lickin' good," he says, and Eddie giggles, as he picks up a piece himself, and takes a bite. It looks awkward, and a little dainty, but it thrills Steve that he's playing along. Getting a little more comfortable with him.

He wants to get to know him, Eddie, the man under the suit. Maybe the man, out of the suit.

On the walk back, Steve looks back at Eddie.

"Eddie?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at him.

"Yes?"

"Was there really nobody else? Is it me…or nothing?" Steve asks, because he's pretty sure he can't do this. Doesn't want to. At least not long-term. Not for his entire life. He's given it a good go, but he's not feeling it, at all.

"Well," Eddie says, drawing out the word, seemingly unsure if he should keep talking.

"Well, what?" Steve asks, pausing, and pulling Eddie off the sidewalk and into a little hedgerow. They stand there looking at each other.

"There was one other option, but he didn't want to do it, so I kept my mouth shut," Eddie says, looking at the ground.

"So, that guy could say no, but I'm just the schmuck who had to accept this thing? This weight on my shoulders?" Steve asks.

"I didn't know you then. You were just a name, a profile, on paper," Eddie explains, still looking down.

"And you knew the other guy?"

Eddie nods.

"Who is it? Do I know him?"

Eddie looks up, quietly asking Steve if he'll keep this secret, and Steve reluctantly nods.

"My Uncle Wayne," Eddie says, "he's retired, and already he did his duty to the Crown, and didn't want that kind of spotlight trained on him. He just wanted to go on, living his normal life. He didn't ask for it any more than you did."

Steve nods, he understands, even if it doesn't make him feel much better.

"Oh," Steve says, "I understand. I just wish, well, that I'd have been given more of a choice, too. If I said no, they'd have found him, eventually, right?"

Eddie nods, "I'm sorry, sir."

Steve gets it. Unless he wants to make that old, retired man sit on the throne, he's stuck.

"It's okay, Eddie. But I feel alone here, most of the time, so I'd like Robin to move here. Can that happen?"

Eddie shakes his head, looking sad.

"Sir, they're never going to allow you to marry your American girlfriend. It's been a hard enough sell for you."

Steve laughs, pushing his bangs back off of his forehead, "Girlfriend? No way. She's my best friend. Platonic with a capital P, only."

"Oh, well, then, yes. I'm sure we could arrange for that to happen, assuming she'd like to come."

Steve grins, wide. That's the best news he's gotten in weeks.

They start walking again, "Do you live at the palace?" Steve asks.

Eddie chuckles, and shakes his head, "No, sir, I don't live at the palace. It just seems like it."

He's teasing, and it makes Steve smile.

"Where do you live, then?" Steve asks.

"Right around the corner, actually," Eddie says, and Steve stops walking.

"Can we go see it?" Steve asks.

"You want to go to my flat, sir?" Eddie questions.

Steve realizes that was probably rude to invite himself over, "Only if you want me to. You're not obligated, of course."

"I didn't think I was obligated, Steve," Eddie says, "but it might not exactly be tidy. I wasn't expecting a royal to want to visit me at home."

"Do I look like I'm gonna care about that?" Steve asks, and Eddie smiles, and redirects them, but still keeps just behind his shoulder.

Eddie's apartment is nice, and not as messy as he'd sold it as. Steve looks around, at the pictures on the walls. At his guitar on a stand by the couch. Eddie is digging in the fridge and brings him a beer, which Steve takes with enthusiasm. He's been offered wine, and liquor, at the palace, but this is just a regular beer. That he'll be allowed to drink out of the bottle, no glass in sight.

It feels like home, and he twists off the cap, sliding it into his shirt pocket.

Eddie sits next to him on the couch, and they drink, and just make small talk. It feels normal. Cozy. Like he's in someone's home, instead of a museum, and he longs for a place like this to call his own again. He took it for granted back home, and now he misses those days. Misses Robin.

They don't stay long, and just walk back to the palace after they've finished their beers, but it's the best night Steve's had since he's gotten to this country.

"I can't move to London," Robin says across the ocean through the phone, and Steve slumps at his desk.

"But, I miss you," Steve says, twisting the cord around his fingers.

"Well, you should have thought of that before you packed your shit and ran away to play King," Robin snarks.

She's teasing, but it's true.

"Will you at least come to visit?" he asks, hoping. Begging.

"Of course," she says, "if you're paying."

"I'm paying. I'm the King, you know. Just be aware you'll have to curtsy to me," he teases.

"Yeah, never gonna happen, dingus."

But she agrees, so he puts Eddie on the case to set it all up through his office.

"I want to go to the movies," Steve declares suddenly, and Eddie looks over at him. They're sitting across from each other at a desk, as Steve's going over paperwork from his red box. Signing what he needs to sign, asking Eddie about what he still doesn't understand.

"The movies?" Eddie questions.

"Yeah, you know, a movie theater?"

"I'll see what I can do, sir," Eddie says, with a smile.

That night, Eddie guides him to a secluded room. And it's a private theater. Right in the palace.

"This has been here all along?" Steve asks.

"Well, yes, sir, but it's really for the staff. But I cleared it tonight, for you."

Steve doesn't even care what they watch, he just wants to have some fun.

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says, settling into one of the chairs. Patting the one beside him for Eddie to sit, and after Eddie's collected a bucket of already prepared popcorn from a table, he does sit, and hands it over to Steve.

They sit side-by-side, watching a movie, sharing the bucket of popcorn, and it feels normal for a couple hours. He could have been on a date, a regular date back home, tonight.

But it's Eddie, and he can't kiss him at the end of the night, even if he'd like to. This gift from him was more than enough.

Eddie follows him back to his bedroom, and turns down the bed, and Steve stands there, watching him.

"Thanks for tonight, Eddie. I had a lot of fun," Steve says.

"Me too, sir," Eddie answers, "goodnight."

Steve is standing out on the step, bouncing on his feet, nervous. Excited. Robin is on the way, and when they finally pull up with her, she leaps out of the car and runs straight into his arms. Not a curtsy in sight. He catches her and spins her, hugging her tight. He didn't realize it until this very moment, that one of the things he's been missing the most is human touch. None of these people touch him. No friendly hands on a shoulder, or arm.

No reassurance. No checking on his emotional needs. No comforting him. No checking in, at all. He's just supposed to function, as is, all on his own, he supposes.

He's been needing a hug, he realizes, and he buries his face in her neck, and if it's weird, she's going with it.

"I'm so glad you're here. Welcome to my new home," he says, and she grabs his hand, and he lets her pull him into the palace and up the staircase, at a near run. Dodging staffers, who bow to him as he is dragged past them. They clearly disapprove, but he doesn't give a shit. This is the most normal thing he's experienced in weeks.

She pauses at the top of the staircase, but only because she doesn't know where she's going.

He nods to the left, and he's being pulled along again, giving her directions to his bedroom, and once they're inside, she launches herself onto his bed, bouncing.

He smiles, and hops up next to her.

"Holy shit, Steve, look at this place!" she shouts, eyes wide as she looks around.

"I know, right?" he asks, but he's only looking at her. She's the only thing in this whole room that he cares about, that he loves.

That night he wraps his arm over her side, crowding up behind her, and she lets him hold her, "I'm so happy to see you."

"You better not be that kind of happy to see me," she says, contorting to get away from his crotch.

He laughs, laying his head on his pillow, "I'll try to keep it in check."

"You better, dingus."

And dingus sounds like a better, more fitting, title than King ever has, a thousand times over.

He wants to be her dingus, he doesn't want to be the King.

Steve is startled awake in the morning, by Eddie at the foot of his bed.

"Oh, Your Majesty, I do apologize," Eddie says, starting to back away from the bed, "I didn't realize you had company."

Robin looks at him, giving him the once over, "Well, not that kind of company, Jeeves. Let's get that straight."

Steve laughs, and nods, "Definitely not that kind of company, Eddie."

"We're best friends," Robin says.

"Platonic with a capital P," Eddie repeats, "as Your Majesty has said."

"Your Majesty," Robin says with a cackle, rolling towards him, and he slaps her on the arm, and it just makes her laugh harder. "King Dingus."

"He hasn't picked a regnal name yet, so perhaps that could be an option?" Eddie says, and Steve can't believe it. It's the funniest thing Eddie's ever said in Steve's presence, by far.

Steve laughs, throwing his head back, melting into the bed again.

Eddie just looks confused, and a little alarmed. But he still draws back the curtains, and brings Steve and Robin in a wheeled cart full of breakfast and coffee.

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says.

"Sir, madam," Eddie says, and he bows his head at the neck, and then he's gone.

As soon as the door closes, Robin slugs Steve in the arm, "You have a crush on Jeeves!"

Steve doesn't even try to deny it, just smiles, "Yeah, that's Eddie."

Robin stays two weeks, and then she goes back home to their real life. And Steve's agitated. He misses her. He should have gone home with her.

Eddie comes in carrying a large, heavy by the look of it, cardboard box. Great, now what?

"What's that?" Steve asks, standing to go take a look as Eddie places it down on the table.

"Your hairspray, Your Majesty," Eddie says, opening the flaps, "I'm sorry it took so long. I had to convince Unilever to engage in a short, private production run, just for you, sir."

"No fucking way," Steve says, reaching in to pick up a can, and it's really it.

He grabs Eddie and hugs him, shaking him around, and Eddie is just a ragdoll in his arms, but Steve could kiss him, he's so happy.

"Thank you, Eddie, you're now my favorite person. Robin, who?" he teases, immediately taking a can to the bathroom.

Eddie follows, and watches him as he sprays it on his hair and tries to style it, even though it's not wet.

"Just wait until tomorrow, I'll look so damn good," Steve says, and he meets Eddie's eyes in the mirror, and Eddie's blushing.

"I'm sure you will, sir," Eddie says, and Steve can feel it between them. The sexual tension. The attraction. He's not sure how to do anything about it, if he even can.

But he wants to, and it's nice to have that feeling again. About anyone. And he's happy it's Eddie that's making him feel like this, because he really likes him a lot.

"Can we go swimming today?" Steve asks, and Eddie looks at the schedule, and nods.

"I think we can fit that in this evening, if you'd like, sir," Eddie answers.

"Yes, please," Steve says.

That evening, they walk down to the private pool and Eddie stands there while Steve strips off his shirt.

"Aren't you coming in?" Steve asks. He's assumed Eddie would. It's a sport, and that's one of the few things they do together, as almost equals.

"Sir?" Eddie questions.

"C'mon, get in!" Steve shouts, laughing, splashing water towards Eddie, which Eddie dodges easily. But Eddie nods. Disappearing into one of the locker rooms.

Steve's taking bets with himself, if Eddie will be in one of those silly old-fashioned, striped swim costumes with shoulder straps when he comes back.

He's not.

He's just wearing a pair of basic black trunks, and Steve can't help it as his eyes rake over Eddie's pale, exposed skin.

Steve's not sure he's even seen Eddie's forearms, let alone is his bare chest. He has a tattoo. More than one, it looks like, and Steve grins. Fully enjoying the view. Maybe he's not as buttoned-up as he appears on the surface.

Eddie comes down the steps and pushes off, and swims towards Steve.

"What now, sir?" Eddie asks, treading water.

"I was thinking about laps, but anything would be good with me," Steve says. As long as he's with Eddie, he's in.

And they fall into lane lines, and Steve breathes to his left so he can see Eddie, and for once, they are side-by-side, equals. They both do a flip-turn and push off, resurfacing together. Steve smiles, and keeps kicking.

He feels normal, here, now. Swimming. His teammate beside him. And Eddie is his teammate, maybe the only one he has in this place. He's surrounded by people, but he feels like Eddie is the only one that ever actually sees him.

And he's happy as they swim, together, until they are both struggling to breathe, clinging to the side of the pool. Steve rests his head on his arms, and feels good. Really, really good.

His happiness doesn't last long.

The next morning, Gareth comes into his office, with four or five other staffers trailing behind him.

"Your Majesty, we'd like to discuss taking the first steps towards the wedding," Gareth says.

"Whose wedding?" Steve asks.

"Yours, sir," Gareth says, and Steve sees red. He knew they were scheming to set him up on dates with various available women, but this is too far. He'll be the King, but marrying a stranger isn't happening.

"I'm not getting married!" Steve snaps as he storms out, turning to hold his hand up, giving the universal motion to stop, demanding that they not follow.

Steve only wants to find Eddie.

Eddie is walking down the hallway, and Steve accosts him.

"This is too far, you can't tell me who to marry, Eddie!" Steve yells, and Eddie quickly grabs him by the arm, and pulls him into Steve's bedroom, and shuts the door behind them. Locking them inside.

"Your Majesty, please, it's for the good of the country. To protect your bloodline, your birthright. You're the last. You need to marry, and produce heirs. That's just how it's done."

"I'm not the last and you know it!" Steve screams.

"Please," Eddie says softly, like he's trying to tame Steve, "please consider doing this. It's the right thing to do."

Steve crosses his arms across his chest, "Absolutely not."

"Sir, please," Eddie says.

"Stop calling me sir, if you're gonna fuck me over, at least use my name, for god's sake."

"Steve," Eddie says, "we aren't doing this to hurt you."

"Well, it sure feels like you are. What about love? What about who I love?" Steve asks, his voice softer.

"Love must be subordinated for the good of the monarchy, Steve," Eddie says, his voice softer now, too.

Eddie has called him Steve, here, and Steve can't even be happy about it.

"No. No way. No, no, no."

"Princess Caroline is a perfectly acceptable choice. You need to do this."

"You're serious?" Steve snaps.

"Yes!" Eddie snaps back.

"I won't, I'm not marrying someone I don't love!" Steve assures loudly, and he means that. They can't make him. "This place is terrible, this job, it's bullshit! It's all bullshit! I'd rather be selling hot dogs, or ice cream, than to be locked up here in this gilded cage! At least at home my choices were my own and I could fuck up my life any damn way I saw fit!" Steve screams.

"Steve," Eddie says, scrubbing his hands over his face and Steve's never seen him this undone, "Why? Why are you fighting this? This is just how things are done."

"You know why," Steve says, crossing the room and closing the space between them.

"I don't…that's not…" Eddie mutters, looking anywhere but at Steve.

"Eddie," Steve says, taking him by the shoulders, "look at me."

Eddie does, reluctantly.

"I can't marry Princess Caroline, because I love you."

Eddie's face falls, like he's just been given terrible news, and Steve's stomach drops. He's miscalculated this, all of this, and immediately lets go of him. They haven't been flirting, they haven't been anything to each other. Steve has misinterpreted their whole thing.

He feels sick.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Steve says, taking a step back, "I shouldn't have said that to you. Please, don't-"

But his words are cut off, when Eddie is suddenly moving towards him, and finally, finally presses his lips to Steve's.

Steve reaches his hand up, and cups the back of Eddie's head. It's better than he'd even fantasized about. He kisses him, over and over, holding him. Finally touching him in all the ways he's longed to, for months.

"Eddie," Steve breathes out, once they've separated, and Eddie just smiles at him and takes him by the hand, leading him towards the truly outlandish bed. He hadn't dreamed this is where the day would end up, even if he'd dared to hope.

Eddie pushes Steve onto his back on the bed, and the dynamic has shifted in a way that Steve loves. Yes, please. More of this. He watches as Eddie pulls off his jacket, his tie, and unbuttons his dress shirt.

It's the best strip tease Steve's witnessed in his whole life.

And when Eddie crawls on top of him, in just his underwear, Steve laughs and wraps his arms around Eddie, pulling him close. Pressing kisses to his shoulder, his chest, anywhere he can reach.

After, Steve brushes his hand through Eddie's hair, holding him, as they lay together. Eddie's legs are tangled with his, and they're comfortable here, together.

"I need to quit," Steve says, softly.

"I know you do," Eddie answers, pressing his lips to Steve's chest.

"Will your uncle take over? If I do?" Steve asks.

"I'll talk to him," Eddie assures.

"Will you go with me when I leave? Or will you need to stay with him?" Steve asks.

"At first, I'll feel I'm obligated to stay," Eddie says, "he's my uncle. He raised me. But after he gets settled, perhaps."

Perhaps isn't a no, so Steve takes that as good news, and just pulls him closer while he has the chance.

"Maybe, you'd like to settle in with me here at my flat, for a stretch. Before you go home," Eddie suggests and Steve nods. Absolutely. Yes, to that. Please.

Eddie and his speechwriters help him perfect his abdication speech, and write his Instrument of Abdication letter. Wayne Munson, at his side. Stoic and quiet, but willing now, to accept this responsibility.

Steve signs it, and Eddie, Gareth, Goodwin and Williams all sign as witnesses to his signature.

And it's done, basically.

"You boys do realize I have no children, so this might come right back to you, after I'm gone," Wayne says softly.

And Steve and Eddie both nod. They know. But they appreciate this time Wayne's given them, to live and love. It's a gift, because he loves Eddie and wants him to be happy. Steve knows that, and he won't take it for granted. Not ever.

In a few days time, he's standing before Parliament, something he's never had to do, before now.

"My Lords and Members of the House of Commons, I know it is unusual for a King to address you in this manner, but I have some things I'd like to say, that I'd like for you to hear them in person, from me," he starts, before going on to apologize for being too set in his ways, too American for this duty. But he explains that there is another heir, an English one, also born into the House of Wyndam-Pryce. He tells them that it was discovered after Steve had assumed the throne, but now that he knows, he feels it only right to step down. He introduces Wayne, and turns over the Crown, happily.

As soon as he steps back from the podium, he feels like the weight of the world has left his shoulders. He walks out into the sunshine and smiles, closing his eyes, tilting his head towards the sky.

He's a free man, once again.

Eddie is waiting, and takes his hand, and finally, for once, Eddie steps out ahead of him, leading the way.

There are lots of people standing around watching him pack, and Steve looks around, "Are they scared I'm going to steal something?"

Eddie laughs, "Well, maybe. You can't take anything that belongs to the Crown."

"I only want to take one thing with me," Steve says, smiling.

Eddie grins, lowering his voice, "Me?"

"Okay, well, two things," Steve teases, and Eddie cocks his head, curious.

Steve walks down the staircase, carrying the giant cardboard box of hairspray. Eddie holds the door open for him, and then helps him put it in the trunk. Technically, it belongs to the Crown, but Steve is sure they'll never miss it. If Wayne wants him beheaded for taking it, bring it on. The man hardly has any hair at all left, so he definitely doesn't have a pressing need for hairspray.

"So, how was it to be King?" Eddie asks, settling into the back of the town car beside him.

"Well, I met you and I got a lifetime supply of my favorite hairspray, so pretty good, overall," Steve teases, and reaches over and takes Eddie's hand, looking at the window as the palace grows smaller in the distance behind them.

He's not the King, not anymore.

But he's Eddie's boyfriend, his partner, and he's pretty sure that's a way more important role for him to try and fill.

Notes: This originally started for Steddie Holiday Drabbles, but the length got away from me. And then really got away from me. I couldn't condense this into 1000 words, it seems. So, I did something different for that Royalty AU and used this one here.

Royalty isn't really in my wheelhouse, but King Ralph popped into my head, and made me cackle. Sure, I'll make American Steve an unlikely King. No problem.

I'm sure Eddie had the job of about a dozen men, here. Go with it.

Also? John Goodman is a damn delight. Nobody could deliver the "dick of what?" line better than that, though I had Steve try.

Wienerlicious was from the show Chuck.

House of Wyndam-Pryce is a Buffy joke. That's Wesley's last name, and Wyndham was the fictional name in King Ralph. So it seemed fitting.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiemas and follow along!

#steddiemas #hallmark movie tropes #royalty au #steddie #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #king steve #platonic stobin #stranger things fic #thisapplepielife: short fic #thisapplepielife: steddiemas

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joannasteez · 3 months

Text

crying, laughing, loving, lying - australian merlot

pairing: roman reigns x angel (black oc) warning: no warnings. first date fluff. this is an alternate universe work of fiction, so no wrestling will be mentioned. authors note: this will hopefully, be followed by other pieces that show the progression of angel and romans relationship. get ready for hallmark movie realness. music inspo: crying, laughing, loving, lying by labi siffre word count: 3100

some restaurants are made for first dates. for habitual blind daters too skittish to reach beyond that hectic first circle of hell limbo called first base. the 'will it now? won't it finally?', of it all. this ceaseless punishment of lovelessness. and angel thinks that it's all more shitty than bullshit anyways. love is simply an accompaniment and not the whole damn tune. a cappella's are more fascinating anyways. love is more of an accessory. something like bracelets or anklets. a thing to put on that dresses up life a little more prettily. but there is a trouble to it. the labor of coordination far less rewarding than it's worth. and what of the fruitlessness? the defilement and scarcity that rottens the garden. a few ruined by many and now she's at her tenth blind date since the new year, already familiar with the taste of fucking bile.

"you need someone".

but she doesn't. because need implies the failure of survival without it and if after every date her stomach churns—with a fear that she refuses to acknowledge—then that wasn't something she wanted anyways. definitely not something she needed.

but here, amongst white table cloth, she waits. 7:39 pm. slightly too early to be upset because he, whoever he is, isn't late yet. but she wishes very openly that he will be. it'd just be a strike against him. something that eases the guilt of ghosting him when he inevitably asks for another date. and please don't mistake the self assuredness for a too big ego, she just knows these things. it's based all on common occurrence. they bring roses because "all women love roses", dragging their feet in eased and so damn smiley despite being five, ten or even fifteen minutes late and it absolutely grinds her fucking gears. cleanliness is next to godliness but fuck it punctuality is too. he will come with a rose and he will be late and he will ramble about himself and he will stare at her cleavage and then imply that him paying the bill grants access to spreading her open and then the inevitable lump of bile.

it was a song she'd heard and a dance done a thousand times and her head hurt from the thundering bass and her feet from trying to keep pace with such terrible rhythm.

angel wants to leave. wants to finally grant herself the relief of no guilt by stepping away before the burden of ridding her tongue of the bile.

but she can't, because he's here now. sitting down with no rose.

what the hell?

and he is beautiful. a huge mountain of a man. herculean with a directness to his eyes that makes it appear as though he is staring through her skin and into deeper, more vulnerable parts. heat scorching fast over nerves and bones till she grows warm and its concerning. because angel has gone on first dates with beautiful men before. sat with them, spoken to and at them, laughed with and at them, dined with them, but for some gut churning reason, this, feels different. the temperature of the atmosphere is warm. the life in his eyes, inviting.

and for the love of God he doesn't have a rose and it makes angel laugh. small and to herself.

he sits. confused and amused in that awkward way. where the idea of a joke itself makes you laugh, not privy to hooks, punchlines, sinkers and the like.

and for the first time in a myriad of failed dates, angel is taken by his voice. a dark symphony. pitch low and smooth. strong and double bass like.

"can i get in on the joke?"

she wants to shrivel into and like a ball. because it wasn't necessarily funny. it was more so the absurdity of the situation. of course after much complaining and internal deliberation she would be sent someone that would stick her foot in her mouth. at least in regards to the romantic gesture of giving roses.

her throat clears. "sorry, it's just...it's kinda weird. it's nothing".

he squints and it feels like a hole is tearing through her skin. peeling away till its settling warm into veins.

"if you leave me in suspense i'm gonna make you feel like shit about it".

"is that a threat?"

"more like a spoiler".

and now the laugh is bright and clear. nothing hidden and inward about it. and he loves the sound. wouldn't mind if he could hear it a few more times tonight. her sarcasm more laden in her words than the surprise of them.

"because you've never practiced that before".

"in a mirror once or twice, but i got you all giggly so tell me whats funny".

angel sighs. "you didn't bring a rose and for whatever reason, men show up to first dates with roses", waving her fingers away to express the un-seriousness of her amusement. "it's just a thing".

"like... the bachelor".

"yeah", snorting. "sure, like the bachelor".

his fingers, long and thick and just downright massive, rub into his beard. mulling over her words with a bout of sincerity that she doesn't think she's seen in a while. like some actual consideration, and not a half-assed pulling together of thoughts into words to make conversation for the sake of filling in the silence.

"never really approached it like that. it seems more like a burden than anything y'know?", his eyes slipping over the bottle of wine you ordered before he showed, before its doing the same to your face. "flowers do the dying thing and then what? just something else to throw away. feels odd".

"i mean, theres ways to preserve them". because of fucking course she would say this, after making a fuss about always getting flowers. but it was just that weird thing, trying to see the upside in a situation. to heal the downtrodden idealism of it all. "but i agree with you".

"sounds like you want a rose".

"i don't. i just-...". she sighs. flustered. "can we start over".

and he smiles. at her awkwardness and her eyes and the crinkle in her brows as she gathers herself.

"of course".

eyeing the bottle of wine again, his hand reaches out to you.

"roman".

and it fits. encapsulates his everything. name and the air of him reminiscent of old statues built with marble and brow sweating patience. an easy demeanor inherited from stoic warriors of old. fine silk looking hair and a jaw she's sure she can cut against if not for the thickness of his beard.

she takes his hand and shakes. thumb over his veins and wrapped up in the strength of his palm.

"angel".

"are you?"

they both smile. teasing eyes and a playful air.

"sometimes".

he hums short. the song of it uprooted from his chest. hand slipping away from hers but the impression of it leaves a stain on her skin. where his fingers squeezed in the midst of a mere cordial shaking. and his eyes are not shy. taking hers to hold steady and uncompromising. and never has a man held her gaze so well, not since-

"you been here before?"

and it is only the shame of so many dates in such a short amount of time that leaves her tongue dry and her thoughts partial to lying. "uhh", her eyes sweeping over the menu. "no. i haven't".

"any allergies?"

"used to be pescatarian a while back but i stopped. why?"

"i don't want you to surprise me with a closed airways cause i recced you something with peanut oil".

"you've been here before?"

"a few times".

"on dates". more like a statement than a question.

he's busy looking over the menu, like he's seeing it for the first time. "dates, work stuff, a night out. it's a cool spot. convenient". he takes the wine bottle, opening it to pour. humming in delight as he nose takes to smell. "you've been here before though".

"what?"

angels heart sinking way down till it's falling steady out of her chest cavity and into her stomach. taking something similar to a rolling tumble as it goes and it feels devastatingly awful. being caught in a lie has never been a smooth easy ordeal and the urge to get up and leave runs rife under her skin. prickling in a manner that taunts her till her cheeks grow hot white. she wants to hide and suffer in the silence of her own shame. and he's a complete asshole about it, because he lets her simmer into a scorched heat, struck and wordless as a grin plays through his lips. picking up the wine bottle once more. his fingers wrapping about it easy and familiar.

"when i said your last name for the reservation, the waiter called you by your first. which means she knows you, because you've been here a few times". his lips smiling. much more amused than worked up by your little white lie. sipping the wine to taste again. "that and the wine. first-timers spend too much on wine. the merlot here is decent enough".

a forced chuckle toughens up. angel sooting the bridge of her nose with a thumb. un-fucking-believable. "this is fucking embarrassing".

"it's good wine though. cheap as shit but it's pretty good".

"look", she starts. a deep sigh before she makes the effort to meet him. his brown eyes soft still. void of scrutiny. amusement waning but still nothing of judgement. and the niceties unnerved angel. most men didn't take too kind to lies in such a formally romantic setting. it made for awfully fierce energy that led to a frigidness she hated to maneuver. not that she was a habitual liar, but still, it worried her. "i didn't mean to lie... well... i did but-"

"it's alright. i get it. i used to be the same way".

"a liar?"

"embarrassed".

and she knew exactly what he meant without him having to say it. because this probably wasn't his first date of the new year either. the wait staff were probably familiar with him too. his familiarity with the taste of the restaurants stock of merlot making perfect sense. he'd probably, once upon a time, given his fair share of roses. the what do you do for work spiel and the sometimes awkward dance of wanting more after the first date and wrongly reading what he thought were obvious suggestions that a woman wanted him physically. and sometimes thats all they wanted, or at least that's what angel thinks, because some of her dates just wanted sex. no strings or some strings and then it got tangled and messy. always too damn messy. but he was over the shame of cycling through to find "the one". angel had yet to get there.

she clears her throat. thumbs twiddling together. apologetic as she looks to him. "i'm sorry anyways".

roman's silence is heavy. his eyes slipping over her face. noting the details that exist in their guilt. but still even in this, angel is a beautiful woman. thick lashes and slightly hooded eyes. cheeks high and plump. her lips full and surely kissable. especially when she takes them between her teeth in what he's sure to be her nerves overworking themselves with all his staring and his wordlessness. his smile warm and easy again, turning back to the menu. he's had enough of making her feel like shit anyways, for it dampened the mood far too much and he rather you smile again and for as long as they date lasts.

"forgiven and forgotten. the real litmus test is how you take your steak".

"who said i wanted steak".

"one, you owe me for lying".

she gasps. lips pulling up and her knee knocking softly into his. "you said forgiven and forgotten".

"and two", he continues, chuckling. "you said you were pescatarian, meaning you gave it up cause you realized that grass ain't green".

"why are you reading me so well right now, this is crazy".

"wouldn't be good at what i do if i couldn't".

her mouth purses over the wine glass to sip at the sweetness of the merlot, waiting for him to continue. and when he doesn't she finds herself more interested in hearing a man talk than she ever has in all her time of dating.

"which is?"

"i teach and coach".

"okay", her eyes play and rolling. "don't leave me in suspense. be more specific".

and here the fierceness of his features round out to a softness. but surely it cant be those few sips of wine, suddenly freeing up the tight collection of his resolve. the slightest dusting of pink at his cheeks and his mouth smiling smaller. humility bracing him harshly just before her. it was more obvious to her now, he hates talking about himself.

"sports history and college football", barely meeting her eyes. the menu suddenly becoming so very important to him. his throat clearing as his palm reaches to rub up against the thick hair of his beard. " 'm not a head coach or anything, just for the defensive line but its...", and finally he looks to her again. "it's cool".

"don't say just like that. it down plays your passion. i like passion".

the sincerity melting a warmth into him. the air feeling less suffocating for the both of them now as they share a smile.

and the dinner goes smoother than angel had expected. the food cooked immaculately and the wine warming her belly. his passionate talks soothing to her ears and his jokes funnier. the knock of his long legs turning into less of an accident and more of a playful teasing. and by the end of their steaks they're both closer than they started, leaning in to hear more of each others voices. his freckles an endearing scatter against his cheeks. the slick lick of his lips as he talks catching her eyes and by the end of her wine glass she comes to the arresting realization that he's doing it on purpose. slowly but surely ingratiating himself through small touches and that hostage holding stare.

angel, afraid now, feels a disappointment weighing in her. the ending of it all , this little world of quickly built intimacy, nearing quicker than she realized. both of them perusing through the dessert menu. more than slowly to stretch the time.

"you a dessert guy?"

he sets down the menu. her voice bringing him in again. "fuck yeah i'm a dessert guy. they make a bomb ass bread pudding here. best i've had".

and maybe her eyes are suggestive. and maybe they sharpen to pierce through him a little more fiercely and maybe her knee knocks into his when her lips part to speak. but angel does well about pleading the fifth, even with herself.

her eyes looking up through her lashes as she flits them from the menu to him. and she can track the trailing of his gaze straight to her plump lips. "you've never had mine".

"is that an invitation to taste test?"

a shiver breaks over her skin. an undulating warmth at her cheeks. she pushes her menu to the side.

"y'know pastry emporium? the shop on 4th and everling?"

roman's brows jump in an instant, before they pull together. the sudden realization exciting his nerves.

"thats yours?"

"half of it. i co-own".

"i'm stoppin' by there all the time and i've never seen you".

and the tiny world they live in has just become slightly smaller. their existences dancing on the edges of one another for who knows how long before this faithful night of teasing smiles and blood sweetening sips of australian wine.

"i don't mesh too well with the front of house stuff". her knee taking a soft slow lean into his. and maybe the styling and placement of the tables and chairs are purposeful. for moments like these. "but i can make an exception".

"you better". his lips spreading wide and his smile bright. nothing bashful left in his expression as its overtaken by the prospect of seeing you again. "cause you owe me a taste test".

and for once there is no threat of bile to stain her throat, or even the cringing anticipation thereof. and when they're both finally, hesitantly ready for the bill, he takes the responsibility without words. fitting his card into the leather book. appreciation swimming to settle gently in her belly along with the sweet merlot. he tips well too, and his fingers catch soft against her palm, leading her out of the restaurant and into the balmy night spring air. the urge to stick to him creeping in her skin. but the same seems to exist for him because he stands just before her, eyes circling the city, searching and thinking, before they find her face. a small smile on her lips as she looks to him expectantly. his touch grows firmer, as if he's just come to the end of a pending decision. fully taking her hand as he begins to step.

"walk with me". but theres no inflection that implies a question. more of a statement that softly wills her into following.

his hand as warm as his smile and gentle even in its size. he strolls easy too, to help her keep up with the wide steps he takes.

but even beyond the easy going tenderness of him, angel has never felt such a stillness in her nerves before. the city she's seen a thousand times suddenly appearing brighter and less overwhelming. the usual droning no longer a harsh symphony. the pitch and pace less grating. and maybe it's silly, because he's, despite his teasings and his suggestive eyes and interesting conversation, still a stranger. still a man with a world of a life she knows so little about. filled with hopes and dreams and secrets. but that feeling nags still. nestles deep under her skin as it attempts to force out the hesitancies.

roman leads her to the front of a flower shop and her eyes play at rolling.

she tries to pull him away from the entrance. "we spoke about this".

"we did".

his smiling melting her resolve to mush. so bright and unapologetic in how it spreads. he takes her hand tightly, pulling her into the shop.

he orders one rose exactly. giving it to her after he's paid for it.

"why?", she asks. trying to fight the rising heat in her cheeks.

"because i think deep down, you want it. you just don't want it to feel like an obligation. and this right here is all off the cuff. im sure of that”.

and angel's belly flutters. that cliche appearance of butterfly's.

tagging: @333creolelady @harmshake @theninthwonder @gomussy @spritelucozade @venusesworld @thesamoanqueen @empressdede (if i forgot anyone who wants a tag for roman centered fics, my apologies! just remind me for next time)

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fic #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns x black oc #fluff #first dates #au #hallmark movie realness #something something romance #eventual smut #eventual angst #joannasteez

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robinwinged · 6 months

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(Good Omens Christmas fic review week!)

The Grinch Who Sold Christmas by @forineffablereasons is an elixir of the most concentrated and unbridled Christmas joy you’ve ever had, wrapped up in a gorgeous writing and ineffable feels. The story arc echoes your typical cheesy Christmas movie - big-city solicitor Crowley comes to finalize the sale of the Tadfield high street, and in the process of doing research for his proposal, falls in love with the small-town community and a certain kind-eyed angel. But regardless of how predictable the plot may sound initially, this fic is the most magnificent kind of fantasy - not because it contains any supernatural elements, but because it gives readers a taste of the ultimate dream: of unconditional love, and incandescent happiness, and being exactly where you are supposed to be and where you wholly and irrevocably belong.

This fic is so supremely soft - sticky-sweet and syrupy, but not in a cloying or overbearing way. Instead it feels like you are being enveloped in the tenderest and most comforting of hugs; like you are submerged in a torrential outpour of love that is all-consuming in its potency, leaving your fingertips all tingly and your face stretched involuntarily in a silly, dazzling smile. The romance between Crowley and Aziraphale is downright picturesque, from the flirty first-date banter to sticking with each other through thick and thin, and it’s wholesome and glorious and miraculous in its totality. I also cannot rave enough about the writing: it is some of my favourite kind of prose, flowing and melodious, with the lyrical cadence of a bedtime story and the unfettered magic of a fairy tale.

Highly recommended for anyone who wants to feel happiness, pure and simple, this lovely holiday season 💝

#robin reviews #robin recs #good omens fanfiction #good omens fic recs #christmas fic recs #human!au #hallmark movie plot #sweetness overload #solicitor crowley #bookshop owner aziraphale #ineffable love #ineffable husbands #darcylindbergh

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kaydeefalls · 5 months

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Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Characters: Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Friends to Lovers, Sexual Content, Inspired by Hallmark Christmas Movies, ...sort of, Trope Subversion, past joe/lykon, getting over a breakup by sleeping with your friend, sure hope that doesn't awaken any feelings, Falling In Love, mostly fluff with a side of pining, Romantic Comedy, POV Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Summary:

In which Nicky and Joe turn out to be expendable side characters in other people's Hallmark Christmas movies, get stranded by a snowstorm, and catch feelings of their own. Like you do.

#my fic #the old guard #joe x nicky #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #fanfic #modern au #hallmark movie au #because who doesn't want to read a vaguely christmas-themed fic in late january?

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stevesbipanic · 6 months

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@steddiemas Day 12: Hallmark Tropes

Steve knew he should've left earlier, but he had promised his boss the end of year reports before he went on leave and the meeting had run long but most importantly he'd promised Robin he'd be at the Buckley's house by 7 so here he was driving through the beginnings of a snowstorm.

He'd been looking forward to this week for months, especially since Robin had taken the job in Chicago, moving away from their little apartment in Indy. He missed her but he was waiting for a position to open up so he could transfer.

The Buckley's had welcomed Steve to their Christmas since '85 and this year was no different, but the snow was getting too thick to make it tonight. In desperation he pulled over to the first building that seemed to have life in it.

He heard the loud music the moment he stepped out of the car, a bar, of course he'd managed to find himself at a bar instead of a nice inn or something. Oh well, he'd get a drink and wait out the storm.

As he entered it was clear that the music the band was playing wasn't exactly his taste, but driving off the side of the road cause he couldn't see wasn't his taste either. The bartender was serving some girls at the end of the bar so he just took a seat and waited, the warmth of the bar was nice.

"Do my eyes deceive me or is that the resident golden boy himself, Steveeeee Harrington."

Steve glanced up at the sound of his name and locked eyes with the bartender who was unfairly attractive with his curls slipping from their ponytail and perfectly framing around his doe eyes. It took him a moment to recognise him.

"Eddie? Eddie Munson?"

Eddie's face burst into a grin at Steve's recognition, a slight twinkle in his eyes.

"The one and only, although I wouldn't have expected the King to remember me, especially after running away to the big city with Buckley. You two married yet?"

Steve blushed at the old nickname and at the implication.

"No, no, we're just friends, she's in Chicago now, but I'm supposed to be headed into Hawkins to visit her and her parents for the holidays. But no, no wife for me."

Steve could've sworn Eddie's lips quirked upwards even more at hearing that.

"Well, I'm more than glad to welcome you back to our small town, Stevie, let's see how long we can get you to stay. That storm will certainly keep you here for awhile."

As Eddie poured Steve his drink, winking as he placed it down in front of him, Steve thought staying in Hawkins a little longer sounded like a great idea.

Ao3

#we dont get hallmark movies here in aus or at least not in mass #but ive seen enough memes #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddiemas #bigshot steve #hometown boy eddie #pre steddie

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cult-of-the-eye · 6 months

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Read this absolutely amazing little story about businessmen who got broken up with over the holidays you know the hallmark movie trope (linked below) and all I can think about is jmart...Jon's a hotshot London lawyer whos been working those long hours to get that promotion for him and Georgie's future and then she up and leaves for 2 weeks before Christmas to go back to like Mistletoe Grove or whatever because she needs to get back to her roots and he's like preparing to propose and thinks her hometown would be the best place so he drives over and sees her like laughing with her old friend Martin and he's like oh. And then while moping in a barn or whatever Martin appears and he's like trying to make conversation and then Jon like erupts like FUCK YOU I can't believe you STOLE my fucking GIRLFRIEND and Martin's like uh...um...that's...um...I'm gay? And Jon's like oh...shit...and Martin's like ...this is really weird of me to say but could i tell you something...and jon just nods and martin takes a breath and really quickly says...if you're gonna be worried about your girlfriend then it's probably Melanie in the wood working shop and Jon's like OF fucking COURSE it's Melanie from the wood working shop and now he has to stay to try and mitigate these circumstances not for any other ugly Christmas jumper clad reason nope, cut to Christmas themed shenanigans as Jon slowly realises its not georgie who he wants to take back home with him...

#ARGH #oh my god #im totally writing this #i usually cant stand the awkwardness and cheesiness of hallmark Christmas movies #but i would do it for them #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin k blackwood #jmart #jonmartin #melanie king #georgie barker #christmas au #hallmark movies #christmas movies #wtgfs #jmart fluff #jmart fic

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ilovehugslikealotalot · 5 months

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𝐀 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬

Confessions and Old Love (3)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Y/n finds herself making excuses to come to Rebecca’s ranch. New information is revealed. Then, a snow storm seems to brew and the roads are far too slippery to travel home. Rebecca offers for y/n to stay and the two have a chat

WARNING: hallmark cringe if ykyk, talk of past relationships, subtle angst, grief, a Christmas bakery (yes that’s a warning 😀), also y/n has a child

✩｡:•.───── ❁ ❁ ─────.•:｡✩

Everyday for a week, y/n comes to visit the ranch sometimes even without her sister. Under the excuse of, “I just want to reconnect more!” knowing full well her eyes would linger to the tall blonde woman. Rebecca chuckled to herself thinking about your eagerness to ‘learn’ how to ride a horse. Yet, y/n was terrified at the thought.

“So, Uh, heard you had a little girl?” Rebecca smiled, her hands in the pockets of her jacket as she walked with y/n through the land. “Oh, yea, I do. She’s partially the reason why I came back here. Too see her other biological Mother.”

Rebecca felt her stomach turn. When they were together they had tried for a baby. That was years ago, though. If she remembered properly, about 12 years ago. “Oh? Who’s the lucky woman then?” Rebecca said with a curious tone, her eyes squinting slightly trying to read the younger woman’s face. “I- You. It’s you, Becca,” Rebecca felt a wave of emotion wash over. There was no way! Certainly this wasn’t happening. There were check ups, sleepless nights, and so much shattered hope. “But- The doctor told us- Really?” Rebecca’s eyes began to water, she always wanted children. That was something that she always wanted and knew she wanted.

“I wish I could’ve told you sooner, honey, I really do,” y/n hadn’t known and with limited knowledge of the situation there was no way she could have known. It wasn’t until about a month ago that she had found out.

“Why? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Rebecca wasn’t upset of angry, just baffled at the knew and sudden information. “I didn’t know she was yours…When I went to New York after you broke things off, I had hit it off with a friend and well- I didn’t know that I was pregnant before the encounter. The doctor was wrong about me being infertile and we had a faulty test that one time I did have a a baby.” Y/n tried explaining as slow as she could, letting Rebecca soak in the fact that she was a mother. Both stood in silence, Rebecca’s mouth was agape. Though, in all the silence, all Rebecca could muster up was an apology. See, if there was anything these two women certainly had in common. It was their unconditional love for each other. Whether it be a romantic relationship or a normal friendship. They’d, of course, feel some sort of tension that no two people who are ‘friends’ should feel toward each other. Everyone in town knows that their history is a long and rocky one. Everyone knew the story. The story of how every single person in town found out about their relationship. ——————————

“I’ll just have a croissant today, Abby.” Y/n smiled, leaving cash on the counter. “Oh? No latte today, y/n?” Abby asked, putting a croissant in a paper bag, handing it to the young girl. “Not really feeling the caffeine today, Abs” there was a ring at the front door letting everyone know that someone had walked in. “Ah, no latte today, love?” Rebecca smiled, her blonde hair pulled into a messy ponytail her boots were caked with mud and her tank showed off her strong arms. The jeans she wore looked sun bleached with a few stains on them.

“Don’t tell me you memorized my order, Welton” y/n smirked, “Hey! It’s not my fault you order the same exact thing everyday, baby” Abby raised an eyebrow as she ‘minded her own business’ in the back preparing more pastries. She saw the two interact affectionately toward another. Stepping a little closer she listened to their conversation and how easily Rebecca was able to make y/n laugh. She was shocked to see Rebecca just smiling from ear to ear knowing she could be quite grumpy. “Well, don’t you have work you have to attend to?” Y/n smirked, fixing the collar of the taller woman’s western shirt. Rebecca chuckled, “you are the only work I have today, sweet thing.” She rest her hands on y/n’s hips pulling her in for a sweet kiss. Abby couldn’t help but almost squeal in the back. She promised to herself that she would keep her mouth shut. But, sadly that didn’t last long.——————————

It was nearing dark and a storm was fast approaching, “Thank you for today, Becca, seriously-” Y/n was going to walk out the front door when Rebecca stopped her. “Actually, I don’t think it’s a good idea, there’s already ice on the road,” She tried explaining but y/n shrugged giving her a warm smile. “It’s alright, I’ll be fine, unless you want me to stay?” There was almost a dash of hopefulness in the way she’d said it. “I’d feel better knowing you’re safe and not driving around in that snow storm,” she’d confessed, for as long as she lived she’d always be worried for y/n. As Rebecca closed the door she turned to see y/n looking around the house with a small smile on her face like a kid in a candy store.

“So, tell me about her. What’s our daughter like?”

#rebecca welton x reader #rebecca is mother #rebecca welton x fem reader #ted lasso #afc richmond #hallmark movies #hallmark christmas movies #hallmark #au #rebecca welton #x y/n

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onboardsorasora · 7 months

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girl i keep thinking about your enchanted au and I find myself craving more 🥹 I can’t wait for the kiss 😭💗 how is daniel doing with christmas approaching? are they going to spend it together? will he do the mandatory christmas cleaning with all of his animal friends? so many questions 🤓

Oh my dear! I know we've already gushed about the actual factual fireman's hose of ideas this ask inspired, but I am SOOOO excited to write it all🫨🫨!!! Here is the first bit, that includes our hive mind 😍

Part 1 | Part 13

Part 14

Max opened his front door, wearily depositing his suitcase in the entryway and letting the door click close behind him. Jimmy came to greet him with a small chirp and Sassy wasn't behind him so that meant Daniel was either holding her or doing something silly so she was watching over him.

Now that he focused on the absence of Sassy or Daniel, he heard Daniel's voice coming from the open patio door.

“But Chellie I don't have Jessie or Rii to help. I can't clean by myself! There's so much” Max could hear Daniel's pout a mile away. He had no clue who Jesse or Rii were or what he was cleaning however.

“Well if you want to prepare for Christmas properly you have to clean, Bub.” Michelle's voice was at least suitably sympathetic. “Why don't you ask Max to help you?”

“Well I dunno if he even celebrates Christmas. That's a whole thing first.” Daniel sounded hesitant, his lips forming his words over the thumb that was in his mouth. No doubt he was biting the nail in worry.

Christmas was coming up, Max had forgotten with all of the recent changes. He normally went home for the holiday so he wouldn't have to think about decorating his place here. He doubted that would be happy news for Daniel to hear. Max didn't want him to think that once again he was changing his plans because Daniel’s presence was ruining them.

Max took out his phone to send out a text to his mother and sister suggesting they have Christmas celebrations here in Monaco instead of back in Maaseik. They both responded quickly in the affirmative and Max felt a small relief in his chest. That was one problem down, now to try to figure out what Michelle and Daniel were talking about in regards to preparations.

Max never really paid much attention to the whirlwind that usually happened around Christmas time. He was always too busy with work. He only knew it was coming closer when businesses and cities would start wrapping their trees with lights and ornaments. Then he would get a text containing a wishlist from his family and then he’d have his manager buy all the gifts. Then, he would fly home to spend the holidays with his family, his mother’s house would already be fully decorated by the time he got here and his contribution to dinner was more often than not a salad that he made off to the side of the kitchen so as to not get in the way of his mother and sister and their big cooking.

Were there special traditions that they had in Australia? Did Daniel’s family do anything specific that he would be missing? He walked into the kitchen while typing ‘christmas traditions in australia’ into his phone. Quite a few things popped up, some blogs and a few news sites. A lot of them made absolutely no sense to Max, including Christmas meals of prawns and seafood barbeque. He hoped that wasn’t something Daniel was particularly married to. He wasn’t sure he could provide any surfing– there was no telling with the waves in Monaco, but there could absolutely be a beach day and a Christmas lunch. Max had no clue what a pavlova was, but it was on every blog as one of the top three things about Aussie Christmas so he needed to see if there was a bakery nearby that would be able to bake it for him.

He was so deep in his research that he didn’t hear when Daniel walked into the living room and shut the patio door behind him.

“Maxy! You’re home!” Daniel’s grin was bright and he skipped through the common areas to throw himself into Max in a big hug. Max made a small ‘oof’ sound but his arms wrapped around Daniel’s smaller form quite easily.

“I am back.” He confirmed unnecessarily. He’d only been gone for a few days (with strict instructions to Lando that Daniel wasn’t to get drunk again), but it felt way longer in ways he wasn’t sure he was ready to confront. An american holiday was coming up and the team had wanted him to film some content. Christian and Adrian had also used that time to lock him in the sim to go over data for the new car.

He had been fine when at the factory, being distracted by work. But when he got back to his flat in Milton Keynes, he had felt the absence of everyone acutely. He’d gotten used to having a full house. Jimmy and Sassy used to prowl around silently and give him their attention, nowadays they were chirping and meowing when not with Daniel. Max always knew where they were as if they were keeping him updated on their whereabouts. He hadn’t realized how much he’d come to appreciate or listen out for it.

And Daniel, of course Daniel was louder than the cats. And his presence filled the flat. When he wasn’t singing or humming, or shimmying, or frolicking, or anything that was the complete opposite of staying still and quiet, he was in the proclaimed cat nest whispering sweet nothings to the cats. Or chatting on the phone to his family (or Max’s, he’d overheard many short conversations between Daniel and Vic or Luka). Daniel was a very bright spot in his home life. And his flat in Keynes felt very dull and grey while he had been by himself.

Daniel disentangled his octopus limbs from Max and filled a glass with water from the tap and handed it to the slightly confused man. A blush bloomed on Daniel’s cheeks.

“Jimmy said you normally drink water when you come back and you haven’t yet.” Daniel whispered, a tad embarrassed. Jimmy chirped from the countertop as if cosigning.

“Thank you Daniel, and Jimmy.” Max accepted the glass and drank it down in a few gulps. He watched as Daniel started picking at his cuticles, biting the small bit of skin by his thumb. He was nervous. “Is everything alright, Daniel?”

“I… uhm. Do you have plans for Christmas?” Daniel rushed out almost in a whisper, as if he was afraid of the answer. Max knew he was.

“Mom, Vic and the boys are coming here. Is that ok?”

Daniel sagged with relief and Max felt his own shoulders lose their tension.

“Oh good! Thats– thats good.” Daniel muttered to himself. He looked at his phone as if checking the time before looking back up at Max again with hesitant brown eyes. “Uhm, do you guys have any traditions that you do?”

Max made a show of thinking to himself, looking to the ceiling as if he was pulling from distant memory and not that he had spent the last maybe twenty minutes freaking out about the same subject.

“It would be better to ask Mom or Vic, I think. But, of course, we are having a tree and Christmas lunch and dinner. The boys normally wake up really early to open their presents and they help Mom make breakfast. I think there is a Christmas market as well.” He looked over at Daniel who was paying close attention with his active listening face. He looked like he didn’t want to miss a detail.

“Oh! Ok, I can call Vic. where do you keep– no that's ok I can ask Sassy–”

“Where do I keep what?” Max asked quickly, a bit of dread creeping down his spine. He looked over at the cat in question quickly, she tilted her head questioningly before he looked away. He needed to have a quick talk with Sassy so she wouldn't give him up. Never before now would he have ever considered his cat a secret keeper….but look at him now.

“Oh, well I just wondered where you kept your decorations, is all. When do you normally put them up by? Mama likes to get everything started on the first.”

Max felt a cold sweat on his neck and he swallowed the lump in his throat at the thought of lying to Daniel. He didn’t lie– didn’t see the point of saying something that wasn’t true, not even to spare someone’s feelings. But he couldn’t make himself come clean about this, he didn’t want to see the sadness on Daniel’s face.

“I need to buy new ones.” he blurted, not a lie. Not the whole truth either, but Max was considering it a PR win, a media spin. Like when a journalist asks him a question Vicky already told him he wasn’t allowed to answer.

“You do?” Daniel’s eyes lit up at the thought of christmas shopping and Max knew he said the right thing. He nodded, so he wouldn’t have to think of more incorrect statements. “Oh that's perfect! I’ll make a list!”

And then Daniel was off, and Max felt his shoulder’s sag in his own relief. Jimmy jumped off the countertop to follow after the Aussie whirlwind and Sassy stayed on her perch atop the fridge. She gave Max that look again, the one he was starting to recognize as being way too smart for any cat to be.

“He doesn’t need to know, ok. We keep this secret to ourselves.” Max muttered to his cat, complete with putting his finger on his lips in the shushing gesture. Sassy tilted her head again in the opposite direction before chirping again and jumping to the countertop. He offered up scritches and she purred in response, it seems they came to an agreement.

“Good girl, you’re the best Sass.” Max murmured lovingly.

Part 15

#🫨🫨🫨🫨🫨#theres SOOOO much thats going to happen and I feel like I'm bursting at the seams #very hallmark movie esque lmao #maxiel #max/daniel #enchanted au #disney princess dan

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mizushibart · 1 year

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When the Snow Falls.

A 35 page comic, a Christmas romcom au! Soap x Ghost.

my a passion project of last 3 months is finally done <3

pdf contains 2 extra pages, exclusive to kofi release.

base price: 5$, but you're welcome to tip <3 https://ko-fi.com/s/328a02b7f2

#comic #romcom #ghost/soap #ghost x soap #au #hallmark movie su #mwii #mw2 #digital art #fanart #art #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley

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cannedapricot · 1 year

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midnight bus. || hrj

in which as much as renjun denies ever caring about you, he can't help but notice the twitch in your eye when you receive your test marks, the smile that doesn't seem to quite reach your eyes when praised by your principal, and the lack of smart remarks when he scores a single point higher. something was wrong, and it was driving him insane. alternatively, two kids ponder about their futures on a late night bus ride because neither of them can drive.

word count: 2.7k

genre, warnings: angst (?), slice of life, some fluff, comfort (?), academic rivals to lovers, high school!au, neighbor!au, teenage uncertainties uttered and lost between tall buildings and lights, profanities, trespassing

bgm: ghost city tokyo by ayase, overdose by natori, cinema by vivid bad squad, you're on your own kid by taylor swift

a/n: i just finished reading this book of mine and i am in absolute shambles.

Renjun's eyes narrow, squinting at you across the hall. He could clearly see the principal congratulating you on the debate club's latest win, yet, you weren't puffing your chest out in pride like usual.

If this was any normal day in the past five years of your unnamed war for valedictorian, you would've thanked the principal and skipped right up to Renjun with a smug smirk on your face. If this was any normal day he would've rolled his eyes at you and told you that "arguing for climate change isn't a useful skill".

Evidently, this wasn't a normal day. Something's off. You bid goodbye to the principal and shuffle right past Renjun. No snide comment, no shit eating grin, nothing to acknowledge him.

Now, Renjun would much rather jump off a ten meter platform than admit to care for you, but weeks pass by and your usual spark never returned. It wasn't like he needed your attention or anything.

But it was driving him nuts.

Grade 6. 11 years old. Renjun meets you for the first time. You showed up to the first day of class in bright yellow suspenders, it was hard not to notice you. Renjun thought the two of you would make great friends. After all, his surname did mean yellow.

He changed his mind after you scored higher than him in math. No one scored higher than him in math. He would've let it slide if it were just math, but you had scored higher in everything except art. To top it off, when he made the off comment about it you said,

"Oh, it's not like it was hard."

And from that day on, he decided that you were his biggest rival and his life goal would be to knock you off your high perch.

Somewhere along the line, you had caught onto Renjun's hostility towards you. It was so amusing watching him get ticked off at your smug comments, how could you stop making them? So you decided that your life goal would be to never let Renjun know peace.

This rivalry, of course, bled into high school and where the two of you stood in present time. Senior year, AP classes, volunteer work, college entrance preparation, the future.

Oh, the future.

"Y/n, can we get a friend discount?"

"No."

A sigh escapes your mouth. Friday night, 8pm. Family-run diner packed to the brim with teenagers celebrating their football win against the school across town. Clad in the retro diner uniform your mom insisted on, you glide across the floor back behind the counter to yell whatever the table of jocks ordered to the kitchen.

"Busy night huh?"

You rest your head on your mom's shoulder, a habit you've had since childhood.

"Sometimes I wish our diner was less popular."

"Now that wouldn't be great for business," Your mom laughs in response to your childish grumble. "You'll learn to enjoy it once you take over."

The family business that's been passed down for decades. The future that's been decided for you before you were even conceived. You've known that your whole life, yet, for some reason, you weren't sure about it.

Your response should've been much more enthusiastic. But all you could manage was a quiet "I know" before turning to bring the cheerleaders their curly fries.

Renjun thinks he's finally lost it. What other explanation could there be to him staring across the fence from his bedroom window to yours. Your light was on, so you were home. But from the shadows moving around he could tell you weren't at your desk preparing for class like usual.

Renjun thinks he's finally gone bonkers. What other explanation could there be to his inability to focus on his four page essay for AP literature. He was usually good at cranking out fancy words and analysis. But for some reason, he found his mind somewhere else.

Renjun thinks he's finally gone deranged. What other explanation could there be to him climbing out his window (his parents could never know), jumping the fence, and standing under yours. A few well aimed twig throws at your glass was enough for you to stick your head out in confusion.

"Renjun what the hell?"

"Come out. We're going for a ride."

So you begrudgingly close your window and look for a coat to wear over your pajamas.

And for the record, Renjun isn't a stalker. Just a neighbor.

"You know, when you said "we're going for a ride", I kind of thought you meant in a car? As in, car ride?"

"And risk my life for you? No way. We're taking the bus."

11:45pm. You were following Renjun as he sped walked through the quiet residential neighborhood. The two of you passed multiple bus stops along the way but none of them had buses running at this hour.

"Just say you can't drive." You scoff, trying to keep up with the boy in front.

"Well, neither can you. With your brains, I thought you would've breezed the driving test."

"Touché."

The bus arrived at 12am sharp. The bus stop was a fifteen minute walk away from your houses and the two of you barely got on, eyes squinted at the sudden neon lights of the bus interior. The bus driver, a woman in her late forties you presume, audibly clicks her tongue at the sight of you both. You don't blame her, you would probably do the same if you were still working at midnight.

You find a seat in the back half of the bus as to give the lady some peace (though she chooses to put on headphones anyway). Renjun sits in the seat on the other side, though the seats were made for two and there was definitely no one sitting next to you. An awkward silence fills the air as the bus heaves into motion, taking the two of you somewhere unknown.

It was kind of relaxing, you thought. Watching streetlamps pass by in a flash, hearing the faint tune of ABBA songs leaking through the driver's headphones, feeling the bus rumble underneath your body. It was almost like you were running away.

"So... What's up with you," Your neighbor awkwardly begins. "I noticed you weren't really yourself lately."

"Aw, does somebody care about me?"

Renjun never thought that hearing the familiar mocking tone that was the bane of his existence would be so comforting. You were still there. You hadn't changed.

"In your dreams." He hides his smile in his palm and keeps his eyes on the scenery passing by, "Unfortunate for me, living next door to you makes me notice things I don't care for."

His eyes slowly move to check on you when you don't say anything. You sat back in your seat, a long hum as a response.

"I don't know."

"The fuck you mean you don't know-"

"Do you ever feel unsure of the future?"

Renjun's sharp retort was cut short. He was caught off guard by your question. You refuse to look at him, making sure your head was turned to face the glass.

"My family expects me to do one thing but maybe... that's not what I want to do, y'know?"

Honestly, you don't know what's possessed you. Why were you spilling your feelings out to your sworn rival? What if he uses this as blackmail or something?

"I get it."

That's all he says. No mockery in his voice, no teasing to be seen. You look over to find Renjun looking at you with a soft gaze. As if you were something extremely precious to him. So you can't help but reveal more to the boy looking at you so gently.

"The world is so big and I'm not sure if being tied down to the family diner is something I want. Like, I know I'll be disappointing my parents but I don't think that's the future I want."

"Then don't."

"Wow! You're so smart! Why didn't I think of that?" You reply sarcastically. You shouldn't be grinning. But you couldn't help it.

"Thanks. I'm the future valedictorian." Renjun smirks, turning his eyes back outside.

"As if. That's my title."

You continue whining about your parents expectations and plans for you and the diner after college. It was a lot but Renjun didn't once complain. He just sat on the other side of the bus, listening.

A weight had been lifted off your heart. Who knew you could be such a whiner? The conversation dims down as the warm colored streetlamps turn into fluorescent ones. You notice the buildings turn into grey skyscrapers and the bus was suddenly making its way into the bustling city.

You turn your head in awe at the sights. Truth be told, you don't make many trips into town, always too busy in your little suburb with whatever activity to add onto your college application. Which is why you almost miss Renjun's words.

"I want to go to art school."

It was a quiet murmur. Nearly drowned out by the bus engine and the honks of city cars.

"I thought your dream was med school?" You weren't poking fun, you genuinely thought Renjun was aiming to be a doctor. Your entire grade did. He scoffs.

"That's my parents' dream. They want the entire family to be in the medical field. It doesn't matter what we want." Renjun's eyes are facing the window, yet, they weren't focused on anything at all.

"Well, I think you'd do great in art school. You're always great at anything artsy." You admit, fidgeting with your coat. He raises his eyebrow and looks at you.

"You noticed?"

"It's hard to miss when you make the best pieces in the whole school. And I remember "Singin' in the Rain" in middle school. You're extremely talented at singing too."

Renjun can't help the smile that blooms on his face.

"You remember."

"Uh, yeah? You literally had a standing ovation."

Renjun never thought you would remember or pay attention to any of that about him. For some strange reason, his heart skipped a beat and he turns back to the window to hide his reddening cheeks.

"Last stop. Get off."

The bus driver said, promptly leaving the second the two of you step off.

"Why is the last stop at a seven eleven?"

"That is kind of weird. Do you think she just kicked us off because she got tired of our bitching?"

You both giggle before stepping into the convenience store. The cashier spares an uninterested glance, then returns the attention back to his phone.

Weaving in and out of the aisles and nearly slipping on some unknown liquid on the tile, Renjun picks out a packet of Haribo bears while you fill a cup of big gulp, nose scrunching up upon touching the sticky machine. Upon exiting the store and leaving the uninterested cashier behind, Renjun tells you he knows a place the two of you could go to share your goods.

"Though we're going to have to break some rules getting there. Think you're up for that, top student?"

"Why of course, second top student."

You had no idea breaking some rules entailed sneaking past the sleeping security guard and jumping over some barriers in a paid car park building. How did Renjun even know this?

"Isn't this illegal?"

"Only if we get caught." Renjun winks, "and I know for a fact they don't check the cameras regularly."

Renjun holds out his hand for support. You take it and jump off a small ledge. You admit, it was exhilarating. And was your heart beating because of the adrenaline, or was it Renjun's hand that he didn't pull away, even after you landed.

"We're here."

Renjun opens the door and reveals the rooftop parking lot. The air was cold against your flushed face and the empty space seven floors up made you feel like you were floating amongst the grey jungle. You run out, stretching your arms before lying on your back, not caring about how dirty the ground was. You felt free.

"I don't want to make 9pm coffees for the book club ladies for the rest of my life!" You yell into the open air.

Your partner in crime (literally) laughs before joining you on the cold concrete.

"Well, well. Look how far the top student has fallen. How would the principal feel knowing you've trespassed."

You roll your eyes, a stupid smile etched on your face. Placing down your icy drink, you turn your body to face the boy.

"I could say the same about you. Aren't you runner up for valedictorian? After me, of course."

"Actually, I'm number one contender." He responds, turning to mirror your position.

Oh.

The two of you were closer than expected. Lying on a dirty parking lot floor, noses almost touching.

Oh.

His eyes flit down to your lips.

You cough awkwardly before sitting up, red in the face.

"Do you want to try some of my drink?"

"Yeah, okay."

He silently sips on the drink. Though it was cold, it couldn't calm his burning ears down.

A few hours pass. The two of you spent that time stargazing, talking about whatever on your minds, and exchanging shy touches.

"Do you believe in aliens?"

"Uh, yeah I do. Space is massive - I doubt humans are the only intelligent life form out there."

Except all good things must come to an end. Come 3am, the two of you tread back to the seven eleven, hoping a bus would be there to take you home.

"Do you think the guy's still at the register?"

"Probably. I snuck a look at his phone earlier. I think he's been caught cheating."

The pair of you snicker and a bus rolls up. The doors open to reveal the same driver you had coming over.

"Lovebirds on their way home now, eh?"

"What? We're- we're not-"

"Oh give up. I've seen enough of you to know what's going on. Are you two getting on or not."

With matching red faces, you and Renjun board the bus. Except this time, he sits next to you, not on the other side.

"You're awful at drawing." Renjun laughs. Your attempt at drawing him on cold window cries a little, the condensation dripping where you touched it.

"Yeah, well. There's a reason you're always top of art."

He smiles, reaching past you to draw his version of you. It looked much better than whatever you drew and you were never the one to let him win. So you destroyed both drawings with one swipe of your palm.

"Sore loser."

"Cry about it."

Arm in arm, you walked home together at the same pace. Renjun slowing down so he'd match your comfortable speed. You'd never thought you would ever leave the house, spend time with your rival, only to come back with some weird tension between the two of you.

Renjun sends you to your doorstep and you turn to him.

"Thanks for cheering me up. It really helped."

"Don't worry about it. I also ended up getting stuff off my chest too."

Then he cracks the cutest smile and you couldn't stop yourself.

You kissed him.

On the cheek. You weren't ready for the lip on lip thing just yet.

"I'll see you Monday then." You hurriedly mutter, rushing inside to hide your embarrassment and to avoid seeing his reaction.

"Yeah. Monday." Renjun whispers into the night, a soft smile on his face.

EPILOUGE

"Renjun, you've got to start cleaning up your paint pots."

Your boyfriend looks up from his easel, eyes sparkling realizing it was you.

"You're home early!"

It was a couple of years later. Renjun was perusing his art career after having a thorough talk with his family (it took a few months), which explained the apartment-studio thing going on.

You came clean to yours about not wanting to take over the diner. Though you expected them to look at you in disappointment, they didn't. All they said was that they were proud of you for dreaming.

And now, you were sharing an apartment with the love of your life (who was currently covered in paint), once rival (you are now also covered in paint. He gave you a massive hug and a welcome home kiss).

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