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underoossss · 1 year

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So This Is Love - S.H

pairing: Cinderella!steve harrington x f!reader

warnings: some angst at some point (also the gif has nothing to do with the story lol)

word count: 5k+

an: i had a dream where steve harrington was cinderella and i obviously had to write it down. i loved playing with the story and changing many things to fit steve’s background that we know from the series. i hope you enjoy this! Let me know💘

Masterlist

-----

Birdsong drifts into the bedroom through the open window and a cool spring breeze accompanies it. The telltale sign that it’s time for Steve to wake up and seize the day. The routine is simple, wake up and stretch, make the bed, look out the window and down to the garden before going to the bathing chamber to get ready for a long day ahead. There are two canaries perched on Steve’s open window when he approaches; they don’t even move when he sits on the windowsill next to them. Call Steve out of his mind but he feels as if those birds know him, they come to visit him every single day after all. Besides, Steve doesn’t have many friends, if these two birds want to befriend him who is he to deny them.

“Hey guys.” Steve says as he sits, looking out to the garden below. The sun has barely risen in the distance and the sky is blue with a yellowish sunbeam trying to peak through the horizon. The flowers below seem to sleep still, the roses closed up until later when the sunlight hits them. A quick glance up confirms a cloudless day. “I don’t think there’ll be any rain today, what do you think?”

One bird chirps, but it doesn’t sound like an affirmation or denial so Steve shrugs. “I guess you don’t really know.” He stands up and stretches his arms above his head, followed by a yawn. “Well, I gotta get going. See you later!”

Steve grabs some clothes from his closet and takes them with him to the bathing chamber –trousers, shirt, and vest over his forearm. Closing the door behind him, he sets about undressing and bathing, making sure his hair and body are clean before towelling himself dry. Clean and dressed up for the day ahead, Steve steps in front of the mirror and pats his hair down with a towel. He makes sure most of it is dry before combing through it and setting it in place with hair cream. He takes a good look at himself in the mirror, tries to give himself a pep-talk but finds that he can’t; he can only sigh and head downstairs. What use is it to lie to himself anyways? You got this, it’s going to be a great day, you’ll see! You won’t even disappoint your parents! Lies. It’s better to treat himself with honesty.

As usual, no one greets him good day when he goes downstairs; his father too busy pretending he doesn’t exist and his mother busying herself with a magazine while she drinks her morning coffee. Still, he says good morning and heads into the kitchen. They might not love or want anything to do with him, but he’s still polite. The deal is, Steve didn’t qualify to join the knighthood by 5 points. Everyone in his family has done it, his father, both grandfathers did too, all of his friends from school, but not him. A real shame for the Harrington name, his father had said when he found out, from this day on you stop being a Harrington to both of us. His mother had agreed and that’s that. Steve is a stranger in his own home, banned from attending any events or showing his face around the nobility. As far as people know, Lord Harrington has no children.

Two years is enough time to put all these things to the back of his mind, but Steve’s self-esteem… well it suffered a tough blow. He focuses on his breakfast and early morning chores to ignore his parents’ judgemental presence. Steve mops the big and cold house, dusts the pictures and portraits hanging from the wall and takes out the trash. By the time he’s done, he’s itching to leave the house; he wonders how it’s possible for a manor to feel like a matchbox –it’s walls moving inward until Steve feels claustrophobic enough to scream. He grabs his coat and keys and walks out of the house as fast as his feet can take him, only slowing down when he’s down the gravel road that leads into the village.

It's a short 20-minute walk that Steve doesn’t mind, it’s enough time to forget about what he left behind at home and focus on the workday ahead.

Lady Francis, Steve’s neighbor owns a store in the village’s centre. Her son, who ran the store with her, passed away three years ago and Steve’s been helping her out ever since. He tries to use as little family money as possible and Lady Francis pays him well, it’s mutually beneficial. She gets help, he saves money up for the day he can leave his house. The store’s a two-story building made out of brick and painted cream and blue. Inside, there are fruits, flowers, herbs, candles, and porcelain tea sets; all Lady Francis’ except for the porcelain sets, which are antiquities she brings from her travels.

Steve opens the door, flips the store’s sign to open and hangs his coat in the backroom. He takes a small clipboard from the office’s desk and starts running inventory of the various items in the store. He stops as soon as he starts though, because right that second there’s a commotion in the village. Steve puts the clipboard down and steps out of the store, trying to catch a glimpse at what’s happening down the road.

----

“We already discussed this last week. There are better ways to use the palace’s money than to throw a ball, you Majesty.” Shiny silk fabric wrinkles as you cross your arms across your chest and look at the King sitting on his throne in front of you. All around the palace, people are cleaning and decorating every hallway and the main ballroom with a large assortment of flowers. “I specifically said I did not want this, father, and you went ahead and invited people to come tonight. Without telling me, might I add.”

“You have to see it from your stepmother’s point of view.” The King tells you on the brink of exasperation. “Whether you like it or not, you must marry, and this ball will bring potential suitors from neighboring Kingdoms as well as our own.”

“I am 23 years old!” You exclaim and throw your hands up. “Why do you want me to marry?”

“Your sisters married at 19.” A squeaky voice says to your right, and you glance in that direction with a glare. Your stepmother gives you the fake smile she uses with your father, a stark contrast to the deathly looks she sends your way whenever you’re alone. “I’d say your opportunity is slipping away from you, dear.”

“Just because my stepsisters did, doesn’t mean I should be married too.” You shift your glare into a sweet smile, even faker than hers. “I said I don’t want a ball. It’s a waste of resources, there are other things we can do for our people.”

“Everyone has already been invited.” The King shrugs. “Your stepmother is right, my darling. I’m getting older and you need someone to take care of you when I’m gone, to be by your side when you take my place.”

You hear two huffs come from the throne room’s doorway behind you, which can only mean two things, two horrible things. Your stepsisters Linda and Vilma arrived. Great.

“As if someone would want such a piece of work.” Vilma snorts unkindly, moving past you to stand next to their mother.

“I’d start adopting cats if I were you.” Linda says next when she joins her twin sister.

Leave it to them to make spinster jokes at your expense only because they’re married and you’re not. Their envy makes them act that way, is what you remind yourself every time they say something cruel or side with their mother to convince your father to do something you don’t agree with. They resent you, that much you know, for even though they’re older than you, they are not princesses and won’t ever be. A stepchild doesn’t receive a title or anything for that matter. You wish you could say you’re sorry for them but given how brutally unkind the two of them are to you… you’re not. As if the world taking your mother away from you wasn’t enough, your father had to become infatuated and marry a despicable woman.

It takes great effort, but you hold back an eyeroll, choosing to smile at them instead. “I think there are good odds that I’ll find someone. The two of you got married after all.”

Your stepfamily sneers at the same time and it’s so comical you bite your tongue to avoid laughing. “You little–” Linda starts to say but your father, tired of your bickering, speaks up.

“Enough!” His voice echoes around the room. “The ball will take place, and as the princess of this kingdom you’re to find a husband. That’s my final word.” The King’s eyes look at you seriously, but you can see that his decision comes from the fear shining in his eyes.

“As you wish.” You nod and put your hands on your hips in defeat before an idea sparks your mind. “However, I have my own request if I’m to be forced to attend this ball.”

“Alright.” Your father nods, urging you to go on.

“I want to invite the village so they can enjoy it as well. And…” You smile as you pause for some dramatic tension. “I want to go to the village to invite them myself.”

“Invite them? Absolutely not.” Your stepmother huffs with an eyeroll.

“You’re not to go to the village.” The King reminds you with the raise of an eyebrow, ignoring your stepmother’s words. “We’ve spoken about this.”

“It’s my ball, no?” You raise your own eyebrow, a perfect mirror to his. “I can invite whoever I want, and I want to do it personally. If I can’t do that then you won’t see me tonight, it is a big palace after all.”

Your father drags a hand over his face as he sighs. Stubborn, just like your mother, he always says when you don’t see eye to eye. You’ve proved him right yet again. “Alright, go to the village. But just this once!”

The smile that takes over your face is triumphant as you glance over at your stepmother and raise your chin.

----

“Steve!” His friend and co-worker Robin –who’s late as always– emerges from the crowd and runs towards him. “The princess is going to have a ball! She’s coming this way and she’s inviting everyone.”

“How do you know?” Steve asks, skeptical. He’s never seen the princess before. Not in town because she never walks around the village, and not at any event because he is never allowed to attend.

“That’s what the commotion is about!” Robin throws her stuff inside the store, behind the front door and stands by the window with Steve. Her feet bounce eagerly in place as she strains her neck to look down the road. “I can’t wait to see her. She’s so pretty, Steve.”

Steve nods and shrugs. “So you’ve told me. You know I’ve never got the chance to meet her.”

“As if I could talk to her, dingus.” Robin rolls her eyes, eyes still trained on the road. “I just stare dreamily from a distance. You’ll get it when you see her.”

Just then, as if summoned by Robin’s words, you walk down the road. The crowd that’s gathered by each side makes way for you and two guards who walk some feet behind you. You’re smiling and greeting everyone as you walk by, stopping every now and then to ask a question or make short conversation with someone. There are flowers gathered in the crook of your arm, red roses and some pink ones Steve doesn’t know the name of. Steve can’t even hear what you’re saying, too focused on standing upright as his world seems to turn upside down. Robin’s words don’t come close to describe you, he thinks, because you look as if you’ve walked straight out of his dreams. Everything about you looks ethereal to him, from your hair to your smile; the way your purplish-blue dress fits you and highlights your beautiful complexion leaves him breathless.

“Of course, you’re all invited!” You’re saying your voice a beautiful melody to Steve’s ears. “Wear your best garments and be ready to dance.”

He's sure he looks just as foolish as he feels when you walk by Lady Francis’ store and he has to shake himself out of his trance. A second later you turn your head and meet his eyes and Steve’s stomach feels like a wasp’s nest.

“Hi.” You smile after a moment, stepping closer to the store. “Those periwinkles in your window are beautiful.”

Steve glances at the flowers and then at you as he fumbles for an answer. “H–Hi! I, uhh, I didn’t know they were periwinkles. The owner of the store put them there… I think?”

“They are beautiful aren’t they, your highness?” Robin is quick to intervene. She gestures at your dress with one hand while elbowing Steve’s arm with the other. “They also match your dress perfectly.”

Steve is quick to turn around and pluck out a few flowers before handing them to you. “Yeah, they match your dress.” He says, feeling his cheeks warm up when he steps closer to you. “A–A gift for you.”

Your eyes light up and a soft smile takes over your features. “Thank you… I didn’t catch your name, sorry.”

“Steve.” He says, then motions towards his friend. “This is Robin.”

You give the two of them your name before your eyes drift to your flowers, then down the road. “Well, thank you Steve and enjoy the rest of the day. I hope to see you at the ball tonight, you too Robin.”

Steve smiles and nods his head. “Yeah, for sure. Bye!”

“Bye!” Robin says too and you walk away continuing your visit down the street. A few seconds later you spare Steve one last glance he’s sure he’ll never forget.

Steve spends the rest of the day on edge; his mind goes over the different ways he can ask his parents for permission to attend the ball. Maybe he can offer to do the cooking in the house, or the ironing. Either way there has to be something he can bargain for this one chance to see you again. It’s stupid to hold out hope, after all Steve knows his parents and their feelings towards him, but it’s impossible to put of the spark that’s been lit inside his chest.

He goes over his words as he makes his way home at the end of the day, rehearsing everything from tone to delivery so he has a better chance of going. His hands are sweaty and his chest constricts with nerves at what he’s going to do, but it’s what it’ll take to attend –and Steve wishes for nothing more. His parents are making their way upstairs when he arrives home. He rushes towards them and stand at the bottom of the staircase when he calls for them.

“Mother, Father… may I speak with you?” He keeps his voice from faltering and tightens his hands into fists behind his back. He can’t lose his nerve, not even when his father looks down at him with his classic cold stare.

“Go on.” His father tells him, looking away bored already.

“There’s going to be a ball tonight; the princess came into the village today and invited everyone.” He starts, concealing his enthusiasm the right amount. “I wanted to–”

“Yes, the palace sent an invitation two weeks ago.” His father interrupts him and raises one eyebrow in curiosity. “Surely you’re not going to waste my time and ask for permission to go?”

“Father, the princess asked–”

With one raised hand Steve’s father interrupts again. “You already know the answer but I’ll repeat myself so we’re clear.”

Steve’s shoulders deflate and there’s a growing tightness in his throat all of a sudden.

“You’re not going to this or any ball.” His father speaks lowly, and his words feel like a slap across Steve’s face. “You’re forbidden, you hear me? I don’t want people asking questions. Don’t waste my time again.”

“If people see you there, Steve,” His mother speaks up, a worried tone in her voice, “We’ll be forced to talk about your failures. Don’t embarrass us further.”

With that the two of them continue their ascend upstairs and go to their respective rooms, leaving a defeated Steve behind.

He makes his way to his room shortly after, with a flurry of emotions stirring up in his chest at the unfairness of it all. A groan leaves his lips as he slams the door to his room with enough force to shake the lamp hanging from the ceiling. It is so unfair. Steve’s done nothing but try to prove himself to his parents but it’s like he’s invisible to them. Worse, they want to make him invisible for everyone else. He tries to take deep breaths but struggles to do so, a mixture of anger and frustration making his breaths catch. It takes three steps for him to reach the window and pull it open. He takes another breath then, of the fresh air flowing into the room, and looks down at the garden below. That’s where he spots them, periwinkles. He would have never recognized them or know their name if it wasn’t for today. Or you.

And just like that his mind goes back to you, and your encounter in the morning. She’s so pretty, Robin had said. Pretty hadn’t even come close to describe you, it’s not the word he’d use but he’s also not very good with words, so he’ll settle for beautiful. Steve grins like a fool at the memory, even if he made himself a fool in front of you. You’d invited him to the ball –the whole town really– but you’d smiled that dreamy smile of your and said ‘I hope to see you there.’ Steve feels like it was a personal invitation to him, there had been something between the two of you, otherwise his chest wouldn’t flutter at the memory of it all. But now… well it’s almost impossible for him to see you again, no matter how much he wants to.

Steve grunts and falls back on his bed, covering his face with his hands. He can’t even sneak out of the house to talk to you just for a moment. His parents are going to the ball and would spot him immediately if he showed his face, no matter how short a time it is. What is the point of Steve going if he has to hide all the time?

“There has to be a way.” He mumbles to himself, hands moving from his face to his hair. “I just wish it could be easy… I wish I could just go.”

Something begins to tickle his nose then, like dust falling on him, and Steve is sure he hears the whisper of his name from somewhere near him. It startles him in the quiet room making him sit up quickly and grab whatever is near him –in this case an empty water carafe from his nightstand. It takes him a moment, but Steve spots a tiny creature in front of him. Is that a fairy? He thinks. He thought they weren’t real, but here she is, tiny and shining in periwinkle light.

“Don’t hurt me! I’m here to help you!” The small fairy exclaims, voice squeaky and almost imperceptible as she holds her hands up.

Once Steve knows he’s not in fact losing his mind, and that the fairy in front of him is actually talking to him, his emotions shift towards confusion. “Help me?”

The fairy smiles, revealing lilac-coloured teeth that seem to shiny as much as her exterior. “Yes, so you can go to the ball and see the princess.”

Steve is incredulous; this fairy wants to help him attend the ball? Why? “Why?”

“You gave her periwinkles today.” The fairy explains with a smile, as if her answer makes everything clear.

It doesn’t, not really. So Steve furrows his brows —confused.

“I’m the periwinkle fairy?” The small creature explains again, gesturing towards the color of her shining light. “I saw that you really like this girl, and if the princess is going to be in a courtship, it should be with a nice young man like you.”

Steve’s mouth opens and falls closed a couple of times. What are the odds that there’s a fairy tied to the flowers he gave you, the flowers you like. Could it be possible that Steve’s luck is turning around? “So, when I wished…”

“I heard you.” The fairy nods and smiles once more, procuring a wand. “Now…. you’re already late, so do you want my help or not?”

“Yes!” He nods his head enthusiastically and stands up. “But how can you help me?”

“You won’t be recognized by anyone else but the princess with a very special spell,” The fairy says and flies closer to his face. “Close your eyes.”

Steve does and feels the tickling sensation on his nose as the fairy taps her wand against it to give him some of her magic. When he opens them again, he sees she’s taken his nicest white-tie clothes and magically changed them to look polished and regal. The once faded grey now seems to shine like velvet, with tiny embroideries along the neckline and sleeves. The black pants are perfectly ironed, without a lint in sight, and his boots are clean and polished. Steve can’t remember the last time he wore clothes these nice.

Steve’s voice is soft when he speaks, wonder shining in his eyes. He feels grateful beyond words. “Thank you. Thank you for this.”

“You can go until 12am.” The fairy tells him as she lays the clothes on his bed. “The spell will wear off them, and your parents will recognize you, Lord Steve.”

Steve holds up his hand. “Please, Steve is fine.”

The fairy laughs softly and nods. “Alright Steve, now hurry!”

Right! He’s already late. Steve grabs the clothes and changes in the bathing chamber quickly after brushing his teeth and combing his hair. He slips his boots on and runs down the stairs and out of the house faster than he’s ever done, until he’s at the stables. Once there he takes his saddle and his horse –Beam– and races out of the front gates towards the castle.

Even though Steve took a shortcut to get to the palace, there’s no one else outside when he runs to the door. They open for him and he steps inside in a rush, where he takes a second to catch his breath before continuing down the hall. Steve gives himself a peptalk as he looks around the room, he is dressed his best, he is at the ball, and he’ll get to talk to you soon.

He’s too distracted by the shining chandeliers hanging from the hallway’s ceiling that he doesn’t realize he’s going to run into someone until it happens.

“I’m so sorry.” Steve begins to say, steadying the person in front of him until he realizes it’s you. “Your highness.”

You keep him from bowing with a gentle hand on his shoulder and a smile. There it is, that smile. “Hi Steve.”

“H-Hi!” He runs a hand through his hair, looking for the right words to compliment you as his eyes take you in. “You look really beautiful.”

Beautiful. There it is, the only word that comes to Steve mind but doesn’t begin to cover your beauty. You’re in a deep blue gown, its big skirt flowing around you like the ocean and shimmering like the night sky. It’s got beautiful tiny jewels scattered all around the bodice and skirt, and Steve thinks you’re a work of art standing in front of him. Surely you can’t be real?

“Thank you.” You smile, looking down. “You look very handsome yourself.

Steve can’t help but smile at your compliment, before he remembers the ball. “Thank you, I hope I’m not too late?”

Your laugh follows his question, and it’s not unkind, it’s amused. “Not at all, I’m running late myself. My stepsister ruined my other dress.”

“I can’t help but be glad they did.” Steve says, surprising himself.

You smile at him shyly but meet his eyes nonetheless. “I guess you’re right.”

“If Robin is here.” Steve whispers conspiratorially with a step closer to you, “I’m sure we can take some light revenge on them.”

Steve’s heart soars when you giggle and nod. “I think we should.”

A door opens suddenly, not too far away from the top of you and two men step outside. “There you are princess, everyone is waiting for you.”

You nod at them before you look at Steve nervously, face loosing its natural color. “Would you like to dance the first song with me? I’d feel much better walking in there with someone I know.”

Steve is speechless for a moment but he nods, with your pretty eyes looking up at him how can he say no. He’s not much of a dancer but he’d make a fool of himself over and over again if it meant more time with you. He smiles, trying to ease your nerves. “Of course.”

You take Steve’s outstretched hand into yours, relishing in the comfort it brings once he squeezes it in reassurance. A feeling of breathlessness settles over you and not as a result of the nerves you feel. It seems to happen every time you look at Steve; it’s like his heart is reflected in his eyes, a quick glimpse at it if you know where to look. The only thing that snaps you out of your trance is the sparks that fly when you step closer to him on your way to the ballroom. Sparks that make your fingers tingle, the sensation travelling all the way up you arm and down to your stomach.

Everyone bows in front of you when you step into the ballroom, a sea of people that keep their eyes trained on your every move. It’s overwhelming, it always is, and your grip on Steve’s hand tightens as the two of you descend the stairs.

“I won’t let you fall.” Steve whispers next to your ear. “I promise.”

You chuckle and feel your shoulders relax, you’re not sure why but you trust Steve. More than you trust most people. He leads you to the middle of the ballroom, every step controlled and known by heart. His mother must have taken him to dance lessons, you presume as you offer him a courtesy when he bows in front of you. Steve asks for your permission to hold your waist with a glance down with his eyes. You nod your head and let him pull you closer by the waist, a shaky breath escaping you at the proximity.

Everyone is looking at the two of you, but for once you don’t mind. Not one bit. If it were another time, if you were accompanied by someone else, you’d feel the weight of every pair of eyes. It would be suffocating, but you look at the brown eyes in front of you and find that breathing has never been easier.

“I must warn you.” You smile as you gaze up at him. “I’m not that good of a dancer.”

Steve chuckles at your words, his hand a comforting weight on your waist. “Good, because I’m not very good either.”

“Lord help us.” You giggle and it makes Steve smile.

It turns out, that the two of you are perfect together.

The moment the music starts your steps synchronize perfectly, with Steve leading the waltz and your body following the path he traces for both of you. When the melody from the violins and cellos swells around you, Steve twirls you around, his fingers hanging on to yours as he holds you hand over your head. You spin and smile, always going back to his arms that are ready to hold you —your faces remain close together, noses close to brushing, and eyes never straying from the other’s. Even as you turn and the music envelops you, your eyes remain fixed on Steve’s brown ones and the warmth in them.

Guests join you on the dance floor but it’s like they’re not there, only you and Steve moving to the rhythm of the music as if you’ve done it thousands of times. Steve’s hands are gentle but secure on your waist, especially when you jump and he lifts you briefly in the air. The two of you smile incredulously at each other. How is it possible to be so incredibly connected to someone else just hours after you first meeting?

“Princess.” Steve says over the music, his eyes showing you his heart once again.

The smile that’s already on your face only grows. “Yes?”

The handsome man in front of you shakes his head. “I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a long time.”

The chandeliers in the ceiling paint constellations in his brown eyes, make his brown waves shine, and cause your heart to flutter in your chest. You squeeze the hand that holds yours as the music comes to an end. “Me too, Steve.”

Everyone applauds the band, and it brings you back to the present and the ball around you. You can feel the King’s gaze on you, as well as your stepmother’s and stepsisters. It creates an immediate urge for you to get away, and lead Steve far away from your stepfamily’s unkind looks. He’s in your orbit now, whatever hatred they have over you falls on him as well; Steve doesn’t deserve it. Not after the wonderful dance you’ve just hand.

“Would you like to see the gardens?” You ask him.

Your question brings a smile to his face as he gives you a nod and offers his arm. “Won’t they miss you?”

You look at the dancing folk, all of them entertained by the music and the array of food on the sides of the room. You sigh happily, glad that the villagers are enjoying themselves. “I’m sure they’ll be more than fine without me.”

The two of you walk side by side as you guide Steve to the garden, your hand over his arm where it’s linked to yours. Once you step outside you can’t help but smile at the beautiful night that greets you. The roses are blooming under the moonlight, their white petals glowing with its light. You point to different flowers around the garden as you stroll around the gravel path, answering Steve’s questions about your favourite ones. You walk around the fountain in the middle garden, listening to the trickling water as you get to know each other more.

At some point, you hear music playing again, from inside the palace, and Steve offers you his hand to lead another waltz. A laugh bubbles up from within you as you give him your hand and begin to dance with him, feeling silly but also very young and alive. When was the last time you felt like that? The conversation continues between the two of you as you dance, words joining your steps. You learn that Steve is an only child and one year older than you; he doesn’t live in the village but it’s where he works. You share with him too, mentioning how it’s just you and your dad in the castle since your mother passed. You comment on your father remarrying years ago and you being unsure of your feelings about that it.

“I haven’t seen you at any other events at the palace.” You tell Steve, linking your arm with his when the song is over.

Steve sighs and scratches his chin with his free hand. “I know, it’s just my parents… we quarrel often, and I end up suffering the consequences.”

“They don’t let you attend?” You turn your face to glance at him.

“Nope,” Steve smiles; it’s not the happy one you’ve seen all night, this one’s sad almost disappointed. “I’m not deserving of the Harrington name apparently.”

You furrow your eyebrows while you go over his words. You’ve seen Lord Harrington before, and you see the resemblance in Steve’s face, but it’s impossible to believe that such a cold man could have such a wonderful son. It’s not impossible though, to believe that they’re as cruel as Steve paints them to be. You’ve experienced many of your own quarrels with you stepmother.

“I don’t think it’s the same, but if it’s any consolation…” You tell him with what you hope is a comforting look. “My stepmother and stepsisters convinced my father not to let me visit the village.”

Steve’s face whips towards you. “What? Why?”

You shrug, trying to dismiss the hurt that comes from the thought of them. “I think they just want to make my life miserable, but I don’t think they’re succeeding.” A smile makes its way to your face as you glance a Steve.

“Oh really?” Steve smiles back, looking at you. “Why is that?”

You smile at him and look away feeling sheepish before you even speak. “The one day I finally convince my father to let me visit the village, I meet you. Then at the ball they forced me to attend, I get to see you again.”

Steve shakes his head, and scratches his chin flustered. It makes you smile, knowing you’re not the only one nervous tonight. “How do you know it’s not bad luck?” He chuckles, then looks up, eyes wide, like he wasn’t supposed to say it out loud.

“I think it’s quite the opposite.” You shrug and move your hold from his arm to his hand, hoping to give him comfort. It’s hard to fight the frown that wants to take over your face, what has he been told by his family? “Don’t think lowly of yourself only because other people think so, Steve. We are all more than other people’s opinions you know.”

A moment of silence passes between the two of you, before you spot the path ahead and show it to Steve. Your eyes light up even as your stomach flips when you look at the boy next to you. “Come on, you have to see this!”

Steve watches you go down a hidden path between some trees; it’s barely visible, he wouldn’t have known it was there if you hadn’t just disappeared through it. He is quick to follow, worried you’ll hurt yourself, or sprain your ankle as you run over the grass. As he passes in between the trees, he finds an even bigger one right in front of him. It must be 200 years old with how much it’s grown but there’s a low branch that you’ve just reached. You hold yourself up with one hand as you take of your shoes –they’re covered in jewels, just like your dress and they glint in the moonlight that sneaks through the tree’s leaves.

“I can take those for you.” Steve offers with a smile, which you return. He leaves the shoes on the ground and kneels down so you can use his knee as a step to climb the tree. By the dexterity with which you get on the branch and then another, Steve knows you must do this every day. It makes him smile, yet another thing he now knows about you, something to like you even more.

“Come on, Steve!” You call for him and he chuckles.

Steve grabs your shoes and begins to climb after you, wanting to stay close to you in case something happens. “Be careful, you can trip on your dress!” He tells you as he makes his way to you.

There is a small tree house two branches off the ground, hidden perfectly from view from the castle and the grass below. In front of him there’s a small balcony, where you stand, overlooking the countryside and the small village below. It’s breathtaking, and Steve knows right away this must be where you escape to in the castle.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it!” You smile, voice bringing Steve’s gaze back to you where it stays.

Steve feels speechless once again, looking at you so close to him, your eyes reflecting the small light coming from the village. “Yes.” He says, but his eyes are scanning your face instead of the view. Beautiful not only on the outside but on the inside as well. He still can’t forget your words from earlier, they resonate inside his mind like a foreign reminder that he shouldn’t be so hard on himself.

“You’ve worked with Lady Francis for long?” You ask him after a few moments of comfortable silence

“Yeah,” Steve nods, placing his hands on the wooden handrail in front of him. “I mean a couple of years; She’s needed the help since she lost her boy.”

You nod your head as he speaks, moving so you’re looking at him directly. “That’s very kind of you. She’s a lovely person, I’ve met her a couple of times.”

Steve shrugs, he’s never considered it something to call attention to. To him it’s… “Tt’s the right thing to do.” He says, then decides to ask you something too –more than eager to know you more. “What about you? Do you know when your next visit to the village will be?”

You frown and Steve feels the urge to do whatever is necessary to make you happy. “I’m not sure, my stepmother and sisters…they convinced my father to give me an ultimatum a few months ago.”

“Ultimatum?” Steve furrows his brows, whatever you’re about to say next doesn’t sound good.

“My father claims he is getting older and worries about me being alone.” You sigh and turn back to look down at the village. Steve doesn’t miss the longing in your eyes. “He says I need someone to take care of me, even though I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.”

Steve puts two and two together right away. “So he wants you to…”

“To get married, yes.” You nod, swallowing hard and shaking your head. “Right away, and I’m truly afraid I’ll be forced to be with someone that’s not right for me instead of someone I know or someone I like.” Your eyes meet his and for a moment he feels like you’re talking about him –it makes his next breath catch on his throat. Would they really make you marry someone you don’t even know?

Indignation floods Steve in the blink of an eye, at your agency being stripped away from you and the fact you worry about this at all.

“I–” Steve begins to say but voices coming from the garden make the two of you quiet down.

“Guards.” You whisper, standing behind Steve to keep yourself out of sight should they find the path.

“I can’t believe we lost the princess, AGAIN!” One voice says, clearly frustrated.

“Well, keep looking. The King wants to see her back at the ballroom at once.” Another one replies, and a moment later only the sound of retreating footsteps can be heard.

You frown, voice soft but forlorn. “They’ll come again, maybe we should be getting back.”

Steve only nods and climbs down the tree first, so he can help you descend the last branch safely. Once back on the grass, Steve puts your shoes on the ground and holds out his arms for you. “Jump,” He says, “I’ll catch you.”

You don’t hesitate, jumping into his arms a second later. Steve is swift to catch you; you’re safe and unscathed, making Steve’s worry of you falling fade away.

It is then he notices your faces are barely 3 inches apart –Steve can even feel your breath mingling with his, just as it did when you waltzed in the palace. His heart hammers like crazy on his chest, he’s sure you feel it.

“Thank you, Steve.” You whisper, and he nods putting you back down on the ground.

“Here, I’ll help you.” Steve offers, kneeling on the grass to help you with your shoes.

He’s glad you can’t see his face, which feels scalding hot as you lift part of your dress’ skirt so he can tie your shoes back into place. It’s just an ankle, Steve reminds himself, calm down. He moves to tie the second shoes for you, but just then the palace’s clock strikes the last minute till midnight.

Steve stands up quickly. “Oh no.”

Your face is nothing but confusion as you look at him. “What?”

“I have to go right now. But I’ll find a way to see you again.” Steve says in a rush as reaches for both your hands. “There has to be a way.”

You nod, pretty eyes looking worriedly at him and still confused. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, yes.” Steve is quick to reassure you. “Thank you, for everything tonight.”

Before he can overthink it, he leans in and kisses your cheek. “Goodnight, princess.” Then he kisses your right hand and starts to run. He needs to find his horse so he can be home before his parents, he can’t imagine the mess he’d be in if they found out. Steve risks one glance over his shoulder and sees you stand there, bathed in moonlight. There has to be a way.

----

Steve sleeps like a baby all night; he hid his clothes back in his closet, sure that the magic would disappear from them eventually, and went straight to bed. He woke up in a good mood, better than any other day just from the memory of the night before. He is sure not to show it around the house though, the last thing he needs is his parents suspecting something. Steve acts downright miserable as he descends the stairs and grabs some breakfast from the kitchen. His frown remains on his face until he’s put enough distance between himself and the house to smile freely, a skip to his step as he walks down the road to the village. He forgets his umbrella, having looked at the grey sky in the morning, but he doesn’t dare return to the house. He can’t hide his smile again, even though there’s one nagging thought in the back of his mind.

Was all of it real? Would he even see you again? Should he forget about it, save himself the disappointment?

For once, Robin is at the store before him. She smiles knowingly when she spots his happy demeanour. “You little shit.” She says, with a shake of her head. “You little shit!”

“What?” Steve asks, side stepping her to go through the store’s front door.

“You were there last night!” Robin lowers her voice to a whisper. “You were the mysterious man that danced with the princess.”

Steve is so surprised he can’t hide the surprise on his face; he imagined Robin was giving him shit for something else he did. Never this.

“I fucking knew it!” She grabs his shirt sleeve and drags him to the backroom. “How did you do it?”

“How did you know!” Steve asks instead. Did the spell wear off at some point? Did the fairy lie to him?

“The princess, obviously.” Robin tells him with an eyeroll, sitting on the desk nearby. “She came up to me last night. She told me you said I could help with a little revenge, and I said, ‘Steve said that?’ Then she said ‘yes, I told him earlier how my stepsisters ruined my other dress’ Which by the way I’m thankful for, did you see that navy dress on her?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair and begins to speak in between a smile. “Of course, I did, I–” He stops when his mind catches up to Robin’s words.

Fuck, he forgot to tell you he wasn’t supposed to be there. On the other hand, how weird would that have been? I got my face magic-ed so no one recognizes me. Yeah, no, Steve knows you’re an intelligent woman, so you probably figured it out on your own.

“What did you do?” He asks, shaking his thoughts away.

“Oh!” Robin’s eyes light up. “We accidentally knocked some punch over; I think you can imagine the rest.”

Steve laughs, imagining the two of you pulling a prank on your stepsisters. From what Steve heard about them from you, they had it coming. His laughter though, stops as soon as it starts and his stomach drops. What if… “Did you see my parents talk to the Princess?” He asks Robin.

“What?” Robin’s own giggles are cut short by the random question, then her eyebrows furrow as she tries to recall the night before. “No, I don’t think so. She danced a couple of songs with her father and swerved every prince that came to Indiana to dance with her.”

Steve lets out a breath. “Okay that’s good. They can’t know I was there.”

“You’re really going to make me ask.”

“Ask what?” Steve shrugs, knowing exactly what she means but stalling for time. There is no sane way to tell her about the fairy’s visit.

Robin groans, looking up at the ceiling before meeting Steve’s eyes with a curious gaze. “How did you manage to go and not be recognized?”

“You won’t believe me.” He shakes his head and looks away as his hands settle on his hips. Up until he talked to Robin, he was going to convince himself he dreamed all of it. The fairy, the ball, you, your conversation. Everything. But knowing Robin saw the two of you dance and hear about him from you, is all he needs to know that it was real. If it was real, he can’t forget it. He got really lucky last night, for some unknown reason.

“’Course I’ll believe you, try me.” Robin pushes her chin up, daring Steve to tell her the truth.

Steve does. He tells her about asking for permission but being forbidden from attending the ball. How he locked himself in his room, wished he could go, and a fairy appeared out of nowhere. Steve explains how the fairy gave him some of her magic to make him unrecognizable to everyone except the princess, which of course makes Robin laugh out loud.

He rolls his eyes, even though this is the reaction he expected her to have. Robin laughs for another minute before she puts her hands up, claiming she believes him.

“I do!” She says. “It sounds more possible than what I had in mind?”

“Which was?” Steve asks curiously.

“A very realistic mask.” Robin shrugs, and Steve shakes his head with a chuckle.

After a moment of silence, Steve speaks up again. “Robin, she’s…”

“Perfect?” His friend prompts, batting her eyelashes mockingly.

“Yes.” Steve sighs, wishing she wouldn’t interrupt so much. “But–”

“And you’re crushing hard on her, I saw the two of you dance, I’d say go for it.”

“What?” Now Steve is really lost. He was going to tell her about the predicament you’re in; being forced to marry thank to your stepmother’s manipulation. Just thinking about it makes Steve clench his hands into fists. And he thought his life was unfair.

“Ask her out and court her dingus!” Robin flicks him on the nose, bringing him back to the present. “You didn’t see the way she looked at you, but I did.”

“I can’t.” Steve shakes his head in frustration, pressing his fists on the wooden table in front of him.

“Why?” Robin looks at him as if he grew another head. “Of course, you can.”

“Don’t you remember? My father is head of the house and has to make the courtship official.” Steve can’t keep the defeat out of his voice. “You know he’d never approve.”

His friend shrugs and offers a quick solution. “Forge his approval then!”

Robin’s answer catches Steve by surprise and shocked laughter bursts out of him. He shakes his head after a moment, back to reality. “Forge it so when I court the princess and he finds out he can go to the palace and say it’s all a fraud? The King could ban me from seeing his daughter because I’m a liar apart from a disappointment!”

“Steve.” Robin sighs, a frown pulls her lips downwards. “You’re overthinking this too much. How about we wait until the princess comes back to town and ask her personally.”

Steve groans and throws his hands up in exasperation before turning around and walking towards the backroom where he will stay until the end of the shift. It’s not like what Robin said isn’t feasible, he can do it –he’d love to offer you his hand in courtship really. But you’re not coming to town any time soon, the only time your family allowed it was before the ball. With no other event in sight, the chances of Steve seeing you again are close to zero. The worst part, and what’s eating at Steve inside, is that he promised to see you again; he was so full of fondness and adoration, so completely gone for you that he didn’t think past that moment. All he had known was that he hated to leave you in the garden and wanted to see you again as soon as possible. He didn’t realize he’d need an invitation to the palace to see you, too caught up in the moment to think that you visiting the town would be difficult to the say the least. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Steve’s sour mood follows him all afternoon –he manages a small smile towards Robin when he says goodbye but that’s all. Grey clouds still loom overhead while he walks home, taking the long way back to avoid walking in on dinner time. The last thing he needs is to sit through unbearable silence and disappointed staring from his parents across the table. But as Steve’s luck usually goes, things don’t go as he planned them to. Even the sky seems to foresee what’s in store, as droplets of rainwater begin falling down onto Steve like tears coming from the clouds above.

The house is quiet when he arrives and only a couple of candles have been lit in the hallway leading to the staircase. It’s odd and it’s a bit worrying, and that is saying something in Steve’s house. Foolishly, he grabs the umbrella he forgot that morning and goes up the stairs to his room –call him paranoid, but he’d rather have something in hand if necessary. There is no one in the upstairs hall, or the library, but two frightening figures stand by the window in his room. His mother and father, look out the window silently and don’t turn around until he speaks up.

“Mom?” Steve is more than confused as he furrows his eyebrows and looks between the two of them. “Is something wrong?”

“Can you explain why you had this in your closet?” His mother replies, pointing a finger at his bed.

His clothes from last night, exactly as they were when the fairy changed them. They never changed back as he hoped they would, and now his parents know.

“Uh… I don’t… I mean–” Steve fumbles for an excuse.

“I thought I was clear when I said you couldn’t go to the ball.” His father speaks up, turning around slowly and pinning him down with a cold stare. “You disobeyed my direct order and danced with the princess risking embarrassing us further. I don’t even want to know how you fooled us.”

Steve feels unable to speak as he stares into his father’s eyes; a kind of darkness makes a fleeting appearance in them, and it makes Steve fear the worst. “Very well, you give me no choice.” His father’s eyes leave him for a moment as he scans the room with distaste. “You’re forbidden to leave the house… no, your room, except for chores.”

“What?” Steve drops the umbrella he was holding, and it clatters on the ground. He can’t even remember to control his reaction in front of his parents as his eyebrows furrow in anger. “You can’t do that! I have a job; I need to go to town!”

“I can and I will.” His father’s voice echoes in room as it increases in volume; his eyes burn with disappointment and annoyance. “Forget your mediocre job, forget about the princess. You’re not leaving this house again until I send you away for good. You hear me?”

Steve’s mother remains silent and doesn’t spare him much of a glance as she follows her husband out of the room. The door closes with a loud slam and the doorknob moves briefly as the lock is put in place from the outside. Thunder booms in the sky and Steve flinches; his entire body shakes in anger. He clenches his fists by his sides but just as quickly as the anger enters his body, it leaves. Steve’s shoulders hunch in defeat and soon begin to shake, he can’t help it anymore, he allows himself to cry.

----

You knew that Steve’s promise would be hard to keep. It was a given that considering you’re not allowed into town; he would have to be the one to visit you at the palace. But without an invitation, that was near impossible to happen. From that knowledge, you’ve sent many –to his home and Lady Francis’ store– but there’s been no answer. The ones sent to Lord Harrington’s house have been returned, unopened and with a note claiming there is no Steve Harrington living with them. The same didn’t happen with the ones sent to his workplace —those never returned. You hoped Robin would give them to Steve and that he’d come to the palace the next day, with that smile of his –the one you can’t stop thinking about– fully in display as he goes through the gates.

No such luck.

With no response from Steve and refusing your father’s attempts to marry you off to some of the princes that attended the ball… life at the palace had become almost unbearable. It was full of fighting, spinster jokes from your stepsisters and threats from your stepmother. You’d resorted to avoiding the family altogether, spending your time alone remembering the night of the ball and regretting it soon after.

How is it that you can miss someone so much after seeing them in two separate occasions? You imagine because this someone is Steve, and you’re convinced he’s the person you’ve always dreamed of finding. He’s kind, funny, gentle, caring, not to mention how handsome he it. You can’t stop thinking about him, no matter how much you try. It's been that way for two weeks, with him invading your mind and you trying to avoid it to spare yourself the pain.

Something must have happened. You’re sure of it. Steve wouldn’t leave you hanging, he’d at least try to send a response out for you. It unsettles something in your stomach to think about him in trouble for attending the ball. What if his father, Lord Harrington Senior, did something to him. Did he realize Steve went to the ball? What if Steve’s hurt? Or worse, just as lonely as you are right now.

If this is about the ball and the magical moments you shared together, you had to do something and try to fix it. You refuse to let that night become a bad memory for both of you, a what if that never came to be. You both deserve more, you want more, and if it’s in your hands to propose it then you will.

You take determined steps towards the King’s meeting chamber, accepting his latest invitation to dialogue, and ready to fight for what you want. The guards open the chamber’s door for you, revealing the room’s white marbled floor and the paintings of past Kings and Queens that hang from the wall. Your father sits on his chair, your stepmother stands by the right-side window and several of the King’s advisors talk quietly in different corners. You walk until you stand in front of him, a big oak table between the two of you.

“Father.” You greet him as a start, staring into his eyes that are a mirror to yours. “I’m here to speak on the matter your insistence of me marrying.”

“You’ve accepted Prince Reese’s proposal then.” He smiles happily, motioning you to sit down in front of him. You don’t.

“I haven’t accepted anyone’s proposal.” You say firmly. “I refuse any further attempt to marry me off to any of these Princes.”

The King raises an eyebrow, a mannerism the two of you got from your mother. “I was very clear when we spoke about this last time, my darling.”

You shake your head, “I didn’t agree to anything last time, father. You imposed something onto me without asking for my opinion first.”

“There will be no more discussion about this.” Your father stands up, disgruntled with your continuous debate.

“Yes there will be.” You raise your chin with determination. “I’m going to court Lord Steve Harrington. I wish to get to know him.”

The king shakes his head, eyebrows meeting in the middle. “Regardless of his title, his father hasn’t been around to announce any proposal.”

“I’m asking him.” You fight the urge to roll your eyes and remain serene instead.

“You can’t.” Your father clutches his chair’s headrest, patience growing thin.

“I have agency!”

“No, you don’t!” His words make you flinch, but you refuse to take a step back, you won’t give him any more ground to stand on. “You need to get married, as soon as possible.”

You take a deep breath willing yourself to keep a calm posture, but a single voice speaks up and throws that willingness out of the window.

“Listen to your father, my dear.” Your stepmother says with a condescending look and a fake sweet voice.

Your gaze moves to hers with a glare before you close your eyes and scream. “OUT! EVERYONE OUT, PLEASE. RIGHT NOW!”

You look around the room, daring your father’s loathsome advisors to question you but they soon scatter out of the room. “I wish to speak to my father alone.” You say, looking into the King’s eyes but clearly addressing your stepmother that still lingers to your left.

A huff and the clicking of heels soon follow, until it’s only you and the man in front of you in the room. The King and the Princess. One sad and scared since the Queen he loved so dearly passed, the other scared the opportunity for a love like her parents’ is slipping through her fingers.

You walk around the table with a sigh and approach your father until you take his hands into yours. “Father, weren’t you and mother best friends before you married?”

“That’s different my dear.” He sighs, a frown tugging at his lips as it always does at the memory of the person he loved most in the world. “We knew each other for a long time; it was natural for us to fall in love and get married.”

You sigh just like him and squeeze his hands. “I would already know Steve, father, had the circumstances been different. He’s worked at Lady Francis’ for 3 years, but I haven’t seen him because I haven’t been allowed into town.”

Your gaze moves back to your father’s eyes, hoping he can see your feelings in them. “I ask you, please father, I beg you to see things my way. I’m scared you’ll marry me off to some stranger when I want to get to know Steve. I really think he’s the one. You saw me that night, when was the last time I smiled so much?”

The King lets go of your hands and puts them behind his back; he turns and takes a few steps, deep in thought. “Too long.” He says finally, eyebrows meeting in the middle of his face, the crease that’s already there getting deeper. “Go to town and bring him to the palace so I can meet him properly.”

A gasp escapes you just as a smile takes over your face. You walk towards your father and hug him tightly, feeling a weigh lift off your shoulders. “Thank you, your Majesty.” Is all you say before turning around and running out of the room, your dress floating behind you as you do.

You’re at the palace’s gates in no time, out of breath but beaming as the guards open the metal doors for you. Two others trail behind you, struggling to catch up as you make a run for it to town. You can tell the villagers are surprised to see you –their princess running through the streets is not a common sight for them. “Good morning!” You tell the people you pass. “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”

They don’t have time to answer as you rush past them and keep running until you spot Lady Francis’ shop, its cream and blue exterior a welcoming sight. Your smile is beaming as you walk through the open door and look around the shop. “Hello?”

There’s rustling coming from the second floor followed by hurried steps and a familiar voice. “Princess Y/N?” Robin’s head pops up from the second-floor railing. You strain your neck to look up at her, and smile.

“Hi Robin.” Your hand comes up in a small wave. “Is Steve around?”

Robin’s surprised look turns sad, it’s confirmation enough that something had indeed happened just like you imagined. How bad, you’re still unsure. “What happened to him? Is he okay?”

“I– I don’t know, he hasn’t been back in two weeks.” Robin descends the stairs until she’s standing in front of you, she tries to bow but you stop her with a shake of your head. “His parents have trapped him in his own house. I tried to give him the invitations you sent here but Lord Harrington –Steve’s dad– only yelled at me.”

“No.” You whisper and shake your head. Bringing a hand up to your hair you go over Robin’s words, your gaze down at the ground as you pace. “Did you tell him the invitations were from the Palace?”

Robin nods enthusiastically, her short hair bouncing as she does. “Yes, but he didn’t care!”

“Hm… We must help him, there’s got to be something we can do. My father wants to meet him.” You talk both to yourself and to Robin, hoping that voicing your thoughts will help you come up with something when suddenly, just like lightning, your eyes widen with clarity. “My father wants to meet him.”

Robin looks at you blankly for a moment, “I don’t think the King does house calls though?”

You keep your gaze on her, urging her to catch on to what you have in mind. “But they don’t have to know it’s not the real King, that’s visiting them… do they?”

Robin’s face lights up, a smile taking over her features, making her freckles stand out. “We bring a fake King! Demand to see Steve and the two of you live happily ever after”

You laugh and nod at her enthusiasm, feeling it cursing though your own body as well. “We’ll need to raid my father’s closet and convince a few guards.” You tell Robin who matches your mischievous smile just like she did at the ball. “Are you in?”

---

Steve is tired when he walks back to his room –or prison, depending on your perspective– after a long day of chores around the house. He doesn’t complain about doing work around the house, not usually, but it seems as if his parents are taking all their frustrations out on him. His chores have doubled, the house seems to become a mess overnight, and every day without fail, someone yells at him for whatever mistake he makes. It’s exhausting, and it’s got no end in sight. Steve doesn’t know how much more he’ll be able to take.

His only refuge is going back to his room at the end of the day. He takes long baths after dinner where tries to forget each day so that by the time he’s in the safe comfort of his bed he can sleep peacefully. Thinking about the ball helps; Steve remembers the way he danced with you, the smile in both of your faces, and how right it felt. But sometimes, when Steve’s had a really bad day, he chastises himself for attending. If he hadn’t, well he wouldn’t be thinking of you day and night. He wouldn’t make up stupid scenarios in his head where he’s able to leave the house, ask to be your boyfriend, and keep you safe from anything or anyone that tries to hurt you. He wouldn’t be in this mess.

But as things usually go for him, he is in the middle of a mess of his own doing –no freedom, no princess, nothing.

Steve thinks he hears horses galloping in the distance as he makes his way to his bed, ready to lie down for a while before he takes a bath. It’s probably a caller for my father, he thinks as he sinks into the mattress and closes his eyes at the comfort. He lets out a long exhale and tries to release the tension on his shoulders when an incessant tapping comes from the window. Peeking one eye open, Steve looks to his right to find his two small canary friends — they stopped visiting since he got grounded as his window was locked that very same night. To say Steve is happy to see them would be understating the truth, so he gets off the bed as fast as he can and rushes to where they peck the window.

“Hey, you two.” Steve smiles despite the long and hard day he had. “How have you been?”

The canaries keep tapping the window with their small beaks, and Steve furrows his brows. They’re holding something, and they want Steve to see it. Crouching so that his eyes are levelled with the window’s lower edge, Steve catches a glimpse of periwinkle lilies clutched in their feet. “Those look like the ones I gave the princess.” Steve tells them, standing back up.

The birds begin flying around the window excitedly, their winds flapping as fast as they can manage. When Steve keeps standing there, confused, they tap the window again right in front of his face. Are they pointing at me? Steve wonders before his mind catches up to what they’re trying to say.

The horses he heard, the lilies and Steve. The princess is here to see Steve. “The princess is here to see me!” Steve exclaims and the birds fly again, chirping happily.

He laughs, and looks around the room, looking for a way to open the window –he has a very good reason to wreck it if needed. But before he can do any damage, he remembers the small window in the bathing chamber. It’s a tight fit but he can manage. “I know what to do.” He tells the canaries and takes off to the adjacent room.

Once in the bathing chamber, Steve moves the furniture around and begins to climb onto the dresser until he’s able to look out the small window. He is very high up from the ground, but hopefully, the vines covering the back of the house are sturdy enough to handle his weigh. He tries to be careful, but his priority is speed; there’s no way he’s going to risk missing you after his father tells you whatever lie he’s come up with. So Steve squeezes out of the window, facing upwards so that his hands can grab onto the vines and he can pull the rest of his body out. He begins to climb down as fast as he can, getting leaves and green stains on his clothes but he doesn’t mind. He jumps once he’s closer to the ground and runs towards the house’s main entrance, hiding behind some bushes when he hears his father’s voice.

“I don’t know a Steve Harrington.” His father says haltingly, probably looking down his nose as he speaks. “You’re in the wrong house.”

“I’ve talked to the villagers, and close friends of yours.” Your voice is calm but confident when you speak up; it soothes Steve like a healing balm. You’re here. “My father and I have been assured he lives here, and I doubt everyone decided to lie us.”

“Call the boy!” A strange voice says next, confusing Steve. Did the King come to see him too?

“My apologies.” Steve’s father says, not meaning it from the tone of his voice. “What I meant to say was, there’s no Steve Harrington living here anymore.”

Steve scoffs in disbelief and stands up; passing on an opportunity to expose his father as a liar? Not a chance. He steps out of his hiding place and walk to the front entrance where everyone has gathered.

You notice the movement right away and Steve feels all the air leave his lungs when your eyes meet his. It’s like the sky knows what’s happening right away, for the clouds part and a single ray of sunshine bathes you in light. The lavender coloured dress you wear looks beautiful on you, its embroidered sleeves and hem shimmering with the light. You look ethereal as you smile at him, and Steve is speechless. How did he become this lucky? To have met you, to see you again when it seemed more than unlikely, to have your affection.

If he’s this lucky, there’s no way he’s going to let this chance go. Before he knows it, his feet move him towards you, and he takes your hands once he’s close enough.

“Princess.” Steve says, sounding as breathless as he feels. He bows his head briefly before his eyes return to yours. “Hi.”

“Hi, Steve.” You smile, face instantly lighting up. You take a step closer to him, until your faces are inches apart, and you lean up to press your forehead against his. “I found you.”

Steve closes his eyes and sighs; he leans down and moves his face slightly to brush his nose against yours. “Yes, I’m here.”

“I summon you to the castle young man!” The strange voice speaks up once more, making Steve take a step back and look at its source.

Behind the princess stand six horses, all of them with riders except for yours that remains empty; next to it is a weird-looking man, with a slightly skewed mustache, big hat, and a turquoise coat that looks too big for him. That’s the King? He doesn’t look like he did at the night of the ball. Steve looks at him quizzically before looking back at you, ready to ask a question. You smile at him again though and raise your eyebrows subtly enough for him to know that this is your doing.

“Don’t you dare go without my permission, Steve Harrington!” Steve’s father warns, voice booming across the front yard. Steve finds that it doesn’t make him flinch like it used to, and he is able to turn around and face his father with confidence and no fear.

“You’re not even properly dressed!” His mother exclaims a second later, glancing down at his stained clothing.

Steve looks down too, assessing the dirt marks and splashes of green the vines left behind. He couldn’t go to meet your father like this, could he? He looks nothing like the man he danced with you two weeks ago, at least not with the clothes he’s currently wearing. He’s about to speak up, tell you he’s not properly dressed and look for a solution when the solution presents itself.

A twinkling periwinkle light floats out from the garden and circles Steve twice; it leaves sparkling dust behind, and in a matter of seconds Steve’s clothes change. You gasp as you see the magical transformation. Steve’s work trousers have changed into well-tailored dark grey ones and his stained shirt has been replaced for a crisp and clean white one and a navy blue embroidered coat. Even his boots have been shined and his hair combed back into place, just like the night of the ball. He’ll be sure to have lots of periwinkle flowers at lady Francis’ shop from now on, as a thank you.

“Actually, father.” Steve smiles, looking into his father’s eyes. “I can leave without your permission, and I don’t think I’m coming back.”

“We don’t want your things here either!” His father says, turning around and heading back to the house, completely unfazed by Steve’s words.

“I’ll be back for them.” Steve calls out as he shrugs. “Right now, the King wants to talk to me.”

The front door closes with a loud slam and with it a big weight lifts from Steve’s shoulders; he finds that even breathing feels easier out of the house.

You take his hand a moment later, your fingers fitting perfectly intertwined with his as you look up at him softly. “What you just did was very brave, Steve. Are you okay?”

“More than okay, my Princess.” Steve smiles and presses his forehead against yours briefly. “Let’s go.”

You smile and nod before you get on your horse and wait for Steve to retrieve his. Once everyone is ready, all seven horses leave the Harrington residence, their footfalls leaving a trail of dust behind them. The King reveals himself then, taking off his moustache and hat to show that it was Robin on the horse all along. The three of you laugh with disbelief but most of all, with pure happiness. Steve catches your eyes a moment later, feeling his cheeks and hurt from the emotion that is consumes him from within. Never in a million years he would have believed this could happen to him, that the girl of his dreams would come to rescue him. Still, there’s something in the back of his mind that he needs to address.

“Can I talk to you alone?” Steve asks you, hating the open-ended question that makes your smile falter —no wonder imagining the worst. “It’s nothing bad I promise!”

You nod your head and gallop ahead to talk to one of the guards leading the way back to the palace. Soon enough, all of you are stopping near a clear water spring by the edge of the forest. The horses drink, the guards rest and Robin sits by the edge of the spring while the two of you move further away.

“I’m sorry.” Steve says, once you’re alone. Looking at you with the remorse he feels. “I’m so sorry. I told you I’d look for a way, but I wasn’t able to leave the house.” He sees the way you smile softly, the small breath you let out as you look at him with so much care, he can barely bare it.

Steve moves closer to you and gently holds your face in his hands, your skin is soft beneath his touch. “I’m very sorry, Y/N.” He whispers.

Your hands move to cover his, much smaller and gentle in their touch. Steve feels your thumbs caress the back of his hands as you speak softly. “Don’t be sorry, Steve.” You whisper, “I understand. I’ve been doing some work on my side too.”

Steve furrows his brows. “What kind of work?”

“You’re the kindest, most wonderful, caring and unbearably attractive person I know. I can’t even find the words that’ll do you justice.” Your smile is blinding as you beam up at him and take his hands into yours. “If your dad won’t allow you to propose a courtship, then I will propose it to you Steve Harrington. I’d love nothing more than get to know you, and let you get to know me. So, um.. w-what do you say?”

Steve feels his eyes roam your face as his mind catches up and makes sense of your words and what you’re proposing. You look up at him, pretty eyes shining with expectation and worry as you hold his hand between the two of you. Steve smiles. As if him saying no could be possible. With a soft shake of his head, Steve leans in and kisses you, letting out a low sound of content and melting with a single kiss. He feels you sigh against his lips and lets go of your hands to hold you face instead; his face moves to the right, allowing for a more comfortable angle as his lips slowly brush against yours until you’re too breathless to continue.

“Yes.” Steve says, his forehead pressing against yours. He’s pretty sure you’re not allowed to kiss, but none of you seem to care. “Of course I accept, princess. I’ll prove myself worthy of you.”

Steve feels the moment you shake your head. “You don’t have to prove yourself to me Steve.” You whisper.

Overwhelmed with your words, Steve ducks his head and brushes his nose against the side of yours. He places a kiss to the corner of your mouth and whispers your name. “I really, really like you. You don’t know how much.”

You move to look up into Steve’s eyes and place a hand on his cheek. “I really like you too, Steve.”

Steve smiles, and you do too, both of you feeling immersed in your own little world; basking in the happiness the day has brought. It is only when one of your horses whines in the distance that Steve speaks up. “We should get going, you said your father is waiting.”

You look around you before smiling at Steve again. “Just one more.” You tell him, bringing his face closer to yours and kissing him again.

Steve can’t help but smile against your lips as he places his hands on your waist and kisses you back. This is all he ever wanted but never thought he could have —his princess, happiness, his freedom. Both of your eyes are closed, completely absorbed in the moment, and too focused on each other to notice the way the breeze picks up and plucks periwinkle leaves from their flowers; they swirl around you as you let your affection take over for just a moment. A moment that unbeknownst to you, will turn into another, and another, until the happily ever after both you and Steve have longed for finally arrives. The two of you hand in hand, living a loving, happy, and fulfilling life the kingdom will remember for centuries to come.

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x f!reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington angst

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iamjucie · 17 days

Text

A History in Lessons

Chapter 5: "Your Most Prized Spawn" pt. 3

You take a long sip from the cup. As soon as it touches your tongue, tingling warmness spreads through the roof of your mouth and spreads across your cheeks. It goes down very smoothly and has very strong notes of citrus, notably lemon... The warmness spreads further up your face, crawling behind your eyes and touching your mind. Your head reels for a moment and the room wavers slightly. Has it really been that long since you’ve drank?

Astarion is swept away by Count Zarovich, leaving you alone in a room of unwelcoming vampire lords. Leaving you alone to your thoughts. Alone, until a familiar face approaches you with a goblet of very, very strong wine.

AO3 link Word count: 1.6k Rating: Mature CW: Implied drugging

(thank you @itsthatpearl for beta reading as always <3 love u)

You begrudgingly take his hand and he helps you off the ground and you set off out the door to join the other lords and ladies of the night.

He drags you along, holding your hand limply behind him and dropping it as soon as you are within the eyesight of the elegant party goers. You stand on the outskirts of the crowd. Vampires chatting, dancing, and intermingling with one another; you look from the crowd to Astarion. You imagine him intertwined with the set of people before you and it doesn’t feel right. The Astarion you loved would be scoffing at this group, making fun of the way they all pretend to like each other, not desperate to have them like him. Not pushing you away for their approval.

You shake off your angst for the time being and look back to the dance floor. While scanning the crowd, you spot a tall lord standing at the opposite end of the ballroom. You do a double take, flinching slightly when you realize he is looking directly at you, now staring predatorily into your eyes between the crowd of people. Astarion doesn’t seem to notice. You maintain eye contact with the man, squinting slightly in an attempt to show him you have more fight to you than he may assume.

Astarion interrupts your staring contest. “Let’s find our proper place settings, shall we?”

You nod and look away from the man who continues staring at you like you're on the menu. Even after you’ve looked away, you can feel his eyes on you.

Not gaining more than two steps behind Astarion, you follow him as he politely greets the party goers with slight bows of his head. They respond to him with a bow and gentle smiles. The smile on their faces drop as soon as you attempt to do the same as your partner, however. Your polite greetings are met with a deadpan, borderline threatening stare from each of them. After the third or fourth failed attempt at being cordial, you give up and leave it to Astarion.

You continue to walk around the ballroom when suddenly Count Zarovich appears from thin air and clasps his hand on top of Astarion’s shoulder with a firm grip. The Count leans into his ear. “I saw you escape the party to admire the decor within the castle.”

Astarion flinches and tenses up, his shoulders rise to his ears. He glances at you with eyes that scream, “We’re in trouble, get ready to run.”

Astarion winds up to begin to apologize and grovel in an attempt to remain in the Count’s good graces. He is certainly the last person you want to be on the bad side of. Especially as a new Vampire Lord.

He leans away slightly, hand still remaining on Astarion’s shoulder and exclaims to both of your surprise “If you wanted a tour you only had to ask, my Ascended brother!” the Count begins to pull your partner away from you. “I will show you every inch of the castle! You’re doing renovations yourself, yes? Maybe the Ravenloft Castle can be of inspiration to you!” he continues talking at Astarion as he is pulled further away from you. Your partner turns over his shoulder to face you as the Count continues to talk his ear off.

“Behave.” He mouths to you

You scoff and roll your eyes slightly. As if there’s anything else to do. None of the attendants of this ball are anyone you care to be friendly with. You watch as Astarion and his tour guide disappear into a hallway adjacent to the ballroom.

You remain outside the main pulse of the ball, watching the different lords and ladies enjoy their time. People watching was one of your favorite hobbies when you would to get out of the palace more often.

You find that although all the attendees are very different in appearance, they all have mannerisms that remain the same between all of them. The way they walk, the way they move their heads and hands when conversing, it’s as if there was a class on how to behave when you become a vampire lord.

You suppose when you live for long enough, all habits and subconscious behaviors would begin to meld into one result. Is this your future? A copy paste vampire lady attending a ball, putting on a nice face to remain in the good graces of your immortal counterparts? Part of you says, “No, you’re different from the rest of them.” and another says “Yes. You are not the exception.”

Your partial spiral is interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. It startles you. You hadn’t expected anyone here to interact with you, so you had allowed yourself to get fully lost in thought. You turn to see the woman you had seen at the entrance standing next to the Count when he greeted you. Well, when he greeted Astarion. She’s his spawn.

She holds a goblet out to you. “Do you drink?” You look from her eyes (that appear much more full of life than the first interaction you had with her) to inside the goblet. Thick purple liquid sloshes inside as she pushes it closer to you. You look at her, a friendly gentle smile spread across her lips. “I’m Fuchsia. Count Zarovich’s favored spawn.”

Well, if you’re going to enjoy talking to anyone in this place, it would most likely be another spawn. Looking around, it appears you two are the only spawns allotted by their counterparts to be in the center of the party.

“Hells, why not.” you take the goblet with a smile. “It’s been a minute since I’ve partaken, but it is a party after all. I’m Tav.”

“Really? If I had the ability to drink alcohol without it tasting putrid, I’d be spending my time drunk as a sailor." She laughs lightly. "So, you do have the same abilities as the Vampire Ascendant as his spawn do you not?” She asks with a slight tilt to her head and the same lighthearted tone.

You take a long sip from the cup. As soon as it touches your tongue, tingling warmness spreads through the roof of your mouth and spreads across your cheeks. It goes down very smoothly and has very strong notes of citrus, notably lemon. “Yes, I do. And because of that, I can tell you this wine is delicious.” The warmness spreads further up your face, crawling behind your eyes and touching your mind. Your head reels for a moment and the room wavers slightly. Has it really been that long since you’ve drank?

“I’m glad it’s to your standards.” She sits at an empty table setting and pats at the chair next to her indicating you to sit. You do. You take another sip from the goblet. “So, tell me about your master.” she asks.

“Mm-” you finish your sip with a slight chuckle. You wipe the wine from the corner of your mouth. “Please, I only call him that in the bedroom.”

Your eyes open wide, and your lips purse. Did you just say that out loud? Why the fuck did you just say that out loud? You put a hand on your mouth in shock at your remark. The Count’s spawn only laughs.

“You’re so funny! No wonder he keeps you around.”

“He better keep me around.” Gods- why can’t you stop talking?! You shouldn’t be sharing this. Not with a stranger. The way Astarion is acting he surely doesn’t want anyone to know that- “We are lovers.” Your words spill from your thoughts to your tongue.

She stops laughing and her gaze becomes slightly serious for a moment. “Oh, you aren’t joking. Are you seriously treated as an equal by him? Calling him not by master, but by his name?”

“Yes, as well as other pet names like darling, babe, baby, daddy, etcetera.”

Your mind is clouding and your vision is slightly warping. You’re having trouble keeping any of your thoughts inside your head, they are pouring out like a waterfall. You can’t even think straight. As moments pass, you seem to care less and less about what you say. It must be really strong wine.

Fuck it. Astarion left you to have fun on his own, why can’t you have some fun too? You take the last sip of wine from the cup.

“That’s fascinating.” the other spawn leans onto the table with both of her hands on her chin holding up her head. “What can you tell me about how your ma- sorry, how Astarion managed to become the Vampire Ascendant.”

You lean into her closely and whisper loudly, “Truth be told, he couldn’t have done it without me.” You raise your eyebrows and bring the goblet to your lips to take another sip, forgetting you had already finished it.

Her face is shocked, but intrigued. “Oh? How so?”

You lean back into a sigh, crossing your arms at your stomach. “Well, how much time do you have?”

She looks around the ballroom, scanning for any signs of Astarion and Count Zarovich. “How long are they gone for?” she asks.

“Hmm… twenty minutes maybe?”

“Oh.” she scoffs “We have plenty of time. They probably haven’t even reached the Master's garden yet.” she chuckles.

“Perfect.” You lean closer into her, preparing for the dramatic retelling of you and your lover’s origin. “Well, it started on a mindflayer ship.” Fuchsia raises her eyebrows curiously.

Next part

#astarion #ascended astarion #astarion posting #vampire ascended astarion #astarion smut #ascended astarion x tav #ascended astarion smut #ascended astarion fic #mind control #mind corruption #tw drugs #trickery #astarion bg3 #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 smut

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aurumacadicus · 1 year

Text

My kingdom for fics where okay wait a minute this has facets. Bullets then.

1) Steve doesn’t like to ask for things because it makes him feel weak. He’s part of the Greatest Generation (the GI Generation, if you will). He grew up experiencing the greatest economy and a technology boom (radio, telephone, cars), but he also experienced the tail-end of the Spanish Flu Pandemic and the stock market crash and following Great Depression. He grew up sick with a working mother and (in some iterations) an abusive father. This man would rather crawl off and cut a bullet out of himself than walk into medical and have someone else do it because he doesn’t want people to see him as fallible.

2) This is Tony’s biggest beef with him. He’s rich, he’s never going to be able to spend all of the money he has, and as such he likes spoiling his friends. And Steve never fucking wants anything, even seems distrustful and annoyed when Tony gives him things he’s sure he’ll like, like art supplies or a motorbike upgrade. He uses them begrudgingly at first because he doesn’t like waste and Tony sees him using them and just keeps buying those things for him. Steve hates it but he can also tell that Tony would be terribly hurt if he told him so, so he stoically keeps his mouth shut because he’s good at it.

3) Absolute fucking astonishment, this helps Steve see that he deserves things that are not Duty and he starts to heal a little bit. Doesn’t seek therapy tho, what is he, a pansy lol (😰) even though he could really use it. He is very tired of the entirety of the team telling him to see a psychiatrist. He was in a frozen coma for seventy years just leave him alone.

4) Steve and Tony start dating! Who didn’t see this coming tho. Anyway they start learning about each other, growing together, it’s all very sweet and Natasha started strangling Clint when he started to pretend to gag so that’s nice.

5) Steve becomes comfortable enough with Tony that he gets the courage to ask for something. Could be anything, really, but for purposes of this post let’s go with ummmm a dog. And Tony is immediately delighted! Steve asked him for something! This is wonderful! Forget saying “I love you,” this is a way bigger step (and quite frankly something he never believed would happen) so he’s over the moon! Of course we can get a dog! And by we I mean that I’ll pay for everything and you can walk it and clean up after it. (Steve is actually okay with this because Tony can barely remember to take care of himself when he gets busy, he just thinks that it would be nice to have something with a heartbeat to cuddle while Tony’s jetting off doing Important Business Things and Tony thinks this will be good because dogs have been proven to be therapeutic.)

6) Steve gets a dog, and it hates Tony. I’m talking growling when Steve isn’t near to hear it, snapping at Tony’s ankles (Steve always scolds it, and it stops for a while, but then Tony goes on a business trip and it starts all over again), peeing on anything Tony leaves lying around, it’s chewed up three StarkPads and torn apart his pillow. “It’s fine, it just needs a little more training,” he tells Steve every time it happens, because this is the first thing Steve has ever asked him for and he doesn’t want to ruin it just because he’s a little scared of this dog. It’s fine. Things can be replaced! And it’s only nips, sometimes running under his feet to knock him over. It’s fine. The dog loves Steve after all, and that’s all Tony really expected because he’s gone so often.

7) Tony is in tears in private tho okay. He keeps telling Rhodey and Pepper and Happy how scared of this dog he is and then always backpedals with “but Steve’s taking it to more intensive training!” when they make noises of concern. It’s not like it’s just him, either. The only other people the dog seems to like are Natasha and Thor. He sticks to the workshop unless Steve is home with the dog because he’s too scared to see it alone and makes Thor (or Natasha, on the rare cases she isn’t with him) take care of it while Steve’s on missions. It’s fine. It’s Steve’s dog! He asked for it! Tony knows if he complains, Steve will never feel safe enough to ask him for anything again. It’s fine.

8) “I can’t take this anymore,” Tony whispers, feeling like he’s about to break apart as he stares at the jagged wounds where Steve pried the dog’s teeth out of his hand as he and Thor try to wrestle it into its kennel. Bruce stands between them as he carefully escorts Tony to medical. Tony dreads seeing Steve after. Steve must know he’s going to have to make an ultimatum after this. He’s not going to allow a dog to attack him twice in is own home, not with how viciously it had attacked him this time. (He doesn’t hear how many stitches he needs, or how long the cast will have to stay on. He just sees Bruce go a little green around the edges before he takes his good hand between both his own, and at that point, he’s scared to ask the doctor to repeat herself.)

9) Steve immediately rehomes the dog. He doesn’t tell Tony how, or where, or with who. He just packs up everything dog-related into a box and leaves for a few hours. It’s like there was never a dog at all. Tony somehow feels worse than when the dog bit him, remembering the way Steve had pressed a stoic kiss to his forehead before he’d left. Maybe he should have offered to stay on a different floor while the dog was there, cited nonexistent allergies. The dog had been… it had really been good for Steve.

10) “Why didn’t you tell me to get rid of the dog?” Steve asks when he gets back. He wonders what he did to make Tony think he didn’t have a say in what lived in his personal quarters. Why didn’t he feel secure enough with Steve to admit the dog’s attitude toward him scared him? He would never have kept it if Tony had shown even an inkling that he felt unsafe. “It was the first thing you ever asked me for,” Tony whispers, ashamed. “I knew if I said I didn’t like it, you’d never feel safe enough to ask me for anything else.” Steve looks like Tony shot him, eyes darting from his face to his still-bandaged arm and back again.

11) Steve says they should go to therapy. “It’s not healthy, that you would let me hurt you, even via a dog, just because you think I want it. I would never want something to hurt you, Tony.” He’s man enough to admit, if only to himself, that he’s only going to go because it seemed hypocritical, telling Tony he needed help when Tony’s desire to please him had been borne out of his own issues. Maybe next time he wants something, he’ll be able to see how that affects Tony, and not just himself. He should have realized something was wrong. Tony gets along with Lucky just fine, even after being bitten. He should have realized the way the dog was reacting to Tony wasn’t normal.

12) “I found a stray dog on my run. I’m going to take it to the shelter,” Steve says. “I wanted to tell you, so you don’t think I’m standing you up for brunch.” Tony looks up at him, blinking slowly, before looking down at the dog cowering behind Steve’s legs. Squats. Holds his shaking hand out. The dog looks at him with big, wet eyes before darting out its tongue to swipe between his fingers. “Maybe you weren’t meant to get a dog. Maybe the dog was always meant to get you,” Tony says after a moment, and Steve lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Yeah?” Tony reaches out, wincing, but relaxes when the dog patiently lets him scratch behind its ear. “Yeah.”

13) “I’m naming him Dodger because I found him in Brooklyn and at least he seems loyal to the borough,” Steve mutters darkly even as he reluctantly tuned into an LA Dodgers game, and Tony chokes on his coffee laughing.

#ideas #stony #this is not anti dog this is just a statement that you can’t always trust what a shelter tells you about dogs #the first dog needed a single owner and that’s what Steve found for it #the second dog is friendly and sweet to everyone because he’s a multi person dog #just like people dogs have different personalities and needs #anyway Natasha has a crisis that this dog who bit her friend liked her #but everyone assures her that it probably just liked her because it sensed she was also a loner #she probably could have taken the dog but she didn’t want Tony to be scared in his own home #because the avengers care about each other even if they make mistakes

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pedrostylez · 11 months

Text

The Gray: Chapter 5

pairing: Joel Miller x fem!reader

rating: 18+ (no minors please)

chapter summary: Joel's infatuation with you seems to grow, as he likes having you around. He goes to repair some of his equipment and brings you along, where you both finally admit what you have been feeling for weeks.

word count: 5.7k

warnings etc: mean!Joel, super!Joel, SMUT!, pet names, violence, mentions of SA, and abuse. Angsty as all get out, deeper feelings mentioned, there's a lot of fluff here too...masturbation mentioned, oral (female receiving) p in v sex, unprotected sex (please be safe), NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: Please read the warnings and understand that each chapter will have its own separate set of warnings as well. Be mindful, and control your own reading experience. Eeeeek first chapter of smut! I hope you guys enjoy and can see the struggle Joel and Sugar are having with admitting their feelings for each other. At the end of the day, I love a good love story so I hope I get that across. I just want to thank everyone- I saw that I just passed 200 followers and I know that isn't a lot for some, but it's really nice :,)

If there are additional tags I should be placing for filtering purposes please let me know!

Your thoughts are in red, Joel's thoughts will be in blue

Joel’s hands shook with anger, standing on the roof and looking down at his partner with the civilian they just saved. He couldn’t move, wouldn’t dare to step in the way of AJ.

“Come on, don’t be like that.” AJ snarled, the squeak of the girl coming up to meet Joel’s ears.

Joel’s anger overtook him, free falling into the alleyway to see wide eyes staring back at him. She thought she was going to be saved.

As Joel stood up, AJ’s hands twisted around her jaw, giving a quick snap and looking smugly over at Joel. “Too late, partner.”

Joel blinked at you, fuzzy from his dream and still very much wanting to be in it.

You pulling him to the bedroom

A laugh escaping your lips as he kissed your neck, tickling you with his facial hair

A moan leaving you as his face traveled down, moving your shirt up, up up–

“Your lair is ringing.” You stated, pointing to his wall of screens. Your eyes searched over his face, eyes softening as you watched him process waking up so quickly. He hoped you didn’t see the tent that had started in his pants.

He looked over, seeing a yellow warning sign flash across the screen, and grunted in annoyance. He stood up quickly, stepping toward his computer and clearing his throat. Get out of your head, Miller.

He would have to be blind to think that you weren’t attractive. And to top it off, he had always been a sucker for a woman in distress, even though you could take care of yourself. That had been what he was known for, even with the stoic demeanor and little to say when saving someone. He was there to save the day. But the way that you had willingly let him help you, even after all the nasty things people said about him in the media…

He typed a password on his computer, pulling up the full warning sign and squinting to read the fine print. You looked up to the screen which allowed him to adjust his pants quickly while he read that there was a dead battery in one of his camera locations. He sighed, looking over to you waiting with your hands clasped together, shirt falling almost to your knees. Why did I suggest you sleep in my clothes? Even the ones I never wore? “Just a dead camera s’all sugar.”

You audibly sighed, not chastising him for calling you anything but your name. He took note of it but filed it away for later. You went over to his pantry, grabbing out the cereal. “When do you go change it out?”

He mulled it over in his head, going to the fridge to pick out the milk while you grabbed bowls and spoons. A routine you both had started, prepping breakfast together. He would wait for you most mornings, turning on the coffee pot to wake you slowly, let you get up and stretch out your limbs before sitting down together silently and eating your designated boxes of cereal. He noticed you gravitate towards the Cheerios more than the Rice Krispies. “Maybe today, I don’t want the system to be down for too long.” He let you pour him a bowl full of cereal, noticing the box was almost empty. “I should probably check my mail too.”

You scoffed, glancing over at him as you filled up your own bowl and he poured the milk. “You actually get mail?”

Joel smirks, looking at you while you look down, not aware of his gaze. “I have to get those care packages of cereal sponsorships from somewhere sweetie.” He laughed, sitting down next to you and adjusting his chair to be turned toward you instead of the screens.

He watched your face turn red, his heart beating faster at the thought that his words made you feel something. “How are you still sponsored by Honey Nut Cheerios if you’re considered a villain?”

Taking a bite, he put his elbow up on the table and pointed at you with his spoon. “Don’t hate on my hussle.”

You laughed, full-bellied, almost choking on your cereal. Joel watched you, smiling to himself. He shouldn’t get used to this, but he wanted to.

Joel’s feet felt heavy on the sidewalk without you next to him. He had gotten used to being with you all the time, making sure you were keeping up and felt your absence deep in his stomach. You had both agreed that changing out the batteries in a camera would take two people-one to do the change and one to keep watch, but the post office could be quicker and easier in the daylight. This walk alone gave him time to think about his dream that you had woken him up from, and he reveled in the opportunity.

Your sighs were light, leaning toward a high pitched moan that made the base of his spine shiver. His mouth traveled down, pushing your shirt up with wet kisses to your smooth skin. “Please Joel.”

“I’m no good for you.” He growled, glancing up at your face as his fingers hooked into the elastic of your underwear. Blue like the sky, mesh, see through. He groaned.

“I don’t need good.” You whispered, keeping your eyes down on him as he slid your underwear down your legs. “I need you.”

He shook himself out of his trance, approaching the doors to the small post office on the outskirts of the city. He had to stop thinking about you; you were a means to an end, helpful for what he needed for his ultimate desire - revenge. Nothing else is important.

The keys felt cold as he pulled them out of his pocket, opening his post box to find 3 more keys to access larger packages. He smirked at the thought that there would be more cereal for you to grumble over; not that he minded your grumbles much anymore.

The boxes were light weight, easy to fit in the oversized bag he had started bringing with him when he went to the post office. It made it look like he was carrying groceries, when really it was the obscene amount of postal packages.

His thoughts drifted back to you as he began walking again, eyes down on his path. He came to the conclusion quickly that his infatuation with you, his dreams about you, and his tendency to be soft around you were only because of the proximity. There was no way he would act like this if you both had met at the Organization, or under different circumstances.

I wouldn’t even give you a second glance at the post office. He asserted to himself, rolling his eyes at the thought that he probably would in fact give you a second glance, only because your legs were so long and because your hair was so shiny-

He stepped through the side door to his hideout, glancing up into the main room to see that the bathroom door was closed. He set his bag down on the table, glancing up at the cameras to take note of which ones were down and mentally map out the fastest route to get to them. Being lost in his thoughts didn’t last long when he heard the shower start to run and a soft moan escape under the door.

He froze, feet stuck to the floor as he whipped his head toward the bathroom door. She must not have heard me come back? He knew what you were doing, and he had to hold on to one of the chairs to ground himself into thinking about anything else. The idea that you were touching yourself a few feet away from him, behind a closed door with water running down your body made him twitch.

“J-Joel.” Escaped your lips, through the sound of the water and under the door, coming to his ears. He groaned out loud immediately after, swaying away from the chair and finding himself in front of the bathroom door. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, debating whether or not to knock, on if what he was doing was creepy, or what exactly he was thinking, but by the time he had made a decision you had pulled open the door wrapped in a towel.

You jumped back, Joel scaring you by looming in the doorway and clutched your towel tighter around you. Your hair was still wet, a mess on top of your head, and you looked at him expectantly. “Do you need the bathroom?”

Joel’s eyes slinked up and down your frame, making your face go hot as you remembered what you had done in the shower. You felt your heart stutter at the realization that maybe you weren’t as quiet as you originally thought. His eyes came back to yours, a small smirk crossing his face. “Did you need any help?”

Frozen. Both of you were frozen. Did I just ask her if she needed help?

What? “What?” You repeated your thought, suddenly very aware of his hand twitching. You felt your nipples harden at the thought of those fingers brushing against you and you slid your eyes back up to his.

“I said,” Here goes nothing Miller. Joel took a single step into the bathroom toward you, his socks sticking to the bottom of his feet with the humidity of the room. The tile was slippery and if he wasn’t careful he could fall. “Did you need help? You sounded like you were in a predicament.”

Your jaw went slack, understanding fully that he had in fact heard you. “I don’t know what you mean, Joel.” You didn’t know what else to do. You couldn’t just admit it, no matter how childish it made you seem.

Joel’s smile grew, the buttons of his shirt brushing against the threads of your towel. He wasn’t going to lean in to you more than what he had already, but he felt the pull to you. He began breathing heavily, overly dramatic as he moaned out his own name to imitate you and watch the blood rush from the top of your chest to your cheeks and ears. “Were you not calling out my name, sugar? Did you need me?”

The double meaning was not lost on you, and you felt yourself leaning into him slightly as your breath caught. “I-I…just almost slipped.” You squawked, eyes widening when you let your nose brush against his.

He tutted at you, tilting his head to allow you to lean your face towards him more if you wanted to. “Don’t lie to me sweetie.” He breathed out, fingers twitching again to just reach out and touch you.

You were both frozen again, breathing heavily and waiting for the other to do something, anything. You bit your lip, making his eyes immediately glue to them and groan. His groan made you gasp, lunging forward to lean your full weight on him. His arms wrapped around your waist, one hand skimming where your ass was hidden under the towel to hear your breath catch again.

The tension was ready to snap, a rubber band barely holding on when Joel sighed, moving his hands back to your hips and pushing himself away. He glanced down, avoiding the line of your cleavage to look at the floor. “I uh, brought back the packages.” He cleared his throat, taking a full step away from you. “We should get ready for changing the cameras out tonight.”

You felt like you had been taken on a roller coaster, not sure what Joel really wanted or why he was changing the subject. “Okay.” You stepped around him, your feet sticking to the tile. “I’ll get dressed.”

He heard you leave the room, walk across the concrete to the bedroom and shut that door as well. He sighed heavily, running his hands through his hair and yanking lightly to bring himself back to reality. God, I’ll be a goner sooner than I thought.

Little did he know that behind the bedroom door that you closed you were leaning your full weight, hand up to your forehead and breathing erratically. Joel Miller was officially under your skin, and you didn’t know how to avoid him.

The day went on with you both avoiding each other, sticking to the bedroom with the door ajar in case he needed to ask you a question, him in the main area watching the cameras. As it grew darker, your anxiety increased with the knowing that you and him would have to travel around town together, possibly in the eyes of Marianne and AJ.

A knock came to the door frame of the bedroom, making you look up at Joel who had changed to all black clothing and a dark flannel layered on top. “Get changed, we are going to head out shortly.”

You nodded, watching him step away quickly to let you put on a jacket and hat to cover up identifying features. When you were both ready, you stepped out into the street, walking side by side awkwardly. You wanted to reach out and touch him; you hadn’t touched him since this morning, and while you didn’t typically get close to Joel, you had this urge to be near.

Another couple was walking toward you both, making you step closer to him and reach your hand out to his arm. He jumped lightly, not expecting you to reach for him as he looked at you. “Part of the disguise, remember?” You said, referencing pretending to be a couple to further the facade that you were not a superhero on the run.

He grunted, pulling his hand out of his jacket pocket and sliding his fingers to yours. You didn’t ask if he felt the tingle that you did.

He pulled you into an alleyway, walking to the back corner before turning back around to see if you had been followed, unlocking a door that was hidden by the shadow. “We need to go here.”

You didn’t respond, feeling your anxiety increase with not knowing where the door would lead. Small, dark spaces were not your forte, and while you hid it well, the idea of embarrassing yourself in front of Joel wasn’t on your “top picks” list.

He glanced at you, seeing you tense when the door opened and wondered why you were suddenly tense. He reached for you, guiding you by the elbow to go ahead of him and shut the door behind himself and relock it. When he turned back around to you, you hadn’t moved forward, frozen in place. “Alright?”

You hummed in a high pitched tone, breathing in sharply and trying to blink to have your eyes adjust. “I can’t see.” You squeaked, feeling the heat of Joel behind you but not being aware of anything else besides fear.

“Just step forward, sugar.” He said quietly, moving his hands to your hips to push you forward. “Your eyes will adjust.”

Him pushing you was the only reason you took a step, but Joel quickly realized that he couldn’t let go of you if you were to continue forward. “I really can’t see, my eyes won’t adjust.” You whispered, trying to hide the shake in your voice.

He paused, sliding his hands along your hips as he stepped around you and in front. He let his touch tell you where he was, brushing his fingers up your arms to your shoulder and to hold your face in place. He let his forehead touch yours as he felt you shake. He briefly remembered your first night in his hideout and how you asked how to escape. “You are not stuck in here.” He whispered, letting his breath fan across your face.

You sighed, closing your eyes tightly and shaking your head. “I’m stupid, it’s fine.” You huffed, bringing your hands up to hold his wrists.

“You’re not stupid.” He said quickly, holding you firmly and stepping closer to you so both of your fronts were flush together. “There is a room at the end of this hallway. I won’t let the world tumble in on you.” He pushed, leaning his head away from yours to bring his lips to your forehead. I can’t help myself.

You sighed, feeling the tingle he left behind on your forehead as you nodded. He slid his hand down, grabbed your fingers, and walked slowly along the hallway to bring you to some of his camera access.

At the end of the hall there was in fact a room that Joel could light up. Wires ran up and down two walls, red and green lights reminding you of the holiday season. “The battery compartments are here.” He grumbled, letting go of your hand reluctantly after looking you over. You were no longer shaking, but stood awkwardly while you waited.

You tried smiling, not daring to look behind you into the dark. You watched as he crouched down, hand gliding over the different stations and popping some batteries out of his pocket. He wasn’t really concerned with you keeping watch at this point; he had done this enough times alone. But he wanted you to be closer to him.

“What happens if one of the wires goes bad?” You ask quietly, letting him turn around to look at you before continuing what he was doing.

“It hasn’t happened yet, but I would replace the wire. It doesn’t go very far, just to a wireless router that lets the visuals come to me virtually instead of the wires being all around town.” He explained, looking back at you and letting the corners of his mouth tilt up. “Not too complicated.”

You nodded, biting the inside of your cheek and glancing away from him. “I’m not a very good watch person.” You chuckled, still not turning around. You had only just calmed down enough to breathe normally, and you didn’t want to revert back.

He chuckled, balling up the trash from the batteries in his hand and shoving it back in his pocket. “S’alright. Your company is enough.” He stood, turning to you and watched your face blush lightly at his words.

“You’re just saying that.” You whispered, glancing at him quickly.

He shrugged, stepping toward you and reaching out. He was done playing it safe. Here goes nothing. His hand slid around your jaw, pulling you towards him slightly. “Do you want me like I want you?” He said gruffly, looking from your lips to your eyes.

He watched your eyes widen, your pupils dilate, and listened to the way your breath sped up. His thumb moved slowly over your cheek, across your bottom lip and back again, satisfied with the shiver that you couldn’t hold back.

He had to wait. He had to be sure he wasn’t just imagining things. That it wasn’t all just a dream. “I need you to talk to me, sugar. Anything.”

You tried to open your mouth but it was too dry, too sticky to even think about words. You attempted a swallow, reaching your hand forward slowly to clasp at his forearm. “I don’t know, Joel.”

He waited, freezing his thumb against your cheekbone and blinking roughly. He moved his head down, releasing you from his grip even though yours was now on him–not letting him walk away from the rejection. He deflated even though it had been too good to be true. “I’m sorry.”

You squeezed as he tried to step away, and he shuffled slightly unsure of what to do. Your hand on him felt like stepping through a fire, like climbing into a warm bed on a cold day, like taking a dip in the ocean while the sun beats down on you. He wanted to always feel that way, but only if you felt the same. Maybe it’s the proximity, but I don’t care.

He could spiral on his own. He didn’t need you to witness it–he knew where to go so he would be hidden from his own cameras but out of the public eye. He could run away long enough to get his head on straight but still keep you safe. He would take you back to the hideout and then go out again, just to be alone.

“Where did you go?” You whispered, squeezing his arm tight again as he drifted back out of his thoughts. “You don’t have to be sorry.” You pushed, pulling him toward you again.

“I shouldn’t feel this way.” He sighed, hands coming up to run through his hair and back down to his sides. He didn’t want to touch you again if you didn’t want that.

“Why not?” You emphasized, reaching forward for his flannel and curling your fingers tighter.

“You don’t feel the same.” He resigned, feeling like a fool. He had misread the whole thing-even this morning when he heard you moan his name. It was just to get off, not anything more.

“I didn’t say that, I said I didn’t know.” You sighed, exasperated with his dismissal. It’s more complicated than that.

“That’s practically the same.” He grumbled, trying to step away from you again but his shirt stretched when you didn’t let him leave.

“No, it means I’m confused.” You sighed, letting go of him and began pacing. The dark and tight hallway was no longer in your mind. “What if you only feel like this because I’m in your way all the time? Or if I feel like this because I don’t know where I am going to end up?” You worried out loud, continuing your pacing in a circle practically around him.

Joel crossed his arms in front of his chest, watching you. “Is that how you feel?”

You grunted unhappily, pointing a look at him. “I don’t know how I feel. That’s what I’m trying to say! I’m saying there’s so many variables and I don’t understand how to sort them all out. What if I’m overthinking–

“You are over thinking.” He said quietly, trying to not smirk at your thought process.

“But what if I’m not overthinking it and the rational part of my brain is telling the irrational part to slow down.” You sighed.

“I dream about you.” He blurted, hands coming down to his sides again as he kept his eyes on you.

That made you stop in your tracks, turning to him quickly. His cheeks were red with what you thought was embarrassment, as he started to pace in his own track–back and forth in front of you. “I literally dream about you every night. About you getting hurt, about me hurting you, about AJ and Marianne hurting you. But I also dream about how you look at me, how you feel when I hold you in my arms, helping you, picking you up to fight them again. About…more. You are growing like a fucking weed inside of me.”

You laugh lightly, watching his own smile creep up on his face at the statement. “That doesn’t sound pleasant.”

He shook his head quickly, getting himself to focus. “It’s not. I wake up and sometimes you’re in front of me and other times you’re asleep or worse you’ve gone out and I don’t know where you are and I panic, sweetie. I literally–” He grabs at his hair and pulls on it to try and ground himself. “I need to know you’re safe. And I fucking care if you’re safe. There's a lot going on up here and I’m confused too, but I know that much.” He rushes over to you and grabs your hand, a zap of what feels like electricity zipping through you before the familiar dull hum continues when he touches you. “Don’t you feel that? How it buzzes? How everything gets loud and crazy? And then how it quiets down, how I can only see you?”

Your breath is caught in your throat, your eyes searching his face. “Yes.”

He nods, bringing your hand up to his chest and pressing it into where his heart is beating. “I don’t know what it means but it's something. And I want you when it gets loud, and I want you when it gets quiet. I only see you when it goes quiet.” He breathes heavily, leaning his forehead to yours again. “Please tell me you want me. Just your first instinct. What do you want to say first before you stop yourself?”

You pause, closing your eyes and trying to focus on breathing. “I want to say yes.”

It's like all the air has left him as he processes what you said while he has leaned in to kiss you at the same time. His lips mold to yours, hands grasping around your shoulders and up into your hair. “Say yes then.” He pauses, kissing at the corner of your mouth.

You sigh heavily, grabbing at his shirt and pulling him impossibly closer. You still can’t speak, not wanting to admit it to yourself, to him, to the universe. How did you end up here with him? “What if it’s not real?” You sigh, upset with yourself for saying it.

He pauses long enough to smile, kissing you again briefly. “Then let’s be delusional together, sugar.”

Getting back to the hideout was a blur. Joel had ushered you down the hallway, small spaces and dark corridors forgotten and then kept you close to travel back to the lair and get you inside quickly. He pulled off your hat and wrapped his hand around the back of your head to pull you close to him. “Kiss me.”

When you did that buzz of electricity surged through you again, unable to be swallowed down now that his tongue was sweeping over your lip and a grunt of satisfaction escaping when you opened your mouth for him. You sighed happily, fingers working his flannel open to expose the black t-shirt underneath. His hands gripped your hips, pulling your lower body into his with a dull thump that made him smile into the kiss.

He felt unsure, pulling away for a moment. “Do you want me?” It was rough to his own ears, hands pulling away from you to yank off his flannel. He hovered over his belt, tempted to move forward but wanting your input.

You nodded eagerly, pulling off your jacket and then reaching forward to where his hands were. “Only if you want me.”

He sighed happily, leaning forward again to kiss you and worked down your neck roughly. His hands left his belt to let you figure out, his fingers skating along the skin that was exposed at your stomach to push your shirt up. He slowly let it lift above your bra, pulling away from your neck with a pop to look down at you.

Your fingers undid his belt, pulling down the zipper of his jeans and glancing up to watch him observe you. His pupils were blown out, lip caught in his teeth briefly before he knelt down. “I have to have you.” He growled, kissing at your stomach and bringing his hands around to the back of your jeans. You quickly pulled your shirt over your head, reaching down to Joel’s shoulders to hold yourself steady as he opened the button of your pants with his teeth.

You threw your head back, looking up to the ceiling for a moment to collect yourself before his fingers dug into the back of your jeans and yanked them down, a gasp escaping you. Your underwear went with it, his calloused fingers running back up your thighs to coax you to step out of the puddle of clothing.

Your fingers dug into the muscle of his shoulders, making him groan out as he kissed at your mound briefly. “Get down on the ground.”

“Here?” You squeaked, looking behind you to see the concrete. You glanced over to the doorway that led to the bedroom before looking back down at him to see he was already smiling at you.

He chuckled, stroking his fingers at the back of your knees. “Is that okay?” He asked, tilting his head and glancing back down to your center. He couldn’t wait to taste you.

You bit your lip and nodded slowly, watching as he quickly pulled at your knees to make you jerk back. His hand came up to your hip, guiding you back slowly as he leaned forward, following you up your body to then catch your head. A feat all on its own that ended with your bare ass on the cold concrete, making you inhale sharply. You giggled, throwing your hands up to grab at his wrists. “It’s cold down here, Joel.”

He smiled, leaning forward to kiss at your chin and back down your body, pulling at one cup of your bra with his teeth and letting it snap back in place. “Let me warm you up, sugar.”

You released a sigh the minute Joel’s mouth was on you, shuffling between your legs to lay himself flat on the ground with you, his tongue meeting your center with a quick swipe. He pulled back to see your reaction, controlling his urge to dive deeper into you while you caught your breath. He wrapped his arms around your legs, holding you open as he leaned back down to suck on your clit and swirl his tongue around it.

Your back arched off the floor, hands reaching for something to hold on to and finding purchase in his hair already messed up from the activities. Your eyes closed, mouth dropped open as he continued to swirl lightly, sucking erratically. You moaned out his name, making him groan into you and sending vibrations up your core. “Keep saying my name, baby.” He spoke quickly against you, going back to his ministrations and closing his eyes in bliss.

He couldn’t get enough, his tongue traveling down to your opening for a quick taste before rolling his eyes in the back of his head. He pulled away, catching his breath to watch you catch your own. “So god damn sweet. I fucking knew it.” He mumbled breathlessly, surging forward to push his tongue into you while his nose held pressure on your clit.

“Fuck-Joel. Holy–” You felt like you could black out from the intensity of his tongue, unable to form a coherent sentence.

Joel felt you clenching around his tongue, pulling away from you quickly to sit up and remove his shirt. “I’m sorry sweetie, I just have to feel you. I’ll let you be comfortable any time after this.” He said quickly, shoving his pants down to his mid-thigh and kissing up your body again. “I can’t think straight.” He confessed, kissing your jaw and letting his hands push himself up, framing your shoulders.

You sighed, laughing lightly and reaching your arms around his middle. “I can only think about what you’ll feel like inside me.” You whisper, biting your lip as he groans and looks down at your center to line himself up.

He looks back up at you, pausing with his weeping head at your opening. It’s like you’re already pulling him in, legs spreading wider to accommodate. He slowly pushes in, the head of his cock being squeezed by you and making him groan loudly. “Fuck–relax for me darlin’.” He coos, looking down again to where you are connected and shifting his hips slightly.

Your moan urges him forward, suddenly pressed fully against you as you both breathe heavily. Your fingers dig into his skin, leaving moon shaped marks that will likely be red in the morning. “Joel, don’t fucking move.” You squeak, eyes wide with discomfort.

He looks back up to you, the haze lifting slightly to see your discomfort and he freezes. His hand comes to rest on your face, leaning down to pepper kisses on your skin. The way he speaks to you has you shuddering, slowly relaxing your body.

Relax for me baby, you’re okay.

You’re doing so well.

That’s it, I can feel you. So fucking tight for me, huh?

Doing so fucking well, you tell me when to move.

When you give Joel the okay to move, he groans loudly, hand wrapping tightly around one of your arms as he pulls out and in, moaning your name. You shifted your hands to wrap around the back of his head and pull him to you, your mouths intertwining roughly.

You didn’t know when he decided to, but he snaked his arm in between you both to move your clit in circles. “You’re so fucking wet for me sweetie. Think you can come for me?”

You nodded quickly, closing your eyes quickly as the pressure from his fingers increased, his pace of fucking you not slowing down. The base of your spine began to tingle, your world going white for a moment as you fell over the edge.

Joel watched you, sweat gathering at his temples as you rippled around him. He held out, continuing to push into you and talk you through your finish. “I’m so fucking close darlin’, I don’t think I’m going to last much longer.” He strained, lifting himself up off of you enough to watch himself go in and out again before pulling out completely. He wrapped his hand around himself, pulling into his own spiral as he finished on your stomach.

You both were breathing heavily, sweating profusely and jaws slack staring at each other. Your eyes felt heavy, half lidded as you looked up at his mess of hair. “You’re going to have to help me up.”

He chuckled, leaning down and kissing your knee. “I’ll help you up, don't worry, sugar.”

AJ stared at the screen in Marianne’s office, waiting for her to appear. The cameras didn’t lie-you and Joel walking down the street with his arm over your shoulder, glancing around in all the wrong places to miss the newest camera. “Fucking slut.” He grumbled, taking a swig from his glass.

When Marianne appeared, she paused for a split second before continuing to her desk. She looked up at the same screen that AJ was, holding her breath as she saw Joel on the screen. A gasp didn’t leave her until she realized that he wasn’t alone, and who the person reminded her of. “Where is this?”

AJ turned, laughing ruefully. “Around King’s Circle, like you said.”

Marianne hadn’t seen Joel on camera in over two years, surprised that he wasn’t aware of this camera, no matter how new. “His guard must be down for him to not have spotted the camera.”

“He’s infatuated with her.” AJ snarked, looking back at the screen. “We will use it to our advantage. Kill him first instead of the other way around.” Marianne couldn’t take her eyes from the screen, holding back tears at the thought of taking another person’s life. “But now, I can have fun with her before we do it, in front of him preferably, to ruin his fucking day.”

Marianne held back her gasp, swallowing roughly and sitting on her shaking hands. She hoped you were okay.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller au #super!joel au #superhero au

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clockworkbee · 2 years

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Let's talk more about Madoc respecting Jude as a Queen.

That's literally one of the best parts in the trilogy. See these lines from chapter 5 of tcp,

“I want to make my own way at the Court,” I say.

“You’re no killer,” he tells me. I flinch, my gaze coming up to his. He looks back at me steadily with his golden cat eyes.

“I could be,” I insist. “I’ve been training for a decade.”

Besides being a redcap who lived for war and dipped his cap in the blood of those he killed, Madoc expected a ruler to not be afraid of getting their hands dirty if they want to run a court, or make their own way at the court, that is.

Although we know Madoc kept taking Jude for granted, he appreciated the things he saw she was good at in twk,

“As I thought. I didn’t appreciate you properly. I dismissed your desire for knighthood. I dismissed your capacity for strategy, for strength—and for cruelty. That was my mistake, and one I will not make again.”

He did, indeed, underestimate his daughter but he saw those things necessary (presumably for someone running the court, even from behind the throne i.e. what Madoc aimed to do himself through Oak) And in qon,

“Enough blustering,” he says. “You’ve already won. Look.”

He takes me by the shoulders and turns me so that I can see where the great body of the serpent lies. A jolt of horror goes through me, and I try to wrench out of his grip. And then I notice the fighting has ebbed, the Folk are staring. From within the body of the creature emanates a glow.

And then, through that, Cardan steps out. Cardan, naked and covered in blood.

Alive.

Only out of his spilled blood can a great ruler rise.

And all around, people go to their knees. Grima Mog kneels. Lord Roiben kneels. Even those who moments before were intent on murder seem overcome. Nicasia looks on from the sea as all of Elfhame bows to the High King, restored and reborn.

“I will bend my head to you,” Madoc says to me under his breath. “And only you.”

It might seem that Madoc surrendered here because he's no fool and could see he'd lost but that's not all. Here, Madoc saw his daughter for who she really was, a Queen. A queen who made difficult decisions like beheading the love of her life because he's cursed instead of a child who tried to keep him in any way she could. Jude was everything Madoc thought a ruler should be, for instance, these lines he said to Cardan in qon,

Have you earned one single thing that you have? I have fought with those who follow me and bled with them. I have given my life to Elfhame.

That's something Madoc saw Jude do. She earned the loyalty of those she worked with. She fought with her people in the battle against Madoc and gave her life to Elfhame because it was her home.

He presses his mouth into a thin line. Then he bows his head. “Yes, my queen.”

No wonder he finally bowed to her. He didn't only accept his defeat, he accepted her as his Queen and respected her for it.

You’re the High Queen of Faerie. Whatever you did to get there, I can only applaud it.

ps: this post isn't necessarily to say that Madoc isn't planning getting back at Jude but only that by the end of Queen of Nothing, he accepted and respected her as the Queen.

#madoc redcap #jude and madoc #madoc #jude duarte #the cruel prince #the wicked king #queen of nothing #the folk of the air #tfota #holly black #tfota analysis

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that-damn-fouth-chaosemerald · 11 months

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𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

See my masterlist here!

—❢—

×A/N×

Hey! So I'm here with some Darkstache headcanons because I love them!🥺💕

It's a little different than my other stuff, but I hope it's not problem! ^^"

It was really fun to made this, I loved it! ^^

If you have request, feel free to write me! :D

×❢ About my work ❢×

So much fluff! Bl (boylove), Dark and Wilford in a relationship, and they are so sweet and gentle each other, and believe me, there's really so much fluff :), Dark is coffe addicted and there's some cute drunk Wilford stuff

Fandom: Markiplier Cinematic Universe

Character(s): Wilford Warfstache, Darkiplier

Ship: Darkstache (Darkiplier/Wilford Warfstache)

—❢ー

𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈: Say You Won't Let Go by James Arthur

“I met you in the dark, you lit me up You made me feel as though I was enough We danced the night away, We drank too much”

• Wilford is taller than Dark

• Dark is usally very uncomfortable with touches and Wilford knows it

• And because of that he very gentle with him

• As I wrote, Dark is uncomfortable with touches, but Wilford's gentle touches are comforting him

• Wilford is usally touches or fondles Dark's hands, when Dark is sleeping he fondles his face and kisses his neck gently

• They sleep in one bed, because when Wilford is around Dark, he feels comforted

• They usally don't talk in public

• It's like they don't even know each other

• But while that, Wilford still looks ot for him

• Wilford doesn't seem like this type of person, but he is very protective In the morning, he greets Dark with a cup of coffe

• As wake up, Wilford fondles Dark's hair gently while he whispers some words to him

• "Good morning, Darkling." Wilford smiles at him kindly as Dark slowly opens his eyes.

• When Dark can't sleep, he usally walks out in the kitchen

• A few minutes later, Wilford wakes up too and follows Dark and he hugs him from behind

• Dark doesn't jumps of the touches any more, because he used to Wilford's warm touches

• Dark doesn't like surprise kisses, but when Wil in a bad mood, he gives him one

• After the surprise kiss, Wilford smiles again

• And when his love is happy, Dark is happy too

• It's happens rarely, but when Wilford is drunk, he wants to hug Dark forever

• "I missed you so much, Darkling." Wilford comes into the room and he hugs Dark from behind before he could fall. "My beautiful sunshine, I love you so much!" he gives a warm kiss on Dark's neck.

"Are you drunk?" Dark looks up at him as he tries to push Wilford away.

"No." he says as he hugs Dark more tightly, so he can't push him away. If he would be a good liar, Dark could still figure out his lie.

"Don't lie to me, Wil." he says as Wilford kisses his neck gently. "You have vodka smell."

"Maybe, but your smell amazing and lovely as always." he breathes Dark's fragrance deeply. "Do you use new fragrance, Sweetheart?"

Dark's chuckles silently as he starts to lead him to the bathroom. "Take a shower, after that please go straight to bed." he closes the door but before he could do it Wilford grabs his hand.

"Don't leave me, Dark! At least take a shower with me." he starts to pull Dark inside.

"Wilford–"

"Please!"

Dark sighs tiredly as he looks in Wilford's eyes.

"Okay." he says as he steps inside the bathroom.

• Sometimes Wilford just goes to Dark and say to him "I love you" randomly

• Dark often smiles because of that

• While Dark is reading next to the fireplace, Wilford is usally shooting outside

• Sometimes Wilford grabs Dark's tight gently and dancing with him slowly

• Usally Dark blushing more often

• "You are so cute." Wilford smiles at him as he fondles his hand. Dark doesn't respond, but his face starts to burn better.

• When Wilford wears necktie, Dark helps him to bind it correctly

• On one day, Dark usally drinks 5 cup of coffe (or more 0.0)

• Dark usally hugs Wilford when he is sleeping

• They have very, very different music taste…

• But sometimes Wilford just listen Dark's songs with him

• Wilford's phone wallpaper is a picture of Dark

• There are some sweet nicknames for each other (•v•)

• For Dark from Wilford:

• Dark, Darkling, Darling, Sunshine, Sweetheart, Babe, Beautiful, Dear, Handsome, Honey

• Well… Dark doesn't really gives nicknames to his partner, but there's some of them

• For Wilford from Dark:

• Wil, Sunshine, Darling, Love, Babe, Lover boy, Dear, Sharpshooter

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trashyswitch · 1 year

Text

The Ghost Under the Pizzaplex

Gregory goes down to the basement of the pizzaplex and finds an old Freddy animatronic. Not only that, but there seems to be a little girl's voice speaking from the animatronic. Who is she? And how long has she been down here for?

This fanfic was suggested by an anonymous person. Don't worry, you weren't rambling. I actually loved your idea so much, I decided to make this story its own thing separate from the other series. I thoroughly hope you enjoy.

Gregory walked up to the basement pizzeria. Gregory had told Freddy about where he was going. And thankfully, his only response was ‘Please be careful’. Perhaps Freddy now trusts him to walk around on his own? Or perhaps Freddy was giving him the freedoms even if he wasn’t so sure about it himself. He really is like a father: protective for very good reasons, almost to the point of it being a fault.

Gregory closed the door behind him and looked around in the dark, dirty place. It was small…or rather, smaller than the Pizzaplex above the room. There were old party hats, old plates, tables knocked over with plastic striped tablecloths all askew, and chairs all over the place. The only bright colors that filled the room were the red cups thrown on the tables, the white squares on the checkered floor, and the red upper walls. But even those bright colors were masked by the darkness of the basement.

And I don’t just mean the lack of lighting…I’m also talking about the black splash marks all over the floors and walls. Though, it didn’t really look like ink or dirt. Upon closer inspection, it looked more like…burn marks. In fact, there was a slight smell of a mixture of things. At first, he could smell ash…then he could identify the burnt plastic smell. He could smell the slight after-smell of burnt cardboard, followed by the strong smell of burnt wood.

But as Gregory walked through the old pizzeria, Gregory brought his flashlight over to the back wall. And then, Gregory noticed something in the corner. Something black and yet, something bright enough to reflect off his flashlight and catch him in the corner of his eye. Gregory walked himself closer to the thing in the corner, curious as to what was catching his eye.

The closer he got to the black thing in the corner, the larger and larger it proved to be. As he finally stood in front of it, Gregory looked up at the large thing. It looked to be the size of a refrigerator! And…it looked like a robot. It was huge! And…it strangely looked like the shape of Freddy. But…more blocky. It was brown…or rusty gold? It was hard to tell. It looked filthy, and had the same burn marks on it as the floor had. Only…it looked like it had been burned about 5 times over.

He moved the flashlight over to the right, and noticed a large robot hand that weirdly resembled Freddy. Wait a sec…Freddy is an animatronic. This thing is shaped like Freddy…Is this an old animatronic? Gregory shook his head in denial. No. No, it couldn’t be…there’s no way!

…Right?

Gregory looked at the hand, and pulled out the animatronic, rusty hand. He felt the thumb, and gently wrapped his hand around the animatronic’s fingers. It was strange…it was almost gross, feeling the hand. It felt almost mossy…or furry. One of them.

“Who’s there?” a voice called.

Gregory widened his eyes and looked up at the head. The animatronic was now looking down at him, and there were white pupils staring right at him.

“Uh…Uuuuh…” Gregory mumbled, unsure how to react. “Hiiii…” Gregory finally said.

The head tilted, looking like it was trying to show how confused it was.

He let go of the hand and backed up a few steps. “I am so sorry. I didn’t know you were alive. I would hate to disturb you and-”

“Hush, little boy.” The voice told him. “Don’t worry about me. I’m worried about you.” the voice said. “How did you get here?” She asked.

Gregory looked towards the entrance area. “Th-The elevator leads right down here.” He told the animatronic while pointing to the entrance.

“I see…” The animatronic responded. Then, the robot head looked back down at its feet, and started to move its feet around. It lifted the right foot, moved it a couple inches in front, and placed the foot down. It lifted up the left foot, moved it a few inches past the left foot, and placed the foot down. A couple more steps later, and the animatronic was now standing back in front of Gregory. “Can you hear me?” She asked.

Gregory widened his eyes. “Y-Yes. I can…hear you loud and clear.” He replied.

“It’s me.” The voice said next.

“…I’m…sorry, I don’t recognize your voice.” Gregory admitted.

The animatronic moved its hand out from beside itself, and laid it out, opening the hand up in front of the boy. Gregory looked at the hand with his flashlight, before looking at his left hand. Did the animatronic want to shake his hand? Or…did it want something else?

“Light.” The voice said next.

Gregory widened his eyes and quickly put the flashlight into the robot’s hand. He then flipped it around so the LED light was facing Gregory himself. With the flashlight, the animatronic started to move its hand up a bit, to see Gregory in full circle of gamma rays. While the hand moved, Gregory could notice some screeching and squeaking sounds that told him the metal parts were super rusted and dry from the lack of oil over the years. This told Gregory that this animatronic could be decades old by now.

“You are new.” The voice said, looking at Gregory while the animatronic head tilted to the other side.

Gregory nodded. “I didn’t know there were more animatronics.” Gregory admitted.

The animatronic moved its hand a bit more, before dropping the flashlight onto the floor. Then, something crazy happened: a gust of wind blew by Gregory, while the animatronic lowered itself down like a limp rag. Then, a bright, translucent being revealed itself to the boy. The being was just bright enough to be seen without the need for a flashlight. “What is your name?” The being asked him.

Gregory gasped and covered his mouth. The translucent being…was a girl! A little girl! With long black hair and a yellow long-sleeved shirt. She was cute…she was pretty…but she was a ghost…which meant…

She was dead.

“My name is Cassidy.” The ghost told Gregory next. “I came to this place with excitement and glee…and lost my life not long after.” She told Gregory. “But that was long ago.” She told him. “What is your name, young boy?” She asked.

Gregory stared at Cassidy with wide eyes, and a pale, terrified face. “G-Gregory…” He mumbled. Then, he shook his head rapidly. “My name is Gregory.” He answered properly this time.

“Gregory…” The girl said. “I like that name. Your mommy chose a good name for you.” She said.

Gregory could’ve cried upon hearing that. His mom…he hasn’t…

“I was so lonely…I held onto the hope that someone would find me in this form, and bring me out of here.” Cassidy admitted. “But I never knew it would…take so long.” She said next. “I am lonely down here. I have no one else to talk to, but myself. My thoughts have traveled to the deepest depths in these last few decades…and the dust and debris of this place is making me mad. Mad like the Mad Hatter. Except even his mind would be healthier than mine.” She told Gregory.

Gregory nodded as he listened. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel a little less lonely?” Gregory asked. “At least for a little while?”

The girl looked at Gregory with sad eyes…before moving her lips into a small, bittersweet grin. “Have you experienced tickles?” She asked.

Gregory widened his eyes and nodded to her. “Yes! I have. I’m tickled all the time.” Gregory told her.

She floated closer to Gregory. “I used to fear being captured by the tickle monster. I feared losing control of my body and laughing in ways beyond my control.” She admitted.

“…Oh.” Gregory mumbled.

“And yet…As the years turned to decades, I began to grow fond of the memories me and my mother and father made. They would pick me up, carry me around and tickle me all over. They would put me on their shoulders and tickle my socked feet. They would wrap me in blankets like a large burrito and tickle my neck. They would even read me the story of Mr. Tickle and tickle me while they read the book to me.” She told Gregory. “I sometimes enjoyed it. But the older I got, the less I enjoyed it. But now…” Her face winced into an expression of pain and despair. “I would do anything to experience that feeling of laughter and love again.”

Gregory could feel his eyes starting to well up with tears. But he quickly squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears from falling. He wiped his eyes clear of any leftover tears, and nodded his head. “I can do my best to give you that feeling again.” Gregory told him, deciding then and there, to channel his sadness into something more worthwhile.

“Okay. But I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know if you can tickle my ghost, or if you have to tickle the Freddy robot.” Cassidy mentioned.

Gregory hummed as he walked up to the ghost, and tried poking the ghost. But when he did, his hand just flowed through the translucent ghost form. His hand was poking out the other side of Cassidy’s body form. It was…definitely strange. And he assumed that the cold feeling he felt from his fingers to his lower arm would be caused by her ghost form itself. He wondered if the ghost had no feeling, but instead, had a temperature.

“I see…” she said. “That’s a shame.” She added.

“It really is. But that doesn’t mean it’s impossible.” Gregory mentioned. “At least, not yet.”

She nodded and watched Gregory head to the rusty old robot. As he placed his hand onto the animatronic hand, he visibly cringed as the dirt and ash just fell off the animatronic and onto his hand. He looked at Cassidy with an embarrassed smile.

“I apologize. My new form has not had a bath in over 30 years.” She admitted.

Gregory couldn’t help but laugh at her words as he rubbed his hand on his pants to get rid of the dirt. Then, he slipped his hand into the animatronic’s fingers and held the robot’s right palm.

Cassidy’s eyes widened as she looked at her right hand with shock. “I must be dreaming…this can’t be real!” She reacted, touching her right hand with her left. “I can feel…” she covered her mouth and welled up with tears. “I can feel your hand holding mine!” She reacted, unable to contain her cries of happiness.

“You can feel it?!” Gregory asked, before drawing a finger on the robot’s palm. “Can you feel this too?” He asked.

Her cries grew stronger as she nodded rapidly. “Yes! I can feel it! I can feel it!” She replied, sounding exactly like a child who had just been told they were going to Disney World.

Gregory smiled and removed his hand from the robot hand. “I’m glad.” He replied.

Cassidy quickly looked at Gregory with confusion and a smidge of disappointment. “W-why did you stop?” She asked.

Gregory chuckled. “Because I want to give tickling a try.” He admitted.

Cassidy nodded and put her hands together in front of her stomach. “Okay. I’m ready.” She said.

Gregory nodded and looked towards the robot. He started poking and gently scratching the right side first, to try it out.

Cassidy’s reaction was immediate: she squealed loudly and held her head as she leaned her head back and laughed. “HEHEHEHEHE! WAHAHAIT TOO MUHUHUCH!” She yelled.

Gregory gasped and stopped right away. “SORRY! Sorry!” He reacted.

Cassidy stopped laughing almost right away, and stared down at her own translucent body. Pecifically, her middle. “……Whoa…” was all she could say.

Gregory chuckled awkwardly. “I had no idea you were THAT ticklish. I just thought you were the normal amount of ticklish.” Gregory admitted.

“Ihi…I don’t remember being that ticklish either.” She admitted. “I guess…you have to be gentle.” She presumed.

“I guess so.” Gregory replied. “But I can do that.” He added. “I’ll make sure you have a good time. I don’t want to force you to take it if you hate it.” Gregory told her.

“I appreciate that, Gregory.” She replied.

He placed his hand onto the left side this time, tickling in a very gentle manner. He started with one-finger scratching. Then, he moved to slightly tickling the furry layer of the robot. Cassidy’s laughter came back in small spurts. She started off with fits of giggles, before lessening to occasional giggles. “Thahahat’s behehetter.” She told him.

He smiled and kept going. “Good! I’m glad.”

She just allowed herself to let out every giggle that entered her lungs. She covered her mouth withem her fingers quite lightly. Though this technically muffled her giggles quite a bit, she was still letting them out. And for that, she was proud.

“Hehehehe! Hehehe! Hehehe! Ohokahay, cahahan you tickle ahaha bihit haharder nohow?” She asked.

Gregory nodded his head and started to add a couple more fingers. “Sure thing!” He replied. He started skittering a small bit more, skittering 3 fingers on one side while scratching one finger on the other side.

Cassidy squealed and squeaked as she tried to process the newfound feeling of two spots being tickled at once. “Yeheheheah! Lihihihike thahahat! HAhahahahaha!” She reacted.

“Alright, I’ll keep it up. If you ever need a break, then just tell me to stop.” Gregory told her.

“Ohohokahahay. Ihihihi wihihihihill.” She replied.

It had been ages since she’s experienced such ticklish feelings with such strong instinctual reactions. It was overwhelming! But at the same time, it was also exhilarating! It was such a complicated mix of feelings for the girl to experience at the same time. But there was no doubt, it all felt great. The serotonin levels were slowly rising up thanks to Gregory’s actions, helping her loneliness and sadness fade away…at least for a little bit.

Gregory kept on tickling her for a little while longer. He was thoroughly enjoying tickling Cassidy like this, and felt really good helping her get better slowly. He couldn’t imagine being kept in the pizzeria for all those decades. He knew how lonely and quiet it would’ve been for all that time. So, he wanted to bring as much noise out of her as he could, without overwhelming her too much.

“Yohohou’re soho gohohohood at sehehelf-cohontrohohol!” She reacted.

“I…am?” Gregory asked.

“Yeheheheah!” She replied.

“But…I don’t feel like I’m trying too hard to stop myself.” Gregory admitted.

“Thehen yohou’re a naturahahal.” She replied.

“Thanks!” He replied.

After a little bit longer, Gregory slowed his fingers to a stop. He looked towards the ghost with a smile, and watched as her giggles lessened to a small smile. “Thank you, Greg. That helped a lot.” She told him.

Gregory smiled. “You’re welcome! I’m so glad I could provide a break from the quiet.” Gregory told her.

“And a break from my thoughts. That is the best blessing I’ve received by meeting you.” She said next.

“Good to know.” Gregory replied.

“So…” She looked around, and slowly started to look down with ever growing sadness. “I guess you have to leave now?” She asked.

Gregory’s smile fell. “What? No no, I don’t need to leave yet.” He told her. “If anything, I wanna stay for a while longer.” Gregory added.

She widened her eyes. “R-Really?” She asked, not fully believing him yet.

“Really! I have quite a few hours till I have to go, actually.” Gregory admitted.

She stared at Gregory with a big, growing smile on her face. “That’s great!” She reacted. “Can we keep going, then?” She asked next.

“Keep going? With the tickle session?” Gregory asked.

“No no. I wanna cuddle.” She said almost like she was demanding it.

Gregory couldn’t help the little smile that grew onto his face. Her demand made her sound like a toddler demanding another cookie…and it was kinda funny.

“Sure. I’ll cuddle you for a while. But only if you say the magic word.” Gregory replied.

She chuckled and looked down. “Please.” She said.

Gregory giggled and leaned in a little bit. “Please…what?” He asked.

“Please…cuddle me?” She asked. “Sorry-” She cleared her throat. “Can you please cuddle me?” She asked properly.

Gregory smiled brightly and started to climb up the Freddy animatronic.

“Wait:” Cassidy said quickly. She possessed the golden Freddy animatronic and made the animatronic move. “Hold on, Gregory.” She said. She made the robot sit down and stretched out the animatronic’s legs. “Now you don’t need to climb the dirty animatronic.” She told him.

Gregory giggled as he wrapped his arms around the middle of the animatronic as best he could. “That’s true.” He said. “I can easily save my feet from getting dirty, and get the rest of my body all dirty instead.” He declared.

Cassidy bursted out laughing, and kept on laughing for a good few minutes! And Gregory just soaked in that little girl’s laughter as much as he possibly could. He only knew this ghost child for 30 minutes to an hour, and he already felt like he wanted to die for her…

Though technically, he knew that’s not how saving ghosts really works…

#touch starved #emotional hurt/comfort #eventual fluff #ticklefic #ler!gregory #lee!cassidy #believe it or not #this is a separate story from the first cass & greg fics #ghosts #insanity

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cookie-crumblr · 1 year

Text

Toxic Cherries

Part 3~

YANDERE F! READER X ATHLETE OC

His info: 📂🍒

Part 1 2 3

!!MINORS DNI!!

CW: long fic, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, YANDERE READER, implied child abuse, PTSD, almost/wanting to-self harm, stalking, assault, kidnaped(not reader), mild gore,

!!MINORS DNI!!

Your frilly socks are soaked through with blood, and caked in mud.

You trudge on, and on through the dense forest.

They fought again…

He attacked you again…

She blamed you again.

You open your teary eyes

The dreams…

They just never stop�� Memories that you can’t quite piece together in all the fog of war covering up your past.

Before you can pound your own skull into the nearest wall, you pause.

A face, bright like the sun’s rays breaks through all the black and greenish storm clouds in your mind.

Ace.

You remember yesterday.

Like a creep you followed him home!

What on earth were you thinking!?

Now the walls magnetic pull on you is even stronger. The desire to crush yourself against it is so tempting…

No! Come ON. You take a pillow instead and slam it against your face.

He doesn’t need to know… A-and it was only a one time thing!!

You look at your phone, 5:05am

You sigh.

What time does Ace wake up?

“it was just a one time thing, ay?” you mock yourself.

Well, you better pick something cute to wear so if he goes into a café you can “meet him by chance” hopefully looking attractive.

When you arrive at his house, you notice he’s outside already tying up his laces, with a slice of toast in his mouth.

The toast has something on it, you think humus, but you can’t be sure.

You check your phone again, 5:34am, it’s a wednesday.

so around 5-5:30 he gets up for what looks to be a run…

How lucky you are to have made it perfectly on time.

He begins doing some stretches that show off every muscle on his toned body. He pulls his arms over his head and you get a glimpse of that deep V…

Your heart hammers away in your chest.

You decide to sit and wait, you didn’t dress for a jog, and you imagine you wouldn’t be able to keep up with him, even if you tried your hardest.

You’re zoned out, lost in your thoughts so lost in fact, you can’t remember a single one.

You check your phone, and about an hour later you see his fluffy, pink haired head bounding back to you.

Your chest fills with that all consuming fluttery feeling.

You hadn’t even realized you had been cold before, but you’re now noticing your fingers tingling from being numb.

He somehow looks more awake, and handsome than before he left!

If your eyes could have hearts in them, they would.

He’s just so beautifully dreamy. Everything about him is out of this world.

He unlocks his door, and steps in. 6:48am.

You wait across the street resisting the temptation to look after him through his window.

You’re lost in your thoughts again when you see him coming back out dressed in casual clothes. Noticeably, a pale, sea foam coloured hoodie that actually fits him, and manages to show off the shape of his body.

Ba-dum~

He starts walking.

7:34am

You follow him, not too closely.

Ba-dum~

Even this far behind you can smell his freshly showered hair. He must’ve used something tropical.

Coconut perhaps.

Another man approaches him from the side of the street, arms open for that back slapping kind of hug.

Your heart sinks into the pits of your stomach.

Of course he was meeting with someone else.

You feel a twinge of guilt.

Why are you so upset by this?

Of course Ace has no idea you wanted to meet up with him today…

But when you look at that man with his hand against Ace’s back, you seethe.

He pulls away a second later with another smack for good measure and you flinch.

You can hear the man laughing at this distance but not what he’s saying. Ace is beaming, but something seems off. You can just tell he doesn’t really care about what that man is saying.

Curiously, you follow them both, and hours later when they split up, you follow the strange man…

You follow him with a blank and foggy mind. You don’t really know what you’re doing anymore, just following your instincts like a bloodhound on a scent trail.

He stops near a warehouse, looking this way, and that, luckily tho, not spoting you round the corner of another building close by.

You moved again, dead eyed and following instinct.

A crowbar peaked your interest and you plucked it from its rusting bed.

The weight felt almost right in your hand. A little bit too light for your liking, but it’ll work.

You climbed through a window that was left open and the hinges coated in a rust that made it easier to remove.

Muffled harsh sobs can be heard from deeper inside.

You see his back facing a woman tied to a chair.

Slowly, you stalk forward.

Your eyes unfocused.

Arm above your head.

He turns in time, but not soon enough.

His eyes wide.

You bring down the crowbar connecting with a thick CRACK between his eyes.

As it rebounds, you pull back.

You grab it with both hands now, and bring it back down ferociously.

He hits the ground hard, the crowbar following him.

Red pools beneath him.

The girl’s tears are overflowing as she seems to finally relax against her restraints.

You focus back into the present.

You don’t look at the body.

Poor Ace! He was too friendly and innocent, you think, he probably had no idea what his “friend” was even up to!

You’ve saved two people tonight.

With her restraints cut off, she bounces up to you wrapping you in a rib crushing hug.

She stands there sobbing into you for a minute, and you gently pat and rub her back, cooing her softly that it’s over now.

You don’t like cops, but you dial emergency services anyway. She needs medical attention.

#my oc #my fic #oc x reader #oc x you #yandere #dead dove do not eat #tw yandere #oc ace #yandere reader #female yandere #reader x athlete #athletic oc

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iamjustcara · 1 year

Text

My dad died at 72 on 12/31/19 after his 2nd massive heart attack. It was hard, but as a family we got through it and even moved my mom to Memphis to live in a house right next door to me. She was out of shape and overweight but did fine in her house on her own for 2 years.

Then in Nov 2022, at 74, she fell and broke her femur, requiring intramedullary nail for the fracture and full time rehab. Rehab that isn’t going well. Rehab that has been derailed by a bladder infection that made her throw up and prevented her from eating and required 5 days in a real hospital. Rehab that was derailed further when she got Covid at the ER while waiting for bladder infection treatment. She’s finally back at rehab, free from her 2-weeks of Covid quarantine, but she’s throwing up again. And on it goes. It’s always something.

I whine about all this to say: this is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life and it’s not even happening TO me. I’m powerless, I’m helpless, I’ve got no control of her treatment and it feels like I’ve got no control of my own life b/c I spend so much time visiting her and worrying about her comfort and going to her appointments.

People: stay active. Walk your ass down the driveway every day. It will make a difference. Get up, get out, move around and use your body. Sure actual exercise is good for you but movement of any kind will help. My mom will likely never walk unassisted again. My mom can’t come home and live alone and I can’t be her personal home aid. She’s going through this medically but I’m going through something too.

Being a caregiver (really I’m a care supporter) is slowly killing parts of me. And I am mad. I’m mad that my parents never followed instructions after previous surgeries to be active. All they had to do was walk around the block everyday. They never did. I’m mad that nothing seems to go right for my mom since she fell and all the lofty goals of being back to “normal” in 6-8 months have evaporated.

I’m mad that my two brothers and I haven’t met up to discuss things. Even when the older one showed up in town unannounced last week he didn’t tell me his plans so I never even saw him. I’m mad that I can’t focus on critical things in my own life because everything has become dependent on my care obligations. I wash her laundry bc she’s got sensitive skin and needs special detergent. I bought her new clothes so she wouldn’t be in the rehab gym in her ratty old house clothes. I haul shit over from her house to make her more comfortable in the rehab room. I leave work to go to appointments with her, to hold her hand when she cries. I do all this shit but it’s not enough to change any god damn thing.

Nothing is going to be changed. I’m locked into this bullshit until mom finally gives up and dies. There is no fucking escape. The brothers aren’t going to hold her hand and rush up there when she calls scared and crying it for my dead dad. My role in this position was set in motion when I was born the only daughter. And I’m fucking mad.

I love my mom. Living next door to her was a dream come true. But I’m killing myself trying to support her and I’m mad that I can’t let myself step away. I know I don’t have to be the caretaker, but if my dad ever found out I abandoned my mom he’d be so disappointed. As he died in Vanderbilt hospital I held his hand and promised him I’d take care of mom. So I have to keep going. I do my best and I acknowledge that my best changes from day to day.

I’m mad at my mom for being old and out of shape. I’m mad that she had surgery, followed by an infection, followed by Covid. I’m mad at myself for not adjusting into this new role easily. I am not a parent, I have no experience guiding someone to make good decisions and try her hardest. I’m not trained in this at all but now I’m fucking stuck in it.

I’m so mad

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sezja · 2 years

Text

Aethersup, part 6

Previously: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

“You’ll recover a good deal faster if you rest,” Sanson protests, following Guydelot down the hall. They move slowly; the better part of Guydelot’s strength hasn’t yet returned, and his limbs still feel as though they’re weighed down with sand… but if he spends another moment lounging around in bed, he’s going to go absolutely mad. Besides, he cheerily reminds himself, he’s walking steadier now than he did the morning he’d awakened to find Sanson half-dead on the atrium floor; why, he scarcely needs to lean on the wall at all! A little waver in his step, that’s all, and perhaps he’s breathing a little more heavily than a short walk down the hallway ought to demand, but it’s all very promising. Another day or two, and he’ll be right as rain.

He grins over his shoulder at the fretting vampire - for all his complaints, Sanson hasn’t attempted to manhandle him back to bed, and for that, Guydelot is grateful. Minimally recovered or not, he knows full well he’d stand no chance against Sanson if the man decided to exercise that strength of his.

“I’ve been resting all week,” he replies, letting Sanson fall into step with him. “Now what I need is to remind my body how to move again, before it goes and forgets. Don’t drop that,” he adds, nodding toward his harp, cradled safely in Sanson’s far steadier grip. “Don’t wanna bring it this far just to break it now, eh?” He drapes an arm over Sanson’s shoulders, leaning on the vampire for support as they leave the hallway behind and approach the stairs - it’s practical, sure, but it also gives Guydelot ample time to appreciate just how good it feels to have Sanson close.

They’ve been spending the nights together, of late - and much of the days, too, with Guydelot not strong enough to leave the bed. Sanson leaves only to bring him food, dutifully watching to be certain Guydelot eats every bite. At least he’s finally stopped only bringing broth. And then, when the meal is finished, Sanson always climbs right back into bed with him, and the hours spin away.

Talking, just talking; Guydelot’s never talked so much in his life.

Sanson’s curious about everything - his life, the Shroud, Gridania, the Gods’ Quiver, the Calamity, the songs he’s learned, becoming a bard… though Sanson had grown quiet when Guydelot spoke of Jehantel. Because his mentor was the first person Guydelot spoke of who might miss him in his absence, perhaps? Sanson did not ask about Guydelot’s family, and the bard didn’t volunteer the information; it seems perfectly reasonable to assume he’s leery of hearing about those who might wonder what’s become of the man he snatched away. Truth be told, Guydelot would like to get a message to Jehantel - some way to assure the old man he’s perfectly fine and will be home just as soon as he can…

…Hopefully with someone to introduce.

“So,” he says, looking around the atrium once they’ve finally reached the ground floor, with its many branching hallways. The floor’s been cleaned, he realizes; can’t even hardly tell there was a puddle of blood here a week ago. Sanson must’ve scrubbed his hands raw at it… while Guydelot slept blissfully on upstairs. “Where’s this greenhouse of yours, anyhow?”

“I’ll warn you, it is quite a walk,” Sanson says, tucking the harp under one arm so he may slide the other around Guydelot’s back. “Would you care to rest a moment before we-”

“If I sit, I might not get back up.”

Sanson shakes his head, exasperated. “Guydelot… you really oughtn’t push yourself-”

“I’ve never pushed myself a day in my life.” He drops a quick kiss on the crown of Sanson’s head, earning a squeak of surprise. Grinning, he tightens his hold on the man’s shoulders, giving him a quick squeeze. “Now, the greenhouse?”

“I- you can’t-” Sanson sighs, takes a moment to regain his ruffled composure, and nods toward a hallway. “That way. Straight ahead when the path branches.”

Whistling merrily, Guydelot accepts this heading, setting off with Sanson in tow. He ought to have guessed, really - this is the same path that leads down to the cellars, where the food’s kept. He’d turned at the first branch, of course, and taken the stairs down… and then had gotten so thoroughly distracted by the presence of food that he hadn’t resumed exploring the original hallway, presuming he could save it for another day. And then, naturally, he’d been in no fit state to explore his own bed, never mind the immense ancient archive.

The hall is dark, but the path is clear; Sanson guides his steps, offering a quiet word here and there. Ancient sconces cling to the walls, but unlike those in the cellar, these are unlit; Sanson explains that the light up here is sufficient for his voidsent senses, and he can see perfectly well in this non-light… but with no sources of light to be found in the cellars below, he must trust to the magic-fueled lighting installed ages ago by a dead civilization. At least the torches seem undying, requiring little help from Sanson to stay alight.

“Perhaps I should light more of them,” Sanson muses aloud, peering up at Guydelot. “I expect it would make your exploration a good deal easier.”

“Oh, true enough,” Guydelot agrees, smiling. “But it’s just as nice having you along to be my eyes.”

He can’t see it, but he knows Sanson is rolling his eyes. “I will light more torches.”

Probably for the best, Guydelot doesn’t say, squeezing Sanson’s shoulder. It’s dark in here, dark and cold. Sanson’s clearly let the place stay that way - the life he lives here is a half-life at best, sitting in darkness, existing from one day to the next by virtue of someone else’s aether. He hasn’t mentioned any hobbies or pastimes - what he does from day to day, how he spends his time, apart from the tasks he must see to if his current captive is to survive their time in his care. Tending the greenhouse. Seeing to his handful of livestock. Cooking their simple meals. Ensuring they have clean clothes, clean linens. What he does during the intervening moons, when he has no one to look after, he hasn’t said. It’s far too easy for Guydelot to imagine him sitting here in the dark, staring at a wall, making the stolen aether last as long as it might be made to stretch…

“How’s your aether, by the way?”

“What?” Sanson peers up at him. “You’ve a good deal more rest ahead of you before I attempt to take any more aether from you; you need not worry–”

Guydelot shakes his head, tugging playfully on a lock of the man’s hair. “Settle down, you. I’m just checking in on you, that’s all. So?”

Sanson is quiet… but is it just Guydelot’s imagination, or does the vampire lean into him as they walk, just a bit? “Checking on me,” he repeats, eventually. “You’re only just strong enough to be up out of bed, and you mean to fret over me. Guydelot, your priorities…”

“Are right where they need to be.” He pauses long enough to nuzzle the top of the man’s head, then walks on. “After all, what becomes of me if something happens to you, eh?”

“My aether is fine. It only just begins to wane; I’ve got some time left before I must… never mind.” He clears his throat. “Guydelot, I should tell you how to escape from this place, should anything like this happen again. I meant to tell you when I was–”

“Aye, I recall you saying something about a passage.” He hadn’t wanted to hear it. Part of him still doesn’t want to hear it; doesn’t like that it suggests Sanson wants him to leave. Hells, he’s still got most of the moon left! He’s not letting Sanson oust him early, at least not before he’s convinced the vampire to come with him back to Gridania. They’ll figure something out. Guydelot’s sure of it.

Sanson nods. “Yes. In the cellars… I can show you, when you’re stronger. ‘Tis an old passage that leads all the way to the old Amdapor Keep. What purpose it may have once served, I cannot guess, but the important thing is this: the keep lies outside of the elementals’ barrier, and from there, you may safely return home to Gridania.”

“Easy enough.” But something in Sanson’s tone troubles him. “Are there, er… traps? Any of that nasty mold down there? Some other creepy-crawlies I ought to know about aforehand? Since I’ll be heading in without my bow, and all.”

At this, Sanson falls silent once more. They walk in that silence for a time, passing darkened hallways that branch off endlessly, leaving Guydelot to marvel once more at the size of the place, and the amount of knowledge it must have once housed: little is known of the mages of Amdapor, washed away by the Sixth Umbral Calamity, but what remains here is truly astonishing. They were mages, Guydelot recalls; the White Mages of Amdapor, in opposition to the Black Mages of Mhach. It all feels like a… well, like a bard’s tale, more or less. Looking at the size of this bloody archive… might it’ve held notes on magicks, once upon a time? Supposedly the Padjal have reclaimed a small bit of the lost White Magicks… a fragment of what’s been lost, the rest jealously guarded by the elementals, lest the world fall to another War of the Magi.

“When I… when I inherited this place,” Sanson says, at last. “There were various traps and enchantments still in place, meant to ward against the mages of Mhach, should they ever reach this place.”

Guydelot nods, unsurprised. “The spells held that long, eh?”

“Longer, had I not dispelled them.” Sanson takes a deep breath. “Spells meant to stave off voidsent like… like myself, I found difficult to manage, but with some determined spellweaving, I was able to nullify the worst of them. Those that remain are in areas I have no need to reach - but should you choose to explore them, the wards won’t do you any harm. The rest, those meant to ward against people… those I dismantled thoroughly. All save one.”

Fascinated, horrified, Guydelot nods along. “And that one is…?”

“The passage leading to the keep. There is a ward placed at the exit, near the keep itself. I expect it was meant to serve as a final line of defense, should enemies infiltrate the archive and attempt to use the hidden passage to march on the keep. Should you pass through the ward’s barrier…” Guydelot feels Sanson’s hand curling into a fist, twisting in the loose fabric of the bard’s ill-fitting shirt. “You will lose all memory of this place, from the moment you entered the city.”

“That’s-” Realization dawns, along with the horror. “That’s why none of the people who disappeared remember where they’d been!”

Hells, but that means when he does leave this place… he’ll leave behind all memory of Sanson, too.

Well, that won’t do, will it?

“I don’t suppose this ward of yours is one you’d be able to get rid of,” Guydelot says, trying to sound casual. “So your favorite bard can pay you a visit now and then?”

“Guydelot.” Sanson shakes his head, but Guydelot knows he isn’t imagining how thick the man’s voice sounds, how defeated. “This is for the best. You must return to your own life, and I must-”

“Return to what, being all by yourself here? Letting the dust pile up? Collecting one mortal every few moons for a little bite to eat, just enough so you don’t completely waste away to nothing? Sanson, you aren’t living.”

“This is… this is absurd. You won’t remember me to fret over my circumstances-”

Guydelot stops in his tracks, turning to put his hands on Sanson’s shoulders. He can’t see the vampire in the dark, of course, but he knows where to look to gaze right into Sanson’s eyes - and he knows Sanson can see it, too. “I’ll remember this,” he swears. “I’ll bloody well remember all of this, all of you, and if you send me out that damn passage, Sanson Smyth, you’d best believe I’ll just come right back.”

“You are-”

But Guydelot cuts him off with a kiss, finding his mouth in the dark as though he were born to seek it out. After a moment’s stubborn reluctance, Sanson’s lips part under his, and Sanson’s arms slide around his neck - gods, but it feels good to hold him like this, one arm around the shorter man’s middle, the other hand sliding up to tangle in his hair. The pitch blackness of the hallway surrounds Guydelot, narrowing his senses to nothing but Sanson - the warmth of him pressed close, the taste of his lips, the greedy little noises that escape into the kiss. Sanson’s tonuge slips shyly, teasingly into Guydelot’s mouth, to Guydelot’s surprised delight; he welcomes it with his own, and Sanson’s arms tighten.

How can you ask me to lose you? Careful, Guydelot maneuvers them to the wall, backing Sanson up against it, using all his strength to lift the vampire’s legs around his waist. How can you ask me to leave you behind, and go back to a life without you? Sanson protests, something about preserving Guydelot’s strength, but he’s brushing the too-small shirt off of Guydelot’s shoulders, letting it fall to the ground and running his hands over the bard’s shoulders, his chest. How can you expect me to let you go, knowing what I’m leaving you to?

Kissing again, breathless and intoxicated. He can’t get enough of kissing Sanson; he’d climb down the man’s throat if he could. Careful with the fangs, of course, but not so careful his lip’s not bleeding when he comes up for air. He pulls at Sanson’s clothes, letting those fall away, the better to kiss the man’s neck, encouraged by the half-gasped moan that escapes Sanson’s lips… and then, reminded of Sanson’s lips, he finds them again, tasting his own blood and not caring in the least. They cling to one another, skin to skin, until Guydelot could almost believe they’re one body.

“I can’t leave you,” he whispers, against Sanson’s lips, seeking his eyes in the dark. “I’ll just have to take you out of here with me, won’t I?”

“Guydelot.” Sanson’s hand rests against his face. “There is no happy ending for us. There is no series of events where we live happily ever after - this is impossible, you and I.”

The bard buries his face against Sanson’s neck again, kissing and sucking and biting him there until he moans and squirms, and says nothing more about the impossibility of it all.

Impossible, Guydelot thinks, content to lose himself here, drowning in Sanson. We’ll see about that.

They spend a week in the muck of Rootslake, seeking an unknown quarry. What blood the fleeing creature must have left behind as it fled from Jehantel’s vengeful arrows has been swallowed by the swamp’s murky waters, to say nothing of three nights of ill-timed rain. Jehantel recalls the appearance of the strange manlike creature perfectly, but it is of little use: a midlander passing through Camp Tranquil would hardly be noteworthy, and already they know it did not pass through the camp when it returned. A wounded midlander bristling with arrows would have been noteworthy.

They scour the bog’s deepest reaches, the Wood Wailers and Quivermen and no small number of volunteers from Quarrymill - Jehantel is well-liked there, and Guydelot has always been fondly received at Buscarron’s - ferreting out several poachers’ dens, a thieves’ cache that looks to have been untouched since the Calamity, an Ul’dahn gambling ring, and no fewer than three lovers’ trysts… but no trace of Guydelot, nor his mysterious captor.

Jehantel peers across the swamp at the looming shape of Amdapor - destroyed by one Calamity, unveiled by another.

Guydelot, he thinks, despairing as the week wears on, wondering what must be happening to his poor student, trapped within those ancient halls. Guydelot, hold fast. We wil find you, the Twelve as my witness.

“That’s as thorough a search as I care to make,” Lewin says, trudging to Jehantel’s side, legs caked knee-high in foul-smelling muck. “They cannot claim we haven’t done all we could to ensure he isn’t being held somewhere here in Rootslake. Unless he has been taken all the way to Thanalan…” He trails off, peering up at Amdapor, hidden behind its towering bark walls, concealed for an age by the elementals themselves. Lewin shakes himself. “Jehantel, there’s much and more I would have done to make it otherwise.”

“Aye.” Jehantel’s voice is as steady as he can manage. “But I can see no other possibility, Bowlord. We must seek entry into Amdapor.”

Lewin bows his head. “And may the Matron watch over us all.”

It’s a good deal later when they finally reach the greenhouse, the both of them disheveled and hastily-redressed, Guydelot’s harp no worse for wear - Sanson, embarrassed, recalls dropping it in surprise when Guydelot stopped them in the hallway. For his part, Guydelot doesn’t remember hearing the instrument hitting the floor, nor could he swear that he even remembered it existed in the moment; all he remembers is how sweet Sanson’s mouth was beneath his, and how good the man felt in his arms. It was better this time, far better than it had been on the atrium floor a week ago…

But as they step into the light at last, all of Guydelot’s thoughts scatter.

Gods, the sun! He hasn’t seen it properly in what feels like forever, but there it is, shining above the greenhouse’s glass panes. A hazy fog of mold spores drifts overhead, a potent reminder that the world outside that glass is dangerous, but hells, that sky’s a sight for sore eyes.

And the plants! It’s a small greenhouse, smaller even than Guydelot’s bedchamber upstairs, but it’s green, with the scent of things growing lush and vibrant. This much, he’s missed from the Twelveswood - greenery, the smell of earth, the sense of life blooming and growing around him. The plants look healthy, all things considered; Guydelot’s no gardener, but he can tell these have been well-tended. And why not? Matron knows Sanson’s got nothing better to do around here than see to the plants - keeping them alive is tantamount to keeping his captives alive, which in the long run, keeps him alive.

He touches the leaf of a tomato plant, the green fruits already starting to redden. “Well, well. Got a green thumb, eh?”

“It… it was a great deal of trial and error,” Sanson admits, but he looks pleased… or perhaps that flush is still from something else. “I took the seeds early in my time here, but lost many of them before I knew how to tend them all properly. I fear I’ve only recently begun having steady, reliable harvests. But as I only need to maintain enough produce for one person every few moons…”

Guydelot nods. “You’ve the time to gather up enough, aye. Clever system you’ve got here. Gods know I appreciate the variety.”

“Thank you. I…” Sanson trails off, clears his throat. Holds up the harp. “If… if you would?”

He grins, accepting the offered instrument with a small bow. “I did say I’d play you a song or three, didn’t I?” He gestures to the small brick stairwell leading back into the archive. “Take a seat, and let me give you a show.” It’ll be a trick to sing with a sore lip - the only remaining souvenir of their little dance in the dark; they’d cleaned away all the blood from Guydelot’s bleeding kisses - but he’s willing to make the effort.

“You should sit, surely.”

“Oh, no,” Guydelot says, tuning the harp, plucking each string until he’s sure of it. “You’ll not want to be standing for this one. I mean to sweep you right off your feet… so you can’t bear to send me away at the end of the moon.”

Sanson shakes his head, sinking to a seat on the stairs. “How can I make you understand it’s for the best? Surely you must realize–”

But Guydelot cuts him off with a strum of the harp, launching into the first romantic ballad he’d learned after taking up the harp - not from Jehantel, this one, of course; this one he’d learned from a tavern minstrel in exchange for standing the fellow two rounds of the Druthers’ best. It’s a fine song, all about giving one’s heart away into the safekeeping of someone who at first fails to cherish it, only for true love to blossom with the passing of the seasons. It’s a touch syrupy, perhaps, but lighthearted and lovely, and optimistic - and the gods know Guydelot could use a touch of optimism now, with his heart set to be shattered.

Sanson claps politely when the first song is finished, and Guydelot takes another grinning bow. “Don’t get too excited. I didn’t even write that one.”

Sanson’s expression turns wistful, thoughtful. “I could swear I…”

“Aye?”

“I thought perhaps I knew it before.” Sanson closes his eyes. “Before… all of this.”

Guydelot’s heart leaps. “Before you came here, you mean?”

“I remember hearing it played in a garden,” Sanson says, quiet. “My… my father, perhaps, singing it to my mother. We were playing nearby, my sisters and I.” His eyes open, startled. “I… I had sisters?”

“You don’t remember?”

Sanson shakes his head, awestruck. “I’ve never remembered anything, not after…” He shakes his head again, harder. “Sisters. And my father… he sang, played the harp.” He blinks hard, and Guydelot is surprised to see tears in the vampire’s eyes. “Guydelot, forgive me; I do wish to hear your songs, but-”

He understands. “Play it again?”

“If you would,” Sanson whispers, eyes closing. “Please.”

“For you, the stars,” Guydelot replies, returning to the start of the song, plucking out the tale of blooming love once more, hoping that with each note, some fragment of Sanson’s memory comes with it. And that perhaps, in remembering some of his lost past, Sanson might realize he also deserves a future.

And that Guydelot has a place in it, whether Sanson likes it or not.

#sanson smyth #guydelot thildonnet #my writing #aethersup #here we goooo

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