#i think she sees birds. that can’t be a sign of anything good | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

halfmoth-halfman · 1 year

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viii. but i can't help falling in love with you

Pairing: Mob Boss!Price x F!Reader Word Count: 5.6k Warnings: bruises, injury, medical inaccuracies, blood, scars, scar mention, talks of abuse Disclaimer: I do not own modern warfare or any of the modern warfare characters. prev | next

“Everything about it says it was just a random break-in—”

Price hums, clearly not happy with the answer.

“—the guy’s prints weren’t in the system, and he didn’t have any affiliated markings or tattoos,” Ghost continues, hands gripping tight around the back of Soap’s chair.

“We asked around on our ends,” Alejandro sighs, gesturing between himself and Valeria. “No one recognizes him.”

“We haven’t heard anything either, but I have Ayah keeping a lookout for anything new,” Farah adds from Price’s left side, trying to add some small amount of comfort to a clearly upset Price.

“It was probably some guy looking to score,” Kyle reasons from the chair across her. The dining room lapses into silence as Price sits in thought, arms crossed and fingers drumming against his bicep.

“We should ask the bird,” Nik cuts in. “If it’s someone she knows, this could be a targeted attack against her, not the club.”

“Let her sleep,” Price says, leaving no room for argument. Nik gives him a questioning look but nods and stays silent.

“We could keep a set of eyes on the hotel for a few weeks, see if anyone comes lookin’ around?” Soap suggests.

“We can’t spare anyone right now,” Ghost huffs. “Not with the way things are.”

“But—”

A soft knock draws the room’s attention to the door leading to the sitting room.

It’s the worst anyone has seen you look. Dressed in leggings and a maroon sweater that’s a little big on you, you look exhausted and run-down, with deep purple bruises lining your neck.

“He-ey—” you croak out, wincing as you give a haggard cough.

Rudy’s on his feet immediately, guiding you to the closest chair, the one directly opposite Price’s seat at the head of the table. He sits you down as you try to clear your throat.

“I told you, no talking,” he chides, gently tilting your head back to lightly press his fingers against the bruises, just like he had when Price brought you here last night. You sigh through your nose, giving a quick sorry in sign language.

“How are you feeling?” Alejandro asks. You open your mouth to answer and shut it promptly when Rudy sends you a warning look. You shuffle, reaching into the pocket of your leggings to pull out your phone.

You type for a quick second before your phone chimes, and a robotic voice answers for you, “Like I almost got choked out by a man twice my size.” That earns you a few chuckles, though Price looks less than amused.

You type again, a quiet beat before the voice in your phone asks, “What did you do with him?”

There are a few glances around the table, most landing on Price as if they’re unsure whether they’re allowed to answer.

“He’s taken care of. No need to worry,” Price answers. You nod, trying not to hit Rudy’s fingers with your chin.

“Did you…recognize him at all?” Roach asks. “Maybe you’ve seen him around the hotel or…?”

“Roach,” Price warns.

“It’s a fair question,” Nik scoffs. “We need to know if this was random or if someone’s going after her.”

They go back and forth while you type, waiting for a lull in their argument to answer. “I didn’t get a good look at him, but from what I saw, I don’t recognize him.”

“And…do you have anyone who might be after you? An old co-worker? Friend?” Valeria presses.

You swallow tightly, fingers hesitating over your phone. Rudy catches that, pulling back from you to give you a curious look.

“Canary?” Rudy asks softly, his quiet voice loud in the room's silence. “Is someone after you?”

It’s too late to lie now.

Think, think, think.

You type again, “The cops? The ones who interrogated me when I covered for you after Hasan. They seemed pretty mad, and they knew where I was staying.”

You give your best worried look, setting your phone down to fidget and pick at your nails.

“That could explain why we didn’t find anything on him,” Alex says, looking at Price.

“Shepherd wouldn’t risk one of his guys like that,” Kyle disagrees. “Especially not to go after someone who’s barely involved with our business. No offense, Canary.”

“None taken,” you sign, giving a casual shrug.

“It wouldn’t hurt to look into it,” Farah sighs. “Can you ask Kate to check around and see if she can find anything on her end?”

Price, silent until this point with his eyes fixed on you, takes a deep breath. He sits up in his chair, the room lapsing into a tense silence as everyone looks toward him.

“Rudy, how’s her neck?” Price asks.

“Still swollen, but it looks like it’s going down,” Rudy answers before turning to you. “You’ll have to take it easy for at least a week. Minimal talking and no singing.”

You give him a salute and a thumbs up.

“I’ll call Kate and see if she finds us any information,” Price sighs. “We’ll close the club tonight while the rest of you find out what you can and put out feelers—see if any of the other families are trying to branch out. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

Price stands, and the others follow suit, taking their leave with gentle goodbyes and smiles aimed toward you.

“König, hang back a second,” Price calls as he walks to your end of the table and takes the seat next to you, pulling the chair closer to fit you between his spread legs. König nods, lingering near the door as Price gently traces his finger along the bruises on your neck.

“Any news from Majka?” Price asks quietly.

“Nothing yet. Conor said he’d let me know if he heard anything,” König answers. Price nods, a brief flash of disappointment across his face.

“Okay, thank you. Keep me updated.”

“Yes, sir,” König says, giving you a nod before leaving the room.

The room sinks into a comfortable silence as Price looks over the purple and blue of your neck. He’s as gentle as possible, fingertips barely ghosting over the swollen skin.

“How are you?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper as he pulls his fingers away to slide his along your cheek and cup your jaw. You set your hand over his, squeezing softly with a small smile.

You shrug half-heartedly, trying to reassure him without talking, lest you incur Rudy’s wrath.

He nods in understanding, leaning forward to kiss your head softly. When he pulls away, you lean forward, resting your head in the crook of his neck.

“Gaz and Roach brought your things over last night. You can pick whichever room you want, and we’ll move your stuff there,” Price says, perching his head on top of yours with a comforting hand rubbing up and down your back.

You reach for your phone, keeping yourself attached to him as you type, “The room I was in last night…?”

“My room,” Price chuckles.

You pull back to look up at him questioningly, tilting your head. “Then where did you sleep?”

“In one of the spare rooms,” he shrugs. “We got done late, and you needed the rest.” You roll your eyes, clicking your tongue in disappointment.

“If you like the room that much, you’re welcome to it,” Price teases.

You narrow your eyes, glaring playfully at him before you type out your answer, a smirk on your face as your phone says, “I’d prefer the room with you in it.”

Price’s brows raise as he smiles down at you, but there’s a hesitance in his eyes. “You’re sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to after what happen—”

You set a hand on his chest to stop him. Setting your phone down, your hand slides up to rest on his cheek, gently pulling him closer and closer until you’re barely centimeters apart.

“You make me feel safe,” you rasp before you move forward and close the gap.

For a brief moment, Price stills, and anxiety rockets through you at the thought you’ve overstepped.

You move to pull away, and he lunges, warm hands coming up to frame your face as he kisses you with a year’s worth of bubbling tension finally boiling over.

You don’t know how you feel as you kiss him. It’s a combination of emotions you haven’t felt in so long: relief, desire, comfort, joy. They all swirl together into the one emotion you’ve been chasing since your wedding.

Safe.

Living with John is suspiciously easy.

It feels as if you've known each other for years, and that same familiarity extends to the rest of the club.

You remember nights with your father as a child, listening to him tell you old war stories from his chair while you took and apart and cleaned his guns in front of the warm fireplace. Those memories bring a fondness to your heart that you always thought was the peak of what familial love was meant to be, but it’s nothing compared to your life in the manor.

Dinners with Kyle, Farah, and Alex are filled with laughter and teasing and almost always made by you and John. There’s no tense silence as everyone picks at their plates, no stilted conversation about business and only business, no large work dinners that force you to parade around in an uncomfortably tight dress while you serve your guests.

When Soap and Ghost stay the night, you sometimes run with Soap in the mornings, turning morning exercise into a friendly competition. There’s no pushing on his end, no yelling at you to pick up the pace, or warnings about falling behind. It’s all encouragement and jokes and teasingly elbowing each other as you walk the rest of the way back to the house.

Sometimes Ghost joins you instead, the two of you enjoying a quiet run around the property. He indulges you in the few questions you have about the flowers you find. The answers are short, as you expected, but he’s surprisingly knowledgeable about the flora around the manor and has a cute eagerness to his voice when he explains a flower’s meaning to you.

After a month, Nik finds you one afternoon, grinning at you as he wipes the black grease from his hands onto his overalls. He leads you to the garage, where he shows off the extensive collection of cars he’s worked on, both classic and modern, and tells you to take your pick. You try to assure him you don’t need anything more than your beat-up car—it may be falling apart, but it’s wormed its way into your heart.

“That’s fine, but you’ll have to drive something else while I fix up your piece of shit,” he tells you. It’s then that you notice the back of the garage where his workshop is set up, and he’s got your broken baby up on a lift with the tires taken off.

So, you pick a new one—something practical, efficient, and baby blue—and thank Nik when he tosses you the keys.

Alejandro visits often, mostly to talk with John about happenings with the club, but he always makes a point to find and say hello to you. Sometimes, Rudy or Valeria will join him. When Rudy does, he checks in with you, asking how you’re feeling and making sure your throat isn’t bothering you anymore before joining John and Alejandro. When Valeria visits, she skips out on business talk entirely, insisting on taking you out to go shopping or see the city.

“There’s no point in sitting through a bunch of information Alejandro will tell me about later,” she laughs with a dismissive wave.

You don’t see König or Roach at the house much, and when you do, it’s usually late at night, just as they're leaving John’s office. John never tells you what they come for, but he’s always a little more tense after their visits.

You don’t know how to describe John. The best fitting word that comes to mind is welcoming.

He lets you have half the space in his massive walk-in closet, even though you barely have enough clothes to take up one of the shelves. He has you pick one of the spare bedrooms, telling you to redecorate it and turn it into whatever you want. You’re allowed anywhere in the house, save for the few rooms belonging to the other club members, to do anything you want.

The freedom is almost overwhelming.

When he senses your hesitance, he assures you that he wants you to feel at home, that this space is as much yours as it is his.

You let yourself explore over the weeks but do your best to stay out of the way of club business; it’s not that you’re not curious, you just…don’t want to know, don’t want to be involved in the stress of it all.

You’ve dealt with that enough in your life. It’s a new era for you, and you’re determined to hold on to it for as long as you can.

When Rudy gives you the okay to perform again, you nearly tackle him in a hug. Even if it’s only for the first half of the show, you’ll take what you can get.

Farah switches out with you during intermission, and you head for the bar, where Alex already has a stool open for you.

“Feel good to be back?” he asks, smiling wide as you take your seat.

“It feels amazing,” you laugh. He slides you a glass of water, briefly turning to tend to another patron.

Someone clears their throat behind you, tapping you on your shoulders. There’s a dull thrum of pain, but you ignore it and spin in your seat to find König staring down at you.

“Boss wants you upstairs,” is all he says before turning and walking away.

…okay?

You finish your water, giving Alex a quick wave before heading to the club’s second floor.

You pass a few private game tables, not finding John at any of them, and head towards the few closed-off rooms.

You don’t need to guess which one he’s in when you turn the corner and find Ghost standing guard outside the door.

“Everything okay up here?” you ask as you approach.

“Nothing unusual,” Ghost gives a slight shrug, his shadowed eyes flitting about the hallway.

“Then, mind if I…?” You point to the door behind him. He nods, taking a step to the side to let you through.

The room is dark, low-lit, and filled with cigar smoke and laughter. You make your way through the haze to the poker table at the center of the room, where John sits with Nik and a few other men you’ve never seen before. A couple of them have women with them, barely dressed and making more effort to distract the other players than paying attention to their companions.

Something tightens in your chest, fight or flight buzzing around the back of your mind.

Sitting in a dark room, shoved in a barely-there dress, put on display to distract the other players. The threat of being left to wolves should you fail looming over you.

John wouldn’t that to you.

He’s not the same as—

“There she is!”

John reaches out to grab your hand as soon as you’re near and kisses the inside of your wrist.

“Care to join us?” John asks, staring up at you with a look of adoration that sends a shock of straight want down your spine. “Could use my good luck charm.”

Nik barks out a laugh, “With the way you’re playing, you need more than luck.”

“You don’t have to,” John murmurs, while the others are too busy with their laughter and jokes.

The softness in his voice puts your anxiety at ease. Of course, he’d never force you to be somewhere you didn't want to be.

“Why not?” you shrug, smiling as he tugs you forward and pulls you down to sit across his lap. A hand settles around your waist, a soft kiss pressed along the curve of your neck, and the cards are dealt.

You watch while they play, bets higher than anything you’d be comfortable with. They’re pretty good, but you’ve spent a lot of time around poker tables and even more time around liars. You wait until the final community card is flipped, and the man directly across from you—the last one left in the game against John, older with dark, greying hair—blinks three times and makes his bet before you lean into John as if to kiss his neck.

“He’s bluffing,” you whisper, following it with a kiss before you straighten up. John doesn’t acknowledge you, blank face trained on his cards, but you feel a small squeeze of your hip where his hand rests.

John calls, and the two reveal their hands. It’s not even close, your observation correct, as John wins by a landslide.

He presses an appreciative kiss to your shoulder. You catch Nik smirking at you, and you wink back at him.

The game continues well into the night, and you don’t leave your place in John’s lap. The two of you take it easy, letting John lose a few games while still winning a majority. You play the part, batting your eyes at the others with a flirty smile so they think nothing more of you than John’s arm candy while you lean in to pepper kisses along his neck and whisper hints in his ear.

By the time they call it quits, the left side of his neck is covered in your lipstick, but he’s a few hundred-thousands richer.

“Quite the good luck charm you have there, Price,” one of the men next to Nik—red-headed with one of the scantily dressed women pressed against his arm—laughs, drinking you in with a leer that sets you on edge. “Maybe next time, I’ll try her out.”

John laughs, but you can feel how hard he tenses beneath you.

“She’s spoken for, I’m afraid,” he says with a polite smile, pressing you just a bit tighter against him.

“Sure,” the man laughs before turning to mumble to the others, “Must be all that good luck she’s rubbing off on him,” The others laugh along, save for Nik, who focuses on gathering the cards on the table.

“Go wait outside for me, Dove,” Price speaks quietly. You nod, standing from his lap.

You lean down to kiss him on the cheek before smiling to the table. “You girls want something to drink? It’s on me!” The three women glance at each other before noticing the tension rising in the room and nodding. They follow you out, and you direct them toward the bar before turning to Ghost.

“You might wanna head in there,” you tell him. He nods, waiting until you’ve turned down the hall to go inside.

You spend the next hour with the women at the bar, having a fantastic time as they drink and dance and tell you all about how awful their men are in hilarious detail, probably having their first taste of freedom in a while.

You understand. You’ve been there before.

They leave for a fifth dance, and this time you decline, far too exhausted to keep up with them.

As soon as they’ve disappeared into the crowd, you let out a long exhale, letting yourself lean against the bar.

“Tired?” a baritone voice murmurs into your ear, strong arms sliding around your waist.

“A little bit,” you sigh, turning to face John. “Everything go okay?”

He hums, one hand pulling off your waist to wrap around yours and bring it to his lips. He leaves a lingering kiss on your fingers, eyes holding your gaze as he allows you to see the dried blood and bruising on his hand.

“Probably should go home and wrap this,” he sighs, trailing kisses down the side of your hand to the inside of your wrist.

“Is he still breathing?” you ask, giving your best attempt at a look of disappointment despite the smile slowly growing on your face.

“Unfortunately,” John scoffs, pulling you closer so his mouth can continue its path up your arm.

You click your tongue at him, rolling your eyes in fake annoyance as you pull your hand out of his embrace to set your hand on his cheek. “You don’t have to do that whenever someone says something like that to me. It’s bound to happen.”

His brows knit together, concern and confusion drawn across his face.

“Not to my girl, it isn’t,” he says, firm and final.

“John—”

“Get a room, you two!”

You’re startled apart as Soap and Kyle reach the bar.

“Hey, let the old man have his fun!” Alex scolds through poorly held-back laughs. John groans, head falling into the crook of your neck as the three burst with laughter.

“Ready to go home?” you laugh softly. John nods into your shoulder, stepping back from you with a long sigh and deep reluctance. He takes your hand in his, pulling you away from the bar as the two of you are followed by cheers and shouts of:

“Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!”

“Take it easy on him, Starling!”

“Have fun!”

Your first priority will be taking care of John’s beaten knuckles. The fun can come after that when you thoroughly thank him for defending you.

It isn’t unusual for John to be up late, either busy at the club or in his office.

Just as it’s not uncommon for you to go to bed alone. Of course, he makes up for it by making sure you never have to wake up alone, but you still miss him on nights when work comes first.

To make up for his absence, you take to wearing his shirts as pajamas, melting into the rich smell of him that lingers on the fabric as you sleep. When he’s finally done for the night, he often finds you lying on top of the covers, snuggled down into the fabric of his shirt. It’s a sight that fills him with equal parts adoration and want, something that he will never get tired of seeing.

You always wake up whenever he finally joins you for the night, moving so you can get under the blankets and let him pull you into his side. Sometimes, he talks to you about his day until you’re lulled to sleep by the soft vibrato of his voice, and sometimes, the sight of you in nothing but one of his shirts leads to even longer nights spent touching and feeling and worshipping until your voice leaves you.

Sometimes, it leads to nights like tonight, you laying beside him with your head on his chest, listening to the rhythmic beating of his heart while he trails his fingers in nonsense shapes across your back.

Things are fine, content, even downright serene until he skims over a ridge of the scar on your shoulder, and you tense instinctively, hissing softly under your breath.

He pulls back immediately, “Sorry, sweetheart.”

One thing about John: he never pushes.

He knows about the scar, knows how you go out of your way to cover it up, how you flinch whenever someone touches on that side. He observes, stores the information away in his brain, takes care to avoid touching you there, but he never asks you about it.

“It’s alright,” you sigh, rolling your shoulder, trying to get the ache to leave.

You want to tell him. You have for the last month, but every time you think to bring it up, something catches in the back of your throat, gnawing at you until you back out.

It leaves you with an awful sort of guilt, one made worse by the fact that you don’t have anyone to confide in about it. No one to bounce your ideas off of. No one to reassure you that John’s opinion of you wouldn’t change if he knew.

You trust him implicitly.

He’s never given you a reason not to.

You can’t keep complaining about being haunted if you won’t let go of your ghosts.

So, in the quiet darkness of your bedroom, you suddenly sit up, throwing one leg over him to place yourself in his lap, and set your hands flat against his chest.

“Did Kyle ever tell you I was married?” you ask softly.

John goes still beneath you.

“Things were good at the start. Or he made it seem like they were so I wouldn’t realize what he was actually doing, but over time that façade he put up melted away, and I—I realized how big of a mistake I actually made.”

He doesn’t speak, but John’s hands settle on your thighs, gently kneading into the bare skin.

A small attempt at comfort.

A silent I’m here.

“He never hit me or anything like that. He found other ways to hurt me, ways that would be harder to prove if I ever left, and he had this…charisma—he was so likable and charming that whenever he’d say no one would listen to me, I’d believed him. One day, he—” Your voice catches, and John’s hands slide up to your hips as he sits up and sets his forehead against yours.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he whispers.

“I want to,” you reply. It takes a second for you to collect yourself, and you’re still not sure you’re ready, but you push yourself to do it anyway. “One day, I just snapped. I couldn’t take the snide comments, the vague threats, the constant anxiety—I couldn’t do it anymore. I tried to leave, and he tried to stop me, and we got into this huge argument. He grabbed my arm, and I pulled away too hard, not watching where I was going…and broke my shoulder, falling down a flight of stairs.

“I try not to think about it a lot, but my shoulder never really healed properly, so sometimes even the smallest touch just makes it ache, and all I can think about is that day, lying at the bottom of the stairs, wondering if it wouldn’t have been easier to have broken my neck instead.”

The pain lingers, but there’s a considerable weight that lifts from your chest.

There’s a beat of silence before John moves again, gently grabbing your hand and setting it on his chest, guiding your thumb along the skin where you feel a small raised circle underneath the hair.

“One of the first deals after I’d just started the club,” he sighs. “Went in all cocksure and arrogant, thinking I knew everything and that no one could touch me. The dealer we were meeting with had this idea that we were overcharging him, which we were, but we weren’t going to tell him that.

“Well, I got mouthy, and his men got violent. He pulled a gun, and the friend I was with, the man I’d started this club with, shoved me out of the way. Bullet tore through him but slowed down, going off kilter just enough to miss my heart. The Hell I unleashed after my recovery is what laid the foundation for what the club is today, but sometimes…Sometimes, I think about him, and I wonder if it was a fair trade. If it wouldn’t have been better for me to have taken the bullet and let him be here instead.”

A trade. One painful memory for another.

An implied confession: you’re not alone.

You lean forward, a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth.

I’m glad you’re here.

He pulls you into him, lips colliding with yours.

I’ll never let anyone hurt you again.

Your hands wind their way around his neck as he flips the two of you, laying you down against the bed. He hovers over you for just a second, blue eyes gazing down at you with far too much emotion for you to handle. You pull him by his hair, and he follows your lead, closing the space to pour all that emotion into a kiss that you return with the same intensity.

I love you.

If there’s one thing John loves more than surprising you, it’s spoiling you.

It starts with jewelry, small boxes of simple, elegant bracelets and necklaces left on your vanity during your performances.

Then it extends to clothes, your half of the closet slowly filling with pieces you find when he takes you shopping. He carries your bags for you, and you repay him by modeling every piece of lingerie you buy when you get home.

When it’s his turn to handle date night, there’s always some outrageously fancy restaurant or sold-out showing waiting for you, everything complimentary, and the staff exceptionally welcoming to the two of you.

Spoiling you isn’t restricted to expensive gifts, either.

When you catch a cold in the middle of spring, John takes the day off—something Kyle says he apparently never does, and something he can’t afford to do, says Ghost—to tend to your every need.

He overhears you talking with Valeria, telling her how you’d love nothing more than to sink into a hot bath, and you come home to a candle-lit bathroom and a tub filled with warm water and bubbles. He washes your hair, massages your shoulders, and whispers in your ear all the things he plans to do to you once you’re out of the tub.

You appreciate every single thing he does for you and tell him so often. He shrugs it off, saying he’s happy to treat you the way you deserve.

In truth, there’s something else, something far more selfish, that drives him.

He loves you. He loves to see you smile. He loves the way your eyes light up when he takes time away from the club to spend it with you—something he finds himself doing more of recently, an attempt to escape the stress and paranoia that’s been building.

He loves it even more that it’s him that’s making you happy, that he’s the only one who can make you smile like that, laugh like that, moan like that. You’re his just as much as he’s yours, and he has no intention of ever letting you go.

"Zip me up?"

Especially not now, when you’re standing in front of your bedroom mirror, half-dressed in a gown he bought for you, trying to get ready for a gala.

You look like a dream, dress hanging off your figure as you gaze at him over your shoulder with that beautiful look on your face. The one that always makes him feel like a shy teenager stumbling over his words.

John steps up behind you, and you turn a little more to meet him with a soft kiss. You turn back to the mirror, standing up straight to give him access to the zipper of your dress and the bare expanse of your back.

You wait patiently, adjusting your jewelry here and there. So distracted. So trusting. It tugs at something in his heart how vulnerable you allow yourself to be around him, a man with so much blood on his hands, they're stained down to the bone. Yet here you are, allowing him to touch you, to stain your skin with that blood and violence and danger that will follow him for the rest of his life.

He doesn't know what he's done to deserve you, but you meet his eyes in the reflection, giving him that stunning smile, and he knows it doesn't matter.

He'd burn the world to the ground if it meant he could have you in the ashes.

It’s the middle of the night when Ghost walks into his office unannounced, carrying a small, black folder.

“Bit late for you, isn’t it?” Price asks, looking up from the journal on his desk.

Ghost doesn’t speak, walking up to the desk and setting the folder down. Price sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose before picking up the folder.

“Are you going to tell me what this is, or do I have to guess?”

“Tried calling you.”

“Phone’s in the bedroom.”

“You’ve been gone a lot.”

“Is this late-night visit for something important or just so you can tell me you’ve missed me?” Price doesn’t mean to snap; the irritation that he’s having this conversation instead of finishing up his work so he can join you in bed grinding against his nerves.

“We found the man that attacked Canary. We know where he’s from.”

Price’s eyes shoot up to meet Ghost’s. Ghost looks about as tired as he does, and Price can’t blame them. Things have been tight for months, walls slowly closing in around the club.

There’s something else in his face, something that sets Price on edge.

Price knows Ghost, knows the man who’s been by his side for years, helping to take care of every dirty deal the club’s had to deal with.

Ghost has a certain detachment, no care about what he’s doing or who he has to hurt to do it.

It’s not Ghost he’s talking to, but Simon who’s staring down at him with sadness and pity.

“Look in the folder,” Simon sighs.

Price doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to know about whatever’s in here, what information he’s about to have to deal with. He wants to throw the folder back at Simon and bury his head in your neck, ignoring the rest of the world.

But he’s the Boss for a reason.

He sets the folder down, steeling himself with a deep breath, before flipping it open.

A stone sinks into the pit of his stomach, and his heart shatters.

“Oh.”

The mask slips back on, Ghost’s protective nature taking over as he watches Price visibly deflate.

“How do you want me to handle this?”

taglist: @sleepyendymion, @blazedprince, @blueoorchid, @ohgodthebogisback, @melancholyy-hill, @wasteland-babe, @meepetteoneonly, @anitaebee, @honeyr4ven, @curasimp, @jxvipike, @frazie99, @reiya-djarin, @urfavsunkissedleo, @hauntingtherosebush, @aerangi, @ofmenanduhhhwellmen, @warners-wife, @xx4rcticxx, @mundane-frogola, @marytvirgin, @nyooom, @gogh-with-the-flow, @arctic-writes, @thriving-n-jiving, @deadpoetsandhoney, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @blurpleuni-squid, @dead-noodles, @urfavsunkissedleo, @tapioca-marzipan, @averyyreads, @sourire-acide, @nivalis-dies, @froggi-mushroom, @carla019083-blog, @urlovecarla, @fvfvxcvfxcvf, @digitalsins, @dectectivejjbittenbinder, @330bpm-whiplash, @warners-wife, @das-conk-creet-baybee, @dudewithastick, @x-jeff-johansen-x, @calypsoonn, @octopiys, @tbrfic, @pssytrux, @pastelpixies, @bloodyfoxes12, @emma342561, @scattermind-001, @kereseth, @iwaszoomingg, @schlafenderbruder, @sanfransolomitatm, @solidly-indulgent, @oastertoaster, @whovianwar, @kateanacall, @luvmariax0, @tbrfic, @gh0st-r1der, @certainlynotasimp, @pheobees, @fivedicksinatrenchcoat, @sarapaprikas-blog, @moriflos, @laeilaps, @furiousshepherdclambailiff, @manicdepressive-dreamgirl, @tactical-shrimp, @rosesgaylol, @marvelranger, @msdrpreist, @riverrka

#captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #john price x reader #price x reader #captain john price #captain price #john price #modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #mw fics #moth writes

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fuck-customers · 6 months

Note

2.28.24

Genuinely cannot please these fucking people. All they do is bitch and whine that they never get good customer service but if you provide it to them you might as well have flipped them the bird the moment they walked into the store.

It’s Presidents’ Day.

Lady comes in masked up and with gloves. Mask, I get. Gloves? Eh alright. You do you. She’s walking around shopping (i work in an Adult Toy Store) and she comes up to me with a toy and says she wants this one but doesn’t want one that people have been taking out and messing with, it’s contaminated, she’s a “huge germaphobe” etc. so can I get her a new unopened one from the stock room? Sure, no problem. I know we don’t have anymore in the back but god forbid i tell her that without looking first so I go into the stock room, bum around for a few minutes, come back and tell her no but I’m more than happy to completely sanitize the item for her.

You have a problem, I have a solution.

Absolutely the fuck not, apparently. she gets huffy and says nevermind she doesn’t want it and she’ll find someone that can actually help her.

Fuck me i guess. whatever.

she doesn’t want anything to do with me given her attitude but consistently comes to me with problem after problem after problem despite the fact i’m not the only associate on the floor. every “problem” she has, I have a solution for, and she’s progressively getting more and more pissed off!!!

I’m not giving her any attitude or anything, I’m genuinely trying to help her find something that will work for her.

And now on to check-out. Finally, after like an hour of walking around she finds a toy. She didn’t even really want it but it was a box that was shrink-wrapped shut and couldn’t be opened so that’s what she had to “settle” for, as if i had a fucking gun to her head and made her buy anything in the first place.

I ask if she wants a rewards account.

“What is everything that entails?”

i explain it all to her and i just get the lead-poisoning boomer stare from this lady. she can’t be more than like 30, btw.

“…so would you like to make an account?”

“yes???”

see maam this is when you use your Big Girl words, yeah? you know what those are? when you at least open your fucking mouth and speak? maybe even include a “please”? honestly with the way she was acting i’d be surprised if her mouth could even sound out the fucking word.

go through getting her signed up which includes a name, an email, a phone number, and a birthday

we go through all of it and then once it gets to birthday i ask for the year (an 18+ verification, you can’t have an account if you’re underage and it’s REQUIRED IN OUR SYSTEM) and she just yells “I DONT WANT TO GIVE YOU THAT INFORMATION” and calls for my manager because i’m “being ridiculous”

maam.

i have your legal government name, your email, your phone number, and the month and day of your birth. you think adding the year you were born is going to make much of a difference here?

i don’t fucking know what her issue was.

also, for “a huge germaphobe” she sure was out shopping on the second largest shopping holiday of the year.

also later that same day i had a lady get mad because she asked if we had wide-toed shoes and i told her we don’t. this woman yells back “oh so cause i’m fat you think i can’t be a dancer?”

literally nobody fucking said anything about you being fat!!!!!

Posted by admin Rodney.

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xo-katana · 1 year

Text

✧. | Hashira Reacting To S/O Risking Their Life For Them

★彡Includes: Kyojuro, Tengen, Obanai & Shinobu

Kyojuro Rengoku ★彡

•He isn’t wearing his usual smile or attitude seeing you in recovery

•Is beside you every chance he gets

•He’s upset with you for risking your life for his

•Kisses you good morning & good night even if you can’t hear it.

The flame hashira leans back in a chair, his body relaxes upon dropping to the seat beside your hospital bed. His eyes glued to your chest moving up and down, a thing he did to determine whether you were breathing correctly or not. His lips curl up the slightest as he brings them to kiss your head. He’d have to save the lecture for another time.

Tengen Uzui ★彡

•He won’t say much to anyone when you’re taken to the butterfly estate for urgent care

•Doesn’t admit it but won’t feel flamboyant, at all

•Scolds himself and you about how different things could’ve been if you hadn’t stepped in

•He’ll shower you in love and attention

Tengen presses his lips into a thin line, looking at his S/O who had just woken up from a week long coma. His hand relaxes on your head before he speaks. “I’ve told you this once before, you’re life is before my own. Don’t ever pull something like that again.”

Iguro Obanai ★彡

•He’s pissed off at everyone the moment it happens.

•Will spend his free time sitting beside you and won’t say or do anything

•Whenever he dozes off, he wakes himself up by holding onto your hand. (Still dozes off.)

•When you wake up, he’s upset and angry but most of all, thankful and relieved. (Won’t say it)

Obanai watches as his S/O attempts to sit up. Pushing you back down lightly, his glare turns soft and his eyes lighten up. “You fool! What were you thinking!” Though he scolds you for a few minutes, his hand never leaves yours.

Kocho Shinobu ★彡

•Won’t let anyone but herself take care of you

•Prioritizes your treatment before anyone else’s

•Will continue to smile yet everyone knew how fake it had become

•Once you wake up, she won’t leave your side until she feels safe enough to do so

Shinobu places a wet rag on your forehead, often giving you a bird bath whenever she saw sweat trickle from your head. Humming a small tune as she checks vital signs. She’d sleep beside you in a chair until you woke up.

*･゜ﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*･'(*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)'･*:.｡. .｡.:*･゜ﾟ･*

I might post another spider man or Mortal Kombat x reader, not sure yet lol

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hannahbarberra162 · 2 months

Text

hOrnithology for Beginners

On Ao3

Next chapter

I know I said it was a one shot but I lied. I think it will be 4 chapters.

Marco X Reader, no use of "y/n." Fluffy fun.

Summary: You spend your days waitressing, using all your free time working to become an ornithologist and hunting poachers. You meet and befriend a rare mythical bird, with clear intelligence and astounding beauty. At the same time, an annoying group of pirates are docked at the island. One of them with a stupid haircut keeps trying to charm you, but you hate pirates and especially this one. He’s persistent - can’t he just leave you alone so you can hang out with your new Phoenix friend?

Marco isn’t sure what to do - you love him in his phoenix form, but you hate him in his human form. It's a tough spot for birds and bird watchers alike.

Notes:

I think that it could reasonably be assumed that the mythical Zoans are not the only of their kinds. They are the just only humans who can turn into mythical creatures. Rob Lucci is not the only leopard, Jack isn’t the only mammoth, Yamato isn't the only kitsune, etc. For the purposes of this story, there are more than one of each mythical creature, but only one Devil Fruit user who can turn into one. So reader isn't totally off that it is a phoenix, she just doesn't know it's The Phoenix.

~~~

You tightened your apron ties and scanned the patrons coming in for the lunch rush. Looked like the usual groups - some tourists, some bird watchers, some locals. You didn’t see any obvious waterfoul - your punny code word for pirates. One of the reasons you kept this shitty job was that it gave you a good peek into everyone coming and going on the island. Your island was famous for its stunning bird migrations. It was the southernmost island before the longest landless stretch of sea in the Grand Line. Flocks of birds would often rest at the island in preparation for the long journey to the next set of islands. It was also a wonderful location to try to spot rare and mythical birds. You’d seen a few and captured their essences in your sketchbook.

Unfortunately, waterfoul weren’t interested in capturing images. They wanted to catch and kill rare birds for easy money. Poaching was a huge problem on the island, one that you frequently fought against. It was your personal crusade to try and stop as many poachers as possible. You’d caught some others - a few Marines, some local boys - but the primary offenders were almost always waterfoul. You carefully watched when crews came to the port, listening for signs that they were going to look for avian treasures. It usually took a week for log poses to set, so you had a good chance of seeing anyone suspicious. You didn’t care to keep track of any specific crew or pirates - they were all the same. Same arrogance, same swaggering attitude, same cocky assurance that they could do anything they wanted to with no repercussions. You hadn’t met any halfway decent pirates, and you didn’t think you ever would.

Satisfied that you wouldn’t have to worry as much today, you began your shift. It was grinding your soul to shreds being inside and talking to customers when you could be spending it outdoors, watching and drawing birds. But you needed to make money to afford art supplies, new ornithology books, and poison for your dart tips. So inside you stayed, taking orders from idiots who didn’t know if the mashed potatoes were mashed or fried. After a grueling shift, you were finally able to leave. You chucked your apron into the dirty bin and left immediately, turning down your coworkers requests to hang out as a group after the shift ended.

“C’mon, you never hang out with me. Let’s go grab a drink,” Etta said, giving you puppy dog eyes. Etta was your work BFF, and your only real friend on the island.

“I can’t, I’m going to try to catch -”

“The next bird migration, I know. But there’s always a bird migration on this island, that’s the deal here. You can see one tomorrow, the next day, next month, next year even! But there’s only one 2 berri marg night per week…besides I heard there are some hot new pirates in town.” She waggled her eyebrows at you, while you pretended to barf.

“You know how I feel about pirates. But I do wanna hang out. How about this? Tomorrow after our shift I’ll buy you a margarita, even if it costs more than 2 berri.” You really did like Etta so you compromised - one night out would be OK, you probably wouldn’t miss much. She stuck her tongue out at you.

“Fine, but you can’t flake out. If you do, I’m leaving you to do side prep all by yourself. Think of all those lemons you’d have to cut.” She rolled her eyes, but it was a plan. You were truly excited - she was the first friend you’d made since you were a child. People often told you that you were “intimidating,” or “prickly,” or “difficult,” which was all just code for “bitchy.” You didn’t care - you wanted to be yourself, not try to dull your edges for people who wouldn’t like you either way. So you were happy to be friends with Etta, who liked you despite your “poor attitude” (as your boss called it).

You changed out of your work clothes and into your hiking gear, taking your day pack with you. This is what you liked most - going into the wild to watch for birds, especially legendary ones. You walked down to the forest edge and started on a well trodden path. It didn’t take you long before you had diverged from the path and were going rogue. You’d never see anything really good on the tourist paths - people were too loud and startled the birds away. Besides, you’d been on the island a long time now and you knew the best places to wait and watch.

You picked your way through the dense forest towards the hidden waterfall. It was your slice of heaven on earth. It was secluded enough that you’d never seen anyone else there. The area surrounding the waterfall was more open than the forest floor, making it easy for camping overnight. The water was always cool and clear, wonderful for swimming on a hot day. The waterfall wasn’t terribly large or loud, bringing a pleasant sound of rushing water. There was an alcove behind the waterfall, large enough for three or so people. Leafy trees lined the banks of the river the waterfall fell into, bringing shade on hot days. It was your happy place, where you retreated both physically and mentally when stressed. Today was no exception.

You reached your destination and put your pack down on a familiar flat rock under the shade of a tree. You took out your pencil, sketchbook, and binoculars and started your stake out. You were already mentally tallying the different bird cries you heard. So far, nothing out of the ordinary, just local birds trilling. You also delighted in the ordinary - you enjoyed seeing the same species day after day, learning more about their habits and manner of living. You were sketching a local starling that was imitating the sounds of transponder snails - pretty well, actually - when all of a sudden, your ears perked up when you heard alarm calls. It wasn’t a call for mobbing - when smaller birds would form a group to ward off a predatory bird. These were definitely alarm calls - short, high pitched, loud cries to warn their flocks that a predator was near.

You were excited, this was great news for you. Hearing these calls meant that something big was coming your way. It might be a more common predator, but maybe not. You’d seen a lightning Secretary bird once that caused the exact same alarm cries. You’d barely caught sight of it before it was gone. Another time, the cries alerted you to an ice Roc perched in a tree a little farther down the river. You’d carefully stalked the bird and were able to get a few sketches of it done before it flew away. Those were the rarest ones you’d ever seen, and you were hoping for another.

Straining your ears listening to the bird cries, you grabbed your sketchbook and followed them towards the source. You crept along as quickly as you could deeper in the forest, silently walking on the sides of your feet. The cries weren’t quieting down, meaning the predator was still in the area. Scanning, you inhaled a gasp as you saw the apex predator at hand. Perched on a branch overlooking the river was a phoenix. A blue fire phoenix, with dark blue almost purple accent markings that made it look like it was wearing glasses. You could barely remember to breathe in its presence.

You stood there agog with your mouth open until the bird moved slightly to shift its feathers. You opened your sketchbook and drew quick sketches of it before you missed your chance. You jotted notes of the colors, wanting to remember exactly what it looked like. Seeing the phoenix was like seeing a god in the flesh. It was a blur of blue flames, ending with wisps of yellow. The movment of its body was like watching the waterfall, endless and yet each moment fleeting at the same time. You could scarcely believe that you were able to see one, much less sketch it. You must have been making too much noise because it looked straight at you despite your hiding spot in the brush.

You weren’t worried about it hurting or killing you - that would be an honor. Well, not really, but you typically found predatory birds disinterested in humans. You kept on sketching even though your hands were shaking. The bird cocked its head to the side and continued to watch you. It almost felt…awkward, like you had intruded on a private moment. After a minute or so it seemed to have gathered whatever information it wanted and flew away. Even watching it leave was magnificent, tail feathers like a chain of golden coins dancing in the wind. When it finally left your sight, you exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. That was almost orgasmic for you. You rushed to pack up your things so you could go home and sketch with detail and notations before you forgot anything.

On your way back, the only thing on your mind was the phoenix. You thought about its elegance, its restrained power, its understated intelligence. It was the most striking bird you’d ever seen out of the thousands you’d cataloged. You thought more about its coloring, trying to think of the exact shades of blue and yellow you’d use to describe it. But now that you thought about it, seeing a blue fire phoenix was peculiar. Everything you’d heard about phoenixes depicted them as yellow bodied with red accents. But not much was known about any legendary bird so perhaps this one was rarer or maybe hadn’t been discovered yet. It had some kind of marking on its chest - but unfortunately where you were standing obscured your ability to see the marks directly. The glasses markings were a little funny - almost like a spectacled owl. It did give the phoenix a distinctive and distinguished look, like a scholar or a doctor. You were practically skipping with delight towards your home, thinking of all the little details you wanted to remember.

~~~

The next day, you went to work with a smile on your face. Not even the sight of waterfoul in your section could dull your mood today. You’d spent hours sketching and coloring drawings of the phoenix you’d seen, writing every possible memory you had down to preserve it forever. Etta wasn’t in yet - she was starting a shift staggered an hour after yours- but you’d have to tell her about it when you saw her again. Smiling, you walked to the table of waterfoul getting your pad out to take their order. As you got to the table, your smile dropped and your bitch face turned on. You set it to extra sour just for your own fun.

You looked at the assembled men - you saw two stupid hairstyles, two stupid hats, and one well...there was nothing stupid looking about the last man. He was absolutely gorgeous with black glossy hair set in a classic style and incredible geisha style makeup. Whatever, even if he was good looking he was still a pirate. The man with the stupidest hairstyle smiled warmly at you, like he knew you. You dropped your neutral face into a frown.

“What do you want?” you said in a flat tone.

“Aren’t you supposed to greet customers with a friendly welcome?” said stupid hairstyle two with a smirk. You wanted to dump a cup of water on his pompadour. Or maybe soup.

“Of course! Whatever would you like today, my fair patrons?” you replied in an overly sweet and simpering voice. You even curtsied at the end to hammer the point home. The point being - fuck off. As soon as the words left your lips, you went back to frowning. Pineapple Hair looked at you curiously.

Cowboy hat laughed and said “I’ll start with three steaks, rare. And a beer.” Pineapple Hair, Pompadour, Twirly Mustache and Glamor Man also placed their orders. When they were done, you turned on your heel and went to put in their orders. You attended your other tables and customers, servicing them all while thinking about your phoenix.

After a while, you saw Etta enter through the staff door. Before she could get to the floor you quickly pulled her to the kitchen. You both spoke excitedly at the same time.

“Guess what - “

“You go first,” Etta said, listening intently.

“I saw a legendary bird last night! It was everything I could have ever dreamed of! It was absolutely incredible…I can’t wait to show you the sketches.” Etta was one of the only people you showed your drawings to. You loved the art of drawing but felt self conscious about your ability.

“That’s amazing! I’m so happy for you,” Etta’s eyes lit up. She always liked when you shared your ornithology information with her and dutifully listened to some of your ramblings..

“What’s your news?” Maybe 2 berri margs were available again tonight?

“So I went out to the bar last night and met someone for a little fun. They’re in town until their log pose resets. I was talking to them for a while and mentioned that you are a real bird expert, not like the shitty tour guides who don’t know anything.” You narrowed your eyes. This wasn’t heading in a direction you liked.

“He’s actually interested in beetles, not birds. But I said that beetles are an important part of several bird’s diets,” she said, hedging around something.

“That’s true, you’ve been listening to my rants,” you said, still on guard. There was something she wasn’t saying and you had a feeling you weren’t going to like it.

“So I might have volunteered you to come on a double date with him and his friend birdwatching and looking for beetles,” she said in a rush while starting to steeple her hands in a begging motion.

“What aren’t you telling me? There’s more to it than that.” you asked suspiciously.

“Uhm. Well, the thing is. They’re pirates -”

“Etta! Oh my god. I knew it was something -”

“No, no listen! Listen. They seem actually nice and reasonable. The one I met yesterday, Ace, was so sweet and hot! I really like him.”

“Ohmyfuckinggod. Pirates? Etta they’ll probably kill us and take our stuff if we go to the woods with them. Or worse.”

“No! They’re like, high ranking pirates, so you know they have to be good.”

“That is not at all what that means.” You crossed your arms, and waved at the little window in the kitchen door that looked into the dining room.

“Look, there’s shitty pirates out there right now. They’ve already annoyed me and it’s only been like half an hour. Think about what a few hours would do to me.” Etta looked out the window.

“Oh, actually he’s right there! Isn’t he hot?” Etta ducked down so he couldn’t see her.

“Who? Which one?” You really hoped it was Glamor Man, but he didn’t seem outdoorsy. You looked at the table where Cowboy Hat was asleep face down in his food. Could you drown in peas?

“The one wearing the cowboy hat, that’s Ace. Isn’t he just so fine?” Of course that was the one she liked. He was something alright. Etta was practically drooling. Ace was too.

“Etta, as my only friend, I have to tell you-”

“Please please please please please please -”

“I really don’t think this is a good idea and I really don’t want to go on a double date with -”

“Please please please please please - I’ll take your shift tomorrow so you have two days off in a row! It’s the weekend too! Just come out with me tomorrow with these guys, please!”

You sighed. You didn’t want Etta to get herself killed, and two days off was very appealing during busy season. You could go camping overnight and see if the phoenix ever returned.

“Fine. But we’re going on the popular trails and I will absolutely not be kissing any pirate. And you have to roll my silverware tonight.” You barely even cared who you were set up with so you didn't bother to ask. You'd find out tomorrow anyway.

“Thank you thank you thank you!!” Etta squealed and hugged you tightly. You gave a small smile, knowing you’d made your friend happy. And looking for beetles did actually sound like fun. Who knew pirates liked bugs?

#marco x you #marco x reader #op marco #marco the phoenix #op fluff #one piece fluff #op sillies #portgas d ace #just marco things

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look-at-the-soul · 6 months

Text

The Photoshoot-Part 49

Cillian Murphy series 2014, 2015

Thank you, Flor @justrainandcoffee for making this moodboard!My heart just can’t take how beautiful it is!

Cillian is away, busy with Peaky Blinders matters.

Word count: 3,204

“So Cillian's flight is tomorrow right?” Isla asked her daughter as they reached the steps of her house.

“Yeah, we can drive him in the morning and then go and have brunch.” Yael proposed.

“I’d love to!” As they stopped so Scout could smell a bush, Isla noticed something else. “What’s the matter?”

Yael took a deep breath as she started to play with the leash in her hand.

“It’s everything with the adoption process, there are days where I try to be strong and positive and days where I don’t think I can’t do this.”

Isla wrapped her arms around her daughter instinctively, trying to comfort her.

“Baby, hang in there, don’t loose hope. I’m sure you’ll get good news soon.”

As they started moving, Yael looked up, trying to find some answers. “I swear I don’t want to sound like pessimist, but what if we don’t? What if this never moves forward?”

“Have you talked to Cillian about this?”

But her daughter shook her head.

“My sweet girl, I know this is hard… but I also know you’re the strongest woman I know. When you were a little girl you went through every surgery, every physical therapy you took and you were so brave.”

Tears blurred Yael’s eyes as she felt her mum’s hands caressed her arms. Back then you were my rock, you showed me I could be strong just like you. Now, Cillian is your rock, don’t leave him out.”

“You’ve been my rock too, I love you.” Yael expressed full of gratitude, wrapping her arms around her mother. “I’ll talk to him, or trust the process more likely.” She chuckled nervously.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to finish the process, it’s just a matter of time.”

“That’s the scariest part actually, but I know you’re right.”

Yael tried to leave her worries in each one of the steps of her home. Trying to focus on the blessings she already had.

Scout practically threw himself once he spotted Cillian, over excited to see him again.

“How was your walk?” He walked forwards to greet his wife with a quick peck on the lips.

“Great! We had a gorgeous sunset and Scout got to chase the birds.” Isla explained her son in law.

Cillian turned to look at his wife, to confirm his mother in law’s statement.

“It was breathtaking, take a look.” Yael supported her Mum’s words by showing her husband the pictures she took.

“Wowzers.” It looked like the scene belonged to a painting. “I was talking to my brother and was thinking of doing some improvised dinner? What do you think? Shall we go somewhere or…”

Yael took a long swing of water, but with her free hand, she made a sign that was okay with his plan.

“I think it’d be better if we make something and have dinner here, you need to get up early for your flight.”

“Yeah? Grand!”

“Why don’t you call Orla? Perhaps she’s free as well.” Yael proposed, loving the excitement in his eyes.

“Well and what are we having for dinner?” Isla asked, ready to help.

“We ate hamburgers this week.” Yael bit her lip.

Then, she saw the look in her husband’s eyes.

“What are you thinking of?” She wriggled her eyebrows at him, waiting for an answer.

“Mexican. I really want tacos.”

Just the mere thought had the three of them drooling.

Yael took her purse and walked off into her husbands arms. “We’ll go quickly to the store to get everything.”

“Don’t forget the chips for the guacamole.” Cillian made sure Isla was out of sight to pat playfully his wife’s bum.

“We’ll be right back. If you need anything else call me.”

Whislt a short trip to the grocery store to get everything for dinner, Yael made sure to add a couple of protein bars for Cillian and several snacks to have at home for her and her Mother.

As they were strolling the hallways of the store to go to the checkout, Yael stopped on her tracks when she noticed an elderly woman trying to reach an item on one of the top shelves, before she could react, a young boy approached and with all the familiarity of the world, encouraged her to step back, a tender smile on his face.

The cashier smiled at Yael and her mother as they were ready to the check out.

“That’s her grandson.” The cashier explained, as if she could read their minds. “She lost her husband a couple of months ago and they used to come together every week to get their groceries. Now her grandson moved in with her and they get just as what’s on the list that the grandpa wrote down.”

Yael gave her Mum a long look. She felt her heart swelling.

“That’s adorable.” Isla agreed touched by the boy’s gesture.

“I know right? Good people still exist.” The cashier added finishing with their items.

“I think it speaks volumes about him, huh?” Yael threw the pair another look as the grandma and grandson walked past them.

“He’s so young and yet he made the choice to go back in town to take care of her.”

Swiping her credit card to pay, Yael thought of her own grandmother and all the moments they shared together at the cottage in the Lake District. “Bless him. Thank you.”

“Have a nice day.” Added Isla taking some of the bags.

“I obviously don’t know that boy’s parent but you’ve t agree with me, this isn’t only because of him, I think he probably saw that kind of selflessness in his parents.”

“Yes and no.” Isla differed, catching Yael’s attention. “Sometimes unfortunately the example is so wrong that you’ve no other option but do the completely opposite. Sometimes people show you just what you don’t want to be.”

Just like her own father, Yael thought.

On their way back, they talked about not knowing what that woman might been through, but either way it was admirable. A few blocks away from her house, Yael got a phone call and asked her Mum to put her phone on speaker.

“Yael Lieberman?” The voice called. She went by Murphy now, but some people still called her that.

“How can I help you?”

“Vogue UK, I’m Naomi Wilson PR.” Yael’s heart started beating faster. “We’d like to know if you could take the photos for the December cover.”

“Yes, of course.”

She was informed they weren’t allowed to reveal the name of the celebrity yet, but they’d arrange all the expenses on her behalf for the travel.

“Honey congratulations!”

Cillian and Scout joined them in the garage as they were hugging. “Why are we so happy?” He immediately thought they got news from the adoption process.

And Yael shared the details of the last call she got from the magazine.

About an hour later, Pad arrived with his wife Elise, and their son, Connor.

“You’re with the beard again?” Cillian teased his brother.

“Lost a bet, that’s why.” His brother replied. “Ugh diaper.”

Elise waved at them and went into another room to change it, but first she let them know Pad was a disaster with the nappy and she preferred to do it her way.

“You brought the avocados right?” Cillian asked his brother in a low voice, Yael was very specific about that ingredient.

“I hope four is enough.”

“The more avocado, the better!” Yael shouted from the pantry, joining them a moment later with a couple of colorful bowls. “That smells nice.”

Cillian took over with the beef once more, while Isla got the sodas from the refrigerator. “Look at you! Stop growing.” She got a cooing sound from Pad’s son.

“He’s heavier now, wants to climb everywhere.”

“And eat everything.” Then looking at Scout he warned; “watch out buddy, he’s gonna grab your tail and bite it like there’s no tomorrow.”

Luckily, Scout stormed off the kitchen when he heard the doorbell.

“Oh you’re glowing!” Yael greeted Orla with a hug. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” She blushed giving her sister in law another hug.

Then Yael turned to to her niece. “I got some chips for you, they’re in the pantry.”

“Thanks auntie!”

As the Murphy siblings gathered around the kitchen, Cillian rushed to their reading room to take a phone call, there had been an issue with his check-in so he’d have to stop by the counter earlier.

“It’s good to see you Isla.” Orla chatted. “Hey, maybe we can call Mum and go for lunch one of these days.”

“That’d be nice.” Yael agreed taking a bite of the beef, she chopped peppers and onion in case anyone wanted to add to their tacos.

“There’s a new place downtown and it’s ugh amazing.” Elise joined the conversation.

Yael looked at Paiddy’s wife, surprisingly they moved in sync. As the girls shared more details for their plans, Cillian’s brother shared a few comments with him about something related to dinner.

“Sienna why don’t you give your aunt the present you got for her?” Orla encouraged her daughter.

The child’s face lit up and she rushed to retrieve her mother’s purse.

“We went shopping the other day, and as I was looking for a decorative bowl, Sienna found something.” She explained with a wink.

As Paidy’s son tried to reach the food in the bowl, Yael grabbed him playfully, spinning him around but being extra careful to not make a blunt movement.

“What are you trying to get? Hmm? You want tacos too?” Yael changed the child to her opposite hip and started playing with Connor and Sienna. “Okay little Miss, what did you get for me?”

Wrapped in a paper bag, she offered it to her and the kid smiled proudly as she waited excitedly for her aunt to see. Yael played along, making big gestures of surprise and suspense.

Both of them giggling happily as their aunt held out a jumbo mug with the word auntie written al around in capital letters, and it was enough to melt Yael’s heart. “Oh Sienna! This is so sweet… I love you, you know that right?”

Leaving the mug carefully on the counter, Yael wrapped her free arm around her niece just as Cillian was coming back from his call. Finding Yael holding Connor and giving Sienna instructions to help with the tacos. And the scene was enough to ignite something within his heart, something bigger than he had ever experienced.

For an instant, he couldn’t help but think how wonderful his wife would be as a Mum, and he wished from the deepest part of his heart that they would be able to finish the adoption process.

****

Cillian took his wallet and phone from the table, he had been for hours at the wardrobe fitting. Endless shirts, ties, handcuffs, peak caps and suits, all made for him with the best fabric around, the quality of not only the materials, but each piece as well was beyond this world.

“Can I help you with anything else?” Someone offered.

He politely declined the offer, feeling his shoulders tense, hands inside the pockets of his jeans. Staring back at himself in the mirror, he released the tension of his jaw and relaxed his posture automatically after noticing he had been standing as Tommy Shelby.

“Cillian.” Steven’s voice caught his attention. “Are you done here?”

“Yeah.” Cillian nodded, not being able to avoid one more look at his reflection. There was no coming back now, the transformation was taking place on the outside with the wardrobe and now the haircut -not so bold this time at least-, but it was happening on the inside as well.

The thoughts, the looks, the posture. Tommy Shelby was taking over little by little, word by word from the script that he couldn’t help it but take a step back to allow this enigmatic character re-emerge.

“You’re so quiet. Everything alright?” Steven asked as they took the elevator towards the production offices.

“Yeah, just… thinking.” He trialed off.

It was as if he was hosting a battle between who he really was and Thomas Shelby. It might sound crazy, but that’s the way he felt.

“So I got to write around the ideas you gave me, I actually love it… would you like to add anything else?”

“No, just the Institution part we talked about.” Cillian explained. “I don’t know how further you wanna go with that, I just want to ask you to involve this part of the charity…” he made a pause and looked towards the window. “There’s a side of Tommy that he genuinely cares you know? Despite the heartbreak, the pain. It’s right there deep inside.”

Steven nodded profusely. Catching what Cillian meant and he already had intertwined a couple of ideas based on that.

“To me your point of view is needed because of this exactly.” Steve pointed at him from the other side of the desk. “You know Tommy better than anyone else.”

“Better than you even?” Cillian cocked an eyebrow.

“That’s what I’m talking about.” Steven praised, he was not surprised at all by the quick change between Cillian and Tommy, he knew what he was doing. “What do you think about the intimate scenes?”

“We’ll you can’t have this type of man without sex, right?” Cillian toyed with a string on his jeans.

He wanted to run his hand through his hair but it was gone now. “Do what you’ve to do.” They e already discussed how openly some of them would be.

“You got serious with the training this season.”

Cillian laughed awkwardly. He was used to his wife’s teasing him for getting beefy for the role but someone else noticing it and pointing it out made him want to hide somewhere.

“Do you realize you’re pushing not only Tommy but me to the limit with all of this?”

Tommy would go through an intense internal turmoil after some events. And the whole bunch would put him under such pressure that he was afraid to explode any minute. The character itself was a challenge, a completely different mindset, the total opposite of how he’d react.

Steven leaned back on his chair and with a smile of satisfaction he replied; “yes, but you can do that and even more.”

And now it was time for Cillian to chuckle.

But deep down, he felt genuinely proud to know Steve trusted him so openly.

“I got a couple of books about the Russians, it’s interesting how no one suspected a thing back then.” He wanted to be well documented about the facts that happened in real life. To him a script was much more than just lines to memorize, he needed to feel a conection, understand the characters motives. And getting around to understand the reason why it was part of the series, could help him to bring more realism into his character.

And now it would be slightly different as a producer of the series. He had a major power decision, he’d have a more active role in making choices.

“I’ve a couple of songs I’d like you to hear.” Cillian stated and Steven knew that this meeting would be longer than he expected.

“Hey babe, sorry I didn’t hear my phone.” Cillian apologized as his wife answered.

“It’s fine, I thought you were busy.” Even though he couldn’t see her, he knew she was smiling. “How did it go?”

“Grand, grand,” he tried to move a few steps away from the noise on the street. “Tomorrow I’m going to check a few locations with Steve.”

“Oh that’s nice, send me photos if you can.”

“Will do. I called you this morning.”

“I slept in, we did actually.” Yael chuckled. “Scout and I cuddled because you weren’t around to wake us up.”

“Ah, now I won’t let you sleep.”

Yael laughed. “No, I mean you start the shower and then downstairs to make breakfast, well you know.”

“I get it, I’ll tiptoe next time.” Cillian offered. “To let the princess sleep.”

Enjoying the teasing, Yael thanked him for being so thoughtful.

“Ya, how’s everything over there?” He shifted his weight from one foot to another.

“I took Mum to an exhibition downtown and it was incredible, spent most of the day window shopping and now I’m organizing some photos to deliver them tomorrow.”

“You’re not going to see that fan of yours, right?” He teased. Started calling the weirdo her fan.

“Goodness no, I delivered those via mailing.” She chuckled and the sound of her laugh made his body tingle. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” He laughed and smiled like a silly young boy in love. “Miss you bossing around.”

“I’m not bossy.” Yael defended.

“Before I left the hotel this morning, I kept thinking phone, wallet, key.” He mimicked her voice. He tried in an lousy attempt to remind himself of what she’d say before he walked out the room.

“But that’s not being bossy, you sometimes forget something.”

“Of course you’re not, I’m only messing.”

“I really want to see you already, the house is not the same without you… last night I slept with my Mum in the guest bedroom and Scout joined us.”

“Soon babe, I’ll be back before you know it.”

“I’ll cook you a huge steak.”

“Oof that sounds tempting.” Cillian eyed Steven from the corner of his eye. “I gotta go, I’m having dinner with Steven and then he’ll drive me to the hotel.”

“Say hello from me, love you!” Yael requested before he replied he loved her back and hang up.

Patting his shoulder, Steven asked; “How’s the Mrs?”

“Good, her Mum is visiting so she’s busy.”

“Happy to hear that, she’s lovely.”

With a nod, Cillian followed him inside the restaurant, pulling his beanie a little to cover his head fully.

“Never been here before.”

Steven stood up to greet someone while Cillian looked at the menu.

“The owner it’s a friend of mine since high school.” The producer explained.

“Woah that’s a long road, but it’s nice you stayed in touch.”

“He’s a good pal, had a tough road but he always kept a good spirit.”

After ordering for their meals, Cillian exchanged a bit of information of his screen off time with Steven, they talked about timeframe but were careful to not talk about very specific parts of the upcoming season in case anyone could listen.

“May I ask how’s the adoption process going?”

With a sigh, Cillian leaned back. “Slow but it keeps moving, my mother in law has an interview tomorrow and my parents already did theirs.”

“Are they taking the news well?” He questioned.

“Better than I expected, you know there’s still this stigma around adoption,” Cillian shook his head, “I firmly believe these kids deserve a loving and safe environment. The struggle it’s been hard because there’s all this burocratice around that makes people feel disappointed.”

Steven shared his own point of view about it, not so different of his own thoughts.

“If I can do anything to help, don’t hesitate.”

“Thanks man, I appreciate the offer. We just have to wait and hope for the best.”

Next part

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoy this series, remember your comments it’s what keeps this alive!

And I’m working on the Tommy Shelby playlist of all the songs that’s been mentioned in the story 🥰✨

Tag list: @lyarr24 @garrison-girl-08 @lespendy @onlydeadcells @fastfan @winchestergirl22 @stevie75 @prettylittlehoneyeyesxoxo @esposadomd @strayrockette @forbidden-forest-witch @elenavampire21 @forgottenpeakywriter @blondie-22 @thenattitude @moral-terpitude @babaohhhriley @queenshelby @ange-thoughts @shaddixlife @sloanexx @cilliansangel (cant tag) @rangerelik @already-broken144 @alessioayla @paprikabadger @dolllol2405 @conversationpits @itsilvermorny @lafell @imichelle-l-rigby @yrli8 @cutecurly-hair @cillspropertea @hyperfixationsonshuffle @sydneyyyya (can’t tag) @abbymcguire @shelundeadxxxx @elk96 @pono-pura-vida @lovemissyhoneybee @slimeantha (can’t tag) @kmc1989 @ironpen

#That’s what Cill said #cillian murphy oc #cillian murphy x fem reader #Cillian Murphy x OC #cillian murphy fan fiction #cillian murphy characters #cillian murphy fiction #Cillian Murphy x Tommy Shelby

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sailorshadzter · 3 months

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Spring finally arrives and along with it, forgiveness and warmth. Home. He is finally home. A time in which Jon finally forgives himself and the weight in his heart that once banned him from going home was lifted (the only ban that every existed because everyone knows he was always a hero)

hi anon!

thanks for the (VERY VERY OLD) request. i really wish (or maybe i dont lol) tumblr dated these.

i hope you see this!!!!!!!!! and you like it if you do!!!!

send me prompts

He wakes to the sound of the birds singing.

What a strange concept, he thinks, rolling over onto his side, opening his eyes so he might observe the morning rays of light peeking in through his curtains. Pushing back the furs, all while making a mental note to ask for some lighter blankets, he sits up and swings his legs over the edge of his bed.

It’s been something like six weeks since his return to Winterfell and somehow in that time, spring had made itself known.

Almost as if it had been waiting for his return.

A sigh escapes him and he stands up, stretching, before he makes his way across the room, reaching for the white shirt he’d draped over the back of a chair before going to bed the night before. It was a new shirt, one which was stitched by the hands of the very queen he’d come to serve. Queen or not, Sansa still thoroughly enjoyed sewing and she’d provided him with many new clothes upon his return to Winterfell.

When he’s fully dressed, he slips away from his rooms, heading down the hall, pausing only a moment at the door that belongs to her. But, from within he hears the voices of the maids, telling him she’s already left for the morning. So he continues on, taking a flight of stairs down and taking a left down another hall. There on his right he stops at another door, raising his hand to knock- three quick knocks, one she would know anywhere.

And then he steps inside.

She stands at the window, the morning sun framing her in the most beautiful of ways.

To his surprise (and delight) she’s done away with her heavy winter gowns, replacing it with instead a sage green damask, its sweeping sleeves trimmed with elaborate gold thread, the hemline mimicking the very same pattern. She turns at the door, her rosy lips curving with a smile at the sight of him there, head tilting just enough to send her hair cascading across a shoulder. “Good morning,” his queen greets, sending his heart fluttering.

It was not always this easy, he thinks, for it was not that long ago that he lived in a dark world. One full of regrets and fear, one where he worried he was not enough for her, one where he worried his presence would tarnish her good name. Hundreds of letters from her went unanswered, though they were all kept, even now tucked into the corner of his trunk. He had murdered one of his own- for the greater good, of course, and truth be told killing Daenerys was the least of his issues. But the war… The fighting… If only he’d done things differently. If he’d handled the situation differently, perhaps thousands of innocent lives would not have been stolen.

The grief of that had nearly taken all of him, left him bereft, left him lost to drink, the only way he could ever feel any relief. It had taken time, over a year of it in fact, to come to realize that missing her was far worse than any of the other pain he felt. And so he’d sent her a letter back, thinking the worst that could happen would be her not bothering to answer him at all. Instead, she wrote him back, summoning him with her queenly demand.

So he listened, coming to his queen’s call.

“You are a spring queen,” he says with a grin of his own, approaching her where she stands, watching as she blushes pink. “I can’t remember when I last saw you in such a color.” For the last two years or more she’s worn nothing but gray and black, a sign of her mourning, a sign of her place as Ned Stark’s daughter. There wasn’t a single man in Winterfell that could recall their old lord ever wearing anything but black and gray. But she was not Ned Stark, she was his daughter, and she was their queen. “It suits you.” The soft green is a lovely contrast to her ivory skin, to her vibrant red hair.

“Thank you,” she says, still blushing.

They make small talk for a while, she seated there in the window seat, he atop the desk. He had forgotten how easy it was to talk to her like this- then he had to laugh, because until now, they never had anything but war and grief to speak of. “You know…” She’s saying now, drawing him back out of his own thoughts. “I have heard that the first seedlings have sprouted in the gardens, I thought I might take a walk through them to see for myself. Won’t you join me?” She looks his way, blue eyes bright and shining, a beauty unlike anything he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing.

“Of course,” he replies, rising up so he might offer her his arms, which she takes when she stands up.

Together they make their way down the hall and down the flight of stairs to the main hall, out the double doors and into the bright spring sunlight.

Jon smiles, wondering how he ever could have stayed away.

After all this time, he was home.

#jonsa #jon x sansa #actuallyjonsa #anon asks #writing prompts #send me prompts #i wrote this #my writing

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 11 months

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miss raven 🐦‍⬛ you like shiny things right?? what are your thoughts on rollo’s ring. didn’t you call it chunky before

Many times, yes— I find it super ugly, chunky (as in, it’s a weird shape and takes up a lot of space) and hard to coordinate with a look, but it works fine on Rollo.

There are a few Raven-Rollo interactions I've received; these will be differentiated from the usual Rollo at the Writing Desk interactions by a different phrase in the header. "Will today be the day?" is a reference to the opening scene in Hunchback of Notre Dame; Quasimodo asks a bird (nesting in a gargoyle's mouth) if they're ready to fly yet.

Will Today be the Day?

“… You’ve been staring at my hand for quite some time now.” Rollo’s observation was abrupt, an accusation with a sharp point. He casted Raven a suspicious look as they walked side-by-side. “Crowley-dono is your guardian, is he not? I would have thought him to instill better manners in his kin.”

She leapt, frazzled by the truth he bore. “Y-You’re absolutely right! My apologies… I will avert my gaze.”

Rollo scoffed. “What is it that you are planning, hmm? Do you intend to make off with my possessions the instant I lower my guard? Perhaps you’ve picked up a habit for pilfering from Ruggie-kun. It wouldn’t surprise me—you Night Raven College mages are all the same.”

“No, it’s not like that!!” Raven shyly brought her index fingers together, her eyes cutting away from him. She suddenly found the sidewalk to be of great interest. “It’s, erm…”

“Don’t mumble. Spit it out already.”

“Corvids—ravens, crows—have a penchant for shiny objects. I can’t help that my eyes are drawn to them. It’s in my nature.

“Hmph.” Rollo made to cover the crimson gemstone that crowned his finger. “You have surprisingly juvenile interests. At the very least, it appears to be harmless so long as you control your desire to acquire those trinkets for yourself.”

“I’m telling you, I don’t have such a desire in the first place! Besides, things that sparkle look their happiest when they're with their true owners."

"... Did I hear that correctly? Things that sparkle look happy?"

"Not literally, of course. I took creative liberty with the phrasing." Raven cocked her head to one side. "But don't you think when a piece of jewelry catches a stray beam of sunlight, it looks like the jewel is winking at you? That's what I mean when I say they look happy with their owners."

"Not ever," Rollo replied stiffly, "and your comparison doesn't work. Ownership means nothing; a jewel would shine all the same regardless of who wears it."

"Now you're just sucking all of the romantic lyricism out of it."

"It didn't need that to begin with."

He turned away—as if that were the end of the conversation—and elicited an excited squeak from Raven.

"Oh...!" She fixated on the gleam of gold and scarlet that peaked through a crevice between his fingers.

The ring smiled at me.

Her heart leapt, and she smiled back at it. (Rollo scowled, his displeasure obvious.)

“If you don’t mind, may I see it up-close?” Raven asked. “Just this once. I promise I won’t bother you again about it after.”

“… You may, but you’d better keep your promise. I don’t want to hear another word about this later.”

With that, Rollo offered his ringed hand to her. His fingers splayed out to allow for a good glimpse of his accessory. Raven bowed her head—a sign of thanks—and gingerly took his hand in her gloved ones.

She had expected him to be frigid—his fingers were so long and bony. But no, he was flesh too. Warm and pliant.

Of course he is. I don’t know why I was thinking of anything less. He is only human too.

Raven slowly guided his hand, watching the way the sunlight gathered on the ring’s facets at different angles. The band and prongs were golden, and the center stone was a gorgeous red.

Ruby? Garnet? Or something else entirely…? Cut into a lozenge shape—diamond-like prism, with additional flat faces she could see herself in.

“Oooh, pretty,” she cooed, sounding slightly dazed.

As Raven did this, Rollo inspected her.

She was a small thing, no taller than his shoulders. Dressed in black (like a certain lizard he loathed), perhaps she would have registered as more of an enigma had there not also been a sort of… fluffiness to her, thanks to her voluminous feather shawl and skirt. The top hat skewed at a jaunty angle really did make her look like a childish miniature of NRC’s headmaster.

He honed in on her ears. They were pointed, certainly not the shape of a typical human’s. She had mentioned her tendencies as a corvid earlier, implying animal heritage—but the ears suggested fae, not beastman.

He took in the rest of her face. With her eyes cast downward like this, her thick lashes shaded honeyed amber colored irises. Sun dappled raven hair, highlighting the small, mysterious smile at her lips as she regarded his ring.

Such a simple-minded girl, he sneered. It’s no wonder she’s so easily manipulated by mages and sympathizes with their cause.

A creature captured and tames to be in service to vile villains—Rollo would be lying if he said some part of him vaguely felt pity for her circumstances. Perhaps if she was removed from NRC and given the proper guidance and instruction, she could see reason. (… despite how annoying he found her to be.)

No, she’s too far gone to be rescued, he argues with himself. Draconia has already sunken his claws into her feeble mind.

What a shame, the voice in the back of his head simpered. She could have been saved from sin. We could have understood one another.

Her eyes suddenly fliicked up. “… Rollo-senpai? I think I’m done. Thank you for letting me look.

He quietly gasped—he had been caught staring. Cheeks heating, Rollo hastily pulled his hand away. His shame was masked with a stern frown.

“… That is enough. Let us never speak of this again.”

“Hehe, it’s the very least I could do for you.” She grinned in an irksome manner, the snaggle-toothed smile reminding him of the less savory smirks sent his way by other NRC students. “It can be our little secret.”

"I do not wish to share any sort of a secret with you."

Raven raised her brows. "Were you not the one who requested that we no longer bring up this incident? So it's our little secret, whether you want it to be or not~"

"Which I don't," he clarified stubbornly.

That was the truth--wasn't it?

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #Raven Crowley #Rollo Flamme #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #disney twisted wonderland #Rollo at the Writing Desk

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beautiful-and-terrible · 10 months

Text

“falling into place”: chapter 2

mike schmidt x reader

summary: “You meet Mike Schmidt under rather unfortunate circumstances. Luckily, he's a decent guy, and tries to make it up to you. Besides, who could say no to those big brown puppy-dog eyes?”

tags: Slow-burn, domestic, hurt/comfort, gradual friends-to-lovers, whatever the opposite of a meet-cute is, because mike is a disaster, sub!mike, dom!reader, eventual smut

also available to read on my Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51690952/chapters/130675165

Mike pulled into the parking lot of the Urgent Care. He asked if you wanted him to come in with you, which you declined. Mike said he would wait until you got out, and then drive you home.

You got checked out by the doctor, who told you your wrist was only sprained. She wrapped it in an ace bandage and a sling and told you to keep ice on it over the next few days. She also gave you some pain killers, which you were extremely grateful for because your wrist was steadily throbbing with a bright, aching pain.

You returned to Mike’s car in the parking lot, already feeling the effects of the half a pain killer you had taken. The world felt softer around the edges, and distracted you from the pain more than reduced the feeling, but it still felt much better.

“Hey, listen, since I can’t really help with, y’know, medical bills or anything, can I make you dinner as an apology?” Mike asked as you slipped into the passenger seat. Normally, you would think that was a terrible idea. No one in their right mind would go over to a strangers house, especially after they had hit them with their car. But you weren’t in your right state of mind. You were tired and hungry and cold and loopy from half a Percocet. Plus, he had a kid sister. It’s not like he would murder you in front of her.

“Mmm, yeah, that sounds nice,” you sighed, sliding down slightly in your seat as he began driving again.

You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you awoke to a warm hand on your shoulder, shaking you slightly.

“We’re at my place,” Mike said softly before exiting the car. He opened the trunk, got his groceries out and started walking up the path to his house, Abby trailing behind him. You followed suit, getting out of the car and shivering at the frigid November air. At least the rain had stopped.

You entered the house after Mike, taking in your surroundings slowly. It was… a house. Pretty bland - beige walls, cream carpet, a brown couch, and a TV that still had an antenna. It smelled clean, though, which you took as a good sign. A child’s drawings littered the wall near the TV at about hip level, so you figured they were Abby’s. You smiled at one that caught your eye, depicting a man with curly hair in a black shirt who was getting pelted with cupcakes by a girl with brown hair and a gang of anthropomorphic figures - a purple bunny, a yellow bird, a red fox, and a brown bear, who wore a top hat. You could only assume the unlucky victim of this attack was Mike.

“Uh, take a seat at the table, if you want. Make yourself at home. I know it’s a little messy, sorry…” Mike rubs the back of his neck and moves to the kitchen, starting to put groceries away.

“Not messy at all. It’s nice,” you say, trying to be polite. Mike gives you a look like he can see right through you. You blush, leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, looking down at the dingy tile floor. You clear your throat.

“Are you from here? From this town, I mean.”

“No, I’m from Nebraska. Abby was born and raised here though. We, my parents and I, moved when I was twelve. Um… something bad happened in our family, and we wanted to get far away from it. I guess.” Mike’s expression was guarded as he says this, so you don’t press the subject. You watch as he puts a frozen lasagna in the oven and starts tearing open a bag of premade salad, haphazardly dumping it into a big bowl. You can’t help but smile - he seems to really be making an effort for his little sister.

“What about you?”

“No, I’m from a little ways south of here. I went to college, tried to get a job, but it fell through, so I moved here. It’s cheaper than the city, and it has pretty places, if you look hard enough.”

“You might have to help me find those pretty places. Seems like everywhere I look is ugly concrete and asphalt and garbage.”

You shrug. “Yeah, there’s definitely a lot of that. That’s why you have to focus on the in-between places. The places where people forget to look for beautiful things.”

Mike looks at you, regarding you momentarily. You feel weighed down by his gaze, but not intimidated. Just oddly seen , for the first time in a while. Then he breaks eye contact, going back to dressing the salad. You rack your brain for some other topic to discuss.

“Where do you work?”

Mike sighs. “I work as a security guard for this old, run-down kid’s entertainment restaurant. It’s not in business anymore, but the owner keeps it running for nostalgia’s sake. God knows why - the place is falling apart. But he pays me to watch the cameras and keep people out, so. I can’t complain.”

You frown. “Why not go somewhere better if the place is such a dump?”

Mike’s face closes off again, and you bite your lip anxiously. “It’s complicated,” is all he says in reply.

You sigh. Trying to get any answers out of Mike that weren’t just surface level was like pulling teeth. You decided to try a different tactic.

“Can I do anything to help with dinner?”

Mike looks at you, then at your wrist. “No, don’t worry about that. I’m making dinner as an apology. You should sit down and rest.”

You nod, feeling a little dismissed, but you shake it off. Behind you, you hear the TV chattering in high pitched voices - Abby must be watching something on TV. You slip out of the doorway of the kitchen and join her in the living room. On the TV, brightly colored young girls with wings and ridiculously high heels strut around casting magic and kicking ass.

“What is this show?” you ask, sitting down on the couch. Abby looks up at you - she seems less pissed off than before, just a little shy.

“Winx club,” she says simply, playing with one of her pigtails.

“Which one is your favorite?”

Abby doesn’t respond for a moment. Then she points to the TV, “That one. Her name is Tecna.” The character has a purple and green futuristic looking body suit on, and short pink hair.

“Oh yeah, she looks cool. Do you want pink hair like her?”

Abby looks at you, smiling slightly. “Yeah. But Mike would never let me,” she pouts.

“I bet you could convince him when you’re a little older. You know, I used to have pink hair.”

Abby looks at you with a mixture of jealousy and admiration. “That’s so cool. Were your parents mad?”

You laugh slightly. “Oh yeah, they were mad. I was sixteen, and I dyed my hair the week before my older sister’s wedding. I was one of her bridesmaids. So in all of the pictures from her wedding I’m wearing this god-awful wig that makes me look like Dolly Parton got caught in a rainstorm. It would’ve been better if they had just let me keep my pink hair.”

Abby giggles, and from the kitchen you can hear Mike laughing too. It makes your stomach feel funny. Mike pokes his head out from the kitchen to tell you and Abby that dinner was ready.

As you sit down to dinner and fill your plate, you notice Mike’s eyes drifting to you more and more often. The couple of times that your eyes meet he looks away, his ears turning slightly pink. But you’re too hungry to read into that, so you dig into your meal.

At the end of the night, Mike offers to drive you home, which you accept. You’re too sleepy from the warm food and residual effects from the painkiller to refuse, and you certainly don’t have the brain power to call a cab. You feel yourself sort of disappointed that your time with Mike and Abby has come to an end. They’re both nice company. You could do with more of that in your life.

As you pull up to your apartment, Mike takes out a napkin from the glovebox and scribbles something on it and gives it to you. As he reaches over to your side of the car, you can smell the cologne he uses - something warm and fresh at the same time. It reminds you of what boys used to wear in high school, but not as obnoxiously over-sprayed. It makes your stomach flip.

You look at the proffered napkin and realize he’s written his number down. You look up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“Just in case you need anything. Seriously, anything. I feel terrible about your wrist. Get some rest, okay?”

“Yeah, thank you... Have a good night,” you say, and your eyes lock for a split second before you open the car door. You could’ve sworn his eyes glanced down to your lips, but you were probably imagining things. You give him a smile and get out of the car.

You’re practically dead on your feet as you walk up to the second floor of your unit and unlock your apartment. You throw your dirty clothes in the laundry basket in your closet and don’t even bother putting on pajamas. You crawl under the covers and you’re asleep within seconds.

Mike sat outside your apartment in his car for a long time after you’d already gone upstairs and fallen asleep. He didn’t know why his heart was beating so fast, or why his face felt so hot, or why he kept over-analyzing everything he’d said since he’d met you. To be fair, your first impression hadn’t been ideal.

But listening to you interact with Abby, and the ease with which you interacted with her, made Mike feel incredibly safe with you. If he could trust you with Abby, he could trust you with himself, as well.

Mike drove into the frigid November night, deep in thought. His car’s janky heater wasn’t the only thing keeping him warm.

#fnaf #fnaf security breach #five night's at freddy's #five nights at freddy's #fnaf movie #fnaf mike schmidt #mike schmidt fanfic #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt fnaf

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sanddef · 8 months

Text

How Sir Lancelot met with King Arthur and Sir Gawain, and how war was decided.

1522 words

“Which of you did it?”

The hall went silent. The drab colors of a dove make the thing blend into the background. Perfectly still, break the silhouette, it becomes just another piece of noise. Gawain, in plain clothes, without his armor or family colors, was pulling off a similar effect. Like a nervous bird, he twitched in place, cocked his head. Lancelot would have thought he was nervous, that is, if his eyes weren’t so deadly focused.

Arthur, to his credit, cleared his throat, seeming to regret taking the man with him. Tensions were high enough, what with his former champion and wife sitting across the table. “Gawain, this isn’t for-”

“I want to know,” Gawain cut him off. The fire crackled, a log fell sending a gust of embers up into the air. The damned castle just wouldn’t get warm. Lancelot had done all he could and still, the cold seemed to leak through every stone.

Was Joyous Gard ever befitting of its name? Perhaps once. Perhaps Lancelot would be too young to remember. Had Arthur ever been here in its heyday? Did he sit at Lancelot’s father’s table, share a story and good food and drink? Did Gawain? Young, reckless, brimming with energy that time hadn’t quite tempered but reshaped into something versatile and sharp. A hook that Lancelot felt in his heart now, Gawain’s eyes hadn’t left him since he had arrived.

Lionel’s hand was on his sword. For all Lancelot’s pleading, he would not be persuaded to maintain the illusion of a peaceful meeting. Bors had conceded to him, but said he would be looking for the first sign of trouble.

“At the very least, I will protect your queen.”

Yes. A queen of very little now, but Lancelot’s queen always and forever. Lancelot and his kin finally stepped into their long-neglected kingships, and the phrase King Lancelot seemed foreign on his tongue. At the very least Arthur looked uncomfortable saying it.

“I want to know which of you killed my brothers,” Gawain repeated, was never one to back down.

“Does that really matter?” Arthur’s voice rang hollow now. The years were starting to catch up to him.

“I think it matters.” Gawain looked at Guinevere, Bors, Lionel, Lancelot. “I think my brothers were about the only thing in the world that mattered and I want to know which of you killed them. I want to know whose sword, whose hands.”

“Mine.” Lancelot spoke before Lionel could stop him, “Gawain- I’m sorry. If I had recognized them I wouldn’t have.”

“If you had recognized them it wouldn’t have mattered.” Gawain hissed, “Brave Sir Lancelot, dear agent of chivalry, my little Gareth would never raise a sword against you. I know he didn’t.”

Lancelot didn’t look at Bors, but he felt his eyes on him. The whole event was a blur, Lancelot honestly couldn't remember a thing. Bors had told him that the boy had nearly cut his arm off and Bors defended himself. This was just before he had informed him that he was dead.

Lancelot didn’t care if he believed him. Gareth was dead regardless.

Arthur seemed to be losing hope that this diplomatic mission would do anything to prevent outright war. He let Gawain speak.

“Agravain hated you, Lancelot, I suppose you took your revenge on him. Or was it one of your kin? Indeed, I imagine neither of them have hands as unclean as yours.” Gawain’s eyes landed on Guinevere, “And all this for you, my lady. I pray to God nobody ever loves me that much.”

Guinevere looked him dead on. Lancelot hoped it was just nerves making his heart beat that way.

“You’ll turn to war, prince of Orkney? Gawain, people are going to die.” She said.

He opened his mouth to respond. Arthur stepped in, seeming relieved to get a word in edgewise, “I fail to see any other option. You kill my kin, steal my wife, I would be a fool not to respond.”

“We have nothing to offer you in recompense.” Lionel spoke up, “Everything we had was yours. Everything we have now I would rather not give up, especially if you can’t keep your nephew on a leash.”

Gawain snarled, pushing his chair back from the table, “You’re happy to say that armed, aren’t you?”

Lionel shrugged and didn't waver. Despite years of bad blood between the two men, Lionel was one of the few people Gawain could never manage to faze. Lancelot respected him for it.

“We’re in exile.” Bors said, “Surely that’s enough. We’ll never bother you again.”

“And l just go home and tell my baby brother that our family died for nothing?” Gawain was shaking, Lancelot had never seen him so unraveled. “Damn you all. I’ll see you on the field. This doesn’t end until one of us is dead, Lancelot.”

He stormed out of the room, knocking over a chair and slamming the door as he left. Lancelot knew he wouldn’t wait for anyone, would mount Gringolet and be halfway back to Camelot in a day. He would begin rallying the troops, his golden tongue wouldn’t fail him there, and by the time Arthur returned the decision would have been made.

What a farce. War was certain the moment Guinevere was put at the stake.

Arthur just sat, looking down at the table. He hadn’t flinched when Gawain stood. He was not even particularly bothered by the way the decision had been made; waves of fate just swept him this way and that. No amount of plotting could prevent providence. The waves had delivered Mordred to safety long ago.

“Arthur, are you alright?” Guinevere asked, her face softened.

“I was just thinking how long it’s been since outright war.” Arthur said, gesturing to the empty space Gawain left behind, “How last time I was only a child. Allied with your fathers, against his. Old Bors and Ban, I pray they don’t see us now.”

“Has it really come to this?” Lancelot asked. He wasn’t expecting an answer. Hector would be finished taking inventory in an hour, the letters would be sent out, alliances made, and resources collected. Lancelot would lead his men into battle and hopefully never meet Arthur’s eyes again.

“I pray I don’t see you out there.” Arthur said, thinking the same way. “I pray if we must die, it would be a stray arrow, a squire’s javelin. I’m too old and tired to fight a former friend.”

“I don’t want to fight Gawain.” Lancelot said, thinking of the sword he had left in his room. He knew Gawain was well aware of the inscription on the hilt. Based on how he was acting, he didn’t seem to care.

“I know you love him.”

“Of course I love him.” Lancelot said, “Most of us in this room love him.”

“It’s remarkable,” Bors said, leaning back, “That you should continue loving one who hates you so grievously.”

“No amount of hate could make me stop loving him.”

The streams of Logres rushed by, interrupted by the striking of hooves. A still lake’s surface rippled. Waves at Orkney’s shore beat on. Somewhere, Rome was falling. Morgause’s two remaining sons would be deputies, and war would be at France’s borders in a matter of days. For all Lancelot knew, Mordred was already preparing.

Arthur finally stood, like an old, brittle tree, he had been hollowed out, but would quietly wait for his final storm. He looked to Guinevere, she looked back at him.

“I won’t be seeing you again.” He said, “You were a good queen.”

“But not a good wife. You were a good friend.” She replied.

Arthur smiled drily. “Lancelot, you would do well to take her advice. She knows the field well. I will miss having her as counsel.”

Once upon a time, Guinevere had been raised to be a king too. It was easy to forget until her expertise was needed.

“I have preparations to make. I’ll need to fill your seats at the table.” Arthur thought out loud, before wincing. The irony of having to take his pick from the Queen’s Knights wasn’t lost on him.

He left without another word. Seems the time for courtly pleasantries is finally over.

Bors touched Lancelot’s shoulder until he looked at him, “Do you think he hates us?”

Lionel snorted, “He has every reason to.”

“He just seemed- well he’s an odd sort.”

“It doesn’t really matter.”

“He does.” Guinevere broke in. “He’s never been the type to show it.”

“Not like Gawain.” Lionel said, “He’s going to give us trouble, that witch’s son.”

“He’s not going to poison us.” Lancelot said, “He would want to fight me.”

Bors frowned, “Even though he knows-”

“It doesn’t matter to him whether he lives or dies.” Lionel’s eyes widened in realization, “Dear lord.”

Leagues away, Gawain was riding. The scar at the back of his neck ached. It might be time to retire the sword and return to his weapon of choice; take the green axe off the mantle. To hell with what it symbolized, Gawain wanted something heavy. Besides, shame and pride mean nothing to a dead man.

#arthuriana #gawain #lancelot #arthur #bors #lionel #my writing #guinevere #she is trans btw #I mixed the vulgate and le morte and other things probably sorry if thats confusing! Also some things come from my Brain #this started when I found out that its indeterminant who actually killed gareth #Also peep arthur opting for war instead of allowing gawain to do a one on one lol #you're not innocent in this old man

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underoossss · 2 years

Text

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.

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