#hallmark movie tropes

[thisapplepielife]

Written for the @steddiemas challenge.

King Steve

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

This one is also available right here on AO3.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Welcome to Wienerlicious," Steve greets.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Mr. Harrington-"

"Steve," Steve interrupts. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unless.

"How much does it pay?" Steve asks.

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

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

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

"All of it?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ew," he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's a lot to swallow.

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

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

And now he's here.

King.

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

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

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

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

Actual royalty.

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

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

He was bored.

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

It all happened so fast.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It's overkill. But nice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Royal protocol, sir."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And Steve's all alone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie looks exasperated, "No. Beheaded."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, sir," Eddie says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, Steve eats while Eddie stands by, quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, sir, that," Eddie grins. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That he understands, fully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That's really not…"

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

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

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

"Anything is fine, si-"

"Steve," Steve corrects.

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

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

Eddie is just looking down at it. 

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

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

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

On the walk back, Steve looks back at Eddie. 

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

"Yes?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And you knew the other guy?"

Eddie nods.

"Who is it? Do I know him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie shakes his head, looking sad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He's teasing, and it makes Steve smile.

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

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

"Can we go see it?" Steve asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She's teasing, but it's true.

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

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

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

"Yeah, never gonna happen, dingus."

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

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

"The movies?" Eddie questions. 

"Yeah, you know, a movie theater?"

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He smiles, and hops up next to her.

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

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

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

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

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

"You better, dingus."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We're best friends," Robin says.

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks, Eddie," Steve says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, please," Steve says. 

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

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

"Sir?" Eddie questions.

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

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

He's not.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His happiness doesn't last long. 

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

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

"Whose wedding?" Steve asks.

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

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

Steve only wants to find Eddie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sir, please," Eddie says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You're serious?" Steve snaps.

"Yes!" Eddie snaps back.

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie does, reluctantly.

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

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

He feels sick.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it's done, basically.

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

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

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

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

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

He's a free man, once again. 

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

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

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

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

Eddie grins, lowering his voice, "Me?"

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

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

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

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

He's not the King, not anymore. 

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

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

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

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

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

Wienerlicious was from the show Chuck.

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

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

[breaths-of-fresh-air-zelink]

If zelink was a Hallmark movie

[ofthemorningstars]

Things Unspoken (Part 1)

TerzOmega ~ Smut below the cut ~ Hurt/Comfort 2.4k words

Part 2 Ao3 Version Terzo is hiding something from Omega.

Omega was deep inside of Terzo when it started. Everything had been great up until that point. Terzo was lying with his face in the sheets, clutching at them for dear life. His back was in a deep arch, his ass in the air,  cock dripping onto the bed. Omega was thrusting with abandon. All was as it should have been. But when Omega had reached out to Terzo with his quintessence, when he had tried to connect their minds and souls, he was met with resistance for the very first time in two decades. Omega was dumbfounded at Terzo’s hesitation; on any other night, he would beg for this. Omega would never want to force anything on his mate, but he hadn’t anticipated the denial. For over twenty years, Omega had used his quintessence nearly every time they were together. It was almost routine. A part of their ritual. 

He slowed his thrusts. Terzo made a weak attempt to look up at Omega, not quite meeting his eyes. “N–Not tonight, amore,” was the only explanation Omega got. Omega tried not to let it get to him. He really did. He made sure they finished together as usual, and he didn’t bring it up again the rest of the night. It proved to be a great feat of self-control, not asking Terzo about what had happened. If something was wrong. They went about the rest of their nightly customs, but Omega’s mind raced as he held Terzo’s sleeping form in his arms. He had a hard time falling asleep that night. Omega found himself struggling to get through the next day. If he were being honest with himself, he felt a little stung. He prided himself on always keeping a level head, but there were only but so many reasons Terzo would reject him like this. What was he hiding from him? What didn’t he want Omega to see? After so many years, they knew everything about each other. At least, Omega had thought that they did. He heard a squeak and his head snapped up; he had been so lost in his brooding that he’d nearly walked directly into a sister carrying a towering stack of books as she rounded the corner. In her surprise, she’d lost her balance, and the tomes at the top had begun to fall. With lightning fast reflexes he caught them, returning them to the pile. “My apologies, suora, I wasn’t paying attention. Are you alright?” Omega put a hand on her shoulder unthinkingly.  

Clearly rattled, but obviously still believing herself too good to speak to a lowly ghoul, the sister turned up her nose, shook him off, and continued walking. 

Omega sighed. He was used to this. While it wasn’t expressly forbidden to interact with ghouls, many of the clergy had been conditioned to believe them to be lowly, vile creatures. Most of them wouldn't talk to ghouls outside of giving them orders. Terzo had been one of the first within the ministry walls to treat the ghouls like people. Like equals.

The elder ghouls had spoken very highly of Terzo that first night Omega had asked about him. Omega had needed to know who that strange human staring at him from across the room was. He needed to know why he felt so drawn to him.

Since Terzo was a small child, Omega was told, his birth mother had allowed him to spend much of his time in the ghoul wing, making friends with infernal beings from the pits of hell. She simply hadn’t wanted to look after him, and Terzo had been so fascinated by the ghouls… so she let him stay. Nihil had never cared enough to have an issue with it, and so it continued. Even now as Papa, Terzo made an effort to spend as much time in their wing as he could, much to the ire of the Imperator. Technically, he wasn’t doing anything wrong, other than making the ministry “look weak”. Admonishable, but not punishable. Omega often wondered how she would react if she were to find out that an Emeritus had married a ghoul. He shuddered and prayed that they would never have to find out. That night Omega returned to Terzo’s chambers after the halls were barren and quiet, like he always did. Another routine. Terzo greeted him with a smile, but there was a strange look behind his eyes. It almost seemed like… guilt. Guilt, and something else. Omega’s anxiety returned in full force. 

After closing the door behind himself, he took off his mask with a sigh of relief and pulled Terzo into a tight embrace, one which Terzo warmly returned. “Ciao amore mio. I have been waiting for you. Is everything alright?” Terzo asked, looking up from Omega’s chest to meet his gaze. Omega averted his eyes, fighting back a level of discomfort that was unprecedented in Terzo’s presence. 

“Everything's fine, tesoro.” Omega shuffled his feet; he supposed he was rather late tonight. He had been lost in thought in his own quarters. He felt bad for lying; he didn't feel fine. 

Perhaps he was subconsciously avoiding whatever he had been worried might come next. But here Terzo was, acting perfectly normal, currently kissing his way up Omega’s neck. Terzo’s tongue came out to lick a mark he’d just made. Omega softened, letting his shoulders relax. Maybe he was being silly after all. “I will run us a bath, yes?” Terzo pulled away, heading to the bathroom. Omega’s head was swimming, one half of his brain preoccupied with lust and the other with worry. He shook his head. So Terzo hadn’t wanted to connect with him. That was only one night, and besides. Terzo was allowed to say no whenever he wanted, to whatever he wanted to say no to. Why should it bother him that Terzo exercised his free will? Satanas knows how few opportunities he got to do that. What kind of beast did it make Omega if he got upset over his husband telling him no, especially about something concerning his own body and mind? 

Omega took a deep breath to steady himself.

“Will you be joining me tonight, bello?” Terzo teased from the bathroom door, having returned from starting the water. He could faintly smell the rich vanilla bubble bath that Terzo was so fond of. Omega slowly looked him over from head to toe: he wore nothing but his favorite black diamond earrings and his wedding ring. Omega swallowed hard. He would sooner be dragged back to the pit than to ever get tired of seeing Terzo naked. Omega didn’t realize how much tension he had been carrying until he sank down into the hot water. As his muscles began to relax and his eyes fell closed, he once again reassured himself that yes, everything was indeed ok. Terzo helped affirm that by climbing onto his lap and straddling his hips. Omega hummed as Terzo sucked at his chest, his nipples, leaving little bruises in his wake, kissing each one before he moved on to grace his skin with another. As his mouth made its way up to Omega’s neck, his hand began to slowly slide down his torso. Terzo grinned against Omega as he found what he was looking for: Omega was already hard from all the attention he was giving him.

Terzo pulled Omega’s face down to meet his in a searing kiss, pumping the ghoul. Omega groaned into Terzo’s mouth, his own hands traveling down to grip Terzo’s ass, rubbing and squeezing, digging into the tender flesh with his claws. 

Omega felt lightheaded. He couldn’t pinpoint if it was because of the affection he was receiving, the heat of the water, or his earlier ruminations. Reluctantly he pulled himself away from Terzo’s mouth, needing to lean his head back on the edge of the tub. Terzo returned his attention to Omega’s neck as he released his grip, choosing instead to ride up against him, their cocks rubbing together. He wanted in on the friction. Omega whined. Terzo rode Omega hard, gripping him by the shoulders now, flushed from head to toe. He seemed to be desperately turned on, dragging his tongue up Omega’s neck and face, grinding faster. Omega almost chuckled; he’d heard members of the clergy joke throughout the years about the idea of ghouls going into heat, but he’d seen enough to believe that no ghoul could ever hope to outmatch the libido of his little human mate. Fondness bloomed through his chest.

He released his grip on Terzo’s ass to catch his face with one hand for another kiss. The other reached down between them; his hand was large enough to stroke both of them together. He pumped them both until Terzo’s breath began to come heavy, his hips bucking up against Omega. Omega moaned into Terzo’s mouth before he had to break away to breathe, panting. Omega picked up the pace until Terzo groaned almost painfully before falling onto Omega’s chest, cum splattering hot between them. Omega followed immediately behind, throwing his head back and arching hard. It took a long time for them to actually get to bathing. After the initial recovery came the kisses, the nuzzling, the soft caresses and sweet nothings. The basking in the afterglow. Omega was the one who had to get them back on track, as he often did, turning Terzo around and scrubbing at his hair with shampoo, making sure to be careful of his claws. Terzo had wanted to soak in the tub for even longer, but Omega gently urged him out as the water was quickly cooling. “We can’t have you getting sick. You humans are so fragile,” he fussed. Terzo had pouted, as always, but complied. When they were dried off and ready for bed, Terzo had been about to climb under the covers still nude before Omega stopped him. 

“Mio amato, its the dead of winter, and you just got out of the bath. You really will get sick,” Omega said with genuine concern. It wasn’t like they didn’t regularly go to sleep together naked, but not usually with wet hair, and not usually in February. Not unless they were in front of the fireplace, anyway. “Amore, I just want to feel y–” Terzo had begun to whine before abruptly cutting himself off. He shifted his weight uncomfortably, panic crossing over his features before he quickly smoothed them over. “I just want to f–feel the new sheets. I just changed them. One thousand thread-count. Very nice, yes?” Omega’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. His heart sank. He knew what Terzo had been about to say. Those were the words they used to describe the bond that they shared when Omega used his quintessence. “I just want to feel you.” The same way that he hadn’t wanted to feel him yesterday. The way that, Omega was now realizing, he hadn’t asked to feel him tonight. All of Omega’s worries from earlier in the day came flooding back. His heart was racing, but he was determined not to let it show. If Terzo wouldn’t tell him, he wasn’t going to pry. Silent, he dug a pair of Terzo’s good silk pajamas out of the wardrobe and set them on the bed before getting dressed himself. 

As they lay there, Terzo’s head was on Omega's chest, but Terzo was uncharacteristically quiet. Omega’s mind began to race faster than his heart had earlier. He didn’t sleep well that night. 

The next two nights were much the same,

Terzo overcompensating with chatter and sex. Omega knew him well enough to know with near certainty that he wasn’t being honest. Terzo was definitely hiding something. He didn’t know what to do about it. If that something had turned out to really be a “someone”… He spent a lot of his waking time fantasizing about exactly how he’d handle that problem. While that served as a nice distraction, he knew that it would also mean the end of their marriage. Please, he would pray to no one in particular. Please don’t let that be it.  On the third night, Omega didn’t cuddle with Terzo when they went to bed. His heart broke to leave him all alone, to reject him, but he just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t lie to Terzo with his body and pretend that everything was ok when it wasn’t. It wasn’t who he was. It wasn’t who he thought Terzo was, either. He felt guilty about even having agreed to sex, but he had gotten carried away. If he couldn’t get the emotional intimacy he was craving, he would settle for physical intimacy. At least, he thought he could, but now he felt even more hollow than before. So, he turned his back to Terzo and pretended to be asleep.

He didn’t sleep, though. Instead, he had one of the longest nights of his life, thinking of all of the ways his relationship might be about to come crashing down around him. He left in the morning before Terzo woke up.

Everyone was treating him funny the next day. They refused to look at Omega, giving him a wide berth. It couldn't be the dark circles under his eyes. No, those were hidden behind his mask. He didn’t look any different outwardly. He had made sure that not a hair was out of place before he reported for duty. No, it was that the other ghouls could feel the distress and frustration rolling off of him in waves. He couldn’t shield it from them no matter how hard he tried. When Air had come up to him after an exceptionally messy practice and snarkily asked, “Trouble in paradise?” Omega had snarled at him, ripping his guitar off wordlessly and storming back to his own quarters.

As he lay there unable to tell if he wanted to rage or to cry, he decided that he wasn’t going back to Terzo’s tonight. He turned off his phone and locked his door. He couldn’t handle another evening of deceit, and if things were about to end… No, he simply couldn’t face that. He didn’t have the strength. Maybe he could just run forever. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to hear Terzo say things that he could never unhear. When sleep eventually found him, he was greeted by some of the worst dreams of his life.

[stevesjockstrap]

Cold Beginnings

@steddiemas day 12: Hallmark movie tropes

Rated: M to be safe | cw: alcohol | tags: modern au

Swinging his guitar case onto his shoulder, he grabbed the last of his belongings from the car and prepared himself to walk up the steep hill to the cabin again. This part hadn’t been on the fucking website. But it was beautiful, he had to begrudgingly admit. This writing retreat was desperately needed. The record agency wouldn’t wait any longer for a new album.

Hours later as the sun was starting to set, he looked up from his notebook when he heard the distinctive beep beep of a car locking. Eddie frowned. One of the selling points of this cabin was that there were no other houses around for miles. No way should there be anyone close enough to hear.

He went to the front window but he couldn't even see where his car was parked, let alone anyone else’s. It had been snowing steadily since before he arrived and now there was a thick coat on everything in the woods around him. All of his earlier footprints had been covered over quickly.

After a few more moments of looking outside, he shrugged and went back to working. Maybe he was imagining things. His brain was probably playing tricks on him since he’d never been somewhere so eerily quiet before.

A couple strings of lines jotted down later, he went to the kitchen to throw something together for dinner. He screamed as the back door opened and a blast of snowy wind circled him. Then an echoing scream made him scream again. Big brown eyes stared at him. He took in the red cheeks dotted with freckles and the long eyelashes with snowflakes sticking to them.

“What the fuck?”

“Who are you?”

Eddie stormed over to the stranger, who put his hands up in front of him placatingly, but Eddie scoffed and instead pushed the door shut behind him.

“What, were you born in a barn? And you’re dripping all over the floor,” he admonished.

The stranger blinked at him. “I’m… sorry?” He shook his head quickly before frowning at him. “Why are you here?”

“I’m staying here. Why are you here?” Eddie leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, sizing up this intruder. He knew he looked intimidating with the tattoos and long hair and dark clothes. This guy didn’t seem very rugged. He was wearing a puffer coat for Christ’s sake.

He pulled in a long breath before excitedly saying, “I’m renting this place this week! Get away from the big city, right?”

Eddie’s eyebrows shot up. That had been one of the bullet points on the website. “Uh huh,” he deadpanned. “Well you must have your weeks confused, buddy. Because I’m renting this place this week.”

“No, I don’t think I do. I’ve had this scheduled for months. Maybe you have your dates wrong.”

Eddie smirked at him, sizing him up again. Maybe he did have some fight in him after all. “I talked to the owner yesterday, man. So maybe you’re at the wrong place or something.”

He grumbled as the man set down his duffle bag and pulled his cell phone from his back pocket. “There’s no service here, dickbag. Or WiFi. So that’s not going to help. Why don’t you just-“

“I took a screenshot, dickbag. And yeah, I know that. It was why I picked it, actually. No contact. Here,” he held the phone up for him to see. “Confirmed. One week, December third through the ninth. See the little picture of the cabin?”

Eddie almost took the phone from him in shock, but growled instead and threw his hands up. “Well that’s just great. Let me find all my shit and I’ll get out of here.”

“You can’t!” The man nearly shrieked.

“Now you’re telling me what I can and can’t do?” He said through clenched teeth. This idiot was already grating on his frayed nerves.

“Um. No. But, look, okay?” He pointed out the big window over the sink. Outside it was now basically blizzarding and the sun had fully set. “I barely made it here. Thankfully the girl at the car rental place convinced me I needed four wheel drive. The road up here hasn’t been touched and it’s- it’s like, really really bad. That’s why I’m so late. It took me hours to get here from the city. Now that it’s dark it’d be even worse. We’ll just have to-“

“I’m not staying here with you,” he hissed.

The man took a step back but looked at him determinedly. “It’ll be fine. I’ll take the couch. I’ll stay out of your hair. Maybe the weather will get better and tomorrow we can take my truck somewhere we can get service,” he shrugged when Eddie just continued glaring at him.

“That’s very noble of you…?” He raised an eyebrow at him.

“Steve.” He straightened up and actually pulled the glove off his right hand to stick it out for a handshake.

Eddie chuckled and shook it, squeezing hard enough that he watched with satisfaction as Steve’s jaw clenched. “Eddie.” He dropped his hand and sighed, the bag on the floor catching his attention. “This is all you brought?”

Steve looked down at the duffle and nodded. He only had that and a book bag on his back. “Yeah, didn’t figure I needed much.”

“Alright.” He scrubbed his hands over his face with another sigh. This was actually happening. Fuck his life. “What’s your stance on frozen pizza?”

Steve had stayed out of his way and had slept on the couch. But Eddie was still distracted by him. He had a pile of papers at the dining room table that he was reading over and would make little concerned noises or huff a laugh or sigh.

Rereading the words in the notebook in front of him, he was surprised that they were about big brown eyes and full lips (a helpful ‘dat ass’ scribbled in the margin). He closed it with his own sigh, throwing it on the coffee table and walking over to look out the front window.

Outside, it was still snowing. They’d found a radio in the kitchen last night and the weather report for the next few days wasn’t hopeful. It made the hair stand up on the back of his neck, staying here intentionally alone to get work done was a different vibe than being trapped here with a stranger, even an annoyingly attractive stranger. He wanted to get in his car and take off. Grumbling to himself, he yanked his hair off his neck and up into a bun. All this anxious oppressive energy was making him even grumpier than usual.

Grabbing his notebook and guitar, he stomped up the stairs. Ignoring the head tilt Steve sent him from the table.

Hours later, he had some pieces of a melody and a chorus. Only a million more pieces to go. But he had neglected eating and drinking and he was feeling rough.

He couldn’t hear Steve but he obviously knew he was still around. A part of him wanted to hide out upstairs for the next five days. But his stomach squeezed again and he sighed. He was not the type who could survive a hunger strike.

“Hey, I like your hair like that. And the guitar sounded good.”

Eddie bristled. He looked at the clock on the wall, wondering if it was an acceptable time to drink yet. Fuck it.

“You want a beer?” He grunted as he ducked into the fridge.

“So there’s you, Gareth and Jeff? What’s the other guy’s name again?”

“No one knows,” he said mysteriously. He found himself trying not to smile, actually enjoying messing with Steve after a handful of beers and some swigs of the bottle of Jack he’d miraculously found in a cupboard.

Steve blinked. “You’ve been in a band with this guy since high school and you don’t know his name?”

He shrugged, chuckling darkly and took another swig from the bottle. Steve shook his head. “You’re insufferable.”

“That, Steve, everyone does know,” he said in a conspiratorial whisper, before throwing his head back and laughing. He settled himself further into the couch.

“Somehow it works for you, though,” he shot a sideways grin at him while taking a sip from his beer. He’d only had two, and waved Eddie away when he’d offered the bottle. But it appeared that he was a lightweight. His cheeks had turned red instantly and his eyes seemed glazed. Eddie had insisted he eat more of the pasta and garlic bread he’d thrown together.

“Oh? Because I’ve been so very pleasant to you during this hostage situation, huh?”

“Could be worse,” he shrugged. “It’s been kind of fun. And you’re not as grouchy as you try to be, you know? I like you better when you’re being the real you.”

Eddie choked on the alcohol he had been about to swallow. As he tried not to throw up everywhere, a hand on his chest was pushing him back, straightening him up and he found he could breathe better.

“Fuck. Thanks,” he gasped as he leaned back and took some deep breaths.

Steve watched him intently like he was making sure he was going to keep breathing. He found himself liking this different attention, not having to put on the show or theatrics he always felt like he had to pull around everyone else.

He also realized Steve had moved closer and stayed, his hand hovering even closer between them in case he needed help again. It almost made him want to start choking again. They just sat there for some time, looking at each other until Eddie’s breaths evened out and then it seemed awkward for him to say anything. He memorized the moles and freckles dotted across his face and neck.

When he traced the shape of Steve’s lips with his eyes, he watched them part in a gasp. When he looked up into his eyes again, the full bottom lip was pulled in and bit into and a small noise escaped Eddie. Steve’s eyes dropped down to his lips and something snapped in him.

“Get over here,” Eddie growled, unable to wait another second.

They met in a heated collision of lips and teeth. He cupped his jaw with both hands and held on, keeping him where he wanted as he deepened the kiss. Steve pushed against it a bit, which Eddie found he liked. He allowed him to angle their heads and he gasped as teeth found his bottom lip. He was surprised when a warm tongue caressed over the bitten lip, taking away the sting. Sassy then sweet. Heat pooled in his belly and he wrapped an arm around Steve’s lower back, pulling him closer.

He groaned as suddenly his lap was full of Steve. He brought his hands to his hips to slide him even closer then gave into his desperate desire to grab handfuls of his ass.

Steve pulled away to breathe and he slid his lips across the pair of infuriatingly attractive moles on his neck. Scraping his teeth across his skin and reveling in the little needy noses Steve was making, his own embarrassing noise punched out of him when he was pushed back, not very gently.

“Ed- Eddie,” Steve panted from above him. His eyes were even more glazed over and his lips were red and wet and Eddie started leaning in again. He hadn’t even gotten to bite them. Steve pushed on his chest again, pulling him out of his stupor.

“Yeah? You okay?” He moved his hands off his backside and cupped his face again.

“Yeah,” he huffed a laugh. “Definitely okay. But I’m realizing I’m more drunk than I thought. Uh, more drunk than I’d like to be, to continue this.”

Eddie nodded quickly. “Sure. Of course. Got a little carried away, I think.”

“I definitely did,” Steve laughed. Looking down, maybe just realizing he was still in his lap, he blushed and Eddie helped him maneuver to sit next to him. “But I don’t want you to run away. I dunno, can we just keep talking?”

He pulled him close again, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. “Not going anywhere. Even if I could.” They stared into each other's eyes for a moment. “Hey, you wanna hear the song I’m writing about you?”

“Oh,” Steve covered his shocked face quickly with a shy smile. “Y-yeah. That’d be amazing.”

Eddie grinned at him, running to go grab his stuff.

He decided on the stairs that this week was going to be a good one.

[mr-i-miss-my-wife]

[guinevereslancelot]

au where clark kent never becomes superman and just takes over the family farm instead and decides to grow christmas trees. enter lois lane, successful, career driven woman from metropolis who doesn't have time for romance or the holiday etc. she's sent to smallville to investigate the strange reports of whatever not subtle thing clark did to help someone with his superpowers. she pulls up in chamring, snow dusted smallville, takes one step out of her fancy car while on the phone and instantly slips on the icy sidewalk and is obviously caught by sweet, flannel-wearing, seemingly normal christmas tree farmer, clark kent. standard hallmark christmas movie plot ensues only clark is still an alien with superpowers

[firstelevens]

last line challenge

tagged by @ankahikoibaat

rules: in a new post, share the last line you wrote and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like).

Becca was right. Rosie is curled up on the sofa, and Sam finds Bucky sprawled out there, too, his arm tucked securely around her as she sleeps with her head against his chest. Slack in the grip of Bucky’s left hand is A Wrinkle in Time, which Sam rescues before it falls to the floor. Bucky doesn’t stir at all as it happens, the seemingly permanent frown lines on his face resolved into something softer in sleep.

no-pressure tagging @sesamestreep @philtstone @thatmexisaurusrex @abarbaricyalp

[can-of-pringles]

Hallmark Christmas movies... feel like fanfic situations but with worse writing

[shadowbannedthehedgehog]

no hate no negativity to each his own but it's absolutely lost on me how people will earnestly be grabbed by the most basic played out since time immemorial tropes while im here like yeah yeah we know trope is going to happen can we focus on the action of the plot and what happens to set up the situation for the trope to occur please

[whoslaurapalmer]

I think there is a hilarious untapped horror potential in the fact that hallmark reuses a lot of the same actors in their mystery/romance/christmas movies. think of that fucking time loop. I have no real concrete thoughts here I just giggle every time I think about it

[pearonpizza]

A Christmas movie where instead of needing to work on a Christmas Ad campaign that in reality would have been done by October, a business woman is just too busy finalizing the Valentines Day campaign, working on the Saint Patrick’s Day campaign, and organizing the Easter campaign to worry about her family and the spirit of Christmas

[spnscripthunt-inactive]

Anyone interested in some Hallmark Christmas movie scripts?

→ https://rickgarman.com/projects/tv-movies/

→ https://www.topherpayne.com/rome-in-love-hallmark

[apleiphone2]

feeling like an underpaid, hardworking, short overall wearing (or maybe an apron instead), cafe waitress with her hair tied up, saving every penny she earns for a dream she'll 'never' achieve becasue its just way too far fetched whose doubted by everybody but keeps on persisting anyway

[talldecafcappuccino]

It’s time. Time to watch the quintessential holiday Hallmark classic: A December Bride.

[sirlucina]

every romance book i see that claims to be a deconstruction of cheesy hallmark movies is like “this book is not like hallmark movies! it does [thing that hallmark movies started doing 5 years ago]!” like its ok to say you havent seen a hallmark movie and everything you know is based on memes