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2021-08-18
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2021-08-29
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King Of The Fairies

Summary:

Peter really should’ve thought twice before following the mysterious woman into the woods.

Chapter 1: Spirited Away

Notes:

I had this strange lil idea just before going to bed so apologies for any mistakes. I'm still new to this fandom but love this duo so much.

Inspired by the Irish trad tune King of the fairies.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

It was only a second after he stepped into the ring of toadstools that Peter realised he’d been tricked.

Hindsight was, as they said, a wonderful thing.

Toadstools.

If he wasn’t magically frozen to the spot and had the functioning use of his limbs, Peter would have slapped himself around the head for such a rookie error. Even children knew that a ring of toadstools, especially in the context of an ancient mystical forest, could mean nothing good, and would have the common sense to stay the hell away from the fairy ring.

If he ever made it back, May was going to kill him- once for putting himself in danger, and again for his completely idiotic judgement. As she had often said, he was the dumbest genius she’d ever met.

He had broken her trust, along with every rule she’d ever set for him. Considering she was a lenient guardian whose laid-back parenting made his best friend Ned insanely jealous, it was pretty impressive to have obliterated every boundary she put up for his safety in the course of just one day.

Yeah, she was definitely going to murder him at least three times over.

He was just in the middle of calculating how many years she would ground him- currently one hundred and twenty-seven with the numerous felons he’d committed, minus six months if she remembered he’d treated her to their latest Thai take out- when his attention was snagged by the toadstools suddenly glowing an otherworldly gold in the dim evening light.

That was most certainly not good.

He cried out as the ground beneath him began to shudder, the earth caving in on itself and crumbling to dust. The world began to spin furiously, the toadstools dancing around him ritualistically and growing in size, sprouting to at least his head then towering over him in the next heartbeat.

A spine-tingling sound shuddered through the ground as the trees closed in. The unearthly notes propelled the spinning, making Peter feel nauseous. He collapsed to his knees, squeezing his eyes shut, hands plastered over his ears in a feeble attempt to block out the eerie music, blades of grass slipping through his shrinking fingers as he tried to grip onto something solid.

The last thing he saw before the world faded was the very woman who had led him here, her arms folded, looking down at him with something resembling pity.

‘W-why?’ he gritted out, clutching his head and wishing he could get pinch himself and wake up, anything to get off this insane merry- go round.

She smiled sadly, her green eyes flaring gold as magnificent wings sprouted from her slim shoulder blades.

‘I’m sorry, Peter. It was the only way.’

 

 

His vision was blurry as his eyes pried themselves open, feeling as though he’d slept for at least a thousand years. His limbs felt like very poorly set jelly, and his head hurt like a bitch.

What the hell had happened?

He was aware of motion underneath him, though the world wasn’t spinning around him anymore. He was no longer in the wood, that was certain.

Scrambling into a sitting position, he took note of his bizarre situation. He was perched on the back of a delicate lily petal, gliding smoothly through crystalline waters surrounded by sparkling blue flowers. The sky above him was a pale lilac, dotted with pastel pink clouds.

He was starting to wonder if he’d accidentally eaten one of the mushrooms when the petal shifted, alerting him to the other presence. Heart pounding, he glanced nervously over his shoulder.

The same woman was there from before, the one who had gained his trust and given him directions through the wood. He hadn’t been dreaming- her wings were fluttering gently in the soft breeze, delicate as gossamer yet streamlined and powerful.

‘You tricked me,’ he murmured, betrayal stabbing at his chest.

She looked at him in surprise.

‘I didn’t think you’d be awake yet. Though, considering who you are, maybe I should have expected it.’

His eyes narrowed as she completely ignored what he’d said. He didn’t like the way she looked at him, cataloguing every feature and movement as if she was cross-examining him, as if she could see right through him.

‘You turn this…boat…petal…whatever it is, right around now. Do you hear me? I have people who will come looking for me. You lied to me and abducted me-!’

‘I didn’t lie,’ the woman- no, fairy, and yeah, he was still getting his head round that one- said mildly. ‘I told you I could help you find the source of your village’s suffering. All the plagues, the strife, the famine, the conflict. And I did.’

‘You trapped me,’ Peter accused ‘and shrunk me, and now you’re taking me god knows where to do god knows what to me-’

‘You will not be harmed. On the contrary, I’m here to protect you. To take you home safely.’

Now he looked at her properly, he should have realised something was off from the beginning. For a start, she was impossibly beautiful. A face that wouldn’t look out of place among the statues of Greek goddesses framed by long auburn curls, she held herself with unusual grace and elegance underlined with a hint of steel.

Then there was the way she always seemed to appear whenever he needed help or answers, like a super-hot fairy godmother. He only now realised the irony. She never asked for anything in return, always slinking away into the shadows before he could thank her.

Add fairy wings into the bargain, and it was pretty clear that he had been very, very stupid.

‘So you’re telling me that the fairies are responsible for everything that’s gone wrong? The failed harvests, the famine, the disease that killed all the cattle?’

The fairy nodded.

‘But… but why? What did we ever do to you?’

The fairy’s eyes sharpened ever so slightly, her gaze returning to the river ahead.

‘It is not a case of ‘we’, young one. The fairy kingdom has long been seeking revenge for a great wrong that was bestowed upon us. Something priceless, extremely precious, was stolen that we have long sought. There are many things you do not know, many things you were kept in the dark about. I am not the one to give you the answers to your questions.’

‘But you’re taking me to someone who can?’

Another nod.

Peter was inwardly panicking. This situation was rapidly spiralling out of control, and all he wanted to do was go home to May. She could ground him for the rest of his life and blacklist him from every Thai take out known to man. MJ could tease him for the rest of his life about trusting cougars, and Ned could give him stern and solemn lectures about not getting into lily boats with strange women. He would put up with it all, as long as he could be normal again.

He eyed the river nervously.

‘Please don’t. You would only succeed in making us both late- and very wet- while I catch you, and our host doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I suggest you get some sleep. It will be a little while until we arrive home, and you’ll want to be well-rested.’

There were so many things wrong with that statement that Peter didn’t know where to start. Instead, he pursed his lips and obstinately put his arms around his knees, hugging himself to glean some small sliver of comfort. There was no way he would sleep in front of the fairy and willingly put himself in an even more vulnerable situation. He also really didn’t like the second mention of ‘home’, and didn’t want to touch that particular hornet’s nest until he had acquired the full knowledge necessary to kick it as far from him as possible.

So he sat stubbornly, silent and stone-faced, ignoring the fairy’s disapproving glances in his direction. She had essentially kidnapped him, so she didn’t have a leg to stand on in his opinion. Or a wing to fly with. Whichever analogy worked.

He was loathed to admit that she was right, and that he felt even more tired when the river finally ran its course. The petal drifted to a stop next to a carpet of buttercups and bluebells, and Peter pointedly ignored the fairy’s offered hand as she stepped onto dry land first.

As he looked up from his shoes after determinedly not slipping on the blanket of flowers, he found himself wishing he had accepted her hand, only for the support in keeping him upright. His knees, already as sturdy as unset gelatine, were threatening to go full-on Bambi on him at the sight that awaited them.

The carpet led to a dazzling throne, draped with furs and flowers beneath an enormous ash tree. Stood in front of the throne was a man, resplendent in glimmering golden robes with a majestic crown set in his dark hair. Amber wings curled behind him, flickering with tangible magic, easily three times the size of the woman’s.

He was the single most intimidating person Peter had ever seen.

Peter was grudgingly grateful when the fairy looped her arm through his, all but pulling him up the aisle towards the man. Peter felt horribly exposed under his searching gaze, and knew he couldn’t have made it on his own.

A rich scarlet cloak trailed behind the fairy as he strode towards the pair, clearly too impatient to wait for the woman to propel a dazed Peter into his arms. His dark boots thudded ominously against the flowers, crushing all in his path only for the blossoms to bloom again as good as new once he’d passed.

‘Thank you, Nat,’ the man said, his voice silky smooth and commanding infinite power, ‘my family owes you a huge debt. You will be rewarded handsomely for your efforts’

The fairy let go of Peter, kneeling before the man.

‘It is my pleasure to serve you, your majesty.’

The King hadn’t taken his eyes off Peter once, not even when he was addressing Nat. It was supremely unnerving, and Peter shivered beneath the penetrating dark brown gaze.

‘I’d hardly dared to believe,’ the King breathed with a hint of vulnerability, ‘yet with the evidence right in front of me… I can deny it no longer. You have done what no fairy has managed to do, Nat. You have returned the prince to his rightful realm. You have returned my son to me.’

Peter felt the remaining blood drain from his face.

‘I…I’m not your son. There’s been some mistake.’

‘He is very confused,’ Nat said gently, ‘perhaps it is best to break it to him slowly-’

‘Your efforts are most appreciated. Now you will leave us.’

The King spoke with a resounding finality, his strong brows furrowed.

With one last warning look at Peter, Nat bowed lowly once more before moving behind the tree and out of sight.

The King immediately marched forward, encroaching Peter’s personal space with little care. He grasped the boy’s chin, making the boy look into his eyes.

‘You have been lied to about a great many things, my son,’ the King said hoarsely, as if tears were threatening to take over ‘but that will change. Can you not see the resemblance between us?’

He used his free hand to card gently through Peter’s hair, savouring the sensation of the long-lost curls between his fingers. Peter had already inspected the man’s face in his panic, stomach sinking as he noted their identical eyes, the same jawline, similar hair and colouring. Somewhat hysterically, he realised the man was impossibly, undoubtedly, his father. There was no denying their relation. The similarity in their looks alone were uncanny, and there was a powerful bond between them that had transfixed Peter from the moment he laid eyes on the King, something strong and ancient and unbreakable, a bond stronger than any DNA test could ever hope to be.

‘Yes, Peter,’ the King smiled as he saw Peter’s eyes widen in horror, ‘I am your father. You are a fairy, and the crown prince of this realm.’

‘B-but how?’

‘I had a courtier who betrayed me. He took everything that made me happy in an attempt to destroy me. Stane stole you, took your wings, cast you out into the human world like some unwanted changeling. I never gave up looking for you, and now you are finally home.’

The King stroked down his cheekbone reverently as if he couldn’t quite believe that Peter was real.

‘You are so beautiful and strong, just like your mother. I couldn’t let her see you yet- I had to be certain, had to be sure that Nat hadn’t made a mistake. I shouldn’t have doubted her. I knew it was you at once. You could only ever be our son.’

The King wrapped his arms around Peter, pulling him into a fierce hug.

‘She will be overcome with happiness when she sees you are finally home, free of your human kidnappers. There will be feasting and merriment all evening, and then you will be crowned once more as is your right-’

‘No.’

Tugging himself free of the fairy’s surprisingly strong grip, Peter staggered back.

‘I-I’m sorry for what happened. Really, I am, but- I can’t be here. I don’t want any part of this! I just want to go home to May-’

‘That human wench?’

Anything warm in Tony’s eyes had been extinguished by cold disdain as he circled his trembling son like prey.

‘She stole you from us, your rightful parents. She has no claim to you. She is your past, Peter. You’ll never see her again-’

‘No!’ Peter cried, turning around to run back to the lily petal, ‘I don’t remember you. I don’t want any of this! I want to go home-’

With a lazy flick of his hand, the King blasted the petal into smithereens. The remains fluttered sadly by Peter’s feet as his other hand grabbed Peter’s arm in an unyielding grip.

‘You see, my son? I finally have you back, and I will stop at nothing to keep you here, where you belong. You are ours.’

‘But I don’t belong here!’

Tears spilling down his cheeks, Peter realised there was no way he was getting out of this. The King had what he wanted, and he wasn’t letting him go.

‘You are home, my son,’ the King soothed, pulling the sobbing boy into his chest and stroking his hair as if Peter was a toddler having a tantrum, ‘you just don’t realise it yet. We are flesh and blood; there is no escaping from that. Now, let us find your mother. It is time for the three of us to be reunited once more.’

Notes:

I hope you enjoyed whatever that was, comment to let me know what you thought! 💕

Come scream about Tom Holland with me on Tumblr or Twitter.

Chapter 2: Heavy is the Head

Summary:

Peter meets the Fairy Queen.

Notes:

Thank you SO much for your support on the first part! I have decided to continue this AU as people wanted to read more, I really hope you enjoy!!!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

Peter huffed as the knots unravelled for the millionth time. Making a rope from blankets wasn’t anywhere near as easy as they made it appear in books or those sappy princess movies MJ pretended not to enjoy-

MJ.

The thought of her made his stomach somersault, butterflies still alive and kicking as they had been from the moment they met. His resolve strengthened as he thought of her witty remarks, her intelligent eyes, her dark curls, the way she smiled softly at him when she thought he wasn’t looking.

He owed it to her, to Ned, to May. He owed it to all of them to get the hell out of here. His family were waiting for him.

His real family.

His sweaty fingers slipped on the silky sheets, slithering to the floor.

He swore, sweat beading on his forehead.

There was no time for mistakes. He had no idea how long he had to attempt escape. His window of opportunity might be hours, minutes, or mere seconds. Somehow, with a sinking stomach, he suspected the latter. The King and Queen- he refused to call them his parents- were overbearingly protective and seemed reluctant to let him out of their sight.

He had bided his time, behaved despite every cell in his body screaming at him to run, forcing himself to remain still as he was pawed over and petted by total strangers who thought they had a claim to him, all so he could have a few moments to himself.

He only hoped it had been worth it.

Shellshocked and numb, Peter hadn’t protested as the King led him from the throne room as soon as he’d had his fill of their forced embrace, his tears drying in shimmery snail tracks down his cheeks. His father had destroyed his only known means of escape, the ashes of the lily boat still simmering in the background. He was well and truly stuck- for now.  

It was clear that it would be pointless trying to overpower the King physically. The fairy was taller than Peter and intimidatingly strong. As soon as he’d grabbed Peter’s arm, he’d known with despairing certainty that he was powerless. He was small and thin, and what little wiry strength he had was no match for the King’s lean muscles and broad stature.

But even as he allowed himself to be propelled along and manhandled like a doll, a tiny seed of rebellion had sewn itself into the back of his brain, fanning itself into flames as anger grew deep inside him. He remembered how the King had talked about May, dismissing her as though she were an insect on the sole of his golden boots, and his fists clenched.

How dare this man kidnap him and take him away from his friends and family. Peter didn’t want parents, and certainly not ones that treated him so badly with no care for his feelings.

He didn’t dare vocalise his thoughts, however. The King had made his anger clear by taking out his revenge on Peter’s village, and Peter didn’t want to bring anymore suffering down upon innocent people. He had to be canny, lull the fairy into a false sense of security, and then bolt when it was least expected.

His restraint was severely tested by the way the servants gawped at him as he was dragged past, their eyes wide as dinner plates as they took in their long-lost Prince like he was a rare zoo exhibit. The murmurings grew louder and louder, the gossiping more than obvious, but the King didn’t seem to care. On the contrary, he basked in the attention, his face smug with satisfaction as he showed off his son to his staff like a trophy. Peter wanted to scream that the King had no right to parade him around like this, but he remained silent.

He was playing the long game.

The King pulled him along so quickly that Peter barely had time to assess his surroundings, much less scope the area for possible escape routes. They were travelling deeper and deeper into the palace, and from the shadows creeping over the carpet of flowers, Peter guessed that evening was drawing in. It had only been late morning when he’d followed Ms Romanoff- no, Nat, another person who had tricked and deceived him- into the woods. Time must work differently here in the fairy realm, sprinting like a lithe solstice hare while human time plodded on diligently.

The servants filtered away as they came to a magnificent set of heavy oak double doors, engraved with meticulous carvings. Two guards stood to attention outside, their long glimmering staffs ominous and deadly.

‘Your Majesty,’ one guard gasped as the King approached, their eyes flitting over Peter, ‘we’d heard the rumours but we didn’t think-’

‘As you can see, the rumours are true,’ the King replied smoothly, bringing Peter in front of him and placing his hands on his shoulders in what was supposed to be a comforting, fatherly gesture. To Peter, the King’s touch was like a vice, a warning not to misbehave.

The guards fell to their knees before Peter, pressing their noses to the floor.

‘It is an honour, Your Highness!’

‘My son is to receive every possible attention. He is the Crown Prince, my son and heir, and one day your sovereign. You are to protect him with your lives, and to watch him at all times. You know the consequences should you fail.’

Peter’s chest was tight, increasingly uncomfortable with the fawning guards and the way his father’s hands seemed to tighten even more on his shoulders as he spoke down to his guards, his tone cold.

‘Yes, Your Majesty.’

‘See to it that we are not disturbed until dinner is served. The servants have already been informed and are preparing a grand banquet to celebrate the Prince’s return.’

They nodded their understanding, and the King hauled Peter through the doors. Peter deliberately didn’t turn around as he heard them slam shut and lock behind him, feeling ever more like a skittish, cornered animal trapped by a predator.

He found himself standing in the most ornate bedroom he’d ever seen, and if he’d been less terrified, he would have been able to appreciate its splendour. A glorious golden canopy bed stood proudly in the centre, draped with richly embroidered sheets and velvet pillows. Gilt tapestries depicting mythical creatures covered a few doorways leading out from the main room, and peeking through the slit in the one on his right, Peter caught a glimpse of a library with bookshelves at least two storeys high.

Vines and rose trellises crept up the soft pastel walls and twisted around a huge arched window that showcased the dimly lit stars and the waxing moon as night crept closer. An opal dresser three times the size of Peter’s bedroom stood off to one side next to a lavish dressing table, strewn with perfume and flowers and priceless jewels. Peter could see in the glittering glass reflection that his face was even whiter than he’d expected.

‘Is that you, my dearest?’

There was a lyrical humming sound coming from one of the other doorways, and Peter had no time to prepare before the pearly tapestry of a unicorn was pushed aside as a woman stepped through, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of Peter.

Peter had never seen a person so beautiful, except for maybe Nat. Her porcelain skin was dotted with a few freckles like his own, and her long hair trailed like spun gold over her shoulders. Her delicate, fluttering silver wings matched the diamond crown and jewels set at her throat. A pair of large, luminous green eyes filled with tears as she took a tremulous step towards them, her magnificent midnight blue gown rustling against the floorboards.

‘Oh, Tony....’

She blinked rapidly, as if scared that Peter would disappear before her eyes.

‘It’s true, Pep,’ the King -Tony, his father, and yeah, he was never going to get used to that- said with uncharacteristic tenderness, ‘Nat found our son. She brought him home. He’s safe.’

Well that was highly debatable, Peter thought, but held his tongue as the Queen let out an almighty sob.

She rushed forward and clasped Peter to her chest, her small frame deceptively strong as she held him close. Her fingers tangled into his hair as tears trickled hot and fast through his curls. He felt a small pang of pity for her, but privately thought that he had more reason to grieve. He’d been kidnapped, taken from everything and everyone he’d ever known. Really, she had nothing to cry about.

She pulled back, cupping his face with trembling hands.

‘Peter…my baby…I missed you so much,’ she sniffed, her eyes flickering all over him, drinking him in hungrily, ‘we thought you were- that you might be…’

Her voice cracked.

‘I promised you, Pep,’ Tony soothed, placing a hand on her shoulder and one in Peter’s hair as he enveloped his family together, ‘I promised you I’d get our boy back safely.’

‘You’re so handsome,’ she breathed, stroking the dried tears from Peter’s cheekbones ‘you look just like your father.’

‘He has your looks too, Pep,’ Tony said fondly, his hand still carding through Peter’s hair, ‘he’s perfect.’

Peter tensed, wishing they would stop touching him, wishing that they would stop talking about him as if he wasn’t there.

‘Do you remember me at all, Pete?’ the Queen said softly, her eyes fixed on his.

Peter glanced at the King, unsure whether to tell the truth. But it must have shown on his face as the Queen’s expression crumpled, her mouth quivering.

‘He’s forgotten us, Tony,’ she said shakily ‘we’re complete strangers to him! He doesn’t even know his own mother!’

Peter shifted, refusing to feel guilty. None of this was his fault, and he had to remember that whatever had happened, two wrongs didn’t make a right. His parents couldn’t just kidnap him and pretend it was all okay. This woman might be his mother, but May was his family.

‘He will remember, sweetheart,’ Tony said, pressing a kiss into the Queen’s hair, ‘just give it time. There’s a lot to get used to, but everything is as it should be now. Our son is home.’

‘Who had you?’ the Queen demanded, rounding on Peter with anger and hurt flashing in her eyes as she gripped his shoulders, ‘who raised you as their own when your rightful parents were here mourning for you, when your mother cried for you every night?’

Peter took a step back, for a second even more afraid of her than he was of the King. He’d once read that hell knew no fury like a mother’s love, and perhaps there had been some truth in that. The Queen looked downright murderous at the thought of someone else raising her son, and he didn’t say a word. He’d already stupidly let May’s name slip to his father, and they’d have to kill him before he gave them anymore information.

Surprisingly, it was the King who intercepted.

‘Peace, my love,’ he placated, stepping between them, ‘we have all the time in the world. We can undo the damage, but we cannot solve everything overnight. This evening is a time for celebration as we rejoice Peter’s return.’

The Queen nodded shortly, her anger melting away as she hesitatingly stepped towards Peter again, her expression hopeful.

‘Forgive me, angel. I am not angry with you; I could never be angry with you. While I want punishment for the ones who took you from us, your wellbeing is our priority. Tell me, what is your favourite food? We will have it prepared for the banquet. It is in your honour after all.’

Peter stared dumbly. Somehow, he didn’t think they had Thai takeout on the menu.

‘I, er, anything is fine,’ he said eventually, realising it was the first thing he’d said to his mother. She didn’t seem to care about the blandness of his words though. She smiled as he spoke, taking his chin in her hands again as she examined his face.

‘The servants are making all our best delicacies, so you will be able to choose your new favourites. Our people will be overjoyed to see you safe and sound.’

‘Which reminds me,’ the King said, turning away for a second, ‘we must have you dressed for the part.’

Peter swallowed at the glistening crown that suddenly materialised in his father’s hands. It was beautiful, rubies and sapphires dancing in intricate patterns around the golden band.

‘You… you really want me to wear that?’

‘It is your birth right, son. We will have an official coronation ceremony for you as soon as possible, but you must start wearing your crown from now on.’

‘But why?’

His parents frowned.

‘I don’t understand what you mean. Is the crown not to your liking?’

‘No, no, it’s fine, but I mean… it’s a bit much. I don’t have to wear it all the time, right? I’m just a Prince, it’s not really necessary…’

He trailed off at the stony undertone in his father’s voice as he set the crown in Peter’s hair.  

‘It is absolutely vital. Both so that our people can see the rightful Prince has returned, and so that my guards can protect you. You are the most important person in this realm, Peter, and you will be treated as such.’

Peter racked his brains as his parents stared at him adoringly. This was all moving far too fast for his liking, and the heavy weight of the crown wasn’t helping.

‘I have nothing to wear,’ he blurted, ‘just these clothes.’

‘Fear not, my son. I had suitable garments prepared as soon as Nat made contact. Your room is still being prepared, but we have set up a guest room for you in the meantime.’

‘Great,’ Peter said slowly, ‘then I suppose I should go and get ready. Have to wash up for the big event, after all…’

The Queen smiled.

‘Of course, sweetheart. Your father will show you the way, and we will come and collect you when it is time for the banquet to commence.’

She gathered him in another hug before he left as if she couldn’t bear to let him go, and he inhaled her floral perfume, feeling a sickening wave of familiarity wash over him. He might not remember his parents, but the scent was reminiscent of his childhood. Nothing like MJ or May had ever worn, but he’d always shrugged it off, discarding the faint memory to the back of his mind.

Now it all made horrifying sense.

As soon as his father had locked him in and left him to his own devices in a room almost as big as his parents’ own, Peter had set to work. It was clear that the King and Queen were not planning on letting him go anytime soon, and he knew the longer he remained here, the harder it would be to escape from their possessive clutches. Ignoring the fine robes and jewels laid out across the bed, he let out a quiet exclamation of joy as he succeeded in tying the last knot. The crown lay forgotten and discarded on the floor; Peter had removed it as soon as he was sure his father was out of sight.

Throwing the makeshift rope out of the half open window, he clambered onto the sill, casting one last look over the gorgeous room they’d put together for him. A tiny bit of guilt gnawed at him, the Queen’s tears flashing through his mind, and he shoved the thoughts away angrily. He wasn’t the one doing anything wrong, and there was no time for debate.

He peered down into the darkness. It was pitch black, and he couldn’t even see how far down the rope went. He had no idea if it reached the bottom, or what would greet him if he ever got there.

It was now or never.

Taking a deep breath, he hauled himself over, gripping his legs onto the first knot-

‘And just where do you think you’re going, my son?’

Notes:

Should I continue this?

Comments make me super happy and a fairy is born every time someone leaves one💕 Thanks for reading!

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