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sunnyville36 · 3 years ago

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Mamihlapinatapai {part 2}

Thank you all so sooo much for the kind feedback on part 1! Part 2 is coming at you now! 💜

Need to catch up? {overview} {part 1}

Pairing: Bang Chan x Female Reader

Themes: royal au, medieval au, court intrigue, arranged marriage, original characters, mutual pining, slow burn

Warnings: injuries, mentions of death/war/murder, emotionally abusive parents

Rating: Mature

Word count: 4.5k

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Mamihlapinatapai - (noun, Yagán origin) a silent acknowledgement and understanding between two people, who are both wishing or thinking the same thing (and are both unwilling to initiate)

A Summer’s Ball | Kingdom of Gu, present day

The next few days were just as tumultuous as the first, Chan and Korenna slowly progressing from treating each other with complete silence, to short-lived bickering, to finally being able to hold a civil conversation for at least a few minutes. You escorted them to more ceremony preparation meetings, then to councils with the foreign affairs ministers, the historians, the priests, each one stressing how this union would be a stepping stone in your two kingdoms’ relations and they should think of it as a huge honor. You couldn’t help but feel sorry for the both of them, being reminded over and over how their lives were simply a means to an end, to be controlled at the whim of their fathers’ aspirations.

A turning point finally came when the three of you visited the city surrounding the palace grounds, the prince refusing to miss his weekly visit to the village market. Chan loved to interact with his people, to support their businesses, to hear their grievances, to show he cared. You followed behind the two of them as you walked through the plaza lined with stalls, Chan waving to each of the merchants, Korenna watching him with a mix of reservation and admiration.

“Your people seem to be thriving. I wish I could say the same about our villages.”

You eyed Chan, knew he was forcing himself to hold back a biting remark, likely about how if Lajor’s people were currently suffering, it was the monarchy’s fault. He finally came up with a question, trying his best to keep the conversation going.

“Have you brought up your concerns to your father?”

“I’ve tried, but he doesn’t want to listen to anything I have to say. All he cares about is what he thinks is right, no matter who suffers for it.”

Chan nodded solemnly, “I can understand that.”

Korenna gave him a somber look and appeared to have something more she wanted to say, but was promptly dragged off by a small child wanting to show her his father’s bakery stall.

You nudged Chan’s arm. “See, she’s not so bad, Your Highness. If you give her a chance.”

He started in the direction of the princess, turning to walk backwards and smile at you with his arms out in a lighthearted shrug, “If you say so.”

***

That evening the king was hosting a ball, to celebrate the engagement of the prince. You’d helped Chan dress, his midnight blue velvet ensemble and dark hair set off against the silver crown he wore making him look more like a deity of the moon than an earthly prince. Then you had gone to assist Korenna. You couldn’t deny how beautiful she looked as you watched her from across the room, her champagne colored gown and perfectly curled blonde hair standing out against the relatively muted colors worn by the other attendees. She was standing away from Chan, talking amongst a group of noblemen’s wives and other high powered ladies, but her eyes never strayed far from his back as he talked with Minho and some other knights around a wooden table in the corner.

“You look quite stunning tonight, Y/n. Purple is definitely your color,” came a deep voice on your left, and you turned to see Prince Felix approaching you, his small frame clothed in a breathtaking deep red suit. The younger brother of Prince Minho, Felix had the sunniest personality of anyone you’d ever met, quite contrasting to his voice but in perfect harmony with the bright smile he flashed as he reached your side. It had been several months since you’d last seen him, his studies as apprentice to your kingdom’s Chief Healer taking him to the academy in the highlands far away from the city.

“Prince Felix!” you exclaimed, arms reaching to pull him into a quick hug. “I could say the same for you; that red suits you perfectly, Your Grace.”

Felix laughed, releasing you from his hold. You and he had been close friends since childhood, ever since, at the age of 5, he’d stepped on the hem of your skirt and you’d pushed him into a mud puddle, causing guards to rush over and attempt to have you arrested. His mother and the queen had stepped in, calming the guards as you remorsefully reached out your hand to help him up only to be pulled down into the mud next to him, the both of you dissolving into fits of laughter.

“I’ve missed the city. And it seems the city has missed me for all the excitement it’s spun up in my absence.” His eyes followed your gaze to where Korenna had made her way over to Chan, and watched as she led him out to the quiet balcony overlooking the gardens. “How are you taking all of this?”

“I’m fine, Your Grace. What reason would I have not to celebrate such a momentous occasion?”

Felix fixed you with a knowing look, but dropped the subject, content to stand with you at the edge of the dance floor.

“Y/n, I thought I told you not to let Christopher and the princess out of your sight,” came King Bang’s voice from behind you. “The last thing we need is for them to get into one of their verbal sparring matches with the whole court present.”

You turned, lowering your head to the king. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

You left Felix next to the king, his expression turned to one of distaste at his new company, and walked quietly out onto the balcony where the couple was talking.

They were standing closer together than you had ever seen them, leaning forward against the railing’s edge. They seemed to be deep in conversation, Korenna actually reaching her hand up to place it on Chan’s back. It didn’t feel right watching them without their knowledge, so you cleared your throat loudly, causing both their heads to snap up. Chan looked slightly embarrassed, his head tilting forward, but Korenna’s expression was almost unreadable. She stood staring at you for a few seconds, then pursed her lips, nodded her head to Chan, and walked back into the main ballroom as you approached him.

“I apologize, Your Highness, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Trust me, Y/n, you didn’t,” came Chan’s tired reply. You wanted to know if she had upset him, to know how you could comfort him.

“What were you discussing?”

A soft song started to make its way out from the half-open door. Chan looked up at you, completely ignoring your question.

“Dance with me?”

Several seconds went by in silence. He reached out his hand, eyes imploring you to say something, to say yes.

This was dangerous. You couldn’t think of a worse position to be caught in, dancing with a betrothed man far above your stature. But you also couldn’t think of a way to say no to him.

You took his hand and he pulled you flush against him immediately. You tried to resist the urge to place your head on his chest, but the feeling of being in his arms was too much, made you feel so safe. So you laid your cheek there and felt a low hum come up through his chest. It was quiet for a while, the two of you simply swaying back and forth, not doing any particular dance. You felt his head rise from where it had been resting on top of your head.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful, but you look gorgeous tonight Y/n.”

“You told me that earlier, Your Highness.”

“I know. I wanted to tell you again.”

Then he placed his head back down and you continued to spin in slow circles until the song ended. He brought your movements to a stop, taking your hand and kissing the top of it as he leaned forward in an exaggerated bow, “Thank you for the dance, my lady.”

You looked at him with a small smile. “You’re welcome, Your Highness.”

He returned your smile, turned, and walked back towards the party. You felt your chest tighten, feeling a little too much like your dance had been his way of saying goodbye.

Thinly Veiled Threats | Kingdom of Gu, 6 years ago

“Watch out!”

You turned towards the direction of the voice just in time to see Chan break through the wooden fence in front of you, thrown off his horse by the force of the lance he just took to the chest.

The prince had just turned seventeen, which made him eligible to compete in the annual Four Kingdom Competition, where knights, lords, and even royalty from the continent’s four greatest kingdoms met to determine who among them would be crowned victor in a series of strength tests. His father had of course insisted he enter on his first eligible year, which had led to the activity you were currently engaged in, training a boy who was used to classrooms, libraries, and diplomacy lessons the intricacies of hand to hand combat. The tasks ranged from archery to sword fighting, wrestling to jousting, and while Chan knew his way around a broadsword and shield, it was clear that the latter of those was not going to be Chan’s strong suit.

You walked calmly towards where he sat on the ground, knowing he would only be more embarrassed by any attempts to rush to his aide. He was sitting up, so you could tell he wasn’t badly injured, but his right hand still stretched across his abdomen to clutch at his left side. He’d been hit there at least three times now, and if you had to guess, what was once a bad bruise was more likely a patch of broken skin at this point.

Voices floated around you as you pushed your way through the small crowd that had gathered around him, many asking the prince if he was alright or giving unsolicited advice on how to avoid the outcome he seemed to be cursed with. You picked up on the voice of a squire, one who served the boy who had knocked Chan down most recently, as he nudged the side of the older boy’s arm.

“You could have gone a little easier on him, you know. His mother just died.”

Great. Just what you needed; a physically and emotionally wounded Chan.

“Alright, give him some room everyone. His Highness is fine; go back to your own practicing.” You shooed away the stragglers and knelt so Chan could wrap his free arm around your neck, hoisting him up and slowly making your way to the infirmary tent. Leaning him against the side of a cot, you reached for the clean cloth and distilled vodka; this was going to hurt like a bitch, but Chan could take it.

“You’re pulling back too much and too early, it leaves your side vulnerable,” you said, carefully easing off his ripped tunic so you could tend to his wound.

He stayed silent for a few moments, fingers gripping harshly against your shoulder as you cleaned the cut and wrapped a bandage around his midsection.

“I…,” he trailed off, seeming to struggle to find the words he was looking for. “I’m a coward. I’m a failure and a coward and everyone knew it except me, until just now.”

His words knocked the wind out of you. You knew he was ashamed (entirely unnecessarily) when he couldn’t hold back the tears at his mother’s funeral while his father maintained his perfectly stoic expression (that heartless bastard), knew he was self-conscious about his fighting abilities, but you’d never heard him express that insecurity so directly before.

“Your Highness,” you spoke softly but forcefully, hands cupping his face to make him look you in the eye, “you are one of the bravest men I know. You have one of the hardest burdens a person can bear on your shoulders, have had it since you were born, and you carry it with grace and dignity and compassion. You inspire me and countless others every day with your strength and generosity. You are not a coward.”

He looked back at you, and suddenly you felt yourself being engulfed in his embrace, his legs parting to pull you close to him. He wrapped his arms tightly around your chest, his head pressing into the crook of your neck. Slowly you brought your hands up and began to rub small circles on his bare back. This was the most emotion he’d shown since that night you stood beside his mother’s bed, watching as he held her hand and whispered all the things he wanted to tell her one last time. You were a little overwhelmed, but mostly happy, happy that maybe he was feeling again. Eventually you heard his quiet voice next to your ear, “Thank you, Y/n.”

Then he released you from his hold, donned his shirt, and walked back to the jousting pitch. You watched him go, until a deliberate cough came from behind you, shattering your reverie.

“I suppose he’s lucky to have you.” The words spilled from the king’s mouth, his signature gravelly voice seeming to chase all other sound from the tent.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, I hadn’t noticed you were here,” you spoke, bending into a curtsey.

“It seems it is quite easy for the two of you not to notice others when you think you are alone.”

You blinked, unsure of where the king was going with his remarks. He sidled up to you, close enough you could hear him at a whisper.

“I may have owed your family a debt, but that has been repaid ten-fold. I know my son, know he would never be led astray of his responsibilities unless you gave credence to those thoughts in his head, fed his intimate physical desires. So do not delude yourself into thinking you can take him from me, little servant girl. And if he ever does come to me, asking me to set aside our laws, our traditions, so he can marry you, I’ll know what you have done, and you will never see the light of day again. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Satisfied with your response, he left you there, his words staining your mind like the bloody cloth you clutched in your hands.

The Hunt | Kingdom of Gu, present day

How he managed to get his father to agree to this you had no idea. But Chan always was very convincing when he needed to be.

You were preparing for a day’s long hunt. In all honesty it was an excellent idea; it would give Chan space to be himself after having been shut inside the palace for two weeks, preparing for his impending nuptials. Normally this was one of your favorite activities to do with Chan and the knights; getting to ride, to spend time in the woods, maybe use your bow. But the one condition of the king’s agreement had been that Korenna was going too.

She’d been different with you, with everyone really, since that night on the balcony, avoiding attempts to make small talk and speaking harshly when she made requests. You didn’t want your relationship with her to turn sour, seeing as you’d soon be serving her for the rest of her life (and yours), so you held your tongue and pressed on with your duties.

Chan’s black courser and your chestnut palfrey were saddled, and you were in the midst of preparing a well-tempered white mare for the princess.

“Good morning, Y/n.”

You looked up, seeing the dark head of hair and upside down smirk belonging to Prince Minho smiling down at you as he leaned over your kneeling frame. “Good morning, Your Grace.”

You were not as close to Minho as you were to Felix, but you had always gotten along well, your similar sense of humor and affinity for archery solidifying your friendship.

He offered his hand to pull you up, which you accepted. “I’m glad you will be joining us on this outing, Y/n. I’m not sure I could handle Chan and Korenna on my own, even with 5 other knights to accompany me.”

You hummed in agreement, finishing attaching the bridle around the mare’s head. “I’m not sure you could either, Your Grace.”

Minho let out his signature high pitched laugh as the rest of your party approached, and the two of you maneuvered to the front of the pack as you set off towards the nearby woods. You all rode in silence for a while, riding not typically being an activity that required much talking, until you heard Korenna speak from her position next to Chan in the middle of your group.

“So, who is the best at the strength tasks of the Four Kingdom Competition?”

A strange question to ask so out of the blue, but you supposed it was somewhat relevant to the situation at hand.

“His Highness is an excellent swordsman,” you replied, looking back slightly in their direction.

“Sir Jeongin has given us all a run for our money in the wrestling ring,” you heard a voice from the back say. He must be one of the other knights in your party.

Chan replied next, “Minho is a skilled horseman, beats me in the joust nearly every time.”

Minho’s eyebrows rose up at that, smirking as he rounded out the answers, “And Y/n here is an expert marksman. She’s the best I’ve ever seen with a bow.”

You thanked him mentally, hoping he could read it in the look on your face. You weren’t about to boast about your own talents to the princess, but it was nice to know that she was now aware you weren’t just some lovesick girl who followed the prince around, that you actually took your responsibilities seriously.

“Really? And who taught you about archery, Y/n?” You thought you heard a touch of menace in her normally high pitched voice, but brushed it off.

“I’ve had many teachers, Your Grace, but the first was my father.”

“How very… non-traditional. Where is your father now? I’d love to meet him.”

You saw Chan and Minho tense in their saddles, well aware of what your answer would be.

“He died, Your Grace.”

“Oh,” said Korenna, her voice noticeably softer now, “I apologize for bringing up a sore subject.”

“It’s alright, Your Grace,” you replied. “It was a long time ago. You couldn’t have known.”

An uncomfortable silence fell on the group then, but luckily your first planned stop was not far ahead. A small grove of trees surrounding a clearing was where you usually began the hunt, splitting off in different directions and meeting back there before sundown. But because you had the princess with you today, it was a more laid back affair, and you’d planned to have a picnic of sorts before you continued in earnest.

Everyone set about unpacking the sacks that carried your meal for the day. You uncorked your canteen, taking a sip before heaving an exasperated sigh.

You’d forgotten to bring extra water for the horses.

You called over to Chan, where he stood spreading out a blanket for Korenna to sit on.

“Your Highness, I’m going to the creek to get water for the horses.”

Chan looked up and you could see the smile on his face from where you stood across the grove. “I’ll go with you!” he said happily, only to have his arm tugged back by the princess next to him.

“You are not a servant, Chan. I’m sure Y/n can go by herself.”

Your loud conversation had caught the attention of the rest of the group, who were all looking over at you in interest. You were surprised by her bluntness, but she did have a point. “Her Grace is right, I don’t need you to accompany me, Your Highness. I simply wanted to tell you where I was going.”

Chan gave a side glare at Korenna, but agreed. “Fine, but you shouldn’t go alone. Sir Jeongin - “

A tall boy, clad in the red, black, and gold uniform of your knights, walked over to the prince. He was no more than eighteen, must have only just taken his oath. You remembered his name from the earlier conversation about the strength tests, impressed he was making a name for himself so early.

“ - please accompany Y/n to the stream to fetch water for the horses.”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

So the two of you set off, leaving the rest to their meals. You didn’t really need a knight for protection, but your heart warmed at the gesture of Chan not wanting you to go alone. You arrived at the bank of the creek and began filling some extra pouches you had brought with water.

“It’s so much quieter here,” Jeongin commented absentmindedly.

Despite the sound of the water running, you agreed it did seem calmer here than in the grove you came from. As you knelt by the edge of the stream, you noticed large patches of grass surrounding some nearby trees had been pressed down. Curious, you walked over to the area, observing the singed ground and muddy boot prints on the rocks, telltale signs of human presence. You hadn’t run into anyone else on your walk over, but maybe there were some others out riding today. Raising your head, you called to your companion, “Sir Jeongin! Were there any other hunting parties out today?”

“Not that I know of, Miss,” Jeongin replied, his expression revealing he was rather confused by your question.

You looked around again, and that was when you noticed the torn piece of blue fabric latched to a jagged branch on a nearby tree. Your blood ran cold and you grabbed Jeongin’s arm, breaking into a run.

“We need to get back to them. Now.”

You’d made it about half way back to the grove when you heard a scream, you and Jeongin sprinting to reach the clearing. But when you arrived, the scene was entirely not what you expected.

Your mind had immediately gone to the Lajorans when you spotted that piece of cloth on the tree. But here you stood, watching men clad in your own colors raise their swords to clash with the group of knights who’d accompanied you and the royals. Your eyes frantically searched among the chaos, looking for Chan, but before you could spot him you noticed Korenna, hiding alone behind a large rock at the edge of the treeline. You pulled Jeongin back behind a tree, gesturing in her direction.

“Do you see the princess over there? You’re going to grab her, get on a horse, and ride back to the palace now.”

Jeongin was looking at you with wide, scared eyes; his mouth was open, not making a sound.

You shook his shoulder. “Sir Jeongin, do you understand me? Do not look back at us, just take the princess and get her to safety. I need you to do this.”

Your words seemed to finally reach him, and he set his mouth in a straight line. “Yes, I can do that.”

“Good. Go. And don’t look back.”

He left your spot behind the tree and you turned back to the action in the grove, still trying to find the prince. Finally your eyes landed on two men standing back to back, swords flying as they blocked the attack of about 6 different men.

Chan and Minho.

You started towards them, reaching for your own sword, when you spotted someone perched in a tree right outside the circle of men. The attackers started to pull back from around the two princes, and you could see exactly who the archer had in his line of sight.

You screamed his name, sprinting to cross the clearing and threw your body in front of him, arms outstretched.

You felt a sharp pain in your left shoulder as you fell against Chan’s chest, his arms coming up to catch you.

“Y/n! Y/n!”

Trumpets were blaring from the direction of the castle as Minho dragged Chan back, still desperately clutching you in his arms. The attackers were dispersing and you heard the sound of a voice saying “Chris”; it took a moment for you to realize it was your own.

“I’m here, Y/n, I’m here. Just hold on please. You’re going to be okay, just please hold on.”

The last thing you saw were his eyes as your vision went black.

Of Flower Buds and Roots | Kingdom of Gu, 16 years ago

“Mother, when will they be here?”

You were standing in the open-air courtyard at the front of the palace, your mother’s hands on your shoulders. The two of you had moved to the palace a few years ago, when your mother had gotten a job as a servant there after the war ended. Today, you were told, would be the day you were to start your position there, as personal attendant to the young crown prince.

“I’m sure soon darling. Remember we never rush royalty.”

As you waited, your eye was caught by a small boy standing with a large scary looking man. He looked to be about your age and was holding a tiny bouquet of wildflowers in his hand. The man seemed to be trying to take them away, but the boy clutched them to his chest. A woman who you thought you’d seen before approached them, glaring at the man, who backed away from the boy as she took his hand. Then, they started walking towards you.

Your mother tightened her grip on your shoulders, bending into a curtsey and pushing you down with her. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Your Majesty.”

“The pleasure is ours,” came the queen’s pleasant voice. She knelt down between you and the boy.

“You must be Y/n. This is my son Christopher, the prince. You will serve as his attendant.”

You stared at the boy, his eyes even with yours, hair mussed and shirt covered in dirt.

“He doesn’t look like a prince. He looks like me”

“Y/n!” your mother gasped, the queen chuckling slightly and calming your mother with a hand on her arm.

“You’re right, he might not look like one yet. But it’s going to be your job to help him become one. Do you think you can do that?”

You pondered her question and finally said, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

She smiled and stepped aside, placing her hands on Chan’s back and pushing him forward.

“Hi Y/n!” the boy said excitedly. “My name’s Chris. Or Chan. Either’s fine! I brought you these flowers! I thought they might look pretty in your hair.”

He extended his tiny fist holding the flowers and you took one from the bunch, pulling back your hair and putting the flower behind your ear.

Chan’s face immediately lit up in the brightest smile you’d ever seen, his eyes crinkling cutely. “I was right!”

From that moment on, you decided there was nothing you wouldn’t do to see that smile on his face.

{part 3}

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glossytoji · 3 years ago

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Sanji x female reader (Champagne Problems- song fiction)

Champagne Problems (Listen here)

Theme (and warnings): Angst! Romance! song fiction, very soft Sanji (typical kind and thoughtful Sanji), alcoholic reader, reader ghosts Sanji, hopeful ending!

2861 words

Main masterlist

Sanji decided that his shoes is the most interesting thing at the very moment, with his eyes down on his shiny shoe, he continued to walk towards his designated train on water 7. He tried to distract himself by reminiscing memories of the first time that he was here, it was when they've recruited their shipwright and rescued their archaeologist. To his misfortune, his thoughts would always lead back to the woman whom he truly fell in love with, y/n.

He sighed, he then looked up to check what's up ahead and barely even realized the group of gorgeous ladies that are conversing beside the train's entrance. His spirit is obviously dampened, a melancholic halo could almost be sensed around him.

He immediately hopped on the train and searched for his assigned cabin for the night. The night had been so busy for water 7 considering the fact that the holidays are fast approaching.

He lit a cigarette as he finally found and settled on his cabin, his face stoic as ever as if he's bored but in reality he's just in pain.

After successfully dominating the four seas, the grand line, and the new world, and after he have finally found his all blue with his Pirate King, he decided to return to east blue for their another hiatus and returned on Baratie for the meantime. Zeff and the rest of the staff became ecstatic at his son's return. To his surprise, the new female addition was ecstatic as well, as she seemed to have heard amazing stories filled with love and admiration from Zeff. His jaw dropped when he realized that it's truly a lady standing before him. And what's more unbelievable is that she's a sous chef, taking up Sanji's previous position in Baratie. As he was about to feel disappointed that he was replaced, he was nevertheless ecstatic that his spot was filled by a gorgeous woman. Was not Zeff against with the idea of recruiting a woman? Oh well, he's not gonna complain after all.

His heart ached while he struggled to swallow the lump on his throat as he eyed the moon through the windows from his bunk bed below.

The door towards his cabin suddenly slid open as a busy man hurriedly entered and settled on a bunk bed across him. Sanji scoffed, he thought he could sit there in his hurt without being judged but unfortunately, a middle aged man who seemed to be happily married settled across him. Sanji decided to lay on his back and wander over his thoughts. Earlier, while he was getting in line for the train, he thought his head would burst at the bustling crowd but he didn't knew what's worst. The silent sleeper across him or the bustling crowds from earlier? Both didn't stop him from constantly slipping back in his nostalgic and melancholic thoughts.

It was different than everything else that he has ever experienced before. Nami-san would be so harsh on him but he didn't mind and would actually swoon over and brush it off with a laugh. He couldn't forget;

While Baratie is currently lively due to the party, everybody was on the dance floor. Y/n's eyes were on the crowd, fascinated with everyone before her who are having the time of their lives, dancing as if there's no tomorrow.

She hesitantly eyed the champagne that's being placed on a table, a few meters away from her. She badly wanted a sip but she knew she wouldn't, she promised her therapist, she promised Zeff.

"Y/N- SWAAAANNN!!!! Why's a beautiful lady like you standing on the corner alone in a lively room instead on the dance floor?!" Sanji exclaimed over the loud boom of the music. She didn't have to turn her head to her left to realize that it's indeed the women-lover, Sanji. She playfully rolled her eyes at his playful approach.

"Well, no one asked to be my partner for tonight. Probably too scared to have their foot stepped on by me." She joked.

"My, my, my. May I have this dance y/n-san?" Sanji asked in his most regal and chivalrous manner as he bowed and extended a hand towards y/n. To y/n surprise, Sanji had probably took her joke seriously.

"I don't know..." she muttered but nevertheless placed a hand on his in which he delightfully accepted as they began to saunter towards the vacated space in the middle of Baratie in which they addressed as a dance floor for the time being. The duo had fun on the dance floor until a slow-paced music is being played, a music that is meant for lovers. Sanji then slowly pulled y/n towards him, gracefully placing a hand on her waist while y/n automatically rested a hand on his shoulder while the other hands of theirs are intertwined as they slowly swayed at the sweet music. Sanji slowly leaned and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead. He then softly smiled at her in which she graciously returned. The sweet smile on y/n's face suddenly dropped, a confused look now plastered on her face- Sanji became worried, did he do something wrong?

Y/n hastily dropped his hand as if realization dawned her. She immediately detached herself away from him, walking away without any explanation as she left him out standing in the dance floor. His heart strings immediately reacted as they plucked a melancholic tune. His eyes followed her form as she disappeared away from the crowd. He sighed and momentarily closed his eyes as he recalls her confused and pained expression. He bit his lip and decided to light himself a cigarette since he realized it's been a few hours since he did so.

While the soft purr of the train became music to his ears, his eyes now bore on the bunk bed that hovered over his body. He blew puffs of cigarette, while wondering if she's watching the same moon as he was just now. Is it morning over where she lived? Or is it night? He has no idea at all. Is she sound asleep? Was she thinking about him? Did she miss him?

He then immediately tapped the pockets of his pants to check if his mom's ring is still there. He sighed in relief as he noticed that it's safely tucked deep in his pockets. After all, it's the only remembrance he has of his deceased mother. He decided to reach for his wallet in his back pocket. He gently opened his wallet and eyed the picture tucked on it. A gentle smile lingered on his lips as he traced the picture with his fingers (with his empty hand), while-on his other hand-his cigarette is stuck in between his middle and index finger as he held the same hand with his wallet. Oh how he loved her dearly, it may seem impossible even for him but he sometimes does not realize the times he failed to swoon over the presence of other women as his thoughts became occupied with y/n. It was very natural and ironically funny of how natural it is.

His eyes remained lovingly on the picture. A picture where y/n is adorned with a bright and beautiful smile, he was really glad he got a hold of the picture before she could have the chance to burn it along the hundreds of beautiful pictures that she already did so. Fortunately, he was on time before she could drop it at the burning bin. He could remember the surprised look on her face in which her lips accompanied in to asking "what do you think you're doing?".

He remembered how he gently cleaned the photo off from gas, afraid that he might accidentally burn the photo with his cigarette. It was the only picture that he could save but nevertheless, he was grateful and happy to have been able to keep one. He was honored and humbled to have her break his heart into pieces, someone as sweet and adorable like her, he didn't mind at all. Not even when she left his mother's ring on the bed side table, as he wakes up to an empty space on the bed to his right- where she usually lay- and a called off engagement. He realized that maybe it's not quite a peculiar way to end an engagement, after all it's y/n.

He merely fell in love and did not honestly expect anything so grand in return. He couldn't deny that this reckless love of his has shattered him but in spite of the painful ache that's hoarding his chest, he will forever wish for her safety and happiness. His thoughts led him to worry, she left without any explanations at all- although he didn't mind so much about the explanation- he was worried about her whereabouts as he did not have any idea on where she left to.

Waking up to an empty bed scared him to the point he thought that he just woke up from a very good dream to face the cold nightmare of a reality; a world without y/n. She suddenly left without any trace yet to his luck, the picture in his wallet proved him sane, he's not crazy, y/n's real. Their love is real. The late nights, the long conversations, the I love yous, the intimate moments in their room where they exchange their sweet declarations of love are actually real. He was so honored and humbled. What a lucky bastard he really is- as per Sanji.

He would always remember their conversations on the railings of Baratie as they stare at the horizon before them, how she would joke around and call the world a "madness" while teary-eyed with a forced smile. Sanji knew all too well what she meant by that.

He sighed in relief when he realized that he has a missing flannel on his drawer, he knew all too well that y/n packed it with her on her journey, as his missing flannel happened to be her favorite one. He hoped well that it would somehow warm her, that she could feel his arms around her as she wears it.

It has been a few months since she left him. He's currently on his way back to Sabaody Archipelago to reunite with his crew; they were quite enlightened when they heard about Sanji finally getting married. They became quite surprised that Sanji would actually be joining them back in their journey as they were expecting him to settle down already, however they're ecstatic to have the greatest cook aboard back in their ship. Sanji knew he had to tell them that he's not getting married anytime soon but he didn't have the heart to, not yet, he was still hopeful.

In his bag, a letter is carefully rested in a notebook that he bought just to protect it from unfortunate accidents. It was a letter that he recently found on one of his suits a week ago as he was packing for Sabaody. He didn't have the heart to read it the moment his eyes caught y/n's name at the lower portion of the letter.

He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh.

"Fuck it." He mutters, as he momentarily sat up to shuffle in his bag to retrieve the letter. As he found what he was looking for, he immediately flopped his back on the bunk bed.

Slowly but gently, he opens the letter, his heart pounding in nervousness and anticipation. Will she include her address in this letter? Before he proceeded on reading he stubbed out his cigarette and relied on the moonlight as a source of light while he reads his ex-fiancé's letter.

Dear Sanji,

My love, you were looking for me. I saw you. I was about to call for you but I realized it would be selfish of me.

I never was ready, so I watched you go.

I am embarrassed to say that I made one of the staff -which shan't be named- as an accomplice, I decided to make this letter, not to clear my conscience but to inform you that I am physically fine and I so badly wanted this letter to reach you. I was sailing close to Baratie to deliver this message, I was quite nervous as I saw you leaning at the railings and was very sure you noticed me; maybe you didn't mind or maybe you did not notice me at all.

Everything I ever wanted, I found it in you. I badly miss you and want to be with you but I realized I never became better, I thought I'll be fine because I am with you. It's embarrassing to even think about it, you were my fiancé for Christ's sake! Not my therapist! I am currently on therapy right now, I wanted to be better, to be the best version of myself. It pains me to see you worried and distressed over me, I wanted to make life easy for the both of us that's why I decided to take this bold step. Sanji, I finally want to be alive, I want to be happy.

As I arrived at my destination, I realized the world's not so bad after all. I met kind people, rest-assured I am fine and am honestly getting better!

I would have made such a lovely bride don't you think? But what a shame I'm stuck in my head.

Trust me Sanji, you'll find the real thing in this pretty vast ocean. Someday, someone will patch the tapestry that I shred. Someone will hold your hand while dancing and will never leave you standing.

I admit I was crestfallen, I was falling down in this never ending abyss, me and my champagne problems (and obviously many more types of problems). I didn't have it in me to drag you in this madness. You're too bright and too good, I'd be damned forever if I ruin someone as kind and sweet as you are.

I am aware that you told Zeff about your distress over me because you couldn't take it in. I am honestly quite happy that you have someone you could trust to talk with. I am sorry for stressing you out and for inflicting you so much emotional pain and trauma. No apologies could mend but I am truly deeply sorry and I swear on my grave that therapy- yes to therapy.

I know how much you love Dom Pérignon; who wouldn't? I used to love that too much too. It's easy to say that our engagement party was quite a mess. I am sorry for making quite a fool out of you during your speech. Love slipped beyond your reaches, I take accountability for draining you in this relationship. For all of the things I've done, I couldn't give a reason.

Your mother's ring deserves to be taken care by someone who's more than capable than I am. Someday, someone will make you truly happy. Truly happy to the point it'll make you replace my picture in your wallet. Truly happy to the point you'll forget about my champagne problems. Someday, you won't remember all my champagne problems.

Ps: I met a good friend. Her name is Makino.

Yours truly,

Tears rolled on Sanji's eyes as he studied the letter all over again. He is so relieved and happy. Y/n's always known to leave without making explanations yet she made an exception just for him.

"Please be alright." He whispered as he neatly folded the letter to how it used to be. Slowly, he softly placed a kiss on the letter, a few tears staining on it. He couldn't stop himself from crying he was relieved and happy. Although he always knew that he'll do anything for her, this letter somehow warms his heart. His baby, his beloved finally wants to be alive and wants to be happy. Sanji sobbed in relief. He was in so much relief, no one could truly understand how relieved he was to be able to hear from y/n. Oh how he used to pray and hope that he could somehow ease her pain but reading on to her letter, he was ecstatic, happy, and once again, relieved.

"Baka, I won't ever want anybody else." He softly spoke through tears.

Y/n

"Makino?" He murmured, he knew he heard her name somewhere and just like that, a huge grin formed on his lips. After his journey with his Captain, he had the perfect idea where to find you. Fingers crossed, he hoped you were talking about the same Makino that Luffy talks about.

His fingers once again decided to pry open the already folded letter, immediately his finger traces her last sentence.

"My love, please wait for me. I just know where to find you." He whispered, as he now stares into the moon while clutching the letter to his chest. A huge smile is now placed on his lips, afterall, he confidently knows where to find you.

#one piece sanji #sanji x y/n #black leg sanji #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #one piece x reader #one piece #sanji angst #sanji romance #song fic #one piece scenario #one piece imagine #sanji scenario #pain

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mrsalwayswrite · 3 years ago

Text

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil.

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund.

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius @evelynshelby @pomegranates-and-blood @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe!

He knew where she would be.

The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of.

It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day.

It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits.

It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation.

Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God.

But sometimes he struggled with just being a man.

Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity.

Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights.

To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness.

And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation.

Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them.

And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone.

"Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress.

"I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

"Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

"I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

"You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

"I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him.

But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.

"If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves.

"Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him.

"I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet.

The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers.

"Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

"I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should.

Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other.

Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his.

"Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out.

"Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?"

"Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know.

Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured.

His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of.

After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand.

"Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station.

"Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip.

They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished.

Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel.

*****

With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York.

Captured by heathens.

Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok.

Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils.

What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine.

When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her.

They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her.

*****

"You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

"There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue.

Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

"They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

"What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone.

Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper.

"You slaughter when it suits you."

Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

But it was all in vain.

He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

"Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you."

"But not you."

"No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God.

There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead.

The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound.

"I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself.

The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement.

A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks.

Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong.

He prayed his nightmares were wrong.

Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind.

The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested.

As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive.

"You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them.

She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded.

"Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding.

"Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip.

"Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him.

"Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal.

"Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze.

She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

"Are they treating you well?"

Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup.

And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her.

His nightmare coming to pass.

He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings.

"I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation.

Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again.

"Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly.

Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her.

"Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

"Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

"Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do.

At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him.

Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered.

"You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin.

Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew.

"I said leave, thrall."

As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away.

The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her?

"Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good.

"Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

"She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

"No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

"You love her."

"How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.

"Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

"I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering.

"Aren't we all."

He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.

*****

The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts.

The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains.

Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament.

Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips.

All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets.

Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'.

He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone.

Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment.

"Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also.

Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

"Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently.

Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking.

Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby.

He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile.

"He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory.

The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him.

Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize.

Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

"You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled.

His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe.

Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that.

#sophies500 #vikings #vikings fanfiction #vikings fandom #vikings ivar #bishop heahmund #heahmund #bishop heahmund x reader #heahmund x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar's heathen army #vikings imagine #bishop heahmund imagine #mzwrites

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jaskierswolf · 3 years ago

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The Prince of Darkness

Written for @thewitcherbog flash fic challenge a while back but I never posted!

Rating: M

Summary: Jaskier is the King of the Underworld, and it's Valdo's day of judgement.

CW: Demon!Jaskier (and witchers), implied sexual content, death, torture (burning, choking, freezing.), Jask has an open relationship with all the witchers (but Geralt is his favourite), mentions of non con.

The hotel lobby was sophisticated and yet traditional, like something out of a movie. The dark panelling on the walls were dimly lit by flickering candles, and there was a fireplace roaring in the centre of the foyer, and a handful of gorgeous golden-eyed beauties were making their way around the room. They were finely dressed, perfectly tailored suits with silken blood red waistcoats detailed with golden buttercups, a tray balanced on their hands as they passed out flutes of champagne. In the corner of the room was a black grand piano, the lid propped up as the man behind it let his fingers dance across the ivory keys, rings glistening silver and gold in the candlelight.

Jaskier smiled to himself as he played, his eyes shut, focussing on every little sound in the room, blending it with the music, manipulating the souls around him until they were practically eating out of his hand.

The Prince of Darkness, the mortals called him.

Lucifer himself.

He preferred Jaskier; buttercups were so beautiful, so innocent, so toxic.

It was the perfect moniker.

Lux was his domain, his hotel, a haven for demons and sinners alike, and the perfect stage for when Jaskier had to deal with… unpleasant business. The witchers, as he liked to call his inner circle of demons, would deal with the aftermath, cleaning up the elevator before any of Jaskier’s regular clientele could see.

The witchers were just such good pets.

Geralt approached the piano, his honey golden eyes almost entirely black as they approached the end of another poor soul’s contract. There was an itch that creeped under Jaskier’s skin, hot fire burning through his veins, but it didn’t bother him. No, he relished in the flames, let it warm his cold immortal body. Cracking an eye open, he peered at the witcher who had disturbed his music.

“He’s here, my lord.”

Jaskier sighed, bringing the music to an end, and then, with a snap of his fingers, the ivory keys started to play anew. The song was a familiar tune, a well known pop song from the mortals’ charts. It would keep his honoured guests entertained, after all, at Lux the party never-ended. Those who stepped through the swinging doors were transported to a realm of endless night; cocktails, champagne and designer clothes. The chandelier in the middle of the room twinkled, and there was a sharp clack of high heels on the granite floor as his guests mingled.

None of them ever seemed to realise there was something not quite right about Lux. When they were done partying, when Jaskier had made deals for their souls, they would leave and return to their realm as if they had only been there for an evening, never to return until their contract was up.

And they always returned.

Occasionally, a poor mortal would fight it, realising their impending doom. They’d try to flee the country, get as far away from Lux as possible, but the witchers were excellent hunters. Once the demons got the right scent, they could track their prey to the end of the known universe. The mortals never stood a chance. They either came willingly or they would be dragged through the doors by two of Jaskier’s finest demons; he wasn’t sure which he preferred.

Yes it was simpler if they accepted their fate, but he couldn’t deny that he just adored the thrill of watching the poor terrified soul being thrown at his feet.

He thought of himself as a kind devil, if such a thing existed, his father would certainly disagree, but his father could rot in heaven. Truly, Jaskier did his best to be fair. He granted the mortals wishes and made sure they lived their best lives, he even allowed most of them to live for many decades with the gifts he gave them, their deepest desires. Really, for some of the wishes he’d granted, it would have been kind to allow them even a year of life, let alone what he gave to them.

Ungrateful bastards, the lot of them.

Valdo Marx had been an easy soul to claim; he was greedy, lustful, full of pride. He’d practically begged at Jaskier’s feet back when he was in his first year of university.

“I want to be the best musician the world has ever seen, I want the most beautiful woman, Virginia Stael, to be my wife, and I want-”

Jaskier had waved his hand, his dark feathered wings spreading out behind him, and Valdo’s jaw had snapped shut, muffled sounds coming from his throat.

“I want, I want, I want,” Jaskier had cooed, his finger hooking under Valdo’s chin as he pouted down at the mortal, whipping his tail round to caress down the poor man’s arm until his wrist had been locked in a vice. “Do you know what I want… Marx?”

The wanna-be musician had scoffed, a fatal mistake and one that had cost him years off his life. “Everyone knows that, Lucifer.”

“My name, Valdo, is Jaskier,” he’d hissed, his forked tongue flicking out from his lips as more and more of his devil form had been revealed. “And I just want to have fun.”

“You want my soul.”

“No, your soul is the price. A mere business transaction. I just want to get wasted and shag my rather lovely demons, and you are wasting my time.”

Ah yes. Valdo had always been a little shit-stain in Jaskier’s life, but now his time had come.

The piano music began to build to an earth shattering crescendo, making the glasses rattle, and dust fall from the chandelier. Jaskier cracked his neck, feeling a prickling sensation on his scalp as his horns began to grow, and still the sweet, oblivious mortals noticed nothing. They sipped on their champagne and chatted amongst themselves, ignoring the way Jaskier’s cornflower blue eyes slowly turned onyx, his skin deathly pale. He smiled sweetly at his favourite witcher, running his lips along Geralt’s sharp cheekbones.

“Thank you, darling,” he breathed, capturing Geralt’s lips with his, tongues meeting in a quick but heated display of passion.

And then the doors burst open, Lambert and Aiden dragginga handsome but aging man through the doors, grey hairs dusting his temple, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. It had been a long time since Jaskier had seen Valdo Marx, but there was no denying his beauty, now distinguished, a true silver fox. Dark chocolate eyes met his as all the colour drained from Marx’s face.

“Oh God, no… no, please,” he stammered, struggling in the arms of the demons that held him.

“My dear father holds no power here,” Jaskier chuckled, smirking at the man at his feet. “There’s no use in praying. Your soul belongs to me.”

“Lu- Jaskier, please. I’m too young. It’s too soon,” Valdo begged, reaching up to Jaskier with open hands. “My wife, my children.”

“Oh but Valdo, It’s never too soon. I am never early and I never try to back out of a deal, darling,” Jaskier pouted, squatting so he was at eye level with the mortal. “So why don’t you come with me, love? Stop all this fussing. You’re ruining my party.”

With a fire not often seen in mortals, Valdo spat at Jaskier, and an eerie silence fell over the club. The piano music screeched to a halt, the lid closing with a bang, and the only sound was a low rumble of growls from the witchers. Geralt was at Jaskier’s side in a flash, his sword drawn and pointed at the man.

It was sweet.

As if Jaskier couldn’t defend himself, but he did enjoy the show, the way Geralt’s arms would flex as he gripped the sword, twirling it in a circle before executing his victim.

“I had planned to give you an easy death,” Jaskier lied, standing back up to his full demonic height and clearing his face with a snap, “but now, I think I’ll have some fun. Geralt, Eskel, with me. Lambert, Aiden, make sure our guests stay out of the way.”

“No!” Valdo cried, falling once more at Jaskier’s feet, gripping onto his ankles.

Oh, how he loved it when they begged for their lives.

When Jaskier glided through the foyer, picking up a champagne flute from Coen’s tray with barely a brush of his lips to the demon’s cheek, the crowd parted before him. Compliments fell off their tongues, sweet like honey, unaware of the influence Jaskier had over them. They all watched him, they always watched him, so very eager to please. Geralt snarled behind him as one brave mortal rested their hand on Jaskier’s arm, but it was Eskel who snapped their fingers, silent and deadly, before they’d even realised he was there.

Valdo was pulled into the elevator, tears streaming down his face and choked off screams ripping from his throat, but Jaskier remained calm, and if it weren’t for his eyes and the horns amongst his tousled brown hair, he would have looked like any other hotel owner.

Until the doors closed.

And then all hell broke loose; literally. Jaskier’s body cracked and snapped into place as his legs extended to inhuman proportions, his fingers growing into talons, and he let out a sinful moan as his wings unfurled behind him. He flicked out his tail, and his three-piece suit melted away into a gorgeous black silk corset, embroidered with golden buttercups. Red stockings adorned his legs, held up by lacy black garters, and as he flicked out his ankles, a pair of strappy heels materialised on his feet, the soles flashing red before clicking back onto the floor.

“Jaskier, please, please,” Valdo cried, falling against the side of the elevator as lightning sparked and they dropped fast, the dial on the wall spinning out of control.

“Your soul… belongs to me,” Jaskier hissed, pressing Valdo up against the wall, his hands wrapping around his throat.

He was tempted to snog Valdo’s soul right out of him, a sweet kiss to seal the deal, but that was too kind, and he was feeling a little more dramatic than that, so he pushed back off the wall, beating his wings so he hovered just off the floor. Geralt and Eskel were standing on either side of him, swords drawn with toxic black eyes, veins like ink beneath their skin.

Flames burst out behind them, whipping around so the whole elevator was surrounded by a burning pyre, singeing Valdo’s clothes, and the mortal screamed as the fire licked at his hand, scorching the calloused skin. His precious hands, his livelihood, the first things that Jaskier had blessed for him.

There was something so delightfully poetic in that, and Jaskier found great pleasure in it.

“Everyone always thinks that hell is eternal fire,” he purred, stroking a talon along Geralt’s cheek, before pulling Eskel into a soft kiss, taking his time to enjoy the taste of sulfur on his tongue, “but that isn’t always true.”

“W-what?”

Jaskier just pouted at Valdo. “Do try to keep up, darling.”

And then he snapped his fingers, the fire was suddenly extinguished, replaced by a flood of muddy tar. Valdo spluttered and choked as he slid to the ground, the tar catching in his hair, and wherever it landed his handsome looks withered away. The wedding band slipped from his finger and disappeared, despite Valdo’s desperate scrambling to find it.

The muddy mixture spewed all over the lift, covering the two demons as well as their victim, but Jaskier stayed clean and dry, untouched by the tar. He really wasn’t in the mood for ruining his clothes, not like this. He was rather hoping Geralt would tear them from his body later on that day whilst his other beloved witchers watched.

“J-Jaskier!” Valdo screamed, just as the entire elevator froze.

Blue ice creeped up the walls, wrapping around the legs of both the demons and the pitiful mortal on the floor. Valdo sobbed, trying to escape the ice but they both knew it was over. His back pressed against the wall as the ice grew, crystallising over his body, wrapping around his throat. Snowflakes fell from the ceiling, landing in his eyelashes as he struggled to breathe.

And Jaskier stole back his voice.

The final gift.

Valdo’s soul ripped from his body, and the man fell limp against the wall.

With a wave of his hand, Jaskier captured the soul, weaving his magic until a silver fox with chocolate brown eyes was nestled in his arms. He grinned, lowered the fox to the floor and then snapped his fingers to open the doors.

Before he left the elevator, his corset grew into a beautiful gown, split all the way up to his thighs, and his demonic features melted away. He patted Geralt once more on the cheek, pressing their lips together, before striding back into the foyer, not looking back at the frozen massacre he’d left behind. Beside him, a silver fox trotted along, a shadow of the man he used to be.

#the witcher #jaskier loves witchers #demon!jaskier #wolfie's witcher writing

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maturemenoftvandfilms · 3 years ago

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The Senator from Montana

CHAPTER SIX: The Bipartisan Deal

Featuring Sen. Jon Tester and Sen. Mitt Romney

After weeks of negotiations with the White House and a bipartisan group of nine other Senators, Senator Jon Tester had secured a deal on historic infrastructure legislation. The group includes Republicans Sen. Mitt Romney, Sen. Bill Cassidy, Sen. Rob Portman, Sen. Susan Collins and Sen. Lisa Murkowski, along with Democrats Sen. Joe Manchin, Sen. Kyrsten Sinema, Sen. Jeanne Shaheen and Sen. Mark Warner. Two or three of the male senators I could fuck, none more than Sen. Rommey. Lets just say, I other things are on my mind besides the negotiations running in and out of that conference room.

So I was horny and with the deal completed, I was hoping Sen. Tester and I could do some after hours celebrating as its been weeks since we last hooked up. But I had a hitch in my plans as I opened conference room door. Jon was sitting facing the door alone with Sen. Romney.

"Ah, there you are. You've meet Sen. Rommey haven't you?" Jon said as he wave me over.

“Yes, Sir.” I said as I walked over to the table.

Sen. Romney eyed me as I approached. With an ageless sheen, at 73 the senator was handsome with his trademark plastic grin and his perfectly sculpted head of suspiciously dark hair.

“Hello, son.” He said as he offered his hand to shake.

“Nice to meet you, Sen. Romney.” I answered quickly shaking his hand.

“Call me Mitt, son. Jon’s been telling me all about you.” He said.

"Has he now."

“Yea, I told him your a great cock sucker.” Jon added.

“That he did. Why don’t you sit down with us?” Sen. Romney asked as he pulled out the chair next to him.

I glanced over at Jon.

“Come and join us. Like I said, we’ve been talking about you.” Jon said.

“Jon said we could have a little fun with you.” Sen. Romney said.

I glanced over at Jon again. He laughed and said, “Hell what’s the matter. You not in the mood for sex? Got yourself a headache?”

That's when Sen. Romney stood up, unbuckled his belt and jerked his pants down. Suddenly I found myself looking at nice size uncut cock. It wasn't as thick as Jon's, but is was a third longer. And he also had nice hanging set of balls. Then pulling his foreskin back, exposing a big mushroom-shaped dick head, Sen. Romney turned to Jon and asked, “Jon, mind if I let your assistant suck me off?”

“Hell, no! Lucas, suck him.” Jon ordered as he stood up beside Sen. Romney and added, “Come on. Let me see you suck him.”

Apparently, Jon has been reading my mind as I quickly dropped to my knees in front of Sen. Romney. His dick was still hanging limp, but it was beginning to swell up as I closed my mouth around the foreskin draped head of his dick. Sen. Romney let out a sigh as I sucked gently on his foreskin-covered dick head. Then as I slowly pulled back his foreskin and started tonguing his naked dick head, Sen. Romney throw his head back and said, “Damn! That feels good.”

“Didn’t I tell you he was a born cocksucker?” Jon said as he too dropped his pants and started jacking his own dick as he stared down at me. I looked up at Jon. At 64, he was a handsome man with his $12 flattop haircut and scuffed black cowboy boots, looking least like a senator and more like a retired football lineman. But still a Congressional male lust-object in the world’s most exclusive club.

“Go ahead, take all his cock down your throat. I know you can do it.” Jon said as he stared straight at me.

Staring up into Jon’s blue eyes, I started swallowing Sen. Romney’s dick. I could tell he was enjoying watching me suck Romney’s dick. So, I took more dick down my throat than I had ever done before. I swallow inch after long inch of Romney’s dick. I thought I would never be able to swallow all of it, but looking up and seeing Jon staring down at me while he feverishly jacked his dick, urged me to a supreme effort. Finally my lips were pressed against Sen. Romney’s pubic hairs. Jon suddenly flashes a big grin and without missing a beat hollers, “See. I told you he could swallow your dick.”

I started sucking his cock wildly, giving him fast and strong suction around his beautiful thick shaft.

“Damn! It feels wonderful.” Sen. Romney said as he reached down and grabbed me behind the head. He started fucking my mouth with his long dick as Jon watched in glee.

“Yea! Fuck him with that horse dick!” Jon cried out as I watched him pumping his dick faster and faster.

I was in heaven as I felt Tony thrusting his hips into my mouth to make me his personal fuck. I loved it. I love Jon watching me sucking Sen. Romney. I loved that he was forcing his dick down my throat. Suddenly Jon had his gorgeous rod pointing towards my face. Sen. Romney was still in control as I continued to suck his cock until finally pulled his cock out of my mouth and turned my face to Jon's cock. Quickly I was on it, sucking to be fed his honey. These guys had me! I was their whore for the evening.

"Maybe we should get him to a room and put him to work." Jon nodded and we got dressed and head to Sen. Romney’s townhouse.

Sen. Romney led the way as we all went into the bedroom and started undressing. It was a large master bedroom with a nice king size bed, neatly furnished and clean. Jon smacked my ass and told me to get up on the bed on all fours. Both senators came around the bed and kneeled on the bed in front of me. Sen. Romney fed me his cock first, forcing my throat down deep on his long thick cock. Immediately I knew what I was doing to adjust my sucking to please this man. Mitt pulled out and Jon put his cock in, pumping my mouth to his tune.

Mitt said he wanted to fuck me and my excitement grew as I was anticipated a cock up my ass. Jon kept fucking my mouth and playing with the back of my head to show me his rhythm. I felt Mitt get back on the bed between my legs. My ass was up for him to reach. Kindly, Mitt put some lube on my ass as I felt his two fingers massaging my ass, pushing in and out to loosen me up. He suddenly stopped and I felt the tip of his cock centering my asshole.

As soon as his dick made contact, he immediately thrust all 8 inches into me. I gasped loudly as his big sausage massaging me as my ass lips tighten around his shaft. Jon continued to fuck my mouth, his cock stiffened as he watched Mitt fuck me from behind. These guys were using me to polish their cocks to the tune of their own pleasure. Mitt began slamming my ass and forcing me to deep throat Jon's cock. Mitt was digging deep and what a feeling! His cock was a thrill to have inside of me as I didn't want him to ever pull out; to be his cock sleeve and have him wear my ass was pure excitement and pleasure.

"You got him ready, Mitt, cause I'm ready for that ass now."

Mitt waited till Jon was ready before he finally pulled out, came around to the front of the bed and brought his slick wet juicy cock back to my mouth. Wow! What a treat! Jon wasted no time sliding his cock up my ass. I knew Jon knew how to himself and in return give me pure satisfaction. He moved my ass to ride up and down his pole, using my hips as handlebars to massage his cock to his rhythm. He started pounding my ass furiously, slapping it was his free hand like he was riding a bronco. Mitt was stiff as a board and I wanted his cum. Sucking evenly and slow I felt him start to tighten.

“I’m cuming!” Sen. Romney said as my lips locked around his shaft and anticipated his cream. Up it came as I felt the vein on his shaft fill and shoot.

"Mmmmmmm...." Mitt moaned as more and more of his cum flowed in wads as he came in my month. What a load!

Jon was close too as his pumping got faster and faster. Watching Mitt and me must have taken him to the brink as he assaulted my ass with his big cock. Soon he was filling my ass with ropes of cum and I felt it filling me up.

Exhausted, we all back on the bed when Jon said, "We've just been fucked good!"

#Jon Tester #The Senator from Montana #tester fan fiction #tester fiction #PILF #fan fiction #The Bipartisan Deal #politician #american politician #us senator #montana #Mitt Romney

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bxllafanficc · 4 years ago

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Masterlist

Fanfictions:

Damiano David:

Take me out: (teasing)

Summary: Going laser tagging seemed like a great idea back then. But after an hour of both the teams refusing to surrender, Vic suggest that the only way you can bring your team to victory is a dirty one. And it involves seduction.

Matching YSL-bags:

Summary: You’re a writer coming to your favorite coffee shop to write and have a coffee just like every morning for several months now. Expecting everything to go exactly as it always does, you enter and take a whiff of the lovely scent of coffee and pastries. But had you entered that shop at all today if you knew that nothing would be like every morning leading up to now? Even if you knew in advance that the gorgeous stranger with eyes like melting honey you’d been watching for months would bump into you? That you’d by mistake put the notebook with embarrassing drawings of him in his Yves Saint Laurent bag, the same model as yours?

In your eyes: (angst)

Summary: one-shot angst of which Damiano misses to shoot his shot with (Y/n) and she ends up going home to her country for a month. Damiano believed in a few seconds of her return that their friendgroup would never change. However, much can happen in a month. (basically just Dami our poor baby being miserable so read on your own free will:))

Marvel

Bucky Barnes:

The winner takes it all (teasing, kind of smut)

Summary: When Steve and Natasha invites you to a game night laser tagging, you happily accept and pair up with Nat as your team player. When you later find out that Bucky's coming to, and with that, pairing up with Steve, you understand that the way to victory won't be a piece of cake. And the losers has to pay for pizza and drinks for the entire team. Needles to say, you have to win. And every creative way of getting there is an option.

What lies within our voice (part one)

Summary: The hottest current singing competition in your country; Beyond The Voice, is taking contestants for this years new season. And you’re competing, something you’ve dreamed of since you were a little kid. Your best friend Natasha joins you on your audition day with the assurance that everything’s going to go just as planned. As in; you preform, get all the standing ovations from the jury and then you go out to celebrate. But it doesn’t quite work like that, does it? Especially not when a handsome blue eyed singer with angelic pipes (and dare I say, jackass?) enters the competition and gives you some serious problems; both on a competitive and on a personal level.

Cap’s shirt; his girl (smut)

Summary: The laundry gets messed up on the day your boyfriend comes home from a hard undercover mission. Not a big deal, it would seem? Wrong. Cause when you accidentally wear one of Steve's shirts to Bucky's arrival, it's not the greeting he imagined from you. And he intends to show you exactly why.

Loki Laufeyson:

Lady of Mischief:

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five

Summary: Asgard is having a change of power so there are several events Loki has to get right before he can announce victory as the next king. But one lady’s approval will change the whole outcome if the stakes are right. That lady is you, intended heir to the throne of Olympus but tied down to a marriage of convenience with one of the princes of Asgard. The prince you choose to marry will be the next king but you refuse to let yourself be a pawn in this game for power. Loki, with his intentions to take you as his queen has far greater reason to marry you than just for the reason of being king. You however, would rather cut off your left arm than exposing yourself for the fact that there’s another purpose besides Loki getting a throne to sit on.

For your entertainment (smut)

Summary: Loki decides to loosen up your sore shoulders with a tender massage after a hard days work. Little do you know that the God of Mischief also has something else in the back of his mind. And he let's you know it without hesitation. But if he only was prepared for what you were up to. And if he only would have known that there's a different side to you that you have yet to show.

A world without heroes - (angst)

Summary: Loki is imprisoned after the sudden attack on New York and with that, rest of the earth. And while you always thought you would have your lover's back, you find yourself unable to forgive this one. It's time for you to decide when enough's enough.

Steve Rogers:

Sparkling diamonds (smut)

Summary: Steve's sent out to receive a chip containing important intel from an undercover agent working at a strip club. Here's where the situation gets complicated. See, Steve knows how this job should be done in a proper professional manner but a subject is clouding his judgment, making him fall for the heat of the moment. The subject? You.

Star Wars

Anakin Skywalker:

My dear apprentice:

Summary: Things have been falling behind for Anakin lately. So how do the council plan to make him feel better? His own Padawan, of course! While Yoda thinks this is an extraordinary idea, both Anakin and the Palawan has some complaints.

Part one

Part two

Part three

Part four

Part five: (part 1) (part 2) Chapter 5 is divided into two parts since I reached tumblr’s maximun word limit. Sorry...

Part six

Yuri on ice

Yuri Plisetsky:

¡Skate/sing your hearts out!

Part one. Part two Part three. Part four Part five part six Part seven

Summary: After last year's cancellation of Figure Skating Grand Prix, Yuri Plisetsky finds himself unable to bring out his inner skater after a year of doing nothing but enjoy life like a regular teenager. That's when you enter the picture; We Are Voice Grand Awards's currently hottest competitive vocalist come first place two years in a row. Just like the other competitors of Grand Prix, it turns out that Victor and Yuuri faces the same issue. With an arrangement between Victor and Yakov, they agree to travel to Japan and hire you as a mutual coach for Yuri and Yuuri to help bring back the emotion into their performances like before, maybe even more intense than ever. Yuri however, who's never experienced issues with his coaches before, for some reason finds this one particularly difficult to coexist along with in their (reasonably) odd partnership.

Imagines:

Bucky Barnes:

Night at the bar

One-shots:

Damiano David:

In your eyes - angst

155 notes · View notes

snowbellewells · 4 years ago

Text

CSSNS20: “A Cottage by the Sea” ~ the Epilogue

** A grateful Thank You to @searchingwardrobes once more for this gorgeous cover art!!

** Thank you as well to the @cssns20 event and those who have stuck with this story despite my halting and glacially slow posting schedule. You’ve reached the happily ever after at last! :)

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half. But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…”

From the beginning here on Tumblr or on AO3 ~Epilogue ~

When they could finally bear to part from each other (some hours later, if Emma was honest, a blush flooding into her cheeks upon reflection) they made their way toward her parents’ castle. With Killian’s navigational knowledge and natural instincts, not to mention Emma’s lifelong penchant for wandering the beaches and hilly paths around her kingdom whenever she could do so, it wasn’t long before they could see the familiar spires and turrets rising into the sky in the distance ahead of them.

Despite putting themselves back together as presentably as possible, little could be done for the soaked and rather bedraggled state of their clothes, not that Emma could bring herself to mind very much. They had hardly stopped holding hands since Killian had emerged from the sea and come back to her once more, and returning hand-in-hand was the least of their worries at appearing before the throne. Raising her fingers entwined with his up to his lips, Killian pressed sweet kisses to her knuckles, looking away from the imposing sight of the castle before them to hold Emma’s gaze intensely with each step they took. “Your parents will be overjoyed to see you return unharmed, Love,” he murmured, humored affection lighting his eyes along with the words. “You must have sent them out of their minds with worry, setting off alone on a fool’s errand the way you did.”

Shaking her head with an indignant huff, Emma managed to break away from his incendiary stare to defend herself. “I don’t see why they should expect anything else! Either of them would have done the same if the other were missing. Are they not the fabled True Loves who claim they will always find each other?” She tossed her disheveled mane of curls saucily when he had the nerve to snicker at her pique. Narrowing her green eyes at him. Emma went in for the kill. “Thank that’s funny, do you? Well, I suppose you’re going to tell me you would simply sit in safety and comfort doing nothing if our roles were reversed and I had gone missing?”

That did stop the humored teasing in his manner. There was no way he could ever lie to her, and they both knew he would do anything, cross any distance or boundary to come to her aid if she needed him, so he really had no denial to offer.

“That’s what I thought,” Emma concluded with a smart little bob of her chin. And then, shaking the fraught moment off - she had too much to be overjoyed for at present - she leaned into his side to whisper against his still half-bared warm chest, “And that’s exactly as it should be.”

Killian merely hummed noncommittally low in his throat. He was not about to admit for a moment that he was flattered and touched that Emma had come seeking him against all odds. He was - infinitely so - but he would never consider his own life or limb worth his princess putting herself at risk. It had been a revelation to see her once more when her trusty little skiff had appeared on the horizon, but if she had not made it to Calypso’s island… if she had been lost…

Rather than answering her directly, he offered a gentle smile which stirred something delicate and warm in her stomach despite the interlude in the surf they had already shared. Shaking her head, Emma eyed him with knowing fondness before she reminding him sincerely, “They love you too, you know that, right? You are the one they will be overjoyed to see alive and well.”

His head dipped into a quick, dismissive little nod, while a finger went almost unconsciously to scratch behind his ear. Clearly, her sailor was no more willing to believe his place within the royal family than he had ever been. “Aye, as you say,” he agreed lightly, but he didn’t elaborate and she didn’t push.

Instead, Emma let their joined hands swing easily between them as they moved toward the castle with renewed purpose and waited for him to speak when he was ready. She was biding her time as patiently as she could. Killian would soon see at any rate - as soon as they stood before her parents.

After that, with the castle in view, they kept traveling steadily, and it did not take long at all for them to enter her parents’ throne room; her mother cried out with joy and rushed forward to embrace them both, her tears of relief wetting her daughter’s hair before she turned to clasp her adopted son to her breast. Emma tried to shoot him a look of pleased satisfaction, ‘See? What did I tell you?’ clearly conveyed, but she couldn’t catch his eye over her mother’s enthusiastic fussing and fluttering, nor could she get a word in edgewise to badger him.

Then her father reached them as well. He hadn’t run, giving his wife her reunion moment, he had kept a more sedate pace, but his immense solace at their arrival was felt as he engulfed Emma in his strong arms, one large hand cradling the back of her head, and for a moment squeezing tightly enough to seem he might never let go. “Thank Heavens you made it home, Sweetheart,” he breathed softly against the hair at her temple. Quickly, he stepped aside just enough to reach Killian too, clasping his upper arm firmly. “Thank goodness the both of you have returned.”

Snow nodded fervently, wiping more tears from her cheeks even as they continued to fall from her twinkling eyes. She was beaming in spite of her emotion, adding, “You were right, Baby.” A knowing look and press of the hand for her daughter had Emma simply returning the gesture with quiet grace; the frustration she had felt when she set out forgotten now in the happy reunion with Killian at her side. “And praise be that you were! What a blessing to have you here with us again, Killian.”

The older monarch’s green eyes still sparkled a verdant hue as lovely and captivating as her daughter’s, her raven hair only barely beginning to be streaked with a sophisticated grey. Still, Queen Snow White had all the enthusiasm and energy of a much younger woman as she turned to her husband. “Charming! We should celebrate! Don’t you think?”

The king’s full lips had tilted upwards in mirth, knowing his wife and her love of royal events all too well after so many years together. She was still clutching his hand, but didn’t even give him a chance to answer aloud before turning back to Killian and Emma enthusiastically.

“What do you think?” she pressed, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “A homecoming ball, in honor of your safe return?”

Emma found she expected the flush that suffused her sailor’s skin at the suggestion, stealing up his neck, over his cheeks and even to the very tips of his adorably elfin ears, as he ducked his head at the Queen’s lavish plan. It would seem she was beginning to know her love’s quirks nearly as well as her father knew her mother’s - True Loves and all. “There’s no need for all of that fuss over me, your Majesty,” Killian answered hastily. In fact, he gulped and quickly raised his face to stare directly into Snow’s gaze intently. “Actually, I mean no offense, but I would prefer to simply return to my duties without fanfare. It hardly seems right to have such a celebration when all the others on the ship - good men, all of them - were lost.”

Snow’s expression sobered quickly, her compassion immediately making her feel for Killian’s loss of friends and compatriots, and for those sailors’ families. Obviously, she and Charming had seen to notifying those households and making sure any widows and orphans left behind by the lost sailors were cared for, but she could see that Killian held some sort of responsibility on his shoulders that was not ready to be recognized for making his way home when others could not. “Of course,” she stated firmly, “You’re right.” Her smile was more tempered, but still hopeful and encouraging; reminding the rest of them in the room just why her kingdom followed her absolutely, why her people loved her, and how she could inspire others to carry on whatever the odds. “Perhaps a memorial service for those who were lost would be more in order.”

“As you say, your Highness,” Killian agreed simply, bowing his head in deference to her decision.

“Good man,” the King added heartily, the words low and restrained, but no less meant. Reaching out , he clasped forearms with Killian, who returned the gesture, though soon he had been pulled into a less dignified fatherly embrace, bone-crushing and back-slapping strength giving away King David’s happiness equal to his more effusive wife’s at seeing their honorary son home again.

~~***~~

Meanwhile, back out to sea, well beneath the surface off Misthaven’s shores, startling changes were afoot. From the very deepest bowels of Davy Jones’ dungeons and caves, the aftershocks and reverberations of his defeat were still being felt, radiating out in ripples as the darkest shadowed corners of his domain were slowly brought to light.

With their nefarious master so undeniably vanquished, the unfortunate souls pressed into Davy’s service by death at sea were released at last - a boon unlooked for - too much for many of them to have even hoped to receive after so long. Gradually, their souls felts the weight of their imprisonment lighten, the metaphorical chains binding them in darkness and the deep releasing their hold.

And one such soul, captured not so much by misfortune or chance than by demented grand design, could feel those shackles fall away more profoundly than most. Liam Jones broke the surface not far from the beautiful if deserted shores of Ogygia. Not sure where exactly he was, the elder Jones sibling bobbed in the shallows, taking in his surroundings curiously and thrilling to the feel of the sun on his skin. Wherever he was, he could remain until he found out; he could stay forever, if he chose. Or he could build a vessel and sail elsewhere. Either way, he would no longer be summoned back to his prison at another’s beck and call.

Still marveling at the return of long departed human sensations returning throughout his body, Liam struck out with a strong, determined stroke, swimming for shore. Ater so long trapped below, it seemed strange needing air to breathe, feeling the human pinch in his muscles at the exertion, the chill of such cold water enveloping his skin. And yet, pleasant or not, each bit of stimuli made his breath catch and his heart pound; it meant he was alive, unbelievable as it might seem.

Though he could have managed the distance in seconds with the powers tied to his father that he had possessed, it still took Liam little time to reach the sandy ground stretched out where the water washed up and over it in a continually receiving and returning caress. He had always been a strong swimmer, with the sea in his veins. “Her little guppy” he distantly remembered his mother saying, in one of the few hazy visions of her his memory had retained; her voice gently teasing, dark eyes crackling with good humor and pride. Strange that he would think of her now, after so many years…

Reaching land, Liam staggered out of the surf, chest heaving, eyes scanning the area, already taking note and attempting to discern where he might be. He would have bet he had been banished to the very edge of the known world for his shift in loyalty, if his father still held any power. However, the blast that had rocked him and made him lose all sense of time and place, even consciousness for some moments, and which had made Emma vanish from his hold, had seemingly destroyed and ruined Davy himself. It had also almost certainly nullified any punishment the old monster would have tried to throw at him. He must be somewhere in the known world; and yet, it resembled nowhere he had ever traveled himself, now anywhere he had charted or mapped, before.

He was half-sitting, half-leaning against a large branch stretched across the sand, the trunk of some tree felled from a small stand of them nearby making a decent resting place to catch his breath, when he sensed he was not alone. Keen senses from a life of hard work and striving to protect a younger sibling thrust into the harsh world much too soon, were returning to him more and more with each moment that passed. Where nothing had been able to truly hurt him as one of Davy’s souls in the deep, his senses now all but blared in self-preservation to be on the alert.

Turning sharply to look back toward the surf he had only just emerged from, he saw a lovely female form standing on the edge of the sand, watching him, unmoving as the waves washed up over his feet and back out to sea again. Though she made no move, nor did she speak, the space between them seemed almost to vibrate with tension - as if she wanted to run to him, to speak, even though he couldn’t say that he knew her, not for sure. Still, the sense of unseen danger, the need to watch his back was gone. Liam forced himself to release a taut breath and lower his shoulders… then slowly took a step forward.

The graceful, dark haired lady before him did the same, took two quick steps nearer in fact, as if she could hold herself in check no longer. It was as he squinted, moving forward again and trying to see more clearly against the bright light of the sun glancing off the water as it began to lower to the evening horizon, that who she must be - impossible as it was - became suddenly clear. A stronger breeze kicked up, sending the gauzy, draped, light robe she wore whipping against her calves and making her hair fly wildly across her face, her elegant hand reaching up to catch the riotous, nearly black curls and hold them back, even as a joyous, enchanting laugh escaped her throat and rang merrily in the space still between them.

And then he knew. That laugh came echoing back to him from long-treasured, nearly forgotten memories of a little house on a hill looking out over deep blue waters. Of a dark-headed woman standing on the slope waiting hopefully for the ship she expected to come in, those same wild tresses - curly as his and as dark as Killian’s - floating around her in the breeze. That same laugh had tickled his childish ears, always pleasing him when he was the one to call it forth, and the voice that accompanied the laughter, so warm and mellifluous, had sung him to sleep when he missed his papa, and soothed his young heart when he was hurt or afraid. His mouth opened, wanting to greet her though no sound came out, no words escaping. ‘Mother,’ his soul cried.

She reached him at that moment. Her cool palms framing his face gently as she seemed to drink in his features like a woman long denied. “Liam… my dear, precious son,” she crooned softly, as if she could feel how overcome he was.

His mother’s touch, her sweet voice in his ears once more, brought tears to his eyes for the first time in what felt like ages. She opened her arms, swaying slightly as his shoulders shook, and she simply held him as she had so long ago. “I’m here, Darling. You’ve had to be so strong. I’m here now,” she soothed. “Just let it go.”

~~***~~

When the storm of his emotions had calmed, Liam learned from Calypso all that had truly taken place when they were children - who she was, where she had been and why, just as Killian had on this very island as well. It seemed so fantastical: their mother, a sea nymph, the sea nymph of myth and legend, making he and Killian half supernatural beings as well, even before his disastrous stint as one of his father’s minions. And yet, it made a strange sort of sense to him as well, as the pieces shifted and settled within his mind. He had been older when they were left with only their father, remembered more… and it had never seemed quite right that their mother would simply vanish. His father’s abrupt, “She left us, went back to her own,” had never rung true. He might have been a mere eight-year-old, but he saw enough, understood enough, to know that it had been Mama who kept them fed and clothed with what little Papa provided. Mama who snuggled with them when storms raged and kept them warm when cold winds whistled through the cracks in the walls. It was Papa who was seldom home, who seemed likelier to take off one day and never return. Whereas he had believed Mama, had known she meant it with every fiber of her being when she’d sworn to him that she would stay with them as long as she could. He had missed her terribly when he woke one morning, so early it was still dark, to Papa shaking him, urging him to hurry - they were off on an adventure. The ache had faded over time; he had thrown himself into seeing to Killian, making sure his little brother knew the songs she had sung, the stories she had told, and that he did not lose that last little germ of sweetness - despite what their lives had then become - that sweetness which reminded Liam of the mother they had both lost.

To see her before him now, hardly able to stop brushing her fingers through his curls or squeezing his hand with both of hers, eased something deep inside that had still been gaping wide and empty though the pain had dulled. They had been taken from her. She had been seeking them, wishing for them back, all along.

Finally he managed to clear his throat, blink out of the awed daze he’d been in, and asked anxiously, “And you’ve seen Killian? And his princess? They - they’re safe?”

Her loving smile, so fond and proud, warmed Liam’s heart in a way that was wonderfully healing. “More than that, they are home… together… and ecstatically happy.”

“Good,” he nodded, genuinely relieved, even if he felt sadness welling too, knowing Killian was where he belonged, but not sure he would ever see his little brother again. He wasn’t even sure why he hadn’t passed on to the afterlife, or just where he was, what he was, or what was next.

“You always were so noble,” his mother commented, shaking her head as she studied him calmly. “So thoughtful. I can see you’re wondering what’s next. The truth is, that choice is yours, Liam. You deserve that much, after so much time was taken from you, against your will.”

Blinking, Liam simply stared back at his mother, trying to grasp that the next step was fully his to make at last. He was no longer bound to another’s whims and designs, no longer pulled by strings that made him feel little more than a puppet torn by what he desired and what he was ordered to do.

Calypso beside him offered a sadly hollow smile, taking her eldest’s hand with a gentle squeeze, and whether because of her supernatural nature, or simply because she was his mother, he could see that she understood. “You may move on at last, to the peace and rest that you have earned and to which you should have been welcomed long ago. Or, seeing as how Davy never fully let nature and time take their courses, and you are not completely dead, nor fully alive, you might also remain here with me on this island and in these waters surrounding it - a guide and caretaker of the sea, which you are already well adapted to with your part-nymph heritage.”

She paused there, resting a hand on the side of his face, her thumb lightly stroked his cheek, before she drew a deep breath and continued. “I won’t try to pretend I wouldn’t love for that to be your choice. I would like nothing more. However, I imagine you will choose the third option. You may return to mortal life with your brother and those who have become his family. Your natural life - and its fleeting span with all the mortal frailties - will be restored for you to live out as you would have done had your father not disrupted Fate’s course.”

Liam’s heart began to pound with excitement at her words, though he would have been happy simply to be free of the troubling limbo which had trapped him for so long, to feel the sun on his skin and the wind on his face as he sailed the waves once more, rather than merely looking up from his prison beneath them. He would not have thought returning to stand at his brother’s side - restored to life - could be an option.

Nodding kindly, even as she brushed away a single tear, Calypso sighed. “I thought as much,” she confirmed. “You took such good care of Killian. He looks up to you and still misses you so. It would have been quite a surprise had you chosen any other way.”

“I am sorry, Mother,” Liam began, floundering for a way to explain that he loved her too, but the pull back to the life which had been stolen was just too strong.

“No, my son,” she interrupted, stilling him with a light hand to his chest, “don’t apologize. This is as it should be.”

And so it was, that as the sun rose the next morning, spread across the sky in vibrant hues over Misthaven’s shores, a magnificent tall ship - proud, strong, and gleaming new - sailed into the royal port, one stunningly familiar form at the wheel, straining to see the dark-haired lieutenant who waited on the docks with the royals, waving to him frantically in welcome. The brothers Jones were reunited at last.

~~***~~

Four years (and nine months) later…

Once again, as was often the case on hazy summer evenings, the gathering twilight shadows and purpled hues of the darkening sky found two solitary figures strolling arm-in-arm along the sand on the shores of Ogygia. If one were to draw nearer still, they would see the dark head of tousled, windswept hair bend down to the glowing golden waves of the shorter figure, as Misthaven’s prince consort whispered in the ear of his princess wife, a secret for only the two of them which made her throw her head back in carefree laughter before she stood on tiptoe, clinging shamelessly to his arms for balance to kiss him him thoroughly and soundly.

Tired from sun and wind and salt water, dazed and deliriously happy as they were, both recognized it was a perfect day drawing to a close around them; one of the sort which were growing increasingly numbered as May dwindled toward June, and the two months allotted them each year to steal for their own, away from royal duty, on the island belonging to his sea goddess mother came to an end once more.

They had married in the fall, not at all long after their return and the defeat of Davy Jones. It had seemed impossible and ridiculous to wait in drawn out courtship to be joined as man and wife; there would never be another for Killian but Emma, nor for Emma but him. Both had nearly given their lives to be sure they had a future together, and neither wished to wait for that hard won future to begin.

Of course, only a couple of weeks into married life, they had found out just how lucky it was they had not delayed. Emma was expecting their first child. Exactly nine months to the day from their first joining in the sand and surf of her kingdom’s shore, where they had first made love surrounded by the very ocean which always brought them back together, their twins were born. The palace officially announced the two baby boys as being early; common for twins and easily presented as fact, but princess and lieutenant-turned-prince knew the truth, and two living reminders of a moment they would never wish to forget were an unexpected blessing. Little David Liam Jones and Henry Leopold Jones had been their love and joy personified in living form before their eyes each day since then. Their sons, identical in looks, energy, enthusiasm and daring loved the water every bit as much as their parents, and had taken to the annual summer escape with only their parents and uncle to see their other grandma each May with dauntless excitement. What four-year-olds wouldn’t want to run wild as young colts all day in sun and surf until exhaustion felled them, only to rise again and do the same the following morn?

Emma, for her part, wanted Killian to be able to visit his mother; did not ever wish to see her taken from him again. Yet she also, much as she loved her people, her kingdom, and her parents, and though she accepted the rule she would one day take upon her own shoulders, found this summer retreat a paradise she would never wish to trade. Though Killian’s patriotism, loyalty to the crown, and place by her side as support and advisor was an immense comfort, Emma could not deny how freeing it was to be far from crowds of admirers, petticoats, policies, protocols, and packed agendas for a time. Only her husband, her babies, and sandy beach and windswept waves as far as the eye could see…

That evening, as they finished a supper of fish Killian had managed to catch for them despite the rather dubious help two exuberant four-year-olds proved to be, simple bread, and mangoes from further inland, both Henry and David had fallen over in weary contentment with full bellies and tired, sunkissed limbs. Chuckling together, Emma had cleared a path and opened doors in their small cottage as Killian carried each to their beds, tucking them in without causing either boy to wake.

For themselves, Emma and Killian left the cleanup for the next day and tiptoed quietly to their own bedroom for a moment alone, together in the whispers of moonlight that crept in through the open window with a gentle breeze.

Letting her fingers lazily twine with his as she led him forward easily, Emma found her breath stolen as Killian stopped near the foot of their bed, tugging her insistently back against his solid form. His arms came up to wrap around her in warm security, and she melted at her husband’s touch. His unshaven cheek prickled her skin when he kissed along her collarbone and up her neck, making her shiver despite the heat.

He had divested her of the light shift she wore almost before she realized it was gone, and his hands were questing boldly over her bared skin, causing a low, throaty moan to escape her lips, only barely managing to keep it soft enough not to wake their children from slumber. It took embarrassingly little time for him to have her thrumming with desire in every nerve ending, particularly with her hormones as wildly raging as they were.

As if he could read her thoughts’ direction, Killian paused his seductive teasing for his hands to rest protectively over her slightly rounded stomach, searching her gaze earnestly before murmuring, “Are you certain this is alright for the little one, Love?”

Emma met his eyes with exasperation; his worry sweet, but oft-repeated by this point. The last month when she had carried their twins had been miserable, and their delivery had been long, difficult, and turned more than a bit traumatic before it was through. Her recovery had been slow and painful, and they had seriously considered whether they wished to try for any more children. But Emma had found that she could not rid her mind of the image of her husband with a tiny baby girl cradled in his arms. Her heart had urged her to try once more, and now she hoped and prayed that a daughter might be safely on her way.

Nodding in answer to Killian’s question, she tried to pull him to her once more, and to smooth the worried creases from his brow.

“But,” he pulled back again, “are we positive? I never want to hurt you, or - “

Shaking her head, Emma could see that stronger measures were needed. Gripping the front of the loose linen shirt he wore barely buttoned, she pulled hard and threw her weight toward the bed, sending them both toppling onto the mattress with a gentle bounce. She rolled quickly to trap him with her body, and leaned in close to assure him, “You won’t hurt me, Killian. I know that as surely as I know anything.”

His whole face lit up with relief and love at her words, warming with one of the most stunning smiles she had ever seen. Satisfied that he was put at ease once more, she turned his face to her own with a finger at his chin and quirked her eyebrow in mischief as she teased, “Well, you won’t hurt me unless you leave me with this ache you’ve started…”

Rolling them once again in the tangled sheets to catch her between his arms as he hovered over her, diving down to steal her breath once more, he rasped, “Well then, Darling, if you insist.”

As the moon shone down on the island’s gleaming waters, they spoke without words, one in body and soul, perfectly happy in their cottage by the sea.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @jennjenn615 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @thisonesatellite @shireness-says @stahlop @xsajx @lfh1226-linda @drowned-dreamer @thislassishooked @kday426 @ultraluckycatnd @tornadoamy @xhookswenchx @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @wefoundloveunderthelight @darkcolinodonorgasm @teamhook @revanmeetra87 @scientificapricot @resident-of-storybrooke @ilovemesomekillianjones @vvbooklady1256

#cssns20 #cs au mc #lieutenant duckling mc #a cottage by the sea #the epilogue

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fereldenturnip · 4 years ago

Text

But Don’t You Ever Let Me Go

Primo Nizzuto/Majid Zamari Sugar Daddy Fic

Part 1 / ?

(Part 2)

Dedicated to @ournextdoorneighbor

Signor Don Primo Nizzuto is a man of great talent and grave importance.

The man singlehandedly brought the entirety of Southern Italy under his thumb before the age of thirty. Towns simultaneously hail Primo a hero, then quake at his passing shadow. He has only known Primo for all of three days and here he is, under the warm Mediterranean sun, offering Majid his own vineyard with a bat of his eyes. As if he has several already and gifting them away to strangers is just another Tuesday.

They loop around the hilly fields, dallying through rows of burgeoning grape plants. Primo, his personal tour guide, comes to a halt in front of one particular bush. In the shade, his fingers trail along gnarled branches and pluck a ripe, dark fruit off the vine. He presents it to Majid with a smile, and he feels a lot like Persephone eating the pomegranate.

Twenty-four year old Majid Zamari is no man’s fool, and he knows power and danger when he sees it.

Majid has done this same song and dance before. It nearly got him killed. After a three-month stint rebuilding his broken body, Majid left the hospital and fled from the cold-grey gloom of the Netherlands. He made a new home in Rome, learned the language, got a real job, and swore to himself he’d never fall for the same tricks again.

Somewhere in his early to mid-fifties, Primo exudes a predatory aura that’s tempered with genuine interest. He tugs another fruit and gleefully tosses it in the air to catch in his mouth. Easy on the eyes, his floppy hair is streaked with grey, as is the manicured goatee on his square face. The colour of his eyes oscillate between green, blue, and grey depending on his mood. Green like a care-free spring day. Grey like hardened steel set to strike. Majid sees green directed at him more often than not.

Coming under Primo’s radar was a fluke. Shaking the man’s hand and spending time with him was, honest-to-God, not Majid’s original intention. But Primo is no Hakan. He doesn't hide behind a fatherly veneer and withhold his affection when disappointed. Charming though he may be, Primo’s brand of violence is centre stage for all to see and Majid to marvel at.

While Majid can appreciate that honest, no-strings-attached personality, he's weary nonetheless. One burn is more than enough to keep his hands from the flames.

They amble back up to the villa, the tall cypress trees casting long shadows--it’s getting late and there’s still the long drive back to Rome to look forward to. Majid digs his hands into his jean pockets, suddenly regretting not snagging his jacket on the way out. Primo leads them up the patio staircase with the terrace overlooking his domain.

“I was serious,” Primo chuffs, “It’ll be easy transferring the deed into your name.”

Majid shrugs, scratching his head. He’s been thinking about growing his hair out again, really embracing the change. It’s so easy to imagine himself standing here, hair long and casual, barefooted and sipping coffee. Every morning a true treat, a real dream come true…

…If he deserved it.

"Thank you, Signor Nizzuto, but I'm afraid vineyards are rather useless to a Muslim." Liar, he thinks, you're a good Muslim like Primo Nizzuto is a good Catholic. Just two wolves in sheeps' clothing. All they’re good for is blood and violence.

Primo leans back on his elbows over the railing, the gorgeous Italian countryside a stunning backdrop. His salt-and-pepper hair is haloed by gold fields, green trees, and blue skies. The man squints, surely thinking something devious, then brooms it all away to smirk at Majid.

"Alright, I understand," Primo says magnanimously. Majid doesn’t sigh in relief. "My driver can deliver you back to your flat, unless I can't... tempt you further?" A piercing, heated look. Although Majid is taller than him, he nevertheless feels small under the Don’s keen gaze. He braces himself and, oh Primo could certainly try, but at what cost?

Majid shakes his head. The man stands and brushes his bespoke suit clean, spotless and breathtaking as the day he met him underneath the arches of the Basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere. Fortuitous fortune or catastrophic calamity? The jury is still out on that one. Majid’s hesitancy is just due-diligence.

"Until next time," Primo tips his head and saunters away, only to return with a lascivious quip, “and please, call me Primo.”

Heels click, fading away on Tuscan marble. Majid’s lips thin. Of course there'll be a next time. Sharks can't stay away once they've sniffed blood in the water.

****

What Primo wants, Primo gets.

Through any means necessary, even fire and blood. Satisfaction is not a delayed gratification when you own half a country.

Thirty years. That’s how long it’s taken to build his mighty empire, and he sits high and mighty on his throne. Some would say it's assembled from the skulls of his enemies, innocent and evil. Primo scoffs at such triteness. He's earned his place at the top of the food chain, fair and square.

So when a sweet thing like Majid comes along, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Primo wants. He wants all of him, and not the ‘naïve foreigner’ façade Majid’s keen on exuding to the rest of the world.

Those sombre eyes of his are exquisite, wrought with pain and suffering that peaks Primo’s insatiable curiosity. Just what exactly is the boy hiding behind those inky depths? Still waters run deep. The young man may have fooled everyone else (possibly even himself), but Primo’s been playing this game longer than Majid’s been alive. He can sense the violence, can feel the feral nature buzzing beneath that supple young skin of his (and what an attractive thing he is to behold).

There lies an entirely different person and Primo chomps at the bit to meet him. Primo wants to electrify him, make the blood in his veins sing, wind him up and watch him go because he can already picture just how beautiful Majid would look bathed in sweat, come, and blood.

So, when Majid denies him, Primo should feel frustrated. He should demand and take, break him over a hard surface until he's howling for release, as is his due as King Shit on the Mountain.

He, in fact, does the opposite. He walks away. See? An old dog can learn new tricks.

Majid is a welcome challenge. One Primo never knew he missed until he left him standing by his lonesome on an open terrace. For the first time in his long life, Primo thrills for The Hunt. He'll have Majid. One day.

Patience is a virtue, Nizzuto. Majid will come begging, and then he'll beg to come.

#my fic #trust fx #wolf 2013 #primo x majid #primo/majid #primo nizzuto #majid zamari #TOG cast #ppl wanted fluff and I apologize in advance #I don't write Primo fluffy lol #the shit Neighbor and I get up to in the discord server #disclaimer: this fic comes from a devout Hannigram shipper

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somethingpoetichere · 5 years ago

Text

speechless- caliban x reader imagine

a big ole prom cheese fest with some cinderella inspiration thrown in. a little angsty but DAMN will give you the feels. OC is Sabrina’s mortal cousin but a member of the Spellman household.

you say you'll be down in five

the smell of your perfume is floating down the stairs

you're fixing up your hair like you do

i know that i'll be a mess

the second that i see you

you won't be surprised

it happens every time

it's nothin' new

Doctor Cerberus’s had the best pancakes in all of Greendale- not that you’d ever fess that up to your Aunt Hilda. Dr. Cerberus placed your order down with a smile, patting your head as he raced back to the kitchen.

Your happiness was short lived, though, as Sabrina’s band of younger friends raced into the diner. You groaned as they shouted your name, dropping your fork unceremoniously. Was nothing sacred?

“Have you seen Sabrina? It’s urgent!” Harvey panted.

You moved to answer that no, you hadn’t seen her all day, and really, she ought to start telling someone when she decided to drop off the face of the earth- when someone slid into the booth across from you.

“I just dropped her off at the Spellman residence, she’s likely to be there all day.” Caliban replied, stealing a french fry off your plate.

Harvey glared. “And what were you doing with Sabrina? Why should I listen to you?”

Roz and Theo rolled their eyes, and you reached out to smack Harvey’s shoulder. “Turn down the testosterone for a minute, Harv. He just told you where Sabrina is- who is capable of making her own decisions, however stupid they may be.” You ignored both Harvey and Caliban’s protests, shooing the trio out with a huff as Caliban and Harvey continued their stare down.

You met Caliban’s gaze as you returned to your long-awaited pancakes. “Miss me, princess?”

You eyed him drily. “Not particularly. Why are you late?” 13 minutes late, to be exact. Not that you'd been counting. Caliban was usually never late to your daily... meetups? That didn’t feel like the right word. But for the last two months, Caliban had met you here at exactly three o’clock, and in exchange for holding off the infernal trials- or whatever they were called- you told him about your mortal life. Stories, histories, that time Andy Simmons found himself with a slashed tire after he’d dumped your best friend. Anything you could think of, really- and Caliban was easy to talk to. Almost too easy. You didn't really understand his fascination with the workings of mortality, but couldn't really bring yourself to press him too hard.

“Aw, was the little princess worried about me?” He crooned, pausing to order from an approaching Dr. Cerberus.

You took a moment to observe him. He spoke animatedly to the man as he ordered his usual- a burger, chocolate shake, and a side of fries. His blonde hair was artfully tousled, as if he’d just walked off the catwalk and not sprung straight from some hell-bound mission with Sabrina. You were always fascinated by the contrast between his hellish leather outfit and Caliban in mortal fashion. Clad in a simple pair of jeans and california sunshine shirt, he looked fresh off the surf- sunkissed and everything, with a smattering of barely-there freckles on his nose.

“See something you like?” He teased, drawing you from your reverie as he tucked the menu away and shrugged off his faded denim jacket- a new addition to his wardrobe that you’d selected when he dragged you to the mall last week.

“You’re avoiding the question.” You huffed, fighting back a blush as you kicked him under the table.

His features schooled into a serious expression, eyebrows furrowing sharply. Caliban’s features were decidedly strong, jaw and cheekbones so angular that even the light shied from them. You rarely liked to be so poetic, but really- did he have to look so effortlessly perfect?

He deflated a little. “The plague kings have been on my case about the next challenge. An escape is desperately needed.”

“And I’m the escape?” You arched an eyebrow at him, suspicion evident on your face as you sipped your shake.

“Darling, you are my salvation.” He grinned mischievously. “Now what's this ball Sabrina has been telling me about? Is it a courting event?”

“Prom?” You laughed. “It’s not a ball, so to speak, but it is a formal thing. Everyone dresses up in gowns and suits, spend the night dancing, usually the punch gets spiked, then someone throws a rager somewhere, and then Tommy Michaels gets found in the bushes outside the police station- for the third year in a row. Everyone makes a pretty big deal out of it.”

“And do you go alone?” He continued, thanking Dr. Cerberus as he placed down his order- who paused to throw you a conspiratorial wink that you pointedly ignored.

“Most people go with dates.” You explained. “Why?”

“No reason beyond pure curiosity.” Caliban smiled, “now tell me about your day, princess.”

it's always on a night like tonight

i thank god you can read my mind

'cause when you look at me with those eyes

“Do you want to go to prom together?” Caliban asked, leaning against the doorway of your bedroom with an alarming air or normalcy that did not suit the question he had asked.

“Prom?” You sputtered. “Why on earth would you want to go to prom?”

Caliban crossed his arms, eyeing you expectantly as he knew you were avoiding the question. “You said it’s a pretty big deal. Sabrina said it’s quite important. Would you want to go?”

You eyed him with barely concealed suspicion. “I mean, I was planning on skipping. I don’t have a dress or a date.”

“Well, I can take care of both of those things. All you have to do is say the word.” He smirked.

You could hardly believe your own hearing. What was with his sudden interest in a mortal school dance? “Why do you want to go to prom with me all of a sudden?”

“Can’t I just want to take a beautiful girl to a dance? You’re part mortal, princess. I imagine it would be nice to have one night outside the realms of hell. I realize my experiences outside damnation are... limited.” He spoke softly, and for a moment you could see the vulnerability in his eyes. Caliban, for all his pride and charm, was nervous. To ask you to prom.

The thought almost made you laugh.

“I’d love to go to prom with you, Caliban. But what about tickets? I think it’s all sold out.”

“Like I said, princess-“ he winked, all traces of former vulnerability gone as it was replaced with his usual troublemaker smirk- “leave the rest to me.”

i'm speechless

starin' at you standin' there in that dress

what it's doin' to me ain't a secret

'cause watching you is all that i can do

and i'm speechless

you already know that you're my weakness

after all this time i'm just as nervous

every time you walk into the room

i'm speechless

You’d spent the better part of the next day at the mercy of Hilda and the Weird Sisters, who were all too delighted to wreak havoc on you. Your entire body was scrubbed and perfumed, your hair had certainly never been so clean and tamed- the soft curls cascading down your back, expertly twisted at points with silvery pins- and your makeup looked so effortless that it almost looked like Prudence hadn’t spent nearly two hours on it. You’d been poked, prodded, and pinched to the point where you’d almost damned the whole thing and stormed off to hell.

But it was all worth it when you reached the top of the stairs and met Caliban’s gaze. A giggle escaped your painted lips as he froze, jaw slack in awe. Your silvery blue dress glittered like starlight in the low light of the foyer, just long enough to trail behind you on the staircase as you descended to greet your date. For a fleeting moment you’d wondered how he’d known your exact measurements- but you supposed that was Caliban for you.

You wobbled slightly on the last step- the glass heels he’d conjured weren’t the most practical, certainly. Caliban lunged over, catching you in his arms effortlessly as you nearly tumbled.

“Careful, Cinderella.” Caliban grinned softly, delicately placing you back on your feet without releasing you from his arms. “You look... you look radiant, princess.”

His voice cracked on the term of endearment, and you were overwhelmed with an unexpected surge of affection for the clay prince.

“How do you even know about that mortal fairytale?” You asked with a breathy laugh, reaching up to fix his tie. Caliban was gorgeous, for lack of a better word. His black suit fit him perfectly, and you smiled at the silvery handkerchief tucked into his suit pocket- a subtle attempt to match your dress.

“It’s your favorite, and I figured if I was going to do this- I was going to do it well. I mean it, though. You look beautiful.” He smiled again, finally retrieving his hands as he ran them through his hair. A nervous tick of his, you’d noted.

Why the heaven was he nervous?

“Thank you.” You blushed, hating yourself for it as he chuckled. “I have something for you. A mortal tradition.”

You pulled the boutonniere from the hidden pockets of the dress (a wonderful touch on Caliban’s part), a simple white rose surrounded by an array of baby’s breath. Caliban eyed it curiously as you reached up to pin it to his lapel.

“You said you wanted a mortal night.” You whispered, doing your best not to pinch him with the pin. You chanced a glance at him, and his expression nearly took the air from your lungs. There was no trace of mischief or smirk on his face- his eyes were warm and lips tugged up ever-so-softly at the corners. You quickly looked away, fighting back another blush. What was happening to you?

“There.” You grinned victoriously at your accomplishment, gently straightening his coat. “All set.”

“Not yet.” Caliban hummed. “I’m afraid your aunts are here to take pictures.”

You turned to face an exuberant horde of admirers- even Zelda and Sabrina looked thrilled- and fought back a groan.

“The things I let you drag me into, Caliban.”

it started when you said hello

just did something to me

and i've been in a daze

ever since the day that we met

you take the breath out of my lungs

can't even fight it

and all of the words, out of my mouth without even tryin'

“Just to prepare you, I turned down a few guys and told them it’s because I have a boyfriend- so you better stick to that story if you don’t want your face in a punch bowl.”

“Who wouldn’t want such a violent girlfriend?” Caliban smirked, hand moving to rest on your thigh from the stick shift. He’d chosen a blue chevrolet convertible for the night- a decidedly vintage pick that perfectly suited your outdated little town.

You scoffed, rolling down the windows to let in the cool evening air. “It must be why they’re all in love with me- knowing I could beat them up.”

“It is most certainly a kink of mine.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you, sparking a laugh.

You reached over to smack him on the shoulder. “That’s because you’re sick, Caliban.”

“Love-sick, princess.” He crooned, gripping your thigh tighter through the dress as you felt your heart rate spike.

“You better watch those wandering hands in there, or Miss Wardwell might have you exorcised for demonic behavior.” You grinned, not daring to move his hand in the slightest.

“You’d be a horrible girlfriend for enjoying that.” He laughed, and you felt your lungs constrict as he tossed his head back. Caliban was always handsome- you weren't blind- but tonight he’d been managing to take your breath away a little more than normal.

“You’d be a horrible boyfriend for leaving me dateless, but I’m sure I could find Tommy or Vick to console me.” You teased, hand moving to rest on top of his.

Caliban’s gaze went dark. “Good thing you’re mine then, princess.” He spoke firmly, gaze hot on your face as he moved to take your hand in his. He brought your hand to his lips, softening slightly as he kissed them, his words a grazing whisper against them. “If only for the night.”

Damn him.

The moment was broken as he pulled to park at the little reception hall tucked into Moon Valley, and he disappeared in a flash and reappeared outside your door. He opened the door with a flourish, extending his arm to help you out of the car with a brilliant smile. “After you, mademoiselle.”

Caliban was so... different, tonight. While always mischievous and wild, he so rarely seemed so weightless. You had certainly never been so girlish and nervous. It was if Sabrina had plucked you out of your infernal daily lives and tucked you into the pages of your favorite Cinderella storybook.

If only for the night.

and i'm speechless

starin' at you standin' there in that dress

what it's doin' to me ain't a secret

'cause watching you is all that i can do

and i'm speechless

you already know that you're my weakness

after all this time i'm just as nervous

every time you walk into the room

i'm speechless

Moon Valley Estate had been pristinely decorated- the storybook theme the prom committee had picked decidedly less cheesy in actuality than it had seemed on the flyers. You admired the fairy lights and lanterns hanging from the trees as Caliban led you up the carpeted stone steps, stopped only by the lingering prom photographer who informed you that you were late- but Sabrina had called and ordered him to stay put (of course she did).

“How late are we?” You asked with a nervous smile, tugging on Caliban’s arm- that you hadn’t let go of since you’d taken it, not that he’d mentioned it.

“Well-“ Caliban began, smiling as the doors opened to a packed ballroom full of your peers all turning to look at you- “I’d say we’re fashionably late.”

You barely stifled a groan.

Even the music quieted a little as everyone craned to look at the pair of you- whispers and wide eyes following you as you descended the staircase.

“You planned this.” You hissed through your smile. “And you are so, so dead for this.”

Caliban moved his hand to the small of your back, gently guiding you towards the center of the dance floor as he basked in the hushed whispers that followed you. “I’d be glad to continue our night in Hell, princess- I didn’t know you moved so quickly.”

You took the opportunity to elbow him sharply, although your words lacked the bite you'd intended. “I’d like to skip to the part of the night where I ditch you to get really drunk on spiked punch, and then throw up on your tux.”

“Prince Charming is hardly deterred by such things. I’m offended at your lack of faith in my dedication here.” Caliban grinned, extending a hand out to you as he bowed dramatically. “Would you allow me this dance, my lady?”

Your answering laugh was wicked- a decidedly unladylike noise at the decidedly un-Caliban-like behavior. “The perfect opportunity to step on your feet- how can I pass up such an opportunity, my lord?”

Your wit died on your tongue as Caliban placed his large hand on your waist, using the other to gently grip yours. He guided you expertly across the dance floor- and you hardly noticed the floor clear for you.

He spun and twirled you around, pausing for just a moment to dip you. It was fanciful and fast and fun- something that positively took your breath away, and not just from the dancing.

You could hardly contain your giddy laughter as the music died, the song drawing to a reluctant end as Caliban slowed. “I didn’t know you could dance so well!”

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, princess.” He smiled, hand still tightly clutching your waist. “But the night is still young, and so we dance.”

yeah, baby, mmm

it's always on a night like tonight

i thank god you can read my mind

'cause when you look at me with those eyes

And so you danced.

You spent the night in his arms, lifted and tossed and spun to your heart’s content. You’d certainly never felt so carefree- and never so content as you did in his arms.

Caliban never grew tired- you reckoned it was some infernal making, but his smile never dulled nor did his arms loosen around you. He smiled at you and your clumsy feet like you weren’t just Sabrina’s cousin- neither divine nor half as damning. In Caliban’s eyes- you had always been more than enough on your own.

Or had you been?

As midnight drew closer, the couples around you grew more restless- be it the spiked punch or the weed you knew had been smuggled into the bathrooms. Whatever it was- you were itching to make a break for it, and the slow song starting up was a perfect exit.

“One last dance?” Caliban crooned, sensing your readiness to leave before the night got dicey.

You smiled breathlessly, tucking yourself further into his arms as you rested your head against his chest. He smelled like ocean- something salty and windswept and altogether Caliban. “Tonight has been perfect, Caliban, thank you.”

“Thank you,” Caliban chuckled, burying his face in your curls, “for a mortal night like this. I can see why you love it the way you do- this life.”

“It’s not always perfect,” you mumbled, pulling back slightly as you entwined your hands behind his neck.

His arms encircled your waist, bringing your face closer to his. His breath fanned your face as he smiled at you- a small one, devoid of all mischief but just as sinful. “No, but you are.”

“So cheesy tonight, clay prince. No smoothness for me- no charm?” You teased gently, playing softly with his hair at the nape of his neck.

“I fear my heart can only speak with honestly tonight, fair princess.” He waxed, voice poetic as it so often was on his dramatic tangents. “Your lips are so quick to scorn and quicker still to wound me- I wonder if such wicked, bitter things could still taste sweet?”

He leaned in closer- if that was even possible- eyes warm as his hands moved to caress your waist. “I wonder....”

And he kissed you, his lips burning as they moved against your own. You responded in turn, brain melting through your shoes as he enveloped you.

Caliban was the first to pull back, smiling softly down at you as he did so. He opened his mouth to say something- when it clicked in your head.

You turned and ran, the clang of midnight echoing behind you.

i'm speechless

you standin' there in that dress

girl, it ain't a secret

'cause watchin' you is all that i can do

oh, i'm speechless

you already know that you're my weakness

after all this time i'm just as nervous

every time you walk into the room

i'm speechless

You found yourself tucked into your favorite booth at Dr. Cerberus’s- ignorant of the curious looks you received at your gown, tear stains, and single shoe. A steaming mug of tea sat before you, but it felt cold in your hands. You felt hollow.

You cursed yourself for falling for the infernal prince- the challenger to your cousin’s throne, the demonic entity surely to be satisfied once he knew your heart was in the palm of his damned clay hand. After all- you weren't Sabrina.

And that had been fine. You loved your foolish, brilliant, damning cousin. You had never been envious of her- even now, even like this. You had never needed to be special- you’d seen what it had done to Brina. But tonight you’d caught a glimpse of that fairytale- and it stung to know that a mortal girl could hardly be enough for a prince.

Even one of hell.

“You lost this.” A miserable voice filled the air, heavy and soft as the owner slid into the booth across from you.

You glanced up in shock, quickly moving to wipe the tears from your eyes that threatened to fall. It was Caliban- looking similarly disheveled, tie undone and shirt partially unbuttoned and untucked. He ran his a hand through his hair, slouching into the booth.

Caliban held the glass slipper out to you, regretfully placing it on the table when it was clear you would not accept it. It was silent for a moment- the tension in the booth nearly drowning you as you swallowed the hurt building in your throat.

“What do you want? Come to gloat that the game is up? That you won?” You demanded, the anger sounding hollow even to yourself.

Caliban looked momentarily stunned. “What are you talking about? I’m here because my date left me on the dance floor after I spent the entire night trying to win her heart and- like a fool- believed she could love me back.”

“What are YOU talking about!” You forcefully demanded back, slamming the mug down so hard on the table it spilled over the edges. “I’m here because my date faked this whole night- these whole two months- as some plot to get at my cousin somehow, and I’m here looking like a fool because even though I knew that from the beginning- I went and caught feelings for him anyway!”

“You thought this was all all a game?” Caliban roared, suddenly every inch the infernal prince you knew him to be. Your froze in momentary fear- you’d never seen his eyes burn like that.

At the look in your eyes, Caliban softened ruefully. “See? The worthless demon, going and screwing everything up. How could you love a monster like me? How could I be worth it?”

How could he not be worth it? You looked back on the last two months and the night with a heavy heart. For all his faults, Caliban was always kind to you- listened to all your trivial bullshit with genuine interest. He walked you home after spending hours together in this booth- offering his coat in the cold or rain- and a kiss on your cheek as he bid you goodnight. On weekends he’d let you drag him all over town, and at night he’d sit through the drive in with you, buying too much popcorn and always managing to piss off the cars next to you. He made you laugh until your sides ached, smile until your face hurt, and compliment you “just to see that pretty blush of yours, princess.” You’d never been as happy as you’d been these last few weeks.

And then tonight. He’d gone through all of this trouble to bring to life your favorite mortal story- he’d even conjured glass slippers. He’d been the perfect gentleman- your very own prince charming, you thought to yourself with a watery giggle. There was an unpleasant sinking in your chest as you realized you’d gone and messed up big time.

“You love me?” You asked quietly, forcing yourself to meet Caliban’s eyes. He looked... defeated, almost- and you felt your heart splinter further.

He seemed surprised at the question. “I... I thought if I took this night- the most mortal night I could think of- and made it perfect, that I could show you. That you would see me as something other than the clay prince. I love you. I love how weightless you make me feel. How I don’t have to pretend around you- how you make everything so easy when it’s not. How I’ve lived through so much, but never felt as alive as I do when you lean your head on my shoulder. Gods, I don’t deserve someone as perfect as you- but I’ve been trying to be better. I never wanted you to see this- to see me- as a game.” Caliban trailed off at the end, his words hardly a whisper as he stared down at his hands.

You moved out of the booth, steeling your resolve as you slid into the seat beside him. He eyed you curiously, the question dying on his lips as you took his face in your hands.

“I love you.” And you kissed him, hard and long and full of all the emotions you knew you would never be able to put into words the way he could. He responded in turn, arms wrapping around you tightly as you smiled into the kiss.

And for once, it was enough.

-------

please please please give me some feedback I was super unsure about this one!!

#caliban #prince caliban #caliban imagine #caliban x reader #sabrina morningstar #sabrina spellman #theo putnam #coz #roz walker #harvey kinkle #nicholas scratch #the weird sisters #ambrose spellman #zelda spellman #hilda spellman #sabrina spellman imagine #caos #caos season 3 #chilling adventures of sabrina

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pale-goblin · 4 years ago

Text

A Little Twisted.

Chapter One: The King

Co written w/ @desertdwellerdanny

It was late, later then Steve wanted to leave work. Working for his father’s business had been the worst mistake of his life. The long hours, business trips, and paperwork killed him. The only thing that added fun to his life was his body count and not in a sex way. Every business trip, he left a crime scene behind; it was an excellent hobby, a fun game.

As Steve unlocked his car that was parked in the darkness of the street, he heard sounds coming from the alleyway—harsh breaths and muffled screams paired with the tell-tell sounds of struggle. There, barely visible in the alley between two abandoned shops, was a tall man dressed in dark denim and golden strands that fell over his shoulders in beautiful curls. He was pretty, despite, or maybe because of, the deep scowl etched into his features. The closer Steve looked, it seemed there was another person there, pushed up against the man and the dirty brick of the wall.

The curiosity got the better of him, and rather than sidle back into his car to drive 40 minutes to a dull house with boring people and boring television; he found his feet carrying him closer. Steve was friends with the shadows, staying well within them to edge closer to the struggle. It was when he had just made it to the opening of the alley that he heard the all-too-familiar crunch of bone and a strangled scream for help that sounded more gurgle than yell. The man was standing, staring down at the body and the bloodied mess he’d made of the wall and his hands. Shining, wet blood covered the front of him, splatters adorning the smooth skin of his face.

It was gorgeous. He was gorgeous.

Steve watched the rage boiling in the man’s face turn sour, listening to him swear under his breath. His blood-covered hands reaching for his blonde curls to smooth it out of his face. Steve smiled in the alley’s dim light. Seeing the reaction of a man’s first kill was titillating to witness.

Steve’s first kill was cleaner, more planned, and he was 12. He had many years to fine-tune his skills and make sure he was hidden from people’s noses, Of course, unless he was too excited like now. Steve hadn’t noticed the can at his feet which he kicked into the dead body when he shifted his weight.

The man got spooked, and in fear of losing this beautiful man, he put his hands up, showing himself.

“Wait, Wait, don’t run.”

The man’s hands were shaking, slight tremors running up and down his spine as he took Steve in. Those sharp, light eyes dragged over his suit-clad figure, and if Steve had been the type of man to blush, his cheeks would be dusted pink with the intense attention the man gave him.

“Who- I didn’t. He was,” his voice cracked, wide, terrified eyes looking down at the bloodied mess the victim’s face was, “What did I do?”

“Looks like you killed him,” Steve said calmly, eyeing the man’s messy job. “Poorly, I might add,” Steve kneeled, being careful not to get blood on himself. “Good spot though, dark alley, broken cameras.” Steve eyed the area, breaking it down for himself to see how easy this would be to cover up.

The man’s eyebrows furrowed, his body screamed defensive, waiting for Steve to shout or call the cops or something. But he didn’t.

“Who are you?” He spat, top lip pulling up into a snarl. He looked like a cornered animal, faced with a variable that had the ability to ruin him. Hell, he’d murdered someone in a blind rage—he’d already been ruined if it wasn’t for Steve, and isn’t that a nice little bit of luck.

Steve smiled when he locked gazes with the fear-filled blue of the man’s eyes. “Seems like I’m your guardian angel.” Steve winked—the excitement building in his chest was impressive; honestly, he was kind of turned on by all of this. “Wait here; I have a kit in my car. I promise I’m here to help you.”

The man stood flabbergasted, the blood coating the front of his shirt and up and down his arms starting to chill with the cold wind. Steve turned and made his way back to his car, nonchalant and even a slight spring in his step, the blond stranger left in the disturbing quiet of the alley. The silence was deafening, and it roared in the man’s ears.

Steve returned moments later, holding a large black case, wearing a rudder-looking apron and gloves. He had a smile on his face that seemed not to fade. "Can I ask you some questions? About this friend of yours, about tonight?" Steve placed the case on the ground, wondering if this was weird for him, this well-dressed stranger who happens to be a psychopathic murderer. "What's your name?”

The man’s mouth dropped open a bit, taking Steve even before giving a small, unbelieving chuckle and mumbling what the fuck under his breath. “You’re a nutcase, aren’t you?” He gave Steve a cautious side-eye before facing him head-on, meeting his gaze, “You can call me Neil. And that,” he said, pointing at the body, “is not my friend. But ask away if you gotta.”

Steve completely ignored Neil's stab at him for being 'crazy' Steve wasn't crazy—far from it.

"Did you have sex with him?" Steve mumbled as he pulled out a plastic sheet from his case and laid it on the ground.

Billy licked his lips nervously, hands tightening into fists at his side. “No! N-no,” he hesitated, stomach rolling uncomfortably at recalling what had made him do… this… in the first place, “He was trying to— he put something in my drink. But it must’ve been weak or some shit because I could still move. Kinda. I came-to here and kinda, just,” his nostrils flared with fury, eyes even beginning to blur with tears just remembering. He didn’t want to remember. “I didn’t give him the chance to.”

Steve snorted at himself as he dragged the body onto the sheet. Not at Neil's misfortune but the fact that he helped throw the defense case out the window if he got caught. "Then good riddance to this ass hole--" Steve went through the victim’s pants, pulling out a wallet but no car keys. Sad, he couldn't make it look like a car crash. "-- Mr. Bates." Steve read the ID in the wallet, pressing his lips together with a chuckle, "not anymore."

“Bates? That’s his name?” Neil gave an unbelieving laugh, giggles pouring out of him, quickly turning into hysterics, “Oh god. I’m sorry, it’s just. Like that one movie? American Psycho? Bates?” He covered his mouth with a trembling hand to quiet the chuckles forcing their way out of him, “Guess it’s not him that’s the killer this time, though.”

Steve loved hearing the laughter pouring out of Neil's mouth. It was sweet and gave Steve goosebumps just listening to it echo off the walls. He kind of forgot to give his name. He was still tied up in the blood and the blue of this man's eyes. "I'm Ste--no- uh Steve" Steve stumbled the words out of his mouth, giving Neil his real name with so much trust. His beautiful face was throwing Steve off his game.

Neil squinted at him, chuckles finally calming down a bit as he watched Steve work. “Steve,” he said slowly as if testing how the name tasted on his tongue. He must’ve approved because he nodded once before leaning back against the wall opposite to where he’d bashed the man’s head in and slid to the ground. He stretched his legs out, his foot just barely touching the body’s foot, and gave a little kick before letting his head thump back against the brick. “Well, what the fuck are we gonna do, Steve.”

"Well, I'm taking this man home with me" Steve rolled the guy in the plastic sheet just not to make a mess of his car. "Since this was not planned, I will have to figure out how to get rid of the body, but we will clean up the blood and…" Steve's eyes flicked over Neil's body as he sat on the ground, which made Steve let out a disappointed sigh "...and we will get you cleaned up at my house."

“You’re literally helping hide a murder right now,” Neil raised an eyebrow at him, weariness pulling his features down and narrowing his eyes, “Why, pray tell, the fuck should I trust you enough to get into your car?”

Neil was on edge, hackles raised and expecting the worst from Steve. He’d narrowly avoided being attacked already tonight and instead managed to become a murderer in that short amount of time.

“For one, you don’t have to trust me, and I don’t expect you too” Steve pulled a spray bottle out of the case. “But I’m the only chance you have right now” Steve kind of felt like he was

forcing Neil to come with him, but he wasn’t. If Steve wanted to have his way, Neil would have been knocked out and hogtied in the back of his car. Steve started cleaning the blood off the walls taking his time even though no one probably came down here much unless they were also criminals.

Neil let his head thump back against the wall again, closing his eyes. His stomach was cramping with anxiety, and he still felt sick from earlier—the panic and disgust of being so vulnerable settled like lead in his chest.

“Maybe,” he peeked one eye open, lazily watching Steve scrub and spray at the chunky red mess on the wall, “Once I know for sure you’re not gonna fuck me over.” Neil still felt the fear clawing its way up from his chest, and yet in that mess of emotions, not one of them was guilt over what he had done. It had felt...right to kill him. Good, even.

Steve enjoyed the clean-up more than the kill itself; it added some kind of normal part to it for him. Steve never felt guilt but knew he wasn’t normal, but he didn’t care if he was. Steve looked back at the guy exhausted against the wall of the alley. “The anxiety will pass,” Steve mumbled, giving him a shy smile. “Then you will taste true freedom.”

Neil snorted, taking a deep, shuddering breath. “You sound like you’ve done this before, pretty boy. Run into a lot of murders, do you?”

Steve laughed. “I don’t run into a lot. It’s not like we have a club or anything,” Steve cleaned up the last bit on the wall before moving to where the body has been sitting. “But, I have done this before, 42 times counting helping you; I’ve even got a fancy killer name now.”

Neil’s eyebrows shot up, face sobering, “Really now?” He looked nervous. Funny almost, like there’s a difference between killing 42 or 1 with his bare hands. “And what would that be? How so many?”

Steve licked his lips as he looked up at Neil. “They call me the King; I haven’t been caught because I don’t kill in the same city twice in the same year. They only connected the dots a few months ago.”

Neil’s eyes grew big, mouth propping open as he took in the killer who had just started to take over just about every news story as of late. “Holy fuck. Bullshit.” he sat up against the wall, pushing up off of it to stride over to Steve as if getting a better look at the man would help him make the connection to a faceless serial killer. “And you’re helping me? Now?” his face screwed up in confusion, taking yet another step towards Steve, “Why?” he said quietly, peering into his eyes as if trying to find the answers to all the questions clogging his brain there.

Steve shrugged. “My life is boring, and you’re just the excitement I needed today.” Steve stood up and finally finished the rest of the work. He watched Neil check him out, trying to figure out what was not very hard if you knew how to look. “Do I scare you?”

Neil didn’t answer right away, keeping his intense eye contact and considering the question with a low hum. “No. You don’t.” He settled on, stating it firmly and with conviction. Steve was terrifying, but the shine in Neil’s eye confirms that he would rather die than let him know that.

Steve made a face when he looked interested more than he was before in Neil. "Well, come on then" Steve put his stuff away, closing the case up and handing it to Neil with a wink, "unless you want to get caught, that is" Steve smiled faded at the possibility that Neil could just say no and run, but Steve would make sure his actions had consequences.

Fortunately, it seemed Neil had better common sense than that and hesitantly stepped forward to take the case. “You look like you know what you’re doing. I’d rather take your lead than to spend the next 30 years in prison.” Neil replied in perfect deadpan. He wasn’t a fool—he knew what happens to boys like him if he was targeted before being in a building full of men with his being as pretty as he was… well, that’s just asking for trouble, isn’t it?

Steve smiled. "Smart boy." Honestly, Steve would have so much fun with this guy; maybe they would even kill together. Hmm, the idea of that, the excitement of it.

Steve picked up the body, throwing it over his shoulders like it was nothing to him--it was unfortunate he would have to get rid of his suit because of this. Hunting in clothes you wear is never a good idea with fibers getting everywhere.

"My car's not far."

Neil slowed, eying how easily Steve had manhandled a grown man’s dead weight. He wasn’t sure if that added to the intimidation or stirred something in him. Neil gave his head a slight shake before gripping the case in his hands tighter and following Steve back out to his car.

It was a fancy thing, sleek black and probably more expensive than Neil had ever owned or even touched.

Steve opened the trunk of the car and placed the body down into it. Honestly, all of this tonight made him yearn for another hunt, but he wasn't going on another trip for a few weeks.

Steve let out a sigh as he grabbed the case from Neil and put it in with the body, and removed the extra attire he was wearing.

"Get in the back seat. I already put a sheet down for you" Steve opened the back door like a gentleman. Steve wondered what Neil was feeling, how much excitement was kicking in? Did he feel good? Steve always enjoyed the thrill of it all, but he wanted to know how other people thought.

Neil pulled a face at his commanding tone, but climbed in anyway, face passive save for his ears’ tips that flushed a pretty red. “M, not a damn dog, yknow,” he mumbled out, although he understood the reasoning given the front of his shirt was splattered in blood.

He shuffled in, careful not to touch anything that wasn't the plastic sheet lining the inside of the car. “What’re you going to do with him?” he asked quietly, the meekest Steve’s seen him all night.

Steve got out into the car’s front seat and fixed his mirror to see Neil in the back seat, getting to see him in a slightly better light before the overhead light in the car went out as he turned the car on. “Well, dump his body somewhere in a few days,” Steve smiled, thinking about how he could take credit for it. “Maybe cut something into his skin, take the top of his skull, and put it on my wall.”

It’s not something that’s been disclosed by the cops yet, at least not officially. Reporters have spread the news like cockroaches in hidden corners, whispering about how the serial killer King takes the crown of the victims’ scalps. It’s terrifying, really. Neil narrows his eyes a smidge.

“Why do you do it?”

Steve had never thought about why he did what he did; he only started doing it three victims into this game of his. Sometimes he does it when the people are still alive, watching the fear dripping from their eyes until the shock sets in.

“They don’t deserve a crown.”

Neil hummed, “Who deserves a crown, then?”

Steve pulled out of the parking spot, locking eyes with Neil in the mirror. “I do.”

Neil held his gaze—feeling trapped by Steve’s shockingly clear brown eyes, and yet he felt no struggle or want to break out of it.

Neil is prey. Interesting, pretty, entertaining prey.

And Steve was going to eat him alive just to force him to submit to him. To admit how scared he is of The King.

Co written w/ @desertdwellerdanny

#stranger things #tw murder #Tw blood #fic writing #fic ideas #fic #billy hargrove #steve harrington #murderer steve #billy x steve #harringrove #sorry everyone

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mysterioh · 5 years ago

Text

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 17

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

SYNOPSIS: You love biology. The study of life excites you. But you hate people. Especially the ones that like to stick their nose in your business. Too bad the King of Brooklyn didn't get the memo.

A/N: Don’t exactly know how I feel about this chapter but here it is!

MASTERLIST

The Truth’s Out

“Red or black?” you asked, showing two of the dresses you picked out.

“Just pick any,” Steve grumbles, leaning on the clothes rack. His expression holds an exaggerated exhaustion that had you rolling your eyes.

Your arms drop to your side and you give him the meanest glare he’s seen in two months. A lazy smile tugs at his lips.

It’s true. You’ve been dating for two whole months and even celebrated your two month anniversary two weeks ago. You thought it was stupid to celebrate, believing that it should’ve been a more memorable milestone. A year or five. Even six months was considered more important than two. But if Steve put his mind to something, he did it. So he took - dragged - you to a fancy restaurant in the Upper East and bought you the prettiest Valentino crossbody with a price tag that had you gaping.

"I feel like I'm your sugar baby," you muttered, holding the clutch in your hand. Your fingers slide along the tan leather of the rockstud bag. It feels uncomfortable, solely because you’ve never held something so expensive in your hands.

Without a doubt, you loved the gift. You had a weakness for designer items. Although you’ve never bought anything even close to it, that didn’t stop you from drooling while scrolling on websites just to admire the latest trends and cry at the prices.

"You're my girlfriend," Steve corrects, eyes glued to the street as he drives. "And if I don't spoil my girl, who will?"

You open your mouth to say something snarky but he cuts you off.

"And I won't let anyone else so don't get any ideas,” he deadpans.

You laugh, then lean over and hug him from the side. You pressed your lips against his cheek and mushed the other side of his face with your hand. Steve tries his best to keep the car straight on the road, but you’re not helping.

“If I crash this car, it will be your fault.”

“You're no help," you complain, “You came to help.”

Steve stood up straight and pointed up. “Actually, I came to spend time with you,” he said, "Cause I haven't seen you in a week.”

You frown, feeling guilty. "I had a busy week,” you explained, “I had back-to-back shifts and three exams."

"So that's why I'm here trying to spend time with you,” he assures with a smile.

“You are spending time with me!”

“This wasn’t really what I had in mind.”

“Fine," you pouted, "I’ll help myself,” you stated, turning over to the mirror on the wall. You placed the red dress in front of you and then the black while deep in thought.

Steve rolls his eyes.

“Babe, just pick the one you like the most.”

“That’s the thing," you turn over to him, "I like both! But I don’t know which one would look better on me.”

Steve shrugs. “I think you’d look good in both.”

You give him a half frown. “You’re just saying that so we can leave.”

“Maybe," he shrugs again. Maybe not.”

“Maybe I’ll try them on and see which one looks better," you conclude, hanging them over one arm.

Steve sighs and places his hands on his hips in defeat. “If it means we’ll be able to leave faster, then go for it," he points towards the rooms.

You chuckle at his frustration while making your way to the changing rooms. You walk into an empty stall and slide the curtain behind you. Steve waits outside, his back leaning against the wall.

He observes the others in the store. Teenage girls gossiped and giggled while traversing through the maze of clothing racks with ease. Employees were scattered throughout the store, looking like Death himself with the average Karen sneakily approaching them for some outrageous request.

The kingpin was a force to be reckoned with. A six foot force with bulging muscles and unmatched skill in strategy and combat, to be exact. And yet, a simple shopping trip had him whining like a child.

Steve bangs his head against the wall with a grunt. He's been here too long, and he's craving for something sweet.

He knocks on the wall. “How long is this going to take? You’ve been in there for an hour," he exaggerates.

The sound of metal rings sliding along the rod makes him turn, only to pause the minute his eyes fall on you.

The ruby-colored dress hugs against the curves of your figure and falls just above the knee. Your upper chest is bare besides for the spaghetti straps running over your collarbones and the cowl neck giving a teaser of your cleavage.

His jaw goes slack, leaving his mouth open in awe.

"How do I look?" You ask, turning from side to side to give him a full view.

Steve.exe has stopped working.

“Amazing. Gorgeous. Show-stopping. Extraordinary," he spews one out after the other.

“You sound like a creep," you chuckle at him before turning towards the mirror inside the room.

Steve smiles wickedly and wraps his arms around your waist from behind and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Babe, you look absolutely stunning," he says, blues eyes piercing at you from the reflection of the mirror.

His grip around your waist grows tighter as he nuzzles his nose on the side of your neck. He plants kisses along the curve of your neck and it has shivers zipping down your spine.

“Steve!” you turn slightly towards him and give him a slap on the chest. “People are watching!” you scold him.

He chuckles against you, his hot breath tickling the bare skin of your shoulder. “I don’t care. I don’t know ‘em," he replies.

“Should I try the other one?” you ask.

“Nah, forget about it. This dress was made for you,' he assures. "C'mon let's get outta here," he pulls you along.

"Let me change first!”

Pietro lets out a deep, prolonged sigh. With his face propped up in his hand, he lazily mixes his smoothie with the straw and looks blankly at the masses in the food court.

“What’s wrong?” Vision asks, taking a slurp of his own smoothie.

“Just bored, Viz,” he sighs again.

Vision checks the time on his wristwatch. “I’m sure Wanda will be back soon.”

“I was speaking in general,” Pietro explains. “And forget about her coming back soon. That never happens.”

“Then why are you so bored?” Vision questions, leaning forward in his chair.

Pietro shrugs, then swipes a hand through his hair. His hand stays in his hair, and he tugs on it hard. “Nothing’s happening. I need some action, ya know?” he turns to the pale-skinned boy in front of him. He sits up and lifts his hands in an animated motion. “I need some fire. Some destruction!”

“Or maybe you just need a job,” Vision deadpans.

Pietro’s lips fall into a pout. “I have a job,” he retorts.

“I’m talking about a real job.”

“I have a real job!”

“Being an information broker isn’t a real job,” Vision replies. “You just like to gossip.”

“I get paid for my gossip,” Pietro grumbles. “So it’s a job.”

“And that’s why you are on the brink of being homeless,” Vision smirks mockingly.

Pietro huffs, then rests his chin on the table. “Things have been slow lately. No one’s cheating on their girlfriend or pulling someone’s eyeballs out, so I’ve got nothing to work with here,” he complains.

“Then why don’t you get a real job?” the other boy suggests. “And stop leeching off of Wanda.”

Pietro whips up again and points at Vision. “You know what, Viz—,” he cuts himself off when he notices a familiar yet unfamiliar face walking by. Pietro’s face lights up in a split second, making Vision raise a brow. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the kingpin,” he snickers.

“The who?”

Pietro looks back at Vision. “The kingpin, moron! You’re such a smart guy and you don’t even know who Steve Rogers is?”

“I’ve heard of him.”

“Hell yeah, ya heard of him. The guy’s loaded,” Pietro exclaims. He raises a brow in question when his eyes catch you holding Steve’s hand. “But who’s that girl with him?”

Vision squints at the two. “I know of her,” he replies. “She’s a friend of Wanda’s. They work together. I think her name’s Y/N.”

“Y/N, huh?” Pietro smiles, pulling out his phone.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Pietro leans over the entire table, bringing his phone to Vision’s end. He zooms in as much as he can.

God bless the iPhone 11 Pro Max.

He takes a few pictures of the two.

“Stop that, we’re in public!” Vision exclaims quietly. “This is so wrong on so many levels!”

Pietro looks up at him before taking another picture. “I’m doing my job, Viz, just like you told me to,” he replies with a smug grin.

“You’re going to get killed and get me killed for associating with you.” Pietro takes a few more pictures of the passing couple. Vision covers the camera with his hand. “Stop that!”

Pietro clicks his tongue before pulling back. He checks the photos one by one and smiles.

Hell yeah, 4k baby.

“Delete those right now!”

He looks up at him with a grimace. “No,” he states flatly, before returning to his phone.

“Think about your poor sister, will you?” Vision tries to play the empathy card. “If the kingpin finds out you took pictures of him unknowingly, he’ll have your neck.”

Pietro stands up. “I’ve been doing this for a long time, buddy, nothing’s going to happen,” he smirks while passing him, patting him on the shoulder as he does.

“Where the hell are you going now?”

“Just going to go have a little fun,” he replies, “Tell Wanda I’ll call her later.”

Vision sends him off with a disappointed shake of the head that Pietro didn’t seem to care about. He swipes through the photos, then stops at one. He zooms in just enough to see the kingpin sneak a little kiss with his girl. He swipes to the next picture. It’s one of you looking up at Steve, smiling, red-cheeked and heart-eyed. His eyes linger on you for a while. A wicked smile tugs at his lips and reaches the tips of his ears.

“You’re gonna make me rich, sweetheart.”

You yawned while skipping up the stairs of the subway into the warmth of the sun with heavy footsteps and heavier eyelids

Take early morning classes, you told yourself. It’d be easy, you said.

LIES. ALL YOU EVER DID WAS LIE TO YOURSELF.

You stray from the rest of the crowd, taking your daily shortcut to the science building. It was an old alleyway that led to a loading center right behind the university. It was a better route than being battered in the masses of the main street. Not to mention it gave you an extra ten minutes before class to pick up a coffee.

Sure it was a bit sketchy, but who’d be stupid enough to mug you in broad daylight?

"What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a street like this?" a gruff voice comes from your left.

You just had to ask.

Raucous and obscene fits of laughter erupt within the narrow alleyway. You walk on, your strides growing wider, without paying them any mind.

The man throws his cigarette to the ground and stomps on it. He takes two wide steps towards you and turns you around by the shoulder. “Hey, princess, it ain’t polite to ignore people.”

"Don't touch me,” you shake his hand off your elbow.

The brute raises a brow. “I’ve seen your face somewhere,” he states, “You’re the kingpin’s whore,” he grins wickedly.You froze when the words left his tongue, eyes softening into fear. He grabs you by the wrist as his friends start to surround you. It feels like you’re a rabbit in the middle of a pack of wolves.

“Yeah, it’s her alright,” another pipes up, “she’s all over the news.”

News? What news?!?!

The one holding onto your arm pulls you roughly towards him, snickering. "How about we have a little fun?" he teases.

You try your best to twist your way out of his grasp with your free hand, but another man comes and yanks on your hand hard. Your head whips towards him, heart beating rapidly at the thought of what they’d do to you in the hidden alley.

He smiles at you, letting the silver in his teeth shine in the sun.

"C'mon baby, we’ll play nice,” he cooes, his face in your face. You squirm away from him, but he tugs you closer. "What? Not good enough for ya? A night with the king got you high up in the air? Don't get so full of yourself. You're nothing but his slut."

"Let me go!" you shout with a hope that someone would hear. But let’s face it. This is New York. Even if someone could hear you, they wouldn’t come to help you.

"Thing is, I got a little beef with the big guy,” he growls, digging into his pocket and taking out a switchblade. Your eyes grow wide at the sight of the sharp blade. “Since I can't get to him,” he brings the blade to your chin, “I'll settle with you."

Swinging your leg as hard as you can, you kick the silver toothed man hard in the groin. You feel a sharp stinging on the side of your face as he drops the blade and shouts a curse in pain.

Now with a free hand, you go straight for the man holding the other and punch him directly in the jaw. He lets go and grumbles holding the face in his hand.

The rest of the crew stood silent, completely stunned by the quick turn of events. You take it as a moment to flee. Turning on your heel, you dash down the alley as fast as you can.

"Don't let her get away!" You hear one of them shout behind you.

You turn around the corner, opposite in the direction of school. You’re not thinking, you’re just running. Everything in your mind is a big blur. It’s just one foot in front of the other in an attempt to widen the gap between you and them.

Your breaths came in small spurts, hot and nervous. Your fingers are balled tightly into fists, swinging back and forth as if it’d make you run faster. Your lungs and heart are pumping, but the air doesn’t seem to be enough as you sprinted forward, panic trembling in your exhausted limbs.

Your eyes were shut tight, trying to keep your sanity at bay. It’s all a bit too familiar. The rush of adrenaline and the fear of getting caught. It takes you back to a memory you buried six feet under.

Their heavy pants and growling curses mingle with the words that echo in your head. His voice rings in your ear, like he’s the one chasing you.

“You can run all you want, kid, but in the end you’ll come right back here! Right back to me.”

You turn around another corner to find trash cans lining the wall. You push them over, letting them topple to the floor, creating a pathetic excuse of an obstacle. But it works. It slows them down just enough for you to turn around the corner of another alleyway.

You run down the path, speed constant, and notice the sound of their jeers growing distant. But even so, you keep running until you reach the main street. Only stopping when you hear tires screeching along the asphalt of the street.

You freeze in front of the car, the bumper just inches away from your body. The door opens and Steve quickly gets out and his friends follow. His hair is a mess and his clothes too casual than his normal attire.

You swallow deep when his eyes meet yours. “Y/N,” he calls with a breathy pant.

Tears start to bubble at the corner of your eyes. All of the confusion and fear finally starts to sink in, but you’re trying your best to keep it all in. The slam of the door behind him was the little push you needed to let go.

“Steve,” you mumble, meeting him halfway.

Your face slams into his chest, hugging him tight. His arms wrapped around you create a safe haven. The scent of a day’s old cologne and cigarettes feels just right. The relaxed beat of his heart against your ear calms your tense nerves. But it was the press of his lips against your forehead that really brought you home with a warm welcome.

“You’re late,” you mutter against him.

“Sorry, Monday morning traffic is killer,” his voice rumbles against the side of your face. You can hear the smile in his words.

You look up at him with a small smile. He wipes the wet smears around your eyes, keeping your face in his hands.

“Bad day?”

“It’s Monday, what do you expect?”

He chuckles softly, “Point made,” his thumb brushes against the scrape running along your chin.

“Steve, did you see–?”

"I saw 'em." he answers.

"What's gonna happen now?"

“I don’t know. We’ll figure it out,” he assures, “but first let me find the bastards that did this to you.”

“This?” you pointed at the cut, “this is nothing. Really.”

“It is something,” he replies firmly.

“But it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Well I’m worrying anyway.”

"Hey, Y/N, you okay?" Peter asks sweetly.

You smile at him. God, this kid. Where has he been? You’ve been missing him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in school?” you teased.

“I’m twenty-years-old!” he exclaims with a pout, earning a chuckle from you.

Your new friends run down the alley and out onto the street. They freeze at the sight of the mob boss towering over them in all his majestic glory. Steve’s jaw ticks and his eyes fall on them with a murderous intent. Their beady eyes divert to you, hidden in the kingpin’s embrace, but don’t linger for long. They’ve pissed off the guy enough as it is, ogling his girl would just make it worse.

“Well if it isn’t a bunch of rats,” Bucky sneers with a chuckle and Peter mimics him.

“Hey, Sammy, do me a favor and go break some bones.” Steve orders.

“But I thought you said—”

“This is an exception,” Steve interrupts with a chuckle. “Go have some fun.”

“Yes!” Bucky pumps his fist. “Finally! My bones are getting rusty,” he stretches his legs and arms.

“That may just be because you’re old.”

“Shut up, Pete, or I’ll beat your ass first,” Bucky snaps at him, “All right ladies, let’s get into formation,” he claps.

“You are not Beyonce, you can’t say that,” Sam deadpans.

Bucky whips his long brown locks with his hand. “No, I’m Bucky with the good hair.”

“It’s official, I hate you,” Sam groans, “Hey, where the fuck do you think you're going?" He pulls the silver-toothed man back by the collar.

“Come on, let’s go,” Steve turns you around before Sam punches the man’s teeth out and leads you to the car.

It takes everything in your willpower to not look back. You can hear it all. Heavy punches and deep grunts. Strained curses and feet scuffling on the concrete.

And it makes you wonder. Despite all that had happened. Was it really all right for them to take the law into their own hands?

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#steve rogers x reader #mob!steve rogers x reader #mobster steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagines #steve rogers fluff #mafia au #mob au #mob!steve #steve rogers angst

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bluedrawsanddreams · 4 years ago

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Day #19 of my OTP-tober Prompt List

*****

The Blue-Eyed Pirate King, Master of the Seas, a man who would kill those who dare defy him. That was an old story, but it was twisted by others who truly hated him with passion.

The Blue-Eyed Pirate King was nothing more than a determined, brave lad who was raised by his folks to do what he knows is right and help those in need. Repair a few things that were broken down, give back those that were stolen from helpless people. Hell, he was known as the Pirate King for a reason.

A very, very special reason.

Rodney wished the stories about him were true, if not for the fact that he and his crew were sneaking into the kingdom of Treelighty. Either a well-made bribe or a few distracted guards helped the plan to work. Maybe it was a bit of both. They were hoping to find a way that no one knew into the castle, maybe to find riches that were stored away.

However, the mission to find them was long gone from Rodney’s mind the moment he saw her.

In the gardens, a young girl, clad in an orange dress, her shoulders bare. The sleeves ending halfway above her wrists, the cuffs hanging. Her auburn curls delicately hanging from behind her as her blue eyes studied the words in a book that was held in her hands. Her lips seemed to soft to touch.

Rodney’s cheeks turned rosy red at the sight of her. She was beautiful, devastatingly gorgeous. How could she not? His heart beat faster the longer he stared at her beauty.

“Wow...” a whisper left his lips.

However, that whisper also caught the maiden’s attention. She glanced up at him from her book, and all Rodney could do was just stand there stiff. His cheeks still burned red, his blue eyes wide as plates.

But...she didn’t run away or scream in terror like the women he’d encountered did. No, she just sat there, gazing back at him. Her sky-blue eyes shining under the sun and staring back at his pair.

Her surprised frown changed to a softhearted smile a moment later. Rodney continued to stand there frozen on the spot. His heart raced faster than before.

A female called from the inside of the castle, and the young maiden turned away from Rodney to the source before facing him again. Another smile, more soft and kind, sent Rodney’s cheeks burning redder before she departed down the path of the garden. What she didn’t know was that she had left him standing there.

Stunned and miserably in love.

Aaliyah, he had heard it back at the gardens. Such a beautiful name...

Rodney sat in his quarters as he pondered about the auburn-curled beauty from the gardens. Her dazzling blue eyes shining underneath the sun, her soft smile overtaking his vision.

Treasures and gold no longer filled his mind. Not even rum could take her out of his head. No, no. He needed to see her again. He has to.

When he returned to the castle the next morning, the youngest princess sat in the gardens, her book closed in her hands this time. Was she waiting for him? Has she been thinking about him as well?

Rodney dared himself to step out from the shadows after checking that no one is around in the gardens and approach her. It wasn’t until a few steps later that Aaliyah glanced up and smiled that same soft smile as before.

“I knew you’d come back,” she told him. Her voice rung through the trees like an angel.

His cheeks glowing red, Rodney chuckled sheepishly. “I was hoping I didn’t take too long.”

“No. But I was worried you wouldn’t come,” Aaliyah still smiled.

Rodney smiled back at her.

It wasn’t long until an accidental meeting changed to an interest to more frequent visiting. The Pirate King has fallen in love with the fair princess.

Day after day, Rodney would visit Aaliyah in the gardens, the princess studying him with wonder and him exchanging tales about his adventures. She was rather shy, at first, Rodney believed. But overtime, she had grown to love hearing his stories across the seas and tell her own stories about so badly she wanted to escape the boring, uneventful life of a royal and venture out into the unknown seas of the world. Rodney had been appalled to hear that.

“But I thought a princess can go whenever her heart desires,” he’d stated after hearing another one of Aaliyah’s wishes.

The princess had frowned discontent. “Not this princess.”

Rodney had bit his bottom lip before his eyes had lit up. “One day...” he’d taken her hands in his hands. “I’ll come back...and we’ll run off together. You by my side, and your wish granted.”

“Do you promise?”

“...with all my life.”

Everyday, Rodney had thought about how he would make good on his promise. He had showered her with many gifts, though not expensive, but rather thoughful and dazzling as her, compliments, many more than he could count. He had written her many stories, poems about his adventures and love for her. His crew, specifically Migo and Manolo, had given him advice how to win her heart, after Rodney had told them about her interests, about how little she cared for expensive things and how much she craved for adventure.

He thought his plan on making Aaliyah’s wish come true would work...

...until a new rival came along.

Prince Michael Jameson. A guest of Aaliyah’s family and a new thorn on Rodney’s side. Rodney had thought nothing of him until he had found Aaliyah crying in the gardens. Her eyes were brimmed with heartbroken tears, and her sniffles audible for him to hear when he got closer to her. The moment she had looked up to face him, a hand-marked bruise on the right side of her face was all it took for anger to grow in him.

“Dry your tears, love. It’s alright,” he’d soothed her, despite the anger growing in him, as he wiped the the tears from her cheeks. “I’m here now.”

Aaliyah, after her face was no stained with tears, had explained to him that Michael had cornered her in her room and accused her of seeing someone else, a man with “much more taste than him”. She had tried to deny it, only for Michael to retaliate, which explained the mark on her face. She had tried to explain it to her family about the confrontation, only for her aunt to instantly turn against her and say things and call her names hurtful enough to break both her spirit and heart.

Rodney was already fuming with rage, yet he remained calm in front of her, as to not scare her any further.

“Look here, love. I do not know who this man or your aunt think they are,” Rodney had stated as he gently lifted Aaliyah’s chin up to face him. “But I do not care about what happens to me as of now. They have no authority, let alone a right, to touch or speak to you like that. And if they dare challenge me...they’ll know who I am soon.”

Aaliyah had sniffled again and beamed at him gratefully.

Rodney was still enraged as he recounted the story Aaliyah had told him, a rage that left him plotting more than just a romance. His anger grew even more when he remembered the reason why Michael was here, the reason that Aaliyah knew and told him the moment she first met him: to marry her, against her own will.

That bastard of a prince doesn’t even care about her feelings or well-being at all. He was only in it to become wealthy off her family. Her aunt wasn’t even willing to bat an eye at the mistreatment of her own niece. How dare they?

Rodney was not one to stand by and let that happen. He’s not going to let it happen.

The wedding was going to take place in two months’ time, Aaliyah had told him, which became the perfect time to set a plan in motion. He’d stay away from the gardens for the time-being, making Prince Michael believe himself to be triumphant. Oh, he can’t wait to wipe that smug, little smirk off his face. Once the crew break into the castle, Rodney would come back for her, and they would sail away, gaining Aaliyah’s freedom in the process.

“What if I lose you? I don’t want anything to happen to you,” Aaliyah had pleaded with him one night before the plan would be set into motion.

Rodney had smiled at her reassuringly and gently cupped her cheek. “It will. I promise...”

And sure enough, the plan came into light on a sunny day.

The sun was shining, the wind was blowing sweetly, and shouts of war filled the air. Rodney raced across the castle as his crew, his friends, battled the guards that dared get in the way.

It was exciting for him. A forbidden romance, a dangerous rivalry, a very brutal battle.

But right now, getting to his beloved princess was all that matters right now.

Through the halls, he ran as fast as his legs could carry him, speeding to the one place where Aaliyah would be taken. After all, the king’s youngest daughter does need to be protected.

A cry of pain after a loud slap and an louder, enraged voice spurred Rodney to run faster. He’d know that voice anywhere, he’d heard it one night before.

Kicking down the door, he stopped in his tracks to find Aaliyah on the bed. Her wrist was being held harshly by Prince Michael, who quickly spun around to face him before he could even hit her again. Tears streamed down her innocent face, no doubt caused by the monster of a prince, her eyes pleading for him to save her. She looked lovely in her wedding dress, white and silky.

But none of that matters right now. Today, he’s going to make good on his promise.

“Who in the hell are you, pirate?!” The prince demanded, gripping Aaliyah even tighter.

Rodney regained his composure and stared down at him with anger and determination. “I’ve come to protect my princess.”

“Like hell you will!” Michael harshly let Aaliyah go and unsheathed his blade and pointed it at Rodney’s chest.

Aaliyah screamed in terror, her hands covering her mouth.

“She’s mine, pirate! She belongs to—“ Prince Michael never got to finish his sentence before his blade got smacked away by Rodney’s own sword. He gulped nervously when Rodney pointed it at his chest.

“She was never yours from the start,” Rodney bravely stated. “An innocent, young damsel with dreams in her heart...and you have broken it out of her. But I’m willing to protect her with all my heart and life.”

Prince Michael shook greatly, his eyes not leaving the blade pointed to his chest. Is he...afraid? He should be. Now if he plunged the sword through him...

But he couldn’t, not in front of Aaliyah.

His beloved Princess. His darling damsel. His beautiful treasure.

“Now you know exactly who you dare challenge today,” Rodney smirked before setting his sword down.

Michael’s relief was gone the moment Rodney knocked him out with a single punch to the face.

Aaliyah stared at the unconscious body of the pompous prince before glancing up at the soft face of the pirate she knows well. Her smile, soft as the first day he met her, returned to her tear-stained face.

Rodney reached his hand out to her with a beam. “Ready to leave, milady?”

Aaliyah laughed and gasped through the tears before nodding. “Yes...” she replied and took his hand.

They sped past the fallen bodies of the guards, away from the prison that had her trapped for so long in her life. Away from the life she was forced to live in. The crew cheered wildly as Rodney helped her aboard his ship. He hugged her tightly as she gripped his shirt and buried her face in his chest.

“I’m here now, darling,” Rodney cooed, stroking her auburn locks.

The waves swirled beside the ship as it sailed away from the castle, the place that was once Aaliyah’s prison. The sun was setting over the ocean, bringing light into the horizon. It was everything he’d imagined. The promise he made to her was fulfilled.

And Aaliyah was finally free.

The stories soon changed from the tales of the Blue-Eyed Pirate King to the legends of the Blue-Eyed Pirate King and his Red-Haired Queen. Best known for traveling the seas and helping those in desperate need. Bringing back the hope that was long lost, repairing the things that were broken. Best known for the most brutal of battles.

Rodney smiled at the memories he shared with Aaliyah as he stood at the side of the ship. Their times sparring with each other, stargazing at nights, slow dancing underneath the night skies. It has been so long, almost two years, since he rescued his fair Princess from a dreaded fate, since he made good on his promise to her.

A hand gently intertwined with his, but Rodney knew who it is. He pressed his lips against her auburn-curled hair, and she hugged him closer to her.

A happily ever after, indeed...

#otp #otp prompts #otptober #robots 2005 #robots movie #robots au #rodney copperbottom #Alli #oc #Alli x Rodney #original characters #treelight city au #smallfoot au #the book of life au #pirate au #blue draws

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