#the artist formally known as prince | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

homesickn · 1 year

Text

My Heart

Soft!dark Loki x Reader. (Ghostface!Loki)

Loki is your special guide on an acting play in Asgard. How will it turn out? It will certainly be a Scream!

(Scream-inspired, ghostface!Loki, he's a bit obsessive too, who could have guessed?)

Warnings: this fic is exclusively explicit +18, a lot of blood, Dom!Loki, angst (at least reader cries a lot), stalking, Loki is a bit mean at times, blood kink, murder, psychological horror, possessive Loki, obsessive Loki, dark!Loki, scared reader. Be safe! ;)

You were fixing your hair and taking a look at the fancy dressing options for the official play, taking place in the center of Asgard, a place properly dedicated for cultural artistic exposition.

A bunch of the most famous actors throughout all of Asgard were coming to interpret roles in the huge theater near the castle, as an official tradition. Asgard is often envied in the matter of culture and in their specific field of acting art.

You've never felt more treasured, it surely felt gifting to be able to experience such an unique phenomenon, to be invited to such a thing.

And you're human. It feels a whole lot to you.

Far away from your home on Earth.

As much as it bothered you, you had to keep your mind off the annoying sting in your chest. You came here for an honorable reason, to represent as a Midgardian diplomat, settled by Thor to help him with his rules and studies for Asgard and the other realms, as he already knew you, he thought you to be the perfect fit. You don't want to disappoint.

But this loneliness is unlike any other, you can't help but wonder how your family and friends are doing, at home. You could fully say with conviction that the only friend you have is the godly Avenger that swore to protect you through your journey out of your original realm.

You were okay with it, until you had to get down and face the real world. You wore the very detailed white royal dress that most appealed to your eyes, and went downstairs to meet with the known blond just waiting for your presence, awkwardly messing with his…formal, hero cape.

He says your name with hesitance, “I'm so sorry, my friend. I truly am, I won't be able to attend the event,” he expresses, you frown and press your hand to your heart.

“What? You're the only friend I have here, am I supposed to go alone?” You're quick to ask.

“You can go with Loki,” he mentions the dark prince, you blink.

Loki wasn't a bad man to you, from what you've known of him, you're not a judgemental person, you don't like going for other people's words. But he's known on Earth for being a murderer, you watched the news, even though you weren't present during the attack you still could feel the pain that all those victims went through. It felt like you're betraying them, like you're hurting them by thinking of befriending the god.

However, since you've shown up on Asgard, Loki has been nothing but amicable to you. You just hesitated considering him a friend, whatsoever, he's a person you've —unfortunately — come to admire.

Whenever he passes by your sight is attached to him, as if you've been hypnotized, he's charming, pleasing to be around, your sense of humor matches a lot from what you've had the pleasure of discovering of him.

“Loki?” You repeat, letting the name echo through the walls of the castle. You're momentaneously afraid you've summoned him with the name.

“Yes, he's not too bad,” Thor looks a bit embarrassed of having to state so. “He's kind when you spend time with him, I know he'll treat you well. And if there's one thing my brother loves more than anything, is the events that involve acting around here. You have to see just how bright his eyes sparkle when he watches the plays, and this one in particular is one of his favorites. We used to watch it with father when we were younger.”

You were now enchanted by Thor's description, your eyes shining at the idea of having someone acknowledged to teach you more of something you already enjoy so much, you're also a huge fan of acting, and theatrical acting was a hidden passion you've always adored.

The thought of Loki liking this so much excites you, because you love surrounding yourself with enthusiastic people, you love seeing them being passionate about what they love. You thought it wouldn't be so bad to have a guide, it is definitely a better option than to go just by yourself, or to refuse and stay in bed for the day.

“Well…” You think for a second, looking around then coming back to Thor. “I don't see why not.” You shrug your shoulders, the blond god gives you a bright smile and says he'll catch him for you.

You wait at the entrance, looking all like a real princess waiting for her prince to take her to a royal ball.

“This is too fancy for me,” you look down at yourself, somehow feeling a sense of imposter syndrome. Feeling unbelonging, too human for this, it's way more than you could ever dream of. “I shouldn't be here.”

“Now, why would you say such a thing?” A low soft voice asks you from nowhere, you jolt as you turn quickly, recognizing the owner of the voice.

Loki gulps as he shares eye contact with you, glancing down at your pretty dress, you take a moment to appreciate his beautiful princely outfit, black and green, with tiny golden sparkling details. His body seemingly just fit for the measures of the clothes, you think you've lost your breath for a second.

He smirks as he catches you staring.

“Princess?” Your heart flutters a little, you swear your legs feel a bit shaky from the endearment.

“I'm not a princess,” you hurry to correct, your cheeks heating up against your will.

“You look just like one. You can be a princess, and if you don't like it, you have the experience for the night.” He offers his hand to you with a charming smile.

“No one would believe I'm a princess, prince Loki.” You challenge him.

“They will if I treat you like one,” he licks his lips and his eyes give you such softness you could melt again. Another pang, the betrayal, the attack on Earth.

You're the one to gulp nervously now, taking your eyes off of him and looking to the road ahead.

“You don't need to, it's fine,” and you quickly hurry to change the subject before he can protest. “Shall we go? Otherwise we'll miss the time. Nobody likes being late.”

★

You and Loki arrive at the festival together, getting off the carriage, he offers his hand again when you're exiting, like a true gentleman.

There's a lot of drinking, dancing, and singing. The theater is still empty waiting for the actors to arrive. Your excitement is likely palpable, Loki could swear he feels it radiating off of you.

“It's okay, princess,” he says loud enough for others to hear, placing his arms around you. You blush but refuse to protest, he gives you a knowing look and a mischievous smile. “We can have our fun before the show. Let me show you around all the cultural Asgardian beauty.”

They had a lot of variable types of drinks, a lot of dancing presentations for people to watch, and the singers had the most amazing intonations that your ears could be blessed to hear. You couldn't believe how lucky you were, to be able to humanely get in touch with the art from the gods themselves.

The harp brought an etheric touch to all the singing, the harsh intoning of the words whilst they sung something in their native languages, deep voices to match their godly vocal chords. Be it from the realm they were, your heart clenched in delight from all the admiring.

Loki was an impeccable guide, showing you some popular dishes, giving you the most delectable desserts, and watching the performances with you. Thor was right, you could see the special touch he had with art, it was as if he forgot everything else around him when he got close to it.

“This play will be my favorite,” he musters and you stop to listen, carefully. His voice is low but the smile he's wearing really makes you interested in what he has to say. It's like a secret you're two are sharing.

“What's the name of the play?” You couldn't believe Thor hadn't told you this before, you felt a bit ignorant towards the conversation. Loki puts his hands on your back again to calm your nerves down.

“The Masquerade,” he almost whispers. Like a real secret, almost as if he could read you.

“Oooh,” you teasingly express. “The Masquerade, such an interesting name, will they wear the masks?” For a second you feel dumb to ask, Loki only laughs a little and rubs your back to comfort you.

“Yes, yes, they will. I truly hope you find it as beautiful as I do.” His eyes sparkle with a sprinkle of mischief among the kindness.

“I probably will,” you say more to yourself than to him. If he thinks it's beautiful, there's one more reason for you to like it, there's a special key to the piece, they caught someone's love before you've met it. “What's it about, anyways?”

He looks down at you due to the height difference and brings his gaze back to your eyes, deep piercing blue staring right into you, you feel a bit sick from the closeness.

“It's…uhh,” he pauses, a bit sheepish, you never thought you'd see the infamous, 'evil' god of mischief looking embarrassed to talk about something he loves. He clears his throat. “It talks about several people meeting at a Masquerade ball, one of them, the leader, —who is the murderer, but it's a fact unknown to the characters of the play— wears a mask that resembles the face of a comical ghost, it may sound a bit silly, but it's really symbolic. It has the horror of course, putting the thrill aside.” He still blushes to say.

He continues.

“The thrill of having to discover who is responsible for the murders whilst everyone worries because their lives are at risk, you don't know which ones you trust, there's just…something about it that makes me terrified, I think that's why I'm so invested in the story.” He manages to explain to you. “But I really like it, I've even read the scripts before, a few times. I had the pleasure of reading the original one when it was created.”

Your eyes widen as he says it all. “I love these kinds of things! The mystery!” You exclaim. “I love it, and we'll get to see who's actually the murderer at the end, right? Sometimes I tend to get my intuitions wrong,” you joke.

He chuckles, a bit surprised. “Yes, of course. Where would be the fun if we never get to know who did it all?”

“And you're quite old, huh?” You give a teasing smile, he shakes his head, smiling too. “You know so many things from so many years ago.”

“Don't let this disappoint you, I hope.” There's a glint and the softness he always presents to you. You feel queasy, you feel happy. “Your mortality is not an issue here.”

As the festival went on, even the Warriors did their own little stunt to occupy the time, but the actors never arrived. You were starting to get a bit restless, you wanted to watch the show and you feared you wouldn't get to see what Loki so lovingly shared with you.

Everybody gave out a gasp of exasperation when all the lights of the event were turned off. People immediately sighed a bothered "blackout", but even the candles were blown off, leaving everyone in a sea of darkness swallowing all the excitement there was before.

“We can't enjoy the event without lights!” One of the warriors complained, you couldn't quite remember his name.

“Why can't I light the candle? The fire just doesn't lit,” someone complained loudly. “Where is a God of Fire when you need one?”

“I bet that's all because Thor's not here!”

You turn your head around the annoyed complaints of the people, listening to them all in confusion. Loki made sure to appease everyone telling us that we should all stay calm, that the problem will probably be solved soon.

“How could we know? We can't trust this snake!” Someone screamed, pointing at Loki.

“I'm the prince, and I was raised to rule,” Loki had a stern expression as he spoke. “Whether you like it or not, it's true. As Thor is gone for now, I will listen to all the complaints you have.”

“I bet he did it on purpose!” An old Asgardian lady yelled behind the crowd.

“Why would I? I have nothing to gain from this, it's just more of a headache for me,” he said annoyed now, he probably couldn't handle accusations when all he was trying to do is enjoy something he loves.

“He wanted to watch the show like everybody else,” you awkwardly meek the words out, you felt ashamed as soon as they came out and the people looked at you.

“This trickster has watched the same play a thousand times!” Someone gestured rudely with their hands. “He knows every detail probably, he's not doing anything for us.”

“Silence!” Loki orders, “I will not tolerate insolence! You wish to complain, you do so, but meanwhile, I'll put my best efforts to fix the issue.”

You thought the blackout was going to last for maybe a few minutes, but after a while with each sound of nature echoing throughout the open space, you questioned if you're wrong after all. Why was everyone still in the dark? The complaints were now too loud for your ears.

And the worst part is that you've lost sight of Loki. You remind yourself of some old men pulling him by his sleeves, you try to remember what the men's faces looked like, but it remains unsuccessful.

Your heart is quaking with anxiety, he was your only access to hanging out around Asgard, without Thor around or his trusted brother, you feel completely at loss.

Furiously looking around the place to check if there's anything you can find, whilst others are starting to grab their things to go away.

A sudden light hits the entire circle, a brighter light stinging the people's sight and coming from the theater stage. You hiss and move your gaze, trying to fathom what it's going on.

“The actors are never going to come.” Says a terrified man among the crowd, he's gasping as he looks at the empty stage. What does he mean by that? “Where's the King?! Where's Thor?!”

“We have to run!” An old lady screams, bumping your shoulders as she runs in the opposite direction, grabbing all her stuff. You're still confused but you recompose yourself and immediately try to go somewhere darker.

You scramble through your mind to think of where Loki may be at, you don't want to imagine him suffering with any possible attacks. And your eyes fickle to the golden castle sticking close to the theater area.

You imagine that's the place where they might've taken Loki to, so you run there, readying yourself to the presence of an unquiet Loki, or maybe a tired, questioning Thor, wondering what all the fuss is about, both the princes immediately trying to solve the problems. You'd run and embrace yourself in the feeling of safety around their presence.

Instead of that, the castle was all empty, you knitted your eyebrows as your skin shivered from the cold you felt in the air. The golden castle has never been so cold, and it seems all the lights have gone out here too.

You're alone. There are no palace staff even, no cooks, no nurses, the princes are nowhere in sight. Alone. And it frightens you, you feel the loneliness ripping your bones as you wonder if staying with the angry mob would be a greater idea than trying to come to the castle.

You hear a ringing way too loud for the quiet atmosphere, you recognize the sound of your cell phone ringing. You run to where your temporary room is, and grab the vibrating phone in your hands.

You're puzzled, it's odd. It isn't supposed to function, it never does. Who would want to call you when you're so far from Earth?

Nobody here has a phone connection, so why does it work? Could it be someone from Earth calling you?

You'd probably ask Thor about this later, but you see the number is unknown. You ask yourself if it's possible for the marketing programs to call you even from another realm of distance. You muffle a small laugh as your mental joke eases your nerves.

You hesitantly accept the call, feeling curious.

“Hello?! Is anybody there??!” The raspy male voice questions frantically, it seemed almost robotic, sounding like they're out of breath, you can hear a tiny sob coming from the other line.

“Y-yes, who is it?” You shiver as you listen to your own voice ringing in the closed room.

“Please! Please help me!” The weird voice pleads you. “Please, I found this device out in the blackout, I don't know where I am. But I have you. Please help me.”

You try to shush him calmly. But you're scared as you're still alone, and the voice calling you sounds male but unrecognizable.

“Look I'm sorry, I'm not a person you should be calling right now, I'm really lost too.” You try to explain peacefully, your chest aching from feeling useless. “Please, forgive me,” You hang up.

Seconds later as you ready yourself to leave, organizing all the important stuff, there's the ringing again. You groan loudly and answer the call.

“Hello?!”

“Are you alone?” He asks, giving another sob through the line. “I'm sorry if you are, I just feel uneasy.”

“I'm packing my things to go face an angry mob of people. Why did you call me back? I told you I can't help you.”

“You'd rather face some angry people than help me?” He asks, quite stressed, all of a sudden sounding a bit angry. Your body stills on the spot.

“I don't know who you are!” He sighs as he hears you.

“That's fair.” A silence rings. You sigh and hang up again.

As you walk out the room, the phone rings again.

“I was testing you, I know a woman that's alone shouldn't come around to help people they don't know, you're really smart.”

“Is it you again?” You ask out of patience.

“What are you doing now?” He sounds more curious.

“I told you, I'm packing my things.”

“Why are you lying to me?” You freeze.

“...Excuse me?” You look around and check if there's anyone that saw you leave your room. “Also, wait. How do you know I'm alone? I never told you I was…”

“Were you on the play?” He changes subject.

“I-uhm…Yeah, I was. I wanted to watch it- yeah. Now answer my question!” You respond feeling incredibly uneasy.

“I was there too. Are you also human?”

“Me? Yes, I'm the Midgardian. You're from Earth?” You walk and get giddier on the call, someone from Earth in Asgard would bring you more familiarity. For a minute you forgot your question remained unanswered.

“Was just curious. Thor likes you a lot. He speaks a lot about you.”

“Thor? Yeah, he's my friend...” You wonder why the stranger is bringing him to the topic.

“I think I found a light, will you stick on the line until I reach it?”

“Sure thing.” You don't know why, though you don't see anything wrong with waiting. Your every move is still shaky from fear.

“You never told me your name.” He says suggestively, you hurry down the stairs and breathe out the next words.

“Why do you wanna know my name?”

“Because I want to know who I'm looking at.” A shiver runs down your spine. Like a whiplash, you feel observed as you search your surroundings.

“...What?”

“I wanna know who I'm talking to.”

“That's not what you said.”

“What do you think I've said?” He asks, feigning confusion.

You rush to the entrance only to notice the doors are locked, your hands shaking as you knock the door repeatedly to call attention from the outsiders. You're sure the stranger heard you banging the door through the call. Shit.

You don't say anything as you hang up this time. You try to compose your breathing, the phone rings once again but you don't move to accept the call.

“Someone!! Help me!” You loudly call, waiting for a response, a sign, anything. The dark was even scarier after the call you received, the cold all too threatening, like a bunch of invisible eyes looking under your skin.

After some moments of silence passing through your weeping eyes, you're fighting to keep the sobs hidden by putting your hand to your mouth to muffle the noise.

You kneel down, body glued to the door, holding it for dear life, your heartbeat a bit too loud for your eardrums. You're hugging your knees in a position of defeat as your body trembles with each sob.

You're wondering if the Asgardians had evacuated the castle and forgotten about you. You wondered if Loki forgot about you.

Your phone rings.

“Don't you hang up on me again or I'll make sure you're the first one to get killed.” Your sobs get even louder. “I'll gut you like a fish and feed your organs to the wolves!”

“What are you doing?! Who are you?!” You ask, clenching your fist to your chest. The rough voice from the other line chuckling from your questions.

“Does it matter, sweetheart? You want out, don't you? Poor thing, locked alone in the castle…”

“Please…don't hurt me…”

“You've told me once you like scary stuff, thrillers.” You fight not to hyperventilate. “Let's try some method acting, shall we?”

“No…no I don't. I don't like this shit.” You grit your teeth.

“You do, sweetheart. Don't lie to me. Don't you want to join my play? I planned it just for us, I thought you wanted to watch it. I can make you a star.”

“What?! No…” You cry.

The door opens out of a sudden and your body falls to the dirty earthy ground. You leave a groan, when your head lifts you're surprised by the dark that's out in the wild, the only light being the stars above your head and the vast bright moon occupying the sky.

You lift yourself with trembling knees and hear a voice coming from the phone.

“If you ignore me one more time I'll fucking cut your neck off, you stupid little bitch!” The person threatens and you visibly recoil, throwing the phone very far away, ignoring his instructions and running for dear life.

Panting on your way through the golden speckled Asgardian trail out of the castle, darkened by the lack of lightning that you find in the way, you breathe as best as you can, ignoring the fear clutching your heart and the tears pricking your eyes, face puffy and your nose beginning to stuff.

“Damn it,” you tremble and fall in your steps. Sobbing to the air. “Shit, shit…” You curse to the skies as you try to regain your steadiness.

You start listening to a noise behind you, shuffling the bushes and startling you even more. When you pay attention, there are a pair of black boots making their way out of the bushes, right to your direction. A cloak covers down their ankles while your eyes widen.

You don't stay behind to care for whom it may be, nor wait to check their face, and you keep running.

You're startled as a man comes to your line of vision, screaming, frantic. You tremble and end up falling backwards on the ground, he falls on top of you. Your hands are punching him to move off of you but he seemed just as frightened as you were.

He also noticed your punches were much weaker than the touches the gods carry. The strength they have. He supposed you were a human.

“Oh thank the Lord!” He praises God, and your face is entirely a mix of fear and anxiety, the tears making it very uncomfortable to keep your eyes open. “Thank the Heavens, you have to save me!”

“No!” You scream, pushing him away. A human. He doesn't fool you, he's the damn murderer that's been stalking you. You push his figure behind and he falls off his steps.

And then a knife craves his stomach, your eyes are wide and you're nauseated. The blood speckles to your terrified face. You can't help the scream that leaves you.

You quickly hurry to move up and keep on the run, suddenly someone grabs you by your neck, pulling your whole body up effortlessly, scaring all the breath out of your body.

You're pale as you realize the person is masked, wearing a ghost face mask and a cloak covering their entire body. The person from that was following you, the murderer.

“W-who…” You're fighting, clutching the gloved fingers holding you up and choking you by your pulse. “Who…I-I can't- breathe…” You say between resistant breaths.

“I told you not to ignore me, didn't I? I didn't think I'd need to repeat myself. You seemed like a pretty clever girl.” You recognized the voice from the phone.

“Please…”

“Don't beg, sweet. You're right where I want you to be.” He turns your body, clinging to you, pressing a knife near where his hand was, on your neck. This hand is now resting on your stomach. “I was waiting for this the whole night.”

“What?” You squirm around his grip, wanting to get out.

He clutches your face, forcing you to look at the stage. The one that was before empty, and now, is filled with decorations and blood stains. Your bile raised up to your throat.

Your eyes widened in fear and filled with terrified tears, you could barely hold your screech as you paid attention to the calculated amount of bodies on the floor of the stage.

You were now fully hitting him even though your limbs were being held tight, you still tried to escape.

“Don't be scared, princess.” A shiver runs through your skin, your whole face must be a mix of sweat and tears. It's like everything is turning in your head, dizzying you. Princess.

Cruel joke. Must be a cruel coincidence, a cruel joke against you. You imagined the killer heard the nickname Loki called you, you could only hope Loki was coming to save you anytime. Maybe he knew how much you liked him.

“Don't be scared, we're only starting the show.” He carries your body up and takes you closer to the stage, all while you punch him as best as you can with full fists. He doesn't seem to be affected by your weak punching.

“Shh, now.” He calms you through your breakdown, shushing you and moving a piece of your hair that was sticking on your forehead due to your sweating. “Shh, you'll like this game, I promise.”

“Game?” You repeat with a gasp, mouth open in fright. “I don't wanna play anything, you freak! You monster!” You try to jump off his embrace but he's stronger and clutches his hold onto you with more strength. “Please, let me go…”

“Come on, princess.” He calls through your cries, placing you down on a throne-looking piece in front of the stage, when you touched it, it felt so…real. You wondered how anyone would be able to bring a real golden throne to this place, you wondered if it was like the one the Asgardian King has.

“A real throne for a princess.” You felt the goosebumps rise one more time, bringing your attention out of your senses, as you looked at the masked freak. “You can't get out of this.” He says and you notice you can't move your hands, you actively scream out, really scared at being unable to move.

“What are you doing?! Why?” You wonder, and he touches your face delicately, the ghost face giving you a cold feeling down your spine, your eyes bright with tears as you look up to him.

He moves your face a bit, to get you to look at the stage instead of himself.

“We're just going to play a game, my princess.” He softly says, as much as his raspy voice can muster. You start shaking your head in denial, frantically.

“Please, no. You've had your fun, I promise I won't tell, please! Let me go!!”

“You wanted to watch the play, we're going to do so. You just have to guess who's the one that's guilty. If you get it right, nothing happens, and you get a reward. If you get it wrong, we're going to have even more fun.”

“Why are you doing this?” He doesn't respond, he keeps his hands on your shoulders as you watch ahead.

The play starts, a terrified man tries to run you, but he's interrupted like there's a wall in the way.

“Please, help me! I'm innocent, I need to go away.”

You try to move your hands but you can't. The Ghostface whispers in your ears.

“Do you trust him, sweetheart? It's in your hands.”

You shake your head and close your eyes, desperately trying to ignore the scene in front of you. More characters came into the scene.

“Don't worry about the actors, sweetheart,” his whispering was almost so soft for the fake covering voice, hidden behind the mask. “That man, the one that just screamed,” he points his knife to the man that's staring at him with big scared eyes. “He was wanted as a criminal, his reward was worth thousands of gold for arson, murder and sexual abuse.”

“S-so you don't think sexual abuse is correct?” You ask before even thinking, just feeling a wave of relief.

“What?” He sounds surprised for a second. “Why would I–? Oh, sweet? You thought I'd hurt you like this?” His voice sounded different at the moment he realized, like it really hit him somehow. “I'd never do this to you, there's no need to worry about that, I think it's the most disgusting of all crimes.” He says tilting the knife, you gulp not knowing what to do, but gratefully accepting the fact the killer had moral limits about this. At least.

“Pick one.” You realize you've barely paid attention to the play, to the actors moving.

“Please…” You keep on begging, maybe that'll help, but it gets him even more out of patience. “Please, I can't play with people's lives!”

“You should know what you were getting into before coming here.” He gets closer to your face, you only wish your hands could work so you could pull his mask off to know who he is. “Come on, pick one.”

All the characters looked terrified, one wore a sillier mask of the Ghostface that was beside you, purposely seeming fake and cheaper. You start shaking, it'd be too obvious to pick the Ghostface that's acting, he's supposed to be the story's murderer. No one was actually killed during the act, they just pretended to kill.

“Do you think he did it?” The real killer asks beside you, almost sitting by your side close to your throne. He steps in front of you, steps clear and slow as his boots hit the ground, making you fixated on his every move. “You've been looking at him.” He takes something out of his cloak, and you almost can't believe it when he pulls out a gun and shoots the guy wearing the leader's mask.

“NO!” You scream loudly, hoping to reach his ears before he finishes the murderous act.

A few more very loud shots were done, the stage was now shining with the stranger's dark red blood, and the actors were all shaking, shivering, on their best attempts at holding their cries, because they didn't want to be a part of it, they're afraid they'll be the next.

“This play is originally Midgardian,” he said, ignoring your cries. “Being written decades ago, only modern versions have this new weapon so the characters would be killed at a distance. I think it's practical for our current game.”

“NO, NO, NO, THAT'S HORRIBLE! STOP, STOP THIS, LET ME LEAVE! I DIDN'T PICK HIM, I DIDN'T WANT HIM TO DIE!” You scream and your whole body is shaking as you feel the guilt racking through your bones.

You feel his gloved hands caress your arms.

“Sweet,” his strange voice keeps calling you. “Princess, please, look at me. Look at me,” His glove is tainted with dark blood, staining the rich dark black material. He tilts your chin up to make you look at his masked face. You feel even more afraid, the unfamiliarity and fear burning up your body.

You can't stop crying, and your sobs are becoming louder and louder.

“Look at me. It's okay, remember what I told you? He didn't deserve to live. He was supposed to go through the death penalty anyways.” You didn't know if you trusted his words. You were scared. Terrified. Shaking, and now feeling so guilty you couldn't even think about being saved.

What if they put the blame on you? What about the disgust the princes will feel about you? You feel tainted, dirty, like you killed him yourself, with your bare hands.

You couldn't handle that, you didn't want to take the man's life. You couldn't stop looking at the blood, the smell of iron now clinging close to where you're stuck at.

“Please, let me go. You got what you wanted.” You try one more time.

“You think I got what I wanted?” His hands strongly hold your already immobile wrists. “Princess, I could do this anytime I wished, but I want you.” He says and you shiver even more. “I want you to be the star. My Queen. The one they admire, I want you to stay with me.”

“What? W-what do you mean by that?”

“Thor is not coming back.” He says almost too softly, nonchalant, apathetic, you want to throw up. You're feeling dizzy, there's a knot in your stomach and you don't know what to do.

“What?! What? What??! Why? What have you done to him?! What about Loki?!” You cry and beg for answers.

He chuckles. The mask moving with each small laugh he lets out, you want to rip it off his face. This person you already hate so much.

“It's so sweet of you, it matches your nickname. Sweet, sweet, darling thing. It's so beautiful to know just how much you care about me.” He moves the mask off his face and you're unmoving, you go completely limp as you stare at the face you admired before, the tears wouldn't go away.

Were they correct this whole time? You've been considering a psychopath as your friend this whole time?

“L-Loki?” You hate how you stutter as you say his name, you hate to see him smile at that. You hate that you don't hate him, because your brain can't link the murders to him. Not him. “Loki, why?”

“My father made me love this play, he taught me everything. I was here when it was created, Odin thought of the leaders like brave warriors, soldiers. The weaker ones got killed first but only he remained.” Loki's voice now sounded so suave to your ears, you imagined the strange one must have been granted through his magic and illusions.

“Such a beautiful story, sweetheart. It has so many layers, I can't wait for you to get involved in this artwork as much as I do.” His smile was so bright you felt nauseated, you couldn't even speak. “Look at the irony, look at it! The Norns must love me! Odin died first, he isn't here to present my thriving. I'm the only one that's left, the leader, the King, the ruler. I'm winning now, and the act is going on!”

He conjures a knife and presses it close to your neck, making you yelp and jump a little out of the chair. You're surprised you can move now, but he still grabs you forcefully and pulls you up to him.

“I was the one that made Thor bring you here. I was paying attention to you for so long, it didn't take much convincing until the oaf agreed, he even befriended you. You have no idea how long I've had to wait with my nerves at bay.” His jealousy was visible as he spoke and you shook from his words.

“Look at them. The blood of the undeserving, the weak ones. We are above them, my princess. You and me. We can win this game. I'd never, ever, hurt you.” He says the last sentence with a seriously cold expression, you open your mouth and leave out a loud cry. His frown deepen.

“What's wrong? I thought you wanted to see how the play goes?”

“Not like this. Please…Loki…” You feel his hand reaching under the skin of your dress, pulling it up and moving to caress your thigh. You feel perverted as your eyes open and you look at the blood and the terrified faces among the stage.

You take the moment he's distracted to rush out of his grip, he's caught unexpectedly so his knife accidently cuts your shoulder, you grunt from the small wound.

You turn to leave as quickly as you can, Loki chuckles to himself, thinking about how cute it is, that you think you can be quicker than him. That you're trying to escape, it's what a really smart princess would do, to be brave enough to try.

You pass through bushes, a weird unknown garden to you, wanting to find anyone else that was there before, anyone from the crowd that was running away, screaming loudly your pleas for help that no one hears.

You look behind, not seeing him makes you even more uneasy. You can feel his presence near you, you don't know where he is.

There's a particular downhill area you didn't see right in front of you, you accidently fall. Your legs failing you and hitting the ground from a long altitude distance, cutting your face and any naked skin you're letting out, your bones felt the fall and you curse how stupid you were not to pay attention.

Your skin is tainted with dirt, your face now on the ground. You think your foot is out of place as you groan out in pain, it hurts to move it. You can't believe you could ever be so stupid. Your dress is so painfully yellow after all the dirt.

You cry like a little kid.

You're surprised when your phone —the one you threw away — is right next to you, ringing and intact. Your face is so puffy from the fall, and because of all the crying, all the fear.

You move your arms and hold it close to your ears. “Hello?” Your voice trembles.

“I should have told you, you can't run away from me, darling.” Loki's voice echoes through your mind now, you almost feel it like a safety blanket covering your skin after the defeat, you don't know if you should accept the loss or not. Like a balm, a salve.

He's the one that hangs up this time.

You feel a pair of arms holding you up with him, cozying you into his arms, so you can peacefully rest your head onto his chest, still covered by the dark cloak.

He pats your head, letting his hand softly caress your back as you lay in his arms, he's carrying you somewhere else.

You see the people now, the Asgardians, and the actors from before. So you quickly put your head back to Loki's chest again, wishing to hide away.

“I shouldn't have just thrown it on you like that,” he keeps his soft touches on your clothed back, his magic cleaning the dirt on your skin, balming the wounds. “It takes a lot from someone, but you're so pretty when you're scared. I got carried away, I'm so sorry.” He quickly apologizes after he says so, you keep hidden, not wishing to speak.

He sighs tiredly, he massages your scalp, you almost mewl like a kitten when he does it. Your heart still aches with fear and he tears up at your shivering, afraid he's broken you.

“To all the Asgardians,” he begins, voice loud and authoritative. “I expect all of you to do your normal duties tomorrow, everyone in their expected places. I'll have the lights fixed after I have my fun.” His fingers massage your scalp as he mentions that. His other hand holds you up by your buttocks, he's steadying you in his arms.

Unknowingly to your hiding self, the Asgardians nod tearfully and all so scared of his statements. They all were quivering under Loki's gaze. He seemed like a true mad King to their eyes.

To Loki, he's never been more sane, this is all he ever wanted, he's got you in his arms now. And Thor is gone. He's a King.

“To the actors,” he looks at the frightened crew still in their respective places. “I expect a full play. Just as we planned.” He gestures to them to continue, they lock eyes with each other and look at the corpse close to their feet. “Now.” Loki could only roll his eyes with impatience.

They move in their respective places, getting ready for the show. Loki sits on the throne with you clinging to him like a koala. He's smirking all too proud, he loves feeling needed.

He considers putting the mask back, it's a symbol for greatness in this art. It's what his father used to say.

“Love,” he calls. Not wanting to frighten you more, you look up to him with a quivering lip. “You're okay, we're okay.”

He lifts a bit the end of your dress again, unbothered by the actors frantically moving among themselves, not knowing if they should look or not.

He grabs your ass cheek, making you gasp from the suddenness. You don't want to think about the scene, so you don't. You stick to appreciating his closeness, and him, you feel like a pervert for enjoying this, his low voice speaking against your skin.

He kisses you.

“I'll make you feel better.” He brings you up a bit to lick down your earlobe, moving to kiss your neck. “I'll make it all better, I promise. I've been reckless.” He says, taking off his gloves and pressing his nails against your skin, marking tiny half-moon shapes on your flesh.

Wanting to fully feel you, smiling as he remembers the desperation from the man, he's dreamt years of this performance. Of having a figure to be conquered, the star of the show, you.

The blood still covered his cloak, and it's starting to taint your beautiful, innocent skin. It entices him more, of course. He groans near your ear, you moan under his touch in response.

He hears the movement from the play and he grabs your hair tenderly, you've had enough for one day, he has to be kind, you need his softness that you adore so much. The one he reserves only for you.

He takes off your dress and lets it slip off your body, he's in awe as more of your skin reaches his eyes, his breath hanging for a second.

The actors now well enough not to look at you while the King has you in his arms.

He grabs more than he can, he feels graced by the Gods. He wants to suffocate you with his passion, the blood on your skin tainting his hands. The blood gets him so hard, leaving him impatient as he ruts against your clothed pussy, searching for friction.

He sucks on your neck, taking his time to your shoulders, your hands tremble as you move to grab his hair. You keep your eyes closed, each breath you tried to convince yourself this was completely fine.

Loki's eyes glance to the stage for a moment, he takes a look at a character picking the ghostface mask off the floor, and with a shaky breath and, most likely heavy heart, the next thing to be heard was a short scream. The cut of the knife tainted the actors even more, one of them turned to run to a corner and throw up.

Loki pressed his hands against your ears so you wouldn't listen to the vomit, nor the blood splashing out. But you knew.

"Weak bastards," Loki thought, "they'd never survive a war. Weak, fake puritans. Their blood is a noble sacrifice."

Loki kept a hold of your head to his chest so you wouldn't watch the scene, you were still shaking, poor thing, wouldn't be able to take it. Your curiosity was dangerous to you, he had to keep you safer than he assumed necessary, innocent, untainted little thing.

“Princess,” he takes your face between his hands, only leaving a small distance between his lips to yours, practically speaking right into your mouth. You blushed under his loving gaze. “Can I have you?”

Your breath stopped short, you were so dizzy you feared fainting from such intense emotions. Loki was all you wanted, but after this? You were terrified.

“You don't need to accept, I won't even make you watch the show. I fear it'd be too much for your pure heart to take,” he carefully fixes a singular strand of your hair to behind your ear.

“I'm not pure,” you meekly said, your eyes stinging with the weight of the truth. You've never felt dirtier, never felt more like a sinner. If punishments were deserving for those who committed atrocities, you trembled to believe you'd need them all. “I'm not pure, I deserve to suffer.”

“Don't say that,” Loki sternly commands. “Don't say that, not you. If there's a soul in this universe that deserves all the nine realms, it is you.” His words are stern but so soft, you once again feel your lips quiver at the start of another sob. You were way too emotional, everything was way too wrong.

Everything but the sensual way he was touching you.

His fingers kept a gentle caress of your back, down your spine, to reach your hips and buttocks. His breath hitched as he gritted his teeth, attempting patience, waiting for a sign that you soon granted him.

“Please…” You begged, like a poor little mouse under his tricks. He felt oh so blessed, the Norns truly must love him. He practically yanks you panties down, they hang somewhere around your calves as he starts to touch your needy cunt.

He skillfully touches your folds, your pussy clenching from the movements he's making, he slips his fingers inside your cunt to stroke that sensitive spot inside of you, curling his fingers, making you a mess.

“That's it, sweetheart, take your pleasure,” he craved those pleased whiny moans of yours, they were a treasure to his ears, you were clenching around him and lifting yourself a bit up with each thrusting of his fingers. He couldn't control his groans to himself. “Take it from me, it's yours. All yours.”

His palm circles your clit, paying extra attention to the moments you get sensitive, shivering under his hold like his precious toy, heat running down your skin. You shamelessly begin riding his palm. He kept your legs fully open now with his other hand, keeping a strong grip on your skin.

“Let me play, darling. Don't be cruel.” You didn't know if your tears came from pleasure or fear now. Your mind wasn't allowing you to focus on the seriousness of the situation, you didn't want to look at the blood, and the smell of him intoxicated you to the point you ignored the smell of iron around the place.

“Y-yes…” You mindlessly opened your legs further, making him give you the prettiest, most devilish grin your eyes could see.

“I'll treat you so well, you will enjoy being mine, princess. I'll make sure you do.” You don't hold your moaning, unafraid of the possible eyes wandering to your figure. Your nails digged his shoulders, your hips rutted against him unashamed, begging for the friction, for more of his marvelous fingers.

He helps you through your climax as you're gushing over his clothes, you're a trembling mess, coming undone for him, your entire face now very sticky with sweat and tears, the post-orgasmic bliss clouding your mind.

“Do you want to know how the show ends?” You feel goosebumps as he asks that, no, no you don't want to.

He looks down at you, bringing his fingers up as a trail of your cum sticks on the way to his mouth. You're dazed as he licks his fingers clean, keeping eye contact with you, you see a bit of blood sticking in between the act.

You wonder whose blood it is, if this is any hygienic, but you supposed being a God had its perks for these things. Your eyes squeezed tight in shame.

He makes sure to lift your face to make your eyes open again.

“No need to feel embarrassed if you like it.” Your blood boils and the heat you feel increases, how dare he? To assume you'd like being part of something so cruel?

“I don't like it.” You say coldly, not passing any of the burbling rage you feel.

He laughs a bit from your serious expression, you feel mocked. You knit your brows, you didn't know Loki could be this way.

“I love you, princess.” It's like a stab on your heart after the cruelness.

“No, you don't.” He scoops you up his arms, out of a sudden, you yelp as you're lifted, instinctively holding up around his neck.

He moves the throne magically to the center of the theater. Everything looks so hazed and spectacularly planned out.

He places you carefully down the throne, even fixing the skirt of your dress as he leaves you there.

You feel out of place, the characters that are alive have pleading eyes but none have the courage to move and run away. You begin to feel your blood boil for them too, how could they be so weak? How could you?

“My heart.” Loki calls you, you shiver because of the pet-name.

Your tears came back again, and your head now stings drastically from so much crying. If you survived, the headache you'd feel tomorrow will be painful.

Now, your fear was one thing, your anger another, even your cries as you orgasmed were angelical and he craved them like a sick bastard. But your sadness? That stung deep into his heart, ripping it like a carved knife tearing his insides out.

“Please… please don't cry, love. It's okay.” He never thought he'd beg another, he wanted to make everyone else pay. But you? You didn't deserve pain or suffering, and now you're crying because your poor heart is so sad it can't take any more of what he's made you go through.

He'd have to go a long time apologizing, your sadness was starting to cling to his bones.

“My love, look at me.” He holds your hand, kneeling by your side down the throne. Like you're the Queen and he's just a peasant, your servant, a pet.

You don't feel very royal at the moment, you don't really feel in control. If that's what he's planning on doing.

“That's my pretty girl.” As much as you're defiant and trying to keep yourself unattached, you can't help but blush at his words. They seem innocent, they seem honest. “My pretty girl, now the Queen of Asgard. Just as you deserve.” He looks down at your body and licks his lips. He'd feed you all the compliments in the world just because you deserve them.

His hands slide to your thighs and squish them under his hands. He leaves out an animalistic moan, looking up at you with so much desire clinging to his pupils.

“I've been waiting for this part the whole night.” You feel off at that, but he holds you as he hovers over your figure on the throne, quickly scrambling to get rid of his pants. Your panties have been discarded a long time ago, so the wetness is now ruining the fancy marble of the throne, your cheeks warm up at the realization.

He's pinning you against the throne with his weight, his back to the audience, covering you.

He sheaths himself inside of you, he goes in more easily than you imagined, making your eyes round as you feel him throbbing inside you, desperate to move.

He pulls out a bit and thrusts back into you at once. He has an insufferable smile covering his face, and his eyes closed in pleasure, appreciating the warmth of your cunt squeezing him in, welcoming his cock like you're made for him.

“Oh princess, I envied all the souls that had the pleasure of being near you.” He grabs your chin roughly forcing you to look into his eyes, your own eyes moist as you feel so inferior to him. “But what can they do now? What would they do now that I have you? I have you. I have you.” You pant as he bucks so deep into you, you can feel it hitting impossibly deep to the hilt.

“Y-you don't.”

“Oh?” He taunts. “Is that so, my heart? What does it look like to you?” He keeps his punishing pace into you, hands pressing down your womb where you can both feel the bump of his manhood shoving into you, balls repeatedly hitting your ass with every frantic thrusting. His sweat hitting your skin as he fucked you like a beast. “Because to me,” another harsh thrust, you moan and crave your nails on the skin of his back, legs wrapping around his waist. “It seems like I've won.”

Your eyes roll up your skull as he keeps hitting that sensitive spot, he was craving the sensation of your exploding orgasm, he craved to feel your cunt straining his cock as you milk his cock. His hand moves lower as his thrusts become more powerful, he rubs your clit. He hears your panting and moans into your ear like your sounds are a victory of its own.

You cling to him as his hips work you until your head falls backwards, the lights all on you as you spasm around him and his massive form still holding you for dear life. Loki finished with a bite down onto your neck, right next to your lifeline, biting a bruise as you felt him spilling into you.

You cling to him as you cease your rocking hips, he holds your tired legs down as he keeps himself rested inside you, calming down his breathing as your forehead touches his.

You look down and see the earlier blood smeared across your skin, you gulp, he feels your cunt clench from the sight and he gives a satisfied smile.

He coos you into his arms, embracing your form.

“I have you, princess.” He pulls out carefully and you hiss from oversensitivity. A long string of his cum coming out of you, you watch it with fascination as it runs down your thighs, moving a bit so it doesn't ruin the pristine throne. “I have you, my star.”

He conjures a knife again, and hands it to you. You watch it dazedly, the bliss really making you more fuzzy.

“Dearest,” he sweetly calls you, he's been doing that a lot, you notice. “The star needs to finish the show. The true leader. The one they're obsessed with, the true Star.”

You're limp as you take the news, you move the knife on your hands with a detached curiosity, it's clean now but you wonder for how long it's been used, and for what kind of things.

“I can't kill anyone.” You weakly say, afraid you'll disappoint, his eyes are wide but he still nods. He's quick to show you he's not disappointed.

He pats your hair and nuzzles your cheek with his face, getting your lips close to him so he can give you multiple and multiple kisses all over your face. You feel his affection like a healing balm in itself, you bathe yourself in it.

“It's okay, it doesn't need to be you.” He affirms, still passing his hands across your hair, and skin. He glanced at another actor, you hid your face again into his chest as you anticipate the cruel fate that'll obviously occur no matter what.

And it did, you heard another splash, someone else needed to die. You're shaking and your sobbing is louder than you wanted, Loki keeps you scooped onto him. He begins rocking you back and forth gently as a means to calm you down, cherishing you, babying you.

“The Star agrees for it to be the end, I presume?” He asks and you nod repeatedly. You just want it to end.

“Please… please, no more.” You beg weakly, he cradles you and coos some more, keeping you safely tucked in his arms, he starts to move around to stand up with you still clinging onto him like a koala.

“This will be all.” He gives a satisfied smile to the crowd of actors, the ones that survived shaking, trembling. Still meekly downing their heads as all actors do when a play's over. They rush to the exits, and Loki allows them.

“Shh, now.” He still asks of you as your cries are unstopping. “Please, love, it's over.”

“What will happen now?”

“I've told you, I'm the King. Nothing will happen, this play lasted for generations, it's the first opportunity I've had of making it my own. Centuries before you even dreamed to exist, but they don't dare to defy the King.” He patiently passes his hand up and down your back, holding you more to him. “We're safe. I told you. We're all safe.”

You guessed he wasn't going to refer to the dead people around you, or the ones that died in the way.

He takes a trembling you with him somewhere else, you don't know where you're going, but you don't have the bravery to peek out and see. You're still afraid to be the next.

You feel even more perverted everytime you think about death and feel his sticky cum running down your thighs, you feel even more perverted as you don't regret it.

“I'll take you to our chambers.” He says, as if it's nothing.

“Our chambers? Mine is…” He interrupts you. You check around and notice you're inside the cold castle, nobody's in sight but you and Loki.

“No…not yours, our chamber.” He recalls you. You shake your head clinging to his chest again, leaving out another sob.

“I'm sorry,” he continues, frowning now. “Do you hate me?” His voice trembles as he asks, your fists curled around his muscular chest as your mind fights to hate him, but you fear you don't. You don't want to tell him that you don't hate him. “This was more traumatic to you than I assumed it would be.”

Your eyes open as you try to look anywhere but his face, and as you peek at the floor, you see the shiny, bloody ghost face mask left on the floor. As if it's nothing now, as if nothing happened.

It gives you the chills.

“I-I, I've never had to–” You sob loudly. “Never thought I'd need to see- see people being murdered.” Your stinging eyes now struggled to keep open, you fought to breathe and to speak. He tries to calm you down and rubs over your clothed skin some more.

“My love, my heart, it's over now.”

Is it? Is it over? Was it all a huge nightmare? Your eyes squeeze shut as you wish for it to be all a giant, mean trick. But as you opened them, everything was real, and the blood, the cum, the memories, still very much present speckled across your impure skin.

“It's over.” He places you ever so gently down his giant bed, it felt heavenly, the pillows were so soft and the mattress smelled like paradise. It felt so heavenly you sighed out in relief, your bones received the touch against the bed like a treat. “It's been enough for this year, but we'll need to treasure the future performances.”

Your heart froze, of course. There were additionals.

“You don't need to worry about that now, my heart.” He pleads again, kissing you, you accept, and then pressing a gentle peck to your forehead. “For now, I'll let you relax. I'll prepare a bath for us, and I'll let you rest your divine mind into dreamland. Does this sound suitable?” He asks with a kind smile, smoothing his fingers over your wrists.

You clear your throat to say.

“Yes.”

“Perfect, my heart. As I have you, I'll take care of you. I've planned to have you as my Queen for a long time. I won't let it go to waste, I promise I'll take care of you.” He scoops you up to him again, he seemed to enjoy treating you like a princess a lot. Cradling his face next to yours. “One day you'll forgive me. But for now, for now, let me make you learn how to love me.”

Taglist: @mischief2sarawr @dangertoozmanykids101

#dark!loki #soft!dark loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki #loki fanfic #loki laufeyson #loki friggason #loki odinson #loki angst #ghostface!loki #ghostface!au #loki of asgard #loki laufeyson x reader #possessive!loki #obsessive!loki #yandere!loki #loki smut

386 notes · View notes

ironmandeficiency · 1 year

Text

sending memes

pairing: legolas / modern!reader

word count: 2153

summary: it was remarkably easy to fall in love with the elven prince. unfortunately, it was somewhat harder to actually convey said feelings. that’s when you decide to use memes

req: can i have legolas x reader with "sender quotes a poem that reminds them of receiver"? -@micheleamidalajedi

a/n: leave it to me to turn soft romance prompts into bullshit 😂i had to tweak it just a smidge but i think it's fine. mistor is gn sindarin for strayer/wanderer, aluon is gn sindarin for wholesome, & meril means artist or poet in woodelven sindarin

in the beginning, the elves had no idea what to do with you. you were far too brash and loud for court and had very little formal training in just about anything useful. your clothes were strange and there were dozens of words in your vernacular they didn’t understand, and several of your mannerisms threw the elves of the greenwood into tizzies.

your consensus was that they tolerated you simply because you knew things you shouldn’t, like the events of the first age and personal details about king thranduil that never saw the light of day.

some elves surprisingly enjoyed your presence very early on and jumped on the opportunity to learn about where you came from. of this number was legolas, a very adept learner who was easy on the eyes (and your heart, but that’s neither here nor there).

you’ve been in middle earth for a few years now, having jumped on the chance to stay and never return to a world slowly deteriorating. once you told the elves about various tragedies that had struck your earth in the past hundred years alone, even thranduil was terrified at the prospect of sending you back.

so now you were somewhat fluent in sindarin and best friends with a prince; oh, how the turntables.

“mistor!” your elvish name was cheerfully shouted across the training arena. “watch this!” aluon’s voice was immediately recognized and it brought a smile to your face. he had been one of your very first friends in middle earth and despite his youth (for an elf), was placed on your royal guard for if you ever ventured beyond the greenwood. he was what you would call a cinnamon roll.

“okay, i’m watching!”

aluon was currently practicing with his throwing knives, his bow resting against the side of a training dummy. for all the praise a bow and arrow got from elves, he preferred his knives just a bit more.

he threw one last look over his shoulder to make sure you were indeed watching him before throwing the blade in his hand with a resounding “YEET!”

the knife landed directly in the bullseye because of course it did.

you could barely congratulate him on his aim and joke execution for your cackling, arms holding your stomach as if your body were truly coming undone. his laughter joined yours soon after, the two of you leaning on each other while trying (and failing) to catch your breath.

legolas has known you long enough to know that where boisterous laughter is heard, you’re likely the culprit. this is why his footsteps guided him to the training arena in the royal wing, the one reserved for himself, his father, and their most trusted friends and guards.

to his non-surprise, you and aluon were wheezing on the ground at some unknown joke. he approached you both with a smile of his own, sturdy hands helping you to your feet. “mellon nin, what lightens you so?”

“aluon was throwing knives and went ‘YEET!’ and he hit the center of the target!” the cackling returned with renewed strength as you mimicked the motion and raucous screech of the four letter word.

ah, the practice of yeeting. you explained the word to him very early into your presence here and he found himself using the term on the odd occasion, much to your delight.

but legolas, as polite and regal as he was, felt the embers of friendly competition light in his chest. it wasn’t about the aim of aluon’s throws, as logical but slightly unfounded as that claim would have been.

it was truly about your laughter. he wanted to be the reason you lit up with such mirth, he wanted to be responsible for the joy in your eyes.

with all the princely decorum he could muster, he armed himself with his bow, notched an arrow, and let it fly directly into the wooden handle of aluon’s blade.

then, with a straight face, he dabbed.

tauriel was a hard elf to get ahold of. as captain of the guard, she was always busy, flitting about while completing all sorts of duties.

but finally, two weeks after legolas made a show of dabbing in the training arena, you found her in a rare moment of rest. you knocked on the door to her rooms and when she opened it, you walked right inside and plopped yourself on the nearest chair.

“ugh tauriel! finally, i’ve been trying to talk to you for ages!”

she smiles warmly, always having been one to enjoy the mannerisms that made you so intensely human. “it’s good to see you too, mellon nin,” her chuckle is soft and sincere. “what do you need?”

you sighed, snatching a throw pillow from the chaise you were on and reclining back in a way reminiscent of a therapist’s office. “i need advice about legolas.”

her smile turned to a knowing smirk. “ah, so you finally see what the entire kingdom already knows.”

“what do you mean ‘the entire kingdom knows’? what do they know?!”

“ah, i see i was mistaken.”

your resulting floundering was amusing to the redhead.

“i’m serious tauriel, i need your help!” you thought it useless to play coy and being vague would get you nowhere, so you told her exactly what you needed to know. “i need to know how to go about asking him on a date, or whatever it is that elves do when they’re interested in someone.”

“well,” she began, “if i know him as well as i think i do, he wouldn’t want you to conform to elven traditions to please him.”

“what’s that supposed to mean?” at this point, you were beginning to question why you came to tauriel for help, seeing as she was being ridiculously cryptic and strangely unhelpful. “in case you forgot, he’s royalty. i can’t exactly woo him with ridiculous memes and call it a day.”

she nodded. “why not? if that is a regular human courting tradition where you’re from, why would he not find it acceptable? it’s part of who you are, and one could only call themselves a worthy suitor if they appreciate those things about their intended.”

okay, she had a little bit of a point. not that you would tell her so, of course. “but i can’t text him memes at ungodly hours of the night, there still is a lack of cell phones to contend with.”

for someone so smart and otherworldly, tauriel thought, you were rather oblivious when your feelings got in the way of your common sense. “then do those things in a different way. as you’ve told me before, there’s more than one way to skin a cat.”

after a few moments of silent pondering, you realized what she was hinting at. “i can draw the memes! or, well, i can ask meril for assistance in the matter, since i’m not quite used to using quills and such.” tauriel thought she could see the gears turning in your head (if that was indeed the right analogy).

she shouldn’t have been surprised when you leaped from her chaise and wrapped her in a tight hug. humans in your world must be a bit more affectionate than the ones she was vaguely familiar with, “thank you thank you thank you! i’ll let you know how it goes! bye!” with that abrupt exit, tauriel watched you fondly as you sprinted from your rooms, probably heading to the library where you could find meril.

legolas was fletching arrows when a courier appeared in his line of vision with a bow. “my prince, a letter for you.” he accepted the outstretched letter with a nod, wondering what it could possibly be.

the parchment was familiar to him, being the very same quality that occupied his own writing desk in his chambers. the only momentary pause was seeing that the few words were written in westron, underneath a drawing of a radish with a tiny face.

“you’re… radishing?” it took him a moment to dissect the pun, shoulders shaking minutely when the meaning fully registered. then his eyes caught your signature on the bottom of the page and his smile grew wider. he folds your letter neatly and tucks it into a pocket. when he goes back to his rooms next, he will deposit it securely on his desk to keep it safe.

the radish is the first of many of these pictures he receives from you, he soon learns that in the world you came from, they’re called “memes” and can convey any number of things depending on the content and context.

during dinner one evening, you passed him a napkin that he unfolded to find another vegetable drawing, this time a smiling carrot, with the words “i carrot a lot about you” that turned the tips of his ears pink. if his father noticed the blush he gave no indication of it.

your memes varied in artistic talent (he would know meril’s penmanship anywhere) but all carried the same intention, which seemed to be making him flustered at the most inopportune times. another thing he learned about memes was that they were frequently sent back and forth between two people.

his own visit to meril seemed to be long overdue.

meril has lived for several thousand years in service to the greenwood. yet, in all her centuries of knowledge and experience, she’s never seen two beings dance around feelings with the same grace as prince legolas (or lack thereof, where you were concerned).

you taught her what memes were and provided descriptions of what you deemed “templates” for her to draw, master copies of a certain type of meme where the meaning of the meme changed depending on the text. it was a very interesting affair, if she did say so herself. they became more popular throughout the kingdom thanks to your influence, so much so that the prince himself came to her one day with an odd request.

“i need you to help me compose a meme worthy of mistor’s laughter.” he looked serious as he ever did, grim determination set in every pore of his face. none would know that he was simply trying to make a meme.

“you need to be more specific, your highness. your dear mistor can find humor in nearly everything around them. in fact, yesterday afternoon, they spilled nearly a month’s worth of ink onto a single piece of parchment and laughingly called it the thirteenth reason.”

legolas smiled at the story before his mind fully processed what she said. “they’re not my- thirteenth reason for what? what were the other twelve?”

meril shrugged, walking towards what became your desk in the library soon after your arrival. many of the templates were strewn about its surface haphazardly, half-finished memes next to their matching templates. “you should find everything you need here, your highness. if mistor arrives before you’re gone, i shall keep them occupied.”

“thank you. i greatly appreciate your help.”

finding blank parchment and a quill, he dipped into your ink jar and quickly got to work.

you generally never got letters. any missives you received from various elves were dubbed simply as messages that just happened to be written, which is why being told there was a letter for you had you perplexed. it wasn’t like modern earth discovered how to send carrier pigeons to middle earth in the few years you’ve lived in the greenwood.

instead of asking the courier several questions about the contents of the letter, you simply bid him thanks and quickly tore into it.

the wax seal of the royal line was recognized in seconds. thranduil wouldn’t waste his time writing anything out that he could simply tell you in person with a summons to wherever he happened to be.

that left legolas, and the thought made you giddy just thinking about it.

you registered that there were words written to you, but paid them no mind for the moment. what truly gave you surprise was the fact he used a template. you knew this because you recognized the format; a young girl standing in front of several other people who were giving her audience, a display board just behind her.

this bitch sent you a lisa simpson meme.

after a moment of bewilderment, you actually read the words that were just behind her.

“mistor’s laugh makes the plants grow stronger and could replace the sun with their joy”

you could tell that towards the end he worried about having enough room for all the words in the square with how they got just a smidge smaller. but that didn’t matter to you in the slightest, not when he wrote such a romantic sentiment solely for you. your giggles were the furthest thing from dignified but you didn’t care.

you had a prince to find (and hopefully kiss, if things went your way).

#legolas x reader #legolas fanfic #legolas imagine #lotr imagine #lotr reader insert #lotr fanfic #legolas x modern!reader #modern reader in middle earth #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings reader insert #legolas thranduilion #prince legolas #jj writes shit

208 notes · View notes

hollyethecurious · 9 months

Text

CS AU: The Law of Surprise (3/3)

Summary: The Law of Surprise: a custom as old as humanity itself. The Law dictates that a man saved by another is expected to offer to his savior a boon whose nature is unknown to one or both parties. In most cases, the boon takes the form of the saved man's firstborn child, conceived or born without the father's knowledge.

A/N: This is NOT a Witcher AU. The idea for this fic WAS inspired by the show, however. I’m not sure if the Law of Surprise was a show/game creation or if it existed before. Regardless, this fic is my spin on the concept and will be posted in three parts.

Much love and thanks to the @cssns mods for keeping this event going year after year! A HUGE shout out to my artist @eastwesthomeisbest for the AMAZING pieces she made to accompany my fic. Go give her ALL the flails! Finally, all the hot chocolate, rum, and grilled cheese sandwiches for my amazing betas @ultraluckycatnd and @kmomof4. LOVE YOU LADIES TO BITS!

Rated T / Also available on ao3 and ff.net / buy me a coffee / add to tag list / Curious? Come Ask Me!

Part One | Part Two

Part Three

The castle was brimming with life and gaiety. Orchestral sounds spilled over the balconies and light seeped from every window, illuminating the stone walls and bathing the gardens in an exuberant glow. If he’d had to guess, Hook would estimate the overflow from the ballroom to be in the hundreds as he made his way through the crush of courtiers, adorned in their finery as they eagerly awaited to be announced.

Dukes and earls. Ambassadors and emissaries. Military leaders and loyal sycophants. The creme de la creme of Misthaven and her allied kingdoms were all in attendance - all who had received a royal summons, that is. Hook had witnessed a number of people being turned away at the gate when they had failed to produce the invitation. The exquisitely designed edict with its filigree and gilded letters announcing the event of the century:

The Formal Betrothal Ceremony and Ball between Her Royal Highness Princess Emma of Misthaven and His Royal Highness Prince Neal, Son and Heir of the Dark One.

Not that Hook had received one himself, of course; their Majesties had learned their lesson the last time they’d attempted to share blessed news and an invitation with him. Pan had been serious when he’d meant no interference, though they had underestimated what the evil bastard considered as such until he’d enticed most of the Misthaven male youths away from their beds and nearly to their deaths over one of the kingdom’s cliffs, because the sovereigns had dared to have an envoy deliver him news of the arrival of their second child - a son. When David and Hook had confronted Pan before he could lure the boys to their deaths, the demon brat had made it clear that any communication, any interaction, any attempts to maintain or strengthen relationships between Misthaven and “his pirate” would be seen as a breach of contract and met with severe penalties. After that, Hook had once again kept his distance from Misthaven, and Misthaven had kept its distance from him. So, naturally, Hook did not fault them for failing to send him an invite to tonight’s festivities. They could not possibly have known that circumstances were different now.

A fact Tink kept nagging on about these past few months.

Months they had spent attempting to set things right in the wake of Neverland’s liberation. Months they had spent establishing authority and restoring order while dealing with uprisings from those still loyal to Pan. Months Hook had spent ferrying those who had wished to return to their homes, not knowing if one even still existed for them, as he warred with himself over the prospect of returning to his own.

It had been the news of Emma’s betrothal that had started the quarrel with Tink up again. Enjoying a pint in a dark corner of anonymity whilst patroning a tavern in Glowerhaven, they’d heard the toasts and cheers go up wishing the princess and “her prince” well. The Dark One’s son wasn’t truly royalty, of course, but none were fool enough to challenge the title.

While the other patrons had reveled in the news of the betrothal, their spirits high from the glee of gossip and tankards of toasts, Hook had sat with a weighty stone of despondency in his belly even as he’d tried to muster up some semblance of jubilation over the news.

“You must go to Misthaven,” Tink urged. “You have to tell them. Tell her. You can’t let her enter a betrothal or get married without--”

“Do you think I would interfere in her life now?” Hook replied through grit teeth. “Burden her with this… with me, when she has finally found happiness?”

“How do you know it is true happiness she has found? The Law of Surprise entrusted her to you. Gave you the responsibility and privilege of her destiny. You cannot sit by and allow her to--”

“To what?” Hook snapped. “To decide for herself? To pursue a destiny she has chosen? To fall in love and follow her heart while making alliances that will strengthen her kingdom and secure her reign? I am not her lord and master, nor am I her overseer.”

“No. You are not,” Tink said softly. “But you are fated to her. Bonded to her through the Law. Connected in a way she isn’t even aware of, because you haven’t allowed her to know. You owe her the truth before she establishes new bonds with another.”

Hook scoffed, but tapped the ring on his thumb against his tankard as he considered her words.

“At the very least,” Tink continued, “go see her. Before she is whisked off to the Dark Realm to prepare for her new life as Neal’s wife and future Queen of the Dark One’s subjects, go meet her. Make sure it is for love that she has chosen this path, and not out of a sense of duty or obligation. Slake your curiosity of who she has become and give yourself the peace of knowing that in spite of everything, she turned out well.” Hardening her gaze, she added, “And for the sake of all the gods, stop being a coward and go face your brother.”

He hated when the infernal fairy was right.

It was cowardice that had kept him from returning. Fear of having to divulge all he’d done in order to achieve his freedom, the lengths he’d had to go to and the ways in which he’d made Pan believe he’d broken him before finally being able to…

Afraid that there was no longer a place for him among society. Terrified over the prospect that, despite Neverland’s magic and the way it had kept him youthful, his life had already passed him by. Petrified to face the girl he’d been meant to watch over, daunted by the uncertainty of how she might react if he ever managed to work up the nerve to tell her the truth about him, about the Law of Surprise, about the fate’s design that had bonded them to one another before she was even born.

Tink had been right, though. He could not give in to cowardice, so he’d commissioned a new waistcoat and duster, one befitting a gentleman pirate paying court, and made port in Misthaven the evening of his princess’ betrothal ball. His lack of an invitation was no issue with the guards at the gate, he’d merely flashed them his hook and they’d allowed him entry, certifying that the king’s pardon of Hook’s crimes and promises of sanctuary within Misthaven still stood. Though Hook did feel it prudent to tuck his left arm behind his back, beneath his quilted, leather coat whilst in the receiving line, lest one of the guests glimpse it and start a fuss.

He wasn’t sure if it was the maddening wait, the stifling corridor, or the crowd of plumed and perfumed guests that began to grate on his nerves, spiking his anxiety and forcing him to withdraw from the ballroom hall. All he knew was that he’d suddenly found himself in a dark and isolated alcove around the corner from the crush, attempting to steady his breathing while muttering curses at himself for falling apart over something as simple as queuing for a ball.

“Is everything alright, good sir?”

Hook spun around, once more tucking his hook behind his back while his hand swept through his hair in an attempt to straighten his appearance. He stood in stupified silence for several skips of his heartbeat, too stunned by the gorgeous woman before him, until he finally cleared his throat and found his voice.

“Aye, lass,” he replied, unable to keep some of the awe out of his tone. “No need to concern yourself with me.”

The woman, young, blonde, with a slender form that did not fail to fill out the curves of her gown while demonstrating the strength he could detect beneath her proper posture, cocked her head to one side, her seaglass eyes narrowing at him even as a smile slightly tugged at the corners of her exquisite lips, rebutted, “A man hiding away in the shadows is a bit concerning, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I suppose so,” Hook conceded with a slight chuckle. Taking a step forward so she could get a better look at him, his smile broadened when her eyes widened and swept over his form with similar interest. “Truth be told,” he continued in a low timbre, “I am rather out of practice in the rules of court. It has been many years since I’ve attended a royal ball.”

Eyes snapping back up to his, she schooled her features and lifted her chin. “Have you not escorted someone to attend with you? Have you no one whose company you can rely on?”

Hook sighed wistfully. “My brother is here,” he said, attempting to keep all sense of melancholy or apprehension from his tone, “but I have not seen him in many years. My presence may come as something of a shock, and I do not wish to cast a pall on the evening. I would never wish to tarnish the memory of it for the princess.”

“The princess?” she parroted, her brows arching and achieving heights that nearly matched her voice. “You hold her in high regard then?”

“Aye. Very much.” Thoughts of his Emma, and the maelstrom of emotions they brought with them, made his voice constrict in his throat, making his next words a bit strained. “Though, I have not had the pleasure of her acquaintance since she was a child.”

The woman’s expression shifted, becoming pensive, almost far away, but as quickly as they had taken hold of her features, she shook off whatever thoughts she’d been contemplating. “Well, I highly doubt anything you do could tarnish this night for her.”

“I appreciate that vote of confidence, love.” Killian scratched behind his ear, his hips swinging with another swaggering step forward as he pressed a little too closely for decorum’s liking into her personal space. “I don’t suppose, once I’ve mustered up the courage to make my way into the ballroom, you would consider bestowing me the pleasure of a waltz?”

The corners of the woman’s lips tipped up again, and Hook wondered what it would take to encourage a full smile from her. Not that it mattered. He’d already accepted the challenge.

“Would such a consideration give you the necessary encouragement to face your brother and the court?” she asked.

Boldly, he took her hand and ran his thumb over the backs of her knuckles, murmuring, “Such consideration would give me the encouragement to do a great many things, Miss…”

Her lips parted, the response of her name on the tip of her tongue, when an attendant rounded the corner and jolted them apart with her exclamations. “Your Highness! I have been looking everywhere for you!”

Hook whipped his head from the attendant back to the woman who had snatched her hand from his and taken several steps back.

“Your Highness?” he said incredulously. “As in Her Royal Highness? Princess Emma?”

“I… I,” she stuttered. “I’m sorry, I must…”

“Excuse us, my lord,” the attendant said, encouraging her charge away from the alcove and towards the hallways that led to the royal entrance at the back of the ballroom.

Hook watched her depart, stunned by the realization that the woman with whom he’d been conversing - and was now rather taken with - was none other than the princess. His princess. His Emma. His Child of Surprise who was no longer a child.

He’d known that already of course, that she was no longer a child. More than ten years had passed since he’d last seen her, but as she was escorted down the hallway, briefly taking the opportunity to glance at him over her shoulder with an apologetic smile and a glimmer of attraction in her eyes, the reality of those years hit him full force. His princess was no longer a child, and once the betrothal ceremony was complete, she would no longer be his.

Forgoing the queue, Hook forced his way into the ballroom without being announced and found himself a vantage point where he could observe without taking on much notice. A resurgence of duty and responsibility filled him. He wanted to - no, needed to - weigh the measure of the man his princess was about to bind herself to in betrothal. Needed to know he was worthy of her.

Although, he was quite certain no man ever would be.

As the ballroom began to fill, his vantage point proved to be less than ideal. Unable to clearly see the dais, he started to shuffle his way through the throng as the prince and his father were announced, followed swiftly by Their Majesties and Princess Emma.

He was halfway across the room when the ceremony began, and the heavy weight of regret, knowing he was too late to do anything, pressed down upon him, keeping him rooted to his spot. His heart twisted painfully in his chest. He was about to lose her forever without having the chance to truly know her. He was a fool for wasting these past few months. A damned fool. All he could do now was watch as the prince and princess recited their vows while a fairy wove the betrothal bonds around them with her wand.

His heartache was quickly forgotten, however, when the final binding spell failed, leaving the betrothal void and eliciting a collective gasp from those assembled.

“I… I don’t understand,” the fairy stammered. “The magic should have worked. I… I don’t know what--”

“Clearly, you did something wrong, dearie,” the Dark One accused as he took a threatening step towards the young fairy.

“No,” Emma stated, stepping between her would-be father-in-law and the scared-out-of-her-wits fairy. “She didn’t. The magic failed to bind us, because…” Turning her attention back towards her would-be groom, Emma declared, “as I have told you numerous times, I have no intentions of marrying you. I don’t care about the deal our fathers made in order to end the war. My heart will never be yours, therefore no vows I make to love you will ever be true.”

Chaotic murmurs erupted throughout the ballroom, but Hook kept his focus on the dais.

“That matters not!” the Dark One shouted, pointing an accusing finger at Emma which made Hook’s hand itch for the hilt of his sword, unfortunately left behind on his ship. “Your feelings have no bearing and are not enough to void the betrothal spell.” Casting his ire upon King David and Queen Snow, he demanded, “Explain yourselves! We made a deal! You agreed to this betrothal on your daughter’s behalf. It is your word and your authority over her that binds that agreement, so why did it fail?”

Hook sucked in a startled breath. He knew why.

“I think I can answer that, and settle this matter,” he called out, causing all eyes to fall on him.

“And who might you be?” Prince Neal demanded.

“Captain Killian Jones,” he proclaimed, stepping forward as the crowd parted. “Though some have taken to calling me by my more colorful moniker.” Raising his left arm, he displayed his hook and a hysteria of murmurs further erupted amongst the crowd that was now cowering away from him.

David and Snow’s mouths dropped open and Liam, who had been standing by off to the side of the dais, rushed forward and took his place next to his sovereigns, a look of complete elation and shock coloring his aged face. The fairy fled, leaving Emma, Prince Neal, and the Dark One alone at the center of the raised platform, each of them staring at him with a variety of expressions.

“Hook!” Prince Neal exclaimed, before catching the eye of the many guards stationed along the walls. “Seize him!”

When none of the guards acquiesced to the command, an incensed and clearly alarmed Prince Neal sputtered, “W-Why are you all just s-standing there! Arrest him!”

“Oh, you must not be aware,” Hook said, swaggering his way towards the dais and stopping short of its steps. “You see, I have pardon in this land.”

Turning his incredulity and ire towards the King, Prince Neal opened his mouth, but was silenced by the quiet yet dangerous tone of the Dark One’s question.

“How, pray tell, do you plan to settle this matter, Captain?”

“By claiming that which was owed me the day I saved King David’s life and he vowed to honor me with a boon, dictated by the Law of Surprise.”

“A boon? What boon?” Emma demanded.

With confident, measured steps Hook made his way up to the top of the platform and stood in front of his princess, his body strategically placed between her and his new adversaries. His eyes captured hers and he knew they were crinkling in the corners as he smiled down at her.

“Don’t you know, Emma?” he murmured softly. “It’s you.”

Confusion and outrage flashed within her seaglass eyes and displayed themselves through each feature of her exquisite face. Though her reaction, not being what he’d hoped for, sliced through him, he could do nothing about that now, not when a fresh round of threats was being issued by the Dark One and his spawn.

“We had a deal!” the Dark One bellowed. “Your daughter’s hand in marriage to my son in exchange for me ending your war with George! You made a deal--”

“Which they have kept in good faith!” Hook roared, rounding on the imp and causing his son to stumble backwards. “They have prepared and presented the princess for betrothal, and Emma herself recited the vows, even as it went against everything she wished for herself. It is not their fault the fates did not bind the agreement. If you wish to lay declarations of war at anyone’s feet, then let it be mine, but I warn you…” Stepping closer, Hook loomed over the Dark One and in a timbre of hushed menace, he advised, “do so at your own peril.”

The Dark One’s eyes narrowed, perhaps sensing something about the man who stood before him that he had not registered before. Beside him, Prince Neal scoffed.

“Are we to be threatened by the likes of you? You are nothing but a filthy pirate.”

Hook grinned darkly and rocked back on his heels, tucking his thumb in his belt. “A few months ago I was nothing but a filthy pirate, but today,” hardening his expression, he declared, “I am Neverland’s King, and you do not want Neverland as your enemy.”

The Dark One visibly started, but the Prince merely snorted. “Neverland has no king.”

Keeping a calculating eye on the Dark One, Hook shrugged and addressed Neal with a casual air. “True. I never understood, with all his theatrics, why Pan had never outright declared himself king, but make no mistake…” The hard edge returned to his tone and countenance, “Pan ruled that island as a dictator king with an iron scepter and a crown of cruelty not even George could have dreamed of matching. Now that Pan’s dead,” the Dark One’s head snapped towards him, seemingly pulled from his thoughts with a number of questions swirling behind his dark gaze, “Neverland is under my rule. The island, its inhabitants, and…” Hook flicked his wrist and the entirety of the ballroom gasped when a jar of glittering dust appeared in his hand, “its magic. They all serve me now, so I say again. You do not want me as an enemy.”

Shrewdly, the Dark One scrutinized the jar in Hook’s hand, then inquired, “What, then, do you propose we do? The terms of the deal have not been met. I ended the war with King George. A debt is still owed.”

“Indeed,” Hook replied, holding out the jar towards the Dark One. “And I believe this canister of pixie dust is more than sufficient in settling that debt.” Hook pulled the jar back when the prince made an attempt to take it. “So long as you promise that accepting it means no further repercussions. Misthaven is safe from any further threats or acts of retaliation from you, and Emma is free to find love and happiness with whomever she chooses. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“Papa, no!” Prince Neal protested. “You can’t just--”

“I can, and I have,” the Dark One clipped in a tone of censure before snatching the jar from Hook’s hand. Addressing the King and Queen, he confirmed, “Our deal has been satisfied. My son and I will now take our leave, but heed this… do not call upon me for aid ever again.”

“We won’t,” King David assured him. His eyes cut to Hook’s, relief and gratitude swimming within their depths, but before he could make any further statements another round of gasps rippled through the ballroom as the Dark One and Prince Neal were enveloped in a plume of dark smoke and vanished.

A heavy exhale fell over Hook’s lips and he stood, frozen, in the gazes of his friends, his sovereigns, his brother, and… his Emma.

“It’s you,” she said, her expression and voice void of any inflection he could identify as her eyes seemed to look past him to that far off place he’d seen her subconscious go when they were alone before. “You’re… him. We’ve… we’ve met before.”

“Aye, Your Highness,” he hedged. Her demeanor and lack of response to all that had just transpired made him hesitant to push her too far, too fast. “Moments ago in the corridor--”

“No… no, that’s not. I mean…” Her eyes refocused on him with a mixture of awe, disbelief, and something that hadn’t quite made its way to the surface yet swirling through their verdant beauty as she whispered, “It’s you, isn’t it? The man from my… you’re him.”

“Him… who?”

“My pirate,” she exhaled, stunning Hook to his core as she lifted a chain that had been concealed beneath the high neck of her white gown. Dangling from the delicate links was a familiar looking pendant. The seashell he had gifted her - after she’d plucked it from his desk, the little thief - he realized. The far off look returned as she murmured, “Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of you.”

His heart swelling, Hook elated, “Good,” and took a step towards her. The action, like all his actions since he’d revealed himself, was not met with the response he’d been hoping for.

Taking several steps back from him, Emma rounded on her parents and shouted, “You lied to me! You made me think it was all in my head! You knew! You knew why I felt so… wrong, so deficient. So… broken. My entire life I’ve… You knew about him all this time and you never--”

“You mustn’t blame them, love,” Hook insisted. “It’s not their fault. I made your mother promise never to tell--”

“Perhaps we should take this discussion elsewhere,” Snow said, making them all acutely aware of their audience. The societal vultures practically circling in anticipation of the feast such morsels of scandal might provide.

“That won’t be necessary,” Emma seethed. “There won’t be any more discussion, because I’m not interested in anything any of you have to say!”

Hook gaped when she raised her hand, calling forth magic to transport her from the ballroom in a plume of white smoke.

“She has magic?”

“She’s the product of True Love. Of course she has magic,” the Blue Fairy replied with a terse and exasperated tone, having made her way onto the dais to address her sovereigns and offer her assistance. “Your Majesties, perhaps it would be best for you to withdraw with the… captain, whilst the other fairies and I tend to your guests?”

“Yes,” Snow agreed. “Thank you, Blue.”

Hook followed his sovereigns and brother to an adjoining room where they could converse and continue their reunion in private, though none of them seemed to know where to begin.

“I think I ought to go and check on Em--”

“No,” Hook said, cutting off Snow. “Leave her be. She’s had a terrible shock and no doubt needs some time to work out all that’s…”

They stood there awkwardly for a moment more until reality set in. They were here, together, reunited at last, and in a synchronized heartbeat they suddenly found themselves in a united embrace, laughing and crying tears of joy and relief at finally having the nightmare of separation behind them.

“Admit it,” Hook demanded of David, wiping the vestiges of his emotional release from his eyes. “You were hedging your bets when you made that deal with the Dark One. You suspected The Law of Surprise would void it when the time came, didn’t you?” Turning towards his brother, Hook surmised, “That’s why you wouldn’t let me relinquish my claim and bestow it upon you.”

Sheepishly, Snow admitted, “Blue was the one who suggested the idea. We could not be sure, though, given your… uncertain future under Pan’s rule.”

“Speaking of,” Liam chimed in. “However did you manage to defeat the little bastard?”

“It’s a bit of a sordid tale,” Hook told them. “And one I do not wish to relive in detail. Suffice it to say, I managed to gain a certain amount of trust with Pan, which allowed me close access to him. Revealing some of his weaknesses. One of them being… squid ink.”

Liam led them over to the settees and they all sat down as he remarked, “Squid ink is no easy substance to obtain.”

“Aye,” Hook affirmed. “Fortunately, whilst on one of my missions for Pan, I ran into a mermaid who wished to leave her life in the sea behind. In exchange for safe passage, and because she felt bad for nearly crashing my ship upon rocky shoals when she enchanted me with her siren song, she gave me the squid ink she’d stolen from her father’s vault. Tink and I used the ink to subdue Pan.” Fiddling with his hook, he cast his eyes towards the floor as he confessed, “My hook did the rest.”

“And Pan’s death gave you… magic?”

“Not exactly.” Hook pulled back the sleeve of his right arm, exposing the cuff secured to his wrist. “This does,” he said, tapping it with the side of his hook. “It was Pan’s. He was never without it. I learned that it tethered the Shadow to him, acting as a conduit to the island’s power which he could then bend to his will. At first, I had no desire for it, but its use became necessary in order for me to begin to set things right.”

Hook told them how he and Tink had spent the past few months: squashing rebellions from those on the island still loyal to Pan, learning about the island’s magic while working with the Shadow to restore balance to her shores, and returning those he’d brought there under Pan’s order against their will.

“There is still much to be done, but when I heard about Emma’s betrothal, I…” Not wishing to tell anymore half-truths, or admit that the news of her betrothal had not been enough without Tink’s prompting, he let his words trail off. He hadn’t shared with them his misgivings in returning, allowing them to believe these other distractions had been the reason for his delay, causing guilt to churn in his gut as he sat amongst them.

“Where is Tinkerbell?” Snow asked, perhaps sensing the shift in his demeanor.

“She remained behind in Neverland,” Hook replied. “Awaiting further orders.”

“Further orders?” David parroted. “What more could you ask of her?”

“Not from me,” Hook assured. “From Blue.” Glancing down at the cuff on his wrist, he imparted, “The island should go to the fairies. They are the only ones who can truly wield and balance its power. I have no wish to be its sovereign forever, but...”

“But?”

Hook sighed. “All magic comes with a price, and the price of using this cuff is that it cannot be removed unless both the wearer and the island agree to its removal.” A wry smile pulled at the corner of his mouth and he cheekily added, “or unless the wearer is dead and no longer has a say in the matter.”

“I don’t…” Liam floundered. “I don’t understand what you--”

“The island won’t let me relinquish my connection with its magic,” Hook said. “After Pan, I believe it finds me preferable and won’t risk falling into the wrong sort of hands again. My hope is that the fairies might be able to convince the island to free me of the obligation, which is one of the reasons Tink remained there. To continue working towards that end until reinforcements arrive.”

“Well,” Snow said, standing and causing the men to follow suit. “That is something we can certainly discuss in greater detail tomorrow. For now,” she turned to her husband and with a firm, yet regal, look, declared, “we really must return to our guests and assure them that all is well.”

“Of course,” David agreed. “You’re right. The gossip mill is no doubt having a field day and our allies deserve whatever reassurances we can give them.”

“My apologies for creating a spectacle.” Hook gave his sovereigns a chagrined and contrite look, but they quickly waved off his self-condemnation.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Snow assured him.

“Snow is right,” David asserted. “Without you, we’d likely be preparing for war with the Dark One. You saved us… again.”

Hook grinned and nonchalantly scratched behind his ear. “I imagine another boon might be in order then?”

David shot him a less than amused look. “I’m not granting you another Law of Surprise, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Though we do not plan to have any more children, I agree with Charming,” Snow said, a hint of amusement coloring her words. “Once was more than enough.”

Hook sobered at the reminder of his Emma, and the mess he’d made of things between them.

“You owe me nothing,” he said. “It isn’t as though I’ve lived up to the last--”

“Enough of that,” Snow admonished. “I know things may not have gone as you’d hoped with Emma, but tomorrow is a new day. Let me have a room made up for you, and tomorrow we can all--”

“Thank you, Snow, but I think I’d rather return to my ship.” When Liam opened his mouth to protest, Hook assured him. “I’ll remain in port. I won’t leave without discussing the matter with you first, I just… I need…”

“Much has changed for you, too, little brother,” Liam acknowledged.

“Aye,” Hook admitted. “Freedom is not something I’ve had much practice with, and I’m still getting my bearings. Still trying to decide what I want to do with my life.”

“You know you always have a home here, right?” David said, placing a heavy hand upon his shoulder. “A place to belong.”

“I appreciate that, Your Majesty,” Hook said, hoping his eyes reflected just how much that fact meant to him. “But do you honestly think things can go back to how they would have been if you’d never sent us to Neverland? Or if we’d all managed to return from the accursed mission?”

David flinched and his features twisted into an expression of guilt and regret.

“Don’t misunderstand,” Hook said, now placing his own hand on his sovereign's shoulder. “I do not blame you. I have never blamed you, but let’s not pretend I can just take my place within your navy and serve as captain of one of your ships. For one, I am no longer a man who takes orders from others willingly, and two… what crew would wish to serve under the likes of me? A pirate. A blackguard.”

“No one is suggesting we pretend the past twenty years did not happen,” Liam said. “There is much to work out, much to resolve and decide upon. For you… and for Emma.”

David’s expression shifted and he now regarded Hook in a way the pirate had never experienced before. Not as his sovereign, nor as his friend, but as a father. A rather protective father. A protective father who might have just registered the charged interactions the pirate and his daughter had shared in the ballroom.

“Indeed,” the man said with a slightly hardened edge on his words. “Perhaps we should have a talk about your intentions with my daughter.”

“Charming,” Snow scolded, saving Hook from having to respond. “Now is not the time.” Squaring her shoulders and taking up her regal posture, the queen declared, “While these matters are all important and worthy of our time and thoughtful consideration, the more pressing issue awaits us in the ballroom.” Fixing her eyes on Liam, she continued, “David and I will need your diplomacy in dealing with our allies. You and the fairies are our ambassadors for the duration of the event.” Shifting her attention to Hook, she offered, “You are welcome to stay, however, it may be best if--”

“If it is all the same to you, Your Majesty,” Hook interrupted, “I think I’d prefer to take my leave for the evening and return to my ship.”

Giving him an acquiescing nod, Snow replied, “Very well. Let us all get through this evening and get ourselves as restful of a night’s sleep as we can. We will then reconvene tomorrow.”

“And Emma?” Hook inquired.

Snow and David shared a quick look of solidarity, then confirmed with a glance towards Liam before affirming, “We will leave her be, for now. As you requested.”

Their silent recognition and acceptance of his sovereignty in Emma’s life both relieved and disquieted him. He’d meant what he’d said to Tink about not being her lord and master, but he would not hesitate to advocate for her if he felt those around her were not acting in her best interest. She needed time. They both did.

“Then I shall bid you all a good night,” Hook said, not waiting for them to reciprocate before transporting himself back to the Jolly Roger in a swirl of crimson, in dire need of a refuge where he himself could process all that had come to pass this evening.

~/~

Hook’s jaw cracked from the wide yawn he released early the next morning, his body stiff and feeling its true age as he went about his normal routine, shuffling through his cabin in naught but his skin. He’d managed to pull on his leather pants, leaving them loosely tied around his waist, when he heard a voice drifting towards him from the dock.

“Ahoy! Captain, are you there?” a woman’s voice softly called out. From the tentative tone and reserved volume, he could tell she was trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible. It mattered not, though. He’d know that voice anywhere.

Hastily, Hook pulled on his shirt, a few of the buttons he kept fastened in the front slipped free from their closures, leaving his chest completely exposed. Forgoing his boots or even bothering to check the state of his hair, he rushed from his quarters and onto the deck, stopping short at the sight of his Emma standing atop the gangplank, just shy of the deck. The morning sun bathed her in an ethereal glow, silhouetting her form, which was adorned in her riding apparel, hugging her curves and highlighting her shapely legs in a way that had Hook glad he’d left his trousers loose.

Shaking those thoughts from his mind, Hook continued to approach her, only now taking in her observations of him. Rather wide-eyed and pinked cheeked observations, he noted with a self-satisfied smirk.

“Princess?” he said, pulling her from her own thoughts, his breath catching at the way she wet her lips before clearing her throat.

“I apologize for arriving so early and unannounced,” she said, straightening her posture before inquiring, “Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

Hook grinned and closed the space between them with swaggering steps, holding out his hand to assist her. “Permission granted, Your Highness.”

When her feet hit the boards of the deck they stood there for a long moment, her hand still tucked in his as she took in the sight of his ship. When her gaze lifted to the mainsail a shudder ran down her spine. Though he was unsure how much she remembered from that night long ago when she last stood there, Hook was certain he knew what had caused her response.

“I sent him back,” he assured her, his voice low and soft.

“Who?”

“The Shadow. He’s the reason the sail is typically black, but I won’t need him until it is time for me to return to…”

Sensing this topic made her uneasy, his words trailed off and she pulled her hand from his. Noises from further up the dock grabbed their attention momentarily and Hook caught sight of her horse hitched at one of the posts, alone.

“Did you come here unaccompanied?”

“Yes,” she replied, uneasiness once again taking hold of her tone and demeanor. “I hadn’t planned it. I was out for my morning ride, clearing my head when…” Looking about she asked, “Is there somewhere we could go? Somewhere more private where we might converse?”

“Of course,” he said, not faulting her for not wanting to be seen fraternizing with him. “Follow me, Your Highness.”

He led her to his quarters and stopped at the threshold, allowing her entrance as he hung back. A soft gasp fell from her lips.

“It’s… it’s just as I remembered,” she whispered under her breath, taking in every detail of his cabin. “I thought you were a dream,” she confessed, though he wasn’t certain she was actually talking to him, her gaze far away and her words almost murmured to herself.

“I thought the whole thing was a nightmare.” Her hands skimmed over the top of his desk, pausing at his hook which he’d failed to secure in his brace before going on deck. “The shadow that kidnapped me, the dark island, the glass cage, the boy…” Her eyes flicked up, meeting his as she continued in a whisper, “The pirate.” Wetting her lips, her gaze never wavered even if his did briefly drop down to her mouth. “You’re real. You were real all this time.”

“Aye.”

Picking up his hook, she turned it over in her hands. “This is the hook you used to attach yourself to the barrel? The one my mother later gifted you?”

“How did you know--”

Setting it down she leaned back against his desk and let out a heavy breath. “I talked with them last night,” she told him. “My parents. After the ball, I demanded they tell me everything.” Her gaze dropped for a moment, then her eyes snapped up to his, determination shining from their depths. His princess was on a mission for the truth. “Did you really not know of my existence until Pan had…”

“No,” he confirmed. “I had no idea the King and Queen had a child, nor that the child was the fulfillment of the Surprise your father had granted me until Pan kidnapped you.”

Nodding her head in acceptance of his word her demeanor shifted slightly, her shoulders relaxing and her gaze softening.

“I want to apologize for the way I behaved last night,” she said. “How I reacted when you…” Her contrite expression gave way to one tinged with anger as she continued. “The morning after Neverland, when I woke up, everyone acted as though it hadn’t happened. My being kidnapped. My parents insisted I had dreamt the whole thing, even Blue made me think I’d…” Her hands gripped the edge of his desk, her knuckles turning white as she continued to lean against it for support, and it took everything within him to not go to her and offer himself as an anchor for her feelings of hurt and betrayal. “My whole life I have been sheltered, not allowed to make decisions for myself, feeling as though something… vital was missing from my life, yet unable to seek it out. Made to feel as though I were mad, because of this dream that would not leave me.”

Swallowing hard, she glanced around his cabin once more before her eyes fell shut. A deep breath filled her chest, followed by a cleansing exhale. When she opened her eyes the anger was gone, but a sadness lingered. Hook would do anything to alleviate it, but he knew she was not finished. There was still so much she needed to work through, to process, to accept, and he would give her the space to do all of it.

“Last night,” she carried on, “when the betrothal bond failed, I truly thought it was because my vows had been a lie. I thought I was standing up to Neal and his father, taking control of my destiny for the first time in my life, only to discover my future was never my own to control, because of another agreement my father made before I was even born.”

Hook winced. “I am sorry, Princess. Truly.” Pushing off from the doorway where he’d been leaning against the jamb, Hook took a few steps into the cabin, stopping at the corner of his bunk. “It was never my intention to leave you feeling powerless or alone. If I could go back, I’d--”

“You don’t have to apologize,” she said, her voice sincere and her eyes full of forgiveness. “You had no way of knowing what the Surprise would be, and with what George did to my mother, who would have ever guessed? I don’t blame you for how my life--”

“You shouldn’t blame your father either, Your Highness,” Hook said in defense of his sovereign. “He had no way of knowing either, otherwise you would never have become my Surprise.”

“True.” She crossed her hands over her chest, a hardened expression once more tightening her features. “The blame belongs to Blue and my mother.”

“What?” Hook balked.

Meeting his gaze, she informed him, “Blue knew about the barrel. She saw it listed on the inventory that was taken when the Jewel made it back with the survivors. They must have put it in the hold when they fished it and you from the sea. Blue could not be sure it had not been corrupted, so she gave the water to my mother without her knowing. It wasn’t until weeks later, when my mother came to Blue worried that something was terribly wrong with her, that Blue confessed what she’d done. She told my mother it was still too early to know for certain and that she should wait to tell my father until she was further along, then later that very same day…”

“He granted me the Law of Surprise.”

“My mother knew he intended to reward you for your bravery and sacrifice, but said she had no idea it would be… Father said it hadn’t even occurred to him to grant it to you until the moment before he declared it. So, no. I do not blame my father.”

Stepping forward, Hook closed the gap between them and took her hand in his. “I will not tell you how you ought to feel, Princess. I just urge you to not let anger and blame linger in your heart for too long. I know what it is like to let such emotions fester, letting darkness creep in and take root in your spirit, giving it a foothold in your soul. Learn from my mistakes, love. Resist it.”

“Why couldn’t you?”

Running his thumb over the back of her knuckles, he softly imparted, “For many years during my first deal with Pan, I didn’t think I had anything to live for. The demon made me a pirate and I became a villain, unworthy of association with people like your parents or my brother. I had resigned myself to a life of exile and wasn’t certain I’d even return to Misthaven, until…”

“Until… what?”

“Until I met you.” How he wished he still had his other hand so he could take both of hers in his grasp, instead, he settled for threading their fingers together. “I wanted to be a better man for you, Princess. I knew Pan would still require a villain, but I was determined to defeat him by any means necessary so that I could take back my own power and control my own destiny.”

“So… what now?” she asked, a soft tremble quaking through her words.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…” she wet her lips, trying her best to hide her trepidations. “Your expectations. You said you returned in order to claim that which--”

“I said all that in an attempt to stop a war from brewing, and so you might be freed from a deal you never wished to be a part of,” he quickly assured her. “I know all too well the perils of making deals with demons, and it is a fate I would not wish upon anyone, least of all you.” Hook lifted their hands and cradled hers against his chest. “I have no expectations of you, love. I only wish to… to try and make up for lost time. To get to know you and have you get to know me. Fate may very well have its own plan, but as far as I’m concerned, whatever we become to one another is as much up to you as it is to me.”

A smile curled at the corners of her lips. “I’d hoped I hadn’t made that up about you,” she said. “I am glad to know you are, indeed, a man of honor and good form… just as I remembered you to be.”

Hook cocked his head to one side, his brows furrowed as he asked, “If you’ve always remembered the kidnapping, then why did you not recognize me in the alcove last night?”

“My memories weren’t… detailed,” she told him. “More like fragments. Impressions.” Looking past him, she began to call forth some of those memories. “I remembered you were a pirate. I remembered the silver fastenings of your waistcoat and the fact that you had dark hair, and I remembered… your eyes. They were probably the most vivid thing about you that I remembered.” Flicking her gaze up to his, she went on to say, “The truth of a person can always be found in their eyes.” Dipping her head, she demurred, “I’ve always been pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me. It’s always in the eyes. I knew, from the moment I looked into yours, that I could trust you. That you were telling the truth about taking me home. Your eyes told me I’d be safe with you.” Locking her eyes with his, she wistfully admitted, “I’ve thought about your eyes so many times over the years.”

Her cheeks reddened and she suddenly could not meet his gaze. Hook wondered what other thoughts she might have had about her dream pirate as she grew older, but held back from making a saucy quip, allowing her to move past him towards his bookcase. Truth be told, he could do with a bit of space between them as well.

“My parents tell me that though you are finally free of Pan, there are still loose ends for you to tie up in Neverland.” Distracting herself she focused her attention on the contents of his shelves, picking through the books and lifting the lids on a few of the boxes. “Once that is done, what do you intend to do with your newfound freedom?”

“Honestly?” Hook exhaled heavily. “I’m not sure.” A tinkling melody filled the room when she lifted the top of what turned out to be a music box, hastily letting it fall shut before turning apologetic eyes towards him.

“Sorry,” she muttered, running her hands down the front of her riding jacket before clasping them in front of herself. “You were saying?”

Hook chuckled, then sobered a bit when he remembered what he was about to reveal. “I was saying, I’m not sure what I’ll do once my duty to Neverland is complete. I would like to return to Misthaven, I just… I’m not certain I have a place here any longer.” Fiddling with a few of the items on his desk, he added, “Of course, there are people here whom I wish to build relationships with.”

“Like your brother?”

“Aye,” he replied, lifting his gaze towards her. “Among others.” He paused, hoping she knew she was at the top of those considerations. “I have missed so much, and while I realize he is now old enough to be mistaken as my father, Liam is the only family I have left.” They both shared a quick laugh over that observation before he declared, “I do not want to miss any more of his life, or anyone else’s of importance to me.

Emma hummed, her eyes cast down towards her feet, perhaps unable to meet his gaze because of the intensity of it. “I’d imagine you’d want the chance to get to know his wife and your nephews as well.”

Her words rocked Hook to his core. “What?”

Emma’s head snapped up, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping from the realization. “I’m so sorry! I thought… I thought you knew!”

Hook slumped down on the edge of his bed, a new sense of melancholy and injustice washing over him as he ran his hand through his hair and pulled at the strands in the back. “How long has he… how old are his… why did he not…”

“They’ve been married almost ten years, and have two sons. Her name is Belle and she’s…”

Emma paused when Hook buried his face in his hand. So much time wasted. The toll of the years Pan had stolen from him never seemed to cease in its increase.

The sound of the music box filled his cabin once more, prompting Hook to look up from his sorrows. Tentatively, Emma approached.

“I wish there was something I could do about the time that was taken from you and your brother. I wish I had words of wisdom or answers that might guide you towards what’s next, but I don’t. All I can do in this moment is… make good on a promise I gave you last night.”

Confused, Hook could only stare at her, until she clarified, “I believe I owe you a waltz?”

Hook huffed out an amused breath. Reaching up he pawed at the patch of skin behind his ear and confessed, “I know I instigated that, but truth be told… I haven’t danced a waltz in over twenty years.”

“Well,” she replied, clearly not letting him off the proverbial hook. “Good thing for you there is only one rule.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet before wrapping his braced arm around her waist. Taking his hand in hers she flicked up her gaze and murmured, “Pick a partner who knows what they’re doing.”

She took the lead until muscle memory returned, then Hook glided them around his cabin, holding her close and marveling at how she’d been able to pull him from his sulliness with such a simple act of kindness.

His Emma was a marvel, to be sure.

“Do you, Princess?” he asked, causing her brows to pinch together as her head tilted to one side. “Do you know what you’re doing?” he clarified, his voice low and hushed, wanting to keep the moment tender despite the question burning at the back of his throat. “What you are going to do now that the threat of Pan and your obligation to marry Prince Neal has been lifted?”

Chewing her lip, she gave the inquiry her considerations before drawing closer to him. Moving her hand from his shoulder to toy with the back of his neck, she sent a cascade of shivers down his spine as she addressed his question with one of her own.

“Did you know that other than the night I was taken to Neverland, this is the furthest I have even been from the castle?”

That piece of information shocked him, though he knew it should not have. Her existence had been kept a secret for the first half of her life because of George, and the threat of Pan had kept her parents cautious for the past decade. Fear had made his sovereigns hypervigilant with their greatest treasure, so no, it should not have surprised him that they’d kept her close to home, safe behind the castle walls, never straying from the grounds.

“I have never left these shores. Never seen the beauty or experienced the culture of other realms, or met anyone who wasn’t thoroughly vetted by my parents.” Wetting her lips, her eyes fell to the charms hanging around his neck, but Hook knew her gaze was far away once again. “I know I have a duty and obligation to my kingdom, my people, and my parents, but…”

“But?”

Glancing back up with a slight expression of guilt pulling at her features, she murmured, “I can't help but wonder if my brother, Leo, was the fates way of allowing me to… That is… I know I should not wish to burden him unnecessarily, it’s just that--”

“Where would you go first?” Hook asked, still swirling them around his cabin, maneuvering their bodies with the same ease in which he attempted to change the course of their conversation. “If you had the means to go anywhere, where would you go first?”

“Neverland.”

Her quick and unexpected reply had him stopping them in their tracks. “Neverland? Why?”

Once again, she worried her lip, her breath hitching shallowly in her chest. “As much as I long to see the world, the memory of the one time I left Misthaven still haunts me,” she said, her voice a tad unsure at first, though it gained a sense of certainty and resolve as she continued on. “I want to go back so I can face it. So I can put the fear it has held over my life behind me, once and for all.”

When she flicked her gaze up to his, something new stirred within those seaglass depths and the effect of it seemed to hum between them, electrifying the atmosphere of his cabin.

“I want to see what sort of place it is now. With Pan gone. I want to know how it has fared under your rule. How it’s changed due to your influence and direction.” Swaying closer to one another, she was practically a hair’s breadth away when she murmured, “I want to see it for myself in the hopes that…”

“That what?”

Her eyes fell to his mouth and his pulse quickened.

“That it proves that I am… not wrong about you.”

It took his mind several skips of his heartbeat to register the feel of her lips against his, but once it did, instinct took over. His braced arm pressed into the small of her back, bringing her even closer to him, their chests nearly touching with the only obstacle between them being her hand. Her fingers curled through his chest hair, pulling a groan from the back of his throat that vibrated against her lips as his own slanted across them. Threading his fingers through her hair, he wrapped his hand around the base of her skull so he could position her head to his liking, deepening the kiss and coaxing her lips apart with his tongue.

The taste of her was captivating. He could spend the rest of his life drinking her in yet never be satisfied, always wanting more, always needing more… of her. Just her. His Emma.

However, now was not the time for more, and from the gentle, yet insistent, press of her hand against his chest, it was evident that his princess was not ready for what could come next if they continued down this path of passion.

“That was…” he whispered against her lips, chasing them without thought.

“Destiny?” She giggled, her nerves and inexperience quivering through her laugh.

Brushing his nose against hers, he loosened his hold, creating some space between them while assuring her, “As I said before, I have no expectations of you, no expectations for what might happen between us or what we might come to mean to one another. Only… only hope and a promise.”

“What promise would that be?”

“I promise to do whatever it takes to win your heart, Princess. I promise, that for as long as it pleases you, I’ll be here, at your service.” Taking her hand in his, Hook vowed, “I will take you to Neverland, and any other realm you wish to see. I will remain by your side, even if, one day, it is only to stand in support of my future queen.”

“What about Liam?” she said, clearly overjoyed by the prospects he’d laid out whilst harbouring some guilt that their fulfillment would take him away from his brother.

“My brother will be here whenever we choose to return,” he comforted. “Besides… he has his own life to live, and whether he chooses to acknowledge it or not, he’s been shouldering a duty and responsibility he was never meant to carry.”

“Are you suggesting I’ve been burdensome to your brother?” Her tone was laced with offense, but it was betrayed by the teasing expression she could not keep from her features.

“Oh, yes,” he cheeked back, winding his arms around her waist. “Quite the burden you are. How will I ever bear being bonded by the fates to Your Highness?”

“Hmmm,” she hummed, running her palms up his chest then wrapping her arms around his neck. “Perhaps, you could start by calling me by my name, Captain.”

“As you wish… Emma,” he obliged on an exhale.

She graced him with a smile, then asked, “And you? How may I address you? Or do you prefer Captain?”

He wouldn’t deny the pleasure it gave him, hearing her call him Captain, and he was about to make a tawdry statement attesting to that fact when his eye caught a glimpse of his hook, still sitting atop his desk.

“Call me…” he said, his voice choked and barely able to utter the name he’d long abandoned. “Killian. Please, Emma. Call me Killian.”

“Killian.”

The sound of his name on her breath shot a thrill of wonder up his spine. His lips crashed against hers and they both surrendered to the destiny fate had planned for them long ago.

Which, honestly, should not have come as a… surprise.

Thank you all for going on this journey with me! I hope you enjoyed the ride!

Tagging the Curious Crew: (add to tag list)

(Please be advised that I only keep one tag list for all fic updates and new works. If at any time you wish to be removed, just shoot me an ask or a DM. No worries.)

@paradiselady19 @aprilqueen84 @kmomof4 @mie779 @donteattheappleshook @stahlop @anmylica @undercaffinatednightmare @zaharadessert @karl0ta @booksteaandtoomuchtv @courtorderedcake @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @the-darkdragonfly @jonesfandomfanatic @wyntereyez @xarandomdreamx @teamhook @winterbaby89 @justanother-unluckysoul @whimsicallyenchantedrose @badwolfreturns @deckerstarblanche @tiganasummertree @jrob64 @resident-of-storybrooke @motherkatereloyshipper @lfh1226-linda @youherotype @kday426 @snowbellewells @alexa-fangirl-forever @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @unworried-corsair @justanotherflailgirl @sals86 @natascha-ronin @livykatelin00-blog @jackieorioncat @annep1 @ilovemesomekillianjones @soniccat @youplaylikeagirl @th3capta1n @cocohook38 @zippoluv @bizquake

#cs ff #cs fic #csff #csfic #cs au #captain swan #captain duckling #the law of surprise #cssns23 #words by hollye

71 notes · View notes