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toxicanonymity · 1 year

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Cargo. Silence can never be bought, only rented (pt. 4)

3.1k / dbf!Joel x f!Reader 18+ / pt 1 / master list

His arms loosen and you turn around to face him. Bedhead is unreasonably sexy on him. You try to kiss him and he dodges you again, going for your neck instead. . . He starts giving you a light hickey. "You're evil," you say, pulling away to look at him. He smiles wickedly, then it fades. | next: part 5

Thank you @dark-scape for the mood board (and sounding board).

CONTENT WARNINGS/NOTES: NSFW 18+ Noncon somnophilia just the tip (don't get too excited) dry humping, vaginal fingering, oral (M receiving), alcohol, reader wears his shirt, excessive dialogue, elvis reference, sex work references, NO HOG BBQ YET SORRY- It took on a life of its own, needed its own part (next Sunday) and I think you'll see why the pacing is better that way.

Tags - This story: @jbcalway @daddy-din @angelmenace @silkiers @axshadows @legs0pen4dilfs @fan-fiction-floozy @grnherbs @icuminurbutt @lokanda @not-a-unique-snowflakewflake89 @likeanimagepassingby2 @witchy-jadda @mxtokko @missannwinchester @cannolighost @anxiousankylosaurus @montenegroisr @97cityy @lillyrob @billyloomiswhore4 @cloudroomblog @boysddontcry @blackvelveteen1339 @twsssmlmaa @call-me-doll-face All Joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea. @evyiione Lmk if i missed you. Idk why some are buggy.

The hotel shampoo and body wash smell like Joel after his shower, which makes you want to take the bottles with you. After your bath, you lounge on your bed in a towel, air-drying, finishing the movie, and replaying the night in your mind. Mainly how hot Joel looked between your legs. You also dwell on the fact that he wouldn’t really kiss you. Apparently, he won't sleep in the same bed with you either. It hurts. Like, it's physically painful.

You go across the suite to Joel's room for a shirt to sleep in. His door is cracked open and there's a green flannel folded on top of his luggage. It’s not weather-appropriate and you wonder if he brought it for you. He's tucked in, already asleep on his stomach with his shirt off, a massive arm sticking out over the white comforter and another under his pillow. You drop your towel to put the shirt on – leisurely, hoping he wakes up to the tempting sight – but he's already sleeping soundly. You've never seen his face so relaxed, but his brow is still somewhat furrowed.

You sit down on his bed to fasten a couple of buttons. He doesn't wake up. The irony doesn't escape you that you're watching him sleep when he's supposed to be the creep. Why doesn't he try to fuck you, you wonder. His words to Chad echo in your mind: If she told her father, you wouldn't be breathing. But that's obviously different, you think. That was about someone breaking your heart and physically intimidating you.

The hotel bed is tightly made, with the comforter tucked under the mattress on the side Joel isn't using. You wonder if you could slip inside without waking him up. You move the pillows out of the way, then slowly, inch by inch, wedge yourself under the sheets. When you're almost settled, he stirs. He blinks a few times, squints at you, then sighs, "Trouble . . ." He moves one of his pillows and hugs it, effectively putting something between you. It stings. You try to sleep but you end up sniffling.

He hears you and wakes up again. "C'mere, damnit," he half-whispers, half-asleep. His gruff bedroom whisper makes you wet. He lifts up his arm but doesn't turn on his side or move the pillow. You rotate the pillow slightly and rest your head on it with his arm over your chest. You drift off sooner than you expect.

At some point in your sleep, you roll over facing away from him. You wake up in the fetal position with Joel’s arm draped over you. Joel has turned onto his side, too. Your upper back is just barely against his chest. You scoot your lower body backwards to spoon with him, and your naked ass meets the tip of his cock. Arousal shoots through you like a bolt of lightning. It's the first time you've actually had contact with it. You didn't even realize he was naked.

At the first contact, his hips instinctively press his cock up against you, sending all the blood in your body to your core. You stifle a moan, not stopping to wonder why you don't want to wake him up. You carefully maneuver your ass to nestle his cock between your thighs. He thrusts in his sleep, gliding firm and wet against your folds, reaching your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you.

You unbutton your shirt then nudge his hand into it. His hand twitches and so does his cock. It pulls back a little and the tip is right at your entrance. Your hips tilt, nestling it there, the top curve of the head resting just inside without truly breaching you. You could sink onto him right now. It would be so easy. But you want him to do it himself.

You're absolutely throbbing, aching for him. He pulls back again with a sigh, then his hard tip bypasses your tight, dripping hole and glides to your clit again and you softly moan. You adjust your chest, wanting the movement of your breast to prompt his hand to cup around it. But instead of cupping your breast, his hand drifts up your chest. Then, it wraps loosely around your throat.

His voice is quiet but stern as his cock retreats then slides firmly against your clit with an aggressive thrust. His hand applies light pressure around your throat. “What’d I tell ya last night?”

You remember it well, how you foolishly claimed you weren't gonna fuck him and he replied, oh, I'm not gonna let ya, sugar. Blood drains from your face and your heart races. You scoff but don't say anything. Having made his point, his hand goes slack again. Humiliation drowns out your arousal and you begin to scoot away, but he follows you, effortlessly restraining you with one enormous arm.

“Calm down," he says into your hair, then half-whispers under your ear, "I’m still gonna take care of ya,” as he palms your breast. His hard cock nestles against your crack.

"Lucky me," you say sarcastically and begin to squirm away, but both his arms wrap around you. In a mocking tone, you parrot, "Take care of me," and add, "you're an actual whore, aren't you?" A veiny hand slowly works your breast then trails down your torso and digs between your legs. That’s all it takes for your arousal to return.

He gathers your ample wetness and uses his middle and ring fingers in a way he must have been perfecting since before you were born. You gasp and your back arches with tension building rapidly in your core. His bicep flexes under your neck as his other hand slowly gropes your breasts. His stiff cock slowly ruts against your ass while he touches you like you've never been touched before.

He grunts and you gasp on the edge of your climax. He softly bites your neck, and it sends you. He sucks your neck as you come. When your body finishes convulsing into his, his arms loosen and you turn around to face him.

Bedhead is unreasonably sexy on him. You can't resist. You try to kiss him.

He fucking dodges you again, going for your neck instead. "Haven't you seen Pretty woman?" Yeah, the one where a sex worker won’t kiss johns on the mouth because it’s too emotional . . .Joel starts giving you a light hickey.

"You're evil," you say, pulling away to look at him.

He smiles wickedly, then it fades. He opens his mouth to say something but stops short when you reach down and grab his cock. Your mouth falls open at its hardness and the fact that his hand is already around it.

He winces at your icy fingers.

You get up on your knees and straddle his legs, pushing the plush luxury comforter behind you. You fold at the hips and take a moment to admire his cock in your fist and breathe in his musk. Your thumb lightly traces a vein, and he exhales with a soft grunt. You look up and are greeted with a twinkle in his eye and a barely perceptible smirk. You want to wipe that smirk off his face.

You quickly succeed by holding eye contact while you wrap your lips around his swollen tip and tongue the slit. It’s already salty with pre-cum. He takes a deep breath and his lips part just barely. He puts another pillow behind his head for a better view. His face falls into a trance. When you begin to suck, he swallows and his jaw clenches. His eyes darken. You bob your head on his cock, taking as much of his shaft as you can without gagging, stroking the rest with your hand.

“Fuck,” he pants. His quads tense under you and his breathing changes. His hips rock gently into your mouth. Your eyes water as you keep blowing him. Then, his hand joins yours.

“Where ya want it?” he asks somewhat urgently. What a gentleman.

You don’t answer, you simply take his hand off his cock and place it on his stomach. You slow your sucking and relax your tongue. His hips thrust gently into your mouth and his hand floats to your head, but you send it back to his stomach again

“God almighty,” he groans. “Fuck me.” It’s a turn-on seeing him so desperate.

You edge him until you’re ready to see him come. Then, you suck with your whole mouth, your cheeks caving in as you firmly tongue the underside. Within seconds, his hips lift and stay lifted as he erupts in your mouth with a groan. His warm load hits the roof of your mouth first, and it’s so many ropes you lose count. You swallow, then return to the head of the bed.

You put your head on his chest and he strokes your shoulder.

“You’re the evil one,” he says, and you bask in self-satisfaction for a minute. “Nah, you’re right. You don’t wanna believe it, but you’re right.”

“About what?”

He sits up and your eyes glue to his inner bicep flexing as he reaches for his phone. His brow furrows as he reads something then dismisses it. Then he puts on the song Trouble by Elvis. He meant you’re right that he’s evil.

You hold out your arm and say, “I’m cringing so hard I have goosebumps.”

“Just for that, I’m gonna play DJ allll mornin’,” he says. He sings along as he walks to the shower, “well I’m evil, so don’t you mess around with me. . .”

. . .

Before Joel takes you back to your apartment, you have brunch at a restaurant overlooking the riverwalk. In the absence of other options, you wear your leather pants with the lacy top. You both get bloody marys. He wears his Ray-Bans and a white t-shirt, jeans as tight as always, and sits back lazily with one elbow over the back of his chair and his knees spread wide.

Your phone dings with a text from another family friend, Frank, asking if you’re coming home for the Independence Day barbecue, and it gets you thinking.

“Dad’s back this week,” you say to Joel. You instantly regret it for killing the mood, but it’s the elephant in the room. “Y’all still gonna barbecue?”

He takes a sip of his drink, then puts it back down. He looks at the river and furrows his brow, then his eyes return to you. “Why wouldn’t we? You gonna talk to him?”

“I dunno,” you say, not wanting to show your hand, but you’re leaning against snitching any time soon.

Joel tenses and his nose twitches. “What are you gonna tell’m?” He rubs one side of his beard. A waiter approaches from behind, but Joel doesn’t see him. “Gonna tell’m you climbed into my bed? Tried to fuck yourself on my cock?" There’s a bite to his words. The waiter stops in his tracks and awkwardly tries to pretend he wasn’t coming to your table. You look at the waiter and shrug and he gulps before nodding at you in acknowledgement. Joel looks over his shoulder then shakes his head at you and smirks as the waiter walks away.

Climbed into his bed. . . tried to fuck yourself on his cock. . . It sounds so bad when he puts it that way. Maybe it was. Your cheeks burn.

You sigh. "I wasn't -”

Joel raises his eyebrows at you.

“Just the tip," you protest.

Joel nods thoughtfully.

“I dunno what I was thinking,” you admit. You cross your arms and slouch down in your seat.

"It's never just the tip," Joel says.

"Why didn't you want it?" You ask pathetically

He sighs. "Nothin' to do with want.” He takes a deep breath and leans back. He looks at the river, exhales, then adds, "Trust me. . .Fuck." He takes a sip of his bloody mary and looks back at you.

"What then?”

The way he looks like he’s racking his brain, you wonder if he’s holding back just to drive you crazy. It certainly has your attention. In fact, you didn’t know how badly you needed to fuck him until last night . . .just minutes after he said he wasn’t going to let you.

Finally, he says, "It's bad for you, sugar."

“What is? Your evil cock?”

He smirks then shifts uncomfortably in his seat and looks at the river again. “I dunno what to tell ya. I've seen a lot. Don't wanna put ya through it. Shoot, look at your stepmom, she's damn near lost her mind.”

“You're just that good,” you roll your eyes. You have every reason to believe he is.

Joel sighs. “Nothin' to do with good. Shit, I’m not good, I'm just grown." He takes a sip of his bloody mary. "Don't you know any hot professors? Take 'em for a spin, you'll see."

You brush it off as his crude way of being modest. He could probably make bank as an actual gigolo from what you’ve seen.

"Then what is it?" you wonder. He gives it some thought.

"Reckon it’s ‘cause ya can't have me. No one can. I'm un-have-able."

“Why don’t you ever settle down?”

“Shoot, I dunno. When I was your age, I was already a father. Maybe I went backwards.”

You nod, appreciative of his effort to give a real answer.

He continues, “But ya know, monogamy just ain’t right for some people. Hell, even in a marriage. You’d be surprised how many are open.”

“How many what? Marriages?” You suspect his sample is skewed.

“Yeah. Relationships, marriages.” He crosses his legs. “Alright, my turn to ask you somethin’.”

Your heart rate spikes, hoping he won’t revisit the just-the-tip incident.

“Why'd you stand there and watch that night, hmm?" He cocks an eyebrow. It’s the first time either of you bring up the moment that started all of this. Sometimes, when you’re with him, you forget about it entirely.

You laugh at his audacity, then counter with, "Why'd you stand there and finish?"

"Easy. So I could nut.” He flashes his eyebrows with a casual smirk, then downs the rest of his drink.

"You did not just say nut. God, you're such a boomer."

"Alright, let's get outta here ‘fore we traumatize another waiter." He throws more than enough cash on the table then stands up and pulls up his jeans. He puts his hands on his hips and cocks a leg out, looking out over the river while you chug the rest of your drink.

When you get in the truck, Joel puts his phone on bluetooth and “Call Me,” the theme to American Gigolo, blasts on. He’s so lame. You shake your head at him and he has that subtle Dad joke smirk. His bicep stretches that t-shirt so nicely.

Halfway to your apartment, some kind of restricted call pops up and his phone automatically answers it. You swear it’s your father’s voice on the line that says, “You’re offline. What’s your 20?” Joel’s face changes entirely, and something tightens in your chest.

He scrambles to turn off bluetooth and puts the phone to his ear. You can still somewhat hear the other end of the line.

Joel glances at you and says, “Uhhh-”

“We’ve gotta move,” your dad says.

“It’s broad daylight,” Joel counters.

“The Bureau tracked down his number two and he’s on the move.”

Joel seems frustrated. “Why don’t you get Jesse?”

Your dad says, “He’s comin’ but they’re rollin’ deep. We need our best shot or it’s gonna be a shitshow.” Your heart is a mile a minute.

“Dad?” you ask meekly, too nervous to fully commit to asking.

“What was that?” your Dad asks. “Who was that?” You don't say anything else. You feel weak.

Joel glances at you regretfully. “Damnit, gimme ten and I’ll call you.”

“We gotta move, Miller. I need you back online.”

Joel sighs “Working on it. I’ve got cargo, k?”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. "What kind of cargo?”

Joel looks at you again and answers, "precious.” He hangs up.

Joel hits the steering wheel angrily. He speeds back toward your apartment, clenching his jaw as his driving intensifies. You’re shaking. That was almost certainly your father, and it didn’t sound anything like a military training exercise, or a construction project of Joel’s, for that matter.

Joel silently fumes.

“Was that my dad?” you ask with watery eyes. He takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out as he exhales. Before he can answer, you foolishly let him off the hook with another question. “Did you just call me cargo?"

“Sorry sugar, no time right now.” You ride in silence, bracing yourself as he careens around a corner.

The tears in your eyes threaten to overflow, then one does.

Joel pulls up to your apartment. He waits with one hand still on the steering wheel for you to get out, but when he looks at you, he sees that big fat tear run down your cheek and his face softens.

“Aw, shoot,” he says, and unbuckles. “I’m an asshole.” He gets out and jogs over to the passenger side. He opens the door for you and you slide out of the chair lazily, numbly, not quite wanting to meet his eyes.

“Hey,” he says, and tilts your chin up. Suddenly, it seems like he’s in no hurry at all. He takes off his Ray-Bans and looks at you like he’s trying to heal you with his eyes. You finally make eye contact and take a shaky breath, trying not to full-on sob. His thumb brushes away your tears, then the same hand cradles the back of your head. You stand there reading each other’s eyes. Slowly, your head begins to pull like a magnet toward his lips. You almost feel like his hand is ever so subtly pulling you that way. You steel yourself for rejection anyway. But then, Joel’s head drifts toward yours.

His beard lightly prickles your skin as your lips lock and his free arm wraps around you. You’re caught off guard, but in less than a second, you don’t care about anything else in the world. Joel’s tongue parts your lips and you accept it hungrily. His lips are soft but strong as they suck you into him. Your mouths are needy for each other. His hand behind your head pulls you further into him. You kiss like you’re sharing a last breath of air. Then, he seals the moment on your upper lip and pulls away. The whole kiss can’t be more than ten seconds, tops.

“Gotta go, Trouble.” he whispers, then swallows solemnly, looking down. “I’m sorry.”

He jumps in his truck and peels off.

next: part 5

thank you all so much for reading and engaging. y'all are the best ILY!!!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #perdo pascal #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal smut #toxicanonymity ☠️#toxicdbf #dbf!joel

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imtherain · 9 months

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With Love From Me (Prince Nuada): Part One

Heyo!

This is a very special (first half) of a fic for the lovely @lokanda. (Rumor has it that it's her birthday today)

It took my almost six months to write this part, hopefully I can finish the rest by her next birthday!

May I present my first Prince Nuada fic, completely requested by the birthday girl! Not only have I not written for the Hellboy fandom in like three years, but I have never written for the smexy elf prince before, but he sure is pretty to look at.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, court politics maybe? Getting chased, making friends, maybe a touch of potential "chase the hare" adventures in the next part, we'll see

Anywho:

“This is your duty, you do not get to argue with it,” Her father said, face stern as he looked down at her from his throne. “You are a Princess, Scionia, this is what you were born for,”

“But Father, I have never met this man,” She said. “How could I possibly hope to love him?”

“This marriage, like all other royal marriages, does not require love.” King Hextern said. “I will not hear any more of this from you, Prince Nuada, and his father, King Balor, will arrive tomorrow. You are to be presented to them and wed by the time the moon is full.”

“But that’s only three days from now,” The Princess said. Her father gave her a hard look.

“It seems I may have been too lenient on you, my dear daughter, for you clearly do not wish to do what must be done,” He sighed. “This is the way of this world, even I, a King, cannot change that,”

“What if he’s cruel? What if he’s a monster? What if he can’t stand to look at me?” She demanded, fear of the unknown rising with claws to choke her.

“I have been told he is quite nobel, highly educated, and also a warrior. On all accounts, you could certainly do worse.” The King told her. But she didn’t want to hear that it could be worse because this felt like the worst already.

“I agree to meet the Prince, but I cannot agree to marry him,” Scionia said with more defiance than she’s ever used against her father before. The King just sighed heavily with a nod, knowing that she would do as she was told either way, but for now, he let her fight it. It would not matter after tomorrow anyway.

The next day came too quickly.

Princess Scionia was put into the finest dress she owned. It was silky and black like the night sky. It hung from the swells of her hips to the floor, covering her modest silver slippers. The sleeves reached the bottom of her fingers and belled out under her palm. Her maids wrapped her equally dark hair up into braids, threaded through with silver thread. They added fine silver jewelry, earrings, necklaces, rings on several fingers. And finally, they closed in her torso with a sort of metal corset that ran from her navel to just under her sternum, fitted on all sides, and unyielding. Just like the task she would have to face once the Elves from the other kingdom arrived.

“You look beautiful, your Highness,” Mirla, one of Scionia’s maids said, catching her mistress watching herself in the mirrors.

“Thank you,” She said, but try as she might to agree, Scionia couldn’t help but feel like the prized animal, cleaned and dressed for sacrifice at the altar of a god that wasn’t hers.

“I know it can be quite frightening to think about,” Draga said. Draga was the only maid that was older than Scionia, as she had been a handmaid to her mother before she’d passed. “But you will do well. And all of your maids will come with you once you leave for the Prince’s Kingdom,” She meant it as a comfort but it only made Scionia feel dread.

“Do you think it’s far?” Scionia asked the older woman. Truth be told, Draga had always felt like more of a mother than the Queen ever had. The Queen was always too busy being doted on or complaining that she wasn’t being doted on enough. She had very rarely wanted her daughter anywhere near her unless she was to dote on the Queen as well.

“I do not know much about Bethmoora,” Draga said. “But they are the Children of the Earth, I can’t imagine where they come from being so vastly different from here,” She gave Scionia a warm smile. “And even with all the changes, you will never be alone,”

Scionia looked at her maids, three in total. Each one looked at her kindly and she wondered what would become of them when she followed through on the plan she concocted the night before and fled the kingdom. She hoped that her Father would not blame them for her escape.

“I have been very lucky to have all of you in my life,” Scionia smiled at the women fondly.

“As are we,” Draga said, pulling the princess into a hug. “As are we,”

“May I present to you, King Balor of Bethmoora, his son, Prince Nuada, and his daughter, Princess Nuala,” The Herald announced. Princess Scionia, while used to similar proceedings, felt dread slide down her spine at this particular announcement.

The court of King Balor came into the large throne room like bees spilling from an overturned jar. Various people and creatures, filling the space between King Hextern’s own court. Scionia watched her people mingle with these newcomers trying not to look at the royalty that she would be forced to face.

She reminded herself of her plans. Wait for dinner, the feast would distract most everyone. Any guards would be laughed away with lies about needing to stretch her legs. She’d collect her bag from where she’d hidden it by the walls outside, and she’d slip off into the trees. From there? Anywhere. As long as she was free.

“Princess Scionia,” Her name drew her back to the task at hand. King Balor was speaking with her father, having already taken the large throne next to him. To her surprise, it was the Princess, Nuala, who had said her name. “May my brother and I join you?” She asked. Her eyes were gold and soft, full of that light you only saw in spring, filtered through the newest of leaves.

“Of course, Princess,” Scionia said, surprised at the way she relaxed when Nuala took the seat directly to her right. Prince Nuada stood looking at her for a long moment, surely taking stock of his future bride, deciding if it was worth the trouble to go through with the wedding.

“It is my honor to meet you, Princess,” The Prince said formally. He offered her his hand and she took it. He bent his knees to bow to her, a sign of respect that made her skin tingle. She wasn’t used to respect from other royals.

“It is my honor,” Scionia replied. Unlike his sister, Nuada’s eyes were solid pools of gold. Hard, like the polished discs that the Queen used to wear. As for the rest of him, he was clearly strong, honed. It wasn’t hard to tell that he had been trained and molded from the day he was born to be exactly what he was right now, standing before a Princess who knew he would never love her. Men molded like that never loved.

The Prince moved to take the seat opposite his own father, and the farthest from where Princess Scionia sat.

“You have such beautiful eyes, Princess,” Nuala said with a small smile. “I’ve never seen such color,” Scionia smiled back, a slight blush coming up her neck at the unexpected compliment. Most people in her kingdom thought her eyes were too strange. They were not her father’s eyes, not her mother’s.

“Thank you,” Scionia said.

“Where does such a shade come from?” Nuala asked innocently. Scionia thought for a moment. The lilac shade of her irises had never been something to dwell on. If anything, it had always been a point to be avoided.

“I’m not sure,” Scionia said.

“They are quite lovely,” Nuala decided. Some of the servants came out and carried in a long table for the royals to eat on. “I must admit, when Father told us that we were coming here to get my brother a bride, I was a bit excited,”

“Is that so?” Scionia tried to sound aloof on the matter. Nuala seemed genuine enough, and perhaps part of Scionia who would have, at some point, wished to have a friend amongst the Royals, felt a little bad that she would not see the Princess again.

“Of course!” Nuala said. “And I look forward to having a sister,” Scionia felt her heart twist a little bit. Poor Nuala would be so disappointed.

“Tell me about your kingdom,” Scionia said as porters began bringing out the celebratory feast. And Nuala did. She told Scionia everything she thought the princess would like, about the library that extended for miles underground. How some days when the sun set, it looked like the castle was on fire, and so beautiful. How Nuala would show her everything if she wanted her too.

“What about your Brother?” Scionia asked. “Tell me about him,” She knew she was fleeing tonight, that it would not matter, but still, she was curious as to who she was leaving behind.

“He can be a little bit, serious,” Nuala’s eyes dipped as though someone had caught her staring. “And he is steadfast in all of his beliefs,”

“We call that hardheaded,” Scionia mused. Nuala nodded.

“But he cares about his people, and he will take good care of you,” Her golden eyes came back up to Scionia’s face, alight with springtime and mirth. “And he is quite honorable, so if you decide you do not like him, he will leave you alone,”

“Husbands aren’t known for keeping their distance,” Scionia scoffed.

“Nuada is many things,” Nuala tried again. “But he will not do anything to hurt you,”

“Thank you, Princess,” Scionia said with a small smile. If nothing else, Nuala was a good sister, and after spending the night talking together, Scionia found herself almost sad to know she’d never see the elf Princess again, would never get to be her sister.

As the dancing and celebrating became the noise of the evening, Scionia moved on her plan.

“I am afraid I need to go get some air,” Scionia said with what she hoped was a convincing amount of normality. “Please excuse me,” Princess Nuala stood with her.

“Allow me to come with you, I’d love to see the gardens. I only barely caught a glimpse of them on the way in,”

“I was planning on going back to my chambers for a bit actually,” Scionia pivoted. “I need to refresh myself. You should stay and enjoy the party. Though, if that man there,” Scionia pointed to one of the men of her Court. “Tries to come dance with you, don’t do it. He’s all hands,” Scionia winked at her new, if fleeting, friend and headed off towards her room.

Princess Nuala watched her go before turning to meet eyes with her twin brother. He had asked her to speak with his bride-to-be and she had succeeded in that. He was happy to hear she wouldn’t be a complete waste of time. When Prince Nuada joined his sister in the local princess’s seat, he smiled fondly at her.

“At least she’s not a complete bore,” Nuada smiled. “And you do seem to like her,”

“I do,” Nuala agreed. “I think maybe you should speak with her as well, she avoided any questions I posed about the marriage,”

“Did our Princess say where she was going?” Nuada asked, picking at some of the fruit that lay on the table before him. He looked completely at ease there, leaned back in the chair comfortably. As if this was his own kingdom and not someone else's.

Nuala looked off down the hallway Scionia had disappeared down.

“She said she was headed to her chambers for a bit,” Nuala told him. The prince hummed, but when he stood, his sister stopped him.

“Don’t do anything untoward,” She warned, knowing exactly what he might do without thinking of the repercussions. Like barging into her chambers unannounced.

“You wound me, dear sister,” He said. She released his arm and he went off in search of his bride-to-be.

He was surprised to find himself standing in her empty bed chambers, the only sign that she had even entered the room since dinner was her dress, haphazardly tossed across the end of the bed. Prince Nuada smirked to himself. If she was a runaway bride, he best go find her before she got too far away.

Scionia was deep in the forest when she finally stopped for a moment to breathe. She'd done it, she'd run. She would be free of her obligations to the stranger and his handsome golden eyes.

She was surprised to hear the sound of a single horse up on the road.

Suddenly glad she had wandered down into a hollow to rest, she laid herself flat against the ground hoping the rider would pass. She heard the horse snort and the sound of hooves moving away. Scionia let out the breath she was holding.

"The thought of marriage is this offensive to you?" A familiar voice said from the hill above her. Scionia cursed and turned around to look up at the very smug Prince Nuada looking down at her. He had his arms crossed and she couldn't help but admit he looked divine in the light of the filling moon.

"How did you find me?" She demanded. She got to her feet and began looking for exits. It wouldn't be hard for her to turn and bolt between the trees, but she was past the part of the forest she was familiar with and the thought of getting lost was not ideal.

"Did you think you were being sneaky?" He asked with an almost appalled tone. "I'm sorry to say you would have only been easier to find had you been singing,"

"I'm not going back," Scionia said.

"Funny, I don't believe I asked," he was smiling because he found this whole thing charming. She was no wilting flower and he admired that. Plus she was squaring up to either run or fight and he was excited to see which one would win out.

Scionia watched the Prince move towards her, knowing that he meant to take her back, and knowing that meant she’d have to marry him. So she turned on her heel and ran.

For a second, she thought maybe he would not chase her on foot.

Suddenly, Nuada was before her, arms still crossed. Almost as thought he hadn’t chased her and had instead simply appeared there. Scionia came to a stop and he smiled at her.

“You didn’t even try,” He was grinning as though this was some sort of game, and Sciona was a bit annoyed at how soft she felt seeing the humor on his stern features. In some other life, perhaps he really would have been someone she would have liked to marry. But in this life? He was a Prince, and she was a Princess, and there could never be love between them.

Kingdoms never left room for love.

She bolted again, this time headed towards the mountains. She knew there were more places to hide there, that she should be able to lose him in the underbrush, or slip into a cave before he spotted her. Scionia couldn’t hear if he had followed her, but she didn’t dare look back.

Safety.

Scionia collapsed in one of the caves she had aimed for. Surely, he hadn’t followed her that much farther. He had better things to do than chase her. Who would have wasted their time with her anyway? There were probably a hundred other princesses that Nuada could marry just the same.

Scionia did feel a little bit bitter at the thought.

She was sitting against one of the cold stone walls when she heard whistling. Her heart leapt to her throat as she realized he had followed her. That he knew exactly where she was.

His voice carried easily into the cave when he spoke.

“Are you in there, Princess?” His voice was full of humor, like he was playing hide and seek. “I know you’re somewhere close,”

Scionia pulled herself to her feet and reached for the knife she had kept concealed. If she was honest, she really wasn’t sure how to use it for combat, but she’d watched plenty of the soldiers train with both close combat and swords, so it couldn’t be that hard, right?

She closed her eyes, listening for him, hoping that he moved on without finding her. But when she opened her eyes, there he was, smiling at her, his body blocking her escape.

“And what do you plan to do with that, Princess?” Nuada asked. His hands at his sides, shoulders shifting. She could tell he was honed sharper than the blade that she clenched in shaking hands.

“Let me leave and do not follow me,” Scionia said. Her voice was stronger than she expected it to be, but she was grateful for that.

“Leave? You are to be my bride, if you flee, I will follow.” The Prince said seriously. “I will always follow you,” The solemness of the vow startled her. It felt like a confession maybe, or a prayer, as if she were the altar he planned to pray to for the rest of his life.

But she had come too far to be swayed by pretty words.

[Masterlist]

[Mini Masterlist: Hellboy]

#prince nuada #hellboy #named reader #lackofpamcakes #imtherain #hellboy 2004 #hellboy golden army #sort of a request actually

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