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mamamittens · 9 months

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After a Crown for a Ring

This is the somewhat unhinged romcom order for myself based on my 'menu' for my Shake Date 500+follower event. Without the smut, I... I cannot write and post that and still come online ever again at this point in time (social anxiety for the win!), so ya'll just get the ridiculous build up.

That and I realized I had written over 2K just building up to smut. Why am I like this for this man???

So here.

Order: strawberry cake, gummy candy, sprinkles. Add in pink schnapps, jager bomb, white Russian, hot damn, and brain hemorrhage with a coffee and strawberry mochi.

Warnings: Yandere, technically kidnapping, and intended imprisonment until marriage agreement.

Thatch X Nikia (OC)

What can I say, he's a real romantic at heart.

word count: 2,490

The kingdom was burning.

Okay, so only some of the kingdom was burning. It was still a problem and there wasn’t much to be done at this point.

Nikia sighed, anxiously wringing her hands as she looked out over the balcony. She was trained for peacetime, not war. The weight of lives on her shoulders a distinctly uncomfortable one. So, she ordered her people to evacuate well before the enemy line made it to the capital city. Some stayed, too stubborn or loyal to go, but the rest fled quickly.

In theory, this is where her fiancé would shine. As a well decorated war general, this would have been his moment. He likely could have managed this whole mess swiftly and gotten a treaty signed. But he’d gone at the first sign of war to handle things and… he never came back.

Nikia shifted on her feet, wings fluttering behind her restlessly.

She liked Henrick well enough. Kind and deferential to her title without being a kiss ass. Older but not so old she worried he’d pass well before she ever would. They’d been arranged to marry next spring by her late parents but that clearly wasn’t going to happen now. And her envoys for peace went unheeded for reasons beyond her understanding. Spies, perhaps. Or perhaps just a lack of interest in peace. It was possible.

The rival kingdom was quite fond of conquering, so it was possible that this was inevitable.

And as queen she had to greet them.

There was a rattle of armor behind her as her personal guard, Minos, entered the room.

“Your majesty, they’ve made it to the pavilion.” She sighed, fussing with her skirts.

“Then I shall meet them in the entrance.” She declared, turning to walk swiftly through the halls, Minos glancing from under his helmet, hand on his blade.

“It’s not too late to run, your majesty.” He reminded her softly. She paused before the stairs, smiling softly.

“And go where? I can hardly pass as an unfortunate peasant.” Nikia sighed, extending her wings. It was something all royal family members had and became incredibly symbolic over the years, much to her frustration. “Besides, I have to try for peace one last time before the entire kingdom is razed. You heard what happened to Marineford.” She moved on, not looking at the portraits of her ancestors along the walls and artwork gifted to her family over the years. Marineford had, somehow, gotten hold of a prince and tried to execute him. It did not end well.

“Well, you haven’t acted against them before. And neither did your family! Perhaps this is just a show of force?” He asked, lengthening his stride to keep up.

“Well, they’ve certainly shown it!” Nikia grumbled. “The staff are safe?”

“No one wanted to leave.” He informed her.

Nikia stopped at the bottom of the stairs and sighed.

Perhaps she shouldn’t have spent her youth running around the kitchens.

She looked out across the hall where guards stood at the ready. Men she knew. Had watched train over the years in the courtyard. Personally knighting several when they’d become skilled enough to warrant the lofty title.

The sound of battle was faint but echoed over the empty hall. White marble draped in silk livery. The door was closed. But it wouldn’t be for long.

“Open the door and leave.” Nikia commanded clearly, though she knew only one part of her order would be followed. They hesitated, the two closest to the door looking back at her as she approached. Her dress trailing across the carpet. “We were never going to win this battle… so let’s get this over with.” Nikia stated, taking a sword from a kneeling servant. It was a mostly ceremonial blade, the one she had knighted several of those present with, in fact. Gemstones embedded in the blade and pommel, a flawless silver with golden leaves across the centerline. It could still cut, but was not meant to.

A bit ironic, really.

Pretty but useless.

The doors opened up, the sound of fighting pouring in as she saw the fight come to a screeching halt. All eyes on her as she tipped up her chin and walked to the top of the stairs.

She flared out her wings purposefully, letting them stretch out in the open air as she looked across the foreign soldiers. They seemed shocked. Perhaps they thought the ‘angelic royalty’ thing was a hoax. While she certainly wasn’t an angel, the imagery of her family line was no joke.

Now with their full attention she swallowed hard, gripping the sword.

“Congratulations. You’ve made a mess. Who am I meant to address?” She asked clearly, her voice ringing out.

A man stepped forward with a wide grin, wearing remarkably light armor and two blades in his hands. Amber red hair pulled back out of his face with a black goatee.

“That would be me, your majesty. Prince Thatch, captain of the eleventh division.” He dipped his head in deference but his eyes remained bold and amused.

“Well, since your kingdom insisted on dramatics—here!” Nikia called out, tossing the priceless blade down the stairs to his feet where it clattered with a chiming ring. He looked startled. “What? Did you expect me to fight you? What good would that do with an army still left behind? I’ve sent envoys for peace many times. We are not a country built for war, as you may have noticed while razing the countryside.” Nikia chided while walking towards him.

“Just like that?” Annoyance seeped into her.

“That desperate for a fight, are you? What, nothing to do back home, Prince Thatch?” Nikia hissed, flinging out her arms. “Besides, it would be a poor match. My weapon of choice is a bow.”

Though she had been tempted to shoot him from the sky.

He grinned, relaxing his stance and sheathing his blades as she approached closer.

“I think I would have liked to see that.” He mused, looking over her.

Her crown still in place over her curls, dark blue hair cut around her chin and braids of soft teal over her shoulders. Her dress trimmed close to her chest in silver silk lined with blue, trailing down her arms in wide sleeves. It wasn’t her most extravagant dress. But it was one she could run in, if need be.

“Too bad… so what now? Will you charge through my castle still or execute me first?” She asked, looking up at him. His expression softened.

“Now, why would I be so wasteful?” He asked, delicately picking up a thin braid and bringing it to his lips with a smile.

Nikia… wasn’t sure what to do with that. If they wanted peace, there were easier ways before this point. Hell, after the first battle where her fiancé was slain, marriage was suddenly a very easy and open option if they wanted.

“…Because you clearly didn’t want to sign a treaty?” She said in confusion. “And you clearly didn’t come here to talk.” She waved towards the still eerily quiet battlefield.

He laughed.

“Hah! I suppose that would be a little confusing on your part, wouldn’t it?” Thatch said before frowning thoughtfully. “I’m here for one thing. Where’s your king? Is he such a poor husband he makes his wife face an army to surrender?”

Nikia frowned.

“Uh…” Despite her many lessons, she couldn’t help the graceless sound that slipped from her lips. “… There isn’t one?”

Now Thatch looked confused.

“What?”

“What?” she parroted, shrugging her shoulders. “There isn’t one? There is no king? No consort either, before you ask… it’s just me? Who are you looking for—are you lost?!?” Nikia demanded, utterly baffled.

“You-You’re married.” Thatch said, looking down and grabbing her hand only to find it bare of any ring.

“No? I’m not?” Nikia insisted. “I mean, I would be… next spring. What the hell does it matter, why are you here?!”

“Fiancé then. Where is he.” Thatch looked around with narrowed eyes, like her fiancé would spring up from the shadows.

“Dead! In this stupid fucking war!” Nikia screeched, yanking back her hand. “What! Do you! Want here!”

“Then how are you queen?”

“Because my parents were king and queen?! And died—thanks for the reminder, ass.” Nikia hissed.

Thatch looked shocked before grinning.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” Nikia considered storming to her rooms and shooting him with a bow. She’d definitely be executed then but it would be worth it.

“Well, I’m here for you.” His tone shifted to something dark and she couldn’t help but shudder.

“Well… I’m right here? What do you want?!” Nikia stammered, taking a step back. Thatch grabbed her waist and pulled her in close, the familiar cries of alarm ringing behind her falling silent swiftly.

“My homeland makes allies in many ways. Usually treaties and exchanges. Sometimes even marriage.” Thatch informed her softly.

“That is… how most make allies, yes? Y-You’re freaking me out, what the fuck is your point?” Nikia questioned equally quiet.

“It’s seems there’s been a… misunderstanding. I’d been informed you were already married.” Thatch chimed in helpfully. “So, obviously, your husband had to go. And I couldn’t do that if we had a treaty.”

It took a moment. Nikia willing admitted it took a moment to understand what Thatch was saying.

Her face flushed.

“Y-You started a war to marry me?! No!” Nikia said, utterly horrified. “Absolutely not!”

“I gotta say, this is much easier!” Thatch chuckled, and in a move too fast to process, picked her up into his arms. Her wings flailed in alarm but it didn’t phase him in the slightest. “Fights over, boys!” There was a round of cheers and wolf whistles.

Apparently, it was only her side that was unaware of Thatch’s true intentions.

“Put our queen down!” Minos declared, drawing his blade. Thatch shifted his stance, still walking up the stairs with her on one arm, reaching for his own blade.

“No! You are not fighting this madman! Put me down, damnit!” Nikia screeched. A young man without a shirt clambered up the stairs and surprised her guard, the two engaging in a short fight before a column of fire erupted and left only one standing. And it was not her guard. Minos was, thankfully, still breathing.

The young man winked cheekily at her and Thatch before darting into the castle.

“No can do. Where’s your scribe, we need to square away the details.” Thatch commented breezily with a laugh. “Where are you going, Ace?!”

“I’m going to find the kitchen!” the young man declared over his shoulder.

“What details!?” Nikia asked, squirming to no avail.

“Our marriage, of course.”

“We are not getting married!” Thatch came to a halt at the top of the stairs, looking up at her smugly. Her guards were subdued on the ground, though thankfully not dead.

“Then I guess this is an armed occupation until we do. Where are your chambers?” He asked. Upon seeing her flustered but speechless, he looked towards a maid. “You there, miss? Would you kindly show me where the queen sleeps?”

“Why do you need to know that?!” Nikia hissed.

“I’m not locking my wife in the dungeons!” Thatch shot back, utterly offended.

“I am not your wife!”

The poor maid looked horrified and confused.

Thatch pouted at her.

“Then I suppose we’ll do it right here.” Thatch declared.

“Do what?” he grinned, reaching up to hook his fingers in the collar of her dress. Her eyes widened as her face grew hot. “No.”

“Yes.” He smirked and she couldn’t say for certain he was joking.

Nikia looked at the poor maid, utterly flustered herself.

“Show him.” The maid hurried, clearly understanding the innuendo before she had. “What the hell is wrong with you—we’ve never even met!—we haven’t met, have we?” She asked in horror as he effortless carried her up the stairs after the maid.

“No, but you have a lovely portrait.”

Okay, so he’s absolutely fucking mad.

“They’re paid to make me look good, what the hell is wrong with you?” Nikia asked, feeling a tad overwhelmed.

Her kingdom was invaded because a prince thought she was pretty?!

“Easiest money of that painter’s life. You’re already a work of art—thank you, you’re excused now.” Thatch said, stepping into her personal chambers as the maid nodded and fled.

He looked around in satisfaction and curiosity. Clearly eager to snoop around.

“Are you going to put me down, now?” Nikia asked blandly, feeling a tad resigned to the situation.

“You fit in my arms so well, though.” He pouted. “I suppose I should do it anyway.” Thatch sighed dramatically before setting her on her bed. He kneeled, looking up at her with a bright smile as she grimaced.

“…what now?” She asked softly.

Thatch reached up and pushed back her hair, settling his palm over her cheek.

“You agree to marry me.” Thatch smiled. “Until then, you don’t leave these rooms. Can’t have you running off. Or flying away for that matter.” Thatch looked at the balcony with a frown.

“You want to be king that badly?” Nikia asked. “You could always just oust me. It’s not that hard. Execution or banishment usually does the trick. Not that I want to die but… I just don’t get why you’re doing this.”

He hummed, looking back at her with a chastising expression.

“I don’t care about being king. Just your king.” He corrected her.

Nikia scowled.

“Then why do I need to agree to marriage? You’ve effectively conquered my kingdom already. I’d hardly be the first queen married without being asked. I didn’t even ask to marry Henrick. That was arranged.” She couldn’t help but point out. Upon his horrified look she rolled her eyes. “I’m queen, Thatch. My duty is to my people first. And for a secure kingdom, you must be married. I thought you were a prince and would know that.”

Thatch frowned, cupping her face in both hands as he rested his forehead against hers, staring deeply into her eyes.

“That’s not how it works where I’m from. I want you to want me. As much as I want you.” Thatch kissed her lips softly before standing up. “Even if it takes a little convincing. Get some rest. It’s been a long day, my queen.”

Thatch walked to the balcony doors and pressed his hand over them, mumbling a spell under his breath. Lights and symbols danced over the glass, forming a perfect circle over the handles. Locked now with magic. He grinned, pleased with his work, and headed to the door, bowing as he exited with a pleased smirk.

Familiar magic swirling over the wood as that, too, was locked. That wasn’t the only exit of course but, with her castle occupied, she could hardly escape regardless.

Just as trapped as she was this morning. Though infinitely more confused.

#one piece #shake date #thatch one piece #thatch x oc #imma curl up and die now this prompt was so good #yes i did decide with a random number generator #well i cheated a little #it wanted coworkers but in a royal au that would #they would #ya'll they'd be cousins and I can't do that #i wasn't writing my SI/OC dating a close relative #so i rolled again and it went for enemies to lovers and I could HANDLE THAT

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afewproblems · 1 year

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agree with steve not forgiving eddie! how do you think it would go when they see each other for the first time after everything? like.. I feel like steve would just tell him it’s over for good but :O

Part one, part two, part three

The record label releases a statement, something to the effect of privacy concerns, not to misconstrue or blow things out of proportion because photos can be manipulated. There is no firm denial, but no confirmation either. It's all wishy washy bullshit.

It's like Steve's heart breaks all over again.

He doesn't speak to the press, despite redoubling their efforts to talk to him, Steve unplugs their home phone permanently, wraps it up in the cord and puts it in the back of the bedroom closet.

Eddie does try calling Steve's cell, but he never leaves a message, as though he knows they would go unheard.

After the initial visit from Wayne he ends up calling his de facto father in-law once a week. It's nice, it's the one good thing that has come out of this whole situation.

And Wayne doesn't seem to mind being their go between, especially since he's a lot less subtle than he thinks, asking pointed questions about how Steve is feeling, how he's handling the LOA.

It's a relief to say the least, talking to Eddie without talking to him, it allows him to breath.

It's quiet for about two weeks, the coverage of the photo and the story has dwindled significantly and the media seem to have moved on from talking about them, finally.

Steve's LOA is almost over, he's confirmed with Liz that he can return to the classroom next week as planned which leaves him in the highest spirits he's been in all month.

But of course it can't last.

The first time Steve sees Eddie is on Conan.

It's a Thursday night, Steve channel surfs absently. He's left the living room dim, the only lights from the television and the Chicago cityscape glowing through the living room window.

He lands on NBC for just a moment and freezes when he hears Gareths familiar voice speaking.

Gareth, Eddie, Jeff, and Grant are all seated on the set couch with Andy Richter. Conan asks a few questions about their tour, their recent resurgence in popularity from the movie, their favorite Marvel characters from the franchise that skyrocketed them back into the public scene.

Its a standard interview, Conan keeps it light, easy-going, not a single mention of the infamous photo.

Logically Steve knows this is most likely a mandate from the band's manager but it doesn't feel that way, it feels like a slap to the face if he's being honest with himself.

Did he imagine it? Had he blown this whole thing out of proportion? Maybe he was overreacting.

His phone buzzes on the coffee table he's left his feet on, Robin's face and 'Thing One', brightens up the room.

Steve moves his feet to sit up properly and he mutes the television with the remote before answering.

"Are you seeing this shit?" she growls on the line.

Steve laughs, "Hello to you too," he leans into the worn cushions of the couch and tries not to think of the second empty divot in the middle next to him, "yeah I'm seeing it".

"And they're not going to talk about it at all? Like what about journalistic integrity and all that shit?"

Steve rolls his eyes and snorts into the receiver, "I don't think Late Night counts as journalism Bobs--"

"Still," she huffs out.

Robin is quiet for a second before she says softly, "you okay?"

"No," he whispers, "but I think I'm the closest I'll be for awhile," he draws a heavy hand through his hair and ignores the cameras which have now panned to Eddie who looks pensive on screen.

He's not speaking, in fact Eddie hasn't said a word the entire interview. He looks tired, his normally pale face has turned sallow and drawn with deep purple bags under his eyes that even the show makeup has not covered.

Steve looks away from the screen and ignores the dull ache in his chest.

"I'm glad that it's not all over the news anymore," he admits after a moment, "but, its almost like it never happened".

Robin hums sympathetically on the line, "Twenty-four hour news cycle, they've probably found some new scandle to follow," she's quiet for another second, "he looks like shit".

Steve barks out a surprised laugh that trails off sharply, he chews his lip for a second, "is it crazy that I'm worried about him? He looks likes he's not sleeping--"

"Steve..."

"I know, I know, I'm am angry with him and I don't think that will go away any time soon, but look at him".

The camera angle switches to a wide shot of the whole group and Eddie stands out so starkly amongst the other band members that are put together, smiling, engaged in the conversation.

Verses the silent, pale ghost that Steve doesn't even recognize.

"Do not let that kicked puppy thing let him off the hook Steve," Robin says, the words are sharp but the tone is still gentle, "he hurt you just because you had a fight--"

"Maybe it wasn't that simple!"

"Steve..."

"I miss my husband Robin, I can't, I fucking hate that he did this but I miss him so much," he says, his voice wobbles slightly as Conan holds up a large version of Corroded Coffin's latest album on the desk before gesturing to the stage area to reveal their setup to start playing.

"I feel like there's something wrong with me," Steve says, giving voice to the smallest parts of himself that have been festering inside of him the last couple of days.

The longer they're apart, the longer he refuses to speak to Eddie to more these thoughts have been creeping in. Maybe he should just let it go, maybe he can eventually forgive him and they can move forward again.

It's countered again and again by the image, the kiss.

Imagining the two of them together, Eddie with this stranger. Did he call them Honeybee, the way he did Steve? Did he hold them after and whisper other sweet nothings, promises into their ears?

It's enough to turn his stomach.

"I don't know what to do, I can't exist like this much longer, the tour is going to be over soon and then what?"

"I don't know Steve, you're the only one that can make that decision, but," he can hear the small reassuring smile on her face as she speaks, "we'll be here for you no matter what you decide, I promise".

"Thank you".

"Anytime Dingus".

***

The second time Steve sees Eddie is a month after the Conan interview.

Steve's back at work and the kids seem happy to see him, though they are sad that the 'easy' sub days are done. He's glad for the routine once more, especially with the end of the tour looming on the horizon.

Steve has spent the last week fretting over what to do, he's talked to Robin and Dustin about it, weighing the pros and cons. He's talked to Wayne about contingency plans for the apartment, if he has space for one of them to go there.

Steve is fairly certain Eddie would go stay with Wayne willingly if he asked him to, but both of their names are on the mortgage and he'd rather be prepared for anything.

It's Gareth that calls him, his name lights up the darkened bedroom while the picture of Gareth and Chrissy and Steve and Eddie at their place for Thanksgiving two years ago flashes on the tiny screen.

It's late, almost two in the morning, but Steve is awake. He hesitates before snatching the device with shaking hands and swipes a hesitant thumb across the screen to answer the call.

"Hey Gar," Steve says quietly.

He sits up, letting the covers pool around his waist and stifles a small yawn with his hand.

"Oh, Steve, I...fuck is it good to hear your voice man," Gareth breathes out, he sounds surprised, nervous, "I wasn't expecting you to actually answer this," he trails off and clears his throat.

"I wasn't asleep," Steve shrugs.

There's a pause on the line, Steve can hear Gareth take a deep breath and the hushed words of someone in the background.

"I, God, Steve, I'm so sorry, I hate that we weren't there for you," he continues, and Steve can't help but agree with that sentiment.

It's certainly felt like the only one of his friends from Eddie's circle in his corner was Wayne, he hasn't heard from any of the band members or Chrissy since this happened and he can't say it hasn't stung.

"And I know you must hate us for this--"

"Gareth, I dont--" Steve tries with a small tired voice but Gareth barrels onward, the words getting faster as he speaks.

"I won't make any excuses, we should have done better by you and the fucking label knew exactly what they were doing," he breathes out again and this time its infinitely more pained, "and I hate to do this Steve, I know you already told him that you needed more time--"

"You're coming back?"

"Yeah, we fly in tomorrow actually," Gareth says softly, "and we just, well we wanted you to know".

Steve feels his heartrate quicken, he swallows harshly against the sudden lump in his throat.

Tomorrow? Tomorrow, with no warning, no notice, and suddenly Eddie would be back. He'd be coming home...

"I want to see him," Steve hears himself say before he can clamp his mouth shut, "I...can you tell him that, I need to talk to him?"

"Oh, uh, yeah, uh," Gareth stammers out, then the sound is muffled for a moment as though a hand has been placed over the receiver, lowered voices murmur in the background and Steve feels himself drag in a sudden breath, as though he had forgotten to breath at some point.

"Okay, Steve?"

"Yeah," he whispers into the darkness of his bedroom.

"He'll be there".

***

The clock ticks slowly by, interrupting the quiet of the apartment and every time Steve looks at the clock face it's still only been forty minutes since Gareth texted to tell him they've landed at O'Hare.

It's like the clock is mocking him, the minute hand holding court over the kitchen where Steve has planted himself with a full cup of, now undrinkable, tepid tea.

He initially debated offering to pick them up from the airport, but the thought of their first meeting being so public, the thought of camera flashes and more people asking questions was enough to turn his stomach.

Even now Steve isn't sure how he'll react when Eddie walks through that door, his hands shake slightly and a flicker of anxiety runs through his chest because what if he's not alone? If he brought Gareth with him, or Jeff as some kind of backup or shield from Steve's anger.

Steve scoffs to himself at the thought, they'd seen a lot of Steve over the years, he's sure this wouldn't phase them. Maybe they'd even stand aside and let Eddie take his verbal lumps.

Steve sighs and grabs the mug from the counter before walking it over to the microwave. He sets it for thirty seconds and waits with his fingers drumming against the door handle. He opens the microwave before it beeps and presses the cancel button to reset the time before he walks back to the counter and stool he had been perched on.

Steve steals another glance at the clock and curses, make that forty-five minutes since Gareths message.

The sudden sound of a key sliding into a lock snatches Steve's attention towards the entryway.

Eddie steps through, wheeling his suitcase in behind him, he lets his backpack fall onto the doormat and softly closes the front door behind him. Eddie looks even more tired than he had during the interview, thinner as well and Steve feels that familiar pang in his chest at the sight.

Neither says anything for a moment. They stare at each other unmoving, and then...

"Hi Honeybee".

That's all it takes for Steve to jump off the stool and stride through the kitchen to the foyer, he stops just in front of Eddie, takes in his shining eyes and the sharp downturn of his normally smiley mouth and Steve's last resolve snaps into pieces.

He launches himself into Eddies arms and tucks his face into his neck, it's the first time he's felt remotely normal in the last two months.

"I'm so fucking angry with you," Steve hisses but the words sound more like a sob than anything else.

"I know, I'm angry with me too," Eddie whispers into his ear, he holds Steve even tighter as he speaks.

"I just, you're the person I talk to, about everything and," Steve bites his lip and curls his fingers into the fabric of Eddie's t-shirt, "I couldn't do that, I didn't have you, you’re my person Eddie and you took that from me, and so much shit happened here, you dont even--".

He's fully crying now, so much that it's harder to speak, but Eddie is holding him so tightly he can't catch his breath.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," Eddie says, his voice wobbles and wanes as the words tangle in Steves hair, "if I could take it back I would, I wish I could take it back Stevie believe me".

"It didn't mean anything, it didn't," he continues, raising one hand to card through Steve's hair as he does, "I don't know how to fix this," he admits so quietly its nearly lost in Steve's sniffles and hitching breaths.

"I don't want to lose you," Steve whispers into Eddies shoulder, the material of his shirt is soaked with tears and snot but he raises his face anyway to meet Eddie's own red rimmed eyes.

"Then you won't," Eddie whispers again, he sniffs and moves his hand to cup Steve's cheek, "we'll fight, we'll fight for it and I won't give up, I won't run this time".

"I promise".

There is so much more to talk about now, so much to apologize for, but for now, they hold each other in the foyer, letting the golden Chicago light morph into the bronze orange of sunset wash over them from the kitchen window.

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