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bowieandqueen11 · 2 years

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Dating Westley Would Include...

Request: Hello! I was wondering if you could do Westley from princess bride relationship headcanons?

The Princess Bride is one of my favourite movies (I watch it every year on my birthday) so thank you! <3

If you enjoy, please leave a comment and let me know! Thank you for your kindness!

Warning: mentions of injury/ blood and swords.

(I do not own the Princess Bride or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @thekatebishops.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

As a young babe, the fairy tales your mother used to read to you at nightfall, so full to the brim of hope and true love as they were, always seemed like a strange fantasy to you. Little did you know, as you grew up alongside that strange farm boy who hovered behind your every step as if he worshipped the ground you walked on, that true love had been lingering behind your eyes for as long as you had lived.

That all changed one magical day on a late spring morn, when you decided to try and cure your lack of sleep by wandering down to the barn. Sitting amidst the starlit lavender thickets, the few cows you owned came shuffling away from their warm hay to come moo by your face as you sat cross legged beside them. Despite the sleeting rain that muddied the brick outhouses, you could see a thatched window swing open from the opposite side of the farm, and Westley’s curious face peeking out at the sudden uproar of noise. Once he spotted you, I swear, a smile bright enough to blight the most sweet of angels bloomed across his face; it took him less than a minute to throw his shirt on and to come through the verdant storm to sit beside you. You didn’t think you could get any cosier: the gentle pitter patter on the creaking roof-beams, and the warmth of the young man settling himself beside you without a word. That was until Westley unravelled the cloth he had managed to hide underneath his elbow, and gently wrap the straw stern blanket he had brought around both your heads, until you were tucked together under the stars like a fresh bud waiting for the sunlight.

‘You look freezing, my love’, he says gently as he takes your hand from where it’s resting on your knee and wraps it in his under the blanket. ‘It would be my honour to share what little comfort I may bring with you.’ The glow of the speckled stars makes his eyes seem to grow tenfold, despite how bright and wide they are already, when filled with an unutterable and primordial love. You turn your head towards him, and he follows your every movement. Taking a chance, you ask squeeze his fingers and ask if you can kiss him, and with a love-fraught sigh, as quiet and gentle as the wind brushing through the violets, and an overjoyed shut of his eyes all he says is... ‘as you wish.’ And then the heavens seem to open above you: spurting out gold and silver bursts of shooting stars across the pearled horizon as you press your lips onto his pliant ones, and the two of you spend the growing dawn growing to learn the aspect of each others lips.

Since Westley doesn’t have much money, spending time with you and acts of his service are his ways of showing the outpouring of love that dwells within his heart. He teaches you to bake bread, the one skill he can remember being taught to him by his mother back when he was a child, bless her soul. The two of you sweat away by the barn’s oven, tucked away from the rest of the world in the small grove by the edge of the woods. Westley grows weary of not being able to touch you, and so he abandons his own progress to come lean over you and press his fingers on top of your own; he’s so close, you can feel the tufts of curls that cover his eyes brush over your own, and you swear every time you dart your eyes shyly towards him, he’s quickly looking away from you and back to the dough with his own bashfully fluttering eyes. The playful smile never leaves his face, though. not even when he flicks a bit of flour onto your nose and makes you sneeze so loudly you can hear the horses whinny in fear from outside. He finds it so sweet, he can’t help but lean over and press a tender kiss against your cheek, lingering for so long against you that you end up growing impatient and moving his nose away from his cheek. Grasping the bottom of his chin, you squeeze his face and turn it till he’s kissing you once more, thrilled by the way his remark of surprise soon melts into a hoarse moan. You only pull away when you notice from the corner of your eye that your thumb has left a smudge of dough on his face. He lets you hold his head in your hands, gazing up at you like a tired puppy as you wipe the remnants away with a shared laugh.

From time to time, the two of you will steal a horse away; bouncing up on the saddle behind him, you grasp tightly onto his waist as he leads you both away from your father’s farm for the afternoon. The two of you take a break from the labour to go sit out in the nearby orchards, watching the sun begin to fall past the rows of snapping firedragons and dew-drop snowdrops. From where you lie, stalking like a vine around his chest, you disturb the way he’s stroking his fingers up and down the side of your face to tuck a stalk of lavender behind his ear. In the sweet solitude, before the two of you become too sleepy laying in each others arms, you shove yourself off of him and begin running through the fields. In a fit of giggles, you try to cover your hand and stay quiet as you begin to hear his boots run over the rolling bends of the hill after you. Just as you were turning around to try and spot his outline on the horizon, a strong pair of arms wrapped around your waist and spun you up from the ground.

‘I found you again, as I always will my dove’, he whispers against the shell of your ear, only disturbed by the sounds of your father yelling from his cart for the two of you to return home.

From then on, Westley waits outside your window every night, crouching down among the mud and flowers until he’s sure your father has gone to bed. With his arms out waiting, he catches you when you unlatch the glass and begin to climb leg first over the sill, jumping down into his arms until he’s holding you bridle style against his chest. With a smirk, he carries you away to the hay bales for the night, so you can spend it away in each others arms. He can’t bear to be apart from you, not even within dreams, and so every time your eyes begin to shut you can feel him slide over you again; with his waist pinning you down, his hands come up to rest in bunches in your hair as he fervently caresses your face with trailing lips, mapping out the route to his heart over you: the key to it.

And then he leaves to find fortune: to find a happier, easier life for the two of you, and your whole world breaks apart in an instant. You run away as soon as your father relays the news of the Dread Pirate Roberts and your love, managing to join a misfit troupe of bandits and becoming best friends with a strange, Spanish, fencing drunk called Inigo Montoya. The two of you would spend nights on Vizzini’s ship with your legs swinging over the side of the deck, looking down at the lilac hued river bends and the placid stream that fished in between the looming rocks. Side by side, you would share a bottle of whatever bottle Inigo had managed to swing by the nearby village, and talk about the loves the two of you had lost with tears cresting behind your tired eyes.

Before you knew it, five years had passed, and the world still seemed as stilted and empty as it had when you had lost Westley. And then he returns one uneventful day. It doesn’t matter how different he looks, or what name he tries to call himself: you would know your Westley from the sound of his footfall alone. From the hitch of his breath when he docks his ship and first spots you standing on bow of your own, having been told years past that you had been captured and murdered by a gang of bloodthirsty outlaws. By the strength, yet the simultaneous tenderness of his arm as he swings a rope through the boat and yanks you around the waist, lifting you up past the mast and back onto the docks. Trying to gasp through your surprise as your feet plant on solid ground, you hold up a hand to Inigo, trying to calm him and to tell him to sheath his sword once again. He jumps down from the edge of the ship with an earnest glare at the masked bandit standing in front of you, but you’re too busy roaming your hands over his shoulders and back to care.

You go to try and peel off his mask, but in a sudden pang of fear that you’ll revoke him: that you’ll abandon him: that it will break your heart to see him so changed from the plain farm boy who had laid his heart at your feet so long ago, he curls his fingers over the top of your own and pulls them back down to rest instead over his panging heart.

‘Please, Westley’, you’re nearly gasping. ‘I’ve missed you more than I can bear. I need to know this isn’t a dream.’

‘As you wish, my love.’ He slowly brings your intertwined hand back up to roll the mask up, letting it drop with a flop into the dark depths of the waters. You nearly break out into weeping fits of relieved laughter, your hands roaming over every inch of his face: over the dip of his nose, the distinct cupid’s bow that trembles at your touch, the furrowed compress between his eyes that shakes as your pointer finger passes. He tries to follow your path until he goes cross eyed, instead flushing a deep crimson in a mad desperation to feel your soft hands cup his cheeks again, and bring his forehead down against your own.

‘I thought you had left me’, you nearly cry.

‘I told you, my primrose, that I will always find you. The path between true love can never be broken, especially by something so insignificant as time.’

Even though he joins your merry band in the end, and ends up being especially good friends with Inigo, any time he makes a joke about the two of you swords are immediately drawn. You roll your eyes as they start jumping about the cragged cliff edge, swinging about like acrobats as fencing swords start flying once again. He always wins, and always comes immediately back to sit by your side again after a shaking of hands and a satisfied smile. Even in his defeat, as Inigo settles down on his perch again, he can’t help but feel his heart lighten at the way the adoration and tenderness seems to glow and seep out of Westley’s every fibre as he looks over at you.

You have to patch Westley up after the many, many times he manages to get himself into trouble. Although he always tries to act the perfect gentleman, and tells you that having to look after him ‘is no job for a miracle such as yourself’, he secretly loves being taken care of as well. You sit in between his spread legs, Westley holding your hunched back close to him through the brackets of his arms. Even though you’re using a damp cloth to try and wipe away the fresh spouts of blood from his jagged cut, there’s no pain on his face. He’s watching you with a content beam twitching his lips, using the fingers that lie over your spine to try and distract you by tickling your back from time to time. Even in his darkest moments, he still wants to see you happy: this is why, with every wrap of the bandage around his arm, he tries to chase your knuckles with his lips before they disappear around his armpit again.

He always tries to protect you - especially when you have to go creeping through the fire swamp to get back home. He’s got a hand on you at all times through the enclosing darkness of the bristling canopies for two reasons. 1) To remind him that you’re still there with him and 2) to ground him - to bring him back, a reminiscence of his youth when he did naught but spend his life dreaming of the perfection and sweetness that he now holds in his arms.

At one point, when you stop to catch your breaths after nearly being attacked by another rodent of unusual size, he accidentally leans against the bough of a knobbled tree and opens a secret hatch in its trunk. Going and sitting in the dew crested dirt, he just holds you for a while as you sit on his lap - doing the only thing he ever wants to do and breathing you in.

He grips your waist and quickly tugs you out of the way of yet another fire swallowed sink hole, and he decides right there and then that he would be more than happy to die right there and then if it meant seeing you safe. You’re just a golden haze: a light of pure goodness and hope that keeps him from falling into despair, and he knows in the depth of his heart that he would be left wandering through the burning cosmos as a lost soul if he ever were to lose you: unsettled, blighted, forlorn and perishing without his true love to give him life.

He doesn’t have much else to give, so everything he has, everything he is will have to do.

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