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erin-bo-berin · 5 years ago

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Confidence

MASTERLIST

This was an anonymous requested fic about the scene from season 8, episode 10 when Spencer is talking to Alex Blake and obviously not feeling very great about himself. I decided to write it as a cute fluffy fic because one, I knew I needed to use this gif and two, who doesn’t love a cute, fluffy fic? Enjoy all the Spencer feels.

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: G (fluff)

Word Count: 2,673

It was another run-of-the-mill day at work for you.

Another day, another case.

This week you and your fellow Behavioral Analysis teammates happened to be in Washington state, tracking down a serial murder. One that was very unusual in his ritual of kills. He would kill a male victim, usually shooting them then a female victim would follow, killed by strangulation.

The unsub definitely showed more resentment towards his female victims. He was cold, calculated and distant from the kills of the men. Almost like he was doing them a favor by killing them in such a quick way.

His method of kill for the women was more up close, personal and definitely filled with rage. He wanted the women victims to suffer for as long as possible, inflicting as much pain as possible.

The team had profiled that he was probably holding resentment to a male and female pair, someone who had wronged him in the past, most likely his parents. Whatever had happened, the unsub obviously didn’t hold as much anger for the father figure as he did for the mother figure.

You’d been following his trail for two days, new victims dropping left and right, like a convoluted scavenger hunt. You were closing in on him and he knew it; he was beginning to unravel.

You had taken a much needed break for some bad police station coffee, when you heard voices around the corner. The tiny coffee nook was partially hidden by a wall and around the wall was a table where a few of your team members sat.

You recognized Dr. Alex Blake’s voice first, followed by the smooth, deeper voice of Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Well, why haven’t you asked her out yet?”

This question came from Blake and intrigued, you eavesdropped a little while you stirred the creamer into your coffee.

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” came from Reid.

“Why not?” Alex questioned.

“I don’t know, what if she doesn’t like me?”

“Why do you think she wouldn’t?”

Alex’s question wasn’t judgemental or harsh, just full of honest curiosity.

“Because I’m weird. I slouch, my hair’s too long and my tie is perpetually crooked.”

“You are not weird,” Blake said, sounding fully like a mother at bat for her child, “And your hair is just fine. The slouching and tie can be fixed though.”

You heard Spencer laugh, knowing that Alex was just teasing him. You smiled a bit, but felt a slight heaviness to your chest. You hated that he felt that way about himself. He was an amazing individual and whoever this girl was, she would be lucky to have him. She was lucky to even have him admire her.

Spencer was definitely a brainiac. With an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and an ability to read 20,000 words a minute, his skill set was impressive. But his knowledge wasn’t the only good thing about him. He was an amazing profiler, extremely good at his work. He excelled in geographic profiles, which he often worked on during cases and his love for statistics did quite come in handy for things.

But besides work, he was a sweet and gentle guy. He was always willing to drop whatever he was doing to come aid one of his loved ones, whether it was his mother or one of his beloved teammates. Many times was Spencer there to be an emotional soundboard for you. He cared for people and things deeply, he felt them deeply, which you admired. When he was involved with something he gave it his all; he was involved in it 100%. His chess skills were quite extraordinary, as was his poker playing. You had yet to beat him in either game. He could probably win a game of Uno like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Also, even though it wasn’t the most important thing, he was attractive. You often heard women make comments about his good looks—sometimes prostitutes too, which amused you to no end—in which he’d just get flustered and confused.

At six feet tall, he was long and thin, but without being extremely lanky. His light brown hair was often in a disarray of loose curls, falling whatever direction it wanted to. His eye color was quite a mystery to you as well. You’d worked with him for years on end and still couldn’t tell if they were completely brown or a hazel hue. Depending on the light or colors he wore, you noticed they had a tendency to look anywhere from a deepend brown, to a honeyed light brown to even a glowing green. He was insanely lucky with the facial features department too; he had a sharp jawline and nicely shaped, plump lips that women would kill to have naturally. Speaking of, his natural lashes were a joke. They were long and beautiful, framing his eye nicely. They made you insanely jealous because if you had been blessed with lashes so nice, you’d never have to wear fake lashes ever again.

All in all though, you knew he had the biggest heart you’d ever seen. Despite all his quirks and antics, he had a never ending love for his work and his teammates, a love that always continued to expand as people came and went.

You couldn’t see how this mystery girl couldn’t see that in him.

Your thoughts had caused you to miss parts of the conversation, so when you tuned back into the conversation, you heard Spencer speaking again.

“I just don’t want to ruin something good,” he sounded dejected.

“I think you’re just psyching yourself out,” Alex said, “Is it worth you always wondering what could’ve happened if you never tried?”

“I guess not.”

“Then take a chance. You just might be surprised.”

You didn’t hear her departure, but when it fell silent you figured she’d walked away. You decided to make your presence known in an inconspicuous way.

You picked up your styrofoam coffee cup and rounded the corner, seeing Spencer’s attention back on the book in front of him. You sat down across from him.

“Need any help?”

He looked up, shaking his head.

“No. Thanks though. You have a death wish or something?”

“What?” you chuckled.

He motioned to the cup in your hand.

“The coffee. It tastes like warm, wet mud.”

You grimaced down into your cup, your desire for some coffee now gone. His description wasn’t all that off anyway; it was horrible coffee.

“I’m making a coffee run later, I’ll make sure to get you some of the good stuff.”

You smiled appreciatively.

“Thanks.”

He moved to turn the page, when you spoke again.

“So I overheard your conversation with Blake.”

He winced, “You did?”

You nodded, setting the coffee cup aside and lacing your fingers together on the tabletop in front of you.

“So who is she?” you smiled.

He hesitated as if contemplating how he should answer.

“You don’t know her.”

“Well are you gonna ask her out?”

He shrugged a bit.

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

“I’m with Alex,” you encouraged, “You should totally go for it.”

He smiled shyly, like a timid school boy with a crush on a fellow classmate. It made you happy to see him so happy.

“You just need to have a little confidence in yourself. Don’t beat yourself up, you’re a great guy, Spence.”

“You think?”

“I know,” you corrected, “This girl is incredibly lucky.

You noticed that he couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face, even as he looked back down to the text.

“Would you do it if I helped you out a little?”

“Helped me out?” He looked up at you confused and perhaps just a tad bit curious.

“Yeah. Like helped you gain a little confidence before you ask her.”

“Really? You’d do that?” he paused, wary, “Why though?”

“Because Spencer, whoever this girl is, I can tell she makes you incredibly happy. Besides you deserve that happiness so much.”

“That means a lot,” he said lowly, “Thank you.”

“So, why don’t you tell me about this girl?”

He opened his mouth to answer you, but before he could speak Hotch zoomed past you two, talking as he walked.

“Garcia got a hit on the partial license plate. She found the address for our unsub. Let’s go.”

You jumped up, both of you following after him.

It was time to catch this son of a bitch; self-esteem lessons would have to wait until later.

•

The BAU had made it to the unsub’s residence just in the nick of time.

Leroy Fleming was moments away from ending the life of a young woman, who was thankfully saved in time. He had a sordid life with his parents. Parents who most likely had no business having a child.

His mother abused alcohol, drugs and Leroy. She would hit him any chance he got. His father always turned a blind eye, yet he loved his father dearly. He held a grudge against him though because the man never had enough courage nor dignity to leave the mother or the volatile situation.

“Guess that was imprinted on him in his early life. The trigger for his rage,” Spencer said.

You groaned, rubbing your side. You had tackled Leroy after he’d ran from the authorities. It was an impressive move that surprised even yourself, but you were paying the price now.

“You okay?”

Both of his hands held onto the strap of his satchel as he walked next to you, looking over at you concernedly.

“Yeah, just some bruises and sore muscles. Nothing fatal. Now, isn’t it time to tell me all about that girl you have a thing for?”

He grimaced, opening the door for you to the BAU unit.

“Do I have to?”

“Come on. Just think of it as an exercise. Besides we never did have time to go get some actual good coffee. How about making a run now before we have to do all the paperwork?”

“Alright. Just let me stop by my desk, okay?”

“Sounds good. I’ll just go wait by the elevator.” You smiled, walking back out of the bullpen.

Spencer caught Alex’s eye just as he was leaving his desk a few minutes later. She sent him a knowing smile causing one to form on his lips as well.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

•

After ordering your coffees and receiving them, you and Spencer sat at a table in the coffee shop, enjoying your drinks.

“Okay, now. Tell me about this mystery girl.”

“Well, she’s smart,” Spencer said.

“Smart like you?”

“No, definitely not. That’s not a bad thing either! I’m not calling her dumb or anything! It’s just different than what I’m used to,” he rambled.

“Spence, it’s okay,” you laughed, “I get what you mean. So she’s not on a genius level, but she’s smart. That’s nice though because you will always be able to teach her new things, tell her new facts and statistics that she’s never known.”

“I never thought about it like that,” he mused.

“Okay, tell me more.”

“She’s funny and kind.”

“Two great attributes.”

“She’s also the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. At least, to me she is. That’s why I’m so terrified.”

“Spencer she’s not going to bite you or anything,” you chuckled, “Just relax and take a deep breath okay? You’re just overthinking it.”

“I suppose so.”

“The worst thing that can happen is she says no. I know rejection hurts and it sucks, but wouldn’t you rather take a chance and maybe have something great begin than never to have taken that chance at all?”

“You sound like Blake,” Spencer noted.

“Then I digress.”

“Is this supposed to be making me feel better?” he joked.

“Spence, have a little faith in yourself. You’re a really great guy that any girl would be lucky to have. Even if it doesn't turn out how you hoped, you know that at least you tried.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

“Let’s get outta here before we move on to lesson two, it’s getting noisy.”

“Lesson two?” his eyebrow arched.

“Mhm. Follow me.”

It wasn’t until you were outside where it was a bit more peaceful that you spoke again.

“Okay, so where are you going to ask her out to?”

“Uh, I don’t know? I never really thought that far ahead,” he smiled sheepishly, “But you can never go wrong with coffee.”

He held up his to go cup, as if to prove his point.

“Yes, good! Ask her out for coffee. It’s the perfect place to sit and talk and enjoy each other’s company. Do you have anything in common with her? What would you talk to her about?”

“Again, not entirely sure.”

“Hmm,” you thought as you walked, “What does she do for work?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?! Spencer, have you even talked to this girl?”

“Yes, I have, stop berating me!” he laughed.

“Well, ask her about her work. That’s a sure fire way to get a conversation flowing,” you smiled, “Now, we’re going to practice.”

You took the last gulp of your coffee, tossing the empty container in the trash can and waiting as he finished his, tossing his for him.

“Practice what exactly?”

“Asking her out. Just practice on me. It’s easy, just say what you would say to her.”

He fumbled, trying to get words out, but kept stuttering.

“No, stop. You’re overthinking it again. Just be straightforward and say it.”

“Alright. Got it,” he cleared his throat before continuing, “I was wondering would you like to go out sometime to get a coffee or something? Whatever you want.”

He was stammering, you could tell even the thought of asking this girl made him nervous.

“Spencer, Spence,” you stopped him, turning him towards you, putting your hands on his arms.

He peered down at you, curiously.

“All you have to do is just simply say, “would you like to go out for coffee sometime?”. It’s as easy as that. Get out of your head. I know you can do this.”

He smiled appreciatively, then nodded.

“Would you like to go out for coffee sometime?” he repeated, “Like that?”

“That was perfect. See? It’s not hard at all.”

You’d reached Quantico again and you patted his arm as you walked in.

“Keep me updated on what happens.”

•

It was almost 24 hours before you had a moment to talk to him alone again. You were heading out for the evening and you were waiting for the elevator to reach the BAU floor when he walked up next to you.

“Hey Romeo, you got a date yet?”

“No, not quite yet,” he answered.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened, both of you getting on.

“I haven’t had the chance to thank you, yet. Your advice has really helped me,” he smiled, “Thanks for caring enough to help me out.”

“Of course. I’m happy to help anytime. Now you believe you can go for it, right?”

He turned towards you, smiling.

“Yeah, I believe I can.”

Before you realized what was happening, your face was in his hands and his lips were on yours.

He was hesitant, his lips soft against yours.

You couldn’t believe the explosion of butterflies in your stomach. You had never stopped to think just how you’d felt about him, but this kiss had confirmed that you did, indeed have feelings for him.

The kiss was soft and sweet and too quick for your liking. He pulled back, looking a bit embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, was that okay?”

Your hands had rested on his side at some point during the quick kiss and you smiled up at him.

“‘More than okay.”

He let out a quick breath, not quite a chuckle but his smile grew even more.

“Want to get a coffee with me, sometime?”

“Any time, any place, I’ll be there.”

You leaned up, bringing your lips to his once again.

Score one for Spencer Reid.

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fandom-blackhole · 4 years ago

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Hello there, my darling. It is me 🐣. Forst of all, sorry for leaving you on ''read''. I've been too busy with shitshow happening in my life. Finally, late at night I can indulge in our little world. Also, I am so happy that other readers have been participating! I've seen so many good points! Oh, but I felt kinda bad for the anonnie who was dissatisfied with Boba's lack of proper sexting. Sorry not sorry but I have a blast everytime we bully tech-grandpa Boba. Okay, onto your entries!

Yes, camping with Paz!!! He lives for hiking,

Also sharing a sleeping bag with him,

Yes, yes, especially since nights in the mountains are definitely cold 😉,

Oh god, oh yes, after some intense wrestling session, laying together and stargazing,

Paz with tatts??

Hell yeah!

I've seen noonies being onto idea that Paz is a geek,

So he definitely has a sleeve tatt with all of his favorite heroes,

Also Miles Morales! Omg, yes, Paz favorite movie is Into the Spoderverse!,

Also Paz has some inspirational/self-love related tattoos in this foreign language (mando'a?),

Trip too Zoo with our beloved clan = a disaster,

Lots of pics of Din holding Grogu while petting and feeding animals 😍,

Grogu and his weird food fixation, bless his soul,

Yes! DIPPIN' DOTS, BLUE RASPBERRY ICE FTW,

Yes a frog stuffie!!! When you guys get back home, he waddles back to his cool space room and introduces baby Yoda to his new friend!,

Ah yes, the frog catching disaster,

You and Din discussing getting Grogu a pet frog,

Uncle Paz helps with getting the right terrarium kit!,

You often catch Paz babytalking to his Ad'ika,

Typicial, who's the good boy? Yes, you are,

Also Paz playing dead and his little companion jumping all over him to revive him,

Din as Mando, Grogu as Baby Yoda and you as Omera, you say?? Heck yeah!,

Also Razor Crest needs a costume as well!,

Uncle Boba throwing a huge ass Halloween party,

Big deal event, celebrities showing up,

Kudos to anon who pitched the idea of Bonnie and Clyde!,

Also Pedro Pascal shows up at the party too,

He is dressed as mando,

Shitshow is about to go down 😂,

People getting confused because Pedro and Din not only have similar posture but they also sound similar, it's too uncanny-valley,

Boba would definitely kidnap you from the dance floor to do some urgent wrestling!,

Also umm 😳 gunplay!kink Boba 😳,

You and Paz going trick or treating!!!,

Witch Paz once casted a curse upon a customer who was being a huge karen to the waitress,

He loves his employees dearly, so no messing around is allowed!,

His employees were shipping you with him long before you became a thing,

Paz once jokingly said that he would lick and eat anything off of you,

You were like hmm even spaghetti?,

And he was like heck yess,

Eww, Paz baby, gross!

Next time he was slurp slurping pasta from your body, srsly this goofball,

Afterwards, he cleaned you nicely, through and through no worries,

Giving Boba a head while he dives his expensive car? 😳,

Also he has a big hot tube and a pool in his penthouse!,

Drinking expensive alcohol while snuggling in the tub?,

Making Boba to loosen up, skinny dipping in the pool??,

You and Din were wrestling rather intensively, and he mumbled something about adding another child to you little family,

You didn't pay much attention to that,

Until he started to grunt about putting a baby in you every now and then,

You having a talk with him,

He shyly explaining that it was his deepest desire to have a big loving family,

Admitting that vision of you carrying for Grogu makes him bothered every time,

Also he said he couldn't get the image of you with a baby bump out of his head,

Omg Paz being infertile???

You've just broken my heart as wel...

But Boba and Kamino project to the rescue???,

Or alternatively, he would have no problem adopting children, being blood related isn't important to him at all,

Auntie Armorer comforting him about his problem,

But imagine if he somehow managed to get you pregnant... 😭😭😭

Also, Mr Fett senior looking up from the heavens at his son, thinking when he'd get grandchildren to carry on the family ''business'' legacy

Once again sorry for the lack of my participation I will try to tune in more often, my darling! Also, I didn't add much this time sorry my mind was somewhere else this time. I will try to add more ideas later! - 🐣

Welcome back darling!!! I missed you, and don't worry about being away take all the time you need. I am also glad that you enjoyed all of our other little rambles that I've answered!

Paz named his dog Ad'ika, this man most definitely has quotes/self love tattoos in mando'a, mandalorian ruins, or aurebesh

Paz has a tattoo for all of his fallen friends and teammates he lost while he was in military

Paz baby talking his dog is so fucking cute!!!

Paz definitely taught his dog all of the tricks, including play dead

When the two of you go trick or treating some of the kids do get scared of him because he's dressed like chewie and he's huge. He pouts because he didn't mean to scare them

Paz totally does little curses to the people who come in and are rude, you don't treat his employees like that, or the other customers without retaliation

His employees had a pool going to see how long it takes before Paz actually mans up and asks you out, and then another one fore how long it'll take before the two of you are married

If you would let him, Paz would never use a plate again. He would eat anything and everything off of you, but his favorites are sweets

Chocolate syrup, yes please. Paz makes sure to thoroughly clean you up 😉

Paz finally opens up to you about his impotency issues one night and you hold him close telling him that, that doesn't matter to you

Paz would and could adopt every child he meets if he could

But also like imagine, one day while you both are still dating, you've missed your period for a month or two, but you don't think much about it because you can't have kids with Paz right?

Well you go to the doctors because something is obviously wrong, and because it is procedure they run a pregnancy and it comes back positive and you're just floored

When you get home and Paz asks how everything went, worried about you, you just blurt it out and Paz freezes

He doesn't know what to think, he's overjoyed and he loves you, but he isn't supposed to be able to have kids, so is it his kid? He quickly yeets that thought away because he knows and trusts you

After that he goes full daddy bear mode and is protective of you and just constantly trying to hover over you

Also Paz helping Grogu with finding and taking care of a frog

Din absolutely melted at the sight of Grogu feeding the animals, it made him so proud of his son

Grogu loves all of his stuffed animals and he is constantly playing and talking with them

His favorite is ofcourse his baby yoda

GROGU POINTS TO PEDRO AND ALWAYS CALLS HIM DAD. He does this with the mandalorian and just any pictures

You totally introduce Grogu to bubble tea, and he absolutely L O V E S it

Din making little comments about about want creating a family with you

Din always begging to cum inside of you

Grogu once asked for a little brother or sister and Din almost combusted

As for what Razor Crest should be for Halloween, I would say either a ting Razor Crest ship or tiny Kryate Dragon?

Pedro would be so ecstatic to meet his basically identical twin

(You accidentally go up to Pedro and kiss his cheek at one point before you realize you mixed and Din pouts)

Boba's Halloween party is totally Great Gatsby themed

Boba totally keeps trying to get handsys and you have to push him away

Slow and passionate wrestling in Boba's hot tub

ROAD HEAD! ROAD HEAD!

I raise you, Boba fingering the life out of you as he's driving

Imagine finding a picture of Boba and Jango and smiling at Boba telling him he looks just like his father

Boba joking about carrying on the tradition and making a little Boba

Then the both of you just look at eachother and pretty much jump eachother simultaneously

(Also imagine getting kidnapped by an enemy crime syndicate and Boba just going on a war path)

(SEND ME THOTS!!!)

#🐣 anon #modern au #din djarin x reader #din x reader #boba fett x reader #boba x reader #paz vizsla x reader #paz x reader

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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: Ride With Me (part nineteen) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±7500 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part nineteen: The Flagstaff Horse Fair is about to kick off, but not without a hitch. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: ‘Fortunate Son’ - Creedence Clearwater Revival, ‘Backwoods Company’ - The Wild Feathers. Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Prepare for cuteness and a bit of angst! Thank you @kittenofdoomage, @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish, @manawhaat and @winchest09 for helping me. I especially want to thank Kay, who has beta’d Ride from the very beginning, but needs to take a break from Tumblr to focus on school. I will miss her dearly, but I’m super thankful that Mana is willing to take over. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these.

Ride With Me Masterlist

With a black bumper-pull trailer in the rearview mirror, Dean’s beloved ‘67 El Camino rolls up Interstate 17. The windows are down, allowing the wind to wash in, like waves crashing onto the beach on a hot summer day, the cool air welcome and refreshing.

The Gold Canyon Ranch caravan left around three o’clock, the column of three pickups and trailers now heading towards Flagstaff, Arizona. Bobby and Jo lead the company in his powerful Ford with an impressive gooseneck in tow, which currently accommodates five horses. Benny follows in his four by four, with three horses on board another large trailer, facilitated with a small living quarters. Dean is the last wagon of the train, Meadow and one of his calmer geldings in the back, and Y/N beside him in the passenger seat.

The cowgirl is soaking up the scenery, the hills that flow next to the highway, the mountains in the distance, the blue sky above them. The tall saguaros that dominate the landscape at home are swapped for ponderosa pines, dusty desert for green grasslands. The forest is already beginning to change color, autumn painting deciduous trees in shades of yellow and orange. It’s remarkable how different her current surroundings are from the Phoenix area, only two and a half hours south.

With Fortunate Son by Creedence Clearwater Revival playing on the old cassette deck of the classic car, Dean drums against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song. He absently hums along, mouthing a few words every now and then. When he glances aside, a small smile forms on his lips. The woman, who managed to calm him after the disturbing news Bobby delivered, is breathtaking without even trying. Loose strands of hair have escaped her ponytail and dance in the playful wind, her maya blue blouse fluttering against her Arizona sun-kissed skin. She looks at the world through her shaded Ray Bans, lost in thought and wonder.

He returns his gaze to the road as he reaches for her, laying his hand on her knee to get her attention, softly rubbing his thumb over the denim. Awoken from her daydream, she glances over, but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she lays her hand over his, warmed by the touch.

“Nervous?” he wonders, dropping her hand just long enough to turn down the stereo before he laces their fingers together once again. “A little bit,” she confesses. “Don’t be. You’re gonna do fine,” he reassures. “Besides, your class ain’t till tomorrow.” “I’m not nervous about riding.” The wrangler moves his focus from the asphalt to his girlfriend. “What about then?” She’s quiet for a second. Shy, just like she was the first time they met. “Just… This is your scene. People know you, and I don’t know anyone.” He smirks, lightly. “Concerned about former flings?” The cowgirl shrugs, half admitting her insecurity. “Yankee, you have nothing to worry about. Hey…” He squeezes her hand, glancing over again. “I’m with you, okay?”

A smile breaks through the surface as Y/N glances at the handsome wrangler she gets to call hers, his green eyes making a silent promise. For a guy who claims not to be good with words, he’s doing a pretty great job. She takes a breath when he concentrates on the road again. “So, how are you going to introduce me?” she wonders. “As my girlfriend,” he returns, matter-of-factly, cool confidence sitting on the edge of his mouth. He honestly can’t wait to introduce her as his.

Y/N is unable to hide her contentment, the corners of her mouth creeping up further as she gets lost in the sight of him. There it is again; that tingly feeling, his confirmation breaking down the doubt bit by bit. “What about Bobby?” Y/N checks. “He still doesn’t know.” “Believe me, Bobby will be too busy strikin’ deals and sellin’ horses. He’s not gonna notice us,” Dean states, not concerned about his uncle. “It’s gonna be fine, you’re gonna have a blast, trust me.”

After shooting her that grin she’s loved from day one, he glances past the trucks and trailers in front of them. They drive by a large sign made from stone and wood, that says ‘1882 - Flagstaff, Arizona’, the city up ahead and Humphreys Peak in the backdrop. The caravan turns onto I-40 going west, before taking the exit a couple of miles later.

When they come over the hill, the competition grounds come into view. Flags reach skyward and wave proudly in the Western breeze, the stars and stripes alternating with the state flag of Arizona, the American Reining Horse Association, and many others. There’s the main arena, several training areas, stables, and amusement rides, complete with hundreds of trucks, trailers, and RV campers filling the fairgrounds. Observing the scene, it becomes clear to Y/N that this isn’t just a local show.

Dean was right, this is the perfect practice run for her and Meadow, but the sight of the large event has her stomach in knots. Right, those lovely performance nerves that never fail to torment her. She hopes she can survive tomorrow and still be able to eat without throwing up, because it wouldn’t be the first time that the highly strung feeling she experiences right before a ride has her physically sick.

The Gold Canyon Ranch caravan enters the show grounds, Bobby following the directions of the parking officer. After a short drive, they park the trailers next to each other on a large field, adding to the rows and rows of pickups, trailers, and even semi trucks with pop out living units. “I’ll check in with the stable manager,” Jo announces when they get out of the cars, heading over to the stable office to check which boxes are assigned to them.

Y/N picks her hat off the seat and pushes it on her head, leaving her shades on the dash now that she doesn’t need them anymore. She opens the hatch of the black trailer behind Dean’s Chevy, peeking inside. Meadow greets her with a slightly nervous neigh, eager to get out now that they’ve stopped moving. Lovingly, her rider pets her nose, trying to calm her a little, but the spirited mare begins to scrape her hoof on the rubber coated floor, nonetheless. “She okay?” Dean asks. “Yeah, she just wants to get off the trailer. I’m going to unload her, let her graze a little,” she says, attaching the leadrope to her halter. “Could you get the lid?”

The wrangler nods and walks around to the back, opening the latches as Y/N unties her horse. The cowgirl pushes the divider away and gently leads Meadow down the ramp. The beautiful bay Quarter Horse takes in her surroundings with large eyes, alert and ready for action, belting out another loud neigh to announce her arrival. She circles around her owner, who can’t help but laugh at her cocky attitude; she could have sworn her granddad bought her a mare, and not a stallion, even though Meadow behaves like one at times. Eventually she drops her head and cuts a few bites of grass, before pulling up her head again while chewing, staring at another animal in the distance.

“She really is a character, ain’t she?” Dean laughs, watching the pair. “Sure is,” her owner chuckles, rubbing the mare’s withers. “She knows it’s showtime. She can feel it.” Y/N crouches down to remove Meadow’s travel leg protection while Dean holds the feisty horse, glancing in the direction of the stable office, from which Jo returns. “Tent B. Box sixty-four to seventy-three,” the ranch owner’s daughter informs. “Let’s unload.”

Within thirty minutes the ten stables are ready, the heavy trunks installed, the tack rooms decorated and the horses unloaded. Y/N does her bit, rolling the wheel barrow from the truck to the stables with hay bails and wood shaving bedding, but it’s clear the Gold Canyon crew has taken this many horses to a competition before. Benny, Jo, Dean, and Bobby operate like a well-oiled machine, although the head of the ranch is moving a little bit slower these days.

Y/N tapes a form to the stable with Meadow’s name and an emergency phone number when Dean comes back from the water point, a full bucket in each hand. He and Benny have been going back and forth a couple of times now, supplying the ten horses. When the head wrangler walks by carrying the water, she’s distracted from the task at hand. Watching his shoulders work under his plaid shirt, she can’t help but get a little lost in the view. His biceps flex against the fabric, back strong and firm while he transports the heavy buckets with steady steps. God, he is good on the eyes.

“Are you gonna continue to drool over my cousin or are you gonna come with me to the show office to pay our fees?” Y/N’s eyes shift to Jo, who’s leaning against the stable door with her arms crossed in front of her chest and an amused smirk on her lips. Without a doubt, the blush that fires up her face is hard to miss. “Let me get my bag,” she says, straightening her back and turning to the head wrangler. “Dean, is the car still un--”

Before she can finish her sentence, her boyfriend has dug up the keys to the El Camino from his pocket and tosses them to her. Y/N catches them skillfully. “Awww, so you can read each other’s mind now, too?” Jo comments, earning a glare from Dean, causing her to shrug. “What? It’s dead cute!” “I’m not cute!” Dean counters, his face contorting as if she just called him something foul. “No, you’re a tough, manly man. We get it, Cowboy.” She passes him, patting his shoulder. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.” “You keep tellin’ yourself… somethin’,” he stammers, struggling to stand up to the reputation Jo is undermining.

She walks on, laughing, not even granting him another look. Bothered with his own unimpressive reply, the wrangler watches his cousin catch up with her father. God, sometimes he wishes he could shut her up without having to deal with her sassy attitude. Annoyed, he turns back to Y/N, who can’t hide her amusement as she steps closer. He eyes her, which only causes her to chuckle. “I’m not cute,” he underlines.

The cowgirl smirks and pushes him into the tack room, out of sight and safe from Bobby’s judgement. She takes his hat from his head and leans in, connecting her lips with his. The kiss is short and sweet, but it’s long enough to make Dean’s head spin. When she parts from him, he opens his eyes again, taking her in as she places his Stetson back over his tousled hair. “You’re adorable,” she says. Dean half pouts while furrowing his brow, still trying to establish that he is neither cute or adorable, but breaks character when his girlfriend smiles widely before she spins around. Fine, maybe he is turning a bit soft, but it’s all her doing.

Jo joins Y/N with her father’s wallet in hand, the two friends almost skipping to the exit of the stable, joking and laughing as they go. Dean watches the pair and shakes his head, not missing Benny’s wide grin coming his direction. The lovebirds might have stayed out of the ranch owner’s line of sight, however, Benny had a clear view of the endearing interaction. He’s leaning against a tack trunk, arms crossed in front of his broad chest, blue eyes sparkling with mischief and playful judgement that’s impossible to miss. “Get it over with,” the head wrangler mutters. “Got anything to add to that?” “Nah, I reckon the gals made their point,” the Southerner chuckles.

“So, you two are still doin’ good, huh?” Jo glances at Y/N from the corner of her eye while pushing her father’s wallet into her back pocket. She leans against Dean’s car, careful not to scratch it, knowing that all hell is going to break loose if she does. “Surprised?” her friend counters, picking up her bag from the front seat, before closing the door. “Just checkin’ if the woman-oholic isn’t suffering from tremors, hallucinations, insomnia,” the cowgirl states. Y/N grins at that, pushing the strap of her bag on her shoulder, ready for her friend to lead the way to the show office.

“He’s not, don’t worry,” she claims, very much aware that Jo is just toying with her. “He’s been really wonderful, actually. I honestly didn’t expect him to be so attentive and sweet.” “No one did. Hell, I don’t think even Dean knew he had it in ’im. Guess you bring out the best in my notorious cousin.” She hooks her arm around Y/N’s neck, pulling her in for a side hug.

On their way over to the show office, Jo is greeted by multiple familiar faces, asking her how she's doing and the ranch owner’s daughter returning the question in a quick exchange. It becomes clear to Y/N that this isn’t just Dean’s scene, but Jo’s as well.

She soaks up her surroundings, glancing left and right as they walk up a two story building, a little further up the slightly hilly property. Stalls are lined up along the boulevard, selling all sorts of things, from horse gear to fashion and interior design. It’s not incredibly busy yet, the people waiting in the short lines for the food stands mostly riders, trainers, and horse owners. The organisation is probably expecting a bigger crowd on the weekend.

A ferrier is hammering a loose shoe under a horse’s hoof, the large animal waiting patiently until the job is done, while a promoter tries to sell a new tractor to an interested party. Cheers roar from one of the arenas, excitement heard in the voice of the commentator, who echoes over the terrain through the speakers. The smell of cotton candy when they pass a concessions truck reaches the cowgirl’s nose as she watches children having fun riding a Shetland pony from the local riding school.

Content, Y/N smiles, because apart from the temperature, the atmosphere on this show isn’t different from the events she’s been to when she was still living in Freeport. The nerves she felt in the car earlier seep away with the familiarity, excitement taking its place. Before she came to Gold Canyon Ranch, she was buried under pressure and books, working on her thesis around the clock. The last competition she rode was the State Championships. God, she missed this circus. This life. This is where she belongs, not behind some desk, no matter how good the salary.

“Jo Singer, it’s good to see you again, my dear,” the woman behind the counter in the show office says, recognizing the blonde cowgirl instantly. “How are you and your family doing?” Reading glasses balance on the tip of the nose of the kind secretary, who smiles at both the girls. Her ash blonde hair is short, and worn in a fashion you would expect for a lady in her sixties. “Good to see you too, Mildred,” Jo returns, pulling Bobby’s wallet from her pocket. “We’re okay. How are the boys?”

Y/N glances at her friend from the corner of her eye as the two acquaintances make small talk. She noticed the hint of doubt in her claim that everything was fine with the Singer family, followed by the quick counter question to avert the attention back to the woman on the other side of the desk. Aware that the information Dean shared with her is confidential, she didn’t discuss it with Jo, even though she wanted to. While she didn’t want to get the head wrangler in trouble, she was also unaware of how up to date the youngest Singer actually is. Now that she heard the slight hesitation, however, she’s getting the idea Jo knows more about the ranch’s financial struggles than her bubbly and carefree personality leads on.

“How many horses are you competing, hon?” Mildred asks, pushing her glasses up her nose as she searches for Jo’s name on the competitors’ list. “Two. I’d like to pay for Dean as well, and one entry for my friend here. She’s riding one of ours.” “Winchester, right?” the secretary checks, crossing off names. Jo nods, picking at her father’s credit card. “Yeah.” Mildred flips the page until she finds the one on which the riders filed under the letter ‘W’ are listed. “Four horses for Dean? Your cousin has a busy weekend ahead of him,” she chuckles, warmly, and looks up at the young woman that accompanied Jo. “What’s your name, sweety?” “It’s Y/N L/N,” the intern answers. “I’m competing two horses, one of my own. I’d like to pay for Meadowsweet separately.” “Not a problem.” Mildred focuses on the blonde cowgirl again. “So that's an entry fee for seven horses, plus the stable fee for nine. Y’all brought two horses for auction, am I right? I remember because I had your father on the phone just this morning.” “Yeah, we do. Do we have to pay to enter the auction too?” Jo wonders, nervousness lacing her tone. “Yes, the auction entry is 200 dollars for each. After the sale the amount will be settled, together with the commission,” the elder woman informs. “Entry fee is three bucks per horse, stable fee is fifty each, so that will be 877 dollars in total.”

Jo takes a breath and offers Mildred the card. The normally confident cowgirl seems on edge all of a sudden as she watches the secretary swipe it. Several seconds tick by while they wait for the machine to accept payment, and apparently it’s getting on Jo’s nerves. Y/N’s friend fiddles with her father’s wallet, tension coming off her in waves. Then the machine bleeps, a long high tone cutting through the heavy silence.

Mildred looks up at the blonde rancher, sympathetically. It’s in her eyes and Jo’s heart drops to her gut before she even speaks. “I’m sorry. It’s declined.” “W - what? No, that - that can’t be,” Jo stammers. “Can you try again?” The kind lady swipes the credit card a second time, even though they know it’s not going to make a difference. The same message appears on the small screen, followed by the monotone beep. The sound is interrupted by the door opening and closing, two other competitors now entering the show office, getting in line to pay as well. Jo curses under her breath.

“Any other way you can pay, darling?” the secretary asks, kindly. “Uh - I have…” She leafs through the banknotes with trembling fingers, counting the money, her face turning red. “I have 300 dollars. I’ll check if there’s more in the truck--” “I got it.” Y/N steps closer to the counter, pulling her wallet from her purse. “What? No, c’mon,” Jo objects. But her friend isn’t taking no for an answer. “It’s not a problem. I’ll sort it out with your dad later,” she assures, handing over her own card. She returns her attention to Mildred again. “Could you add my fees as well?” “I sure can. That will be 930 dollars,” the elder woman states, changing the number on the terminal before swiping the credit card.

This time it beeps three times, confirming payment without a hitch. “Alright, all good to go. Good luck on your runs, ladies,” Mildred says, cheery, trying to clear the awkwardness with her warm smile. “Thank you,” Y/N returns genuinely as Jo gives the woman behind the desk a nod.

The girls exit the show office, Jo pulling her hat over her eyes a little deeper to mask her flustered face. The redness slowly starts to leave her cheeks again after a minute, as they walk down the boulevard in silence. Y/N isn’t sure if she should say something, and so decides to give her friend some space. Her mind is going over the incident, however. A maxed out credit card; that can’t be good. The writing on the wall is applied with a paintbrush, the black letter getting bolder the more she learns about the suffocating situation. Her mind hasn’t stopped reeling since her talk with Dean in the cafeteria earlier this morning. There has to be ways to tip the scale.

Jo eventually speaks up, voice clipped with embarrassment. “I’m sorry ‘bout that. My dad will pay you back.” “I know,” Y/N responds, not doubting it for a second. “It’s no big deal, seriously. No reason to apologize.” “Still... Thanks,” the blonde cowgirl utters, embarrassed nonetheless. It’s now Y/N’s turn to wrap her arm around her friend’s shoulder, hoping the gesture will ease Jo a bit. “That’s what friends are for, right?” she comforts her. “Come on. Let’s head back. What’s your starting time?” Jo glances at her watch. “Eight thirty. Thirty minutes after the opening. So that gives me an hour and a half.” “Better ready your horse then,” Y/N smiles. “You’ve got barrels to race.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome on this Friday night to the eighteenth annual Flagstaff Horse Fair!”

With Y/N’s hand in his, Dean walks up the bleachers, as if he’s afraid to lose her in the crowd. Plenty of people have settled down in their seats already, only a few spots left now that the opening ceremony is about to begin. She’s glad he’s keeping a hold on her, though, because once again she feels slightly overwhelmed by the number of strangers who all seem to be very much aware who her boyfriend is.

Several times Dean was held up on their way over to the main arena, by acquaintances, former and current clients, old friends and forgotten faces. She could tell he was doing everything he could to ease her nerves, his hand on the small of her back, engaging her into the conversation by introducing her. Yet she felt relieved when the ring came into view, hoping to find a time to take a breather from keeping up appearances and pretending she’s comfortable amongst new company.

“Dean!” Y/N almost flinches at the female voice calling out for the cowboy. For a brief second Y/N shuts her eyes and takes a breath; guess she needs to keep her mask on a bit longer. She turns to face two women, who greet the wrangler, the one with dark, boy cut hair the first to embrace him. “It’s so good to see you again,” she says, warmly. “Hey, Jody.” Dean returns the embrace, genuinely pleased to see her too, before he directs his attention to the happily smiling blonde. “Donna, it’s been a while. How are you doing these days?” “Hiya, handsome. I’m doing just fine, thanks.” The woman with a strong Minnesota accent pulls him into a tight hug as well, pressing her dimpled cheek against his. She backs away, her delighted eyes bouncing from him to the girl behind the cowboy. “Are ya gonna introduce us to this lovely lady?”

Dean adjusts his hat and reaches for Y/N, his hand slipping behind her back when he nods at the brunette. “That’s Jody Mills - she takes horses off our hands regularly and finds us buyers - and her business partner Donna Hanscum. Good friends of mine, good friends of the Ranch.” He then gently pulls her a little closer, the pads of his fingers lingering on her hip. “Jody, Donna, this is my girlfriend Y/N,” Dean responds, unable to hide his proud smile.

Both women share the exact same reaction, their jaws dropping to the floor. If Y/N wasn’t so nervous, she would have found it comical. “Shut the front door!” Donna exclaims. “Are you tellin’ me that Dean Winchester is off the market?” Dean nods, his grin not faltering. “I’m spoken for.” Delighted, Jody laughs. “Well, I didn’t think I’d live to see the day.” “Took you long enough,” Donna jokes, teasingly pushing his shoulder, before she winks at the cowgirl next to him. “You must be one heck of a gal if you managed to tie this one down. C’mere!”

Before Y/N can escape, the woman with the vibrant personality pulls her in and gives her a warm hug as well. She can’t help but to chuckle, because both Donna and Jody seem like sincerely kind people. The warm welcome eases her, helping her to feel more comfortable amongst these new friends. “Why don’t you sit with us?” Jody suggests, after Donna lets go. “Because I wanna hear all about this miracle woman.”

They take a seat and Y/N soon engages in conversation with Dean’s friends. Contently, he watches his girl, listening to her enthusiastic voice as she tells them about their meet cute. Dean chuckles at the memory himself; never in a million years could he have guessed he would be where he’s standing now, together with the then so timid and slightly prissy intern. She opened up like a wildflower in spring, blossoming into the carefree spirit that years of studying and discipline hid away.

Damn, he fell hard for her, didn’t he? She isn’t the only one who developed; because Jody wasn’t wrong. He too never expected to be able to commit, to be faithful to one woman, yet he can’t even imagine being with anyone else but her now. She taught him to look further than tomorrow. He has to admit, he has been thinking about the future more in the past week than he has in all the prior years combined. His thoughts are interrupted by the commentator, who’s voice echoes through the speakers, mentioning the sponsors of the event.

“We thank you for comin’ out here this weekend. Folks, right now I would like to ask Alex Jones to enter our arena floor with the Stars and Stripes of the United States of America.”

Dean glances at Jody, who proudly watches her adopted daughter trot into the ring on a palomino. She’s dressed in a red shirt, blue and white fringe on her sleeves and chaps playfully dancing in the breeze. The end of the flagpole rests on her stirrup, the American colors fluttering in their wake. The crowd rises to their feet as the flag is carried in, respectfully doffing their hats.

“As we gather in the spirit of the Old West, let us be reminded of the part that the horses we cherish have played. They offered our forefathers safe travel, partnership, and the freedom to roam this great land. The same unbreakable bond between man and horse still remains today, as we ride for our country. We ask you to remain standing for the playing of the national anthem.”

Y/N holds her hat by the brim and squares her shoulders, following Dean’s example when he places his right hand over his heart. A calm falls over the bleachers, every single soul watching the flag with the same steady reverence that only blue-collars truly can. The riders in the warm up area are standing side by side, facing the Stars and Stripes, and even the younger inexperienced horses seem to pay their respect.

“Oh, say can you see by the dawn’s early light What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming? Whose broad stripes and bright stars thru the perilous fight, O’er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming?”

The hairs on her arms rise up as Y/N softly sings along. She knows every word, taught in school of course, but it’s more than that. She believes them. And since she was a little girl, she has dreamed about the Star-Spangled Banner. She imagined it would play while she was standing on the highest step of the podium at the major events: Congress, the Derby, and who knows, maybe one day at the World Equestrian Games. It’s a long shot, maybe, but a goal nonetheless, one she will continue to chase until the day comes that she fulfills that dream.

“And the rocket’s red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?”

The cowgirl and her horse began circling as the end of the anthem neared, speed increasing. Alex is galloping along the boarding of the arena, the Stars and Stripes flaunting proudly, standing tall. After the last note, the crowd cheers and claps, rallying the rider on as she takes the flag out of the arena at high speed.

“Give it up for Alex Jones!” the commentator encourages. “Now, Ladies and Gentlemen, get comfortable, take a load off your feet, take a seat, and get ready. We’re gonna kick off the competition with Barrel Racing for three year old horses. Let’s ride!”

“Jo is sixth, right?” Y/N checks as they sit down. Dean nods, leaning his elbows on his knees, watching his cousin in the warm up pen. “Yeah, after the drag.” “Smooth footing. Could work in her advantage,” Y/N notes, linking her arm with his. “I was wondering; why don’t you teach Jo?” The wrangler snorts. “Because she would claw my eyes out.” His girlfriend laughs now, leaning into him and sweetly resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Hey, we’ve tried, but we just fight like cats and dogs. It ain’t a good fit,” he chuckles.

The first horse and rider combination shoots from the holding box and the audience’s motivating cheers rise from the stands into the Arizona air. Being a good sport, Dean claps too. “Ever raced barrel, sweetcheeks?” Donna wonders, leaning forward to make eye contact with Y/N. “Once or twice when I was a kid,” she admits. “You?” “Oh, you betcha!” the cheery blonde states.

The rules to the game are quite simple. Three barrels are set up in a cloverleaf in the arena and the horse and rider pair need to cleanly negotiate the pattern. The cowgirl who’s the fastest without knocking over any barrels wins. It’s a thrilling sport to watch, perfect for a horse’s speed and agility when the rider knows how to bring it out in them.

The second rider kicks off, setting a better time that pushes her up the board. The third follows, knocking over the second barrel, landing the poor girl a five second time penalty.

Y/N keeps an eye on Jo, who gets instructions from Bobby. The ranch owner’s daughter is riding a mare called Sundance, who she started up about eight months ago, being the first person to ever ride her. The young horse had her first practise run a couple of weeks ago, but today is her show debut. The atmosphere of a big competition like this can be quite daunting for an inexperienced horse, but Jo prepared her well.

The fourth goes wide around the first barrel and swerves to the third, wasting valuable time. Number five has a clean run and betters the leading result; 17.13 seconds is the time to beat. A tractor enters the arena and the crew removes the barrels, white spray paint indicating where they need to be put back once the sand around it is dragged. When the footing is smooth again, the barrels are placed back.

“Next up is Joanna Beth Singer with Sundance. Now, this young lady knows how to ride, with multiple wins under her belt, so let’s see what she will do with this youngster today.”

Y/N moves to the edge of her seat, her heartbeat picking up. She might not be the one competing, but sometimes being the person on the sidelines is more nerve-wracking than actually being the one in the saddle. Bobby walks with his daughter to the entrance of the arena, the young mare next to him already bouncing with excitement. Rousing music only adds to the exhilarating atmosphere surrounding them, the spectators waiting for the thrilling ride that is about to start. The second Jo’s father lets go of the rein, Sundance bolts away, locking on the first barrel like she has been doing this all her life.

“And she’s off! Look at that speed, people!”

“C’mon, Jo!” Y/N encourages, joined by Dean, who has gotten on his feet in anticipation. The crowd cheers when the fast horse turns sharply. Focused, Jo pushes her heels into the bay’s flanks, hands towards the mare’s ears, guiding the youngster through the pattern to the second barrel. They are making good time. “Smoke them, Jo! You got this!” Dean shouts, voice lost to the crowd that seems to favor Jo and Sundance.

The clock ticks; eight seconds, nine, ten. Sand clatters against the metal as the eager horse cuts the third obstacle, so tight that you could barely fit a piece of paper between her boot and the barrel. It starts to tip, and Y/N grabs Dean’s arm when the drum almost tumbles over, but Jo pushes it back with her reins in hand so that it stays upright and the audience erupts.

“Yeah! Bring it home!” Y/N squeals, excitedly. At full gallop the two shoot back to the gate, Jo flat on the Sundance’s neck, the energetic horse accelerating until they pass the finish line. The clock stops at 16.35.

“Folks, if that ain’t horsemanship, I don’t know what is. What a ride and what a horse! Jo Singer and Sundance are in the lead!”

Dean grins proudly and whistles on his fingers, glancing down at his girlfriend, who is still applauding excitedly. “Dean, is that mare for sale?” Jody checks, the trader clearly interested now that she has witnessed the talent. He chuckles. “Depends on your offer.” “Fair enough. I’ll go have a talk with Bobby then,” she returns, aware that for a horse like that, she needs to raise the stakes. “We’ll walk with ya,” Dean states, glancing aside when Jody’s friend doesn’t follow. “Donna, you comin’?” “I’ll meetcha guys later. I’m gonna watch some more runs with Alex.” She nods at Jody’s surrogate daughter, who just sat down in one of the first rows.

They say goodbye and the wrangler places his hand on Y/N’s lower back as they walk to the stairs and get down from the bleachers. She can tell he’s trying to play it cool, but she senses his relief. Jo delivered and just secured more than just a place on the podium with that solid ride. The buyers are going to be lining up for Sundance, which means they can keep the price high. It’s a win Gold Canyon Ranch so desperately needs. The cowgirl bumps her shoulder against his, drawing his attention. The smiles they exchange say enough, she knows what’s on his mind, and he knows she understands. “I’m gonna see if I can catch Jo. It was really nice to meet you, Jody,” she announces, shaking Jody’s hand before turning to Dean. “See you in a bit?” He nods and meets her in a sweet, short kiss, before she runs off to the stables. His gaze stays fixed on her, lovingly, until he loses track of her in the crowd. Only then does Dean notice Jody’s knowing smirk. “What?” “You got it bad,” she comments, an earnest laugh falling from her lips. He tilts his head, nodding; there’s no denying it. He’s known Jody for a while, and even though they only see eachother every now and then, he considers her a dear friend.

“She’s amazing, really. It’s all still kinda new, though,” he admits, comfortable enough to let some of that softness show. “Oh, which reminds me... Bobby doesn’t know yet. So could you not mention it?” The raised eyebrow and judgemental look she sends him says enough. Jody stares him down as if she’s about to use her mom-voice, causing Dean to slightly cower. “She’s the intern and it’s kind of a touchy subject. I wanna time it well so that he doesn’t bite my head off,” the cowboy excuses. The woman who is tough when she needs to be, turns soft now, rolling her eyes slightly. “Fine, I won’t tell him. Don’t wait too long, though. It’s Bobby, he wasn’t born yesterday. He’s going to find out sooner than later,” she reminds him. “I’ll tell him soon,” he promises. “This is a big first for you, ain’t it?” The female ranch owner smiles at him warmly, apparently amused with the somewhat uneasy behavior of the cowboy. “It is,” he chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “But it’s good. Never thought I’d say it, but I could get used to this.” “I’m glad you’ve met someone, Dean. You deserve a slice of that apple pie life.”

Dean smiles at his boots, knowing she means more with those words than would seem so at the surface. From a young age, even before Dean moved in with the Singer family, she has kept a watchful eye on him and his little brother whenever they were at the same shows and rodeos. Even though she’s only a few years older than him, she was always taking care of others, protecting those who needed it, and apparently she sensed the Winchester boys could use some support. To be honest, she wasn’t wrong. She has seen a few things, picked up on the tell signs. That knowledge adds to the weight of her kind message.

“And if you ever are in the need of advice only a woman can offer,” she continues, “may it be suitable birthday gifts for the lady, or choosing an engagement ring, you know who to call.”

Dean’s eyes widen, glancing aside at the fierce woman, walking beside him. He thought about what is to come, but he didn’t think that far ahead. Especially with her internship ending March next year, he’s slightly careful to presume she is going to want to stay with him. Yes, he will fight for her, but he can’t predict the future. Who knows what will happen when she’s due to leave. “Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves here,” he laughs. “We only just started dating, y’know?” “Yeah, I know, but she’s a keeper, I can tell,” Jody counters, sure of herself. “Give it some time, I’ll remind you of this conversation at your wedding.”

The cowboy chuckles, but doesn’t contradict her. Jody Mills is a smart woman, one who usually is right. She can read people, and despite the small age difference between the two of them, his caring friend often mothers him with her wisdom. He can’t believe the thought crosses his mind, but it flashes through his conscience nonetheless. I hope she’s right.

He doesn’t want to dwell on it too long, though, because the glimpse of what he secretly hopes one day will come true, takes him by surprise. Somewhat daunted, the wrangler redirects the focus. “I’ve haven’t spoken to Gabe in a bit. How’s he doin’ these days?”

There’s a hint of guilt in his voice, even though he tries to suppress it. Gabriel had worked at Gold Canyon since 2005, until Bobby had to let him go last year. The head wrangler felt horrible, especially since he taught Gabe the ropes when it came down to training horses, and getting fired was the last thing his friend ever expected. Just like with Ash, he would have done anything to prevent the lay off, but their boss didn’t have much of a choice. Thankfully, Gabe got a job as a horse trainer at Jody’s ranch. They kept in touch, but over time the calls came and went less frequent. Lately, it’s been quiet, though, and the woman next to him looks up at him stunned, a mixture of remorse and empathy in her eyes.

“You haven’t heard?” she asks, appalled. Dean shakes his head. “Heard what?” “Oh, honey, I’m not sure how to tell you this,” she starts, averting her gaze to the ground, as if she’s trying to find solace in the dirt underneath her feet. “He had an accident earlier this week. He’s in hospital.” The wrangler snaps his eyes at her in shock, a frown puckered between his brows. “W-what?” “Yeah, he--” she pauses, shaking her head as if she still can’t believe it, “- he was working with a stallion, quite a special case. He turned aggressive and Gabe got trampled. He suffered multiple fractures in the vertebrae.” The head wrangler stops dead in his tracks, causing his company to turn to face him. In shock he stares at Jody before his gaze drifts off, the unpleasant surprise still evident, though. Not sure what to say, he moves his hand to his face, tracing his stubble as he tries to digest the news. “Fuck…” he stammers. “Is he - he’s gonna be ok, right?”

“The doctors haven’t given us much yet. From what I’ve heard, the first tests showed very little reflexes, but there was still a lot of bruising and swelling. They hope to be able to get better imaging soon, but right now it’s not looking good. He most likely damaged his spinal cord; he can’t move his legs,” Jody explains, observing the disoriented man before her with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Dean. I know he is a friend of yours. Honestly, I expected you would’ve gotten a call from his brothers.”

The cowboy still stares at nothing in particular, unable to grasp what he just learned. “We - uh, we didn’t talk as much as we used to. Kinda fell out of touch after he left Gold Canyon.” Jody nods at that, the endearing smile that was there when they were talking about his newfound relationship now gone. The corners of her mouth are drawn down, the worry and guilt aging her in a matter of moments. “It’s really tragic. Honestly, I feel awful. It happened on my land, the horse was my client’s.” “Hey, this is not your fault, you hear?” Dean replies, gently gripping her upper arm. “These accidents can happen. We forget sometimes, but we still work with thousand pound animals who have minds of their own. It’s dangerous, and he knew that.”

Jody swallows down the guilt and turns to slowly stroll to the warm up area, not walking away from it entirely, but giving herself something to do. Dean adjusts to her pace, shoulder to shoulder with the rancher. “I found him in the pen. He was screaming in pain,” she tells. “Of course I happened to be the only other person on the premises. Donna was delivering a horse to a new owner.”

Shaking his head, Dean glances aside. Damn it, he wishes she didn’t have to go through that. Waiting on an ambulance must have been horrible. Dean knows Jody treats her staff like family, their bond much like the dynamic between the Singer family and their personnel. Dean cares about those he works with deeply, he would never forgive himself if an accident like that would happen to a member of the crew. “He’s gonna bounce back. Gabe’s a tough one,” he soothes, hoping to offer at least a little comfort. “Yeah, I hope so.” She sighs as they reach Bobby, who is having a conversation with two older men on the sideline, without a doubt doing business. “I’m gonna talk to your uncle. See if we can come to an agreement on that horse.” “Better get in there fast, before he sells her to someone else,” Dean advises, after which he turns around. “See you at the party tonight?” “Depends on how much money I spend at the auction, but I’m certain Donna will drag me there anyway,” she says, doing her best to pull together a playful grin.

Dean watches Jody step up, politely interrupting the negotiation, not even a bit intimidated by the possible buyers who have already named a price. She’s tough, something that he has always admired. The woman stands her ground in a man’s world of horse traders, runs her own ranch and built her own network. An extraordinary person, who always has his back. He carries nothing but respect for her.

As he makes his way to the stables, tipping his head to the people he knows on his way over, his thoughts go to Gabriel. Jody is not the only one who feels guilty about his current condition. He just told her she shouldn’t blame herself, so why is it that he wishes he would never have let his good friend go? Maybe if Gabe had stayed, he wouldn’t have broken his back. Maybe if he had taught him better, he would’ve still been able to walk.

He shakes his head, trying to dismiss the notion. But like a mosquito the mental picture keeps patronising him, buzzing into his ear, draining him and stealing the wrangler’s peace. When he nears the stable tent B, he picks up pace, however. Because he knows that the one person who will calm his mind and make him feel better with just her smile is right around the corner.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty here

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shireness-says · 4 years ago

Text

coming ashore (to my lover’s arms)

Summary: For three years, Captain Killian Jones has been seeing Princess Emma of Misthaven in secret. When the Evil Queen kidnaps Emma's father, however, secrecy is set aside. Can they save the king and find their own happily ever after? ~10.5k. Rated T for language and fighting. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: Back in March, I ran a giveaway after I published my 50th fic on Ao3, which was won by the lovely @ouatxxxxx. She requested Princess Emma and Pirate Killian, and an established relationship. Being me, I threw a little adventure in and some cute Captain Cobra moments. I don't think anyone is complaining. Sorry this took so long to finish - thanks for your patience!

Big thanks to @snidgetsafan for her beta-ing, as well as the whole host of people who listened to me spitball ideas.

Tagging: @ohmightydevviepuu, @profdanglaisstuff, @welllpthisishappening, @optomisticgirl, @scientificapricot, @let-it-raines, @thejollyroger-writer, @kmomof4, @teamhook, @winterbaby89, @spartanguard, @searchingwardrobes

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

He used to love the sight of the open sea, stretching as far as the eye can see in every direction like a vast unknown full of every possibility. The sea used to be home - the place in this world where he felt most like himself.

But times change, and people do too - even stubborn, 300 year old pirate captains. And these days, Killian finds himself much more drawn to land and one particular port.

Or rather, one particular lady in one particular port.

He hadn’t gone looking for love, of course; quite the opposite. He’d come looking for treasure, and met a different jewel altogether along the way.

Killian smiles at the memory. He’d had half a plan, a bit too much confidence, and rather more drink than anyone about to try and rob the royal palace ought to consume. The trail of ivy winding up to a non-descript third floor window had seemed like a stroke of luck; the real stroke of luck, he’d realize later, was reaching the top only to find himself face to face with a princess and her sword.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she’d demanded - in a tone rather less regal than he expected, he might add - and he’d had no choice but to surrender as her blade trained with deadly precision on his throat.

(He’d surrendered his heart at the same time, but that was yet another realization for later.)

“Well, I had planned on a bit of casual larceny, lass,” he’d said as nonchalantly as he could muster, “but I rather think that may not be in the cards tonight after all.”

“You think?”

“I’m smarter than I look, love,” he’d assured her with a smirk. “Now, the way I see it, we’ve got three options. First, you let me make my way back down the vine. Second, you lower your sword and we continue this lovely banter in a more civilized fashion - perhaps in those chairs — ” he’d nodded towards a pair of armchairs facing a cozy fire to demonstrate — “and with a bit of rum.”

“And the third option?” She’d sounded amused, at least, which Killian had thought at the time was a good sign.

“Ah. You run me through with this sword you apparently and inexplicably keep in your chambers, and that’s that. I’m admittedly rather less fond of the third option, I will say, but it seemed foolish not to point out the obvious.”

The lady had held her stance for a moment longer, staring down her steady blade with a confidence he wouldn’t have expected from a princess. Then again, nothing about this little excursion had gone the way he’d expected. Somehow, he’d felt as if she was evaluating him; holding a man at swordpoint certainly had given her one hell of an opportunity to do so. Finally, her blade had lowered, leaving Killian to breathe easy once again.

“You mentioned something about rum?” she’d asked, nodding towards the armchairs in invitation.

“What kind of pirate would I be otherwise?” Killian had smirked in return, sauntering over to drape himself over the flimsy seating. These chairs were clearly meant for little more than decoration.

“Can’t say I’ve met any pirates, so I couldn’t possibly say. A poor one, I take it.”

“You said it, not I.” After taking a hearty swig, Killian had passed the flask across to his unexpected companion. She’d taken to the liquor like a champ, just another unexpected thing about her. He’d started to realize that the lovely blonde in front of him was no ordinary princess. “As an aside, have you considered trimming the ivy outside your window? All manner of unsavory creatures might climb up - less chivalrous ones than I, who might wish to do harm to your lovely self.”

“Ah, but then I wouldn’t be able to climb down,” she’d retorted with a sly smile. “I’ll take my chances.”

Not an ordinary princess at all.

They had only talked that night - two strangers, who never should have met, in an odd situation and bonding over the flask of rum. He’d learned about her parents who want to keep her safe at all costs, practically trapping her inside the walls of the castle except when she manages to sneak out down to the town and whatever darkened tavern she can pass unnoticed in, and about the magic she’s still learning how to use. She’d told him about her dead husband and the young son she loves more than anything in the world, and in turn he’d told her about his dearly departed brother and the way that he can’t help but feel these days that he’s on the wrong path, that Liam would be disappointed in him.

And it should just have been a one time thing - two ships passing in the night who were never meant to meet. She’s a princess, after all, and he’s nothing but a pirate. But he couldn’t get her out of his mind, and the next time he’d found himself in that port again, he’d dropped by the tavern she’d mentioned as her usual haunt on the off chance he might see her.

He had thanked every god that had long since abandoned him when he did.

“I’ve heard a rumor,” he had said in lieu of greeting, reveling in the smile that had inched its way across Emma’s lovely face, “about a princess in these parts sneaking down the vine outside her window. I don’t suppose you know anything about that?”

“Maybe,” she had smirked back. “Buy me a drink, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

One drink became two; one night became many; and three years later, Killian finds himself the only captain in the seven seas who longs for land.

(For Emma; for home.)

This is the way things have to be, he knows - she’s a princess, after all, and he’s a pirate, and there’s no reality he can imagine where her parents readily accept him as a suitor for her hand. Hell, they’re more likely to throw him in the dungeon, maybe hang him, maybe give him to another country who will do the same. Still, Killian can’t help but want - want to wake up by Emma’s side every morning, want to meet and come to know her brilliant son, want to be her partner in a permanent way. Want to be the kind of man who would deserve that.

For now, though, that’s all a dream - just hopes and wishes that float away like a feather on the wind, perpetually out of grasp. This whole romance has been the stuff of fairy tales, Killian thinks sometimes, and not in the good way - rather, it’s been two lovers always separated by circumstance. Their current situation isn’t perfect, by any means, but it just might be the most they can hope for when they both are who they are.

(The fact of the matter, Killian has long since learned, is that he’ll do anything to be with Emma, anything to make her happy.)

This port is familiar now, Killian docking here every other month now in order to spend a few days with his princess. They have a routine; he docks the Jolly and makes sure to raise a flag up the mast for Emma to see from her balcony, then meet that night in the same tavern by the docks. It’s well practiced, reliable. Most importantly, it allows them to see each other without fear of her parents finding out. He’s still a pirate, after all, even if he limits his attacks to ships of other countries, even if he loves Emma more than he ever believed possible. He’s still not a suitable beau for the woman who will one day be queen.

That’s why it shocks him to finally dock only to find Emma already pacing along the boards. He can only imagine how she knew they were coming; she must have been watching for him. That doesn’t solve the mystery of why she’s here in the first place.

The gangplank barely hits the worn wood of the docks before Emma rushes to meet him. “Oh thank the gods you’re here,” she exhales as she throws her arms around his neck. Killian clasps her to him in turn, revelling in the feeling of her body close to his even as concern courses through his veins.

“What’s wrong, darling?” He pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, resisting the urge to brush a stray hair behind her ear. It’s obvious the comfort of his embrace is more important right now.

“Something terrible has happened,” she tells him with tears starting to glisten in her eyes. “My father has been kidnapped.”

———

He can’t say he expected the day to end like this - with Emma and her mother and son all on his ship, sailing into almost certain danger. It’s not how he pictured meeting her parents, either, but he supposes that it’s better than the alternative, where he assumed he would be thrown straight into the dungeons for besmirching their beloved daughter and heir. It’s probably something to do with the fact that he’d immediately offered Emma his ship and crew to help get her father back. It doesn’t hurt either that the Queen clearly has other matters on her mind.

Emma’s mother is a petite woman whose hair is still dark, if streaked with silver in places all the way through its neat coil at the back of her head. Killian sees a lot of Emma in her mother, actually; something about the set of their identical chins and their effortlessly graceful way of moving. The bow and arrows strapped to her back are certainly reminiscent of his and Emma’s first meeting, at least. Where Emma has proved to be all fiery determination after her little momentary breakdown at the docks, laying out a plan like a seasoned general with a spine of steel, her mother seems a little at odds - distracted, almost unable to truly focus on anything. Killian can understand that; after all, it’s the love of her life that’s missing, her true love, the man she’s spent every day with for decades. His absence must be jarring. Killian can’t even begin to imagine what he’d do if Emma were the one taken.

(That’s probably another reason Emma’s mother doesn’t put up a big fuss about the fact that she’s been seeing a pirate in secret - she just doesn’t have the energy or the attention for it.)

Emma’s lad, on the other hand, seems blissfully oblivious to the circumstances at hand, gleefully running up and down the Jolly’s deck with all the energy a five-year-old can muster. Killian would say this isn’t how he anticipated meeting Henry either, but truthfully, he’d never anticipated being allowed to meet the lad. Pirates don’t exactly make for the best role models, after all, the same way that small children don’t make the best secret-keepers. As much as Killian has secretly yearned for some kind of committed family life with Emma and her boy, he’s long since resigned himself to the fact that it’s unlikely due to his past and her future. Getting to meet the boy, see him and his mother on the Jolly, feels like a dream Killian never dared entertain.

“I’m going to have a ship like this one day,” Henry tells him very seriously.

The lad is a prince, one day heir to his mother’s throne; his words aren’t necessarily just youthful fancy, if he keeps that desire as he grows older. “I think that’s a fine idea, mate,” he smiles down. “A pretty navy clipper, maybe, or even the flagship?”

“Not a navy ship,” Henry tells him with a tone that communicates that Killian is clearly being ridiculous, even obtuse. “I’m going to have a pirate ship one day.”

“Oh. Well, that’s…”

“How do you get a pirate ship?”

Killian flounders - that’s the only word for it. He can’t exactly tell a child who seems determined to acquire a pirate ship about how he stole his, betraying king and country. Emma watches nearby, but she clearly doesn’t intend to help him out of this mess; indeed, she looks rather closer to laughter. Then again, she knows the whole story, knows exactly what he doesn’t want to explain. “They, uh… well, they… save up for a long while,” he finally finishes in the lamest fashion imaginable. What an impression he’s likely made.

Emma finally swoops in to save him - though he rather thinks it’s too little, too late. “Did you get a chance to look below the decks, baby?” she asks Henry, brushing his hair back out of his face as she speaks. “I hear that Killian set aside a cabin, just for us.”

That bit is true; in fact, the royals have rather sent his crew’s usual bunking arrangements into upheaval. Queen Snow has been moved into the former first lieutenant’s cabin - once his own, now usually occupied by his first mate Smee and hastily scrubbed down - and Emma and Henry have been moved into one of the former officers’ cabins, those rooms’ usual occupants being assigned hammock space in the hold for the time being. Killian feels some residual guilt about not offering his own quarters for Emma or the Queen’s use, but his maps and weapons are all in there, and he’s a mite too selfish to willingly give up his own space, even if the former lieutenant within him knows that he should. But he is a pirate, after all.

(If he has secret, unspoken hopes that maybe Emma will sneak into his cabin the same way he’s snuck into her rooms so many times, well, a man can’t be blamed for dreaming.)

“I have indeed,” Killian finally replies with a smile for the boy.

Henry gasps in response, with all the dramatics of a child his age. “Is there a hammock?”

“No, there isn’t, lad,” Killian chuckles. “But there are bunks - one each for you and your mother. I know it’s not the same, but is it an acceptable substitute?”

Henry nods decisively in response. “That’s okay too. Bunks can be fun. Pirates sleep in bunks too.”

“That they do, lad.”

(Just as he’d hoped, Emma sneaks into his cabin that night, climbing into his own narrow bunk to press herself against his side. He doesn’t dare take this any further, not when Emma’s so emotionally compromised and her mother and son sleep just a few thin walls away; it would feel wrong, anyways, when Emma’s only here because her father has been kidnapped. Besides, he’s more than content just to exist like this, holding his love within his arms.

“Thank you for this,” she whispers into the dark. “I know this is asking a lot, and you didn’t have to do this —”

“Your heart’s desire, love,” he interrupts, unwilling to hear one more unnecessary apology. “I swear, that’s all I want for you.”

He’d do anything to make her happy, and when he knows that, this is the smallest ask.)

(His dreams that night are filled with visions of Emma in his arms every night, just like this.)

———

The situation as Emma and her mother describe it is this: the former “Evil Queen”, Snow’s stepmother Regina, had appeared in a dramatic cloud of purple smoke as the family had sat down to dinner, immobilizing everyone and snatching King David before dematerializing in the same fashion. Killian knows the story, at least to a certain extent; Regina had been banished to a far-off land nearly twenty years before after a decade of turmoil when Emma had been but a child, her magic bound by the fairies to protect them all. Regina had seized the throne after the death of Snow’s father and the young princess had been forced into hiding, the older woman swearing vengeance on the younger for the loss of a love she would never name. Even after Snow and David had regained the throne of Misthaven, driving Regina out, the sorceress had persisted, leaving the country to hover at the edge as an unseen danger for years until she was finally captured, her magic bound and her self banished to another realm. They’d foolishly assumed that would be the end of the matter.

They’d been wrong.

For Regina, as it turned out, had a long memory and a dangerous list of allies, and as soon as a corrupted fairy managed to lift the binding, she had resumed her plotting. Kidnapping the King was her revenge on Snow White, for condemning Regina’s own love so many years ago. The trade, Regina had cackled, was simple: if Snow relinquished the kingdom once again, then Regina would release David and maybe - just maybe - the Good Queen would be allowed to keep her own life in return. She’d given them ten days’ time to make the arrangements; it was obvious to all that she expected Snow to willingly sacrifice her kingdom for her true love.

The one thing Regina hadn’t anticipated, as Emma pointed out, was that the Royal Family of Misthaven - or at least the Crown Princess of Misthaven - had connections capable of getting things done through much less legal or expected means - namely, himself. And that just might include the ability to pull off a rescue mission, if they play their cards right.

Their advantages are limited - a pouch of fairy dust capable of transporting them between realms, a vial of squid ink, a singular magic bean, and Emma’s magic (“Whatever good that will do.”). Killian’s crew can fight, with the benefit of mostly acting unpredictably, unlike the disciplined armies Regina is doubtless used to facing, but their numbers are pitifully small. If Regina has amassed a force of Black Knights again - something Killian wouldn’t put past her, if she’s regained her magic and retained her taste for ripping out hearts - then they may be horribly outnumbered.

Still, Killian, Emma, and the Queen concoct a plan as best as they can. It’s far from perfect - Killian in particular doesn’t like that they’ve essentially got one chance to get this right - but it’s the best they’ve got. Emma’s mother is able to muster more energy and focus when she has something to direct it towards. Finally, he’s getting to see a little bit of the strong, determined woman Emma has told him about. That’s dangerous in its own way, though - after all, Emma still spends her nights in his bunk. They’ve made no secret of what they are to each other in daylight hours, either; Killian’s eyes and hands gravitate towards Emma at every opportunity, revelling in just the tamest affectionate touches, and Emma has absentmindedly kissed him - on the cheek, even the lips - when he knows they were in sight of the Queen. If they ever intended to continue keeping this under wraps, that proverbial ship has long since sailed, and Killian couldn’t be happier. Still, he doesn’t relish facing a mother that finally has the presence of mind to object.

It was inevitable, though. He and Emma stand at the ships’ wheel that night, watching the sun set over the waves. This will be the last time they do so, possibly ever if things go poorly; now that they’ve got a plan, they’ll be using the magic bean tomorrow morning to transport themselves to the realm where they hope Regina is still holed up, moving as fast as they safely can in order to rescue King David. Killian tries to savor the simple comfort of this moment; Emma’s head rests on his shoulder, and his arm rests gently around her waist, his fingers stroking along her hipbone almost without conscious thought. Emma had abandoned her skirts for breeches just as soon as they had gotten underway, and Killian must say, this new look suits her. With her blue vest and her hair pulled back, she looks like some kind of lady knight, or a fierce pirate queen - perfect for the helpless pirate captain she holds within her thrall.

(The breeches also afford him an excellent view of her perfectly formed arse and legs, but that’s a whole different story that he can’t admit to in public.)

“You’ll come to bed soon?” she murmurs into his neck once the sun finally slips below the waves.

“Aye, love,” he replies with a kiss to the crown of her hair, just where the golden strands are trying to pull loose from their leather strap. Emma likes to try and run her hand through her hair when she’s stressed, and there’s certainly been plenty of that lately.

As one lady walks away, however, Emma retreating below decks to his cabin, another one approaches - her mother. Maybe he won’t be coming to bed so soon after all.

“Your Majesty,” he acknowledges with a deferential nod of his head. It’s been a while, but Killian does still remember the little courtesy gestures, and is willing to use them to deflect whatever is about to befall him.

“Captain.” Snow White joins him beside the ship’s wheels with a grace that even Emma can’t imitate, the illusion that she perfectly belongs in any situation. He envies her that.

“What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“It’s less about what you can do, and more about what you’ve already done,” she tells him with a wry smile that almost looks out of place on her face.

This conversation, then. Killian lets his head bob downwards again, this time in resignation. “Ah.”

“Yes. Ah.” The silence sits heavy between them, both waiting for the other to speak. Surprisingly, it’s the Queen who caves first - though that’s likely only because Killian finds himself too nervous to speak. Not a position he ever expected to find himself in again as a pirate captain. “So how long have you and my daughter been…” The Queen trails off, clearly at a loss for the appropriate words. Their secret assignations certainly don’t qualify as courting, but they certainly go beyond friendship or fucking. He can’t imagine this woman saying the latter word in any case.

He ultimately takes pity on the queen. “Been me and your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“About three years.” Even if this conversation scares him half to death, Killian still can’t help but smile at the words. That’s the first time he’s had cause to say such a thing; it feels lovely, in a way, each one of those three words imbued with countless memories.

“Three years…” the Queen echoes on a murmur. It’s impossible to miss the guilt and mild melancholy in her tone. “I had no idea. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”

Killian glances around his ship in confusion. They’ve made no secret of the fact that he’s a pirate; it should be pretty obvious why he and Emma had kept their relationship a secret. “I’m not exactly a proper suitor, so to speak,” he tells her. “At first, we didn’t know where this was going, or if it’d be more than a fleeting thing, but then once it became more serious… we hadn’t figured out how to broach it.” Without me being thrown into the dungeon and executed, he doesn’t add, but that should be obvious.

“And now?”

“Pardon?” The question feels like it comes out of nowhere, leaving Killian unprepared to answer.

“We’re here talking,” the Queen points out. “I’m all too aware that my daughter spends her nights in your cabin instead of her own. What’s changed, that you’re willing to be open about your relationship after three years of hiding?”

“Some things are more important,” he explains. “The life of your husband - Emma’s father - is more important. Supporting Emma when the rest of the world is falling down around her ears is more important. I hope that after all this, you won’t order my head on a pike,” Killian concedes, “but Emma needs me right now. That’s more important than… anything else.”

“You love her.” It’s not a question, or a realization - just a statement of fact, of the one truth that’s settled deep into Killian’s bones.

“I do. More than anything else in this realm, or any other.”

“Good.” After years of worry, the simple word is shocking to hear. This whole episode has cast things in a different light, though. “That’s all we’ve ever wanted for her, you know. Someone to love her the way she deserves. Do you think you can be that someone?”

“I hope so. I want to be. Emma is… more than I’ll ever deserve. I just want to make her happy, in whatever way I can.”

“Good. Make sure you do.” And then, wonder of all wonders, Her Majesty actually smiles at him, a soft and maternal thing he never expected to see directed at him. “I think you ought to call me Snow, once all this is over.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Get some rest, Captain,” she tells him - a clear dismissal, her tone imbued with something regal he doesn’t dare question. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

(“What took you so long?” Emma mumbles as he crawls into the bunk behind her, already half asleep.

“Just a little chat with your mother,” he tells her before pressing a kiss to her shoulder where her shift is just starting to slip down. “Nothing to worry about.”

Emma hums in response - about all the response he expected from her in this state. “Love you.”

“I love you too, darling. Sleep well.”)

———

Morning inevitably dawns, bright and clear, perfect for their purposes. Maybe that’s why the dread in Killian’s stomach only deepens.

Traveling by portal is a dangerous business; Killian only had occasion to experience it a handful of times, back when he was still back in Glowerhaven’s navy, but he enjoyed exactly none of it. There’s something particularly unsettling about purposefully steering your vessel into a swirling void into the sea, whipped around in every direction before being spat back out again in another land, another realm. Time is of the essence here, though, and they don’t know exactly where Emma’s father is being kept. Travelling by portal is the fastest, best way to rescue him - unsettling as the journey may be.

He tries to enjoy these little moments while he can, watching Emma still in his bunk as he slips on a linen shirt and laces his pants up. His love is less delicate in sleep, those porcelain limbs sprawled across every inch of his mattress like she has a right to it all with her hair all in tangles. She’s just as lovely like this, in some kind of everyday, domestic way - unpolished, unpracticed. No trace of the princess here - just the amazing woman she is. They’re all about to dash into danger within the next hour or two, but this is worth remembering in the moment, a little vision to remember later when the going gets rough.

On the bed, Emma peels an eye open as Killian shrugs his leather vest back on. “That time already?” she mumbles in a voice still muddled with sleep.

“Aye, love, time to turn the plan into action.” He leans down to press a kiss to her forehead practically without thought, the most comforting kind of instinct. Emma hums, whether in appreciation or acknowledgement or expression of her own half asleep state. “Sleep a few minutes longer. I’m just going to check everything over again.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, though it’s obvious she doesn’t need to be told twice. Killian can see the muscles of her face relax as she falls back into a doze.

(Maybe, after all this is over, he’ll be treated to a lifetime of moments like this. That’s his dream, after all - and maybe, just maybe, helping rescue a captured King will earn him something close to redemption.)

With a last look at the lovely tableau Emma makes, Killian turns towards his safe. With a few flicks of his wrist, the lockbox opens, allowing him to pluck the little bag containing the single magic bean from within. No use beating around the bush, now.

When Killian ascends the ladder to the deck, he’s surprised to find the Queen - Snow already waiting on the sun-bleached planks.

“Couldn’t sleep, milady?” he calls gently as he gets closer, causing Snow to spin around to face him.

“Anxious,” she explains. “I caught a few hours, not to worry. But I’m ready to go find Charming.”

The nickname strikes a particular chord in his heart; as much as Killian may have heard about it from Emma, heard the whole story of her parents’ famous romance a million times over as a favorite local legend, it’s something else to hear it from Snow’s lips. It’s never been just a fanciful tale, even if that’s the way he’s always heard it told; it’s their life, for better or worse. “We’ll get him back, ma’am,” Killian assures her - a promise he can’t actually make, not that it’s stopped him.

She knows it, too, if that particular smile is anything to go off of - a little sad, a little knowing, a little pitying. “I hope so, Captain. Now, is there anything I can do before we travel?”

“You can check that everything is secured in your cabin and Henry’s,” Killian offers. It’s obvious that Snow needs something to do in this in-between time; he’s seen that already. He’s more than happy to pawn off one of his own checks to Emma’s mother. “You can check the hold too, for that matter, make sure everything’s tied down and stowed away.”

It’s crucial that everything be secured before they open the portal; in Kililan’s experience, realm travel tends to jostle things around. He’s just finishing his own checks up on deck, directing the crew and securing various lines and sails, when Emma makes her appearance at his side.

“You should be below decks with the lad, love,” he tells her gently. “It might be a rough ride.”

“I know,” she shrugs. “But maybe I want to be up here with you. Mom can more than handle Henry. Is that so wrong?”

“Not in the least, darling,” he smiles back. “But can you blame a man for wanting to make sure his lady love is safe?”

“Not when you phrase it like that.” He even gets a little laugh out of her; that’s good, at least. “But I want to be here, you know. With you. It’s… into the great unknown, right?” Killian nods. “Then I want to do that with you.”

He’s always been a sucker for that kind of sentiment.

That’s how Emma ends up the one to toss the magic bean into the calm sea an hour later, her mother and son and as much crew as they can spare stashed below decks to protect them all. As the waters open to a swirling vortex, Killian wraps his arm securely around her waist, the other on the ship’s wheel to steer them straight into danger. Ropes are tied around both their waists for an extra level of security - something Killian had insisted on - but Emma’s face is curiously unafraid.

(That’s the faith she has in you, a little voice in his head whispers. Gods, he hopes what they’re about to do doesn’t betray that.)

“Hold tight to me, love,” he murmurs, before turning his attention back to the few crew members left on deck. “Buckle down, lads,” he yells, just as the bow of the Jolly catches the swirling waters of the portal. “It’s rough seas ahead!”

Rough seas is rather an understatement. Once the ship fully enters the expanding mouth of the portal, control is wrenched from his hands, the waters spiralling them down and down and down. There’s no telling which way is up and which way is down, magic ruling over physics, with water seemingly all around them but never swallowing them. The wheel of the Jolly spins wild, forcing Killian to let go before the rudder snaps and cripples the vessel. He’s left with nothing else to do but clutch Emma close with both his arms, curl his body around hers, shut his eyes and try to block out the roar all around them and hope and hope and hope —

— and just as suddenly as this all commenced, the world rights itself again, the hull of the Jolly gliding through calm seas under a pink-tinted sky. They’re just offshore of their destination, where Killian can barely make out fantastically twisting trees and grotesque shrubberies and enormous mushrooms. Wonderland - a realm steeped in magic itself, where Regina’s mother had once seized power and she must have now have done the same. Arguably, one of the worst places they could face her. There’s no other option, however - not when King David’s life is on the line.

“We’re not doing that again, are we?” Emma mumbles against his neck, barely peeking out to see this realm they’ve found themselves in. “Because let me tell you, I’ve had smoother rides.”

With a final squeeze and a chuckle, Killian unwraps his arms from around her body where they’d been sheltering Emma from the worst of the journey. “Aye, I can promise that, love. Only one bean. We’ll have to resort to more mundane methods on our way back.”

“Good.” Emma brushes down her vest, as if any bit of it would dare be out of place. “Now, let’s go catch ourselves a witch.”

Most preparations had been made last night, anticipating the need for immediate action today. Basic supplies have been packed, blades sharpened, and the Queen’s arrows neatly aligned in their quiver with their tips dipped in squid ink. All Snow has to do is graze Regina with an arrow and it’s over; she’ll be frozen, absolutely immobile. The hardest thing left to do, now that the hour is nigh, is explain to little Henry why he can’t come with them. Emma had insisted; Queen Snow had insisted; Killian had concurred; there’s quite a difference between taking him this far for his own safety when there’s an evil witch on the loose, and taking him right into the heart of danger.

“But I want to come with you!” Henry whines with tears glistening at the corners of his eyes. “I don’t want to stay behind!”

“Henry, it’s for your own good.” Killian can tell Emma is trying to explain this as best as she can to her son, but her voice has started to betray a hint of begging. “We’ll be back before you know it. We just have to go save Grampa.”

“You don’t know that though!” Henry wails. “Something could happen and I don’t want to be by myself and—” Emma gathers the little boy into her arms as he dissolves into tears, the display cutting right into Killian’s heart.

Once Henry’s tears start to abate a few minutes later, Killian strokes a bit of his hair back to catch the lad’s attention. “You’re right,” he tells Henry. “This is really scary for your mother and I too. But I promise - I promise - that I’m going to do everything in my power to protect your mum, alright? I’ll make sure that she comes back to you. And in the meantime, Mr. Smee is going to be here to look after you. You won’t be alone.”

“You promise?”

“Cross my heart,” Killian swears solemnly. “I’ll have your mum and your grandpa and your grandma back to you before you know it.”

He would have made sure, anyways - Emma is the most important thing in his life, and he’d do anything to keep her and her family safe - but his promise to Henry only strengthens that. He’ll lay down his life, if he has to, if only to keep that promise to the little lad. After all, he knows all too well the pain of losing his family.

When they finally set out for the shore in rowboats, Henry bravely waves them off from the railing of the Jolly, though Killian can see tears glistening at the corners of the boy’s eyes. For that matter, Emma’s eyes are moist too.

“We’ll be back before you know it, love,” he assures her, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “I promise.”

“I know.” Emma’s smile may be watery, but it’s there. “I trust you to make that happen.”

(And imagine that - a princess trusting an old pirate like him.)

Killian expects they’ll be dodging obstacles from Regina the whole time as they cautiously pick their way towards the ostentatious palace they spot from the beach; after all, it’s well known that Regina’s mother, in her time ruling Wonderland, had amassed an enormous army from those whose hearts she’d ripped out and held captive in her vaults. Her daughter doubtlessly controls the same. However, they meet no one more than Wonderland’s absurd wildlife - a fact that somehow feels even more concerning, under the circumstances. It likely means that Regina knows they’re coming, and has already centralized her forces to create a stronghold of that pretty palace estate. And that means they’re walking right into a death trap, fully aware of that very fact.

They’re all a bit jittery at this turn of events; Killian can tell that his crew is on edge, and he can’t keep his own fingers from drumming impatiently on the hilt of his sword, anxious for some kind of action, expecting danger around every corner all while knowing that the true danger is still ahead of them. Emma works out her own impatience by practicing her magic, blasting the enormous insects indigenous to this realm in some kind of bizarre target practice. It’s as good an outlet as any, and she’ll need every ounce of practice to take on the Evil Queen. Even after twenty years of having her magic suppressed, Killian knows Regina will be a formidable foe; she’d terrorized Misthaven for years under her tyranny and dark magic, and he somehow doubts 20 years wiped those skills from her memory.

“Bravo,” Killian tells Emma with a smile and a little nudge after she blasts a particularly large rendition of a hornet. To their left, a hookah-smoking caterpillar nods approvingly from an enormous mushroom at the side of this forgotten, multi-colored cobblestone path. Truly, this land seems crafted straight out of a fever dream.

“Thanks.” Emma twines her arm through his own, grounding them both in the process. It’s a lot harder to fidget with his love on his arm, and a great comfort at that. “I kind of need all the practice I can get.”

“It can’t hurt,” Killian agrees mildly. “Though I must say, darling, I’m certainly impressed.”

Emma’s sigh sounds like it carries the weight of all their worries; Killian isn’t entirely sure she isn’t trying to do exactly that. “Is it enough, though? Sure, you’re impressed, but… this is Regina. An ultra-powerful sorceress. And here I am, just taking pot-shots at bugs.”

“Big bugs.”

“Bugs,” she repeats with disgust. “All I’m saying is… is that enough? When it comes down to it, can we really go toe-to-toe with the Evil Queen?”

“Hey,” Killian draws them up short, grasping Emma by both arms to face him. “I have to believe we can, that you can. I believe that this is going to work. And you know why?” Emma just stares at him with wide eyes. “Because I believe in you, love. I think you can do anything you want to. And we’ll be here to back you up, to help you, every step of the way.”

“You really believe that?”

“I really do.” Gently, with the greatest comfort and reassurance he can muster, Killian presses a brief kiss to her lips. “Now, let’s go catch an Evil Queen, love. Together, you and I.”

As is the way of such things, just when Killian begins to relax into the comfort of Emma’s arm entwined through his own, their party reaches the outskirts of the Queen’s estate. The palace is an ornate affair, in marble and gilt with elaborate gardens and hedge mazes. It’s more than just a building or a dwelling - it’s a centerpiece, an architectural representation of Cora, and now Regina’s power. It’s perfect and picturesque and somehow all the more intimidating and imposing for it.

Killian does his best to nod reassuringly when Emma turns to meet his eyes, standing here at the gilded gates and about to walk into the heart of danger. It must work, thankfully; Emma smiles in response before turning to face her mother instead.

“You ready for this?” Emma asks, drawing her sword.

Snow takes a deep, steadying breath, but eventually nods, simultaneously reaching for an arrow from her quiver. “I’m ready. Let’s go save your father.”

They don’t have to search hard to find Regina; it seems like now that she’s lured them into her web, the Evil Queen is ready to set the proverbial ball rolling. As they approach the enormous iron-wrought doors to the palace proper, they swing open without any obvious human intervention to reveal a grand entrance hall paved in black and white marble tiles. Killian directs a weighted look and nod to his crew to be on their guard. Most of his men have long since unsheathed their swords and knives, but those few who haven’t take out their weapons now. Emma and her mother wear identical hard, determined looks on their face as their party creeps down the hall. What feels like an eternity later, another set of doors swings open at their approach, all to reveal the Evil Queen herself, perched on a gilded throne upon a dais with apparently every bit of drama she could muster.

“I was wondering when you’d bother to show up,” she comments with a devious little smirk. “I guess heroes just aren’t what they used to be.”

“Regina.” Snow practically growls the word - a tone of voice Killian hadn’t been aware the famously mild-mannered queen was capable of.

“I suppose you lot are rather out of practice, though,” Regina continues as if her rival never spoke, languidly pushing herself up out of the throne to slither and stalk in their direction. She looks good for a woman doubtless approaching sixty, regal with her straight back and raised chin and silver liberally streaked through her dark hair. Killian wonders how much of the display is natural, and how much is thanks to magic. “There never was anyone else who posed anything resembling a real threat.”

“Weird thing to brag about,” Emma comments dryly, catching Regina’s attention. In a dramatic swish of skirts, their foe turns to face her with a feral smile stretching slowly across her face.

“I don’t expect you to understand power, Princess, and how far it can take you,” she replies - smoothly, dangerously - “but I do expect you to recognize it when it stands in front of you. Even your naive parents aren’t that foolish.”

“Enough of the fronting,” Killian cuts in. “Where’s the king?”

“And they brought a little eye candy, too,” Regina smirks. “I’ll admit, I didn’t expect that. Goody-two-shoes Snow White and her precious, perfect daughter consorting with pirates.”

“Well, desperate times call for unusual measures,” Killian replies with a casual wave of his hand. “Never let it be said I’m not willing to help a lovely lady or a worthy cause.”

“Is that all it is?” Regina’s head cocks in a way that makes Killian think she’s analyzing the situation, trying to pick up on any weaknesses. “Because I must say, Captain —”

“Stop stalling!” Snow barks out. “Where is Charming? What have you done with him?”

“Interrupting - tsk tsk, such impropriety. Whatever would your dearly departed father say?” Snow flushes red with rage - obviously exactly what Regina hoped for, if that smirk is anything to go off of. “If you must know, your precious prince is a little… shall we say, indisposed for the moment.”

“If you’ve hurt him —”

“Now what fun would that be?” Regina laughs. “No, I’ve arranged something much more entertaining - I’ve cursed him.”

And with a dramatic wave of her hand, the Evil Queen reveals her handiwork. Before them suddenly stands an enormous mirror - and just behind the glass, Emma’s father, pounding frantically at the surface.

Emma jolts beside him, clearly pulled towards her father. It’s undoubtedly exactly what Regina wants - perhaps their strongest weapon, distracted and out of commission. “Steady on, love,” Killian murmurs, just loud enough for Emma to hear. “Don’t give in to her, that’s what she wants.”

Emma nods imperceptibly, her sword arm strengthening as her other hand starts to twist and turn by her side - summoning her magic from deep within, he knows. “Let him go,” she commands.

The Evil Queen just laughs in response. “No, I don’t think I will. What are you going to do about it, princess?” As she speaks, Regina summons her own powers, lighting a ball of flame in her hand, primed and ready to attack. Simultaneously, the doors on each wall of the throne room open for a crush of Black Knights to pour through, surrounding their own party.

They’re outnumbered - but they’ve got the benefit of passion, of rage, of the willingness to do anything. And Killian has always liked those particular odds.

It seems Emma is much of the same mind as she throws herself into action, lunging at Regina with her sword arm while the other crackles with magic. A good thing, too - Regina easily bats the sword out of her way with a quick flick of her wrist and hurls her fireball for Emma to bat away in turn. There’s a savage beauty to their dueling, both women lobbing magical weapons at one another with deadly intent. If it was just the two of them, Killian might take another minute to marvel; unfortunately, there is still a force of Black Knights and red-festooned guards to deal with. Emma is the only one who can fight on equal footing with Regina; it’s up to Killian, Snow, and his crew to keep the rest of the combatants away from Emma for long enough for her to defeat the Evil Queen.

Killian falls into a dance of his own, aiming to knock the Knights out where he can instead of killing them outright; it’s well known that Regina, and her mother before her, is an expert at controlling people, ripping out their hearts and whispering commands like a demonic puppetmaster. It’s not always possible, though, and Emma’s safety is more important than anything when she has to channel all her focus into battling Regina; his blade has tasted blood several times over, now, more than he wants to think about. The dance of combat is complicated by curses flying all over the place, doubtless intended for Emma or their little party even if they occasionally strike one of Regina’s own forces.

It finally seems like they’re starting to have things in hand. For all their numbers, the Black Knights and Red Guards are poorly trained, a collection of poor souls used to doing Regina’s bidding by intimidation and by superior numbers. Snow, instead, is a deadly aim - presumably from her outlaw days - and Killian and his crew are used to fighting for their dinner and their salary and their lives, playing dirty if they need to in order to get the upper hand. King David doesn’t look particularly pleased with the way Killian keeps using the mirror as a shield or an obstacle or a hard surface to knock heads against, but that’s his problem; Killian is doing his best to save his holier-than-thou arse, after all. Foes still remain, but it feels like a manageable low tide now instead of breaking wave after breaking wave.

And maybe that’s what hurts them. Maybe, Killian lets his guard down more than he should have, surveying the room after dispatching another Red Guard. He doesn’t see Regina cast the curse, doesn’t see it head directly at him, doesn’t know what’s happening at all until he hears Emma shout. Killian whirls around, but it’s too late - only just in time to see Regina’s curse hit her squarely in the chest.

“Emma!” he yells, dashing to catch his love as she crumples towards the ground. Somewhere, he hears Regina cackle in triumph, but he can’t worry about that now, not when Emma —

But he doesn’t need to worry about it, as Snow takes advantage of Regina’s distraction to let loose an arrow, deadly and true, to pierce her long-time enemy’s heart.

Somewhere, Killian hears the clatter of metal as the Queen’s soldiers are released from her power. Somewhere, he hears glass shatter as David is finally freed from the mirror. Those things don’t matter, though, when Emma lies in his arms, eyes closed, pulse barely detectable.

“C’mon, love, open those pretty eyes,” he murmurs, but to no avail. His words fall only on deaf ears. He can feel her parents on either side, reaching for Emma, and he should give her to them. Snow strokes along her hair and face, trying to rouse her daughter, and David just behind at his wife’s shoulder, anxiously peering down with tears starting to glisten in his eyes. Killian should let go of Emma, give her to her parents. A less selfish man might. But he can’t, not when he’s only just started to dream of a happy ending, only to see it - her fall in front of him.

And it’s a long shot. There’s no promises here, but Emma is his joy, is every dream he never dared to dream, and it’s worth a shot, isn’t it? After growing up hearing about true love, maybe they share that too.

(If nothing else, it’s less heartbreaking to think of this as an attempt at true love’s kiss than as a kiss goodbye.)

“Come back to me, Emma,” he whispers, leaning down as he does so to press his lips to hers in a gentle, lingering kiss.

There’s a split second where nothing happens, where Killian is sure it didn’t work. But then what feels like a wave of energy bursts from where their lips are joined, spreading through the room and causing even her parents to gasp.

Emma’s eyes flutter open slowly, but she smiles to see Killian still bending over her. “Did we win?” she mumbles, a tired sort of slur to her words.

Killian can’t help but laugh, even as happy and relieved tears start to gather at the corner of his eyes; it’s so like his Emma, so fierce, so determined. “Aye, love, we did. You did. Regina’s dead, and your father’s right here.”

Emma cranes her head with a wince to meet her father’s gaze. “I’m ok, sweetheart,” he assures her. “I’m proud of you.”

She nods tiredly before turning her attention back to Killian. “Can we go home now?”

“Anything you want, darling,” he chuckles. “Anything you want.”

———

Henry, as expected, is thrilled when they return with his grandfather now amongst their number. “I knew they’d save you,” he grins, arms wrapped tightly around David’s waist. “That’s what heroes do.”

“Hey now, lad, I’m a pirate, not some hero,” Killian can’t help but cut in with a smile and a teasing note in his voice.

“I don’t know, I think you could be both,” Emma adds with a smug little smile. As if it’s thanks to her that he’s anything resembling a hero.

(That might be a little true, actually. After all, she’s the reason he’s wanted to try.)

“Yeah!” Henry agrees readily. “You helped bring Gramps back! And you made sure Mom was safe, just like you promised!”

“Well, I couldn’t disappoint my best mate, could I? A promise is a promise.”

“I see you’ve swayed my grandson, too,” David interjects drolly. Killian isn’t sure the man will ever fully be a fan of his - Killian supposes he’d be the same way with a daughter of his own - but they’re mostly civil, at least. It’s more than he could have expected a week ago, at least.

“More like he swayed me.”

“I like Killian,” Henry proclaims, and, well, that’s that.

(“Killian says if I save up a lot, I can have my own pirate ship,” Killian hears Henry tell Charming later. “Do you know how much I have to save?”

Killian will probably be paying for that in other ways later.)

Suspicious fathers aside, the return trip is much less eventful. Applying fairy dust to his sails so they can fly between realms may make for a slower journey, but a calmer one; the necessary rush of their original travel to find David is no longer in play, anyways, and they can spare the time. It’s a good time for Emma’s family to get used to his presence in her life under more normal circumstances. There’s no putting the cat that is their relationship back in the metaphorical bag after this, not that Killian would ever want to. He’s loved Emma for a long, long time, and he’s just glad to finally now admit it in public.

By the time they dock back in Misthaven’s port, there’s something of an understanding. Snow openly likes him, as does Henry, and even David has reached a grudging acceptance after much discussion with his wife and daughter. It probably doesn’t hurt that Killian played an instrumental role in his rescue. There’s still the matter of public perception, however. There’s no hiding the fact that he was - is? - a pirate. What will the populace think of their beloved princess consorting with someone like him? How are they supposed to prove that he’s one of their fold, now, no longer a threat in the eyes of the royal family?

The answer, as it turns out, is a grand ball. It’s the Misthaven way, after all.

Killian can’t say that it’s his idea of a good time by any stretch of the imagination - a little too stifling for his taste - but there’s no real way to weasel out of it, not when he’s the guest of honor. Especially not when it means that the Queen and King see in him a man of honor, maybe even a man worthy of their daughter. He’d be a fool to spit in the face of such gestures.

Still, he doesn’t have to be entirely thrilled about it. There’s far too many diplomats to play nice with and not nearly enough time with Emma and the collar of his coat itches, dammit. The quilted bronze fabric is certainly striking, drawing more than his fair share of appreciative looks, but the folded black collar whacks at the bottom of his chin with every move, driving him mad. If these soirees are going to become a regular thing in his life - and by all appearances, they will be - he’ll have to speak with the palace seamstresses about making something less prominent.

(What an idea, that is - getting the chance to be around openly enough and long enough to need to speak with palace staff about his preferences.)

Emma, on the other hand, looks absolutely stunning. Beautiful. Ravishing. A whole host of other descriptors that never fully encompass the way she looks tonight, never quite do her justice. Her dress is red, with long sleeves and a full skirt and beading along her scooped neckline that highlights the peeking swells of her lovely breasts, all topped with a floral tiara. It’s by far the most traditionally princess-y that Killian has ever seen her look; it feels like his heart skips several beats as she makes her way into the crowded ballroom, skirt swishing about her just a split second after every move she makes.

(He may be the guest of honor, but she’s the star of this particular show, every eye drawn towards her grace and beauty like moths to a flame. Truthfully, he can’t blame them one bit.)

As much as Killian has enjoyed watching his princess in her element - something he never thought he’d be fortunate enough to see - he’s been sadly limited to only looking, not touching. Emma is a dance partner in much demand, between visiting royalty and Misthaven’s own nobility and what he’s been told are friends of her parents and their children, and somehow, Killian can never find a moment to steal her away into his arms and make it obvious to anyone that Emma is his partner, and his alone.

(This is all part and parcel of being the future monarch, he knows, but Killian has always been a selfish bastard at heart, a pirate not skilled at sharing with others. Besides, they’ve only just been allowed to show their love openly; he can’t help but want to revel in that for all to see.)

He puts on as good a show as he can, smiling at the countless faces he’s introduced to and gritting his teeth against all the little snide, uppity comments he gets to hear in return. He dances, too - with Snow’s old friend Ruby and with Emma’s friend, the Queen of Arendelle (who is kind enough not to mention the piracy he’s doubtless committed against their ships in the past years) and even, eventually, with Queen Snow herself, twirling each across the marble floors in moves his body remembers from his Naval Academy days much better than his brain does.

“How are you holding up, Captain?” Emma’s mother asks once he pulls her back in from a particularly dramatic turn. Killian chooses to hum instead of answering, making the Queen laugh. “That well, huh?”

“Ask me tomorrow,” Killian suggests. “Distance may make the memory fonder.”

“I strongly doubt that, but I’ll be sure to ask.”

Inevitably, Killian’s eye drifts back to Emma again, where she now dances with her father. He means no offense to his current partner, and he surely hopes Snow doesn’t take it as a slight; he just can’t help but seek for his love’s face and smile and self no matter what else is going on around him.

“You haven’t had much chance to be in each other’s company tonight, have you?” Snow comments wisely, drawing Killian’s attention back to his partner with a guilty little start that makes her chuckle again. “No, it’s quite alright,” she assures him. “I do remember young love, you know.”

“I’d never think to suggest otherwise,” he winks back. They’ve reached some kind of understanding, him and the queen; the kind of adventure they’ve shared will do that, he supposes.

“Wise man.” Once again, Killian turns the Queen beneath his arm. When she comes back to their proper waltz position, there’s an extra little twinkle in her eye. “Now, I know you’ll be terribly sorry to see me go,” she tells him, voice bubbling with mirth, “but I have the sudden desire to dance with my husband. If we switch partners, do you think you could possibly bear the terrible burden of dancing with my daughter?”

“I think I’ll manage somehow.”

Emma breaks into a smile as they approach, her entire visage brightening with the gesture and somehow rendering her even more stunning. At his side, the Queen is saying something doubtlessly witty or romantic to her own husband to orchestrate this partner switch; truthfully, Killian doesn’t hear a word. Watching Emma is a delightful tunnel vision, only heightened as her delicate hand brushes against his arm.

“I was wondering where you had gotten to,” she teases with a smile. “Having fun yet?”

“More with you here.” It’s all the truth he’s willing to admit to in this crush of other people; doubtless, Emma knows what he means anyways.

Sure enough: “I’ve got a feeling that wouldn’t take much.” Though she shakes her head, the smile still lingers on her lips. Killian knows this isn’t her idea of a good time, either, but she’s much more practiced in hiding it than he is.

(That’s a thing he’ll have to learn over time, he supposes; after all, where Emma is concerned, he’s in this for the long haul. Horrible state functions and all.)

“Guilty as charged,” he smiles back. “What do you say, love? Care to take a turn about the floor with this old pirate?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“That’s not for lack of wanting, you know,” Killian assures her as they sort themselves into a proper waltz position and begin to move. “I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you all night. This is… stunning, love. Gods above, you look like a vision.”

Emma preens a bit at the compliment, a smug little smile and shake of her shoulders. “You don’t look so bad yourself, Captain,” she replies, nodding towards his jacket. “I might even say you clean up well.”

“I couldn’t exactly show up in my duster, you know. What a look that’d be. The entire idea has been not to look too much of an embarrassment, especially as an already… shall we say, unconventional suitor for the princess.”

“You never could, but I appreciate the thought.” The smile slides off her face then, only to be replaced by a hint of anxiety. “I didn’t want to leave you alone tonight, Killian - I really didn’t, I promise. I just… there’s so many people here and I had to greet everyone, and then there were so many people I needed to pay a little extra attention to, pay my respects or whatever, and —”

“Don’t worry about it, love,” Killian cuts her off, accentuating the sentiment with a little squeeze of her hand. “I know these are things you have to do as the princess. It’s quite alright.”

“I never want you to think I’m abandoning you for some duty.” Killian wonders, briefly, if that’s something she’s experienced or been accused of before; in that moment, Killian swears never to make her feel that way again if he can help it.

“I promise, darling, I won’t. This is who you are, who you’re meant to be; I’ll just be privileged to watch you work.” If it weren’t for the crowded room, filled with people and expectations of how to behave, he’d kiss her right here. After all the scandal they’ve already made, though - the princess and the pirate, quite the pairing by anyone’s standards - he refrains, contenting himself for the moment just to hold his princess in his arms for this dance. That doesn’t mean he can’t do a little bit of plotting, though. “That being said…”

“Yes?”

“What do you say we sneak out of here early, darling?” Killian murmurs in Emma’s ear. His love has an excellent poker face; even as he whispers indecorous ideas in her ear, her face betrays only the slightest hint of a smile, visible only because Killian was watching for it.

“We’ll have to be sneaky about it,” she replies. “My father will never let you stay the night in my chambers.”

“Hmm. Well, you know, I was just thinking…”

“Yes?”

“What do you think about the ivy, for old times’ sake?”

The smile blooms over Emma’s face slowly, slowly enough for Killian to read every ounce of mischief and lascivious promise contained within, before she finally leans forward to whisper back in his own ear.

“I’ll bring the rum.”

Not your typical princess at all - but she’s his princess, and Killian finds that that makes all the difference.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan ff #captain duckling #my writing #coming ashore (to my lover's arms)#princess emma #pirate killian #captain cobra

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fairiesherefairiesthere · 4 years ago

Text

Casual clothes or something along those lines at least.

A day late, but here’s my entry for @fuckyeahfraxus ‘s fraxusweek day 3 with the prompt ‘casual’.

"Freed, baby, what on God's green earth are you wearing?" Bickslow asks, disbelief tinging his voice. Sensing the unspoken disapproval, Freed re-enters their dorm living room, arms spread to show off his garment. The movement makes his cufflinks shine under the light of their shitty dormlamp and Bickslow's almost afraid to ask what cufflinks are made of. "A casual date outfit", Freed replies with a confidence he really should not possess if someone managed to convince him that a tailored threepiece suit with intricate embroideries is an appropriate outfit for a casual date.

Rest of the fic under the cut!

Instead of giving him a vocal reply, Bickslow merely lifts a judgmental eyebrow and loudly slurps from his cup of instant noodles. An excellent meal he's partaking in on their couch, since their dorm is not spacious enough to put a table in it. "Casual, huh?" he ends up asking to really drive his point home.

"My parents had me wear these sort of clothes for family dinners, school events and eating out. Those are casual family events, right?" There's a bit of uncertainty there, as though Freed's starting to realise his mistake. Bickslow however, is too preoccupied with the mental image of Freed as a toddler, sitting in a suit at McDonalds to notice. As he's busy choking on his noodles and laughter, Freed gives him a faux-cold look. "I'm not performing cpr on you. Die of natural, karmatic causes."

Once Bickslow's calmed down, he sits Freed down on his bed. "Who are you taking on a date?" he asks between bouts of stray giggles and Freed's face light up like the christmastree he is. "Laxus, you know, the one from the gym."

"The one who we've never seen outside of sporty clothes, even during lectures?" Freed nods and Bickslow is very tempted to laugh again. He shoves it down though, because he's a good friend and good friends help their best friend in need (even if technically, they didn't need help because there's no way in hell that Laxus Dreyar actually cares about what people put on their bodies).

"My dear son", he starts and Freed pulls a face. "This is why I don't talk to my parents anymore. You stop that." Ignoring him, Bickslow pats his face fondly. "My sweet summer child." Rolling his eyes, Freed feels the need to interrupt him again. "Was born in the winter, but okay."

"Do you want my fashion advice or not?" Bickslow teasingly asks and Freed lets his eyes flick over Bickslow's whole outfit before vehemently shaking his head. "Absolutely not", he whispers, fear evident in his eyes. Ignoring his best friend once again, Bickslow squishes Freed's surprisingly smooth skin. "Babe, what moisturizer do you use?" he asks before getting back on track. "My dear sweet angel baby honey-kins bff, let's give you a make-over." Already resigned, Freed lays down on the bed. "Just do whatever", he says, tone defeated, but Bickslow picks up on the undertone of excitement. "Of course I will babe!"

"Absolutely not!" Evergreen screeches, barring him from leaving by putting herself in front of the door, as though Laxus isn't able to move her aside. "You are not going on a date wearing that", she says scandalized, "You worked out in that exact outfit today! It's a wonder you don't stink."

"Actually, I own three of these", he answers, pointing at his clothes as Ever groans loudly. "It's a date Laxus", she pouts and he shrugs back. "It's casual." Poking him in the chest to drive her point home, Evergreen complains: "Casual doesn't mean that you're going to benchpress each other in a Wendy's, please change."

Seeing that Laxus still isn't completely convinced, she decides to change her tactic. "Don't you want him to tell you that you look hot? Don't you want to get railed by that nerd who frequently looks like he hasn't slept in eons?"

"1. Yes and 2. to be honest, no. Maybe some handholding or even a smooch if I'm feeling frisky, but the rest is a no for me for now. I want to get to know him first." Evergreen frowns and then nods determinedly. "Alright, hot but not off the charts hot. A nice sizzling pan, not a searing pan that burns the chicken that you were grilling with your boyfriend because you both suddenly got unsure about how long it takes to properly grill a chicken. Got it."

Looking in the mirror, Freed's suspicions get confirmed. He looks completely and utterly ridiculous. Well ridiculous is a strong word considering he himself likes alternatives styles of dressing, but there's something about the fishnets-platform boots-ripped jeans-combination that makes him not want to go outside in the clothes. Maybe it's the abhorrent amount of studded belts Bickslow has decided that he absolutely needed to wear.

"Babe, you look stunning", Bickslow praises him and Freed gives him a flat look in return. "That's because you got a stunning model to work with, don't try to flatter yourself mister. Now get out of the dorm, I've decided that we're having our date here", Freed says, phone in hand and already texting Laxus. "Excuse me?"

"You did this", Freed says while gesturing at his entire body, "And left me no time to change. So you're banned now. No Bickslows allowed for the evening, get out."

"Fine, but don't think you'll ever be allowed to borrow my dearly beloved studded belts again!" Bickslow hollers before leaving. Freed can't say he regrets that. Looking in the mirror, he mourns a bit over the fact that he looks like a proper tiktok e-girl. He defined it as e-girl style instead of e-boy style, because e-boys did simply not have the courage nor the legs to pull off the combo he's currently wearing.

A knock on the door warns him that someone's arrived and he hopes it's his date and not Bickslow. With a deep inhale and exhale, he gathers his courage before throwing the door open with what people have told him is his most charming smile.

The smile immediately gets knocked off his face though, his falling open as he gapes at Laxus. "Sup", the man drawls, holding up his bouquet of what seems to be flowers he might've found on his way there or in his backyard. "You look different", Freed manages to get out, ogling the form-fitting pants and the opened up buttons, showing a gracious amount of chest.

For some reason, Laxus looks like he'd just stepped out of Freed's secret fantasy to live in a cutesy lil cabin in the wood, filled with books and the opportunity to not ever have to talk to anyone again except for maybe a lover. His cheeks are decorated with a heavy amount of blush, clothes light and flowy and atop his blond head, a wreath of flowers is perched. His fingernail are painted a lovely mixture of pink and blue. "Evergreen called this cottagecore-cute, I have no idea what it means."

"I'll explain if you want to, want to make dinner together?"

Bonus:

Of course Evergreen had stayed up till ass o'clock, when Laxus had finally arrived back at his dorm. Even in the bad lighting, she could see that an unusual amount of blush had faded. "Where did all of that go to?" she wondered and he beamed back. "Was feeling frisky."

#Fraxusweek #Fraxus week 2020 #Fraxus #Freed Justine #Laxus Dreyar #Evergreen fairy tail #Bickslow #TheFairyWrites #Modern AU

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penwieldingdreamer · 5 years ago

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Grow old with me

So this is a short one shot for the ‘My best Friend’ series. Let me know what you think, hope you’ll like it. And thank you to all 304 followers, so it might be a kind of celebration now.

Warnings: fluff, one or two curse words

Words: 1.7k

You tried to take deep breaths, feeling your hands shaking with anxiety. Keeping with tradition and as a joke, Keanu and you had decided to stay in different rooms. Your mother, his sisters and mother were flitting about the room, while you still stood there in your white wedding lingerie, the nerves making your stomach churn. Was it really what you wanted? Was it what he wanted?

“Darling.” your mother pulled you from your thoughts, taking your hand in hers. “What is going on in that head of yours?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying to suppress the tears in your eyes. “Are we really doing the right thing?”

Patricia watched you, a smile on her lips as your mother sat you down onto the plush chair in the room. She walked over to you, putting her hand on your shoulder. “If my son didn’t want to marry you, he wouldn’t have asked you. You’re both nervous because it’s going to be a new part in the journey of your life together, it’s an adventure.”

“You both love each other or you wouldn’t feel like this now.” your mother added, nodding over at Keanu’s mother. “She is right you know, it’s a wonderful adventure you’re both going to take now. The public already knows and you’ll just take the next step to be a cute little family, Keanu, Ava and you.”

Kim and Karina grinned at you as they stood behind you and leaned down to kiss you on your cheeks. “You’re such an amazing woman, Y/N, there’s not going to be a day where he’ll regret being with you.” Kim smiled and looked at her sister, who put her arms around your shoulders. “And just think about it, Ava might not be the only child you guys have with the way he’s already devouring you whenever you’re in the same room.”

“Oh, you.” you laughed, lightly hitting Karina’s arm as your mother stood you up again.

She put her hands on your cheeks, brushing lightly under your eyes. “Let’s get dressed darling, he’s probably just as nervous as you.” Nodding your head, you looked over at the dress hung onto the door, smiling as you imagined the look on his face when Keanu would see you.

***

“Shit.” he cursed, brushing his hands through his dark strands as he failed yet again to work on his tie. Never in his life would he have thought that he’d finally stand in front of a official and be married to the one woman that brought back everything good in his life.

A knock sounded at the door and he walked over, feeling his legs jitter with nerves. Keanu was surprised when he saw Y/N father standing on the other side.

“Hello son.” he greeted him, a smile on his weathered face as the actor moved to the side and let him pass. “Don’t you think you should put that tie on?”

Chuckling Keanu took the piece of fabric and laid it around his neck. “I can’t get the knot right, my fingers just won’t move.”

“It’s the nerves, but it’s good.” the older man said, walking over to the actor and held onto the ends of the tie. “You know she’s just as nervous as you, if not more.”

Smiling Keanu let his soon-to-be father-in-law work on the knot and turned back to the small mirror in his hotel room once he was finished. “I can’t wait to see her walking down the aisle.”

“All I’ll say is she is the most beautiful woman I’ve seen, besides my wife.” the older man added, winking at him before the stern look returned to his face. “But there is one thing I’m asking of you son.”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Keanu nodded his head, already having a feeling what he meant. “Of course.”

“Don’t hurt my babygirl, she’s the only one I have and Tommy already fucked up, so please don’t do the same.”

Nodding his head, the actor put his hand on her father’s shoulder. “I can only promise that I will do my best to never hurt her like he did. We’ll probably have our fights and disagreements but I could never sink as low as him.”

“That’s all I want, Keanu. Just love her.”

The smile that lifted his lips was as wide as the depths of his love for Y/N and Ava.”

***

His friends Chad, Alex Winter and Gard together with their wives were sitting on the right side with his mother and his sisters and their families. Alexandra was standing next to the flower arch taking pictures of the guests and the venue. Your family sat on the left, your mother’s hands tightly clasped around your father’s as they all waited for you to walk down the aisle.

Both, Keanu and you had decided to have a small intimate wedding just with your friends and family at a winery near LA. The location was so beautiful surrounded by mountains and vineyards and just when you had looked at the pictures you were instantly taken with the location.

The actor smiled at Laura, Cindy and Helen and a few workers at ARCH who had all been so excited they could join the festivities. Taking a deep breath he looked back to the entrance when finally the music started to play. You had opted to walk down toward your soon-to-be husband by yourself, the train of your chiffon gown trailing after you. The lace top littered with little gemstones catching the light and glittering like diamonds. You couldn’t help the smile as Keanu watched you from head to toe, taking everything in, from the wavy updo specked with small white roses and peonies, just like your bouquet, and down towards your small feet adorned with the strappy sandals peeking out from under the gown. It was the right decision judging by his approved smile. Everyone ohed and awed as they saw you, your mother wiping at her eyes as she bounced Ava on her lap and your father smiling gently at you. Holding out your bouquet as you passed your parents, they took it, holding onto the flowers until you’d need them again.

When you finally reached him, you couldn’t help the watery smile as Keanu held onto your hands, softly stroking the back of each with his thumbs. I love you he mouthed at you before you both turned to the official starting the ceremony.

“Dearly beloved, we have gathered here today to wed these two people and bring them forth into the bond of holy matrimony.” he said smiling at you. “There is nothing more beautiful, more wonderful than a love so deep that it will take to people on an adventure of their lifetime. Now I ask you: Have you both come here of your own free will?”

“I did.” Keanu and you spoke at the same time, a broad smile on your faces.

“Is someone here against this union between these lovers?”

A chorused No sounded throughout the venue and the official nodded his head turning back to you both. “Y/N and Keanu have decided to speak their own vows, making a promise before god and all that are gathered here. Y/N, please start with your vow.”

Taking a deep breath, you smiled at Keanu, watching his eyes shine with love as he gazed down at you. “Keanu, I love you because you are happy and adventurous and strong. I love you because you love your family and friends just as fiercely as I love mine. Also I love that your family has become mine and my family has become yours. You are my best friend and I am happy that we are on this journey together.” Your eyes watered again as you felt your voice tremble with each word. “You are the love of my life and make me happier than I could have ever imagined, you are the best father Ava could ever have. Y-You make me unbelievably proud and I will make you proud as your wife. I-I vow t-to listen to you and learn from you. I vow to laugh with you and cry with you, to value our differences just as much as our common ground. I vow to put all my e-effort into strengthening our marriage and giving you the best version of me. Keanu,” you gave his hands a tight squeeze, brushing your thumbs over the back of his own. “on good days or bad days, rain or shine, I’ll love you forever and I’m so lucky you’re mine.”

On impulse he leaned down and kissed your lips, pouring all his love for you in that short kiss as the official behind you chuckled and the guests all laughed.

“Keanu, your vow please.”

He grinned down at you, brushing his hand over your cheek. “I don’t have such a long one, but I’ve got this: I don’t know what’s going to happen to us. I cannot read the stars or converse with The Fates but I do know this: I’m all in, for Ava and you, Here and Now, until I’m dead in the dirt. No matter how difficult it gets, or how desperately the world tries to tear us apart, I’ll be yours to grow old with you.”

You reached up and pulled his face down to yours, kissing his lips as if you had been starving for love. Pulling away you exchanged your rings, putting the silver band on his left ring finger and Keanu delicately put the smaller twin together with the princess cut engagement ring on yours. Another short kiss and you were ready to finish the ceremony.

“Well, now that the vows have been spoken there’s only one thing to say.” the official laughed, as you both ended the kiss. “I pronounce you husband and wife, you may kiss your bride.”

Keanu grinned, pulling you into his body as his lips brushed yours again in a tender kiss. You could hear the clicking of Alexandra’s camera and the delighted shouts of your friends and family. Ending the kiss, you walked over to your mother taking Ava into your arms as she happily carried your bouquet. Your husband put his hand on your back and walked you down the aisle towards the reception hall where you would party the rest of your day.

“I love you, Mrs Reeves.” he whispered into your ear, tickling your skin with his soft beard.

Smiling up at him, you brushed one hand along his cheek. “I love you, too, Mr Reeves.”

Taglist

@meetmeinthematinee @ladyreapermc @axshadows @a-really-bi-girl @fanficsrusz @ficsnroses @toomanystoriessolittletime @fortheloveoffanfic @pinkzsugar @lunaeminxxx @momorix3 @sallyp-53 @keanureeefs @baphometwolf666 @mrspeacem1nusone @random806 @fuck-yeah-hope @wholelottatiffy @cap-just-said-language @theolsdalova @omg-imagine @rabbitpajamas @hnryycvll @iworshipkeanureeves @maggiemoo1892 @bohemianrhapsody86 @spookypeachx @omgkatinka @voidnarnia

#keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #keanu reeves fanfic #keanu reeves #reader #fanfiction #story

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mythologyfolklore · 4 years ago

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Baldr in Hel - Ch. 01

(A/N: This is another fanfic I’m rewriting. So prepare to be confronted with some crack ships (yes, I mean BaldrxHel). Also, they’re both ace and Baldr has a crap ton of issues. If you don’t like that, you’re perfectly welcome to leave.)

Hel's POV

Hel was sitting on her throne, just being her usual self and ruling the underworld.

Before her throne was a queue of dead souls, waiting to be assigned to their respective afterlife.

First in line was a middle-aged woman.

Hel's black eyes bored themselves into the soul in front of her.

Hmm … extreme vanity, violent outbursts of anger, abuse of servants and slaves, adultery. Died of dysentery. Gross.

“Náströnd¹. Give her to Níðhöggr² as a chew toy.”

Two servants dragged the screaming, flailing soul away.

Hel grimaced in scorn at the cries for mercy – mercy! For that scum! Who would praise her incorruptible and fair judgement, if she let evildoers get away with their crimes, just because they begged for mercy?

“Next”, she ordered.

A man stepped forward.

Pathological liar, murderer, perjurer. Fell from his horse and broke his neck. That's hilarious.

“Same as the last.”

Same reaction as the woman before him.

“Next.”

An old man.

Womaniser, but not married. Guilty of avarice. Died of old age.

“Niflheimr. He shall shovel the pathways.”

The old man let the servants take him away, muttering something that sounded like “was nice, while it lasted”.

“Next.”

A little girl.

Guiltless. Died of hypothermia. Poor little thing.

Hel's expression softened and the dead side of her face turned lively and fair, both to accommodate the innocent soul in front of her and because her face changed condition according to mood. Cute things made her happy and children were darn cute. Most of them anyway.

“Oh my Norns, you're so adorable!”, Hel cooed and the child smiled shyly. “To Helheimr with you. There are lots of children for you to play with.”

“Will I be punished?”, the girl asked frightfully.

Hel smiled gently: “Of course not. For what would I punish you? You have done nothing wrong.”

“Can Mama come too?”, the child asked and stepped to the side to reveal the woman behind her.

Hel read the woman's soul and found her to be blameless as well.

The queen smiled: “She can.”

Mother and child cried with joy and she picked her daughter up, as another servant led them away to a more pleasant life than their old one had been.

The underworld wasn't as unpleasant as everyone thought it was. The living spoke of horrible torments, but why would Hel let the innocents be tortured?

She took a moment to smile after the two, before turned back to- oh. Apparently those were all the souls for the day.

Hel just shrugged and resumed her usual blank expression. She would enjoy a few minutes of quiet, before leaving to do her paperwork.

Or not.

Because right that moment her manservant Ganglati³ entered the throne room, unusually light-footed.

After the old man had caught his breath, he addressed Hel: “Your Majesty, Queen of the Underworld, Ruler of Helheimr and Niflheimr, Lokidóttir-”

“What do you want, Ganglati?”, Hel groaned in annoyance. She really wished they would just call her by her name instead of rattling down all those titles.

“A very special guest has arrived!”, the old servant announced excitedly.

The queen was not impressed. “A 'very special guest', huh? Well, who is the unlucky soul?”

“It's Baldr Óðinnson!”

Hel's black eyes widened. Then she smirked wickedly.

Baldr. Óðinn's most beloved son. The fairest of the Æsir.

She had already been waiting for him; her tables were laid, the mead brewed.

“Hm, he took his time, didn't he?”

Baldr's POV

Where was he?

What had happened?

The last thing he had felt was this pain in his chest, where the mistletoe dart had pierced him.

Strangely enough it hadn't hurt as much as he had suspected.

No, what had hurt him more was what he had seen last – how Loki had tricked Höðr – his blind, darker, yet beloved twin – into shooting him. Oh poor Höðr, he had to be so heartbroken! Knowing that he had killed his brother …

Ah. Yes.

That was it.

He was dead.

And this had to be the entrance to the underworld.

Finally! No more pressure, no more getting stuff thrown my way … oh Norns, why am I like this?!

Now he just had to find the gate. A bit of a challenge in this fog.

Before he knew it, there was an obsidian bridge with a golden roof. Where had that come from?

More so, there was something inviting and mesmerising about this bridge. It called to him.

Come, it seemed to whisper to him. Cross me. Go to the afterlife. Enter the place, where you will be beyond all pain.

He chose to follow the call.

As he was in the middle of the bridge, he encountered a Jötunn, who was sitting on a watch tower. When she saw him, she jumped off her seat and greeted him briskly: “Welcome, Baldr Óðinnson. I am Móðguðr⁴, the gatekeeper of the underworld. Her Majesty, our venerated queen, is already awaiting you.”

She was? Huh.

This was exactly what Loki had told him, a night before he had murdered him.

Baldr smiled: “Well, I better hurry, then. It would be rude to keep the queen waiting, wouldn't it?”

“That it would”, the Jötunn agreed, unsmiling.

Suddenly a new voice made them both jump.

“Baldr? Where are you? Wait for me! Don't leave me here! I can't see anything in this fog!”

His blue eyes widened.

Nanna?! Oh no! When had she – okay, scratch that, he had to get away!

He stood on his tiptoes to whisper to the giantess: “I beg you, Madam, give me directions, quick!”

Her colourless eyes twinkled in amusement, though she still didn't smile.

“When you arrive at the other end of the bridge, go to the left, until you arrive at an iron gate. From there, just follow the black path, but be careful not to slip. Inside the castle are signs and layout plans, so you should find your way to the audience hall easily”, she whispered back.

He thanked her and made haste to follow her directions.

Hel's POV

Hel picked up her scythe and made her way to the audience hall to receive her new special subject.

The bells tied to her scythe jingled as she walked.

A long time ago, her father had given them to her, to remember her daddy by. Lucky charms he had called them. She still cherished them dearly, that was why she had tied them to her scythe in the first place: so she could take them with her, wherever she went. They were a reminder of happier times, times before the Æsir had come, had torn her and her brothers away from their mother, had bound Fenrir and thrown Jörmungandr into the sea that surrounded Midgardr and banished her to Niflheimr.

That and they were a nice change from the constant howling of the wind and wolves and the faint whispers of the dead. Their jingling was comforting (and alerted dead souls, that she was near).

She entered the audience hall to receive this indeed “very special guest”, sat on her high throne, placed the scythe on her lap and waited for the dead Ása to arrive.

Baldr's POV

Baldr had almost got lost in the many crooked corridors, but he had somehow managed to find the way in the end.

Eventually he found himself in a huge hall, presumably the throne room.

It was rather dark in here. The only light sources were tiny, pale blue lights, that floated through the hall like fireflies. Every time they neared the walls, their dim light would make fluorescing minerals glow.

A thick ground mist was covering the ground up to Baldr's knees, but everything above that level was perfectly visible.

As he looked around, he saw that he was standing in front of a golden throne. It was currently vacant, but he could tell, that normally the Mistress of the Dead herself sat on it.

What didn't escape Baldr, was how the tiny lights gradually orbited closer to him. Maybe they were attracted to his own glow, like moths to a flame.

This place had a foreign kind of beauty to it. It was nothing like the descriptions of Helheimr he had heard in life (well, except for the darkness and mist).

As he was standing there, taking in the ambience and letting the tiny light balls circle around him, he heard slow steps approaching the room, until from a side entrance an old lady emerged and came up to him.

“Baldr Óðinnson?”, she inquired.

“That's me”, he confirmed.

“Good”, the woman said. “Welcome to Éljúðnir⁵, the high castle and seat of Her Majesty, the queen. I am Ganglöt⁶. My mistress is expecting you in the audience hall. Follow me.”

He obeyed and followed the old maid.

All the while, he tried to figure out what she was. She wasn't an Asýnja, nor was she a Jötunn. She was clearly not a Light Alf or a Vana and, if the appearance of Iðunn was anything to go by, not a Dark Alf either. She didn't even look like any of the Midgardians he had ever encountered. Maybe an Elemental? But then the question would be what she embodied.

His train of thought was put to an end, when he and the old maidservant arrived in front of a giant fluorescing green door.

And suddenly it came back to his mind, that he was about to meet Hel Lokisdóttir – the daughter of his murderer.

Baldr took a deep breath to compose himself.

Ganglöt seemed to notice. “Are you nervous, young man?”

He nodded awkwardly.

She lifted her head to give him a small smile. “If you're remotely as virtuous as people say, you have nothing to fear”, she assured him.

Then she tapped the threshold with her walking cane and Baldr screamed in terror, when the ground between the two and the door opened up to reveal a pitfall.

“What is this?!?”, he gasped out, as he recoiled from the pit.

“Eh, just one of the little tricks her Majesty has installed”, the old lady explained.

“Little tricks???”

“Aye. And now we need to walk over the chasm.”

The bright god gawked at her. “Excuse you?! That chasm is too wide for-”

But the maid only giggled softly: “Don't wreck your pretty head, young one. Watch.”

Then she stepped forward – into the empty.

And Ganglöt walked. Over the void of the pit. As if it was solid ground.

His eyes grew even bigger. “What … how …?”

“Come”, the old woman smiled and stretched out her hand to him. “There is nothing to be afraid of. I will hold your hand.”

Baldr gulped and took the offered hand.

Ganglöt's hand was as could be expected of an old woman's hand, but at the same time it felt really strange; as if someone had warmed up a piece of wood, softened it and given it a pulse.

“Come”, she repeated. “The queen doesn't like waiting that much.”

“Right”, he mumbled and took a few deep breaths.

Pull yourself together, Baldr scolded himself. Stop being such a wuss!

He closed his eyes and stepped into the void.

But when it didn't feel like he was falling, he opened them again – only to find, that he (just like Ganglöt) was standing in the air, right above the chasm.

“Huh”, he said. “Okaayyy …”

He let the old woman bring him to the other side (to top it off, she proceeded to hum “Walking In The Air” as she did so) and sighed in relief, when he stood on actual solid ground again and the chasm closed behind them.

“What was that?!”, he desired to know.

The maid shrugged: “Ask Her Majesty. Now compose yourself and straighten your posture, young man. You don't want to face queen Hel with that expression, do you?”

Hel's POV

When the door finally opened and her handmaid Ganglöt brought the dead Ása in, Hel was startled.

What everyone had told her, it really was true.

There were no words to describe just how beautiful the person in front of her was.

His face was boyish, almost feminine, and very pale. His hair was almost white and hung from his shoulders in two thick braids, in addition to the open hair in the back. He had the cutest little nose and big, sky blue eyes with long lashes. Despite him being dead, there was a faint blush on his cheeks (she wanted to pinch them), his lips were rosy and he was shining!

His eyes held a whole range of emotions: nervousness, anxiety and an undefinable sadness, but also warmth, softness and curiosity.

But this wasn't the time to get distracted.

Hel mustered a small smile and stood up to greet him.

“You must be Baldr Óðinnson”, she addressed him. “Welcome to my humble abode. I have already been waiting for you.”

Baldr's POV

So this was Hel?

For a few seconds he was speechless.

The queen of the eponymous world and of Niflheimr was certainly a sight to behold.

A bizarre sight; she was the strangest thing Baldr had ever seen.

It started with her hair. It was platinum blond on her right side, pitch black on the left.

She was wan, probably from the lack of sunlight. And parts of her face were black and withered, like a rotting corpse.

He was struck by pity. Was it painful for her to be half dead? And if not, how much did it bother her? And did this really make her ugly, like everyone said?

Strange, yes.

Ugly? Hmm … no, not really. Not in Baldr's opinion.

The way she united life and death in her person gave her a strange kind of beauty.

And when he approached her, his glow illuminated her enough for him to see more.

She was thin and a head taller than himself.

Her right cheek was as rosy as any maiden's.

Her night blue dress spoke of her wealth and power⁷ and she was wearing a moonstone necklace.

Her profound black eyes, which at first had looked startled (probably by his appearance, Baldr was used to it), were now looking at him with mild interest and curiosity, which for some reason was really cute and endearing to him.

I must have a weird taste in what I find cute, he thought.

Hold on – where were his manners?! He had just walked up to her without bowing or even saying hello and now was staring at the queen of the underworld, like a total idiot!

Time to fix that!

Hel's POV

Hel could tell, that the other was just as startled by her looks as she was by his. Of course everyone was, she was used to it, but he didn't seem to be as disgusted as most other people were.

In fact, he seemed fascinated.

How curious.

Then he blinked and seemed to remember, that he was standing in front of his new sovereign.

He blushed bright scarlet and hastily knelt before her.

“Y-yes, I am indeed Baldr”, he responded to her own greeting. “And you are, without a doubt, Queen Hel. It's such a pleasure to finally meet you!”

Now it was her turn to blink. “A pleasure to finally meet me”, she echoed blankly.

He smiled up at her and nodded – primordial cow, he actually meant that!

“Your father has told me so much about you”, Baldr continued. “Oh, speaking of him!”

He rummaged through the leather bags he was wearing around his belt, until he found something – a small stone plate.

“Your father snuck this note into my bag. I do believe it's for you?”

Hel took the stone plate and read the content:

“To my beautiful little girl,

the best birthday present ever to the best daughter ever. A ray of light for your realm of darkness. Happy birthday, Hel!

Love you lots, sweetie. Your dad.

PS: Sigyn says hi.”

She sighed in exasperation and shook her head. That was so typical for her father …

Then again, who was she to complain?

Not only was this beautiful creature in her hands now, his death surely caused his father and all the Æsir great grief. The soul of Óðinn's beloved son was the best birthday present indeed.

Now, what to do?

Should she take her grudge on the Allfather out on his son?

No.

Her resentment towards Óðinn would not cloud her judgement.

“Look me in the eyes”, she ordered and he did so.

He squirmed a little under her gaze, as her eyes bored into his soul and read him.

Hmm … no bad deeds, no condemning character traits. What a pure and adorable cinnamon roll! But what is that … oh! Oh no! What a mess!

Baldr's POV

Baldr was getting increasingly unsettled by the blank expression on Hel's face.

He was pretty sure, that he had never seen such a blank face in his life. Her big black eyes were like two voids. It reminded him a little of the owls he had sometimes seen, when he had walked in the forests in Asgard. Oh yes, that was the word: owlish. Her stare was owlish.

“Are you alright?”, he asked worriedly.

Hel tilted her head. Her face was still blank, but at least she now seemed to snap out of her trance.

Then, finally she opened her mouth to speak again.

“Nope.”

“S-sorry?”

“The son of the jerk, who banished me down here, can't be this cute. It just doesn't make any sense”, she … uh, clarified?

“I-I'm sorry!”, Baldr stammered and blushed a deep red.

He didn't know how to deal with this.

Baldr was an Ása, he was used to being around people, who were brutally frank and outspoken.

But Hel seemed to be a different kind of blunt.

Though he had been called cute before, it had never been like this. Hel had said that sentence with a completely straight face, without the faintest blush and in the most no-nonsense tone ever – as if it was a matter of fact. And that startled him somehow.

What startled him even more, was when a third person stumbled into the room.

Baldr almost cringed at how dishevelled Nanna was looking (and at the fact, that she was now here and there was a high chance that she would make him and/or Hel insanely uncomfortable).

“Oh, finally, I found the right room!”, she gasped. “The gatekeeper gave me wrong directions – hi, Baldr – so orientating myself was a nightmare, then I almost fell into a pit and this old lady showed up and brought me here!”

She pointed at Ganglöt, who was lingering in the background.

The light god paid close attention to Hel's reaction. Her expression didn't change at all, but Baldr could have sworn, that the left side of her face just had become slightly more decayed.

Still her overall demeanour stayed the same.

“Seems like Móðguðr played a trick on you. You have to forgive her. My gatekeeper has the tendency to give wrong directions to people she doesn't like”, she told Nanna.

“Eh, whatever”, the other goddess muttered, “I'm here now. Sooo … uhhh …”

Whatever she had been about to say died, when she got a good look at Hel. Baldr could feel the horror and disgust radiating from his former wife.

Obviously Hel noticed it too, because she brushed her black hair forward to conceal the left side of her face. Somehow that really bothered Baldr; the queen shouldn't have to cover half of her face, just because others couldn't stand it.

Nanna on the other hand seemed to have it easier now. “You're queen Hel, right?”

“No, I'm just your average Jötunn woman with a half decayed body, who has power over the dead and the entirety of Niflheimr and can read dead souls like open books”, Hel deadpanned.

For some reason Baldr couldn't help but burst into giggles. He quickly pulled himself together, but the fact that he had laughed at the queen's comment at all seemed to be enough to tick Nanna off.

“Good to see that you're having fun!”, she hissed.

Her husband coughed and mumbled an awkward apology.

“Now, now”, Hel spoke up. “Let's not get into an argument. Welcome to my realm, Nanna Nepsdóttir. Aren't you going to at least say hello to your new sovereign? Because now that you're dead, you're my subject – whether you like it or not.”

“Oh … right. Sorry”, the dead goddess mumbled, bowed and gave a polite, but cool greeting.

“Better”, the queen nodded. “Now, let me see …”

Hel's POV

Hel couldn't claim to be surprised by what she saw, when she read Nanna's soul.

This time she said it out loud, if only to expose her.

“Ah. Cynical, self-esteem issues, guilty of adultery with … Hermodr? Isn't that Baldr's bro-”

“Oh no, what a shock, I couldn't possibly have seen this coming!”, Baldr deadpanned.

Nanna stared at her former husband in horror. “You knew? All this time you-?!”

“Nanna, I'm neither naïve nor stupid. Yes, I knew.”

“Then why did you never say anything?!”

“Because I-”

Hel cleared her throat: “You two, this isn't couple therapy and I'm not a marriage counsellor.”

The two blinked and apologised sheepishly.

“It's forgiven”, she accepted it. “But please settle your marital issues between yourselves. I may be Loki's daughter, but that doesn't mean, that I have his sense of humour. I do not revel in the misery of others. It would be unbecoming of a queen like myself.”

The dead couple nodded.

“Anyway, Nanna, I think you know, that adultery is a crime, no matter what.”

“Yes, I do”, the dead Asýnja sighed. “So, what will it be? A snake pit? Being chewed on by a dragon, or whatever punishment people like me get around here?”

“That is indeed the standard punishment for adulterers”, Hel confirmed.

“NO!”, Baldr screamed and fell on his knees. “Please, don't do this to her!”, he pleaded. “I beg you! My wife doesn't deserve such a harsh punishment! She only-”

“Let me finish”, Hel cut him off and turned back to Nanna. “What I was going to say, before Baldr interrupted me, was that this is the standard punishment for adulterers, who actually deserve it. My judgement is fair and just. As I said before, dead souls are open books to me. I know what kind of life you two led, what tragedy your marriage really was and why you did what you did. And that, Nepsdóttir, is your saving grace.”

“So, what will it be instead?”, Nanna asked nervously.

Hel considered for a moment, before answering. “I think shovelling the snow off the paths outside would be appropriate. A bit of manual labour and cool, fresh air never hurt anyone.”

“I accept my punishment.”

“Good. Servants, take her into my garden and give her a snow shovel. The pathways out there really need to be cleared.”

Her ghostly servants were about to lead the goddess away, when Hel remembered something:

“Oh, one more thing, Nanna.”

“Yes?”

“Now that you two are dead, Baldr is your husband no more. Wedding vows do not transcend death, contrary to the assumption of the living, that they do.”

The daughter of Loki wasn't surprised to see relief run over the other woman's face, before she nodded in acknowledgement. Then she was led away.

Baldr's POV

“They won't hurt her, right?”, the Bright One asked the Mistress of the Dead in concern.

“Unless she does something to warrant it, no”, she replied, to his relief.

Then she told him to follow her and he did so.

She guided him through dark halls, illuminated only by his glow. No word was spoken, until Hel stopped in front of a door, opened it and motioned for Baldr to go inside.

As the dead god glanced around the room, he was stunned by the the splendour, visible even in the dim light. It was elaborately furnished, with jewels embedded in walls and furniture.

Seemed like Hel acted on the maxim “If you've got it, flaunt it”.

“Wow”, he breathed. His house in Asgard, Breiðablik⁸, hadn't quite been as luxurious (even though compared to the other houses in Asgard it was the most splendid), mostly because showing off wasn't Baldr's thing.

“I'm glad you like it”, Hel stated. “This is actually one of my own spare bedrooms, but there have been complications, while preparing your rooms, so for now you will be staying here. Your things will be brought to you shortly. In the meantime, you can make yourself comfortable.”

Baldr blushed in embarrassment. “I … I don't think I'm deserving of such honours.”

Hel lifted an eyebrow. “What, are you questioning my sound judgement?”

The blush was immediately replaced by pallor. “No! Of course not!”

“That's what I thought”, she said and he could have sworn, that there was a hint of amusement in her otherwise still completely toneless voice. It didn't show on her face either, but Baldr was pretty sure, that she was enjoying herself at his cost.

With a sigh, he sat on the bed. It was a king-sized bed and it seemed really comfortable.

Suddenly exhaustion set in with a vengeance and he felt really tired. Why was he tired? He always had assumed, that dead people didn't need to sleep – after all, wasn't death already an everlasting sleep? Oh well, another afterlife lesson learned.

Hel seemed to sense his fatigue, for she said: “You must be exhausted. After all, you travelled all the way down Yggdrasil. That's not exactly a stroll in the park. So lie down and sleep a little. A servant will come and wake you up, when dinner is ready.”

He stood up once more and bowed. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

“No need for formalities. Just Hel will do”, she replied. “I'm more than just the queen of Niflheimr. I founded a whole kingdom and named it after myself. I think that expresses my power more than my queenly title does.”

Baldr couldn't have argued with that, even if he had wanted to.

Hel left the room and closed the door, leaving the dead god alone.

The Bright One sat back down and contemplated his new situation.

Hmm … Hel doesn't seem so bad. Neither the place, nor the person. The Mistress of the Dead seems to be a fair ruler. And of course, no one throwing stuff at me is always nice … I think I'm going to like it here.

He lay down and found the bed just as warm and comfy as his old one in Asgardr.

Baldr fell asleep within seconds.

---

1) Náströnd: "Corpse Shore", the place of Helheimr, where oath-breakers, adulterers and murderers are punished. 2) Níðhöggr: "Malice Striker/Hateful Striker", a serpentine dragon living and gnawing at the roots of Yggdrasil (the cosmic World Tree), who also chews on the corpses of the inhabitants of Náströnd. 3) Ganglati: "Lazy-Step", Hel's personal manservant. 4) Móðguðr: "Ferocious Battler", the guardian of Gjallarbrú, the bridge across the underworld river Gjöll. 5) Éljúðnir: depending on the translation either "Misery", or "Sprayed With Blizzards/Damp With Sleet" (personally I tend more towards "misery"), Hel's castle. It's described as being enormous, having really high walls and large gates. 6) Ganglöt: "Slow-Step", Hel's handmaid. 7) Dark dyes for clothing were quite expensive, especially black-blue dyes (raven black). Most Norse societies only had access to them via trade (with the Byzantine Empire, for example). So really dark or colourful clothing was a status symbol, since it was only available to the wealthy. 8) Breiðablik: "Broad Gleam". According to Snorri Sturluson's Prose Edda, it was the fairest hall in Asgard.

#norse mythology #hel #baldr #nanna #ganglot #ganglati #modgudr

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alexhogh7137 · 4 years ago

Text

Rule The World with Me-

Ivar the Boneless × Reader

Chapter Fourty is here...

The Epilogue

Word Count 1.8k

Warnings: only fluff

_____________________________________

Five years ago today, you gave birth to a beautiful daughter, Ivar named her Freya: the goddess of love, war, death and beauty. She has your red hair and Ivar's eyes. Baldur is now six years old and is absolutely obsessed with his little sister. He is joint at her hip twenty-four, seven. You remember the day that she was born, when he saw her for the first time, he laid his head on her tiny little belly. When she was born, he started to be able to speak some words and learned her name fairly quickly. Ever since that day, they have been inseparable. You and Ivar have raised two miracle children to be the best little humans that they could possibly be.

Today is Freya's fifth birthday and Baldur wants to get her something special since we got him his first bow and arrow for protection when he turned five.

Baldur "Dad, can we go?"

Ivar "Go where son?"

Baldur "You know…" Ivar realizes what he was talking about and gets up to get ready.

Ivar "Ah yes, of course. Are you ready?"

Baldur "uh huh!" He runs out of the door, Messiah chasing him around the house. You watch your husband throw on some clothing in admiration.

"Where are you two off to?"

Ivar "Well since Freya isn't in here...Baldur wants to get her something special."

"He is too good to her." He smiles and agrees.

Ivar "I know. We raised him to be a nice young man."

"I cannot believe our little girl is turning five Ivar."

Ivar "I know my sweet, time goes by too fast when you have children. But at least we are here to witness it all, yes?"

"Yes, you are right. I love you, you two be safe. Take Messiah."

Ivar "No no, you and Freya need Messiah, we will be fine. I love you." He kisses your lips long and hard.

__________________________________

Ivar takes Baldur into the woods, specifically where he found Messiah with Hvitserk all those years ago.

Baldur "Thanks for taking me, daddy. I really want to get her one."

Ivar "Of course, my son. Messiah loves you very much, you know that right?"

Baldur "Yeah! He is my best friend! I want Freya to have a best friend too."

Ivar "Well you are her best friend, Baldur."

Baldur "I know, dad. But I want her to have protection like we do with Messiah. When we take Messiah, I want her to have her own."

Ivar "I know, sweet boy. Come on, let's keep looking."

Meanwhile, you and Freya are at home waiting for her aunt and uncles to arrive. Hvitserk has never missed an event, gathering, birthday etc. Ubbe has but that is because he could not leave Kattegat during some of the gatherings.

"Are you excited to see uncle Hvitserk?"

Freya "uh huh!" She has learned quite a vocabulary, but like any kid, she struggles with some of them.

"What do you think your brother is getting you?"

Freya "I don' know..maybe a new dress?!"

"A new dress!"

Freya "YEAH!"

"That would be cute, little one." You pick her up and sit her on your lap while you relax on your throne. Messiah is by your feet, looking up at you both. He starts whining for attention, making Freya giggle.

Freya "He's licking my feet!" She says as she giggles.

"Ewww he's licking your tooties?!" She is a laughing mess, "does it tickle?"

Freya "Yeah!" You pet his face, making him stop licking her. All he wanted was some pets, he is like a pet dog, always wanting cuddles and pets. You blame Hvitserk for that: when Messiah was a wolf pup, he was always cuddling him, holding him in his shirts. Nowadays, Messiah wants to be cuddled around the clock. You absolutely love it though, without Messiah, it would be so different and difficult. You and Messiah have gone through a lot together and he has always been by your side. He is like your third child!

"My queen..princess, Hvitserk and the other's have arrived."

You gasp, "Ya hear that!? Uncle Hvitserk is here!" She screeches in excitement and hops off of your lap and runs to the door, Messiah by her side the whole way. You walk close behind and just admire your daughter running to her uncles. Hvitserk spots her little red curls a mile away and runs to her, throwing her up in the air and catching her.

Hvitserk "There's my little girl!! How have you been, huh?"

Freya "Good!"

Hvitserk "Oh yeah, where's momma bear at-?"

"She's right here!" He looks down at you walking right up to him. He smiles and hands Freya to Ubbe and Torvi so that he could hug you. Like always, he picks you up in his arms and twirls you around.

Hvitserk "How have you been, momma?"

"Good, busy busy. You?"

Hvitserk "Good, better now that I am with all of you, where's Baldur and Ivar?"

"They went out to find Freya a present for this afternoon. I don't know when they will be back."

Hvitserk "Oh, very good. I have missed you."

"I've missed you more. As soon as you leave I miss you like crazy!"

Hvitserk "I know, little sis. I love you dearly."

"I love you too." You lean into his side and watch Ubbe and Torvi gush over your beautiful daughter.

Torvi "You got your mother's beautiful hair, I'm jealous!"

Freya giggles, "Thank you!"

Ubbe "And she has manners...what a lady!" He walks over to you, hugging you tightly. "You've been good, yes?"

"Yes, of course. How are you and Torvi?"

Ubbe "Good! Ivar hasn't been giving you trouble has he?"

"Oh never! He treats me very well."

Ubbe "Good, I am glad to hear it Y/n."

Hvitserk is playing around with Messiah as you three catch up. Every time they come home, it is always the perfect day.

__________________________________

Baldur "Dad...do you see that?" He stops and looks down at the ground. There are tiny animal footprints in the dirt.

Ivar smirks at his son, "Follow them, we are close son." He thanks the gods because he is starting to get very sore from walking for so long. Over the years, he has been able to walk without his crutch. Another blessing from the gods. After a moment, Baldur runs towards something.

Ivar "Baldur! Don't run off, y'know I cannot run!"

Baldur "I see one!" He stops and gets low to the ground. When Ivar gets up to him, he leans to the side and sees a black wolf pup.

Ivar "Oh...so precious."

Baldur lifts the pup up and check's it's gender, "It's a girl, Dad!"

Ivar "Oh that is perfect! She will be smaller than Messiah."

Baldur "How small?"

Ivar "Only a little, son. She will be perfect for your sister."

Baldur "I have the perfect name for her!" Ivar looks down at his son and smiles.

…

After around fifteen minutes later, Ivar comes in but Baldur does not. He greets his brothers and you of course.

"Ivar...where is our son?"

Ivar chuckles, "He is outside, my love."

Hvitserk "Why is he outside?"

Ivar "He is outside because he has Freya's present."

"The present couldn't come in?"

Ivar "My love..just trust me," he picks Freya up into his arms, "Are you ready to see your present?"

Freya "YEAH! What is it!?"

He laughs and you all walk outside. After a few steps, you see your son holding a tiny wolf pup in his arms and you immediately melt. Messiah runs to Baldur and sniffs the new wolf pup. Freya is screaming from her excitement.

Freya "IT'S A WOLF PUP!"

Ivar "Freya..meet Asena. She is your protector."

Freya "She...mine?"

Baldur "All yours sis."

Ivar "Your mother and brother have Messiah for protection, he is trained to protect them so now you have Asena."

Freya "I...thank you!" She starts to cry tears of joy and wraps her arms around her father's neck. You are crying as well, this is such a beautiful, moving moment for you and your family. Because Ivar is holding Freya, you lean on Hvitserk. He sniffles away his emotions and rubs your shoulder.

Baldur "Want to hold her? She is super soft, just like Messiah!" She softly nods and Ivar puts her down. Seeing your daughter have her own beautiful wolf is so special and precious. Ivar looks at you and smiles. He reaches out to you and he pulls you into his arms.

"How are your legs, my love?"

Ivar "They are sore, I'll probably use my crutch for the rest of the night. I don't want to push my luck."

"I think that will be good," you look down at your daughter, "She is so adorable, Ivar."

Ivar "Isn't she? Her name means she-wolf in Norse...Baldur thought that you would love it."

"I do love it. It suits her."

Ivar "She is much smaller than Messiah was when we found him all those years ago."

"I love her already. Baldur came up with this idea?"

Ivar "He did, he came to me last night while you were reading Freya a bedtime story. He told me that he wanted to get her a protector like we have Messiah and of course, how could I say no?!"

"He loves her so much. I can't get enough of them."

Ivar "It is because they are all ours, my love. We made them, they are our little babies and they always will be. Even when they are fighting their own battles, winning their own wars, getting married and having their own kingdoms, they will always be our children." You are in tears at this point because he is absolutely right. You are so in love with your family that your heart could just burst.

"You are right. I love you so much Ivar, thank you for being an incredible father."

Ivar "And thank you for being an incredible mother, and for making me a father. I love you beyond words, kitten." He kisses your lips and then you all pay attention to Asena. She is just as kind and as gentle as Messiah. Your lives have gotten better and better as the years went on and now Asena is in your lives and it just got even more blessed with love and happiness.

Hvitserk picks her up in his arms and giggles, "Can I take her home?"

Ivar "Absolutely not!" You all laugh. Freya is beyond happy with her gift and is so thankful for her older brother. When you get inside, she is holding Asena while sitting on her brother's lap. The sight is heartwarming.

Ivar "Happy birthday, angel."

Freya "Thank ya daddy!"

Baldur "Do you love her?" Freya simply nods and he smiled and kissed her cheek. Ivar grabs your hand and looks up at you, "We did good baby."

"Yes we did, beloved."

_____________________________________

40 long chapters later and this story ends. I honestly poured my heart into this story and I loved creating every chapter. This story was my first and it will be my favorite story that I will ever write for Alex. The support that I got for this warms my heart, I have gained friends from this and I am so thankful for everything!! I hope you all loved the ending, get ready for my next series coming soon...

@hvitserkmarcosource @youbloodymadgenius @ivarthebloodyking @desiredposion @saldelys @ivarsgoddess @heavenly1927 @a-mess-of-fandoms

#rule the world with me #alex hogh andersen #ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless #ivar the god #marco ilsø #marco ilsoe #hvitserk lothbrok #hvitserk #jordan patrick smith #ubbe lothbrok #torvi vikings #vikings

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noodleswithsoba-blog · 4 years ago

Text

Weird Writing Things.

1. I write accents. Y’know, if I’m writing a Scot or a Brit with a thick accent, I reflect that in my writing, but... I have the most fun with the Scot accent. Especially since I started out as a Hellsing Writer. Alexander Anderson is the leading offender of the Accent writing.

2. I like to over-describe things. For example, in my MHA fic Plus Ultra: The Story of Nikko Yagi... Her breath was making me feel a little dizzy. She ended up kissing me fully on the lips, full of need and want, 'I miss you, don't leave.' My muscles being kissed, more focused on my weaker arm, my hand slipped down to her thigh and she straddled me. Kissing me full of desire, full of ravenous need and lust. Sapphire and silver met my starlight eyes, breathy, needy gasps between kisses, muttered sweet nothings. Her hands rubbing every inch of my exposed skin.The heat and the chill mixed into a pleasant lukewarm breeze, Blazer and shirt already open, pale skin inviting me to stroke and knead gently, the mixed peppermint-like hair half red and half white gliding through my fingers.Shoto yielded, she laid on me, kissing and rubbing, letting me feel her. Letting her feel me.

We didn't need to be our fathers… we just needed to be us. Sapphire ringed by red and silver ringed by perfect, warm flesh pressed up against my near rail-thin physique since I obliterated the darkness that took so much away from others, his blood being used to give those back. That soft, strong, cool and warm body…She was stronger than me. Arms looped around my neck, my eyes focused on that scar, enduring years of mental and emotional torture. Kept away from her more sane parent and stuck in a loop of being a hero or a breeding factory.

The pressure of being a hero wasn't new to me, but… Shoto seemed so starved for affection that she looked broken when she was without it. Needy, tears coursing down her cheeks, tears of relief and love, honest love. Love for me. Love for her life and how it turned out. Her eyes shining, tears sparkling in the evening light, legs laying on either side of my chest, grinning, arms looped around my neck and rubbing herself against me. Finally deciding that she's Shoto again. And her first decision was to love me. Holding onto me, her hope. That's what brought me out from the brink, not because it was stupid to die like a coward… but what I represented to her, what I represented to others.I was the hope. I was the hope that the sun would rise and touch the world again with its rays. I was the hope that the sons and daughters of our generation can wake up and see that the world's alright. I'd be the hope that everyone could latch onto. I didn't need to be the peace. The peace was Shoto's dad's job now. My job was to carry the hope with me. Shoto looked up at me with those eyes, with those big, pleading eyes that begged me to hold her and keep her close, pull the sheets over ourselves and sleep tangled in each other's arms. I DIDN’T EVEN NEED TO DESCRIBE THAT CUDDLING SCENE IN THAT MUCH DETAIL BUT THERE!

3. Then there’s the dumb, funny stuff that I write for certain scenes... like in my MHA x Yakuza fic with Majima, "Dearly beloved, we're all here to party our lights out for these two crazy-ass lovebirds, 'cause it all started in a UA hallway. Then it went from that to tryin' to hide it, REAL BADLY, endin' up rammin' a truck into a rival Yakuza, savin' Eri-chan and leavin' us all really wonderin' how crazy did I make that boy?" Dad ended it on a rhetorical question, making Nishiki and Naosu snicker and Oguma barely hold back his laughter. Uncle Kiryu looked ready to take over and Pops too.

"Aw, fuck this! I'mma just Robin Hood: Men In Tights this!" he snapped, making

Uncle Kiryu come up and take it over."Alright, Majima-san, sit down, we promised to share since we were all a big part in Kazuo's life, I get to do my son's wedding and Ichiban got to do his daughter's," he stated.

"Nah, ain't sittin' down! I stayed up all night just to write this shit down! SO I'mma do it!" Dad snapped, taking the book back.

"Alright! Kazuo-chan, will you take this hot, sexy woman to be yer wife, in sickness an' in health, good an' bad, til the gods are fed up with ya?" he asked. I smiled and looked into her eyes behind the veil.

"I do," I stated.

"An' Nemi-chaaan… how about you? Do you take my cute lil' pup to be yer husband, from Pride to Despair, lovin' him 24 Hours, givin' him Machinegun Kisses and Ondo onto the TOP?" he asked, bouncing a little.

"I do," Nemuri said.

"Awright! By the power vested in me by that one New Year's where my Kyodai and I got shitfaced drunk an' become ordained, I pronounce ya… MAN AN' WIFE! Now get to smoochin'!" My thought process: How funny would it be if Majima officiated a wedding?

My brain: Let’s go.

4. Me and my characters: I love and cherish all of you... *Opens coffin* Me: Okay! Get in!

5. Me: (Writing a seriously messed up protag.): How make words go?! Also me: (Writing a genocidal rainbow maniac who's also a creep.): Oooh! We’re cooking with gas!

6. Me (Looks at the fandom with my fics): NOTICE ME! The Fandom: (In the distance.): NOOO!

7. Me: Have you ever heard the sound of a life being trainwrecked? My OC Kazuma: Uh-uh.

Me(makes his backstory absolutely tragic and messed up.): Would you like to?

#writing #mha #yakuza #kill la kill

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k-drabblings · 5 years ago

Text

letters to you (pt. 1)

KIM TAEHYUNG (V) X READER Type | Genre: slice of life au | fluff/angst Word Count: 2410 A/N: I’m trying to keep the timeline as accurate as possible. It’s obviously been many years since their debut/predebut, and I’m not like a bts superfan or anything, so please ignore any discrepancies :)

-- 01/2013

Teeth chattering, I groggily forced myself out of bed. My dearly beloved, yet increasingly annoying, mother was shouting out my name like it was the only word in her vocabulary. "Y/N-ah! Y/N-ah! Y/N-ah!" She urged me to hurry, and I did not understand what could possibly be so important that she wake me up at seven in the morning on a Saturday. The blankets around my body were weighing me down as I trudged down the creaky steps to see what the commotion was about.

At her first glimpse of me, my mom motioned for me to come along faster. "Auntie Kim's son is here," she explained briefly. "Did you really not have time to make yourself a little more presentable?" That second line was hushed, the chiding meant only for my ears.

"It's freezing," I retorted gruffly, voice still hinting at lack of sleep.

But I had to admit I was interested. Auntie Kim's son was the talk of the town -- well, she was the one doing most of the talking. She was always so excited about telling the neighbors about his latest accomplishment: how he had passed the auditions for some company I couldn't remember the name of (it wasn't SM or YG), and then how he was working with this famous choreographer (not like anyone really knows choreographers' names off the top of their head), and of course about his up and coming debut (which was supposed to be very soon yet the date was unknown because it was some huge secret or some nonsense).

So you have to understand the disappointment I felt when I saw this regular ol' boy standing in my living room. Yeah, he was a little taller than most of the guys I knew, but I had expected him to blow me away with his presence... or at least have some muscles.

"This is Taehyung," my mom introduced.

I bowed my head slightly before giving my own name.

"Hey."

His voice made my chest rumble. It was deep and strangely velvety. It would have been a lie if I said it didn't make me smile. I watched as he popped another pre-cut slice of an orange in his wide mouth. He had this unabashed way of looking straight into my eyes as he answered my mother's curious questions, and I found it hard to meet his gaze. His eyebrow was raised a little too high, giving him this real cocky look. Maybe the idea of stardom had already gotten to his head.

"Taehyung won't be here for very long..."

It was already so obvious that my mother was going to urge me to do something I did not want to do.

"And it's your winter break, so you should have some time. Why don't you show him around?"

"He's from here," I reminded. "He probably knows this place better than I do." I had only moved here about a year ago, whereas Taehyung had spent well over a decade here.

"Then I guess I can show you around," he unexpectedly butted in, shining a 100-watt smile to my easily swayed mother. She beamed right back in delight.

So after changing into some real clothes and promising to be back for lunch, we began our tour of town. "It's fucking freezing," I muttered, breath visible in the frosty air. It had snowed the night before, and all we could see in front of us was a blanket of white.

Taehyung chuckled. "I take it you're not a morning person." He tugged on the sleeve of my coat. "Let's go."

I didn't ask where he was taking me, more preoccupied with eluding the patches of ice that were scattered dangerously along the road.

He didn't take me far. ... Or anywhere impressive.

I stared at his house in disappointment. "You brought me here?"

"Like you said, it's fucking freezing." His lips curled into a huge, cheeky grin as his icy fingers fumbled with the keys to unlock the door. His fingers were long and so goddamn beautiful.

He let me inside first, surprisingly gentleman-like, and his eyebrow raised in curiosity as I plopped down onto the couch comfortably. "I'm here more often than you are now," I explained. This place was like my second home.

A small, throaty chuckle escaped his lips. "Makes sense."

I could almost feel the heat radiating off his shoulder as he laid back besides me and turned on the television to some random cartoon. From this angle and distance, I could see how tall his nose was, how perfect his skin was.

"Take a picture. It lasts longer."

A hot blush crept up my cheeks. I mumbled a lame apology.

"I'll even sign it. It might be worth a fortune in the future." He winked cockily.

I couldn't stop myself from rolling my eyes. "Yeah, okay."

It was weird how I had sort of expected him to be there the next morning. And he didn't disappoint.

"The blankets again," he commented amusedly. He was sitting at the kitchen table, eating some fruit my mother had prepared for him.

"My heating pad broke. And it's fu--"

"--king freezing," we finished simultaneously.

"Language," my mother warned, reminding me of her presence.

I smiled sheepishly and was pleased to see he was doing the same. I took a seat across from him, making sure the layers were still tightly wrapped around my figure. I shuddered as I let one arm out into the cold air to grab the chopsticks.

He laughed. "You look like a fat turtle."

I glared as I silently stole a piece of pear from his plate.

"Don't worry. It's cute."

I could feel the blush threatening to flood my cheeks, so I quickly got up to grab a drink from the refrigerator. I could feel his eyes on me as I shakily poured the orange juice into my glass. I didn't know why I was feeling so nervous around him. I was practically a grown woman with 18 years of life experience, including dating some boys here and there. Well actually just two -- nothing serious, but it was enough so I wasn't so easily rattled by the flirting and the teasing.

... But Taehyung still somehow rattled me.

It was in the middle of the third day with Taehyung that I found out he'd be leaving Wednesday evening.

"Two more days," he mumbled, leaning back into the cold wooden back of the bench. "And back to the grind."

"Do you like it there?" I asked, staring out into the fields with him. "Or do you like it here?"

He smiled and chuckled, always in that throaty way that I had grown somewhat fond of. "Seoul has more things to do, I guess... Not that I have any time to do them..." He let out a deep breath, almost like a sigh. "It's definitely not as exciting as when I first got there. But I still like it."

Then his gaze sharply turned to me, and I almost choked, my heart jumping to my throat. "But it's nice here too. Just relaxing like this, like we're doing now. Wouldn't mind staying a bit longer, really." His eyes turned into pretty little crescents as he smiled. "It's nice right?"

I nodded to answer his question and let out a long exhale myself. "So when do you think you'll be back here again?"

"Why? Miss me already?"

I rolled my eyes and gave him a square punch to his arm. "You're right next to me, you egotistical weirdo."

His laugh brought out my own, and we sat there together in simple happiness for a little longer until the cold seeped through our bones.

I took him to see my high school later that evening, just as the sun was setting. He had only attended for a year before leaving Daegu and for some reason wanted to visit again.

"It's not locked," he said in surprise.

"We still study throughout the break," I explained. College was really the only way country kids like us escaped this tiny town. Unless you were Kim Taehyung, that is.

"But you're not studying."

I smiled sheepishly. I had fallen a few days behind thanks to him, but I didn't tell him in fear he would stop hanging out with me. After all, he was only going to be here for two more days. "I'm a genius," I joked. "I don't need to study."

He let out a sarcastic 'har har' before pulling me inside the building. His gloved hand was tightly holding mine, and I wished I could feel his palm directly against mine instead. Who cared if it was fucking freezing?

"You're going to get diabetes," I said to Taehyung as I watched him spoon five heapings of sugar into his coffee. "That's not even coffee with sugar. It's sugar mixed with a little bit of coffee."

"And when I do, you can help me prick my finger every morning to measure my blood sugar."

The thought of seeing him every morning for the rest of my life was oddly romantic.

I watched him swirl the little spoon in his mug, and I could hear the little granules of undissolved sugar skidding along the walls of the cup. "I swear, Taehyung. You've supersaturated it."

"Don't use biology terms with me."

"It's chemistry."

"Whatever, nerd." He casually dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

"I'm not a nerd. I'm a genius, remember?"

He couldn't hold back his grin, and he tried to hide it by bringing the mug to his lips. "Yeah, okay."

It was much warmer that day, and he drove me in his mom's car to a nearby lookout area a few miles away. The winter air was refreshing rather than biting, and we drove up the mountain with the windows rolled down. My hair was a mess by the time we got to the top, and after Taehyung was done making fun of me for it, he helped me sort out my strands. His pretty fingers laced through my hair and made me shiver.

"Cold?" He asked.

I shook my head. I couldn't tell him that he was the one who made chills run down my spine with such a simple gesture. I got more goosebumps as I felt his large hand on the small of my back, guiding me towards the edge of the cliff.

"It's no Seoul skyline, but it has it's charm." He plopped down lazily on the gravel and patted the spot besides him. "Sit."

The ground was cold, but I didn't care. I planted my butt down and took in the view. Our humble town looked somewhat barren, but in a beautiful way. Patches of snow covered the fields here and there, and the cars looked like bursts of colors. The prettiest part was the mountains that loomed behind, kind of hazy and navy. I took a picture with my phone, but it really didn't do it justice.

"Take a picture of us," Taehyung suggsted casually. He took the device from my hands, and I was all too aware of how our fingers momentarily brushed against each other. His long arm was extended, ready to snap a photo. "Get in closer," he scolded and pulled my far shoulder in with his free hand.

My cheeks were redder than they should have been, and now there was solid evidence of it.

"You've been spending a lot of time with Taehyung." My mom liked to be vocal about how she observant she was of my life. "Are you keeping up with your studies? I bet all your classmates are studying really hard."

"Well he's leaving tonight," I mumbled, trying not to let the depressing thought affect my mood too much. "I'll hit the library after he's gone."

So after getting lengthily scolded for skipping out on my studies, I had Taehyung meet me at my high school.

I was sitting in an empty classroom skimming my English textbook when I heard the door slide open. His lanky figure strode in confidently. "What's up, nerd? I thought you didn't study."

I gave him a mocking glare. "Can't wait 'til you're gone." I was lying through my teeth.

"Hah, yeah right. You're gonna miss me, right?"

I couldn't possibly answer yes when he had that cocky smirk plastered on his face. I simply rolled my eyes and let him take the seat besides mine.

He strummed his fingers against the desk boredly. "Come on; you can do that later. I'm leaving in a few hours."

He didn't have to remind me. The clock did that with every damn tick.

It didn't take much effort for him to convince me to ditch my books. All he really had to do was tug on my sleeve a few times and off I went, following him down the hallway and out the door. It was almost pathetic how the sound of his delighted laughter made it so easy for me to forget all my responsibilities. That fucking laughter and that beautiful fucking grin.

He was beaming at me now as he dragged me back to his place, where we had to sneak past his mother so she wouldn't tattle on me.

There was nothing much to do in his room besides opening up his laptop and stream a movie or listen to some music and talk. He grinned. "If it's an American movie, that's sort of like studying English, right?"

Couldn't beat that logic.

"Didn't know you were such a crybaby," he teased, as the end credits for Titanic began to roll.

"Shut up, Taehyung," I snapped through my sniffles.

"It's stupid. I don't get why he had to let go, honestly," he huffed. "There was plenty of room on that wooden board for both of them to get on. She was rescued like a few minutes later."

"You're ruining the romance."

He gave a playful shrug. "It's not really romantic. I'd be pretty fucking pissed if some chick -- who supposedly loved me -- just let me drown." He paused to turn and look directly at me. "You're not supposed to let go of someone you love that easily, you know."

My heart had never felt so weak in my life. I swallowed hard and managed a small nod.

It was only five days into knowing Taehyung, and he somehow managed to wreck me so easily.

I should have taken that as a warning.

#taehyung #kim taehyung #bts v #taehyung x reader #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfic

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