#there's something about a mother and her child being cornered by 'wolves' (in this case a stag). this has the added spice of Cat and Jon's- | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cherry3point14 · 4 years ago

Text

The Wrong Winchester - One Year Later

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Eileen Warnings: Cavity protection required. Word Count: 12,304. (WHY) Summary: One year after the fiasco that was Fourth of July, you’re back in Kansas and back at the Winchesters. This time with their other son. A/N: A sequel for the trope fluff fest that was The Wrong Winchester. Somehow this is fluffier and more trope-y! Listen, I didn’t say it was good, just that it exists. Happy 4th July my bitches! (*sobs in the corner* this was supposed to be a timestamp)

Ao3 if you prefer.

June has been cool this year, more so than normal, but then the heat of July hits like clockwork. Even though you enjoy airplanes, and the AC they provide, you’ve done the drive because Dean hates flying. It’s not even a compromise because the detour your journey takes means that it’s Thursday evening by the time you arrive in Lawrence. Sam and Eileen got there mid-morning. You’re hoping that the Winchesters are so distracted getting to know her that you can slip in like an old piece of furniture, unnoticed and ignored.

It’s when he turns the corner onto their street, and the family home looms in the distance, that it hits you. You’re here, again, and you’re doing this, again. And nobody would ever believe it but this is considerably worse because this time you love the guy sitting next to you.

Not that you’ve told him that yet. It’s been a slow year.

Loving Dean does complicate things though. It means that you care what the Winchesters think of you. Last year, pretending, was a walk in the park in comparison. You knew Sam was fake breaking up with you after you left. You could have cheated on Sam in front of him and it wouldn’t have mattered because it was all, well, fake.

Although you did kind of cheat on Sam in front of him. Boy, did you hope Sam hadn’t told them about that.

Now, the house you’re pulling up at makes your toes curl inside your shoes while hurried excuses start pouring out. “You’re positive you don’t want to stay in a hotel? Take the pressure off your mom having to entertain us and Sam and Eileen. That’s a lot of guests.” You nod to yourself convincingly while you stare at the front door.

He smiles at you like you’re adorable, which you don’t appreciate. “If you’re looking to make her hate you, then yeah, go ahead and tell my Mom you’re taking her firstborn to a hotel for the weekend.”

You huff and pout your lips so he knows exactly how frustrated you are, “I know you’re right, doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

“When are you ever?” He counters, smirking as he gets out of the car. You follow suit although you’re convinced that as your foot hits the stone driveway you can hear the ticking of a countdown. One small step for you, one giant leap to your doom.

Dean grabs your case and his duffel from the trunk, settling one on top of the other so that he has a free hand to wrap around your waist. It’s probably a picturesque image, him walking you to the house like that. You’re not sure if he’s being nice or making sure you don’t run away. Dean’s a smart man so it’s probably a little of both.

His hand reaches to open the door but even after the long drive from Chicago, your reactions are lightning-fast. You pull his arm back to stop him and answer the silent look on his dumb face, “shut up. We should knock.”

“Did you give Sammy this much trouble last year?”

His joke drags a smile out of you, not a laugh but a smile. He’s been trying to calm you down the whole journey. You don’t get nervous often, so seeing you this anxious has both worried and amused him. He’s settled for being supportive, he’s done everything he can to take your mind off of this moment. He told you exaggerated fake facts about Kansas to stop you complaining that the entire state was too damn hot. He distracted you with questions about the case you’re working on when you panicked about exactly how Sam had explained everything all those months ago. And most importantly he fed you. A few hours out he’d pulled into a drive-through and minutes later you’d found yourself pulled over on a random stretch of highway, legs crossed, and a brown paper bag in your lap. He’d wiped sauce from the corner of your mouth and watched you wolf down cheese fries.

Dean knew how to keep you happy for the hours you’ve spent in Baby. But now that you’re finally standing at the threshold he, apparently, thinks it’s time to throw you to the wolves, which he does, literally.

In one swift movement, the door is open before you can rap your knuckles against it and he uses his arm—the one that’s around your waist—to guide you inside. Except guiding you inside is more like a gentle push, which means you trip your way into the Winchester family home while Dean remains safely on the porch.

“What the f-?” The end of your sentence never makes it past your lips, thankfully, considering the gathering in the living room as you turn your head.

Sam and Eileen are sitting opposite Mary and John, all of them holding a drink, clearly mid-conversation. They all stop. Four pairs of eyes are now trained on you. Even after a too-long second has passed none of them move as if your presence has frozen them in time. A perpetual state of being horrified by your existence.

“Dean!?” You don’t exactly shout but there’s a worried twang to your voice and still, none of them move. In fact, Sam doesn’t even attempt to help, which is a betrayal you won’t allow to pass unpunished or forgotten.

That’s for another day. Right now you’re about thirty seconds away from your first actual panic attack in years.

Dean slips in behind you, eventually. Even walking in with the bags he’s more graceful than you had been stumbling in. Not that you compliment him on that. You’re too preoccupied because you might have broken the Winchesters.

“Honey!” Mary beams with happiness at the sight of her eldest son and jumps up from her seat like a mannequin come to life. Whatever spell had been cast breaks so quickly that it might not have happened at all. Every single person takes a breath again and Mary walks over, wine forgotten on the coffee table, to hug Dean the way you’d seen her do a year ago.

“Mom!” He hugs her back, wrapping her up in his arms and lifting her from the floor an inch or two. You want to say he’s the cutest thing ever with that childlike smile on his face.

That’s what you want to say.

Unfortunately, the innocence doesn’t last as his expression morphs into a cocky smirk with a waving hand in your direction once he lets his mother go. “You remember Y/N, right?”

Is he freaking kidding?

Mary’s face steels, as if Dean had never entered the room. Your best friend and his girlfriend, who you know pretty well at this point, remain safely in their seats. And your boyfriend, your goddamn boyfriend who you love and trust, is standing there at an arm's length like this is an early fireworks display. The fuses have been lit and he is waiting for the explosives to go off.

The only person in the room who dares to make eye contact with you—outside of the matriarch—is John freaking Winchester. And he has the audacity to smile sweetly at you. Or as sweetly as John Winchester is capable of.

“Of course I remember Y/N.” Mary’s words are friendly but her tone does not mirror the sentiment. She taps her chin with one extended finger, thinking, “you were on Sam’s arm last year, if I remember rightly.”

You were going to murder Sam and thanks to your job you’d get away with it too. “I’m so sorry Mary, Sam told me he explained. It was all a misunderstanding, I was only…”

“Only jumping around between my boys? Or was the misunderstanding when we welcomed you into our home and you lied to us?”

You may have met your match. You could never admit this to the district attorney's office but Mary has found a way to silence you with a stare. Your lips snap shut without a good answer for her. You feel like a child being chastised for making a mess.

In fairness you had made a mess last year, however, you cleaned it up afterward.

Your eyes dart to the still-open front door before you rummage up an answer. “I don’t think jumping between them is very fair, Sam and I weren’t a real thing. I mean we’re still besties, even if he won’t call us that, but we were pretending. Which is still wrong but I defy any of you to say no to him when he does that dopey puppy face of his. Anyway I know he told you it was his idea, because it was, and I made sure he told you that because I don’t want you thinking that I came up with it and…”

“Great, you got her stuck in a loop, Mom.” Dean grumbles with a roll of his eyes.

“What?” You interrupt your own rambling to frown at him.

That’s when it happens. Mary breaks out into a grin so similar to Dean's that it’s frightening. If Sam got his smile from his mother then Dean inherited her devious smirk.

“It was your idea.” She answers your seemingly caring boyfriend.

You’re confused, as you should be. Hours. Days. Weeks of dreading this moment and this weekend. None of this makes any sense.

“I hate to sound like a broken record but, what?”

Mary turns her brightness on you, in the distance, John barks out a laugh and cracks his hand against his thigh as if this all went completely as planned.

“I’m sorry Y/N. We were only playing. It’s great to see you again.”

Then she hugs you, stiff as you may be from the complicated mix of annoyance and residual fear that you’re feeling. Her arms around you exude motherly warmth, something you’re unfamiliar with, until your muscles relax in her grip.

Over Mary’s shoulder, Dean is pressing his lips together to stop himself laughing and then finally your brain catches up. That bastard set you up. He sold you down the river. Still mid-hug you silently mouth to him, “I’m going to kill you.”

That sends Dean over the edge and a deep belly laugh escapes him. He doesn’t even attempt to apologize. He’s too caught up in how funny he thinks he is.

“So, you were all in on this? You too Sammy?” You splay your hand across your chest now that Mary has released you.

Mary links her arm with yours and leans in as if she didn’t rob you of ten years of your life, “if it helps Eileen told us we were being mean.”

You smile at Eileen, your now very good friend, as you take a seat next to her, “at least someone has my back.”

She shrugs nonchalantly, “well, Sam’s girlfriends need to stick together.”

And just like that. The final knife in your back sets them all off howling with laughter again. This was obviously going to be a long weekend.

It's not even day one, that starts tomorrow. It's been a few hours at best and you're already in bed and staring a hole in the ceiling. Ordinarily, you might be questioning why there is a suspicious rectangle that is whiter than the rest. As if the patch of paint had seen less light than the rest of the room like a poster had been there or something.

“You gotta tell me.”

You scoff. He has done nothing to earn any answers from you so far. Looking after you during the journey must have been an act to lull you into a false sense of security because he jumped ship as soon as you arrived. Winchesters are a tight-knit bunch.

“Come on, please?”

It sucks that you love this idiot, it sucks that you haven’t told him, it’s even worse that you cannot resist him. You roll over to his whining voice and prop yourself up on your elbow. It was foolish to ever hope for a good night's sleep when he’s amped up to be in his childhood home again. You can’t say that you remember him being like this last year but, then again, last year you were avoiding him since you were pretending to date his brother. “Oh my god, if I tell you will you let me sleep already?”

Dean nods, using a finger to draw a cross over his chest. Even in the dark, you can see the crinkles of his eyes deepen playfully, “cross my heart. I’ll even help you get off to sleep, by way of apology.” His fingers toy with the waistband of your underwear to hint at his meaning, under his oversized Zeppelin shirt you’re sleeping in.

“Nice try Benedict Arnold, I haven’t forgotten what you did to me.”

He knows by the tone of your voice he won’t get anywhere right now, although it’s nothing to do with his betrayal. You’re still obsessed with somehow clawing back any semblance of a good impression. Sex in his childhood bed doesn’t strike you as the correct way to go about that. He doesn’t tease and try to change your mind with filthy words he knows you love. You think maybe Dean knows tonight isn't the night either. Maybe that’s why he’s asking questions instead.

His hand slides up over your waist and settles comfortingly around your middle—almost as if he knows he has some groveling to do. He asks again hoping to get one of the things he wants; answers. “C’mon. Just tell me. I’ll tell you mine.”

You haven’t spoken much about last year with Dean and you were absolutely fine with that. Last Fourth of July wasn’t exactly a Kodak moment for you. It almost cost you Sam and as much as you love Dean, Sam’s friendship is one of the very foundations of your adult life. Sure last year was the kind of thing you’ve joked about, but the nitty-gritty details had stayed where they should, in the past.

However, being back here, albeit in the next room over to the one you’d previously occupied, has apparently opened the topic up for conversation.

“Fine. You really want to know?”

“With all my heart.”

“God, you’re lucky you’re cute. At the airport. Okay?”

His smile widens until you can see his teeth shine. “You’re joking?”

You bury your face in the pillow, only coming up for air when necessary despite the way he pokes your sides to make you squirm. “No, I’m not joking. I wasn’t sleepy getting off the plane. I was trying to figure out if there was a way for me to make out with my fake boyfriend's hot older brother.”

“You were too good for your fake boyfriend anyway.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “too good for me too.”

He shouldn’t be allowed to catch you off guard like that, it’s against the rules. Yet he does it all the time. The sweetest secrets whispered in your ear while you’re brushing your teeth or watching a movie. As if he needs to tell you as soon as the thought pops into his head. And it’s not fair because he deserved some silent treatment or something. You know he’ll be back to his tricks tomorrow, so he should pay tonight. But now instead of being annoyed at him, your lips are following his while you realize you were never really mad in the first place.

His wandering hand moves to wrap around your neck, his fingers are lost in your hair and his thumb traces over your jaw. This is the classic Dean trick. He thinks he’s so smooth and that one day he’ll manage to keep you attached to his mouth forever if he holds you there, just right.

As much as you want to appease him, it never lasts. Eventually, you always need air in your pesky, needy lungs. Tonight though it ends with your hand on his chest nudging him off of you. “No way. You owe me yours. Come on, when did you start like-liking me?” You finish the question in a sarcastically childish voice.

Dean is nothing if not fair, sometimes, and he would never break a promise. He leans back a little and adopts what you have dubbed his ‘thinking face’. It may be nighttime but you’d recognize that furrowed brow anywhere.

“When I found you in my bedroom.” He finally answers.

It takes a whole second to remember. “Really? You mean when I was trying to find the bathroom?”

“Yeah, I mean a guy comes back to his room and finds a pretty girl...”

It’s your turn to frown, “wait. Correct me if I’m wrong but you’re saying that your ‘moment’ was when you found me in your room, in my pajamas, with bed head and a full bladder?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You were all cute an’ twitchy when I caught you, then suddenly you’re all fired up and telling me off for making fun of you. You were a little spitfire.”

You drop your forehead to his chest and let out a laugh. Trust Dean to like you because you busted his balls.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, “good enough answer?”

You yawn, happily, and shimmy down into bed proper. “It was your game De. The question is are you happy with yours?”

He settles down next to you, close enough to hear the deep, “mm hmm” in his throat.

Almost everything is different this year but one fact remains the same. You can take the running gear from Sam but you can’t stop Sam from going running.

He has emergency running shoes in his closet.

The new part is that you’re up as early as he is. You’re sitting on the sofa with your laptop propped up on your knees, with yet another witness statement that you were sure was made up. It was too perfect and a jury would never buy it.

By the time Sam, the sweat machine, returns you’re typing a passive-aggressive email to that effect.

“You had any coffee yet?” He asks with two mugs in his hands, passing one to you.

You take the mug without looking up from the screen and swallow a scalding sip, which you only half notice burns your tongue. “Obviously not. Your mom is in there and she still scares me.”

He laughs but doesn’t question it. He doesn’t need to. Dean may have dealt with you on the long drive and whenever he was in town but Sam deals with you every day. He has been privy to almost every one of your breakdowns in the last month. June felt longer than thirty days.

Sam sits down next to you and starts watching the news channel you’d been ignoring. It takes a minute but eventually, he grabs the remote to pause the screen, “ah, there’s my favorite celebrity lawyer.”

You don't need to look up to know that you are on the TV.

“I won’t be anyone’s lawyer if I don’t figure out why my client insists on lying to me and getting people to lie on his behalf.” Your fingers get dangerously close to pounding the plastic keyboard into smithereens. “Hasn’t he heard of attorney-client privilege?”

“Okay. I think you need a little break from that.” He says prying the laptop from you and closing it on the coffee table, so you can’t see the screen anymore.

You want to be mad at him but, of course, you can’t. You look up at him and his soft smile that’s all kinds of sympathetic to the workload you’ve been bearing of late. If you weren’t being driven insane by the biggest case of your career then maybe you’d be a little more rational when it came to this weekend.

Although, that’s unlikely. You were always going to go crazy about this particular get together.

“I swear sometimes I think he’s actually stupid. I’m trying to help him. Why did he even think he could escape arrest in the third most populated city in America?” You shuffle yourself so that you’re sitting sideways and facing him. Despite your insults about your client, the question is earnest.

“Probably figured it’s the only way he’d get to hire you.”

You roll your eyes, “sure, that’s why I’m co-counsel to fucking New York’s finest Marcus Delaney, who he trusts like a fucking brother.”

Sam widens his eyes at you in warning but you catch on too late; his mother is in the next room. You both hold your breath waiting for a reaction. When nothing happens you relax and he answers the least important part of your statement, “technically you’re a New York native too.”

“Objection, relevance?”

“Well, you mentioned…”

“Nah-uh. Enough about me. You took my laptop away so now we have to talk about you.” You smirk into your cup.

Sam knows where this is going. He told you his news two entire weeks ago, it worked like a charm and was also the biggest mistake of his life. Because two weeks ago Sam invited you to his office for lunch and told you over takeout that he was getting married.

He wanted to tell you because you’re his best friend. He’d told you before Dean and sworn you to secrecy until he’d called his brother later that day. Both of you knew the news was coming anyway, so it wasn’t really a race. Sam had been wringing his hands over how to ask the love of his life for weeks before he did it. You only found out about the ‘yes’ before Dean, because Sam had been trying to calm you down after another ‘4th of July freak-out’.

Sam had forgotten what happens if a seven-year-old gets their hands on too much sugar. Or, to be more precise, what happens when he gives a big, juicy, sensitive piece of information to you. Now he can't get you to shut up about it.

He sighs. He’s still facing the TV even though your eyes are on him. “I should have let you keep working, shouldn’t I?”

“Too late for that, Sammy. Have you decided when you’re telling everyone yet?”

He shifts to side-eye you, “oh, yeah. I was thinking, how about never?”

“You can’t bring your devoted fiance home for the weekend and not tell them!” You’re keeping your voice low but it’s insistent all the same.

“Ok. What about at the airport?”

“We’re dropping you back to the airport.”

“Right, before that then.”

You laugh, “why did you even come this weekend if you’re going to chicken out?”

“I’m not going to chicken out but, would it be so bad if I did? I brought you last year to avoid my Mom's crazy and now… I mean this will be like Defcon two.”

You wonder, briefly, what triggers Defcon one. Considering how quickly Mary had asked you if you were pregnant last year, you’d wager it’d be grandchildren.

In the pause where you both sip your morning caffeine again, neither of you notice the slight creak. The kind of creak where a door begins to open but never does.

“All I’m saying is, getting married is an amazing thing. It’s time to share the happy news. Hell, I’ll go wake Dean and we can do it now.”

“That’s easily the worst idea you’ve ever had. And I’m including the outfit you wore to the first office Christmas party.”

He’s walking right into your trap. “I dusted that number off for your brother over Christmas, you know.”

“Oh god. I don’t need to know about you and-and him-and a sexy Santa's helper costume.” He actually gets up, sweeps his mug with him, and sours his face.

“You brought it up, Sammy!” You're grinning all wide and evil, calling after him.

He pauses with his back leaning against the kitchen door, at the same time that Eileen walks in. “I hate you.”

You look up at her and sigh, “you see the way he talks to me when you’re not around?”

This is not the first time Eileen has been caught in the middle of you two, so she laughs and promises, “I’ll talk to him about that.”

Sometimes Dean likes to yank your chain and sometimes you like to yank his. It’s what makes you kind of perfect for each other, any bruised egos or pouting lips are part of the game you play. An excellent example is the way he’d betrayed you already this weekend. You weren’t mad, well, maybe a little, but in the end, you forgave him because it’s him.

In all the jokes there’s one thing that Dean knows not to play around with, one thing that he wouldn’t dare mess with.

Winchester. Family. Baseball.

You had agreed to wear his dumb spare jersey the same as you’d done for Sam. Like Eileen was doing for Sam this year. Although you had to admit her shorts are a little more family-friendly.

You’d even made a sign. A big piece of poster board, some markers, glitter, and stickers that you had gone to Target to buy special. It said GO TEAM DEAN! With a heart to dot the exclamation point. The sign was a surprise. When you’d shown him before leaving for the game he’d called you a dork and smiled so wide you worried his face might break.

You were ready for the game because you were safe. The worst thing that you expect is the comments when you turn up with a ‘1’ on your shirt this year instead of a ‘2’. You’ve already dealt with this from Mary and John but you weren’t so blind to forget about the rest of the family.

Charlie laughs at you when she notices, straight away, and threateningly asks for the story later. Bobby simply says, “switched teams, huh?” Before walking off. Granted he doesn’t seem to judge you, merely stating the observation like an interesting factoid. And Gabe starts, “lookie here when do I-” but smartly stops. He’s too tongue in cheek to be offensive but the look on Deans’ face might have something to do with his change of heart.

All of that you could handle. Par for the course. You had been ready for it because—can’t stress this enough—you were safe. Today was going to be a fun day of cheering on your boyfriend at his weird family baseball game.

You’re so sure of yourself that you even helped Mary pack drinks and snacks, with Eileen as a buffer, because you knew you’d get to enjoy said food. As a spectator.

When John does his ‘gather round me for I am John Winchester’ bit to pick the teams you’re choosing your spot in the stands. A little area in the front row for you, Mary and Eileen where you’re putting the food. You don’t join said gathering because that’s how not relevant it was to your life. You’d find out the teams when they’re playing and you’re only fifteen feet away from them all. You can hear them barking out names fine.

Dean picks Micheal. Sam makes a comment like ‘big surprise’. Bickering ensues until John gets them to focus up.

You could write this stuff in your sleep. You don’t want to call them predictable, considering this was only your second year here, but sometimes the truth is right there in front of you. And the truth is Winchester family baseball is going exactly how you expect.

Actually it’s the one thing that is going how you expect this weekend. Frankly, you needed that, some stability. Something you could rely on.

“Y/N”

Time slows down. In your head, you can hear that siren noise from Kill Bill and the world is suddenly devoid of color, except one. A red light flashes over your vision, as you turn in comically slow motion to find out which one of those idiots betrayed you.

Dean. Of course. The goddamn one you’re in love with.

He has the absolute gall to wave at you from where he’s standing. Smiling like, well, like it’s Fourth of July weekend and he innocently picked his girlfriend to play a game with him. That’s what it must look like to his family anyway.

To you? You feel like Lady Macbeth. Disappointed and betrayed by your significant other who can't do his one job. You’re not even asking him to kill the King of Scotland, all he had to do was not say your name.

Before you have an opportunity to write yourself out of this tragedy, he’s waving you over and your legs start walking. Apparently your body listens to him more than it listens to your own brain. Was nothing sacred anymore?

“There’s my girl.”

Those words would normally make you weak at the knees. Unfortunately for Dean, when it comes to baseball, you’re not melting that easy.

When you reach him you smile until you’re close enough to mutter dangerously, “I’m going to make you disappear and it'll look like an accident.”

You notice people dispersing which means your amazing boyfriend waited to call you till last. Not only did he screw you over but he made you the embarrassing last pick.

He leans in to kiss you and breathes against you, “you know you love playing with me.”

God, you do. You love playing with this dick, who apparently hates you, as well as his dick. Not baseball granted but other games.

“‘Sides,” he continues in your silence, “you don’t want to let all that practice go to waste.”

“All that practice? Practice?” You pull your head back, unable to resist showing him how offended you are, “you mean the time you forced me to go to the batting cages?”

He crosses his hands at your back and pulls you to him until your thighs are pressed against his. Were it not for his jeans then it would be incredibly inappropriate for a family baseball game. Actually, with the jeans, it might still be inappropriate.

“I seem to remember someone enjoying my arms wrapped around her while I taught her how to hit. I also seem to remember that someone forgot all about me in a damn second once she could do it on her own.”

“It was very stress relieving, I kept pretending the ball was the dummy who took me to the batting cages.”

A laugh rumbles through him, his body is so close to yours that you feel it in your stomach.

“Come on, this will be fun. You need more fun.”

You poke a finger into his chest, an inch above the collar of his jersey, “don't pretend you're doing me a favor. if I remember the rules, I don’t have a choice. But don’t you worry, I won’t forget this.”

He grins in that ‘brighter than the sun’ Dean way, “I know baby. I know.”

You’d made it home four times, an impressive three more than last year. None of them were from hitting a home run or anything preposterous. You do hit the ball almost every time though. You still couldn’t catch, throw or run--all three skills are apparently super essential in baseball. You can connect the bat with the ball though. Everyone seems pretty impressed every time it happens, if only they knew how impressed you were every time you manage it.

Your lack of skills aside, when Dean wins, he leans you over his arm and kisses you rightly. As if it’s V-J day and he single-handedly stopped WWII. Eileen sneaks up on Sam, from where she’d been watching in the stands. Although your ASL is not perfect, you’re at least 80% sure that her hand's sign “sucks to be you,” as she walks to him. You might love her a little more than you did ten minutes ago and Sam laughs a little harder too.

Dean chooses a steakhouse. The place is all wood paneling and soft lighting. The ambiance reminds you of your first real date in Chicago, although there will probably be less sticky fingers. From the ribs, obviously.

Mary and John drive ahead and they’re waiting outside when you all arrive. You’ve told Eileen to be prepared, told her to have her wits about her, promised her you’ll jump in if necessary. She’d told you not to worry.

Oh, you hate to see it happen.

As soon as you’re inside you volunteer to sit next to John, it’s the smallest kindness you can do for your friend. She should sit between the safety of Sam and Dean for what is to come.

It starts as you expect and it’s strange being on the other side of the interrogation. Nobody gives a flying crap about what drink or food you order but Eileen? She gets the same treatment you had last year. Silence and an entire table waiting to hear what she has to say. She’s the shiny, new thing everyone is interested in. You’re both glad and sorry. Glad the heat is taken off of you and sorry that it’s Eileen bearing the brunt of it.

Although—and it’s not your imagination—they are a hell of a lot easier on her than John had been on you. It presumably helps that Eileen is a Librarian. Her stories are all child reading groups and teaching elderly people how to use email in the computer room. Even you find yourself a bit smitten and you already knew her.

You’re trying not to focus on her too much though. Let her charm Mary and John, she doesn’t need another face watching her while she talks. Instead, you concentrate on your appetizer, one of those deep-fried onion things you’re sharing with Dean. The unspoken agreement is if you eat smelly food then you do it together.

He shakes his head, making eye contact with you as he takes a particularly over the top bite, when you’re pulled back into the main conversation.

“Y/N, where did you spend Christmas last year?”

“I’m sorry?” You ask somewhat dazed by being called on so soon.

Mary smiles kindly, “Eileen mentioned her parent's cabin, which I know is where they spent Christmas. I realized I had no idea where you spent the holidays?”

“Sure. I-erm, I stayed in Chicago.” Dean's hand under the table surprises you when you feel the weight of him on your knee.

“Oh, funnily enough, I remember Dean saying he was in Chicago too and I thought to myself how strange that was with Sam being gone.”

Everyone laughs at her joke, even your boyfriend while he moves his hand up your thigh.

“Didn’t want to head to New York and see your parents?” She continues her line of inquiry.

You have no idea where she’s going with it, why you’re the one in the hot seat, or why Dean is driving you crazy with his thumb rubbing those incessant circles in your skin. You answer anyway.

“N-No. They go to Europe every other Christmas so they’ll be home this year.”

Mary takes a bite of whatever-the-hell is on her plate. “The boys are coming to us this year too, I guess we’ll have to get better about syncing these things up, huh?”

His hand alone wouldn’t normally drive you as crazy as it is right now. He’s only tapping a slow, teasing rhythm into your thigh for crying out loud. But it’s been a few days and before that a few weeks, and you’d been resolved to not sully this wholesome family weekend. So, your breath is just a touch shorter than normal when he squeezes, and you can only hide it by talking.

“Yeah, yeah. I guess we will.” You agree easily.

“I’m looking forward to meeting your parents, yours too Eileen. Do you think we’ll be meeting yours before Christmas Y/N? Any other big events coming up?”

Were you not focusing on the heat of his hand under your skirt then you might be suspicious of the way she asks that. As it is Dean chooses then to wink at you because he thinks it's hilarious how preoccupied you are.

“Erm, Thanksgiving?”

“Right, right. Thanksgiving.” She smirks like she has a secret.

You stand up suddenly, needing to get away from your teasing boyfriend, “sorry. I’m going to go use the restroom.”

“Hurry back.” Dean’s mocking tone follows you.

Were his parents not at the table you'd tell him to go to hell.

Saturday morning comes faster than you expected. You did have a jump on the long weekend because you’d all taken a day off work this year but Saturday still seemed to have jumped from a cupboard to surprise you.

You wake up as you often do when you share Dean’s bed. One of you, today it’s him, has the other one, you, in what can only be described as an inescapable hold. He’s got one arm wrapped around you, fingers hanging loose over your stomach where you’re laying on your side. His other arm is encroaching on your pillow to surround you and his head is curled in your neck. His breath is slow and hot over your skin. You never imagined that you’d enjoy waking up like this, so incredibly close to someone. And then you met Dean. Sometimes you wrap him up in your sleep, your fingers in his hair, and one leg thrown over his. Either way one always claims the other and you wouldn’t want anything different.

Except at this very second.

Dean is a light sleeper. A bit of a contradictory trait for someone who likes to sleep as much as he does—yours is not to question why—but you never want to willingly wake him if you can avoid it. You’re more than happy to let sleeping Dean’s lie. When you don’t need the bathroom that is.

Even though this isn’t your first time trying you still give it your best shot to slip out without disturbing him.

You think you’re getting there. You’ve managed to roll onto your back for an easier way out, his face is now smashed into his pillow instead of your back, you’ve slipped down the bed a little to get away from his hand on your pillow. It’s only that arm across you that you need to get free from. Today is the day that you’ll finally manage to pee without waking him up. The trick, you think, is not to touch him. You’ve been burned before by trying to lift his arm off of you when you only need to slip out from under it.

“Come on, five more minutes.” He mumbles, fingers come to life to hold you tighter and you swear you see his lip curl because you’ve failed to sneak away again.

“I need to pee.” Who says romance is dead?

He huffs, you’ve hit on what he deems an acceptable reason to let go of you. Barely.

Not that he eases up. You have to wiggle from his hold which makes you crack your first smile of the day. Despite your need to hurry you bend over him and press a kiss to his cheek. “How about I get some coffee while I’m up, see if I can get you to forgive me?”

“You can try.” He mutters in his half-sleep state.

The house is quiet when you leave the bathroom, ridiculously quiet for how full of people it will be later. The calm tricks you into feeling invincible, where nobody else exists save for you and the man you left in bed.

“Morning Y/N.” Mary is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, and not doing much else.

“Oh my god!” You recoil with your whole body, arms bent into your chest like you’re trying to stave off a heart attack. You can be a little dramatic at times but the way she’s sitting in silence, illuminated only by the early morning light from the backyard, almost gives the illusion of her appearing out of thin air. “Sorry, Mary. I must be easy to scare first thing in the morning.”

A slow smile spreads over her face, “no I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I like a few minutes of peace before the boys are up is all.”

You grab two mugs, a pretty clear indication you plan to take coffee back to Dean, but before you can fill both she makes you an offer you can’t refuse. “You and I both know he is already back to sleep, he’ll keep for a few minutes. Sit with me.”

Dean's empty mug, your excuse to leave, gets left on the counter with most of your hopes and dreams. The only thing you try to cling to is that Mary wants to carry on sitting in silence, only, together.

“Y/N, we haven’t had a chance to talk, just you and me. Not since last year.”

Or maybe, just maybe, she’d been waiting for you all along.

“I guess we haven’t. I-eh, I really did mean what I said when I got here Mary. I’m sorry about everything.”

“I’m not trying to rake you over the coals here, and I’m not looking for another apology. I know what my sons think of me, Sam thinks I’m crazy. You were being a good friend.” She shrugs like it's that simple.

It’s kind of ridiculous how quickly you relax, and how quickly you start spilling your guts, “The lying though. I don’t feel good about that.”

Mary is quick. She leans over the table and wraps her hand around yours, “I don’t remember that much lying. I could tell you loved Sam last year and if that’s like a brother, I’m still glad he has you.”

She’s right. You do love Sam like a brother, the one you never had. He’s been more your family than your own. The first family you’d chose and only real family you had, which is why you’d been so scared at first. It’s why you’d been so quick to run from Dean at the risk of losing Sam. Hell, sometimes you wonder if it’s one of the many reasons you love Dean—because he’s the only other person on the planet who loves Sam as much as you do.

Your fingers twitch under her hand, unsure of the loving way she holds you. Unsure if you deserve it or why she offers it so easily. Whatever the answer is, she has your guard down.

“What about Dean?” It’s a loaded question. You need someone else to see what’s there before you can admit it to him. You're looking for confidence because you are unsure of his feelings. Who better to judge than his own mother?

She squeezes enough to tell you that you’re looking down at your coffee instead of looking at her, before she pulls back to lift her mug to her lips again. “That’s obvious Y/N.” She almost sounds bored at such an easy question, ”I knew I was right all along.”

"Right about what?”

Not even a pause. If she was indeed waiting for you this morning then she was waiting for you to ask this question.

“That you are going to be a Winchester someday.”

“No-I, no…” You trail off to nothing and it’s not because of the way Mary is still grinning despite your protests. It’s not her raised eyebrows over the rim of her cup. It’s not even the little hum like noise she lets out in affirmation that yes, you would wear the big 'W' as your last name.

It’s that you can see it. You’ve had a year of long-distance with Dean; scheduled weekends and facetime dates. You’ve been itching to tell him how you feel but terrified of scaring him away, scared of moving too quickly with the guy you don’t see enough, scared he doesn’t feel the same. And yet in the back of your mind, the vision is forming, pushing its way to the front without permission. Dean on one knee. You in a white dress. The moment you both say ‘I do’.

Is this what becoming a hopeless romantic feels like? Or were you always this much of a total sap?

“Don’t worry, I know.” She reiterates again.

Mary has a reputation, she’s pushy enough, so you assume that’s what this is. You assume she’s making a premonition, not looking for confirmation of something she thinks she already knows. So, you look to escape what you think is the awkwardness that you can’t answer.

“I’m going to get Dean his coffee or-or we’ll never get him out of bed.”

She nods you to leave but disagrees with your evaluation, “I think you underestimate how much my son loves fireworks.”

You smile wide, remembering how his face lit up in the dark the year before, “You’re right. Still, I should go get him up.”

Then you pour more coffee, including Deans, and run. If anyone else caught wind of this conversation they would never believe you were a defense lawyer, let alone the lawyer who’s been plastered over the news defending a celebrity on a murder case.

Dean has, predictably, gone back to sleep since you left. Although the light sleeper that he is, he is roused by the door opening and the smell of coffee.

“Baby?”

That’s all it takes to make you forget the conversation with Mary ever happened. You can’t help but laugh at his sleepy voice as you slip in next to him, careful not to spill anything while he fidgets awake, “who else would wake you up like this?”

He rubs at his eyes, “oh, y’know, my other girlfriend.”

“You’ll have to introduce us one day, we can compare notes.”

You’re still not used to the Winchester’s if you’re being completely honest. To you, barbecue has always been a type of food, and not necessarily one your parents approved of. It was never a place, a home. That’s what today is. Saturday afternoon and the sun is high, there's a faint twang of country music coming from somewhere. Not loud enough to hear the lyrics but loud enough to identify the genre, loud enough to wish you were wearing a cowboy hat. Everyone has a beer or a burger, or both. And it’s not all dopey eyed niceties. There are teenagers, Claire and Alex, hating everyone from the other end of the yard. Occasionally there’s a “screw you” or a “you idjit” shouted from the many random conversations happening. But it’s still somehow perfect in the imperfections. It’s cozy and homely. It’s a family. Love.

It would be easy to feel overwhelmed and convince yourself that you don’t belong. It’s lucky that you have your boyfriend. And since he has disappeared on you, Sam and Eileen. Although she is doing a much better job than you at fitting in.

“She’s going to make me look bad,” you tell Sam while you both watch Eileen animatedly tell Uncle Bobby something that makes him howl. Even his stoic expressions are hidden behind his beard but Eileen is a stand-up comedian, apparently

“That’s not hard is it?” He teases.

“That might hurt if you hadn’t picked me to bring last year, to protect her from all this.” You use the neck of your bottle to draw a circle in the air around the whole motley crew of his family.

Before you register his movement he has an arm around your shoulders, you’re expecting a headlock so you’re pleasantly surprised when he pulls you into a side hug. “That’s the first time you’ve joked about it since… since last year. I’m glad. Everyone else is over it, you’re the only one hanging on Y/N/N.”

You don’t want to choke up in the middle of their backyard but sometimes Sam’s big brother moments hit you like that. “I never said I was very good at letting things go.”

He huffs. “You’re too tough sometimes. That’s why I picked you to help me.” He sucks in a slow breath, “you have to get out of your head... and maybe stop being so annoying.”

You shove him back so he can’t lean on you but now you’re out of his hold he’s looking down at you with those damn puppy dog eyes. He hasn’t asked for something which means he’s trying to use them to make you feel better. You hadn’t realized you’d needed to feel better, was your face sad enough to warrant a Sam pep talk

“I’m fine,” you wave away his concern. “Have you decided yet?”

“And there I was hoping you’d forget.”

“Is Eileen happy to let you forget?” You counter him with an expectant look. “She wants to tell them but she’s happy to let me make the decision since it’s my family.” He says in a pointed, not pointed way.

You shake your head, “she’s going too easy on you. Good thing you have me to put you in line.”

“I thought I was the line?” It takes you a beat, you’re actually surprised he remembered you saying that to John.

“No, that was what I had to say when I was being paid to make you look good.” His face turns somber, “I never paid you.”

“Tomayto, tomahto Sammy.” You finish the beer in your hand, “you know I’m not pushing you, right? If you don’t do it, there’s always Christmas, or send a save the date.”

He shoves at you this time and the air returns to its normal lightness. “I know. You only want me to put on my big boy pants.”

“I could care less about your pants. I want you to take the heat off me, obviously.” You hold up your bottle to him, “I’m out. You need another one?”

He chuckles, ducks his head, and looks at his fiance again. “Yeah, dutch courage might help.”

“Dare to dream.” You sympathize, patting him on his shoulder.

Sam might tell them today, he might not. You wouldn’t judge him either way. He knows you aren’t judging him. You’re nudging him, not so gently. You’re being for him what he is for you. A good friend. Sam has a tendency to drag his heels sometimes and his relationship with Eileen is one of the few things you’ve seen him jump into wholeheartedly. He is, after all, engaged in under a year. You’re beyond pleased because you’ve never seen him so happy, all you want is for Sam’s family to enjoy seeing that too. If you elbow him in the right direction it’s only because you know he’ll regret it down the road.

Besides, it’s not like Mary can scare Eileen away. She already said yes.

So, Dutch courage it is. You don’t condone drinking to excess in front of his parents but a few more beers wouldn’t hurt. They’d only loosen his lips.

The cooler is by the door to the kitchen, for easy refills whether that’s ice or beer. It’s out of the way. Most people stay close to the grill or their seat if they have managed to command one.

You assume your trip will be short and sweet. There’s no one else standing by the plastic box, which means no awkward cooler small talk to get trapped in. It’s half-empty but there are enough bottles that you won’t have to top it up even taking one for you and Sam. Then you stand up with a bottle in each hand, about to turn tail when at the edge of your peripheral you register Dean and Mary in the kitchen.

The window to the kitchen is wide and open and you should walk away. You almost walk away. Then Mary speaks and you can hear them so clearly that you have no choice. You duck down and sit precariously on top of the cooler.

“I know I’m not supposed to rush you but Dean, honey, I can’t stand it any longer. When are you going to announce it? I’m dying!”

Your interest is piqued. Unfortunately. It’s wrong, completely and utterly. Dean should be allowed his secrets whatever they are. Still, it’s not your fault that he chose to have this conversation, with his mother, in the kitchen. Where anyone could walk in or overhear them.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Although to be fair Dean doesn’t sound like a willing participant in this conversation, so maybe he doesn’t have a secret you have to worry about.

You don’t dare get up and peak through the glass since they sound quite close, but you hear Mary sigh.

“I heard her talking to Sam about it. How she wants to tell everyone and-and if it was up to her she’d have told us all already.”

The sound of the fridge opening and closing before he answers. “Still not following, Mom?”

“The proposal Dean. You asked her to marry you. She all but admitted it to me this morning and I’m so, so happy for you. I did think you’d talk to me first but… When am I getting my big announcement so we can celebrate?”

You suck in a breath and hope that it didn’t make a sound. If you can hear them it stands to reason they might hear you. Neither of them seems to. Or they’re distracted. Dean is silent for a too long beat, Mary is clearly confused, and she’s thrown you under the bus along with her, for good measure.

“You’ve got it all wrong. I don’t know what you think you heard…”

A pit forms in the bottom of your stomach at his tone, how against the idea he sounds. It’s fine, you try convincing yourself, he’s defending Sam’s secret.

“Don’t lie to me, Dean. I know you and your brother think I’m nuts but I want you both to be happy. That's all.”

There’s a part of you that knows you should stop this. Come to Dean's rescue and clarify. You could fix this in thirty seconds or less. That’s what you would do if you weren’t stuck like your feet are made of cement.

“You've gotta cool it with that, ok? Y/N is just a girl I’m dating, that’s it, and I don’t want her getting the wrong idea. You breathing down her neck won’t help anything.”

You have to remind yourself that you’d wanted to know his secret. But maybe you’d only wanted to know because you hoped, assumed, that he felt the same as you.

You’d never actually expected a proposal. Not for years. You’d have been happy with not getting one ever as long as you got Dean. He was your prize, not some ring. But his tone says you don’t have him in any way that you want, you’re just a girl he’s dating. Just a date. He didn’t even say girlfriend. He didn’t even say he likes you.

“Oh, well. I’m sorry. I must have had my wires crossed. I’ll leave it alone.” Mary sounds deflated and disappointed. About a tenth of the hurt you’re spiraling into.

She also sounds like her footsteps are getting closer.

You need to move this time. Because the only thing worse than hearing this conversation is one of them knowing you’d heard this conversation.

The beers get left on the decking next to the cooler you’re still balancing your weight on. You stay low, curled over, as you take long steps along the side of the house. Your immediate plan is to get out of the way while Mary re-enters the backyard but it’s a mere thirty seconds before Dean comes striding out after her. He looks around, maybe for you, maybe for anyone else, it doesn’t really seem like it matters.

You’ve been worrying if Dean loves you, if you would scare him off by telling him you do. You’d never considered that he’s not anywhere close to that. He might never be.

Your mistake had been to immediately take solace in his room. It’s so his. It smells like him, every single thing reminds you of him. It’s the inanimate object version of going to cry in his arms.

It only made everything so much worse.

Though Dean’s room doesn’t contain a small library like Sam’s, there’s still a desk and a padded desk chair. The desk is covered in random things; a picture of him and Sam while Sam graduates Stanford, some sunglasses and amongst other things a small model car. A model of the impala that you’d toyed with while you were sneaking in some emails last night. He’d told you his dad gave it to him as a kid because his obsession with the car had begun early. However currently the chair is not where it is supposed to be. It’s wedged under his door handle because neither brother has a lock on their door.

You’ve spread out since you’ve been here. Your laptop is in the only free spot on his desk, your case is open on the floor where you’ve been living from it for two days now. Not to mention your things everywhere, a mascara here, or a lipstick there. At home, you only manage to stay any semblance of tidy because everything has its place but this is Dean’s space. It’s not even his, it’s his teenage space, somewhere he outgrew but visits every once in a while. Not even he completely fits in here anymore.

The point is you clearly don’t belong. Not even an inch. Dean liked you but that was it. As painful as it is to admit that’s not enough anymore. You’ve outgrown dates and sex, well, you’ve outgrown only having those things. For the first time in your life, you want the next step and Dean doesn’t. That’s the risk you take when you care about someone, getting hurt is always a possibility.

The only problem is you promised yourself no more pretending. Last year was enough for a lifetime. So, you can’t skip back downstairs and pretend you hadn’t heard what you did. You can’t sit next to him and watch fireworks and not be heartbroken.

“Y/N? Sweetheart?” There’s a knock at the door that spooks the makeup you’d been collecting out of your hands. You don’t answer him instead, you scramble for the things you’ve dropped and scoop them up faster.

He twists the doorknob and you carry on your task because the chair will protect you.

Then the door starts moving. You expect to hear resistance after a second but the room is filled with the squeak of plastic wheels.

You’d forgotten that the damn chair is on wheels.

The makeup is dropped again, spilling out over the floor once more as you fall to your ass and slide across the carpet. You’d never managed anything close to a slide in baseball, never ever needed to learn one. Now you perfect it in all of two feet. Your feet plant either side of the chair and your hands wrap around the seat pushing it back until the door closes again. This was a mistake, the chair is only making it harder to push back, you should have moved it and shoved yourself against the door, it’s just too late for a redo.

“Hey, hey. Open the door.” It’s hard to tell if he’s angry, he mostly sounds urgent.

Your heart is pounding out of your chest, still, it’s impossible to find the words to answer him. You don’t want to say something you’ll regret, or can’t take back, even if you’re hurt. In your silence, he keeps pushing, literally and figuratively.

He twists the handle again but this time there’s a little weight on his side. The weight pushes against the chair and by extension you. It’s not his full weight, he’s bigger than you though so even his half weight is starting to force you backward. You scramble to gain some traction, planting your feet better, shoving some more. The carpet gives you some friction but not enough to help against the force of Dean Winchester. You keep moving.

After a minute things are about a hundred miles south of ridiculous. You love ridiculous, when you’re not trying to run away that is.

Dean is one foot in the room, thick fingers wrapped around the door and his head pushed in looking at you. There’s a confused knot in his forehead while he takes in exactly what he’s forced his way to look at.

You straddling the bottom part of his desk chair, shoved against the door, and looking up at him wildly.

“Really, sweetheart?” He asks with a mix of frustration in his eyes and a curl on his lips, “what the hell?”

That’s enough to snap you out of it and jump up from the floor. Your hands smooth over the wrinkles in your jeans as if nothing happened. “Hi, Dean. Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

You may be hurting, sure, but if your parents taught you anything it’s how to cover any emotion with pragmatic denial.

He steps all the way into the room now without you in the way. “Someone else? Comin’ into my room, looking for you?”

“Could have been anyone,” you shrug. Careful to keep your voice steady and neutral while you go back to collecting your twice dropped makeup from the floor. “Wouldn’t want any of your cousins to wander in here.”

“Right. Because they’re leaving the yard while there’s food on the grill, come on it’s like-”

“I heard what you said to your Mom.” The last thing you wanted to say makes it to the tip of your tongue anyway, as you dispense the collected make up into your case like a dump truck.

He parts those lips of his, which means he’s worried about something and then he smiles. He smiles at you while you’re doing everything not to cry.

There’s a quiver in your voice despite yourself, “it’s fine I get it. I wish you’d told me yourself but I can’t do anything about that. And I know I shouldn’t have been listening in and I’m sorry. Can you give me a few minutes to get sorted please?”

Dean cocks his head, takes a step closer to you, and then stops when you grimace, “what?”

“You said you-that we-I’m not expecting anything but I thought I was more than ‘just another girl’ you’re dating.” You shake your head, trying to stop those tears now you’ve said it out loud. Feeling your vision blur and wobble anyway. “Like I said it’s fine. I’m getting out of here though. I found a flight home, there’s no point in you driving me home eleven hours when it’s four to St Louis.”

Not to mention the fact that you couldn’t stand to sit in the car with him that long while you’re feeling like this.

“Woah, Woah, Woah baby.” He doesn’t pause this time. He doesn’t care about your frown as he approaches you, he’s more concerned about fixing whatever you have gotten in your head. He’s on you in an instant. One warm hand on your shoulders and one at your chin, lifting your face to his and taking in all your sadness. You hate that he’s making you stare into his eyes like this. Those green, soulful eyes had been one of the first things you noticed on his beautiful dumb face and now this feels like a goodbye. Of course, it's not a goodbye. He’s trying to tell you just by looking at you that you’re a goddamn idiot. “Have you met my mom? Remember when she asked if you were pregnant when you’d been dating Sam like a month?”

“Fake dating. Why does everyone forget I was fake dating him?”

He chuckles, “‘course. Faking. Well, you heard her, right? She thinks we’re the ones getting hitched. Imagine if I’d thrown fuel on the fire and told her that you’re my girl, I love you and that you’re it for me.”

There’s a big, huge lump in your throat stopping you breathing. Too gigantic to swallow down. Tears still want to rain over your face, again, but you refuse to be the girl that cries because her boyfriend, who she loves, finally told her what she’s been waiting to hear.

Wait, you need to say something back.

“I love you too.”

His smile is slow and lazy but it’s perfectly timed with how gently his body leans in to kiss you. His shoulders drop while you’re sighing into his mouth like every romantic comedy heroine. His hands still on your shoulders relax their hold a little and you realize, he might have been doubting how you felt too.

“That’s good to know.” He breathes. “But see if I’d have told my mom all that, with the whole family here, she’d have us shotgun married before I got the chance to actually ask you.”

Your eyes widen, “no. You’re not?”

“Nah, planning on knocking those socks off when I do. Fair warning though, that’s coming.”

A strangled laugh comes out of you because you are, and have always been, the stupidest person alive. Dean loves you. He loves you and you love him. And why have you waited so long to say it?

“Move in with me?” It seems like the next best thing to every sweet thing he just said. It’s not enough but for once you’re happy to be second best in a conversation. You’ve been thinking about it long enough, hating the distance and the weekends you’ve spent apart. It’s so obvious that you should have worked it out months ago.

“What?” He gives you the pleasure of seeing his goofy confused face while your finger traces the curve of his bottom lip. In case you ever forget.

“Move in with me. Move to Chicago to be with me. Benny can manage in St. Louis and you can open a second location... or be chief of police or a fireman or just eat deep dish all the day long, whatever you want. Be with me in Chicago? Everyday? Sam’s there too. How can you be his best man from three hundred miles away?”

Another kiss and a bigger grin that comes from his chest, not even you expected it to be this easy. Which is more of that stupidity because with Dean it’s always easy. You can only imagine how rosy your cheeks are as he answers, “you had me at pizza.”

You get to the foot of the stairs when Sam pops out of the living room. You’ve schooled your beaming grin into something more subdued because you don’t want to draw focus but Sam’s probably still just waiting for his beer. He tilts his head down and asks, “you good?”

Before you can tell him that you have never been better, Dean saunters down the steps behind you without any concern for drawing attention. “Sammy, how many times have I told you, you can’t have her back. She’s mine now.”

Sam purses his lips at his brother, which is still funny to you, and you press a hand to his chest to distract him from their brother games. “We’re all good Sam, I’ll fill you in later. The important thing is are you ready to go? Weekend is nearly over.”

He smiles at you, “couldn’t do it without my legal eagle.”

Finally, he gets it. “Legal eagles for life, Sam.”

“You two are a pair of dorks.” Dean slumps an arm over both of your shoulders, “I can’t believe I love a dork even dorkier than my dork brother.”

If Sam notices any difference or the massive L-word Dean dropped, he keeps his reaction in check. Besides he’s engrossed in something else, he kind of has something huge to announce to his whole family right now. Something you’ve been dying to witness since he told you.

You turn in Dean’s arm to threaten him, “he can still drop you and make me best man, you know that, right?”

Dean feigns anger, “he would never.”

“Keep talking pretty boy and see how fast I’m planning the bachelor party.”

“She thinks I’m pretty.” Dean turns his head to smile at Sam and involve him in your sparring match, you know since best man is his decision, but Sam is now bitch facing the pair of you.

He doesn’t say anything, just swings an arm out towards the kitchen and beyond that the backyard. An annoyed invitation to join him and his fiance for the big moment you’ve all been waiting for.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on De. Let’s go let Sammy-boo and Leney-bear be as disgusting as we are.”

You’re already in the kitchen when Sam shouts after you, “I told you not to call us that!”

“Eileen said she didn’t mind!”

Weirdly, the party in the backyard is exactly how you left it and yet you feel like everything changed, for the better, in the last twenty minutes.

Eileen sees all three of you step out of the house and senses that its time. Or Sam had already told her it was before he went looking for you. Either way, she walks over to Sam who magically ends up in the middle of the yard.

You can feel the excitement buzzing from Dean where he’s standing next to you, you bet he’s feeling that from you too.

“Hey everyone, I kind of have an announcement,” Sam calls out.

Most of them look around but nobody moves and he hasn’t captured everyone's attention in the way John does at the baseball game. For some reason that line from Highlander pops into your head, there can only be one. It’s a concerted effort not to snort at your own joke.

John is, however, one of the people that heard Sam so he hollers, “cut it out, Sammy’s got something to say.”

That’ll do it. The music shuts off and everyone gathers in a circle around Sam and Eileen. You notice then that Eileen’s ring has appeared back on her finger. You know she had it on a necklace until this announcement but the sleight of hand to make it happen is impressive.

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll keep this short and sweet because I know you’re all waiting on more food but while we had everyone here we thought we should tell you all.”

Somehow, you hear Mary’s heart stop from twenty feet away.

“As most of you know Eileen and I met just over a year ago,” a few people who haven't been briefed share looks since he’d been ‘dating’ you last year. “And well, I’ve never been happier or more in love with someone in my life. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and a few weeks ago I got my act together and asked her to marry me.”

Eileen holds up her hand then, beaming, ‘and I said yes!”

They had to have rehearsed that on the flight.

Chaos ensues. Everyone claps and cheers and people try to move in to congratulate them. Above all of that Mary screams like she’s being murdered. She rushes forward letting every thought in her head fall out of her mouth, “But I thought Dean and Y/N… so you’re telling me it was you all along? Oh Sammy, sweetie, I am so, so happy for you. Oh god, I’m so proud of you.” She wraps her arms around him and crushes him. “And I’m so happy you’re going to be part of the family!” She lets go of her son to give Eileen the same bruising hug.

“Well done, son.” John claps Sam on the back with, you think, the faintest hint of proud tears in his eyes.

Dean wraps his arm around you then like he'd been unable to do it until everything with Sam was ok. You lean into his chest and whisper only loud enough for him, "he's going to be so excited about you being in the city with us."

"You think?"

"I know it. Granted not as excited as me."

He rests his chin on the top of your head, slotting you into him like a puzzle piece.

In the background, it goes on and on until everyone has said something to the happy couple. Even Bobby gets this choked noise caught in his throat. The whole display is actually very touching.

When they finish the mayhem John proposes a toast in which everyone raises their drinks. Then the drinking and eating continue, with much more vigor than before. The whole thing goes from a Fourth of July celebration to a party. The music is a little more upbeat, the hard liquor is brought out early and the hum of everyone feels excited.

Sam—who has been hugged, pinched and shoved playfully enough to last him till the end of days—wanders over to you and Dean with his fiance in tow. “Are you happy now?” He directs the question at you specifically.

You reach up to grab his face with both hands and jiggle his head while you baby-talk to him, “my little Sammy, I’m so proud of you.”

Dean and Eileen both laugh and it's one of those perfect moments you only expect to see in the movies. You realize then that with these three people around you could actually look forward to the Fourth of July with the Winchesters for years to come.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer

236 notes · View notes

myidlehand · 4 years ago

Text

Soulmark AU Witcher headcanon (this is fluffy and a bit stupid)

(you can find this on A03)

Paper Skin

Jaskier was born with his mark so he knows his soulmate is older than him and they are already somewhere in the world. It’s a short one, curling around the base of his fingers, on his left palm. His mark is small and discreet but easy to look at. He spends hours and hours stroking it, wondering what kind of person his soulmate is, whispering theories and dreams to himself at night. Sometimes, when he’s nervous, he strokes it with his thumb without even thinking or looking at it. This tiny connection to his soulmate makes him feel calmer and it doesn’t look like he’s fidgeting too much. Something his father has informed him is very unbecoming of a Viscount and for which he’s been reprimanded before.

Jaskier is still delighted even if the mark is small because his mark says "I’m here to drink alone." It’s a neat script, a rich dark on his creamy skin and without ornament. And it's perfect. His soulmate is mysterious. How lovely! There's obviously a story being those words and Jaskier loves stories! He cannot wait to meet his soulmate and leaves home as soon as he can. First for Oxenfurt, then to travel the Continent. He's not going to stay idle and wait for his soulmate to find him! Of course not, he’ll find them somewhere exciting! But in the meantime, he’s going to travel to have stories to tell his mysterious soulmate.

Geralt is born without a mark. He learns about them when he’s five years old and cries for hours and hours in his mother’s arm because it breaks his little heart that he doesn’t have one. He wants a mark so bad. He’s obviously meant to have a soulmate he can love and protect always. This is very wrong. His mother doesn’t tell him marks only appear when your soulmate is born. Not long after, his mother abandons him to a life of horrors and as he grows and learns about his new life, he’s glad he doesn’t have one. He wouldn’t want to subject himself on a poor innocent soul. For decades, he lives his life with the vague memory of what a mark could have meant to him. Almost no Witcher has one and for once he’s not one of the special ones. He’s content like this, he tells himself. He doesn’t need a mark and all the complication that would come with one. It’s for the best.

He’s sparing Eskel one beautiful summer morning when it happens. A few of the Wolves have a tradition to meet for the summer solstice. They say it’s because Fae folks tend to go out more with all the ceremonies and they could get plenty of work between them but really the Fae never bother anybody and they just want to have an excuse and get drunk one night together.

They are practising using swords with their strong hand tied behind them, in case they get injured and have to use their weaker arm. It’s a good practice and Eskel can’t use signs like this so it makes things even. They aren’t even doing it seriously, it’s hot already even without their shirts on. After a few hours, they get tired (Geralt is stronger but Eskel doesn’t make it easy) and they decide to lie on the inviting fresh grass. There are five other Witchers in their groups, they are safe from anything if they want to rest a little while. Geralt is on his back, eyes closed and listening to Eskel’s latest adventures when his brother suddenly grabs his wrist and pulls it towards him. Geralt immediately opens his eyes and sits, ready to fight whatever spooked Eskel. But his brother has not let go of his wrist and can’t take his eyes off it.

On his pale skin, sharp dark words are wrapping themselves around his left forearm, descending slowly from his elbow to end right on the inside of his wrist, just under his thumb. They both sit like this, unmoving for a few minutes Geralt’s entire forearm resting on Eskel’s lap. Geralt doesn’t dare to touch the mark, horrified, but when the words seem to have settled, Eskel strokes them gently, almost as if to smooth them.

“Does it hurt?” he asks gently.

Geralt shakes his head to say no. He doesn’t feel it. Maybe because of his mutation, maybe because marks aren’t supposed to be painful, he doesn’t know. But it feels nice when Eskel doesn’t stop stroking it anyway.

“The moon and the Sun”, he whispers with a tiny smile. “Your soulmate is a summer child” he adds when Geralt looks at him inquisitively. He doesn’t know what to feel. He doesn’t want this. He frowns at the huge tattoo covering his entire forearm. There’s plenty of words and flowers seem to come out of the words in a beautifully natural way. It’s grandiose and Geralt thinks such a beautiful script doesn’t belong on him. The dark letters and yellow buttercups contrasting impossibly with his pale skin. His soulmate is too soft to ever survive Geralt.

“Fuck this thing is huge, you’re soulmate is one hell of a talker”, Eskel adds, moving Geralt’s arm one way then another to be able to see everything. “Do you want me to read it to you?” he offers. Geralt shakes his head no. It feels like something he should discover in private and Eskel doesn’t need words to understand this. He gives him back his arm gently, then gets up and leaves to find the others without pause. Geralt doesn’t have to ask him for privacy.

After Eskel leaves, it takes Geralt a good half hour to actually read it. He’s terrified. He doesn’t want a soulmate. What will he do with one? His life is not meant for other people to share. But then he actually read the words and what the hell is this? Geralt is absolutely furious when he gets to the end.

His soulmate can’t be subjecting him to so many terrible words!

You think you’re safe. Without a care. But here in Posada. You’d be wise to beware. The pike with the spike. That lurks in your drawers. Or the flying drake. That will fill you with horror. Need Old Nan the Hag. To stir up a potion. So that your lady. Might get an abortion

No. This is not what will be written for the rest of his life on Geralt’s skin, no way. Geralt swears whoever his soulmate is, he's going to kill them as soon as he sees them for making him walk his entire life with a flowery text about sex and abortions. That one just irks him so bad. It takes him another half hour to find the other Witchers and demand they all throw themselves at him at the same time. He needs to let out some steam. Lambert is delighted to oblige.

How the fuck will his soulmate manage to say all this in one breath his beyond Geralt at first. But after he had a few years to ponder this, Geralt think it might be a song and oh Gods please not a singer, fuck no they'll never shut up! He quickly decides to never, ever ever show his face in fucking Posada ever again.

Of course, eighteen years after his mark appeared, Roach loses a shoe and he has no choice but to stop in that damn city. It has to be replaced or she could get injured and even with the horrible possibility of finding his soulmate there (he still doesn't need anybody thank you very much, least of all the damn love of his life) he won't risk her safety. The inn looks sufficiently shabby for his flowery soulmate to never want to put a toe in it so he settled comfortably in a corner. There’s some young bard singing something. The voice is very nice and the guy looks soft and gorgeous. He might investigate that later, but Geralt doesn’t care to actually listen to the songs right now. He’s tired, it’s been a few hard days and he just wants to have an ale, get Roach back on the road and leave this cursed city as soon as possible. The farrier said he’d be a few hours but Geralt should be safe until then. He takes his ale and settles in a dark corner. The voice is quite pleasing after a drink and now that Geralt is somewhat a little more relaxed, he actually listens to the song the gorgeous bard is singing from across the room.

You think you’re safe. Without a care…

FUCK!

#geralt #jaskier #eskel #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #myWitcherheadcanons #fluff #soulmate au

186 notes · View notes

marshmallow-phd · 5 years ago

Text

Midnight Hours

Part of The Untamed - EXO Wolf Universe

Genre: Wolf!AU

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Summary: For you, being a good witch was easier said than done. Something dark was lurking inside of you and the others knew it. When you’re forced to tag along with Soomi and help a local wolfpack face a coming evil, you’re sent on a path that breaks into a crossroads. While you struggle with your inner demons, could the wolf Sehun be the key to your ultimate fate?

Part: 1 I 2 I 3 I 4 I 5 I 6 I 7 I 8 I 9 I 10 I 11 I 12 I 13 I 14 I 15 I 16 I 17 I Final

Things had calmed down significantly over the course of the next couple of weeks. You found yourself settling in nicely in your spot next to Sehun. No longer did the two of you sit on opposite sides of the room, trying everything in your power to avoid eye contact. Now you sat side by side, his hand on your thigh or your head against his shoulder. You never thought that you could be this happy with another person. Long ago, you’d resigned yourself to always being the outcast, the one left on the sidelines. But that was never your place. And the pack was almost over compensating in making you feel welcome and a part of them after how they’d reacted to the fire incident.

“(y/n), show Mei the trick you did yesterday!” Chanyeol exclaimed as he flopped down on the floor next to you. The one-year-old was standing at the coffee table, wearing a too-big t-shirt that you were sure was Kris’ at some point, painting on copy paper with child-proof water colors. Evie was on the couch, only partially reading the book in her hand as she kept one eye on Mei in case of any accidents.

“I don’t think I’m supposed to,” you muttered. Kris was still cautious of you around Mei. He’d let up a bit after learning that you’d easily accepted Sehun as your wolf, but overprotective seemed like an understatement when it came to his daughter.

“It’s just water,” Jongin encouraged, even flashing you that blinding smile. You’d never tell Sehun, but you were certain that Jongin’s was the most dazzling in the pack. “She’ll enjoy it.”

Too many eyes were on you, waiting eagerly like you were the party’s magician about to make the rabbit reappear. It was a new kind of feeling. Most of them had let go of the fact that you accidentally set the floor on fire once in your sleep. They’d moved on to fascination, constantly asking you to show them something else. Soomi’s disapproving stares could be felt from wherever she stood, but you obliged, for two reasons, mostly. The first was that it made you feel accepted amongst the wolves – a chunk of them anyway. Jongdae kept his distance, then there was Kris, of course. Minseok and Yixing didn’t seem as interested in you or your powers, staying off to the side and rarely joining in on the commotion. Which was fine; you didn’t let it bother you… too much.

The second reason was why you really gave into their requests. This was the most practice of your powers you’d ever had in your life. Virtual free reign to concentrate and manipulate at least two of the elements to the point where it was almost effortless. Earth still gave you trouble and you refused to play with fire – literally. You were afraid of losing control again. And, even if you refused to admit it to anyone, the last vision still terrified you.

Nothing else had come to you since that night and you wondered if that was a sign. You worried over it, to the point that Sehun noticed and tried to sooth you through it, saying that maybe it was a good thing and that the course of time was changing. But you didn’t believe it. You couldn’t. The blood moon was inching closer and along with it, the threat that remained in the shadows.

Taking a deep breath, you focused on the present, smiling at the young girl as you scooted on your knees closer to the coffee table. You said nothing to Mei, simply lifting your hand and concentrating on the liquid in the plastic cup.

At first, she didn’t notice the swirling, murky orb of paint-tainted water lifting from the cup, too focused in on her masterpiece to care.

“Mei,” Jongin whispered next to her ear. He pointed to the orb in an effort to grab her attention. A few seconds went by before she finally looked up. Then she gasped.

You couldn’t help but smile at the wonder in her eyes. She followed the ball as you moved it across the room, stumbling and tripping over the dress-like shirt that kept her clean. With a tiny hand, she reached out. You concentrated on keeping the form together as she poked at the surface. A loud squealing giggle erupted from Mei as soon as her tiny finger met the water. She leapt back and clapped her hands. A broad smile of your own spread wide across your lips at her excitement. Several droplets fell from the orb down to the rug as your focus slipped, but you were able to save the rest when you realized what you were about to do.

“Mo’! Mo’!” Mei cheered after you put the water back in the cup.

“Actually, I think it’s time for lunch,” Evie said as she put down the book and stood from the couch.

Apparently not a fan of this new suggestion, Mei stumbled her way over to you, falling into your lap and burying her face in your stomach.

“Nice try,” Evie said in her practiced mom voice. She walked over, bent down, and plucked her right up. Mei squirmed and pouted in her mother’s arms. The child certainly didn’t want to leave, even sending you a pleading look to save her. But there was nothing you could do. Mother trumped witch every time.

“You’re going to be her new best friend,” Chanyeol laughed once they were in the kitchen.

“Until she finds something else more exciting,” you said with a chuckle. Your eyes moved across the room, secretly hoping that Sehun had returned from town. He’d gone with Kris to the auto shop, needing to pick up a few parts for his car. Knowing you’d be bored to death and being very against the idea of sitting in a confined space with Kris for almost an hour both ways, you’d decided to stay behind. You didn’t need to be by Sehun’s side twenty-four-seven, but he certainly did make you feel more comfortable. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like he was back quite yet.

Your eyes, however, did land on Harper, who stood near the entrance to the front parlor, arms folded over her chest and her eyes planted on the floor near her feet. A sad smile pulled on her lips as she was lost in thought, making you wonder what was going on her head. Before you could come to any conclusion of your own, her smile disappeared, her expression twisting to one of pain before she turned and ran out of the room. Concerned for your friend, you jumped to your feet and followed her.

Harper had ran outside and made it to just beyond the edge of the trees before you saw her bend over. The sounds that reached your ears told you that she was throwing up. You approached cautiously. “Harper?”

She froze. She didn’t shift to look at you. Her gaze stayed down on the dirt, hands resting on her knees to keep her stable.

“You know, most people run to the bathroom when they’re going to be sick,” you joked. That actually got a laugh out of her.

Straightening up, Harper wiped the corner of her mouth with her sleeve. “There’s less ears out here.”

“Less ears?” you echoed. Luhan was gone on a run with the older wolves and you didn’t think anyone else – except for a few of the mates – would be all over her if she simply got sick. While Harper was always the more “suffer in silence” type that you could identify with, this seemed a little out there even for her. “What’s going on?”

A burdened sigh blew through her lips. She pushed a lock of her short hair behind her ear. Almost subconsciously, a hand drifted down to her stomach.

Oh. Oh.

You chewed on your bottom lip. “How long?”

Harper shrugged. “A few weeks at most. I took the test at Hae In’s a few days ago when I started to suspect, although she doesn’t know. She was at work when I did it.”

“Does Luhan know?” Harper shook her head. Well, this was quite the predicament you found yourself in. If you were to list out all the couples in the house and put them in order of who was most likely to get pregnant next, these two would have been near the bottom of the list. “Are you going to tell him?”

Again, she shook her head. “Not until after the blood moon and all this other chaos has settled down. I don’t need him worrying about me when his head needs to be focused on the pack. Once that threat is handled, I’ll tell him.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Do you think you’ll be able to hide this from him for long?”

“I have my ways,” she said. “Besides, he’s not as observant as he likes to think he is.”

“None of them are,” you agreed with a laugh.

Harper laughed along with you until it slowly faded out. “Look, (y/n)-”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you promised. “Even from Sehun. When it’s not mine to tell, it never leaves my lips.” As someone who lived with a constant secret as well, you knew the importance of trust. And you knew you couldn’t tell Sehun. Whether you swore him to secrecy or not, eventually he’d let it slip to Luhan. That was neither his place, nor yours.

“Thank you,” Harper sniffed. For the first time since you’d met her, you saw a vulnerability in her eyes. A glassy sheen took over them and she sniffed again. “Is it bad if I admit I’m a little scared?”

You stepped closer to her, taking her hand in yours. “Why would that be bad?”

“I’m not like Evie,” she admitted in a quivering voice. “I’m not- I just don’t know if… if I’m capable of something like that. I’m not… I’m not soft. I was raised to hunt.”

“And to protect, if I remember correctly,” you pointed out. Giving out a sigh of your own, you tried another approach. “There’s all different kinds of mothers,” you said. “Not all are good, but most are. And even the good ones differ. You don’t have to be just like Evie. You can be your own kind of mother. I’m sure no matter what, that that kid is going to be one hell of a strong person.”

Finally, a tiny smile. “You think so?”

You nodded. “I’m certain of it. Besides, who wouldn’t want to have a mom who can teach them to fight? And use a bow? That sounds like some great bonding time to me.”

That really made her beam. Pulling you into a tight hug, she whispered, “Thank you.”

“I know you’re not going to magically feel better, but I’m here whenever you need a cheerleader, okay?” You leaned back, adding, “But you really should tell Luhan.”

“I will,” Harper scoffed as she let you go. “I’m going to regret you knowing, aren’t I?”

“Of course not,” you argued. You shrugged, taunting, “Someone’s going to need to be on your side when the rest find out.” Harper’s expression scrunched. She knew you were telling the truth. “Especially once Hae In finds out that you kept it from her.”

“Okay, okay.” She flung an arm around your shoulders. “Lets keep it down. And we should probably head back inside before someone actually notices.”

You nodded in agreement and then turned to head back inside. Then you flinched. Sehun was standing on the porch, arms folded and a curious frown pinching his brow together.

“About time you came back,” you teased in an effort to distract him. A smirk was his only response. Harper patted you on the back, giving you the go ahead. But you didn’t take off and run to your wolf. Instead, you kept pace with Harper, staying by her side as you walked towards the porch. The confidence in Sehun’s expression wayned.

“Hey.” Sehun caught your arm before you could head inside. “Is everything okay?”

Your eyes flickered to Harper, who gave you a smile before stepping through the front door. Plastering on your own smile, you replied, “Yeah, of course. Just some girl time. No big deal.”

Sehun visibly grinded down on his teeth. “You would tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“Yeah, if something was wrong with me, I’d tell you.” It wasn’t a lie - mostly. If something concerning you was going on, you’d tell him. He was always easy to talk to, more so than anyone you’d ever met before. But nothing was wrong with you, outside of your normal worries. Outside of the one thing you couldn’t voice even to the wind or the trees. Outside of the thing that scared you most.

Feeling that lump rising up in your throat that always did when you thought about it, you pushed yourself into Sehun’s embrace. His heart was right against your ear, beating fast from your closeness. He let go of your arm and wrapped his arms around you.

“I missed you,” he said softly.

You scoffed. “You were only gone a few hours. How could you miss me?”

“I guess I’m just a sap.”

Rolling your eyes, you leaned back to retort. But you played right into his hands.

Before you could let out a single word, he pressed his lips to yours, lifting you up and placing you on the porch railing.

“You are ridiculous,” you murmured against his lips.

“I know,” he murmured back. “But you love me for it.”

You stilled. That word….

With his thumb, he caressed your cheek. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

“Of course,” you urged, trying to stay peppy for him. But that stupid word kept bouncing around your head. Sliding down from the railing, you took his hand. “Come on. I’m hungry.”

“But (y/n)-”

“I can hear your stomach growling. Let’s go wolf boy.”

He wanted to argue, but he snapped his mouth shut. Thankfully, he’d save that argument for another day.

#exo #exo wolf au #exo wolf!au #sehun x reader #oh sehun #exo werewolf!au #exo werewolf au #exo series #exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo supernatural au #untamed wolf universe #Midnight Hours

487 notes · View notes

minervacasterly · 4 years ago

Text

Elizabethan Medicine and Tudor Hygiene:

“There is no concept of “health and safety” in Elizabethan England, so you will inevitably feel vulnerable when you arrive. Nauseating smells and sights will assail your senses; contemporary standards of cleanliness will worry you. People die every day from unknown ailments, the young as often as the old. Infectious diseases periodically kill thousands within a few weeks. Even when plague is not in town, it lurks as an anxiety in the back of people’s minds and, when it does strike, their worry turns to terror. On top of the illnesses, the chances of being attacked and hurt are much higher than in the modern world, and workplace injuries are far more common … The principle ideas underpinning most Elizabethan medical thinking come from Galen, who lived in the second century A.D. Physicians will cite him as an unquestionable authority when they explain to you that your health depends on a balance of the four humors: yellow bile or choler, black bile, phlegm, and blood …”

In her documentary “A Tudor Christmas”, Ruth Goodman also mentions this, adding that physicians could determine the source of your ailment based on any of these four humors, and just how did they know which humor(s) you had? Easy, they looked at your skin complexion, your hair, your eye color and any other thing that they were taught from academic manuals at the time that indicated any of these belonged to one or more humors.

As far as birth is concerned. In her three-part documentary series, acclaimed historian, Helen Castor says that the birth of a child was a private feminine affair. Men weren’t allowed unless it was absolutely necessary or if the woman or her child were dying and needed a priest to perform the last rites. If the latter wasn’t available, it would fall unto the midwife or midwives to carry out his duties. The Catholic Church didn’t frown upon this custom. They believed that if the mother and (especially) her child wasn’t given the last rites or (in case of the latter) was baptized, then their souls wouldn’t enter the gates of heaven and would be stuck on limbo for eternity. With the Protestant Reformation, people started to look down on the profession of midwifery. Before, there the usual accusations of witchcraft against these women, but they weren’t as frequent as people think. With the advent of new belief-systems taking most of Western Europe (and some of its colonies) by storm, this changed. Midwives were looked down upon, seen as agents of the devil. Many physicians scoffed at them and thought that they instead of doing of providing good service, they did a great disservice to the people they served by using holy trinkets and relying on old superstitions to make them feel good. Male physicians began to study women’s bodies -while still frowning on female anatomy- and while some of them looked at medicine with a more scientific approach, many of them were still susceptible to their religious bias (ironically, the same thing they accused the midwives of).

Yet, amidst all this chaos, some women continued to practice midwifery and some tried to bring it into the medical field by ridding it of all its superstition. What these women did that was different from their male counterparts is that they honored those that came before them, while still remaining critical of them.

Then there is sanitation. There was no health agency around this time to distribute leaflets on the dangers of poor hygiene. In her book “How to be a Tudor”, Ruth Goodman says that making fun of people with lice or bad health might have been a way to open people’s eyes. This is not an impossibility. In our world, we often use humor to open people’s eyes about various social ills so it is not weird that the same thing was being done by our ancestors in Tudor times. However, good hygiene wasn’t something that was being widely practiced in the Elizabethan period. Like her father, Queen Elizabeth I studied about various potions and kept a book about diseases and how to prevent them; but the same can’t be said for her subjects. After the smell of human waste on urban areas like London became unbearable, Elizabeth I ordered that public letrines be built on almost every corner.

Before the Tudor period there were many bath houses but due to its malevolent association with prostitution (thanks to literature -which was the modern equivalent of The Enquirer or other gossip magazines), they became less used and people began to see bathing often as something bad in contrast to the preceding view from medieval England.

As for clothing. It was important to have your undergarments cleaned often. Ruth Goodman and Lucy Worsley go into this subject in their respective books “How to be a Tudor” and “If Walls could Talk”. Even if you weren’t a fan of having a bath, people still believed it was vital to wash your clothes often. The Queen, as previously stated, took a great interest in her hygiene and bathed more than most of her courtiers and had most of her under-garments cleaned and handled with care so she wouldn’t have to suffer from lice and fleas. Looking good also translated to smelling good, so in case you had a B.O. (body odor) you couldn’t rid yourself of, people would carry special bags packed with spices, roses and other herbs that acted as perfume.

Source quoted: Time Traveler’s Guide to Elizabethan England by Ian Mortimer

Additional sources:

1. How to be a Tudor by Ruth Goodman

2. The Private Lives of the Tudors by Tracy Borman

3. If these Walls Could Talk by Lucy Worsley

Documentary links: ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=inoVg5a1kps&index=9&list=PLubXsfF29GmNIOGORlQDYVIOGK2U4VsSq )

Unfortunately YouTube no longer has the Helen Castor documentary. You have to buy it on Amazon. Although it sounds like a nuisance, it is worth it. I learned a lot from it and I also recommend her books (She-Wolves, the women who ruled women before Elizabeth I & Joan of Arc).

#history #hygiene #dailytudors #elizabeth i of england

18 notes · View notes

ardentmuse · 5 years ago

Note

Hi, Lovely! May I request #41 with a Mr. Remus Lupin, please? Low-key feel like he's a Chidi.

Tiny Miracles

Harry Potter (Marauders Era) - Remus Lupin x fem!Reader

41. What’s the secret? Is the secret more books? How many more books do I need?

Wordcount: 1.6k

Warnings: talk of death, talk of pregnancy, angst, lots of angst, but comfort too, also AU where James and Lily live and Sirius doesn’t go to prison. Post first war

Masterlist

A/N: Remus is totally a Chidi! And while this quote is fun and light, my brain went a little heavier with it. I love this turned out and I hope you do too.

Remus searched the indexes of each book piled before him, basically every one on his condition that this and a few neighboring libraries had, desperate for a sentence that might guide him just a little. A few times, he was able to flip to a chapter or passage, but even then, the words that popped out to him proved useless:

No known cases…

Blood and saliva…

Lycanthropy…

Lupine wolf cubs…

Kill mother from the inside…

Remus slammed closed the book and pressed his palms into his eyes to hold down the tears. He hadn’t slept in nearly 30 hours. His head was pounding with hunger and dehydration and, more than anything, fear. The pile of books around him was nearly obscuring his vision but there had to be an answer somewhere.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He was infertile, or at least that was what the doctors at St. Mungo’s had told him parents when he was five.

“Werewolves are incapable of procreating with uninfected humans,” they had said. “And mating together can only happen during the full moon and will produce wolves, not humans.”

His mother had cried a lot, he remembered, mourning the loss of her future grandchildren since she was no longer capable of having more babies of her own. Remus remembered those muffled cries a little too well. He had mourned too for the life he couldn’t provide his parents and the life he couldn’t provide himself. But over time, he had grown to accept it. To be willing to watch Harry and whatever other little ones his friends would have grow would be enough for him.

But then you came into his life, his perfect angel of care and kindness and silliness and he mourned all over again. He knew it was selfish to date you. You deserved a home full of mini ones with your eyes and your smile, so much joy surrounding you all. You would be a fabulous mother — of that he had no doubt — but you chose him and everything that entailed, empty nest and all.

He never in a million years anticipated this.

Maybe that time he bit you by accident during sex and you suddenly could smell very clearly had made your womb open to his seed. Maybe when your patrons changed, you grew a little more wolfish as a result. Or maybe werewolves can only mate when they find true love.

Whatever it was, the answer had to be in a book somewhere.

A soft knock on the top of his book fort woke him from his tearful daze.

“Hey, Remy,” Lily said, “How you doin’ in there?”

Remus looked up to meet her face. Lily’s cheeks were full and flush, her hands gently supporting the large swell of her belly, carrying the second child to join the Potter clan. The war had ended less than a year ago and Lily and James immediately decided to continue their family. “No more death, only life,” they had said. This one was a girl to join little Harry, one they had agreed to name Alice in honor of Longbottoms whose untimely end had left a baby alone in the world but also stopped Voldemort for good. Lily and James knew too well how, if they had had less loyal friends, it could have been Harry orphaned and alone.

“I feel like death.”

Lily laughed, “And you look like it, too,” before taking a seat beside him a pushing the books far out of reach.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen, Lil. In fact, it has never happened in known medical history if these books are to be believed.”

“Miracles happen every day, Remus. Shouldn’t this baby be something we celebrate?”

Lily reached out to grab Remus’s hand but he jerked it away. He pulled himself to standing on his wobbly, sleep-deprived feet.

“No, we shouldn’t!” Remus shouted, “And that thing inside my wife is not a baby. If it is anything like me, it is a cold-blooded killed controlled only by the waning of the moon and its desire for flesh. And it lives inside my wife, just waiting to grow enough strength to murder her!”

Lily persisted despite Remus’s ranting, grabbing him by the shoulders and leading him back to his chair. Remus was tired and his breathing swallow. He followed her guided movements with ease. Soon, Lilly was kneeling before Remus, her belly brushing against his knees.

“Or inside your wife resides a beautiful, precious little baby, just waiting to grow so she can meet her daddy, drink some milk, learn some magic and make all of our lives better just by being here. If that baby is anything like you, it is kind, smart, sharp and human.”

Remus was crying again, and his palms couldn’t hold back the flood gates this time.

“I’m just so scared, Lil.”

“And what do you think Y/N is feeling? You left her all alone these past two days. She told you something very scary, something about which she needs you both to be brave, and you ran away.”

The soft circles Lily was drawing into his knee were juxtaposed to the harsh way those last three words spit from her mouth. Lilly wasn’t here to comfort him, he now understood. Lily was here to force him to toughen up for your sake. Lily’d probably spent the past two days listening to you cry about how your husband left you pregnant and alone and Lily simply couldn’t take it anymore.

He felt like utter shit just picturing it.

“What do I do, Lily? What’s the secret?… Is the secret more books? How many more books do I need?”

Lily pushed away the few books that were still in Remus’s reach.

“No more books. There isn’t a book to learn how to talk to your wife,” Lily’s voice was heavy but then she laughed. “But if you find one, send it to James, yeah? Boy’s an idiot.”

Remus laughed a little, too, and with it, Remus looked up from his hovel for the first time since Lily arrived. James, Sirius, and Harry were standing in the alcove leading to the stacks, giving Lily space to talk to you but providing support regardless. Harry was holding a stuffed niffler and bounding it off the archway.

“Think he heard you,” Remus said.

“Twas the intention.” Lily smiled at Remus and with it he felt some life returning to his limbs. Though, seeing Lily like this, full and jovial with her rounded belly, made him miss you all the more. He wondered if you’d look as striking and radiant as Lily seemed to during her pregnancies, just beauty and grace flowing from her. He ventured you’d be even more so. You were far more striking already in his eyes. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t ever imagined such a thing.

“She could die,” Remus whispered like a secret, as if saying it out loud made it real.

Lily’s eyes had drifted to the place where her family resided just a ways off. At Remus’s words, her gaze snapped back and she frowned deeply.

“You’re right, she could,” Lily said, not trying to soften the blow, “But so could I. All women put their lives on the line to bring life into this world. That’s our burden. But we’ll get the best healers and we’ll keep her on bedrest as needed and we’ll make sure there is a lot of red meat in her diet just in case.”

Remus nodded, not because he felt any better, but because he knew there was nothing else to do. You had already said you were keeping the baby, the miracle life inside you, and you weren’t willing to hear arguments against it. You had spoken with the healers and while no one knew for sure what was going to happen, they knew you and baby were currently in good health.

You definitely were being much braver than he was. He felt like he should give back his house robes.

“I just love her so much,” Remus said into his hands.

“I love you, too.”

Remus’s eyes popped up again and behind Lily you stood. You were bundled up in your robes, the weather growing chillier with each day, and while Remus couldn’t see the tiny protrusion of your uterus that had just started pushing past your hip bones, the knowledge that it was there made him burn with protective love for you.

His gaze continued up to your face. Your eyes were puffy with crying, their rims red and angry. Your hair could use some attention and your smile wasn’t reaching the corners of your mouth.

Immediately, Remus stood and ran to you. His arms crashed around you as his lips showered your cheeks with kisses.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into your ear as he held you close, squeezing as hard as he dared given your state.

“I understand,” you whispered to him, “I can’t imagine how scary this is for you.”

Remus grabbed your shoulders and pulled away to see your face. You were smiling at him somehow. Somehow, you were seeing his pain beyond all your own.

“Our baby needs a father who’ll be strong for him. The world is a cruel, cold place for their kind and I promise you I’m ready to step up. I love you.”

Your gaze stayed trained on his face as your eyebrows scrunched in what Remus thought was fear.

“Their kind?” you asked.

“Babies,” Remus assured you. “It’s a difficult world for babies.”

You laughed and Remus did too. And as he straightened his back and pulled you tight to his chest, Remus felt like himself for the first time since you had shared the news. Only now, he felt like one thing more — a father.

All tags: @fangirlandnerd, @aerdnandreaa, @thisisbullshytt, @cancerousjojian, @whovianayesha, @themarauderstheoutsidersandpeggy, @luna-xxxxx, @sleepylunarwolf, @starryrevelations, @potter-thinking, @all-by-myself98, @bananafosters-and-books, @cutie-bug, @igotmadskills, @hazelandcoconuts, @yallgotkik

Harry Potter tags: @tessimagines, @0-lost-in-stereo-0, @whysoseriouspadfoot, @eldritchscreech, @luckyvirgo, @hellizhelusive2, @lexrius, @sapphireorchid

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin #remus lupin imagine #remus x reader #hp #hp imagine #harry potter imagines #hp imagines #remus #marauders era #marauders imagine #justducky0423 #lia talks #ardentmuse almost 2k celebration

565 notes · View notes

nekokoaa · 5 years ago

Text

Wolves Among Us - Bakugo x Reader (XI)

Wolves Among Us – Bakugo x Reader

Series Warning: Fantasy AU, Fluff, NSFW

(Chapter XI/??) All chapters in AO3 and masterlist

Hey guys! It's been a while! Sorry about that. School's a killer. Thank you guys for being so patience and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

PS: The title of this chapter is a play on the phrase “the pot calling the kettle black”. I honestly didn't know what to name this chapter but I thought this fit the best and I was trying to be all creative lol

Chapter Warning: I guess a bit of blood?

Taglist: Edit*** Totally forgot to add this whoops DDX If you read this chapter ignore the tag lol******

@freedom-for-bum @reallyfuckingangrylatina @risarisarisaa @ashherssss @mels-heart @xa-dia @shanty-lol @amkxh @chims-kookies @fantasticapple @thalia-luna-hawthorn

------------------------------

XI: The Human Calling the Wolf Beast

Staring at the cavernous hole between his legs was a reminder for Izuku how old and raggedy the outhouse was. Tall wooden walls closed around him. They were rotting with age as a green substance took over the wood’s natural gray color. Izuku had questioned how this place was still standing with the amount of snow storms they had over the months and even the spiders cuddled within their webs in the upper corners of the outhouse had deemed this place safe against the outside forces. The urge to sleep was still upon him that he had not yet realized he had emptied his bladder. He stayed staring into the abyss under him, the sights beyond it shrouded in darkness, he would not know of the amount of defecation huddled at the bottom, nor in this state, did he care.

With a quick shake of his cock in his hands, he stuffed it under the rims of his pants, lifting the waistline until it hugged just under his waist. He exited the outhouse, its door creaking loudly as soon as it was touched, and he kneeled in front of a pile of snow and began to lather his hands in it. It was something his mother taught him whenever there wasn’t any water around to wash his hands. He knew most men would’ve carried on without their hands ever touching water after using the bathroom, and he wanted to believe he wasn’t like most men as what his mother would’ve said. You’re not like most men, Izuku. He heard from time to time again usually whenever he helped her with cooking or cleaning, it wasn’t said as an insult but rather a delightful compliment, pleased at her son for what he has grown up to be.

He wondered what she was doing now. He left her without a word but left a note by the kitchen table under the constraints of a fork. Perhaps, she would read it and leave searching for him or would trust his judgement, ultimately trusting him. Whichever the case, Izuku knew his mother tended to be as soft as him (it was where he got it from), but he believed hidden behind that softness was uncontained determination and once she worked towards a goal, it would be completed with failures and all.

He had a similar outlook. His goal was to find you and so he did, but now he questioned what would come after. Would you still be able to come back to the village despite them declaring you dead?

Izuku sighed inaudibly as the snow crunched under his boots before he reached the backdoor of the cabin. He kicked his boots against the wooden floors, the snow falling from his hooves and left behind at the door. Unfortunately, the cabin didn’t have any lanterns on the walls of its hallway, so the trail of darkness continued to pour through the cabin. Izuku had thought ahead and the tray of a candle he left at the floor was picked up and relit by a match. He walked down the hall, past the kitchen while the floorboards creaked under his weight and in between the bathing room and the kitchen was his room, its door was left ajar. Right across his room was your room and before he could retire for the night, he heard faint sounds coming from behind your door.

At first, he hesitated. He wasn’t sure about a man going into a woman’s room in the late of night. Yes, he grew up with you and there were plenty of days where he slept in your room as a child and vice versa but now as adults, as sexuality buds, even being in close proximity of a person’s room of the opposite sex was a little nerve-wracking.

He was about to abandon the idea to check up on you, already grasping his doorknob and pushing his door open until:

“H-Help…!” A terrible shriek had come.

It wasn’t a second longer until Izuku threw your door open. He expected the worst, like a robber had snuck in while he was using the bathroom or perhaps that wolf from hell was back to torment you and him again. But instead, he stumbled upon you on your bed, tousled limbs in the air as if you were possessed. You were shrieking, tears drowning your face, and dripping onto the mattress as well as your blood that was oddly seeping through the bandages.

He called your name in distress, placing the candle down on a table before grabbing you up by your arms. You started fighting his hold, thrashing your arms to where it nearly hit him in the face. “Wake up! It’s a dream!” He sounded desperate, afraid that if he used any more of his strength that he would hurt you in the process.

“Katsuki…!” You began calling for the wolf from hell and Izuku’s heart sank. How could you still think of him in a positive light when he put you in this position? When he hurt you? He gulped, putting those thoughts behind him when your eyes had shot open. He assumed the fighting would stop, but your eyes being open wasn’t a signifier that you were awake. The screaming remained, the fighting remained, and the calling of a certain wolf’s name remained.

Izuku was suddenly reminded of a moment in time where you had woken up from a fright. Around the age of 5, you woke up crying, reaching out to a startled small Izuku besides you. You were aware you were awake, but you cried for your mother instead, even though she was already dead by that time. Young Izuku, as chivalrous as he was during that age, started to shush you, pulling you into a hug and rubbing your back as you sobbed into his chest. It worked as a spell, quieting you down to whimpers as soft as Izuku’s whispers. “It’s okay, ____... I’m here. I’m right next to you…”

So, he held you close to his chest despite your thrashing and his hand held the back of your head, your hair fell between his fingers, and his lips softly pressed against your temple. He brought his other hand over your back, large fingers treading over your shoulders.

“Shh… I’m right here. I’m here…” His breath bounced against your heated forehead when he spoke, his voice smooth like pudding as he pressed his lips to your head again. And just like long ago, you settled down in his arms, returning his hug weakly, your fingers clutched at his back until his shirt crinkled in your grip.

No matter who you called for, as long as Izuku was there, he would embrace you until all was well again.

…

You have never seen the sky so blue before as it hovered over your body, infinite vastness of sapphire stretched past the horizon, beyond the mountains and hills below. The wind swooshed below you, whipping through your hair as it wildly hit your cheeks. It tangled within the air above you, moved by the force from below. Your stomach felt like it was floating in your body, weightless as it twisted and churned the feathery feeling that danced around in your midsection.

How long has it been since you were falling? You couldn’t recall, but it felt like eons since you were on the ground.

…

Izuku was up tending your wound for hours. Before he knew it, the sun had risen into skies covered with thick clouds and heavy snowflakes plummeted to the ground. The chattering of the doors and windows were a reminder of how strong this storm had grown overnight. The cabin could no longer keep the cold out as it was seeping through the tiny cracks between the walls. Already, Izuku could feel you shivering yet he did not know whether it was from the cold or the fever that developed overnight. He knew your wound was quite grave, but he didn’t know it would’ve resulted in a fever. The odd part for him was that no matter how much pressure he added or how tight he wrapped the bandages; your wound wouldn’t stop bleeding. At this rate, you would die from blood loss in just a few hours.

Izuku’s panic urged him to move swiftly, wrapping clean bandages for the umpteenth time around your arm. He was already running out of stock and soon decided it was time to go out to the nearest town to buy some more bandages, ointments, and hopefully stitches.

“I won’t be gone for long,” he whispered, bringing a hand to briefly brush your bangs off your forehead. It was devastating how some strands stuck to your skin because of your sweat. Your skin lacked your usual vibrant color and was left with a pale variant of it. The skin under your eyes were darkened, leaving a sickly appearance if one were to gaze at you. At times, you would wake up, spewing incoherent mumbles before falling back to sleep. It was like your body was desperately trying to conserve all of your energy to heal you, so you couldn’t stay awake for more than a few minutes.

Just as you grew sicker by the hour, Izuku’s hatred for Katsuki grew to new heights. He began cursing the wolf for what he has done to you. As much as he blamed Katsuki, he blamed himself for the lack of courage he had to save you from him. He should’ve been more protective of you when he started to notice your obsession with wolves. Maybe he could’ve convinced you not to pursue your curiosity and you being deemed dead by the village wouldn’t have happened. Regretting the past did nothing to the results of the present. And so, he would have to live with his guilt until you somehow recovered from this.

Izuku soon left you, throwing on his heavy coat stuffed to the brim with cotton and lined with sheep wool. He slipped on his boots that he left near the door of your room and grabbed a small pouch packed with his money off the table. He quickly made his way to the front of the cabin. Already, he could hear the whistling of the harsh wind outside blowing through the trees and against the cabin, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. His mind was already set on going, he risked his life once for you and he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

The cabin door was thrown open by the force of the wind once Izuku had unlocked it. The snow began assaulting the wooden floors, piling on top of itself until it created tiny hills. Izuku panicked at the amount of snow that was already in the cabin and he threw himself outside to try to get the door to close.

But he didn’t get far as he was stopped by a figure that was standing just a bit from the cabin. Not even the snow pelting the ground or the fog lingering in the area was prominent enough to hide the beauty of the woman standing in front of him. Her skin was as pale as the snow around her while her cheeks were the opposite and tinted with bright pink. Her lips were small, her nose was small, but her eyes were large, bright, and rich in brown and her eyelashes worked as curtains for them. Her hair was in a bob that curled at the ends against her cheeks and the color of her hair reminded him of almonds. His favorite snack.

“What are you doing out here? It’s dangerous!” He tried to yell over the howl of the wind, but it was impossible. The storm was too powerful. So, he grabbed the woman by her shoulders and ushered her inside the cabin and with all his might, he pulled the door against the wind and locked it shut, letting out a heavy sigh of relief when he leaned his forehead against it. He felt it was vibrating softly, just another reminder at how brutal the storm was. He thought this woman was crazy for being out there, but he assumed the worst. Maybe she needed help or didn’t have shelter from the storm. He was about to question her, but she spoke first.

“You’re Izuku, right?”

“H-How…?” His words faltered when he turned around to face the woman and spotted almond colored wolf ears sitting on top of her head. He blinked at them for a moment, questioning their appearance as they weren’t there when he first spotted her. He almost shrieked at the sight of them, but he held his composure, breathing deeply before he narrowed his eyes at her. There could only be one reason why a wolf would suddenly show up at this cabin.

“What do you want? You couldn’t possibly be here to see her.”

“What makes you think I’m not?” She wasn’t surprised at his hostility. He was human after all. “I wanted to see if she was still alive…”

Why do you care? Was what he wanted to say but he held his tongue for reasons struck by fear. She wasn’t as threatening as Katsuki, but she was still a wolf. “Of course, she is. But she’s hurt… I’m sure you know how. You were probably there.”

“Yes, I was.”

“I’m sorry, but I was going to go out and buy some medicine for her. So, if you would—”

“It won’t work.”

“What?”

“She won’t be healed by that.”

“What do you mean…?” Izuku hated the look on her face. How her brows knitted together and formed the creases between her eyes. It didn’t match with her beauty. She looked up at him like she was begging for him to hear her out. He found himself complying, no longer able to stand her expression. With a nod, he led her to your room and he couldn’t forget the look in her eyes when she saw you. The color of your skin spoke of your lifespan. At best, a day was all you had left.

“This is horrible…” Izuku heard her mumble as she squeezed her hands into fists. She couldn’t believe the drastic change of your appearance. Just a couple of days ago you were vibrant and gushing about Katsuki to her. Even though you were upset at him, she still saw the love blossomed in your eyes whenever you spoke of him. You always found a reason to talk about him even if it was just a rant. And the moments where you would suddenly daze off, she had no doubt in her mind that it was Katsuki filling your thoughts.

“How did you find us anyway?”

“Her blood. I followed the scent of her blood.”

“Ah—O-Okay,” Izuku scratched the side of his head. It wasn’t that he was confused but more taken aback by her response. It wasn’t everyday where you hear of someone tracking by the scent of blood. Wolves were truly different when compared to humans. “So… would you mind explaining what you meant before? Why wouldn’t medicine work for her?”

She sighed heavily, turning her large brown eyes on Izuku. “Katsuki—I’m sure you know—the wolf from yesterday? He—He’s special. He’s not like the rest of us. He’s the direct descendant of our ancestor and next in line as pack leader. Because of that, Katsuki inherited abilities from him. We call it ‘The Curse of Fenrir’.”

“The Curse of Fenrir…?” It sounded terrifying to Izuku, but it grew his curiosity.

“Yes, sometimes we just call it ‘The Curse’ but if a human gets hurt by Katsuki, any damage inflicted by his claws or fangs would never heal.”

“Never heal…?”

“At least not with medicine or on its own. Katsuki himself would have to heal the wound by cleaning it.”

“So, the only way for ____ to be healed is if that wolf does it.”

Ochako nodded, “I tried to convince Katsuki to do it but… he’s still upset about what happened.”

“She’s going to die any day now and he won’t heal her? I-I have to go convince him… I—” Izuku began gathering his things and before he could trudge past Ochako, she grabbed his arm and stopped him.

“I have no doubt if Katsuki sees you, he’ll kill you. Right now, you should stay by her side. I’ll try and talk to him again—"

“I can’t just sit here and watch her die. I have to at least do something!”

“I’m not asking you to. Katsuki,” she tried to find the words with a brief bite of her lips. “Katsuki cares about her. He wouldn’t let her die. I know he wouldn’t.”

“This is the same wolf who did this to her. I refuse to believe I have to only rely on such a b-beast to save my friend.”

It was odd. Ochako the other day was calling Katsuki the same thing yet hearing it from Izuku had lit a small flame of anger within her. It didn’t feel like it was only towards Katsuki but towards her kind as a whole.

“Beast? You hardly know him, or us, matter of fact,” she spoke with a growl in her voice.

“After what he did, how can he be anything other than that?”

“You sound as if humans never acted irrational before. For all the havoc you guys cause, from destroying lands, nature, and my people, why aren’t you considering yourselves beasts?”

Izuku’s silence spoke volumes. He stared back at Ochako, stunned by her words.

“That’s because you humans only ever look at yourselves and never consider the differences around you. We may be ‘beasts’ but that doesn’t mean we don’t have emotions like humans. We live just like you, eat just like you, we have family like you. Katsuki getting angry for seeing a woman he likes in the arms of another man doesn’t make him a beast because I’m sure you humans would’ve reacted the same way.”

“I was only speaking of him.”

“Speaking of him is speaking of all of us.”

Izuku frowned. The anger in his eyes falter significantly and what was left was pure guilt about his words. “I’m-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—"

“It’s okay,” she sighed. “I’m just... tired of this divide. We’re practically cousins by species but it seems like we’ll never get along.”

“Maybe a lot of forgiveness and forgetfulness would do the trick?” Izuku shrugged his shoulders with a smile all too pure that it evaporated any anger she previously felt towards him. She had never seen a smile so kind, at least, from a human (other than you) that was directed at her.

“Probably, we’ll need a lot of it, for sure,” she laughed.

…

Katsuki had enough. It was easier to say that he could forget about you after your ‘betrayal’ but he found himself wondering about your wellbeing more than he would’ve liked. No woman had ever had this effect on him before. He was always able to forget about them. But for you, he couldn’t help but feel attached to you. Even as he laid on the sheep wool bedding, turning around he half expected to see you asleep by his side. But when he saw nothing but the cave’s walls ahead, he knew he could no longer handle being away from you.

Katsuki knew of his abilities and he knew when he had slashed you, it was possible that it would’ve been the last time he saw you alive. His stubbornness kept him from chasing after you. In fact, he was afraid to admit that at that time, he believed you were better off dead than in the arms of another man. It scared him greatly at how attached he felt to you that he would rather wish for your death than for you to be away from him.

But he came to realize at that moment when Ochako stormed out of his cave in tears after his threats and the air of his cave was reduced of your scent the longer you were absent from it, he questioned if this was truly how he wanted to live. A life without you seemed impossible when you were with him and now it could very much be his reality.

…

“I’ll try to convince Katsuki. I know he won’t let her die.”

Izuku was seeing Ochako to the door. His eyebrows furrowed at the sound of the raging wind outside. The door was chattering at the force of it. “Are you sure you’ll be okay traveling in this storm?”

“Yeah, of course,” she chuckled softly. “I’m a wolf, remember?”

It didn’t matter what she was, Izuku was still worried. He leaned against the wall and buried his hands within his pants pockets. “I know, still, be careful out there, Ochako.”

Ochako smiled. She never had someone so concerned about her wellbeing before especially not a human. All they did was run at the sight of her or try to kill her but to have one worry about her even after knowing her capabilities as a wolf was a refreshing feeling. “I will be.”

Izuku gave her a small smile before she left into the blistering weather and faded into the fog. It was a hassle closing the door but Izuku managed with his strength and locked it before he retired back to your room.

…

As the night started settling into the day, the storm had reached its peak. The winds were blowing at high speeds capable of knocking anyone off their feet. Fog and snow obscure all sight as no one could barely see a few inches in front of them. Walking outside was a death sentence for any human.

But not for wolves.

Katsuki hiked through the forest as if he weren’t phased by the forces of nature. The winds may be slowing down his speed, but the fog and snow only slightly obscured his vision. Even his sense of smell was still functioning normally as he followed the scent of blood that was being carried with the wind. It was sweet and awfully familiar, and it made his mouth water with desire. Katsuki knew exactly who it belong to.

He followed the scent until it led him to a cabin that was slowly being buried by the snow. A quarter of the front door was already submerged in it, but it didn’t stop Katsuki from figuring out another way in. He followed where the scent of blood was most prominent to the side of the cabin and there was a window in which he effortlessly lifted open and climb inside.

His crimson eyes had zeroed in on nothing in the room but the person lying in bed, pale and nearly lifeless. That person was you. He refused to believe that’s what you’ve become because of him. You were a person so vibrant and beautiful that it could nearly make Katsuki cry at the sight of your presence and now you lacked the light that made you shine—that made Katsuki love you.

He walked to you. The wooden flooring creaked under his weight with his slow steps. Even as he tried to walk without making a sound, being gentle was just one thing Katsuki couldn’t do correctly. He regretted the moment he got closer to you because he saw the discoloring around your eyes and the cold sweat damping your pale skin. You were lying on your back without any covers and the wound on your arm that was wrapped in bandages were being soaked with your blood. The sweet smell lingered around the room no doubt making Katsuki’s mouth water, but he was too deep in his sorrow to act on his urges.

What kind of lover was he to hurt you like this? To make you suffer until you were tethering in and out of the underworld? He yearned to see your smile again, your smile that made his heart flutter in ways it had never before, to look at him with your bright eyes that embodied the feeling of love only for him, to have you in his arms again, so small and fragile yet fit perfectly within them. And the sound of your voice when you would call his name had him wishing he could listen to it on repeat.

Katsuki’s hands formed into fists, his claws dug into his palms so hard that it punctured his skin and his blood slipped between his clenched fingers and fell upon the floor. He fucked up. He fucked up so bad that he couldn’t see how he deserved to stay with you. You didn’t deserve someone like him. Someone who would hurt his lover because he couldn’t control his anger. How could he possibly protect you if he couldn’t protect you from himself?

A low growl had sounded from him and already the wound on his hands had healed up on their own. Katsuki sat on your bed and grabbed your injured arm. He unwrapped the bandages and revealed the gash that showed no signs of healing. He grimaced at it, not because of its grotesque appearance but because he was the one who had caused it.

He didn’t hesitate to drag his tongue on your wound, gasping and growling at the delicious taste that had his saliva spilling from his lips. But he couldn’t enjoy it like the last time he had taste your blood. He moved desperately, diligently with a goal to cure you of this curse.

You, on the other hand, had stirred in your long slumber with your eyebrows furrowed and teeth biting lips. Your pale complexion became flush in color, panting and mewling at the feeling of Katsuki’s tongue against you. He couldn’t tell if you were in pain or pleasure, but he couldn’t stop the fuzzy feeling building within his loins. You moaned softly, breathlessly and Katsuki glanced at your face with his glowing red eyes as he licked and licked until his face was drenched in your blood.

“K-Katsuki… aahn…” Katsuki could see it. He could see the soft rolling of your hips. It was not pain you were feeling. It was far from it.

Yet he continued to lick, ignoring the desire rumbling within him. After how badly he treated you, you still thought of him as a lover. He was still someone you thought of the moment you felt pleasure and that stirred something within him that he couldn’t quite name.

He growled softly, nearly losing himself in your moans. He cleaned your wound until there was nothing but three discolored scars left. He made sure it was clean of all your blood. He wasn’t going to leave one drop of it on your skin. And when he was done, he pulled away and found you panting, flushed, and mumbling his name deliriously in your slumber. He soaked in your appearance knowing that this was going to be the last time he’ll ever see it. He decided back at his cave that he was going to heal you and then leave you. It was the best form of action he had to take for your sake. You weren’t safe with him.

Though it was a struggle for him to leave you. Your complexion was returning to normal and your breathing was finally in control. You were already starting to look like yourself again. Even the feel of your skin underneath his palm when he had reached out to caress your cheek was reaching normal temperatures. Katsuki whispered your name. It sounded so soft that it could break before it reached anyone’s ears, but it was also weighed with guilt, love, and hesitation. For once in his life, he was unsure. Can he actually live without you?

“I’m sorry…” He grunted out when he had hovered over you and pushed his forehead against yours, noses touching and lips barely brushing against each other. He repeated those words until he was satisfied as his face contorted into one of pain with knitted eyebrows and gritted teeth. He ripped himself off of you with a growl and still he was unsure. But hesitation didn’t stop him from turning his back on you. He was leaving. He had to.

Katsuki dragged himself to the window and he rewarded himself with one final glance at your sleeping form to burn you in his memory.

But what he didn’t expect to see was you staring right back at him with those beautiful half-lidded eyes that he ached to see.

“Shit.”

Oof.

I'll be honest, I love-hate writing this chapter and I'm not sure why lol WELP I'm excited for the next chapter cause It's gonna be awesome. I'm tired of this angst, aren't you guys? Thank you guys so much for reading!! Until next chapter, loves.

#bnha #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bakugo katsuki #izuku midoriya #uraraka ochako #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki fanfiction #wau bnha #fanfiction

161 notes · View notes

stetervault · 5 years ago

Note

Any historical aus you can recommend?

There is a serious lack of these in the Steter fandom imo, especially ones that aren’t regency/royalty, but thankfully they do exist:

Steam Rises from the Body by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Peter and Stiles are surgeons in a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital near the front line of the Korean War.

Hooverville by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

Town to town, train to train, tent to tent.

By 1932, the dust had begun to blow and the jobs were gone.

Anonymity was a byproduct of looking for work, which made it both necessary and convenient.

Stiles had enough secrets of his own to know to look the other way when he saw something that shouldn’t be possible.

The ghost of a tail giving enough balance to disembark a moving train.

Near silent Latin whispered on the edge of a tent encampment.

A flash of burning eyes.

He had more than enough to worry about without adding the oddities of others, and besides- having unusually sharp teeth certainly didn’t make a man worse than the ones running from the wife and kids they couldn’t feed.

So Stiles kept his observations to himself. He kept his everything to himself.

Until he met a man. One with eyes so blue they seemed to glow- and then they did.

Stiles tried to look away, but for the first time he was stopped.

“Don’t be like that sweetheart. Aren’t you curious?”

Orbital Distance by neglectedtuesday

Artemis, the capital city of the Moon, where movies are born and stars are made. The crown jewel of American cinema and simultaneously Hollywood’s biggest rival. The money may be dollars, it may be counted as the 51st state but the studios run this city, making cinema and waging war. No real bloodshed but equally cutthroat in its own way. Peter has devoured article after article about the industry, from in-depth journalism to gossip rags, desperate for every detail, every scandal, every glorious moon moment.

Wild Creatures by neglectedtuesday

The treaty is signed while Stiles is being laced into his wedding corset. Ink splatters parchment as a maid pulls the ribbons, tighter and tighter. Stiles’ breath and future are taken away, all to save a village. He is a sacrifice more than a bride. The maid assists in fixing a choker around Stiles throat. Her hands are cold despite the roaring fire in the grate. The choker is a string of blood red rubies, they reflect the firelight with a wet shine like an open wound.

Out Of The East, Never See The Sun Rise by neglectedtuesday

In the beginning, there are three absolutes.

One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.

Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.

Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.

Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.

Three absolutes.

Viking Wolves do it Better by MaroonDragon

Stiles is the omega witch in the village he was born in. A gift that had been passed to him from his mother. A curse that left him an outcast amongst the people he helped heal. Until one day he no longer is. Kidnapped by the Viking Wolves of the North, he suddenly finds himself a human amongst wolves. There is one wolf in particular who is intent to woo him into staying. Stiles is really only indulging Peter until he can make his escape. There is nothing remotely interesting about the other man. Not a single thing.

Utterly Appropriate by wynnebat

There’s only one person whom Stiles would marry, and whoever has asked for her hand isn’t on that list.

Duty by ChloeWeird

A petrified omega. An ambitious alpha. A wedding night four years in the making.

Bound Fast With Love by Diablerie

It started when his grandfather assigned him to attend to the visiting professor, Peter Hale.

“Be his shadow, my boy. Take care of his smallest need before he has an opportunity to notice. It would be quite the feather in our cap if we can steal him away.”

Somehow, that brought him here: bound to a table and about to be spanked for his shoddy recitation of ancient poetry.

Bittersweet Creek by Guede

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

Wolf Ranch by Guede (Poly - Stiles/Lydia/Peter/Derek/Chris)

At first glance, Beacon Hills seems like a terrible place to settle. Ruled by alpha werewolves and surrounded by a haunted forest filled with outlaws, it’s not very friendly to Eastern greenhorns. So Stiles and Lydia should fit right in.

Intemperance by Guede (Poly - Stiles/Peter/Derek/Chris/Laura)

Stiles is the one who gets pulled back to Beacon Hills by a murder.

Moonshine by Udunie

Deucalion was sitting in the corner that was reserved for special guests, with his henchmen - a pair of twins - guarding the table. He was just putting his stetson down, eyes catching Peter and widening just a fraction when he noticed Stiles. He was a good guy though, and quickly got his pokerface back in place. Nobody came to the Moonshine and insulted Peter.

“Deucalion, nice to see you,” he greeted, not acknowledging the goons who were giving Stiles the side eye. He knew they probably wanted a piece of his kitten, but thankfully were not foolish enough to try.

May the Mighty Fall by Udunie

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Matt sneered, looking at Stiles with derision. “One day, the popular, orphaned son of a beloved consul, and the next a traitor to the Emperor and an enemy of Cantalupo…”

Stiles didn’t move a muscle, even though all he wanted was to leash out, to reach between the bars of his cell and strangle that little, creepy shit. He could have said a lot of things, he could have told Matt’s pompous, patrician ass that he was - in fact - not an orphan. And seriously, from where he was standing, he wasn’t even really a traitor.

Well, yes, he wanted the death of the Emperor, but he wanted the best for Cantalupo - the return of the Lupa Maxima, the city’s rightful ruler and with her, the revival of the principate.

Of course, his reasons were far from being completely patriotic.

Gerard Argent tried to have his father killed, he lived in outrageous luxury while some of his subjects starved. He didn’t give a shit about the plebs…But. Stiles couldn’t say any of that. It wasn’t the time. Not yet.

A Matter of Chance by 1001cranes (WIP)

“I’m going to offer for the Stilinski boy,” Peter announces at breakfast one morning.

Greenberg drops the entire pot of hot chocolate.

A welcome arrow by 1001cranes

The wedding is small and grim, because Stiles is being carted off to parts unknown, married to a thirty-something year old dude who wants to marry a seventeen year old dude - totally not creepy at all.

my very soul demands you by veterization

Orphan Stiles Stilinski seeks work at Hale House, an enormous, foreboding mansion in Beacon Hills run by Mr. Peter Hale, who employs him as a butler. Or: Stiles is Jane Eyre, and Peter is Mr. Rochester.

Royal A/B/O Au by charlottecjhlvr

When his father’s Kingdom and the Hale Kingdom make a treaty, Stiles is the one who has to make it work.

In Sheep’s Clothing by Twisted_Mind

“The problem is Derek,” he began.

At this, Cora merely snorted in a particularly unladylike fashion. “When isn’t it?”

Alas, it was not so simple a matter as the scrapes of the child he had once been—would that it were! “Unfortunately, in this case, Derek has engineered hardship for not only our family, but the young Miss Stilinski also.”

At the sound of the young gentlewoman’s name, Cora’s features sharpened; she leaned forward and rested one hand tenderly on Peter’s knee as she asked, “Speak plainly—what’s he done, and what must now be done to rectify the situation?”

Peter took her hand in appreciation and followed her example, without any further prevarication. “He bedded his intended, and if he had merely done so, we’d have precious little trouble on our hands, for he’s hardly the first to take his wife-to-be to bed before their union was formalized, however much you will hear other preach otherwise.”

Cora interrupted, then, as she gripped her uncle’s hand tightly. “I’m not going to enjoy what I hear next, am I?”

Temporary Claim by sunrise_and_death

Some, of course, are off limits. Queen Talia and her husband have their special favorites who join their marriage bed from time to time. Laura has several young strapping men that are hers and hers alone. Even Derek has a few favorites—the quiet ones, the sweet ones.

Peter? The Duke only has one.

Sacrificial Lamb by Bunnywest

The Alpha has a scruffy beard, unkempt hair and dazzling blue eyes. The scar on his face is raised, running down his cheek like a twisting, gnarled rope. Stiles knows that it came from the blade of Kate Argent herself, and that the Alpha got it fighting in the battle where Kate killed his lover, cutting his head clean from his neck, if the stories are to be believed.

The Alpha lets Stiles look his fill, before indicating that Stiles should take the other couch, and Stiles does so, his father’s words echoing in his ears. He can do this, can be pleasant and amenable. The lives of his people may depend on it. The Alpha spends long moments surveying him, before saying, “I like you, Stiles.”

You don’t know me, Stiles wants to blurt out, but he bites his tongue.

Goddess Below by Unloyal_Olio

Peter sneaks into the vestal temple looking for a virgin. He finds Stiles.

#teen wolf #steter #fanfic rec #rec list #historical au #ask #anonymous

73 notes · View notes

7deadlycinderellas · 5 years ago

Text

If the summer of our lives could just come again, ch29

AO3 link

The Kingsroad

The Kingsroad is blessedly quiet, as the ice on the trees twinkles. Once the marshes begin, the path becomes some of the only solid ground to stand and walk on.

Most of the travelers huddle around the small fires they can build under the oil cloth tents for something resembling warmth. The north was cold, they all knew it, but being out and exposed like this, feeling it seep down to your bones out of the protection of stone walls, was very different.

Lady and Summer had both trailed behind the party, loyal as ever to their humans, but uncertain on the water and ice logged ground. Swamps were not places for wolves.

Around the fire one evening, Sansa notices Bran and Meera off talking by themselves. It wouldn’t concern her, but their heads are moving as though they’re arguing, and she’s never known them to be cross with each other.

“What’s going on?” she asks as she approaches. Bran jerks in surprise and when Meera shakes her head at him, he responds with, “we’re going to have to tell her eventually”.

Meera won’t meet her eyes again, but she eventually lets tumble out,

“I’m with child.”

Sansa’s words disappear from her throat, her mouth going dry even as her mind makes sense of her thoughts.

Eventually, she manages a,

“Is it strange I almost want to say congratulations?”

Bran lets out a strange, almost hacking laugh, and Meera shakes her head again. Sansa’s voice softens.

“Is that what you were fighting about?”

Meera opens her mouth,

“No. We were arguing because despite that, I still feel like a coward for leaving.”

Bran reaches out to touch her shoulder, and she jerks away.

“I keep telling you, you’re not-”

She cuts him off,

“You’re not the one who’s been followed by the whispers your whole life. Even after all these years, some of the servants at Winterfell still do it. That we prefer to hide rather than fight, and that when we do fight we don’t fight fair. You told me from your vision that my father stabbed Ser Arthur Dayne in the back....It’s hard not to take it to heart.”

She leaves Bran and Sansa at this point to tend to her horse. Sansa thinks of what she could tell Meera later, to try and console her.

Bran speaks first after she’s left.

“We knew before we left Winterfell. We didn’t say anything because I didn’t want anyone to whisper, to think poorly of her. I know the whispers she’s talking about, I hear them too. One of the maids called me a frog kisser once. She called Shireen the same, and I had to explain to her what it meant, I’ve never seen her so mad.”

Sansa feels a smile creep at the corner of her lips. Bran was always the kindest of them.

“So I take it you do intend to marry her?”

Bran looks at her, upwards through the snowflakes. He tucks his knees up against his chest in an attempt to keep warm.

“Provided her father doesn’t just take my head off first. He could.”

Sansa laughs.

“I don’t think he will," She pauses with a grin, "Arya will be angry if she misses your wedding.”

Sansa’s mouth freezes, and Bran nods. They can’t think of Arya right now, still back in Winterfell.

Up in front of the part, she can hear Jojen pointing out things in the trees to Shireen. She can make out,

“Glad that it’s winter. It’s hard to appreciate the place when you’re being swarmed by biting flies everywhere you go-”

Sansa chuckles. She turns to Bran,

“Arya was right, wasn’t she? We’re all headed our separate ways.”

Bran’s eyes are soft, faraway.

“Is that such a bad thing though? It means we’ve moved out from under the shadow of the past.”

He gets up now, and goes to sit beside Meera again, on the far side of the fire. Sansa can’t hear them from here, but she can see as Meera’s stiff posture softens, and Bran lean to rest his head on her shoulder. She is pleased for them truly.

She should tell Meera that it’s not all cowardly to want to protect someone small, someone who can not protect themselves. That, in fact, it is what she’s spent two lives proving she is very good at.

Though, Sansa also muses, that their mother will still probably be horrified. Bran had always been her favorite. At least they can probably be vague about the timing now.

Shadows of the past, Sansa thinks. Now if only she could.

Winterfell

Ned approaches the breakfast table, only hearing a little bit of the discussion going on. He hears Arya reply to a question from Ygritte with something about “nice one’s do,” while Gendry turns red beside her, and so he coughs.

“Lord Stark,” Ygritte acknowledges him.

“The Last Hearth has fallen,” Ned tells them, and all at once any mirth is gone.

“So that’s maybe a week,” Arya interjects. “We’ll step up the guards.”

The Night’s Watchmen who manage to flee from the Last Hearth bring with them a single cache of wildfire. No one still seemed to know when it was appropriate to use.

“We had dug a trench,” Arya comments, “that we lit last time, but I don’t think we could keep it contained.”

At the moment, Ned decides just to keep it handy.

The days get grayer and the nights get darker.

Jon spends much time in the Godswood, along with Rowan, and occasionally with Ygritte.

Ygritte has found herself in an odd position at Winterfell. It’s not that she hasn’t been welcomed, but sometimes she still feels like she sticks out, a bit of fire against frozen stone.

She had tried to speak with Val a bit about it. Once over supper, she had asked,

“Do you really think you’ll survive here, being a southern Lady and it all?”

Val had shrugged. The white furs she wears already make her look somewhat regal, among the richly dressed nobles of the south. She had spoken to Ygritte a bit about an odd conversation she’d had with Robb the morning after the wedding. She had asked him why, in particular, he was so devoted to Winterfell.

“It’s my birthright,” he had explained, “The north and all the people in it are under my protection, and their lives and livelihoods are my responsibility.”

“But it’s only yours because you were born to the right father,” Val had insisted. Robb had shrugged.

“But I’ve always known I was born for this, and everyone around me too. Everything I’ve been taught has been because it was my responsibility, whether I wanted it or not.”

He had smiled softly.

“I do understand the desire the Free Folk have for freedom. No one telling you what you’re supposed to be. But if not me, the responsibility might fall to someone who’s not prepared for it. Or who only wants it for the power. I don’t want that for my people.”

Val could understamd that.

“They gave me the title and the name, they better accept me as is, cause this is what they’re getting.”

It’s something for her to think about. She has a lot to think about lately. Sometimes she does, sometimes she just shoots arrows and practices with Wild Thing, now with a spear tip made of dragonglass, just in case.

One snowy evening in the Godswood, Ygritte purses her lips and says,

“What are you even asking the trees for?”

Jon looks at her.

“I ask if they have seen anything, it lets us have a heads up on the army of the dead’s location.”

Ygritte cocks her head.

“Why don’t you ask them if they can help us?”

Jon furrows his brow.

“They’re trees.”

Ygritte runs her hand along the carved face of the weirwood.

“You saw the roots of one of these beneath that cave, and that was one that was long dead. Tree roots reach so far, far more than the crown of leaves, and they run straight through the ground underneath us…”

Jon chews his lip in thought.

Later that day, Arya joins him. She sits beneath the weirwood, and rubs her hand in Ghost’s fur.

She looks at him oddly, as though not sure how to say what she’s trying to.

“Do you ever...dream that you’re Ghost?”

Jon is surprised.

“Now and then, but they aren’t always vivid.”

Arya frowns, and continues petting Ghost.

“You should try. Bran can warg Summer as well as he can any of his birds, other animals too. Sansa used to talk about warging Lady so she had eyes in the Red Keep. Sometimes I swear Rickon and Shaggydog are actually one and the same.”

Arya bites her lip.

“I’ve never tried warging Nymeria deliberately...I was never sure if she would even let me in, she’s so wild. But now…”

The wolf pack has been gathering around Winterfell, muzzles clenched and growling in the lean winter.

“If we can get in their heads, it could mean life or death for someone in the vanguard.”

Arya doesn’t have the heart to mention that she’s going to be up on the ramparts with the other archers, she’s too small to be among those on the ground this time. She tries not to think of what Meera told her about chainmail, and finds a set of leather to wear underneath.

Evenings go much the same. Supper, rounds, guard rotations. These are the times when Arya tries to warg into Nymeria.

“I used to dream through her eyes often enough,” she explains to Ned later on that night, “Once, even when I was across the sea in Braavos. But I haven’t in ages.”

Ned pats her on the shoulder.

“I have no doubt you’ll be able to do it if you’re meant to.”

She tries to cling to that, but it’s with the disappointment that she returns to her chamber.

Gendry’s supposed to be up in the early morning to arm the guard, but he’s still awake when she enters.

“No luck again?” he asks when she holds herself stiffly while changing into the shift she sleeps in. All she can do is shake her head in response.

“Is the hammer working out for you?” she asks, sitting on the bed beside him.

“It is. I haven’t been sparring as much as I should have, but smithing has kept the reflexes up.”

Arya’s still unusually quiet, so Gendry grasps her about the waist and pulls her over and into his lap. The night, and the time, and the position remind them both too much of another night and another battle, and a pile of grainsacks instead of a well-worn featherbed.

Gendry rests a hand on her thigh, fingers creeping up under the edge of her shift, seeking her heat and says, “Tell me what you need.” Arya’s heart aches. He’s so strong and gruff and scarred on the outside, that she had never expected him to be so sweet in bed. Sweet, and strong enough to handle her rough edges.

Half of her wants to say, “fuck me until I forget it could be one of our last nights on earth,” and the other “hold me and kiss me and tell me everything will be fine.”

They settle for something about halfway in between.

Then the day comes when Jon rushes from the Godswood and tells everyone,

“Before the end of the day.”

No one was exactly full of brightness before, but if possible the atmosphere quiets even more, as everyone rises and bustles about to get to their posts.

Before she can go to climb the ramparts and join the other archers, Jon grabs Ygritte by the arm, and embraces her.

“Don’t die ok?”

Ygritte shifts in his arms, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. She had secretly been feeling a bit self conscious since arriving at Winterfell, and while she feels she’s hid it well, she is comforted by every public demonstration of Jon’s affection.

“I’m not full of rage this time. So hopefully no stupid children will put arrows in me. Unless they’re dead already.”

She stills, and grips Jon’s hand.

“Be careful yourself too. Don’t lose yourself to the trees.”

She leaves for the ramparts, and Jon has a detour before he joins Rowan and the wildling guard in the Godswood.

Robb, Val and Ned are on horseback outside the north gate, riding with the vanguard.

First, Jon asks Ned about Benjen.

“Safely barricaded in the highest intact spot in the broken tower. High up, hard to climb, and difficult to storm. It’s being guarded too, in case they try and go straight for him like the others said they might.”

Jon nods, and after a deep intake of breath, reaches out and offers Robb Longclaw.

Robb’s eyes are wide.

“Jon, this was given to you…”

Jon shakes his head.

“Arya gave me back Dark Sister when she decided to join the archers, she still has the catspaw’s dagger on her just in case. I don’t need two swords, and you’re going to be on the ground in the thick of things.”

Robb eventually relents, accepting the sword, and trading his scabbard with the normal steel one to one of his men. Jon fingers Dark Sister as he turns to leave. A bastard sword for a bastard, he muses. It suits him well enough.

The only other souls in the Godswood with him are Rowan and a couple of Free Folk who have volunteered to guard them, and Ghost. The wolf is the only of them that has chosen to stay by his master’s side rather than join the pack outside the wall. Jon pets his head, grateful for it.

With a nod to Rowan, Jon sits, and touches the heart tree. He asks it about each of the other weirwoods across the north near the other parts of the army, and then, about the weirwoods that grow wild in the forests of the north.

The answers he receives dishearten him.

Deepwood Motte has been overrun, and it is burning. Only a few souls have remained thankfully, the refugees having successfully sailed to Bear Island. Jon imagines that they might be able to see the burning keep on the horizon. He hopes they can’t.

Some of the other armies in the line run across the land have spotted the armies already, and they are prepared. The trenches have been dug, but only one section has successfully been lit. A snowstorm is blowing, though it does not seem to be slowing down the army of Others.

Outside Winterfell, Jon hears a howl.

Up on the ramparts, the archers are in a line, arrows nocked and held, waiting. The archers up here are mostly Free Folk, so thankfully they don’t have to keep to military structure. The squire tasked with keeping their quivers full and their torches lit is the daughter of one of Maege Mormont’s men, and she doesn’t look old enough to have her moon’s blood yet.

Ygritte jumps a bit when she sees Arya’s eyes go white. Arya gasps after a moment and she returns to herself. Just in time, she thought. It took until now, but it was just in time.

“Did you see anything out there?” Ygritte asks.

Arya purses her lips.

“They’ve nearly made it to the trench, but there’s a rider out in front of them.”

She’s not sure who would be riding in front of an army of inhuman creatures. A mad man is all she can come up with, or maybe a hostage or a distraction.

A few minutes later, Ygritte squints at the horizon.

“I think I see someone,” she tells Arya, and turns to the archer on her other side, “do you see?”

The other archer shakes his head. Ygritte squints harder.

“I see a figure in red,” she says to Arya, lighting her arrow. “Should I take the shot?”

Arya’s muscles go stiff, and lets her mind relax and tries to slip back into Nymeria.

The wolves are mostly standing at attention and Nymeria, even through the snow, can spy the rider, only a few hundred yards ahead of the others. The figure and it’s stead stand on the edge of the trench that had been dug. And the bit of Arya that is still human, feels that she recognizes the figure in the red robes.

Well, she was always so devoted to the Lord of Light, she must know her role here.

Slipping back into herself, she tells Ygritte, “Take the shot.”

She doesn’t even nod before loosing the arrow. It sails across the horizon, untroubled by the snow. The flame is visible enough.

Nymeria sees the arrow hit its target, striking the figure in the neck, causing it to fall from the horse. She sees the flame catch, and spread, seemingly by itself, and fill the trench as though it were full of the most flammable oil known to man. The closest wolves retreat a bit, wary of the fire themselves.

Only Nymeria sees the figure disintegrate before she even hits the ground.

King’s Landing

Queen Margaery was not having a good day.

Sometimes she wonders why she wanted the throne so badly. Some days she could barely restrain herself and her true thoughts.

True, Joffrey was easy enough to control. Though often frighteningly sadistic, he was still quite childish. Stroking his ego and distraction both worked quite well. Cersei was quite another story, and Tywin Lannister was a volume to himself.

Thankfully, Margaery had discovered an unexpected secret; they could be played against each other quite easily.

The seeds had been planted for months, Margaery’s comments regarding Cersei’s involvement with the growing Faith Militant sect growing in the city having inflamed Tywin, who had ended up ordering Cersei to return to Casterly Rock.

Margaery had almost thought the former queen looked happy to be leaving, and privately, Joffrey had been ecstatic to not have his mother still hovering over his shoulder. Perhaps she should have had him make the suggestion himself.

But still…

Margaery made her way in the early morning light to the nursery, for a few moments alone with her son before the nurse awoke. Nearly a year old, Gerold Lannister looks more like her than his father. While his creation had brought his mother no joy, the same could not be said for his existence. She hopes that his life can be his own.

She rocks her son and thinks about the news that had come over the past few days.

The dragon sighting had been enough, many of the smallfolk across the land swearing to the seven that had seen it crossing the winter sky. Easy enough to dismiss as a flight of fancy.

Then the letter had come.

Joffrey had exploded in rage during the small council meeting, and in their chambers later, he had wrapped his hands around her neck and squeezed, and for a moment, Margaery had been certain she wouldn’t be able to talk him down. Even when she managed, she could still feel his fingers.

She really felt that they should take the contents of the letter more seriously. Joffrey had occasionally over the past years huffed and puffed over Danaerys Targaryen still living. Even Margaery had often dismissed the claims. Then the raven came, laden with the message that Danaerys Targaryen, first of her name, would be returning to King’s Landing to reclaim her throne, but not right away. She wrote of a conflict in the north, of creatures of myth returning, and of a need for all of the kingdoms to prepare to aid the north, or else there would be nothing for anyone to rule.

It was too much, really.

Not that she was even sure she believed anything about the rumors of the Others...but still.

Some days in the capital she missed her grandmother dearly.

She finds an unexpected ally though.

She was in the royal solar, writing a letter to Loras back in Highgarden. She knew that the Dragon queen had sent ravens to all of the seven kingdoms, with the same message and the same plea for aid, and she needed to write to him.

The guard outside that day was none other than Jamie Lannister, and when she asked him to walk with her to the rookery to send it, she looked at him.

“Ser,” she greets him, “Could you accompany me? I’m sending a letter to my brother.”

Pointed. The Kingslayer had been missing his sister dearly, and Margaery knew from whispers that he had had not a single bit of communication since she had left.

“Are you still at odds with your father?” she asks, trying to sound conversational.

“Still doing his best to convince me to leave my post, return and become Lord of Casterly Rock.”

“Nonsense,” Margaery insists, “Appointment to the Kingsguard is life long. Your only duty is to your king,” she squeezes his arm. And by extension, me, she does not say out loud.

She makes a show of selecting a raven and petting it’s head.

“I do wish there was a more secure way to send messages,” she says, “Ravens get shot down so often.”

She turns to Jamie.

“You served King Aerys, what do you think about the words sent by this Dragon Queen?”

Jamie’s face twitches.

“I would fear the possibility of the return of a Targaryen monarch, as I have seen the damage one of them could bring.”

“So you would consider if part of your duty to discover the threat this, so called, Danaerys Targaryen might pose?”

Jame looks at her strangely. She smiles, and presses her message to his chest.

“Deliver this message to my brother in Highgarden. I have asked him to raise a hundred men and ride north. The king has no army of his own, of course. Go north, find if there is truth to this threat from this so called army of the dead...and find out if there have been any more of the ‘dragon sightings.’ we have seen ahead of this queen’s message.”

“My duty is to the king.”

Margaery smiles widely.

“Of course, kings before have extended these protections to their queens, their children, even their mistresses. Though I imagine Joffrey has never done this?”

Jamie shakes his head. Margaery nods, subtly moving her hair off of her shoulders. She wonders if the little purple bruises are still on her neck.

“But…” she starts, “Has he ever specifically told you that you were not to extend this to me? I mean, after all, you performed these duties for the last queen.”

Jamie stands frozen. Margaery passes the paper to him.

“Take this to Highgarden. Do what I’ve ordered. This may be the best thing you can do to keep your king safe.”

She turns away from him, and returns to her chamber. She can only hope that attempting to keep the king safe could also keep her and her son safe.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #time travel fix it #gendrya #breera #fic

9 notes · View notes

cuorepietoso · 5 years ago

Text

Things you said when you met my parents / Things you said but not out loud

requested by and ft. @lavolumnia ( and ft. baby @ohcoriolanus a little bit )

July, 2003.

He finally gets her to agree to come over and eat-- they’ve known each other for a year, now, and every time he’d ask she would get that same hunted look, think up an excuse, and beg off. Cryus isn’t feeling well, or I have some business to attend to. It had been feeling more and more like trying get a stray to come in out of the cold, and all the patience that entails, than it felt like inviting a friend to his family’s table. The hollow of her cheekbones hasn’t filled out in all the time he’s known her, she still has the sharp wariness of a lone hunter, protecting her cub and clawing for survival. But she seems happier now, calmer. More willing to accept the kindness of others, and to eat from his table.

They arrive on time: 7:30pm, he drags her to their door with Cyrus perched on his broadening shoulders. He didn’t anticipate the tense silence-- a Capulet and a Capulet, face to face in a setting that has nothing at all to do with work. That was a miscalculation on his part, but in his father’s case he couldn’t exactly warn him that the young woman he was dragging into their house was in the same fucking crime family, and with Vivianne… well, he kind of just assumed she would already know. His mother is gracious at least, greeting Vivianne and then doting on Cyrus immediately, drawing the boy from his perch with a delighted coo. Battista’s shoulders relax minutely, but his father and Vivianne continue to eye each other like two hungry wolves, sizing the other up. His father, perhaps a little nervous at having his other life show up so abruptly on their doorstep, trailing behind his mischievous son, and Vivianne with the air of a hawk eyeing its next meal. A way to armor herself, to convince herself she doesn’t give a damn what the Tahans think of her.

“Baba, Mama, this is Vivianne Sloane and her son, Cyrus-- Did you make lamb tonight?” Battista makes a show of sniffing the air and pressing forward into the apartment, pulling the young woman behind him along by the wrist. Vincenzo Tahan steps back easily at the light pressure on his arm despite his bulk, and then remembers his manners.

“Signorina,” he sounds a little gruff, but not impolite, and then turns to Battista and lets the warm pride bleed through the initial wall of anxiety. “Yes, hamud, with rice and red sauce.” He laughs when his son excitedly punches the air, and with one last nervous look cast to the girl half his age, he steps back into the cramped kitchen. Battista’s brows pinch, and when he turns back to Vivianne she very briefly looks stricken. Uncomfortable.

His mother, bless her soul, stands long enough to breeze close and kiss her on each cheek in greeting once Cyrus decides to shy from her attentions, hiding behind Battista’s leg before darting to Vivianne’s, pressing his chubby little face against her hip. Vivianne has to lean down to receive the affection from the boisterous woman-- Shoshanna Tahan barely reaches five feet. Battista gamely recieves the same treatment, and then wraps her up in a hug around the shoulders that makes her laugh before she pulls away and pats him on the cheek.

“Dinner is almost ready, bambini. Battista, show Vivianne the washroom, your father and I will set the table.” Within the span of two sentences, her voice goes from sugary sweet to a gentle command, and nearly before she’s finished her sentence, Battista is herding Vivianne and Cyrus through the tiny apartment with a soft ‘yes mama’.

The bathroom is only a few steps down the hall, and even though the three of them are far from large, they fill it nearly to the brim as they take their turns washing their hands-- Battista holds Cyrus up by the armpits while Vivianne helps him wash his, and then takes his turn last. There’s a tense silence for a moment.

He finds his courage. “Are you… alright?”

She glances at him sharply, one hand firm at the nape of Cyrus’ neck to keep him from wandering around their small flat. “Why wouldn’t I be alright?”

A one-shouldered shrug. “It’s only ever you and Cyrus and your weird, rich boyfriend. You know? And I know my parents are a lot to deal with in general.”

Her glance this time is one of reproach, as she lifts Cyrus to settle on her hip. “They aren’t ‘a lot’, they seem very kind.” Mercifully, he refrains on commenting on the fact that this may, in fact, be what’s overwhelming her. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed by them.”

Battista opens his mouth to argue, and then snaps it shut with a loud ‘click’ of his teeth. He’d been close to arguing that he wasn’t embarrassed by them, he just knew they could come across as a little strange, overbearingly nice-- but, well. That’d just prove her point, wouldn’t it? It’s the same, and there’s nothing inherently wrong with being any of those things, unless one saw those traits as weaknesses.

And, well. Capulet Emissary lingering in their cramped bathroom or no, his parents had raised him better than to think so.

She raises an elegant brow at him and then turns on her heel to leave the bathroom, and he follows sheepishly behind. Dinner goes smoothly after that, the hearty meal enjoyed between bouts of chatter and laughter. His mother has already cut up Cyrus’ food on his plate into child-sized bites, and they each take turns cracking jokes and talking about all manner of things, schooling, the family business, art, and life in general. At one point, his father almost pointedly asks how the two of them met, and Vivianne gives Battista such a poignant look that he chokes on a chunk of potato, half-afraid she’d tell them the truth.

But no-- another smooth lie, something charming and quaint about how he saw her struggling with groceries and how heroically he came running to help. The way his mother coos over the tale makes him wish the floor would swallow him whole, embarrassment and shame at war within him, reddening his cheeks. It’s hardly anything close to the truth. Vivianne spins it like it’s gospel.

After dinner is done, he gets started on the dishes with his father while Shoshanna excitedly pulls Vivianne into their little family room for some ‘girl time’. Battista is on washing duty. The splashing of the water covers the muffled conversation in the other room, other than the occasional burst of laughter. His father keeps glancing at him out of the corner of his eye as he dries and puts the dishes away, each time with growing amusement. Finally, he allows himself to ask, “Is all that giggling making you nervous, hamud?”

For a moment, Battista’s only response is a harsh sigh, as he scrubs the dish he’s working on a little harder, and then as he rinses it he answers, “I’m afraid they’re looking at baby pictures in there.”

Vincenzo laughs, long and loud, a familiar sound that comes from the belly. “You should be so lucky.” At Battista’s raised brow, he shakes his head and says, “Ah, well. Come, let’s finish these dishes. The sooner they’re done, the less time your mother has to embarrass you with talk of how you were as a child.”

It’s all the motivation he needs.

They don’t talk late into the night-- not with a sleepy five year old, and a long walk home. But they chat for a while, before Vivianne finally lifts a half-limp Cyrus into her arms, and says her goodbyes. Shoshanna jumps to her feet as well, reaching around the pair and giving them a warm squeeze. Battista says he’ll walk them back, and as they make their way to the door, his father gives her a small, respectful nod, and a polite half-smile.

They make it down the street before Battista bumps shoulders with her, murmuring, “I can carry him?” It seems like she only hesitates for a moment before depositing him against Battista’s back, and they keep walking.

She seems restless, like she can’t quite keep a lid on herself. He hasn’t really seen her like this in months. He thinks back to the beginning of the night, the tension between her and his father. She probably thinks he’s unaware of the man’s allegiance to one of the two crime families-- the same one that Viv herself belongs to, the same he’s been so desperately trying to avoid getting sucked into. He kicks a rock down the street, and Cyrus snuffles against the nape of his neck. Words stick in his throat, and come out thick like syrup. “I already know.”

“You do?” She doesn’t sound… shocked, really. Perhaps a little resigned. Maybe he’s projecting.

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Nothing accusatory, really. Just an idle curiosity from a girl that likes to keep her own secrets. He doesn’t think she’d be angry with him for not answering, so he’s not sure exactly what it is that makes the truth fall out of him.

“I don’t want him to be. And he doesn’t think I know. So we just pretend.” He adjusts his grip on Cyrus’ legs, and she looks between the two of them-- her own son, and the son of a different Capulet. Whatever she realizes then is shuttered too soon for him to parse, and she turns her face forward once more to watch the street ahead. He almost lets the silence fall between them, but something small and afraid bubbles in his chest. Perhaps the feeling that if this repulsive quiet were to take root now, it would last forever. So he clears his throat, and asks, “What did you and my mom talk about?”

At this she glances at him again, just the barest hint of a smirk twitching on her lips. Oh, she’s going to make him regret being alive. “Ah, this and that. What a delightful woman-- makes me wonder how she could have raised you, honestly.” He makes a noise of protest, already laughing. “Insisted on giving me her phone number, and insisted I call if I ever need anything--”

“Yeah, that sounds like her.” He shakes his head, laughter turning a little fond.

“And then she told me that she had you young, too, and she told me a bunch of awful stories about what a nightmare you were.” Battista smothers a laugh into his hand, and Vivianne, he thinks, lets herself smile outright.

The subject drops, but this silence is comfortable. He walks them all the way to their place, and then he goes back home.

#/ / DRABBLES .#here lina............. take this from me #i hope this appeases u

6 notes · View notes

emeraldwaves · 5 years ago

Text

Title: Chasing the Moon Pairing: Kacchako, Todomomo Rating: M Word Count: 2,610 Read on Ao3 CHAPTER 1 Summary:

Uraraka Ochako wants nothing to do with Bakugou Katsuki, the unruly clan leader of their wolf country. When she's gifted to the stubborn prince in exchange for the safety of her smaller pack, she has no choice but to offer herself to him as his mate. Bakugou, however, is even less thrilled about his 'present'. The alpha declares he doesn't need an omega mate and claims he can rule by himself. Meanwhile, Todoroki Enji plots to overthrow Bakugou using his son.

Unfortunately for Todoroki Shouto, this means his father wants to choose his mate-to-be. Enji has been training Shouto to fight Bakugou for the lead alpha position since he was a young child. Despite his father's wishes, Shouto would much prefer to lead a simple life and mate with Yaoyorozu Momo, the omega he can't stop thinking about.

Thank you to @its-love-u-asshole @amaisenshi and @supereveylg for reading this ahead of time.

The collar around her neck felt tight and her exposed stomach made her shiver. Her white fluffy tail wrapped around her waist in an attempt to cover her skin, but it could only do so much. The guard in front of her yanked on the chain, pulling her forward. She yelped, stumbling over her feet, and her arms flailed as she tried to catch herself.

"Quiet!" The guard's voice was gruff, hissing the word out.

Uraraka bit down on her lip, grimacing hard at the man. Damn her pack leader, damn her whole village.

Everyone was well aware the clan leader's son was a demon of a wolf; a cruel beast who never smiled. Bakugou Katsuki was violent, unruly, and definitely not ready to be a leader.

And Uraraka Ochako was about to belong to him.

It was no surprise to her the alpha leader was un-mated, especially being as abrasive as he supposedly was.

However, Uraraka had no choice. After the main pack had attacked her small pack, her leader sold her off to protect the village. This was how things had been lately, small packs under the mercy of the larger city ones.

She had no say in the matter, and neither had her parents. Her mother clung to her, not wishing to let her go. But their village leader had spoken. The nobles would leave their village alone in exchange for Uraraka, an un-mated omega, and more importantly, a white wolf.

White.

An unnatural color they told her. Black, brown, gray, blond, red... these were the normal colors of wolves and yet... somehow Uraraka's fur when she shifted was a beautiful, pale white unlike most had ever seen.

"She'll do."

Already she missed her village. Shutting her eyes, she could see the expansive fields full of pink flowers as far as the eye could see. The rolling hills whose valleys wrapped her in their grassy arms and kept their pack safe.

Or so they thought.

The guard yanked her collar again, and she coughed, pulled from her memory. "Try and please the clan prince. If you don't, you'll be the one to suffer, not us." The guard let out a deep laugh, pulling the door open.

The wrap around her breasts was tight, her chest constricting with each deep breath she pulled into her lungs. She tugged on the small skirt that barely covered her rear, the soft brown fabric tight around her hips. It was a smooth material, soft feathers lining her belt. Normally, she preferred to wear leggings with the outfit, but the guards had insisted she take them off, in case the prince wanted her to present herself to him immediately.

She prayed he wouldn’t want that.

The guard shoved her inside the throne room, her bare feet patting against the ground. Her white ears folded against her head as she wrapped her fluffy tail around her bare stomach even more. She took a step back, noting the door was indeed sealed shut behind her.

At the end of the hall, she could see a figure sitting on the throne. Bakugou Katsuki was seated, leaning back, his blond ears twitching when she walked in. He was shirtless, but clan markings wrapped all around his arms and neck. His shoulders were covered by short vest, lined with fur. His neck was also adorned with a large necklace, covered in teeth and bones; Uraraka could only assume they were prizes from a hunt. His wrists were bare however, noting he had yet to take a mate. His long tail swished against the ground, his boot tapping on the floor.

His palms curled against the arm of the chair and he pushed himself up, slowly walking down the stairs.

"Oi, are you going to come closer? Or are you going to stand there, fucking cowering in the corner."

Uraraka felt a growl rumble in her throat. She wasn't cowering, she simply didn't know how to approach the situation. His scent was strong, definitely that of an un-mated alpha. She felt her heart race in her chest, the scent enough to stir things deep inside of her. If only she could ignore her stupid instincts...

Stepping forward, she let her tail swing behind her, walking closer. She pursed her lips as she approached him. He was a harsh looking man; his red eyes were small and narrow, glaring angrily at her. She noticed them trail over her body, and almost immediately, he wrinkled his nose.

"You smell, Round Face," he growled, covering his nose with his palm.

Did the clan leader really have no etiquette?!

She folded her ears back, frowning. "I'm an un-mated omega. I'm supposed to smell to you, your highness." She wanted to add that she was supposed to smell good to an un-mated alpha, but it wasn't her place to argue with her future mate-to-be.

Uraraka bowed. "I am... to be your mate... when you choose to take one..." she said, the words coming out with disgust. This was not how she envisioned her life playing out. She always imagined finding a nice mate, someone to settle down with in her small mountain village. They would raise a family together, and she could help her parents maintain their farm. It would've been a peaceful life; a perfect one.

But now... she was to be the mate of the clan leader, if she pleased him. This man was in charge of the entire wolf country… ruling over all the packs.

Bakugou turned his back to her, walking up the stairs to take a seat on his throne again.

"Lemme make something really fucking clear. I didn't ask for this. The council decided all this shit on their own. I don't need a fucking mate, never have, never will. I can run this fucking country on my own," he snarled. "I'll be proving that to them without you."

Uraraka blinked. What the hell was he saying? He was going to be a leader without a mate?! Then how would his bloodline continue? And what did he plan to do during ruts? They grew more painful the older an alpha went un-mated. It all seemed like a very short-sighted plan.

Not that Uraraka was going to complain.

"You're supposed to be special or some bullshit?" he continued when Uraraka didn't answer immediately.

Was that a question? Could he not tell?

She swallowed and brought her tail around. "I'm a white wolf," she said softly.

"So?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Well, she certainly didn't hate that reaction. Normally people would stare at her strange, or ask if something happened to make her that way. Some people assumed she was cursed, others thought she was blessed for having such a rare color.

"It's... a rare color," she explained softly.

"That's why they brought you?" he asked, his tail flicking back and forth angrily.

"Apparently they thought you needed a mate. The council said if I mated you, they wouldn't destroy my village."

Bakugou clicked his tongue. "Tch, yeah fucking right. Lesson number 1, don't trust anything those assholes say!"

Uraraka's ears folded back, and she glanced towards the door, as if they were listening. "What about my village?!" she gasped.

"Who knows," he shrugged.

"But my parents are still there!" she yelled.

"Fucking calm down Round Face!" he snapped back. "They probably just took it over or whatever. I doubt they killed anyone. Who knows." He rolled his eyes. "Anyway, like I said, I don't need a mate. There's a room for you at the main palace, so feel free to stay there, do whatever the fuck you want, I don't really care."

He flicked his hand, dismissing her.

She bit her lip. Were her parents okay? Was she fated to stay here, un-mated forever, destined to live out unbearable heats alone? She was his gift... she assumed there would be no way for her to find someone else. No one would dare touch the prince’s gift. Unless she ran away...

"And what am I to do... during a heat?" she asked.

"Hah?"

"And you... during ruts?"

"Do whatever you normally fucking do, just like I will!" He immediately stopped talking, ending the conversation. "There’s a guard, Kirishima, he should be outside the door. He’ll take you to your room and you can leave me the fuck alone." His gaze turned towards the window, ignoring her completely now.

Uraraka bit down harder on her lip, her nails digging into her palm as she turned to leave, heading back to the large wooden door at the end of the hall.

She would have to do something to escape.

The first time Shouto saw her was in the palace garden.

Her long black hair fanned out against her head, her dark ears twitching as she took in all the scents. She sat with her long skirt, flowing around her legs, her hands gently touching a few of the flowers. Her long black tail curled around her body, looking silky smooth. The sun beamed down on her, shining a spotlight on her as if she was a goddess, one Shouto should not be allowed to see.

Even from a long distance away, he could smell her scent. Clean, fresh, like peaches on a summer morning. She was beautiful, and he wished he could've stared at her all day.

"Ah! Shouto!"

Her voice sang out, like a beautiful bird singing a familiar melody; it warmed his heart. For the first time, Shouto wanted to smile; was desperate to.

"Yaoyorozu," he bowed, and he had joined her in the garden.

Their time had been short, time fleeting like a day gone by too fast, yet Shouto had learned so much about the girl. She loved flowers and gardening and though she was an omega, she fought with many of the warriors in her pack.

There was still so much to learn, so much he hadn't gotten to ask in such a brief period of time. As gracefully as she had appeared in the garden, she had left quickly, returning to her parents' side as they, of course, had to return to their own city.

The Yaoyorozus were from a neighboring city, nobles, high class. They'd been visiting the Bakugou pack to discuss varying treaties and negotiations against many of the other more violent clans. Bakugou Masaru was one of the more peaceful clan leaders and they were to be in an alliance.

And on that day, Todoroki Shouto was convinced he found his mate. No one else had ever smelled so sweet, so perfect.

Yet here he stood, readying for a rut and his father was actually considering other potential mates for him.

Just another way Todoroki Enji was determined to stomp on any glimpse of freedom Shouto could see.

"Tokage Setsuna," Enji said, glancing at the map. "A high born, bred to have the darkest of fur, a pure omega."

Shouto clicked his tongue.

"Don't give me attitude, pup," Enji snarled, yanking on Shouto's white ear. In wolf form, Shouto was blessed with white markings from his mother, which made him Enji's prized possession and planned heir to Enji's seat on the council despite being the youngest.

He swallowed, yanking his head away from his father's tight grip. He folded his ears back and glanced at the map. "I told you. Yaoyorozu Momo is to be my mate."

Enji sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I have her on the list of suitors, however her mother was a beta."

"She is an omega," Shouto retorted, a growl vibrating against this throat. He would not allow his father to decide everything for him.

"Yes. But Tokage is a pure omega, from a proper lineage of alphas and omegas, beta blood can complicate things. You wouldn't want to have weak children."

Shouto didn't care about that. As far as he was concerned, he would allow his children to be whatever they wanted, if only to escape from the tyranny of his father.

Yet his father continued to speak. "If you plan to take the throne, you must consider what your lineage would be."

"I don't plan to take the throne," Shouto stated bluntly.

Enji's hand slammed down against the table, his large fingers slowly curling into a fist. "You will be challenging Bakugou Katsuki for his position as head alpha," his father snarled. His large red tail whipped back and forth, flicking angrily through the air. "Under Bakugou Masaru, this clan has maintained a reign of peace... their son, that unruly dog will do nothing but destroy everything this council has worked for."

"You want to keep the peace?" Shouto scoffed.

He knew damn well that was not the case.

"Yes. Bakugou Katsuki is the product of Masaru mating that damn beta," Enji snorted. "If he had kept his bloodline pure, maybe he would have a better child than that beast. Do you see why I am looking at pure omegas?"

Shouto sighed. "Yaoyorozu is an omega. That should be all that matters to you."

"Kodai Yui," Enji said, ignoring Shouto. "She is another candidate."

Shouto rolled his eyes again. Why was his father so insistent upon forcing these omegas at him when he knew who he wanted? He couldn't help whose scent had attracted him most.

"I will meet with Kodai and Tokage if Yaoyorozu is included on this list," Shouto stated.

"You're insufferable."

"Maybe I won't take anyone for a mate," Shouto retorted, his tone flat and monotone.

"And suffer through your ruts alone? You wouldn't be able to handle that," Enji snorted, folding his arms across his chest. "You will take a mate. Bakugou Katsuki will only grow stronger once he mates the omega they've found for him. You too must mate to reach your fullest potential."

Shouto's ears perked up. Katsuki? Taking a mate? There was no way that would go over well with the rowdy blond wolf.

"Fine. I will meet with the other two if you include Yaoyorozu. If you do not I will walk away from the other two-"

"You will do as I say Shouto. You are my son and un-mated, you have no right to speak back to your father this way. I am doing this to ensure your future. Do you not see how important this is?" he continued, his voice booming and angry.

Frowning, Shouto immediately turned away from his father. He couldn't be here; the desire to shift into wolf form and rip his father's face off was far too strong for his liking. Enji could call for him later if he was so desperate to throw more omegas in his direction.

"I'll be going for a run."

"Fine," Enji snorted. "Until dinner then."

If he didn't hunt and eat away from the palace.

Shouto knew what he wanted, he had known for so long. He wasn't going to go back on the desire in the core of his stomach, not for his father, not for Bakugou Katsuki, not for anyone. His father only wanted a pure omega to keep his lineage clean. It had nothing to do with Shouto or his happiness.

Not that Shouto expected anything else from his father.

He made his way to the palace garden where he had first met Yaoyorozu. He turned his nose to the sky, his multi-colored tail swishing back and forth. Sometimes if he scented the area hard enough, he could still smell her delicious, peach scent.

He pulled his long, red robe tighter around his chest as a shiver ran down his spine. His rut was coming soon, and no matter what, he would be certain to take Yaoyorozu Momo as his mate.

#kacchako #todomomo #bakugou katsuki #uraraka ochako #bnha #boku no hero academia #todoroki shouto #yaoyorozu momo #a/b/o dynamics #wolf shapeshifters

103 notes · View notes