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imagineteamfreewill · 1 month
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Mr. Winchester
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Title: Mr. Winchester
Pairing: Author!Sam Winchester x Junior Editor!Reader
Word Count: 5,424
Warnings: Sam’s a jerk (at first)
Square Filled: Free Space
Summary: Y/N is a junior editor working at a publishing company under Castiel Novak. One of their top clients, Sam Winchester, is a difficult author whose life Cas thinks could do with a little bit of Y/N’s touch.
A/N: Surprise! Two fics in one day! This is a submission for the 2020-2021 SPN AU Bingo (@spnaubingo). Feedback makes the world go round, so I hope you enjoy this fic. Let me know what you think when you finish reading!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics​
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Apartment 59 didn’t look much different than the others. The door was a little more worn along the edges and the handle hadn’t been updated to the silver one that seemed to be the standard, but otherwise it was the same as every other unit in the building. There was absolutely nothing unique about it; no one would ever know who lived there and why they were so special. Then again, neither did you. All you’d been told was one of Mr. Novak’s top clients hadn’t been responding to any of his requests for the first draft of their latest book, and that in this man’s case, it meant that someone needed to go check on him.
You rang the doorbell again before glancing at the paper in your hand to make sure the apartment was correct. It was, and you sighed.
Clean the house, water his plants but get new ones if they’re dead, go grocery shopping, collect the first draft, and take his clothes for dry cleaning. How hard could it be?
Rolling your eyes, you stuffed the paper in your bag and looked around for the fake plant that was supposed to contain the extra key for the client’s apartment. It was a little ways down the hall, so you hiked your bag up on your shoulder again and went over to dig it out. The key wasn’t hard to find and you grinned to yourself as you let yourself in.
“Hello?” you called. “Anybody home?”
There was no answer.
“This is Y/N from Holst Publishing, I’m here to collect your first draft!”
There was still no answer and you stepped further into the apartment, letting the door fall shut behind you as you glanced around.
It was clear why Mr. Novak had asked you to come–the apartment was a disaster area, or at least the living room was. Takeout containers and dishes were scattered around the room, and there was a significant amount of laundry piled up on the couch and the floor next to it. There were two plants by the window, just like Mr. Novak said, but even you could tell that they were goners. The leaves weren’t even green anymore. 
Wrinkling your nose, you cleared a spot on the small table against the wall and set down your bag. 
“This guy’s a hot mess,” you mumbled, scooping up a mostly empty waste basket as you walked through the room. It filled up quickly, and you pulled out the bag, tying it up before going to look for a new one. 
There were four doors down the hall, and you figured that at least one had to be a closet. The first three proved to be a bedroom, a bathroom, and an office. Reaching for the fourth door, you let out a yelp when it was opened for you.
A tall man stood on the other side, naked sans a pair of black Saxx. You quickly averted your eyes, staring up at the ceiling as your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment.
“What the hell?” the man asked, his voice low and thick with gravel. “Who are you and what are you doing in my apartment?”
“My name is Y/N, I’m with Holst Publishing,” you squeaked. “Didn’t Mr. Novak call and tell you I was coming?”
The man grunted. “Of course he didn’t. Why were you trying to get into my room?”
Keep reading
#rr
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imagineteamfreewill · 2 months
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An ask game for writers to procrastinate working on you WIP(s)
I am also procrastinating actually writing. If you’ve multiple works in progress you can give a different answer every time!
🦈Tell us the name of your/ one of your WIP(s)
🍄Decriscribe your wip/one of your wips in the format of “___ + ___ =___”  
🌍What tags or warnings will your / one of your wip(s) need if you intend to share it?
🧭An alternative title to your/ one of your WIP(s)?
⚠️Which wip your most likely to finish or update next?
💾What is your document of your wip/ a wip called? (not the stories actual title but what you’ve saved it as)
🖍Post Any sentence from your wip
♻️A scrapped idea for your current WIP
🤔What’s a story you’d love to write but haven’t even started yet?
🤡How many Wips are you actively working on?
🛠Is there a scene or anything in the WIP you are struggling with right now?
❤️Not a question, just a second kudos to send.
Enjoy!
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imagineteamfreewill · 2 months
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Sam x Reader, maybe being parents to their first newborn?
You could’ve sworn that you’d heard Rosie crying, but now you were staring up at the ceiling in silence. 
What woke me up?
Rolling over, you frowned when you realized that Sam wasn’t in bed beside you. 
“Sam?” you asked, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. When there was no answer, you reached over and turned on the bedside lamp. The door was wide open, so you slipped out of bed and pulled on your robe before padding out into the hall.
“Sam?” 
There was no reply. 
Confused, you headed to Rosie’s nursery, which was empty and dark. Now you were worried. Both Rosie and Sam were gone, and it was nighttime and the middle of winter. The bunker was heavily warded, but the little voice in the back of your mind was telling you that something got in.
Oh God, you thought, pressing a hand over your mouth. They’re both gone.
“Dean!” you cried. “Dean!” You ran to his room, tears already streaming down his face as you threw the door open. His bed was empty and your mind screamed at you to pray for Cas because Dean was gone too.
Turning on your heels, you headed for the library, hoping he was just up late trying to find another case. “Dean! Dean, where are you? Sam?” You stumbled to a stop as you sprinted into the room, gasping for breath.
Sam was sitting at the library table with Rosie in his lap. His laptop was on the table in front of them, and from where you stood you could hear the distinct sound of laughter coming from the speakers.
“Sam?” you asked, trying to hold back a relieved sob. “Sam, wh— What are you doing?”
He looked up and smiled at you, then frowned when he saw the tears in your eyes. Pausing the video, he stood up from his seat and carried Rosie over to you.
Almost immediately, you pulled her into your arms and cuddled your sleeping newborn.
“What’s wrong, Y/N? What happened?” he asked, his voice soft and soothing. You’d barely sobbed out an answer before Sam was wrapping his arms around you in a warm hug. Once you had finally calmed down, he led you over to the table and sat you down beside his chair, then started the video again.
You smiled when you saw it was the home movie that you, Dean, Jody, and himself had all made the Christmas before. You’d been four months pregnant at the time, and Sam had been over the moon.
“Why’re you watching this?” you murmured as you shifted Rosie in your arms.
“Well,” he answered, licking his lips, “Rosie started crying and I wanted you to sleep, so I was trying to calm her down, but… the only thing that seemed to work was your voice. I started playing the video and she calmed right down.”
“You’re a miracle worker,” you sighed as you leaned back in your chair, not taking your eyes off the video. Sleepiness settled over you as you placed a hand on Rosie’s back to keep her tucked against you, and soon after you nodded off to the sound of Sam’s laughter and the feeling of his warm hand resting on your thigh.
#rr
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
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So sweet of you to add my imagine to your list! thank you! ❤️
December Reading Recs
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Thank you to all the incredible writers here on tumblr, who provide us with these fantastic stories and thank you to everyone who interacts with these fic recs posts to help spread the love for these writers.
Happy New Year everyone, and happy reading!
To show some love and appreciation to all the amazing writers here on tumblr, here are all the fantastic fics I've read this month. 💖
Many of these fics and blogs are 18+ only, and NSFW please heed the author's individual fic warnings and requests regarding no minors. I am not responsible for your media consumption.
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2023 Reading Rec List
Supernatural
Sam Winchester
Take Me Back Series Chapter 3 | Epilogue | @kaleldobrev
Authors Summary: After making a deal to bring you back, Sam doesn't see you until years later when your paths cross during a case
The Widow Timestamp: I Love You @pink-sparkly-witch
Authors Summary: Sam tells Y/N that he loves her for the first time. This is basically PWP.
The Widow Timestamp: Marry Me? @pink-sparkly-witch
Authors Summary: It’s almost Christmas, and Sam has an important question to ask you.
A Blacksmiths Hands @sams-sass
Fall For You @justagirlinafandomworld
Authors Summary: You don’t always go flying through the air. But when you do, there is one Winchester who is always there to catch you. Or. A series of times you and Sam fell over each other. And Dean’s there.
Imagine Walking Your Dog With Sam @imagineteamfreewill
Dean Winchester
Smoke Eater Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | @zepskies
Authors Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 
That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   
The One That Got Away Epilogue @pink-sparkly-witch
Authors Summary: Childhood sweethearts, Dean and Y/N, are very much in love with each other. When she accepts a full scholarship to an out-of-state college, she finally gets to leave behind her traumatic childhood and abusive father, but it means leaving Dean behind too.
Over a decade later, Y/N returns to Lawrence, Kansas, and finally tries to heal the only wounds she has left… the psychological and emotional scars her father gave her and the heartbreak she endured by Dean Winchester, the one that got away.
Just Thought You Should Know @smellingofpoetry
Authors Summary: It was just one of those drunk calls until it wasn't anymore.
Christmas Boredom @soaringeag1e
Screw Consciousness @kaleldobrev
Authors Summary: Taking a nap with Dean after a long drive
Strangers @smellingofpoetry
Authors Summary: They were just two strangers, dancing in the middle of a club.
10 Inch Hero
Boaz Priestly
Black and Blue @lipstickandwhiskey
Authors Summary: You can’t help your feelings for your friend, but maybe some jerk will give you a push in the right direction?
Pondering Fate While Ignoring The Obvious @impala-dreamer
Authors Summary: Priestly has got it so bad for Tish that he can barely see past the end of her... well, her back end, anyway. He's love sick and forever rejected, constantly stuck inside his own head. When a new girl in town starts messing with him, he quickly loses his cool...
Unique and Brightly - Colored @crashdevlin
Authors Summary: You don't like Priestly's new look and you really don't like the reasoning behind it.
Smallville
Jason Teague
Miss Professor @zepskies
Authors Summary: Jason has to make a decision. You, or Lana Lang.
The Boys
Soldier Boy
Memories Are All I Have @kaleldobrev
Authors Summary: You’re all Ben thinks about while he’s in Russia
From Russia With Love @kaleldobrev
Authors Summary: You’re the first person Ben goes to see after escaping from Russia
House
Robert Chase
Kiss and Tell @iwritefandomimagines
Authors Summary: after endless mutual pining, you and chase finally hooked up over the weekend. you agreed to keep it a secret while you figured things out, but it doesn’t last long with the team around.
Dark Angel
Alec Mcdowell
Not So Lonely Christmas @daughterofcain-67
Authors Summary: You’re beginning to grow accustomed to doing things by yourself now that you’ve moved away from family, but your friends at Jam Pony seem to forget that Christmases after moving to a brand new area can often result in being alone during the holiday season… and Alec won’t stand for it.
Bullseye @zepskies
Authors Summary: Alec’s tired of being ignored. Whatever you’re reading can’t be as interesting as his company, now could it?
Chicago Fire
Matt Casey
Untitled Imagine @deanstead
Authors Summary: Imagine: Matt looking for his captain jacket and finding it on you
Any Fandom
Unamed Male (Choose your own)
Midnight @kittenofdoomage
Authors Summary: New Year’s Eve brings a surprise at the end of a crappy year.
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
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I think it would've been such a sweet conversation to hear them discussing dog names, and once Y/N knew why Sam wanted to name their new puppy Sully, she would've agreed whole-heartedly 💖💖💖
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This is a Reader x Sam submission for @spnfluffbingo.
Square Filled: Walking the Dog
“Sully, slow down!” you cried, holding desperately onto the polyester leash as your little dog pulled you down the slippery sidewalk. It was a miracle your feet didn’t slide out from underneath you. The sound of Sam’s laughter came from behind you as he caught up, his long legs carrying him the same difference in half the time, and you sighed gratefully when he reached around you to take the leash from your hand.
“Thanks,” you sighed.
Sam caught you eye and smiled. “I told you he’d get excited because of the snow. You always forget that, no matter how many winters we go through.”
Grinning, you glanced down at your hand to make sure you didn’t have any friction burns, then replied, “Yeah, well, I get too excited about the snow myself that I forget. I should probably write a note or something to keep by the door…”
Sully leapt up again, his little paws leaving wet patches on the fabric of your jeans. You couldn’t help but laugh and lean down to scratch between his ears.
“You havin’ fun, buddy?” Sam asked, his voice gentle. Sully barked in reply and Sam laughed with you this time. He crouched down, rubbing your dogs soft ears before watching him leap into a nearby pile of snow. The end of the leash disappeared, then reappeared once more as Sully barreled out of the snowbank, heading straight for you. Before you could stop him, he pushed you onto the ice. Your butt was immediately freezing, and you let out a surprised laugh when he pressed his wet, snow-covered nose into your hands.
“Sully!”
x x
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
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Thank you!!! 🥰
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You woke up shivering. The cabin hadn’t been cold the night before, and you quickly pulled all the blankets around yourself before padding out to the main room to see what was going on. Dean was by the window and you watched as he pulled his lighter out of his jacket pocket and carefully lit the few candles in their holders.
“A little mood lighting before we leave?” you asked. He smirked but then shook his head.
“Power’s out. We’re snowed in, sweetheart,” he told you. Pulling back the curtains behind him, you grinned as you saw the white flurries obscuring any view of the road you’d had earlier. You were smiling wide as you headed into the kitchen, ignoring Dean when he asked what you were doing.
Minutes later, you felt him wrap his arms around your waist, his fingers finding their way through the many blankets to press against your stomach. His wedding band was cold on your skin, but you didn’t mind. Dean kissed your neck, smiling when he saw the two mugs of cocoa you were stirring.
“You read my mind,” he murmured. Smiling, you turned and handed him his.
“Oh yeah? Can you read mine?” you asked with a grin. Dean nodded and took a sip from his mug, taking yours so you could hold your blankets around you better.
“Yeah, you’re thinking about cuddling with me on the couch,” he replied. You laughed and followed him into the living room, silently thanking Chuck for the extension on your honeymoon.
x x x x
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
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Gentle and Kind
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Title: Gentle and Kind
Pairing: Prince!Sam Winchester x Queen!Reader
Word Count: 14k
Warnings: Arranged marriage, Christmas, threats, angst, fluff, and mentions of death, wounds, war, violence, and sex (nothing happens)
Summary: Y/N’s kingdom has been at war for a long time, and when King John offers her respite in his castle for Christmas, she eagerly agrees.
A/N: This fulfills trope #21 on my 25 Days of Tropes list! It was honestly going to be a short one shot, but it got away from me and now I think it’s the longest thing I’ve written all year. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy and that you had a safe and happy holiday season!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
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Your muscles ache from weeks of fighting with the knights in your first garrison, and the dried blood in your hair is not likely to come out on its own, but for the first time in a long time, you’re relaxed. The carriage is driving through safe territory—the safest you’ve been in since Crowley invaded your kingdom and declared war on you and your people. There’s no fear of being ambushed here.
When King John sent a messenger to your war camp, you had been surprised. He isn’t known for reaching out, and to send a personal, royal messenger straight into war territory is a dangerous move. Nonetheless, the King of Ashela had invited you for a short respite in his castle, just in time for Christmas. You’d accepted after much consultation with your closest advisor, Sir Robert.
You begin traveling east to Ashela four days before Christmas Eve. Your armies travel west, back to Athos. Newer, freshly trained knights had arrived a few hours before your departure to relieve your weary soldiers and allow them rest of their own, though Sir Robert had carefully selected four of them to travel with you as your personal guard for the journey. They ride horseback outside the carriage, and Sir Robert is in the second carriage with the gifts you’ve brought for the royal family.
Charlie is resting across the carriage from you. She’s abandoned the formal dress that you know King John will expect of her as your lady-in-waiting, but you don’t blame her, nor do you correct her. Wearing trousers is easier nowadays, and you’ve done the same. You’ve gotten into the habit of wearing the traditional captain’s uniform, or even a soldier’s armor, rather than the gowns you used to wear before the war. Even as the horses carry you down the tidy forest road that leads to Ashela, you’ve donned your armor. It's a habit to put it on each morning, and you wanted to display your strength and empathy for your men even as you left them behind on the battlefield. 
You let out a restless sigh and shift in your seat, and your armor clanks as you move. You wince when something bumps into a bruise on your back. A small part of you wishes you’d chosen to wear something else, but there’s no point in stopping to take the armor off when you’re already so far into the journey.
“Do you think I’ve made the right choice?” you ask when Charlie looks over at you, no doubt checking if there’s something she can do to ease your discomfort. She’s a good friend, and you’re often grateful that you chose her to be your closest lady-in-waiting. “Do you think that leaving my men during this time is the right thing to do?”
In response, Charlie offers you a tired smile. She’d journeyed overnight to your castle—Eryas Court—then back to the war camp, in order to collect the gifts for John Winchester and his two sons. Even if they were inviting you for respite during a war, you didn’t dare show up empty-handed.
“My lady, you can only do so much. You may be a queen, but you are also just a woman,” she replies.
You sigh again and look out the window at the stars as you mull over the most recent battle plans your captains had shown you before you’d left the camp. The Elciums have been encroaching slowly upon the village that surrounds Eryas Court, but you’ve been able to keep them at bay since winter began. You’ve even managed to take back some of the territory they’d taken over the hot summer months.
The carriage falls back into silence, except for the clatter of the wheels and the constant rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the packed dirt. After a while, you find yourself nodding off with your head against the sturdy carriage wall. You don’t fight it, and you let yourself be lulled to sleep for the remainder of the journey.
Charlie’s hand over yours wakes you. You startle, and she sits back in her seat as the carriage rocks with your movement. Your hand immediately flies to where your sword would be, but you’ve unstrapped it from your side for the journey. Sir Robert had said it wouldn’t be proper for you to show up dressed for battle, so you’d met him halfway. He would keep hold of your sword, at least for the trip to Ashela. Once you arrive, he’s to return it directly to you for safekeeping. It was your father’s sword before it became yours, and you don’t trust many with it.
“It’s okay,” Charlie soothes, and you stare wide-eyed at her, gasping slightly for air. “We’ve arrived in Ashela. You slept all night, and for most of the morning.”
Nodding, you close your eyes. It’s shocking that you weren’t plagued with nightmares. The last time you left the war camp, you struggled to sleep, even in the chambers where you’d spent every night since birth, at least until the Elciums invaded.
Your mouth is dry and you swallow a few times to try and get the sandy feeling to abate. You wish you had some water, or at least something to drink. There’s a knock on the carriage window and you flinch away, sliding toward the center of the bench.
You sense Charlie shifting in her seat. “It’s one of the guards,” she says a moment later. “Are you ready to meet King John?” 
You’ve never been to Ashela before, nor have you met John and his sons. They’ve been fine neighbors, however, and you have no complaints. You hear what others say about them—the Winchester sons are strong soldiers and scholars, and King John is exacting in everything he does. They’d be formidable foes, and you’re here to make sure that your kingdoms are allied, if only informally.
You nod again, and you open your eyes as Charlie pushes open the carriage door. You lift your chin as the sun immediately floods in through the opening.
Charlie exits first, and she helps clear a path for your exit. A strong hand is offered and you use it to climb from the carriage. Your legs are stiff from sitting so long, especially after months of fighting, and you have to bite back a groan as your muscles stretch.
“Your Majesty,” a deep voice greets.
The winter sun is practically blinding and it takes you a second to get your wits about you. Tall, lush evergreens stand in clusters around the castle, reaching toward the bright blue sky. They’re interspersed by dark green bushes and several boulders. A forest continues behind the clearing you stand in, and the trees grow so closely that light can’t reach through their branches. The darkness this creates is both intriguing and a bit terrifying.
Snow covers the grounds and all the trees surrounding it, except for a gray stone path that has been cleared for you. King John and his entourage stand on a larger patch of gray stone a few feet away, and you bow politely in his direction. He returns the gesture.
“King John,” you say. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”
“You’re very welcome, Queen Y/N. I expect your journey was a pleasant one?”
“As pleasant as can be expected.”
You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as Charlie adjusts the chainmail hood you’ve let fall from your head, revealing the blood caked in your hair and the healing cut that follows your hairline. There’s a sizable bruise on your temple as well, from when an Elcium knight hit you with his shield.
The man to John’s right clears his throat and steps forward with a small bow. “Your Majesty, I’m Prince Dean, head of Ashela’s royal guard. Please allow me to provide you with new armor while we repair yours, and your knights’,” he adds, gesturing to the four men standing near you.
Each man stands with one hand at his side and the other resting on the hilt of his sword, and though they hold their heads high, you recognize the weariness in their stance and in their taut expressions.
“That’s very generous, Prince Dean. Thank you.” You answer with a bow of your own, and he smiles kindly before you turn your eyes to the man on the other side of the king.
He’s tall, taller than any of the men in the King’s entourage and in your guard, and his hair just barely brushes over the collar of his jacket. It’s almost chestnut in the light. When he smiles at you, the urge to smile back is so strong that you can’t fight it. You meet his eyes, and you smile for the first time in a while.
“Prince Samuel, Your Majesty,” he says. He bows, short and sweet. “If you’re ready, I can show you and your lady to your chambers. I’m sure you’re eager to rest.”
You bow back, still smiling. “Thank you, Your Highness.” You nod politely to the King and to Prince Dean, then follow Prince Samuel toward the stone castle at the end of the cleared path. Two of your men travel with you, and Charlie is close behind you to the right, but the other two knights stay with Sir Robert. You realize only as you enter the castle that you’ve left your sword behind.
Samuel leads you through the halls of his home, explaining the history of various paintings and rooms, but you only catch bits and pieces. He walks quickly, and while your armor is protective, it’s made to help you fight on horseback, not take extensive walking tours through beautiful castles.
“Here are your chambers,” Samuel finally says, and you clatter to a stop.
Charlie bumps into you, and she grabs your arm for stability. You catch Samuel’s eyes flickering down to her hands on your arm before he collects himself. Your time on the battlefield has caused your decorum to slip just enough that you know you’re being much too informal for the occasion. Suddenly very conscious of your mistakes, you clear your throat and straighten your posture, fixing him with the most composed, diplomatic look you can muster.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” You allow one of the guards to enter after Samuel opens the door, leaving you feeling a little more exposed. You’ve grown used to being surrounded by people fighting for your kingdom—fighting for you. “Your father was very kind to invite me here. We’ve brought gifts for him, and for you and Prince Dean.” You gesture back the way you’d come. “I’m sure that Sir Robert, my advisor, has already passed them along.”
Samuel dips his head in thanks, smiling. “We’re happy to have you. We’ve been trying to show more diplomacy than in the past.”
You raise an eyebrow. Most kingdoms are not so open about their goals, at least in your experience.
The guard exits and nods his approval of the chambers you’ve been given, and Charlie takes that as a sign to enter and make sure the room is prepared to her standards as well. You don’t move.
“Ashela has always been diplomatic,” you carefully reply. You’re not sure what to make of his disclosure. 
“But not always welcoming. I’m trying to change that.”
“You? Not your father?”
Samuel lifts his chin slightly at the question. There’s a hint of pride in his expression, but none in his voice as he answers, “My father has put me in charge of our relationships with neighboring kingdoms. This is one of many steps I’m— we’re taking,” he corrects, “to strengthen those bonds.”
“I see.”
You glance through the open doorway, where Charlie is instructing a chambermaid how warm you like your rooms and how often to tend to the fire. Mentally, you file away the information that Sam has just given you, then turn your focus on more concrete matters.
“I suppose there are festivities I should like to attend?”
He nods, and you can feel his gaze still on your face, even as you watch your friend peek out the windows to see the view from your chambers. “Indeed. There’s a feast tonight, shortly after sundown. I can instruct someone to fetch you.”
“I would like that very much, Prince Samuel,” you say.
You turn back to him, and he takes that as a cue to take your hand and kiss the back of your knuckles, where the skin is rough and scarred from so much fighting. The gesture is simple, but it surprises you nonetheless. Prince Samuel is gentle and chivalrous. It’s been a long time since you’ve been treated that way. Your hand seems to tremble as you pull away, and your breath catches over a lump in your throat.
“Very well. I will see you tonight, Ma’am,” Samuel says. He bows low. It’s a sign of respect he’s not obligated to, and it makes you want to cry. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep over the past few weeks or maybe it’s something else, but to be treated like a queen—not just a captain—is something you didn’t know you’d missed.
“No need for titles,” you find yourself saying, your voice thick with sudden emotion. “You may call me Y/N, if you wish.”
If Sir Robert were here, he’d be interrupting and excusing away your brash actions, but you’re practically alone and the only remaining guard won’t speak up, even if he wanted to. It’s up to Sam to respond, and he only stops and stares at you for a long moment. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you wait, desperately hoping he won’t be cruel.
“Sam,” he finally replies. He offers you a small smile. “You may call me Sam.”
You nod and smile wide, glossy-eyed as Sam turns and heads further down the hallway, opposite the direction he’d first brought you. Once he’s around the corner, you step into the warmly lit chambers, where Charlie has moved onto the wardrobe of clothes that has been prepared for you. Clearly, they hadn’t expected you to show up with all of your finery, and you’re thankful that they had the forethought to provide something for you.
The other guard exits and closes the door behind him, allowing you privacy as the two knights take their places in the hallway. You stay close to the door, where you can see the whole space.
“The Prince seems very polite,” Charlie says after a few moments. Her back is to you as she sorts through the dresses.
“Very.” You don’t say anything more.
“And handsome, too,” she prods.
“Charlie,” you warn. “I have other, more important matters than a polite and handsome prince.”
She sighs and you can picture her rolling her eyes at you. Finally, she pulls a plain dress in your favorite color from the wardrobe, then turns and holds it up for you.
“This will do for now,” she decides. “But I’ll have to find you something else for the feast.”
You glance at her, not bothering to ask how she already knows about the feast, before turning in a circle to take in the enormous room that has been given to you for your respite. It’s bigger than the counsel tent at the war camp. The bed itself could fit the entire map table, and the size of the fireplace reminds you of the enormous bonfire that the men use to cook their meals. The walls and floor are made of the same tan stone as the rest of the castle, but the stone is so smooth that it reflects the light from the flickering flames. There’s a dark wood door in the corner, which you guess leads to a room for Charlie, if Ashelan castles are built like your own.
Everywhere you look, there are lavish curtains, tapestries, and paintings framed in gold. There’s a mound of pillows to lounge on by the fire, and several dark wood chairs standing behind them in a semicircle. Their carvings are so elaborate that you hesitate to sit in them. The bed is draped with soft, plush fabrics in deep greens, reds, and a creamy white that reminds you of the milk your nursemaid brought for you as a young girl. Evergreen boughs are wound around the posts of the bed, though they’re partially hidden by the fabric curtains that have been fastened against the wood. The whole room has been decorated with more sweet-smelling pine branches, as well as clumps of red berries that glisten in the light from the fire and the candles in the window. It’s amazing to you that the candles are already lit, given that it’s only midday, but Ashela has many customs that you’ve always found strange. For instance, Prince Dean was married several years ago in an arranged marriage. Your father had explained the ancient custom to you, explaining the benefits to each kingdom. You still remember that conversation so clearly, and even though your father has long since passed, his words are forever imprinted in your memory.
“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”
“It’s too much,” you murmur, and you escape back out into the hallway, leaving the door to your chambers wide open as you flee. Your heart is racing again and it feels like the walls are starting to close in around you. The panic is irrational. You know it is, but you can’t stop it as it pushes you forward down the hallway.
The guards give you worried looks, but you ignore them as you hurry around the corner where Sam had disappeared. You walk quickly, following the sound of loud voices until you reach an open-air chamber where Sam and his brother are lounging at a table. Two gold goblets sit in front of them, and a candlelit tree has been placed in the corner of the room. An enormous dark fur blankets the floor. The fireplace here is as big as the one in your guest chambers, if not bigger.
Both men stand as soon as they see you.
“Your Majesty,” Dean greets, and he frowns slightly when he looks at you properly. “Is everything alright?”
You clear your throat in an attempt to compose yourself. “I desire a moment alone,” and then you add, “With Sam.”
Dean raises an eyebrow and glances at his brother, who nods slightly but doesn’t say a word.
“Very well,” Dean says. He picks up his goblet and drinks the last of its contents, tilting his head back to get the last drops. “I’ll be in my study.” He nods politely at you before leaving through a passageway just to the right of the tree.
Sam waits until the sound of his brother’s footsteps has disappeared completely before he speaks up.
“Is everything alright?” he asks, and you shake your head.
“I apologize, but I must ask for new chambers.” Sam’s face twists in confusion and, predictably, he opens his mouth to ask why. You continue before he has the chance. “I have been fighting with my men for many moons, and the rooms you have given me are much too lavish. I’m afraid I simply won’t be comfortable in something so big, as foolish as it sounds.”
Though your words are composed and formal, you wring your hands in front of you, hoping Sam will ignore the way you can’t stop fidgeting. You feel so flighty that it makes you irritated even with yourself.
His expression turns sympathetic. “I see. There must be something I can do to convince you to stay, Y/N. Those chambers have been carefully prepared for you by some of our most trusted servants. If I were to request the change, I’m afraid they might take offense.”
“You care deeply for them,” you say, quieter now. Something about him and the sound of his voice calms you, and the anxiety you’d felt only moments before has started to diminish.
“I do,” he answers. “They work hard, and they deserve to be treated with respect.”
“I agree.” You nod and fall silent, looking down at your hands. Suddenly, you feel very foolish to have searched him out to ask for something so trivial. You’re a queen, after all. You should be used to nicer things than this. You shouldn’t be so overwhelmed by a room so similar to the ones from your childhood.
“It wouldn’t be offensive, however,” Sam begins, and you look up at him, holding your breath, “to only have one Ashelan maid to assist you.”
You exhale a small sigh of relief, as small as you can manage without being completely obvious. “I suppose one would be sufficient. She could help Charlie. Lady Charlie, I mean.”
He smiles. “I’m sure Lady Charlie will grow accustomed to our castle soon enough. She seems very intelligent.”
“Oh?” You can’t help but ask what he means. Charlie is smart, there’s no denying it, but many men have mistaken her for a frail, unassuming creature before. Sam would be one of the first to correctly identify her.
“She has the same look in her eyes as you. You are not one to be underestimated. I’ve heard about the way you fight on the battlefield.”
Before you can respond, there’s a noise in the hallway and you look over your shoulder to see what it is. One of your guards in the entrance. Your stomach sinks, knowing that he’s most likely been sent to retrieve you.
“I should allow you to get settled,” Sam says. He nods politely at the guard before looking back at you. “Though I hope you will tell us about your traditions in Athos at the feast. I am eager to learn more.”
You watch him for a moment, judging if he’s earnest in his request, and then you nod. Offering him a small smile, you follow the guard back to your guest chambers, where Charlie is waiting patiently for you, a warm bath already drawn.
The night is hard. After your bath and a meal brought up by the Ashelan maid, you try to rest before the feast, but the nightmares come quickly this time. You toss and turn, and you wake up screaming. The guards burst into your room as Charlie rushes to you from where she’s been inspecting your armor for what needs the most care and attention. 
Once it’s determined that you aren’t in any danger, she convinces the guards to withdraw. She holds you then, letting you cry in her arms as you tremble, remembering the horrors of the dream and the reality that shapes them. You cry yourself to sleep, and you’re certain that you only stay asleep because Charlie decides to stay with you. She tucks you back under the heavy blankets and drags one of the carved chairs over to your bedside. There, she curls up with one hand holding yours and the other propping her head up so she can rest as well. You have minimal nightmares after that, though her presence beside you is reassuring enough that the few times you do wake, you aren’t too afraid to fall back asleep.
You sleep through the feast, much to your dismay. John, Sam, and Dean are waiting for you when you enter the Great Hall to break your fast with them the next morning, however.
“I trust you slept well,” Dean says to you once you’re settled in the seat across from him. Charlie sits beside you, and Sir Robert is on your right, across from Prince Sam. John is at the head of the table. There’s another man across the table, opposite Charlie, and another on her left. You don’t recognize them, but you suspect that they’re friends of Sam and Dean, or that they’re the lords-in-waiting. John doesn’t seem to have an advisor with him, but there’s an empty seat at the far end of the table.
“As well as can be expected,” you reply. Your smile is strained, but you offer it anyway, then move your hands out of the way of the servant who comes to bring you your meal. “I apologize for missing the feast. I so badly wanted to come, but it was best that I stayed in my chambers last night.”
“We understand completely,” John tells you. “We are not strangers to war.”
You nod, and everyone goes back to eating. The Great Hall is silent. It’s a complete change from your meals in your tent at the war camp. Though you always dined with just Charlie and Sir Robert, you’d always been able to hear what was happening outside the tent walls. There’d be shouting and laughter, songs and teasing. Sometimes there was crying and men groaning through their injuries, but you ate those meals quickly.
As you eat, you look around the room. The Great Hall is decorated similarly to your chambers, with evergreen boughs, red berries, and candles that burn even in daylight, but there’s also an enormous tree at the far end of the hall. It’s lit with candles, just like the one you’d seen when you’d searched out Sam the day before. The tree stretches dozens of feet up, and you wonder how old it must be to have grown so tall. 
“We do not decorate like this in Athos,” you say, and all three Winchesters look at you in mild surprise. A bit embarrassed by their eyes on you, you falter slightly, but the interest on Sam’s face when you don’t continue spurs you on.
“You use plants here.” You gesture to the tree. “But we decorate with wooden carvings of our ancestors, and woven tapestries that we hang beside every door and window.”
“What are the tapestries?” Sam asks. His father and brother have gone back to eating, even though they still watch and listen, but he’s set down his fork and is now giving you his full attention.
“They’re different for each family. My family has tapestries that show the beginnings of our kingdom and the first king of Athos, and over the years, I have created many simple ones as gifts.”
“I’m sure they were wonderful,” Sam says. He holds your gaze for a moment before he smiles, and you smile back.
There’s a fluttering in your stomach. The clinking of John’s fork on the table makes you look away. There’s heat in your cheeks, much to your chagrin, and you exhale shakily. It’s strange to be so rattled. You’re not even sure why the conversation is affecting you so much. You’ve talked about Athoan traditions countless times before today with countless royals and monarchs. Something about Sam simply shakes you to your core.
John sips from his goblet, then gestures at Sam with the cup before he sets it back on the long table. “Samuel will show you the grounds today. I’m sure he can answer any questions you have about Ashela.”
Somewhat surprised that the King doesn’t plan to meet with you himself, you nod. It’s not atypical for kings to pass you off to one of their advisors, but you don’t mind it in this instance. You’re still weary from battle, and Sam is excellent company.
“Very well,” you reply, dipping your head just a little. You pick up your own goblet to take a sip. The drink is warm, thick, and rich, and you frown a little before peering inside the cup.
“Is everything alright?” Dean asks.
You nod and glance over at Lady Charlie. She picks up her own goblet and takes a sip as you set down yours. She pauses for a moment, her cup paused in midair, then smiles.
“Hot chocolate,” she murmurs. “It’s a traditional drink here.”
Raising an eyebrow at her, you whisper, “How do you know that?”
She gives you a sly smile and shakes her head. You know the look—she’ll tell you later.
You sit back in your seat and turn your attention to Dean, who’s still watching you. His father and Sam are both watching you now too, and Sam is frowning with obvious concern.
“Everything is fine,” you reassure them. “I’ve never had hot chocolate before. It’s delicious, John. You have fine cooks here in Ashela.”
He nods in response and stands. You stand as well, as does the rest of the table, and you watch as the King leaves through a door on one side of the Great Hall. 
Dean clears his throat. “I have duties to attend to, brother.” He claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Remember that Father said—”
Sam cuts him off. “I remember. Thank you, Dean.”
A moment later, Dean excuses himself, and you watch him leave, too. Sir Robert mumbles some excuse and bows to Sam before leaving as well, no doubt to study policies and look over ledgers in his own guest chambers. He’s always been a bit of a recluse, and there’s little privacy at the war camp. You suspect he’ll spend most of his time hidden away while you’re on respite.
You turn to Charlie. “You should rest,” you quietly tell her. “I know that you did not sleep much last night—”
“I’m fine,” she replies.
Shaking your head, you grab her hands and squeeze. “Please. I’ll feel better, even if you just relax by the fire. I feel awful that I’ve kept you up.”
Charlie nods, though you can tell she’s reluctant to leave you by the way her eyes cut to Sam. He’s pointedly staring at the candlelit evergreen and sipping his hot chocolate, giving you the semblance of privacy even though he’s mere feet away.
You squeeze her hands again and offer her an earnest smile. “I’m okay. I don’t mind being with him,” you say, soft enough that you’re certain Sam can’t hear from across the table. “He’s… nice.”
This makes her smile wide, and you can practically see all the possibilities she’s conjuring up in her head.
“Nice?” Charlie teases.
You playfully scoff and drop her hands, smoothing your skirt. Turning to Sam, you say, “I’m finished eating, if you’re ready to begin.”
Sam hums and sets his goblet down. “Will Lady Charlie be joining us?”
She takes that as her cue to shake her head and curtsy. After years of practice, the action is smooth, despite the fact that she hasn’t worn a formal gown in almost a year. She’d complained in private to you that morning that she wished the two of you could continue wearing trousers, and you’d agreed. The dresses that have been provided for you in Ashela are all too big, and you’d spent part of your morning being poked and prodded by the castle seamstress as she frantically altered the bodice to fit you. They might’ve fit before the war, but the fighting has given you more lean muscle than anything. Your own dresses back at Eryas Court will likely need altering when you finally return home.
“I have other things that require my attention, my Queen,” Charlie says, and she gracefully exits the Great Hall, though not before throwing you a meaningful look before the doors close behind her.
“Shall we?” Sam asks.
You jump, surprised to find that he’s come around to your side of the table and stopped alongside you while you watched your friend depart. He offers his arm and after a very brief moment of hesitation, you take it.
You and Sam traverse the grounds on foot, and he shows you the snow-covered gardens, the stables, the knights’ training field, and the arboretum where his mother is buried. Finally, he leads you to a frozen lake set far back from the castle. It’s surrounded by the same pine trees that seem to be everywhere in Ashela, and there’s a small wooden hut sheltered by the two largest. From inside, Sam pulls out sharpened blades with leather straps. It takes you a moment to realize that they’re for skating on the ice.
“Would you like to skate?” he asks.
“I’ve never been skating before,” you admit, and you look at the lake. It’s smooth and glossy, with few imperfections on its icy surface. You can’t help but wonder if it’s actually safe. Though ice skating has grown popular in Athos since the start of your reign, you’ve never allowed your court to participate. You’ve heard too many tales of the ice breaking under the skater’s weight. A small girl in the village had drowned just last winter.
“I’ll keep you safe, Y/N. You have my word.”
Scanning Sam’s face, you try to determine whether or not you can trust him, not just to lead you around and show you the castle grounds, but with your life. 
You place your hand in his after a long moment of deliberation. “You’ll have to show me how.”
He smiles, and it’s almost as bright as the sun on the snow. You let him lead you by the hand to the edge of the lake, where a downed tree has been positioned lengthwise. Sam helps you to sit, and then he very carefully kneels in the fresh, powdery snow to help attach the blades to your boots. The knees of his trousers are soaked with snow when he stands, but he doesn’t seem to care as he sits beside you and attaches the blades to his own boots. He helps you up with both hands, encouraging you as you wobble and sway in his grip.
“Move slowly,” he advises as he steps onto the lake, leading you onto the ice as he skates backwards.
It takes all your effort and concentration to stay upright at first, but with Sam’s encouragement and gentle guidance, you quickly get your bearings. You’re able to skate around the lake on your own after only an hour’s practice.
“You’re a natural!” Sam says as he skates beside you. His pace is surely slower than it would be on his own, and you smile over at him.
“Your assistance was a great help,” you tell him. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head a little. “I have the feeling that you would have been fine on your own.”
You fall into silence as you skate side by side, but a quarter hour later, you carefully stop a few feet away from the fallen tree. Sam stops as well and he holds his hands out to help you just in case something is wrong.
“Y/N?” he asks.
“You’ve been skating for a long time, haven’t you? For several years, at least?”
Though he seems confused by your sudden question, Sam nods. “Since I was a young boy.”
Smiling, you gesture with one hand toward the open expanse of the lake. “Show me what you can do, then. You must be very skilled.”
“I don’t know if “skilled” is the correct term…” He rubs the back of his neck with his dark green mittens, and you chuckle. His nose is pink, as are his ears from where they peek out from his furry hat.
“I’m not your queen, so I can’t command you, but I am your guest. Please show me?” you ask.
He’s smiling again. “Very well. Do you want to sit?” He gestures towards the tree, the other hand already reaching for your elbow.
You shake your head. “I will stand, thank you. Now go!” You shove at him, not enough to put him off-balance, but enough that he laughs and ducks his head before he skates away.
Sam is skilled. It only takes you a minute to figure out that he had been telling the truth—he’d been skating a long, long time. He moves with great ease over the ice, and you marvel at his speed. He flies by you three times before he slows, then stops sharply. A shower of ice flies up into the air before it rains down again. His breath comes out in heavy white puffs of fog and his chest heaves with exertion, but you’re smiling wide, giddy from the show.
You clap for him. “You underestimate yourself! You’re very fast!”
He laughs as he catches his breath. “Dean and I would race as children.” He points toward the far edge of the lake, where there’s a large gap between two trees. “There’s a river there, and we’d race from here to where it meets the forest road.” He pants for a second before looking back at you. “We should return. We’ve been out in the cold for a long time.”
Nodding in agreement, you let Sam lead you off the ice and back to the log, where you clumsily unstrap your skates. He takes them and puts them away while you fix your skirts, hat, and boots. When he returns, you stand and take his arm, and the two of you head back to the castle.
You eat a small meal when you return—mostly bread, cheese, and sausage—and it’s while you’re eating that you ask Sam for a second tour of the castle. He’s more than happy to oblige.
“All of these paintings,” you say as he escorts you down a long, decorated hallway, “They have similar styles, but the others you’ve shown me do not. Who painted these?”
“I did,” Sam replies.
You stop to stare at him. “You did?” You can’t hide your surprise, though you know it’s rude. “You painted them? All of them?” There must be at least two dozen in the hall.
He nods, and his cheeks are a little pink, though the castle is much too warm for it to be from the cold. “Yes, all of them.”
Turning back to the landscape he’d just named, you marvel at it. The colors are vibrant, matching the rest of the castle, and the gold details glimmer in the candlelight. Though the sun is going down outside and there’s little light coming in from the windows, you can still see everything clearly.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Would you like to see where I paint them?” he asks.
You look away from the painting to nod. “I would like that very much, yes.”
Sam smiles and offers you his arm again, and he begins to lead you down a narrow hallway that you hadn’t noticed before. You would have labeled it a servant’s passage had the lush carpet not continued down its length. There are wooden doors every few feet, but Sam ignores them and keeps walking.
After several minutes of walking, you come to the end of the hall and the last door, which is slightly higher than the rest. There are two steps leading up to it, but Sam needs neither to step into the room. You opt to take them, and he places a hand over your head so you don’t hit it against the wooden beams that border the opening.
Though the door is smaller than normal, the room is not. The ceiling stretches high up into one of the castle’s towers, and windows let light in even from high above. The wooden floor is swept clean, and an easel is set up near the largest of three windows at eye level. It’s big enough that you could sit in it and let your legs dangle outside of the tower. The window faces the arboretum, and if you squint, you can see the frozen lake in the distance.
A table with paints and brushes is set up beside the easel. Sam approaches it so naturally that you’re sure he must spend a lot of time in this room. 
“It reminds me of my study back home,” you quietly say, and Sam looks over at you as he picks up a brush and dips it into one of the pots of pigment.
“Do you like to paint?”
You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s not one of my talents. But I like to look at art. My castle is full of paintings, tapestries, and carvings.” You pause and watch as he adds brushstrokes to the painting on the easel, easily picking up where he’d left off. “You must paint something for my castle before I leave.”
“What would you like?” he asks.
You pause and look around the room as you think. There are several paintings leaning up against the rounded walls, along with piles of supplies that look like they might topple over any second.
“Could you paint the lake? In winter?” you finally request.
The room is quiet for a moment as Sam paints. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him. He’s staring at the canvas in front of him with his brush in mid-air, but then he turns and meets your eyes, as if he can feel you watching him.
“Why not in summer, when the grass is green and the sunlight makes the water glow? Or in spring, when the wildflowers are blooming? Or in autumn, when the wind blows clouds through the sky?”
He describes the seasons so well that you can picture the paintings in your mind, but you shake your head, not looking away.
“No. I want the lake in winter, so I can remember skating for the first time,” you explain.
He stares at you, and you stare back. Your heart feels like it’s out of control and you have to force yourself to break eye contact. All the while, your thoughts are scattered and though you know in your head that you should be more composed and that you shouldn’t be alone with him in such a remote part of the castle where there are no guards, Sam makes you feel safe.
“We should prepare for dinner,” he finally murmurs, breaking the spell that had fallen over the room.
You glance up at the windows to find that the sun has disappeared from the horizon. Darkness is creeping in, and shadows are stretching across the floor of Sam’s tower. Have you truly been so distracted that the time flew by that quickly?
Nodding in agreement, you step back out into the hallway and make your way down the narrow passage. Once in the main hall, Sam escorts you to your room in silence. Charlie is waiting for you there, and she helps you change into a more formal gown for dinner. She doesn’t utter a single word about the strange expression on your face, nor does she mention the fact that you’ve been without a guard all day.
The dinner is less formal than you were anticipating, and you fall into comfortable conversation with the King. He knew your father before you were born, though the last time they’d met was when you were a young girl. He tells you story after story of their times together, and you’re learning about their last visit when one of the Ashelan guards posted outside the Great Hall bursts in.
“Your Majesty,” he greets, hurriedly bowing to the King. “A messenger has just arrived for Queen Y/N. It’s an urgent matter.”
“Send them in,” John replies. He gestures toward the door and you stand as a haggard soldier in your colors staggers through. He’s supported on one side by another Ashelan guard, and your blood runs cold at the frantic look in your soldier’s eyes.
“Your Majesty.” He starts to bow but loses his balance. He only remains upright thanks to the guard beside him. He’s gasping for air.
“Peace, soldier,” you tell him, though you feel anything but. Your heart is pounding in your chest again and your hand trembles as you place it on the back of your chair. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you. “What news do you bring me?”
“A m— message from King Crowley, Ma’am. He says that if you do not surrender by Christmas, he will take Eryas Court.”
You stare at him for a moment, then scoff. “He cannot so boldly assume I will surrender! Have our armies held the camp?” you ask.
“No, Ma’am,” the soldier replies, and it feels like the floor has fallen out from underneath you. Your stomach twists as the soldier continues, “His men slaughtered our armies, and they have infiltrated the village. They have surrounded Eryas. The men returning to their families are at the keep, and are holding it as best as they are able, but they are tired, Ma’am.”
Lady Charlie gasps beside you, and you lift your chin, silently sending up a prayer. Crowley has caught you off guard, but you can’t show it.
You turn to look at John. “Is there a room I can use to speak with Sir Robert and send word to my captains?”
John nods and stands, directing his attention to the first guard. “Prepare my study for Queen Y/N and Sir Robert. Escort them there once it is ready, and have one of the servants available to fulfill any requests she might have,” he orders.
The guard nods and bows before hurrying back out into the hallway.
“And you,” John continues, looking at the guard supporting your weary soldier. “Take him to see the doctor. Get him a meal and fresh clothes, and prepare him a place to sleep.”
The soldier still has his eyes on you, and you quickly cross to him before the Ashelan guard can take him away. His entire body is covered with blood, sweat, and grime, and he smells like the worst parts of the battlefield. His legs shake when he struggles to stand straighter as you approach.
“You can trust the people here,” you gently tell the man. “Thank you for what you have done. You have brought your people great honor. Now, rest.”
The man salutes you and you bow your head, then watch in silence as the guard leads him out of the Great Hall and towards the servant’s door you’d passed earlier that day on your tour. Once he’s out of sight, you turn and face Sir Robert, who has moved to stand at the end of the table closest to you.
“I apologize for cutting our dinner short, John,” you say. He nods once. “Can I ask that Lady Charlie be escorted back to my chambers once she is finished dining?”
Charlie stands from her seat. “I’m already finished, my Queen, and if it pleases you, I shall stay to assist you.”
You could cry at the loyalty and care from your friend, and you almost do. You catch yourself, however, and you swallow the lump that forms in your throat. John and Dean are talking in hushed tones, but Sam is watching you. His eyes are sad and you have to look away as soon as you notice. You’re barely holding it together as is, and you’re sure that he can tell.
The guard assigned by King John to escort you to his study appears in the doorway, and you quickly follow after him. He leads you down the main hallway and up a set of stairs to a dark wooden door that you’d glimpsed earlier. He opens it in silence, then closes it once you, Sir Robert, and Charlie are inside. 
Almost immediately, you brace your hands on the large table in the center of the room and hang your head. A sob escapes you and Charlie places a comforting hand on your back as you let out a few more. The tears run across your cheeks to the bridge of your nose, then drip onto the table beneath you as you cry.
Sir Robert stands in silence until you’re able to compose yourself a few minutes later. He’s watching the flames flicker in the fireplace with his back to you.
“How many men have we lost today?” you ask, dabbing at your face with the handkerchief Charlie has somehow produced.
“ There were 6,000 in the garrison when we left,” he answers. There’s no emotion in his voice and a small part of you feels ashamed for crying, but you push that thought away before it can fester.
“And how many do you think are defending the keep right now?”
Sir Robert turns. His expression is grave and the light and shadows from the fire deepen the wrinkles on his face. 
“Less than 5,000, if I had to guess.”
You sigh heavily and look back down at the table, then straighten until you’re standing tall again. You cross the room to stare out the window. From the King’s study, you can see the gardens, which means you’re on the opposite side of the castle from the tower where Sam paints. Silently, you start to pace the length of the large fur covering the floor between two shelves of ancient books. Lady Charlie sits at the table while Sir Robert remains by the fireplace, and both of them watch as you walk back and forth.
Nobody speaks until you stop, but there’s a knock at the door right before you can admit that you have no solution that won’t end in a sorrowful amount of bloodshed. You turn to look as the door opens, revealing King John.
“Y/N,” he greets. “I may have something that will assist you.”
You turn to face him fully. “What is it?”
He walks to an elaborately carved chest on the mantle and carefully removes a rolled parchment. It’s sealed with wax, but there are two seals. Curious, you meet John at the table. Charlie stands to make room for the two of you. It only takes a second for you to recognize the crests imprinted into the seals.
“What is this? Why does this hold my family’s crest?” you question.
“And mine,” he adds. “This decree was created and signed by your father and I during our last visit together. I promised to keep it safe until the right time had come.”
“The right time had come? For what, John? How come I’ve never heard of this?”
He glances at you, then breaks the seals and unrolls the parchment. It’s yellowed with time, but the words are written in black ink and they’re as clear as day.
“Let it be known that on this day, Y/N Y/L/N of Athos and Samuel Winchester of Ashela are betrothed in marriage. Upon agreement from both parties or in time of need, they shall be wed and the marriage shall be consummated within a fortnight,” John reads, and you feel yourself falter. Charlie places a hand on your back to help keep you upright.
“Athos shall be ruled by Y/N as the heir apparent, and any heirs produced by Y/N and Samuel shall become the next heirs. An alliance shall be formed between Athos and Ashela at the time of marriage. This betrothal can only be broken by death or upon act of God.”
At the bottom of the parchment, there are two signatures. Only one is familiar to you, and the world tilts around you for a moment when you see it.
“I beg your pardon,” you say, your mouth suddenly very dry. “But this cannot be true. I would know if I were already betrothed.”
John places the parchment on the table and it rolls up again. “Nonetheless, your father has signed it and stamped it with his royal seal. You are betrothed to my son, and in agreement with the decree, our kingdoms will be allied after your marriage is consummated.”
A dark shadow in the doorway makes you look up. Sam ducks into the room, his eyes immediately scanning the people in the study. When he sees the distress on your face, he frowns, but he answers to his father first.
“You called for me, Father?” he asks.
“I did.”
John picks up the parchment again and hands it to Sam, who unrolls it and reads it over. You watch his eyes scan the words once, twice, then three times before he looks up. He glances at you for a split-second.
“This must be false,” Sam finally says. “I would know if I was betrothed! You would have told me a long time ago!”
“Why do you think I never pressured you to marry, as I did your brother?” John asks.
Sam clearly doesn’t have an answer because he turns his attention to where you’re standing behind his father. “Did you know about this?” he asks.
You shake your head, hands clasped in front of you. “I did not. I’m just as shocked as you are.”
“I can’t believe that you are treating Y/N like this! She is in the middle of trying to save her people and you’re scheming!” Sam accuses. He’s glowering down at his father, even though he’s only a few inches taller.
John scoffs. “Samuel—”
“You say that this was created when we were children? And yet it has remained hidden from us until now? Why wouldn’t my father have told me about my own betrothal?” you ask, relieved that Sam is just as angry and surprised as you. It stings a little that he seems disinterested in marrying you, but you have more important problems than your feelings.
Sir Robert speaks up from where he still stands by the fireplace, and you whirl to face him when he says, “The betrothal is real. I witnessed the decree when it was written.” His expression softens when you meet his eyes, shocked at his revelation. “I had just been appointed as your father’s advisor. It was the first decree I helped him create.”
You can’t help but feel betrayed. “You helped him? All this time, you knew about this, and yet you never said a word?”
He nods, and there seems to be genuine regret in his eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Why now?” Sam questions. “Of all the times, Father, why would you tell us now?”
John gestures to the parchment in Sam’s hands. “You’re to marry whenever you agree there’s an opportune time, or if there’s ever a time of great need. If you marry, an alliance will be formed between our kingdoms. I can send our armies to help defeat Elcium and save Y/N’s people. Your people, once the marriage is consummated. Your enemies will become my enemies.”
Torn between a mix of anger and humiliation, you turn your back on the men, taking a few steps away from the table to stare out the window. Has it really come to this? Will you really have to marry to save your people?
There’s a shuffling of papers behind you, and the crackle of the fire, but nobody dares to speak. You know that they’re all waiting for you to make the decision. Though you’ve only known him for a few days, you’re certain that Sam would never force you to marry him and follow through with the decree. 
“Would you form an alliance without marriage?” you finally ask, without turning around.
A beat passes, and then John answers, “Think over what I’ve said, Y/N. I will be in the Great Hall, awaiting news.”
He leaves after that, and you hear Sir Robert and Charlie excuse themselves as well, which leaves you alone with Sam. He keeps his distance from you as you continue to stare out the window with your arms wrapped around yourself. Despite the fire, you’re cold all the way down to your bones, and you shiver.
“What are you thinking?” Sam finally asks. His voice is gentle, hesitant even, in the silence of the study.
“I don’t know.” You shake your head. “This isn’t…”
“Did you dream of marrying someday?”
Surprised at the question, you have to stay quiet and mull it over. Then, after a few moments, you nod. “Yes,” you tell him, quieter than before. “Someday. I knew it was probably expected of me too, but then Crowley invaded…”
“And you had to put the needs of your people before your own desires,” Sam guesses.
“It’s my duty as queen.”
Your father’s words return to your head, ringing loud and clear as a bell.
“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”
Turning around, you smooth your skirt and meet Sam’s gaze. “As is marrying you,” you say.
“You’re not going to oppose the decree?” he asks. Sam sounds genuinely surprised, and he steps closer. He’s still in his dinner clothes, though you know he had time to change. 
“I don’t have a choice,” you admit. “If I don’t marry you, your father won’t aid my men, and my people will die. My kingdom will be taken and I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison or as a servant to Crowley, unless he decides to kill me, which is unlikely. Crowley is a ruthless king, and he tortures for sport.”
Something hardens in Sam’s eyes, and his jaw clenches. “You can stay here indefinitely as my guest. I wouldn’t let him do that to you.”
“And I wouldn’t live in hiding while my people suffer,” you counter. Closing the distance between you, you reach out and grasp Sam’s hands in yours. “I will understand if you choose not to marry me. It is your choice, and I will live with whatever decision is made.”
“Why wouldn’t I marry you?” he asks. 
“I don’t wish to force you—”
“You wouldn’t be,” Sam says, cutting you off. “Though I haven’t known you long, Y/N, I find you wonderful company. You’re kind, intelligent, brave, and you care deeply for your people. I could not ask for more in a wife, though I hope we can become friends first.”
You duck your head, caught off guard by his praise. Sam crooks one finger underneath your chin and lifts it until your eyes meet his again.
“You’re beautiful, too,” he murmurs. “Far more so than any woman I’ve ever met.”
“I… Don’t know what to say,” you admit. After months of fighting and living in the war camp, the tenderness in Sam’s voice and his touch is foreign to you.
“Say that you’ll marry me. Say that we’ll save your people before any more harm can be done.”
Silently, you nod. You don’t look away as Sam smiles wide, his eyes full of a joy so complete that it makes your chest ache just from witnessing it. He pulls you close, crushing you against him as he hugs you tightly, and you gasp in surprise.
“I’ll tell my father to make the necessary arrangements,” Sam says as he pulls away. “The sooner we are married, the sooner we can rescue your men.”
You nod again, a bit numb as Sam kisses you on the forehead, narrowly missing the bruise, and hurries out into the hallway. His footsteps are quick and the sound fades before you can even recognize that he’s truly left you alone in the study.
“Y/N?”
Charlie appears in the doorway and you turn to her, trembling hands clasped in front of you.
“Are you well?” she asks. She steps into the room and you can immediately tell that she’d heard the whole conversation between you and Sam. The walls and doors are thick here, but Charlie is an expert at eavesdropping.
“I— I’m getting married,” is all you can reply.
She gives you a knowing look and then carefully guides you to sit in one of the high-backed chairs near the fire. The warmth helps to soothe the shock from finding out your kingdom was most certainly doomed, then from finding out it would be safe once you were married. Your world is changing so quickly that you can hardly keep up.
“He’s a good man,” she tells you.
“I know he is,” you reply, staring at the fire. It makes your eyes water but you can’t look away. If you do, you might cry for real for the second time today. Your emotions have been twisted by so many things and people today that you’re unsure of how to feel.
“It’s okay to be scared.”
You turn your head just enough to show that you’re listening, but you don’t look away from the fire.
“You’ve been through so much, Y/N, and I know you believe that queens should not show their weakness, but you forget that you are also just a woman,” Charlie continues.
This time, you turn to look at her. “But I am not just a woman, Charlie.”
She gives you a gentle smile, then reaches out with one hand to squeeze yours. “When you’re with Prince Samuel, you are.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit, your voice breaking. You clutch her hand with both of yours when she moves to pull away, turning in your seat so you can better face her. “What if he expects me to spend more time being a wife than being a queen? I cannot afford to give up who I am because of a man.”
Charlie considers your question for several long moments before she sighs and collects your hands completely in hers. She holds your gaze as she says, “You are brave for doing this. I cannot tell you what to expect, but I can tell you that I have heard many things from the ladies and the servants here in Ashela. All of them, every single one, has told me that Prince Samuel is as wonderful as he seems. I do not think that you have very much to fear, but I will be by your side no matter what you face.”
You inhale deeply, closing your eyes, and then breathe out. Charlie waits patiently as you try to collect yourself, and her presence is enough reassurance that it doesn’t take you very long.
Finally, you nod and stand.
She does the same, dropping your hands. “Now, I need to get you ready!”
“Ready?” you ask, and Charlie laughs. She guides you out of the study and into the hallway.
“For your wedding! I can’t give you the prettiest dress, but I’ve asked around and we’ve come up with something that I think will work.”
A spark of excitement grows inside of you as she chatters on about her plans for the impromptu wedding. It’s amazing to you that she’s managed to work so quickly, but you don’t question it. Charlie has many ways of doing many things, some of which are better left unsaid.
Soon, you find yourself back in your guest chambers. Charlie helps you into a plain ivory dress, then fixes your hair. You sit quietly as she works, and when a handful of Ashelan maids and ladies start to swarm around you, you simply close your eyes. It’s been a long day, and exhaustion is starting to creep in.
“The Queen needs to rest before the ceremony,” Charlie announces, and you open your eyes just enough to see the women leaving. She starts to blow out the extra candles, until there’s only one remaining beside your bed.
“You only have an hour,” she murmurs as you carefully climb under the covers. She helps you arrange your dress so that it won’t become wrinkled.
Nodding tiredly, you rest your head back against the pillow she props up for you. “Thank you, Charlie. For everything.”
She smooths a hand over your hair and sits in the chair beside you, closing her eyes as well. She doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that she’s staying close to help you sleep. 
The ceremony is simple. You don’t expect much, but John rouses enough servants for there to be an arch of evergreen placed at the end of the Great Hall, and there’s a bouquet of branches and berries for you, as well. Sam dons his royal robes and a thin crown with vibrant gemstones that sparkle in the candlelight from the nearby tree. John and Dean change clothes too, and somehow Charlie finds a new dress just in the nick of time. Only you aren’t wearing something elaborate. It stings a little—you’d once imagined your wedding day as an occasion to remember, but now you could simply melt away into the background and it’s quite possible that nobody would even notice. It gives you a miserable feeling in the pit of your stomach, and when you pass by a mirror on the way to the Great Hall, you have to look away. Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them. 
A priest marries you with little grandeur, and in only a few words, you find yourself bound to Sam in marriage. It’s not even dawn on Christmas Eve when he leads you by the arm back out of the Great Hall. Charlie stays behind with Sir Robert to help prepare the carriages for travel while he advises John on where to send his armies, and when you arrive at Sam's chambers, they’re empty. You’re alone with him for the first time as husband and wife.
“We should leave for Athos immediately,” Sam says, and you nod in silence. He lets go of your arm once the door shuts behind you, then hurries into a separate, adjoining room. You set your bouquet down on a nearby table.
Through the curtained archway, you can see a bed similar to the one in your guest chambers, as well as a writing desk and another easel. Sam’s sword is propped up against the wall near the fireplace, and a bow and arrow are laid haphazardly on a nearby dining table. The room is decorated for Christmas, just like the rest of the castle, though the greenery here is minimal. Where you would expect to see much of his personal belongings, there are empty spaces that leave you feeling strangely out of place. His chambers are practically bare except the furniture and the decorations.
Sam goes behind a dressing screen and you look away, heat in your cheeks at the thought of being alone with him while he undresses. It’s not the first time you’ve been alone with a man in a similar state of dress—you’ve lived in a camp full of soldiers, many of whom are careless—but it’s the first time where something could be expected of you.
“Sam?” you call out, staring at the candle on the window ledge nearest to you. Outside, the sun is just barely beginning to rise. Its rays are slowly stretching over the snowy landscape, revealing the hundreds of pine trees and the lake whose frozen surface glitters in the light.
“Yes?” You hear him pause and the room falls silent. When you don’t immediately answer, you hear some quick shuffling, and then he’s coming out from behind the screen and approaching you.
“Y/N?” he asks.
You turn, and Sam is standing before you in plain clothes. There’s no trace of the robes or the crown. The only thing that would give away his royal status is the signet ring on his left pinky. There’s a plain gold ring on the finger beside it, which matches the one he’d given you during the ceremony.
“Your father said our kingdoms would only be allied once our marriage was… consummated,” you say, deciding to use the same language as John, though you know there are easier ways to say what you mean.
“I do not expect anything of you,” Sam gently replies.
“But your father—”
Sam shakes his head. “He does not need to know what’s between you and I.”
You’re holding your breath; you can’t breathe a sigh of relief until you’re absolutely sure Sam will go along with the ruse. “You will lie to your own father? Your king?”
He’s quiet for only a moment before he answers, “He is not my king any longer. I am married to you. I am your husband, and you are my queen. I will tell him whatever I must to ensure that your people are safe.”
You gingerly take his hand and allow yourself to breathe again. “Our people, Sam.” You pause to look up at him, offering him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”
He nods and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “We should leave. I am ready, if you are.”
“Don’t you want your things?” you ask, glancing around his chambers. 
Sam lets go of your hand, then walks around his room. He gathers his sword, a book from beside the bed, and a small wooden case from near the easel before he returns to your side. You take the book and the case from him so he can strap the sword around his waist, then hand them back to him.
“The servants have already brought many of my things to the carriage. The rest can be brought another time.”
Nodding, you take Sam’s arm and let him lead you out of his chambers, through the castle, and to the waiting carriages. There are three of them, two of which belong to you, and another that is clearly Ashelan. It rocks as the occupants move around.
John, Dean, and two of your guards are waiting at the open door of the middle carriage when you arrive. As you walk the gray stone path leading away from the castle, you catch a glimpse of Sir Robert as he climbs into the carriage at the front of the line.
“Y/N,” John greets. He nods politely to you, then to Sam. “My men are already on the way to Athos. Sir Robert has been helpful in ensuring they will be of sufficient help to you. I have also sent word to Crowley to inform him of our newly formed alliance. I suppose everything went well after you retired to Sam’s chambers?”
He raises an eyebrow at his son, who nods once. The implications of his words weigh heavily in the winter air, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to look nervous or uncomfortable. You cannot give away the lie.
“All is well,” Sam replies. He smiles a little and places a hand over where yours rests on his arm. “She is ready to travel now.”
Dean hugs his brother goodbye, then leads you toward the carriage. He stops a few feet away and holds his hand out to one of your guards, who produces a familiar sword.
“I believe this is yours?” Dean asks.
You smile, relieved that you’re once reunited with your father’s blade. “Yes, thank you.”
Taking the sword, you fasten it around your waist. The weight is comfortable, and it bumps against your thigh as Dean helps you into the carriage.
Meanwhile, Sam talks quietly with John. You’re too anxious to eavesdrop once you’re alone, so you sit back on the seat and try to keep your breathing even as Sam finally climbs into the carriage and the door shuts behind him. He sits opposite you, where Charlie would normally sit. It feels strange to not travel with her by your side, but you remind yourself that she’s in the next carriage, and that you’ll see her again when you arrive in Athos.
Moments later, the horses lurch forward. You sway with the movement, and Sam reaches out to place a steadying hand on your arm. You offer him a small smile before you sit back once more.
The sun rises as you journey to Athos, just like it does every day, and you cling to that normalcy. Even as you wring your hands, your mind whirling with every possible outcome of the coming battle, the sun continues on its path. You find yourself glancing out the window at it more often than usual. The snow outside is beginning to melt and drip from the tree branches as the temperature warms from the light, and as the horses carry you closer to home, the snow starts to disappear entirely, replaced with mud and trampled grass left in the wake of tired soldiers and weary knights.
Suddenly, Sam shifts to sit beside you, and he takes your hand without a word. You stare at him, baffled by his strange actions, but he doesn’t say anything, nor does he look at you. Finally, you look back out the window. His thumb rubs over the dry, scarred skin of your hand, and though it’s foreign to hold hands with a man you barely know, there’s something comforting about his presence. It’s soothing enough that you doze off for a while, grasping at what little rest you’re allowed during the journey. He holds your hand the entire time.
After the half-day ride, the carriages arrive in the village that surrounds Eryas Court. You release Sam’s hand and sit forward on the bench to give yourself a better view through the window. 
The houses and shops that you’ve grown up around have been burnt and destroyed, and there’s rubble lining the cobblestone paths. Wooden stalls and stables have been smashed into splinters, and stone buildings have begun to cave in on themselves. Your breath hitches when you see blood staining a wall.
“Where are the people?” you ask, your voice cracking. “Where are my people?” The question is desperate, meant for nobody but the world, and you feel Sam pulling you away from the window a few seconds later.
“Let me go!” you bark at him.
He pulls you back a second time, and you twist in your seat, angry and aching with grief, but you stop when you see him.
Sam’s expression is grave. “We don’t know who’s out there. You are not dressed in your armor, and you are giving Crowley’s archers an easy shot. Until we know what’s happening, you need to stay hidden,” he advises.
You stare at him for a moment, then nod mutely. All the anger drains out of you, because he’s right, and you’re no use to your people if you’re dead.
While leaning back against the wall of the carriage, you can still see enough through the window to tell that the destruction starts to lessen as you near the keep. The pressure in your chest starts to ease when the noise of villagers and soldiers talking reaches you, and you exhale shakily when you hear someone call out,
“Make way! The Queen is here!”
There’s a commotion outside the carriage. Cheering erupts as soon as the first person spies you through the windows. Sam’s hand finds yours again. He squeezes, and you squeeze back even harder, clutching his hand as the carriage moves through the crowd and into the guarded castle.
When the carriage stops, you and Sam wait until the door is opened by guard. They help Sam out first, then you. You don’t know what to expect as you exit, but you’re relieved to find that most of your castle is still intact.
“Eryas Court lives on, Your Majesty,” someone says, and you turn to find Sir Robert walking from his own carriage. Charlie is close behind, and you start to smile.
“Indeed, Sir Robert,” you tell him. “It seems the battle was over before we even arrived.”
After a moment, you laugh and pull him into a hug. It’s improper, but you find tears brimming in your eyes when he murmurs in your ear, reminding you that your father would be proud of how you’d handled the invasion.
“Welcome to Athos, Your Majesty,” Charlie says.
You release Sir Robert and turn to where Sam and Charlie stand off to one side. He gives her a short bow as she dips into a curtsy. An Ashelan man is standing on the other side of Sam. You recognize him as one of the men from your breakfast the day before. There are several Ashelan servants helping yours unload the carriages, as well.
“It’s a beautiful kingdom,” Sam says to you. “How long has Eryas Court been standing?”
“Four generations,” you proudly reply. “Would you like a tour?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but the conversation is put to a halt when the captain of the guard approaches and bows in your direction. 
“Your Majesty,” he greets. He does the same for Sam before turning back to you. “I bring word from the fields.”
“How are my men?” you ask. Your expression grows serious as you focus on the matter at hand. Sam stays silent, allowing you to do your job without interference.
“We have lost many, but we have made it through the darkest nights. Elcium has retreated, and they have dropped their banners. They stand with white flags now.”
You raise your eyebrows, unable to keep your expression neutral. “They have surrendered?”
He nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“That’s very good news, Captain,” you tell him, smiling. “Tell them that we will negotiate terms after Christmas. I will expect a full report then, but I have other matters to attend to tonight. I will also expect to see your wounded, and I would like a full list of the dead. Please ensure that any news about the Ashelan soldiers is sent to King John, and also reported to King Sam.” You gesture to Sam without looking his way.
Your captain bows to both of you, then heads back the way he had come. Satisfied with the news, you turn back to Sam with a wide smile.
“Let me show you my home.”
Sam smiles back at you, then offers you his arm. Before you leave with him, you instruct Charlie to make sure everything is in order after the maids unpack your and Sam’s belongings in your chambers. She agrees with a smile brighter than you’d seen on her in a long time.
You and Sam walk the castle grounds most of the afternoon, stopping only to have tea. You show him your favorite spots, tell him stories of your childhood, and you show him the study you’d abandoned after inheriting your father’s. The windows there overlook the wildflower fields, and the river beyond. Though there’s no flowers in bloom now, he assures you that the frozen river is subject enough for his paintings.
As the sun begins to set, you and Sam retire to your chambers. They’re smaller than you remember, and it feels cramped as the two of you prepare for sleep. You’d never opted to take on your father’s chambers when he passed, instead choosing to stay in the rooms you’d had your whole life.
Charlie helps you change into a sleeping gown, and behind an opposite dressing screen, you hear Sam and the Ashelan lord—Castiel—talking quietly. When the two of you emerge, you share nervous smiles as Castiel and Charlie leave to go to their own quarters.
“I’m not quite ready to sleep,” you say after the door finally closes behind them. You keep your distance, unsure of how to act now that you’re alone.
Sam nods. “I’ll try to keep to myself, so there’s room when you are ready to retire.”
You glance at the bed, then back at him. “Perhaps I will go to bed early then.”
He frowns a little and searches your face for something, clearly trying to figure out why you’ve changed your plans. Truthfully, you don’t want him to have to try and make himself small. You’re already feeling too many emotions; you don’t want to add guilt into the mix. 
You smile as if you don’t know what he’s thinking, then head to the bed and climb under the covers on one side. Charlie has warmed the heavy blankets with irons, and the furs from last year’s hunts still provide you with plenty of warmth. 
Sam watches, still standing in place, until finally you let out a sigh.
“I’m perfectly okay sharing a bed with you,” you tell him. “We are husband and wife. If we don’t lie together, it will raise suspicions.”
“And I am prepared to face them.”
“Do you really not want to share a bed with me?” you ask, a little hurt by his resistance.
His eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head. “I do not want you to be afraid of me, nor of expectation that I might—”
“I am not afraid of you.” You sit up in the bed, suddenly aware of the nighttime chill in your chambers as the blankets fall from your chest. “I have fought in many battles, and I have seen many horrible things. Sharing a bed with a kind, gentle man who is now my husband is not a fear that I possess, Sam Winchester. Even so, I am capable of much more than you may realize, and I am not afraid of anything you could possibly do to me.”
He stares at you for a moment, and then a small smile appears on his face. “Very well.”
You lay back as Sam crosses the room and climbs into bed beside you. Both of you lay on your backs, staring up at the fabric canopy. You want to talk—you feel like you should, anyway—but the events of the past few days start to catch up with you, and you find your thoughts beginning to wander as Sam’s breathing grows slower on the other side of the bed. He falls asleep before you, but not by much.
When you wake, there’s a heavy weight over your waist and hot breath against the back of your neck. Your legs are intertwined with Sam’s and your back is pressed up against his chest. It’s not uncomfortable, but you lie and stare at the wall, trying to figure out how you and Sam have become so entangled. Surely, you would have kicked him during your nightmares.
“Are you awake?”
His question is barely a whisper, but then Sam shifts and you feel him raise himself up on his elbow to look down at you. He’s checking to see if you’re asleep, you realize.
You turn your head to meet his eyes in the darkness. “Yes,” you answer. “I’m awake.”
He sighs softly and lays back down, resuming the close contact from before. You wonder if you should push away. Is it improper to sleep like this if you don’t know each other, even if you’re married? Does it matter?
“Can I ask…” You finally begin, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room again. “When we went to sleep, we were not touching.”
“No,” Sam answers. His breath tickles the hairs at the nape of your neck and you fidget under the covers, but you don’t pull away. “You were dreaming. It was a nightmare.”
“Oh.”
You can imagine why he’s pulled you close now. Without Charlie sitting by your bedside, there had been some anxiety over if you’d sleep through the night, but Sam’s comforting touch seems to have soothed you. For the first time in weeks, you feel well-rested.
“It’s Christmas,” you say after another minute has passed.
Sam yawns and his thumb strokes against your stomach. His voice is drowsy in your ear.
“So it is,” he replies.
“Merry Christmas, Sam.”
“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”
You turn in his arms until you’re facing him, and you carefully place one hand on his chest. It feels natural to be this close and to lean against him, and Sam watches you with half-mast eyes as you get comfortable. When you do, however, you don’t know what to say. You stare at each other, listening to the castle stir awake. Finally, you lay your head down on him. He helps you get comfortable, and then you close your eyes. You can hear Sam’s heartbeat.
“We’re married,” you murmur.
He hums. “So we are.”
“What do we do now?”
“Celebrate Christmas, I suppose.”
You move your hand, unconsciously fidgeting with the tie on Sam’s sleep shirt. “Can we stay here for a while first?”
Sam presses a kiss to the top of your head and you smile to yourself, even though you know he could probably see.
“Yes, Y/N. We certainly can,” he answers.
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
Text
Gentle and Kind
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Title: Gentle and Kind
Pairing: Prince!Sam Winchester x Queen!Reader
Word Count: 14k
Warnings: Arranged marriage, Christmas, threats, angst, fluff, and mentions of death, wounds, war, violence, and sex (nothing happens)
Summary: Y/N’s kingdom has been at war for a long time, and when King John offers her respite in his castle for Christmas, she eagerly agrees.
A/N: This fulfills trope #21 on my 25 Days of Tropes list! It was honestly going to be a short one shot, but it got away from me and now I think it’s the longest thing I’ve written all year. Nonetheless, I hope you enjoy and that you had a safe and happy holiday season!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
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Your muscles ache from weeks of fighting with the knights in your first garrison, and the dried blood in your hair is not likely to come out on its own, but for the first time in a long time, you’re relaxed. The carriage is driving through safe territory—the safest you’ve been in since Crowley invaded your kingdom and declared war on you and your people. There’s no fear of being ambushed here.
When King John sent a messenger to your war camp, you had been surprised. He isn’t known for reaching out, and to send a personal, royal messenger straight into war territory is a dangerous move. Nonetheless, the King of Ashela had invited you for a short respite in his castle, just in time for Christmas. You’d accepted after much consultation with your closest advisor, Sir Robert.
You begin traveling east to Ashela four days before Christmas Eve. Your armies travel west, back to Athos. Newer, freshly trained knights had arrived a few hours before your departure to relieve your weary soldiers and allow them rest of their own, though Sir Robert had carefully selected four of them to travel with you as your personal guard for the journey. They ride horseback outside the carriage, and Sir Robert is in the second carriage with the gifts you’ve brought for the royal family.
Charlie is resting across the carriage from you. She’s abandoned the formal dress that you know King John will expect of her as your lady-in-waiting, but you don’t blame her, nor do you correct her. Wearing trousers is easier nowadays, and you’ve done the same. You’ve gotten into the habit of wearing the traditional captain’s uniform, or even a soldier’s armor, rather than the gowns you used to wear before the war. Even as the horses carry you down the tidy forest road that leads to Ashela, you’ve donned your armor. It's a habit to put it on each morning, and you wanted to display your strength and empathy for your men even as you left them behind on the battlefield. 
You let out a restless sigh and shift in your seat, and your armor clanks as you move. You wince when something bumps into a bruise on your back. A small part of you wishes you’d chosen to wear something else, but there’s no point in stopping to take the armor off when you’re already so far into the journey.
“Do you think I’ve made the right choice?” you ask when Charlie looks over at you, no doubt checking if there’s something she can do to ease your discomfort. She’s a good friend, and you’re often grateful that you chose her to be your closest lady-in-waiting. “Do you think that leaving my men during this time is the right thing to do?”
In response, Charlie offers you a tired smile. She’d journeyed overnight to your castle—Eryas Court—then back to the war camp, in order to collect the gifts for John Winchester and his two sons. Even if they were inviting you for respite during a war, you didn’t dare show up empty-handed.
“My lady, you can only do so much. You may be a queen, but you are also just a woman,” she replies.
You sigh again and look out the window at the stars as you mull over the most recent battle plans your captains had shown you before you’d left the camp. The Elciums have been encroaching slowly upon the village that surrounds Eryas Court, but you’ve been able to keep them at bay since winter began. You’ve even managed to take back some of the territory they’d taken over the hot summer months.
The carriage falls back into silence, except for the clatter of the wheels and the constant rhythm of the horses’ hooves against the packed dirt. After a while, you find yourself nodding off with your head against the sturdy carriage wall. You don’t fight it, and you let yourself be lulled to sleep for the remainder of the journey.
Charlie’s hand over yours wakes you. You startle, and she sits back in her seat as the carriage rocks with your movement. Your hand immediately flies to where your sword would be, but you’ve unstrapped it from your side for the journey. Sir Robert had said it wouldn’t be proper for you to show up dressed for battle, so you’d met him halfway. He would keep hold of your sword, at least for the trip to Ashela. Once you arrive, he’s to return it directly to you for safekeeping. It was your father’s sword before it became yours, and you don’t trust many with it.
“It’s okay,” Charlie soothes, and you stare wide-eyed at her, gasping slightly for air. “We’ve arrived in Ashela. You slept all night, and for most of the morning.”
Nodding, you close your eyes. It’s shocking that you weren’t plagued with nightmares. The last time you left the war camp, you struggled to sleep, even in the chambers where you’d spent every night since birth, at least until the Elciums invaded.
Your mouth is dry and you swallow a few times to try and get the sandy feeling to abate. You wish you had some water, or at least something to drink. There’s a knock on the carriage window and you flinch away, sliding toward the center of the bench.
You sense Charlie shifting in her seat. “It’s one of the guards,” she says a moment later. “Are you ready to meet King John?” 
You’ve never been to Ashela before, nor have you met John and his sons. They’ve been fine neighbors, however, and you have no complaints. You hear what others say about them—the Winchester sons are strong soldiers and scholars, and King John is exacting in everything he does. They’d be formidable foes, and you’re here to make sure that your kingdoms are allied, if only informally.
You nod again, and you open your eyes as Charlie pushes open the carriage door. You lift your chin as the sun immediately floods in through the opening.
Charlie exits first, and she helps clear a path for your exit. A strong hand is offered and you use it to climb from the carriage. Your legs are stiff from sitting so long, especially after months of fighting, and you have to bite back a groan as your muscles stretch.
“Your Majesty,” a deep voice greets.
The winter sun is practically blinding and it takes you a second to get your wits about you. Tall, lush evergreens stand in clusters around the castle, reaching toward the bright blue sky. They’re interspersed by dark green bushes and several boulders. A forest continues behind the clearing you stand in, and the trees grow so closely that light can’t reach through their branches. The darkness this creates is both intriguing and a bit terrifying.
Snow covers the grounds and all the trees surrounding it, except for a gray stone path that has been cleared for you. King John and his entourage stand on a larger patch of gray stone a few feet away, and you bow politely in his direction. He returns the gesture.
“King John,” you say. “Thank you for your kind invitation.”
“You’re very welcome, Queen Y/N. I expect your journey was a pleasant one?”
“As pleasant as can be expected.”
You can feel everyone’s eyes on you as Charlie adjusts the chainmail hood you’ve let fall from your head, revealing the blood caked in your hair and the healing cut that follows your hairline. There’s a sizable bruise on your temple as well, from when an Elcium knight hit you with his shield.
The man to John’s right clears his throat and steps forward with a small bow. “Your Majesty, I’m Prince Dean, head of Ashela’s royal guard. Please allow me to provide you with new armor while we repair yours, and your knights’,” he adds, gesturing to the four men standing near you.
Each man stands with one hand at his side and the other resting on the hilt of his sword, and though they hold their heads high, you recognize the weariness in their stance and in their taut expressions.
“That’s very generous, Prince Dean. Thank you.” You answer with a bow of your own, and he smiles kindly before you turn your eyes to the man on the other side of the king.
He’s tall, taller than any of the men in the King’s entourage and in your guard, and his hair just barely brushes over the collar of his jacket. It’s almost chestnut in the light. When he smiles at you, the urge to smile back is so strong that you can’t fight it. You meet his eyes, and you smile for the first time in a while.
“Prince Samuel, Your Majesty,” he says. He bows, short and sweet. “If you’re ready, I can show you and your lady to your chambers. I’m sure you’re eager to rest.”
You bow back, still smiling. “Thank you, Your Highness.” You nod politely to the King and to Prince Dean, then follow Prince Samuel toward the stone castle at the end of the cleared path. Two of your men travel with you, and Charlie is close behind you to the right, but the other two knights stay with Sir Robert. You realize only as you enter the castle that you’ve left your sword behind.
Samuel leads you through the halls of his home, explaining the history of various paintings and rooms, but you only catch bits and pieces. He walks quickly, and while your armor is protective, it’s made to help you fight on horseback, not take extensive walking tours through beautiful castles.
“Here are your chambers,” Samuel finally says, and you clatter to a stop.
Charlie bumps into you, and she grabs your arm for stability. You catch Samuel’s eyes flickering down to her hands on your arm before he collects himself. Your time on the battlefield has caused your decorum to slip just enough that you know you’re being much too informal for the occasion. Suddenly very conscious of your mistakes, you clear your throat and straighten your posture, fixing him with the most composed, diplomatic look you can muster.
“Thank you, Your Highness.” You allow one of the guards to enter after Samuel opens the door, leaving you feeling a little more exposed. You’ve grown used to being surrounded by people fighting for your kingdom—fighting for you. “Your father was very kind to invite me here. We’ve brought gifts for him, and for you and Prince Dean.” You gesture back the way you’d come. “I’m sure that Sir Robert, my advisor, has already passed them along.”
Samuel dips his head in thanks, smiling. “We’re happy to have you. We’ve been trying to show more diplomacy than in the past.”
You raise an eyebrow. Most kingdoms are not so open about their goals, at least in your experience.
The guard exits and nods his approval of the chambers you’ve been given, and Charlie takes that as a sign to enter and make sure the room is prepared to her standards as well. You don’t move.
“Ashela has always been diplomatic,” you carefully reply. You’re not sure what to make of his disclosure. 
“But not always welcoming. I’m trying to change that.”
“You? Not your father?”
Samuel lifts his chin slightly at the question. There’s a hint of pride in his expression, but none in his voice as he answers, “My father has put me in charge of our relationships with neighboring kingdoms. This is one of many steps I’m— we’re taking,” he corrects, “to strengthen those bonds.”
“I see.”
You glance through the open doorway, where Charlie is instructing a chambermaid how warm you like your rooms and how often to tend to the fire. Mentally, you file away the information that Sam has just given you, then turn your focus on more concrete matters.
“I suppose there are festivities I should like to attend?”
He nods, and you can feel his gaze still on your face, even as you watch your friend peek out the windows to see the view from your chambers. “Indeed. There’s a feast tonight, shortly after sundown. I can instruct someone to fetch you.”
“I would like that very much, Prince Samuel,” you say.
You turn back to him, and he takes that as a cue to take your hand and kiss the back of your knuckles, where the skin is rough and scarred from so much fighting. The gesture is simple, but it surprises you nonetheless. Prince Samuel is gentle and chivalrous. It’s been a long time since you’ve been treated that way. Your hand seems to tremble as you pull away, and your breath catches over a lump in your throat.
“Very well. I will see you tonight, Ma’am,” Samuel says. He bows low. It’s a sign of respect he’s not obligated to, and it makes you want to cry. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep over the past few weeks or maybe it’s something else, but to be treated like a queen—not just a captain—is something you didn’t know you’d missed.
“No need for titles,” you find yourself saying, your voice thick with sudden emotion. “You may call me Y/N, if you wish.”
If Sir Robert were here, he’d be interrupting and excusing away your brash actions, but you’re practically alone and the only remaining guard won’t speak up, even if he wanted to. It’s up to Sam to respond, and he only stops and stares at you for a long moment. You can feel your heart pounding in your chest as you wait, desperately hoping he won’t be cruel.
“Sam,” he finally replies. He offers you a small smile. “You may call me Sam.”
You nod and smile wide, glossy-eyed as Sam turns and heads further down the hallway, opposite the direction he’d first brought you. Once he’s around the corner, you step into the warmly lit chambers, where Charlie has moved onto the wardrobe of clothes that has been prepared for you. Clearly, they hadn’t expected you to show up with all of your finery, and you’re thankful that they had the forethought to provide something for you.
The other guard exits and closes the door behind him, allowing you privacy as the two knights take their places in the hallway. You stay close to the door, where you can see the whole space.
“The Prince seems very polite,” Charlie says after a few moments. Her back is to you as she sorts through the dresses.
“Very.” You don’t say anything more.
“And handsome, too,” she prods.
“Charlie,” you warn. “I have other, more important matters than a polite and handsome prince.”
She sighs and you can picture her rolling her eyes at you. Finally, she pulls a plain dress in your favorite color from the wardrobe, then turns and holds it up for you.
“This will do for now,” she decides. “But I’ll have to find you something else for the feast.”
You glance at her, not bothering to ask how she already knows about the feast, before turning in a circle to take in the enormous room that has been given to you for your respite. It’s bigger than the counsel tent at the war camp. The bed itself could fit the entire map table, and the size of the fireplace reminds you of the enormous bonfire that the men use to cook their meals. The walls and floor are made of the same tan stone as the rest of the castle, but the stone is so smooth that it reflects the light from the flickering flames. There’s a dark wood door in the corner, which you guess leads to a room for Charlie, if Ashelan castles are built like your own.
Everywhere you look, there are lavish curtains, tapestries, and paintings framed in gold. There’s a mound of pillows to lounge on by the fire, and several dark wood chairs standing behind them in a semicircle. Their carvings are so elaborate that you hesitate to sit in them. The bed is draped with soft, plush fabrics in deep greens, reds, and a creamy white that reminds you of the milk your nursemaid brought for you as a young girl. Evergreen boughs are wound around the posts of the bed, though they’re partially hidden by the fabric curtains that have been fastened against the wood. The whole room has been decorated with more sweet-smelling pine branches, as well as clumps of red berries that glisten in the light from the fire and the candles in the window. It’s amazing to you that the candles are already lit, given that it’s only midday, but Ashela has many customs that you’ve always found strange. For instance, Prince Dean was married several years ago in an arranged marriage. Your father had explained the ancient custom to you, explaining the benefits to each kingdom. You still remember that conversation so clearly, and even though your father has long since passed, his words are forever imprinted in your memory.
“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”
“It’s too much,” you murmur, and you escape back out into the hallway, leaving the door to your chambers wide open as you flee. Your heart is racing again and it feels like the walls are starting to close in around you. The panic is irrational. You know it is, but you can’t stop it as it pushes you forward down the hallway.
The guards give you worried looks, but you ignore them as you hurry around the corner where Sam had disappeared. You walk quickly, following the sound of loud voices until you reach an open-air chamber where Sam and his brother are lounging at a table. Two gold goblets sit in front of them, and a candlelit tree has been placed in the corner of the room. An enormous dark fur blankets the floor. The fireplace here is as big as the one in your guest chambers, if not bigger.
Both men stand as soon as they see you.
“Your Majesty,” Dean greets, and he frowns slightly when he looks at you properly. “Is everything alright?”
You clear your throat in an attempt to compose yourself. “I desire a moment alone,” and then you add, “With Sam.”
Dean raises an eyebrow and glances at his brother, who nods slightly but doesn’t say a word.
“Very well,” Dean says. He picks up his goblet and drinks the last of its contents, tilting his head back to get the last drops. “I’ll be in my study.” He nods politely at you before leaving through a passageway just to the right of the tree.
Sam waits until the sound of his brother’s footsteps has disappeared completely before he speaks up.
“Is everything alright?” he asks, and you shake your head.
“I apologize, but I must ask for new chambers.” Sam’s face twists in confusion and, predictably, he opens his mouth to ask why. You continue before he has the chance. “I have been fighting with my men for many moons, and the rooms you have given me are much too lavish. I’m afraid I simply won’t be comfortable in something so big, as foolish as it sounds.”
Though your words are composed and formal, you wring your hands in front of you, hoping Sam will ignore the way you can’t stop fidgeting. You feel so flighty that it makes you irritated even with yourself.
His expression turns sympathetic. “I see. There must be something I can do to convince you to stay, Y/N. Those chambers have been carefully prepared for you by some of our most trusted servants. If I were to request the change, I’m afraid they might take offense.”
“You care deeply for them,” you say, quieter now. Something about him and the sound of his voice calms you, and the anxiety you’d felt only moments before has started to diminish.
“I do,” he answers. “They work hard, and they deserve to be treated with respect.”
“I agree.” You nod and fall silent, looking down at your hands. Suddenly, you feel very foolish to have searched him out to ask for something so trivial. You’re a queen, after all. You should be used to nicer things than this. You shouldn’t be so overwhelmed by a room so similar to the ones from your childhood.
“It wouldn’t be offensive, however,” Sam begins, and you look up at him, holding your breath, “to only have one Ashelan maid to assist you.”
You exhale a small sigh of relief, as small as you can manage without being completely obvious. “I suppose one would be sufficient. She could help Charlie. Lady Charlie, I mean.”
He smiles. “I’m sure Lady Charlie will grow accustomed to our castle soon enough. She seems very intelligent.”
“Oh?” You can’t help but ask what he means. Charlie is smart, there’s no denying it, but many men have mistaken her for a frail, unassuming creature before. Sam would be one of the first to correctly identify her.
“She has the same look in her eyes as you. You are not one to be underestimated. I’ve heard about the way you fight on the battlefield.”
Before you can respond, there’s a noise in the hallway and you look over your shoulder to see what it is. One of your guards in the entrance. Your stomach sinks, knowing that he’s most likely been sent to retrieve you.
“I should allow you to get settled,” Sam says. He nods politely at the guard before looking back at you. “Though I hope you will tell us about your traditions in Athos at the feast. I am eager to learn more.”
You watch him for a moment, judging if he’s earnest in his request, and then you nod. Offering him a small smile, you follow the guard back to your guest chambers, where Charlie is waiting patiently for you, a warm bath already drawn.
The night is hard. After your bath and a meal brought up by the Ashelan maid, you try to rest before the feast, but the nightmares come quickly this time. You toss and turn, and you wake up screaming. The guards burst into your room as Charlie rushes to you from where she’s been inspecting your armor for what needs the most care and attention. 
Once it’s determined that you aren’t in any danger, she convinces the guards to withdraw. She holds you then, letting you cry in her arms as you tremble, remembering the horrors of the dream and the reality that shapes them. You cry yourself to sleep, and you’re certain that you only stay asleep because Charlie decides to stay with you. She tucks you back under the heavy blankets and drags one of the carved chairs over to your bedside. There, she curls up with one hand holding yours and the other propping her head up so she can rest as well. You have minimal nightmares after that, though her presence beside you is reassuring enough that the few times you do wake, you aren’t too afraid to fall back asleep.
You sleep through the feast, much to your dismay. John, Sam, and Dean are waiting for you when you enter the Great Hall to break your fast with them the next morning, however.
“I trust you slept well,” Dean says to you once you’re settled in the seat across from him. Charlie sits beside you, and Sir Robert is on your right, across from Prince Sam. John is at the head of the table. There’s another man across the table, opposite Charlie, and another on her left. You don’t recognize them, but you suspect that they’re friends of Sam and Dean, or that they’re the lords-in-waiting. John doesn’t seem to have an advisor with him, but there’s an empty seat at the far end of the table.
“As well as can be expected,” you reply. Your smile is strained, but you offer it anyway, then move your hands out of the way of the servant who comes to bring you your meal. “I apologize for missing the feast. I so badly wanted to come, but it was best that I stayed in my chambers last night.”
“We understand completely,” John tells you. “We are not strangers to war.”
You nod, and everyone goes back to eating. The Great Hall is silent. It’s a complete change from your meals in your tent at the war camp. Though you always dined with just Charlie and Sir Robert, you’d always been able to hear what was happening outside the tent walls. There’d be shouting and laughter, songs and teasing. Sometimes there was crying and men groaning through their injuries, but you ate those meals quickly.
As you eat, you look around the room. The Great Hall is decorated similarly to your chambers, with evergreen boughs, red berries, and candles that burn even in daylight, but there’s also an enormous tree at the far end of the hall. It’s lit with candles, just like the one you’d seen when you’d searched out Sam the day before. The tree stretches dozens of feet up, and you wonder how old it must be to have grown so tall. 
“We do not decorate like this in Athos,” you say, and all three Winchesters look at you in mild surprise. A bit embarrassed by their eyes on you, you falter slightly, but the interest on Sam’s face when you don’t continue spurs you on.
“You use plants here.” You gesture to the tree. “But we decorate with wooden carvings of our ancestors, and woven tapestries that we hang beside every door and window.”
“What are the tapestries?” Sam asks. His father and brother have gone back to eating, even though they still watch and listen, but he’s set down his fork and is now giving you his full attention.
“They’re different for each family. My family has tapestries that show the beginnings of our kingdom and the first king of Athos, and over the years, I have created many simple ones as gifts.”
“I’m sure they were wonderful,” Sam says. He holds your gaze for a moment before he smiles, and you smile back.
There’s a fluttering in your stomach. The clinking of John’s fork on the table makes you look away. There’s heat in your cheeks, much to your chagrin, and you exhale shakily. It’s strange to be so rattled. You’re not even sure why the conversation is affecting you so much. You’ve talked about Athoan traditions countless times before today with countless royals and monarchs. Something about Sam simply shakes you to your core.
John sips from his goblet, then gestures at Sam with the cup before he sets it back on the long table. “Samuel will show you the grounds today. I’m sure he can answer any questions you have about Ashela.”
Somewhat surprised that the King doesn’t plan to meet with you himself, you nod. It’s not atypical for kings to pass you off to one of their advisors, but you don’t mind it in this instance. You’re still weary from battle, and Sam is excellent company.
“Very well,” you reply, dipping your head just a little. You pick up your own goblet to take a sip. The drink is warm, thick, and rich, and you frown a little before peering inside the cup.
“Is everything alright?” Dean asks.
You nod and glance over at Lady Charlie. She picks up her own goblet and takes a sip as you set down yours. She pauses for a moment, her cup paused in midair, then smiles.
“Hot chocolate,” she murmurs. “It’s a traditional drink here.”
Raising an eyebrow at her, you whisper, “How do you know that?”
She gives you a sly smile and shakes her head. You know the look—she’ll tell you later.
You sit back in your seat and turn your attention to Dean, who’s still watching you. His father and Sam are both watching you now too, and Sam is frowning with obvious concern.
“Everything is fine,” you reassure them. “I’ve never had hot chocolate before. It’s delicious, John. You have fine cooks here in Ashela.”
He nods in response and stands. You stand as well, as does the rest of the table, and you watch as the King leaves through a door on one side of the Great Hall. 
Dean clears his throat. “I have duties to attend to, brother.” He claps a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Remember that Father said—”
Sam cuts him off. “I remember. Thank you, Dean.”
A moment later, Dean excuses himself, and you watch him leave, too. Sir Robert mumbles some excuse and bows to Sam before leaving as well, no doubt to study policies and look over ledgers in his own guest chambers. He’s always been a bit of a recluse, and there’s little privacy at the war camp. You suspect he’ll spend most of his time hidden away while you’re on respite.
You turn to Charlie. “You should rest,” you quietly tell her. “I know that you did not sleep much last night—”
“I’m fine,” she replies.
Shaking your head, you grab her hands and squeeze. “Please. I’ll feel better, even if you just relax by the fire. I feel awful that I’ve kept you up.”
Charlie nods, though you can tell she’s reluctant to leave you by the way her eyes cut to Sam. He’s pointedly staring at the candlelit evergreen and sipping his hot chocolate, giving you the semblance of privacy even though he’s mere feet away.
You squeeze her hands again and offer her an earnest smile. “I’m okay. I don’t mind being with him,” you say, soft enough that you’re certain Sam can’t hear from across the table. “He’s… nice.”
This makes her smile wide, and you can practically see all the possibilities she’s conjuring up in her head.
“Nice?” Charlie teases.
You playfully scoff and drop her hands, smoothing your skirt. Turning to Sam, you say, “I’m finished eating, if you’re ready to begin.”
Sam hums and sets his goblet down. “Will Lady Charlie be joining us?”
She takes that as her cue to shake her head and curtsy. After years of practice, the action is smooth, despite the fact that she hasn’t worn a formal gown in almost a year. She’d complained in private to you that morning that she wished the two of you could continue wearing trousers, and you’d agreed. The dresses that have been provided for you in Ashela are all too big, and you’d spent part of your morning being poked and prodded by the castle seamstress as she frantically altered the bodice to fit you. They might’ve fit before the war, but the fighting has given you more lean muscle than anything. Your own dresses back at Eryas Court will likely need altering when you finally return home.
“I have other things that require my attention, my Queen,” Charlie says, and she gracefully exits the Great Hall, though not before throwing you a meaningful look before the doors close behind her.
“Shall we?” Sam asks.
You jump, surprised to find that he’s come around to your side of the table and stopped alongside you while you watched your friend depart. He offers his arm and after a very brief moment of hesitation, you take it.
You and Sam traverse the grounds on foot, and he shows you the snow-covered gardens, the stables, the knights’ training field, and the arboretum where his mother is buried. Finally, he leads you to a frozen lake set far back from the castle. It’s surrounded by the same pine trees that seem to be everywhere in Ashela, and there’s a small wooden hut sheltered by the two largest. From inside, Sam pulls out sharpened blades with leather straps. It takes you a moment to realize that they’re for skating on the ice.
“Would you like to skate?” he asks.
“I’ve never been skating before,” you admit, and you look at the lake. It’s smooth and glossy, with few imperfections on its icy surface. You can’t help but wonder if it’s actually safe. Though ice skating has grown popular in Athos since the start of your reign, you’ve never allowed your court to participate. You’ve heard too many tales of the ice breaking under the skater’s weight. A small girl in the village had drowned just last winter.
“I’ll keep you safe, Y/N. You have my word.”
Scanning Sam’s face, you try to determine whether or not you can trust him, not just to lead you around and show you the castle grounds, but with your life. 
You place your hand in his after a long moment of deliberation. “You’ll have to show me how.”
He smiles, and it’s almost as bright as the sun on the snow. You let him lead you by the hand to the edge of the lake, where a downed tree has been positioned lengthwise. Sam helps you to sit, and then he very carefully kneels in the fresh, powdery snow to help attach the blades to your boots. The knees of his trousers are soaked with snow when he stands, but he doesn’t seem to care as he sits beside you and attaches the blades to his own boots. He helps you up with both hands, encouraging you as you wobble and sway in his grip.
“Move slowly,” he advises as he steps onto the lake, leading you onto the ice as he skates backwards.
It takes all your effort and concentration to stay upright at first, but with Sam’s encouragement and gentle guidance, you quickly get your bearings. You’re able to skate around the lake on your own after only an hour’s practice.
“You’re a natural!” Sam says as he skates beside you. His pace is surely slower than it would be on his own, and you smile over at him.
“Your assistance was a great help,” you tell him. “Thank you.”
He shakes his head a little. “I have the feeling that you would have been fine on your own.”
You fall into silence as you skate side by side, but a quarter hour later, you carefully stop a few feet away from the fallen tree. Sam stops as well and he holds his hands out to help you just in case something is wrong.
“Y/N?” he asks.
“You’ve been skating for a long time, haven’t you? For several years, at least?”
Though he seems confused by your sudden question, Sam nods. “Since I was a young boy.”
Smiling, you gesture with one hand toward the open expanse of the lake. “Show me what you can do, then. You must be very skilled.”
“I don’t know if “skilled” is the correct term…” He rubs the back of his neck with his dark green mittens, and you chuckle. His nose is pink, as are his ears from where they peek out from his furry hat.
“I’m not your queen, so I can’t command you, but I am your guest. Please show me?” you ask.
He’s smiling again. “Very well. Do you want to sit?” He gestures towards the tree, the other hand already reaching for your elbow.
You shake your head. “I will stand, thank you. Now go!” You shove at him, not enough to put him off-balance, but enough that he laughs and ducks his head before he skates away.
Sam is skilled. It only takes you a minute to figure out that he had been telling the truth—he’d been skating a long, long time. He moves with great ease over the ice, and you marvel at his speed. He flies by you three times before he slows, then stops sharply. A shower of ice flies up into the air before it rains down again. His breath comes out in heavy white puffs of fog and his chest heaves with exertion, but you’re smiling wide, giddy from the show.
You clap for him. “You underestimate yourself! You’re very fast!”
He laughs as he catches his breath. “Dean and I would race as children.” He points toward the far edge of the lake, where there’s a large gap between two trees. “There’s a river there, and we’d race from here to where it meets the forest road.” He pants for a second before looking back at you. “We should return. We’ve been out in the cold for a long time.”
Nodding in agreement, you let Sam lead you off the ice and back to the log, where you clumsily unstrap your skates. He takes them and puts them away while you fix your skirts, hat, and boots. When he returns, you stand and take his arm, and the two of you head back to the castle.
You eat a small meal when you return—mostly bread, cheese, and sausage—and it’s while you’re eating that you ask Sam for a second tour of the castle. He’s more than happy to oblige.
“All of these paintings,” you say as he escorts you down a long, decorated hallway, “They have similar styles, but the others you’ve shown me do not. Who painted these?”
“I did,” Sam replies.
You stop to stare at him. “You did?” You can’t hide your surprise, though you know it’s rude. “You painted them? All of them?” There must be at least two dozen in the hall.
He nods, and his cheeks are a little pink, though the castle is much too warm for it to be from the cold. “Yes, all of them.”
Turning back to the landscape he’d just named, you marvel at it. The colors are vibrant, matching the rest of the castle, and the gold details glimmer in the candlelight. Though the sun is going down outside and there’s little light coming in from the windows, you can still see everything clearly.
“It’s beautiful.”
“Would you like to see where I paint them?” he asks.
You look away from the painting to nod. “I would like that very much, yes.”
Sam smiles and offers you his arm again, and he begins to lead you down a narrow hallway that you hadn’t noticed before. You would have labeled it a servant’s passage had the lush carpet not continued down its length. There are wooden doors every few feet, but Sam ignores them and keeps walking.
After several minutes of walking, you come to the end of the hall and the last door, which is slightly higher than the rest. There are two steps leading up to it, but Sam needs neither to step into the room. You opt to take them, and he places a hand over your head so you don’t hit it against the wooden beams that border the opening.
Though the door is smaller than normal, the room is not. The ceiling stretches high up into one of the castle’s towers, and windows let light in even from high above. The wooden floor is swept clean, and an easel is set up near the largest of three windows at eye level. It’s big enough that you could sit in it and let your legs dangle outside of the tower. The window faces the arboretum, and if you squint, you can see the frozen lake in the distance.
A table with paints and brushes is set up beside the easel. Sam approaches it so naturally that you’re sure he must spend a lot of time in this room. 
“It reminds me of my study back home,” you quietly say, and Sam looks over at you as he picks up a brush and dips it into one of the pots of pigment.
“Do you like to paint?”
You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s not one of my talents. But I like to look at art. My castle is full of paintings, tapestries, and carvings.” You pause and watch as he adds brushstrokes to the painting on the easel, easily picking up where he’d left off. “You must paint something for my castle before I leave.”
“What would you like?” he asks.
You pause and look around the room as you think. There are several paintings leaning up against the rounded walls, along with piles of supplies that look like they might topple over any second.
“Could you paint the lake? In winter?” you finally request.
The room is quiet for a moment as Sam paints. When he doesn’t reply, you look over at him. He’s staring at the canvas in front of him with his brush in mid-air, but then he turns and meets your eyes, as if he can feel you watching him.
“Why not in summer, when the grass is green and the sunlight makes the water glow? Or in spring, when the wildflowers are blooming? Or in autumn, when the wind blows clouds through the sky?”
He describes the seasons so well that you can picture the paintings in your mind, but you shake your head, not looking away.
“No. I want the lake in winter, so I can remember skating for the first time,” you explain.
He stares at you, and you stare back. Your heart feels like it’s out of control and you have to force yourself to break eye contact. All the while, your thoughts are scattered and though you know in your head that you should be more composed and that you shouldn’t be alone with him in such a remote part of the castle where there are no guards, Sam makes you feel safe.
“We should prepare for dinner,” he finally murmurs, breaking the spell that had fallen over the room.
You glance up at the windows to find that the sun has disappeared from the horizon. Darkness is creeping in, and shadows are stretching across the floor of Sam’s tower. Have you truly been so distracted that the time flew by that quickly?
Nodding in agreement, you step back out into the hallway and make your way down the narrow passage. Once in the main hall, Sam escorts you to your room in silence. Charlie is waiting for you there, and she helps you change into a more formal gown for dinner. She doesn’t utter a single word about the strange expression on your face, nor does she mention the fact that you’ve been without a guard all day.
The dinner is less formal than you were anticipating, and you fall into comfortable conversation with the King. He knew your father before you were born, though the last time they’d met was when you were a young girl. He tells you story after story of their times together, and you’re learning about their last visit when one of the Ashelan guards posted outside the Great Hall bursts in.
“Your Majesty,” he greets, hurriedly bowing to the King. “A messenger has just arrived for Queen Y/N. It’s an urgent matter.”
“Send them in,” John replies. He gestures toward the door and you stand as a haggard soldier in your colors staggers through. He’s supported on one side by another Ashelan guard, and your blood runs cold at the frantic look in your soldier’s eyes.
“Your Majesty.” He starts to bow but loses his balance. He only remains upright thanks to the guard beside him. He’s gasping for air.
“Peace, soldier,” you tell him, though you feel anything but. Your heart is pounding in your chest again and your hand trembles as you place it on the back of your chair. You can feel everyone’s eyes on you. “What news do you bring me?”
“A m— message from King Crowley, Ma’am. He says that if you do not surrender by Christmas, he will take Eryas Court.”
You stare at him for a moment, then scoff. “He cannot so boldly assume I will surrender! Have our armies held the camp?” you ask.
“No, Ma’am,” the soldier replies, and it feels like the floor has fallen out from underneath you. Your stomach twists as the soldier continues, “His men slaughtered our armies, and they have infiltrated the village. They have surrounded Eryas. The men returning to their families are at the keep, and are holding it as best as they are able, but they are tired, Ma’am.”
Lady Charlie gasps beside you, and you lift your chin, silently sending up a prayer. Crowley has caught you off guard, but you can’t show it.
You turn to look at John. “Is there a room I can use to speak with Sir Robert and send word to my captains?”
John nods and stands, directing his attention to the first guard. “Prepare my study for Queen Y/N and Sir Robert. Escort them there once it is ready, and have one of the servants available to fulfill any requests she might have,” he orders.
The guard nods and bows before hurrying back out into the hallway.
“And you,” John continues, looking at the guard supporting your weary soldier. “Take him to see the doctor. Get him a meal and fresh clothes, and prepare him a place to sleep.”
The soldier still has his eyes on you, and you quickly cross to him before the Ashelan guard can take him away. His entire body is covered with blood, sweat, and grime, and he smells like the worst parts of the battlefield. His legs shake when he struggles to stand straighter as you approach.
“You can trust the people here,” you gently tell the man. “Thank you for what you have done. You have brought your people great honor. Now, rest.”
The man salutes you and you bow your head, then watch in silence as the guard leads him out of the Great Hall and towards the servant’s door you’d passed earlier that day on your tour. Once he’s out of sight, you turn and face Sir Robert, who has moved to stand at the end of the table closest to you.
“I apologize for cutting our dinner short, John,” you say. He nods once. “Can I ask that Lady Charlie be escorted back to my chambers once she is finished dining?”
Charlie stands from her seat. “I’m already finished, my Queen, and if it pleases you, I shall stay to assist you.”
You could cry at the loyalty and care from your friend, and you almost do. You catch yourself, however, and you swallow the lump that forms in your throat. John and Dean are talking in hushed tones, but Sam is watching you. His eyes are sad and you have to look away as soon as you notice. You’re barely holding it together as is, and you’re sure that he can tell.
The guard assigned by King John to escort you to his study appears in the doorway, and you quickly follow after him. He leads you down the main hallway and up a set of stairs to a dark wooden door that you’d glimpsed earlier. He opens it in silence, then closes it once you, Sir Robert, and Charlie are inside. 
Almost immediately, you brace your hands on the large table in the center of the room and hang your head. A sob escapes you and Charlie places a comforting hand on your back as you let out a few more. The tears run across your cheeks to the bridge of your nose, then drip onto the table beneath you as you cry.
Sir Robert stands in silence until you’re able to compose yourself a few minutes later. He’s watching the flames flicker in the fireplace with his back to you.
“How many men have we lost today?” you ask, dabbing at your face with the handkerchief Charlie has somehow produced.
“ There were 6,000 in the garrison when we left,” he answers. There’s no emotion in his voice and a small part of you feels ashamed for crying, but you push that thought away before it can fester.
“And how many do you think are defending the keep right now?”
Sir Robert turns. His expression is grave and the light and shadows from the fire deepen the wrinkles on his face. 
“Less than 5,000, if I had to guess.”
You sigh heavily and look back down at the table, then straighten until you’re standing tall again. You cross the room to stare out the window. From the King’s study, you can see the gardens, which means you’re on the opposite side of the castle from the tower where Sam paints. Silently, you start to pace the length of the large fur covering the floor between two shelves of ancient books. Lady Charlie sits at the table while Sir Robert remains by the fireplace, and both of them watch as you walk back and forth.
Nobody speaks until you stop, but there’s a knock at the door right before you can admit that you have no solution that won’t end in a sorrowful amount of bloodshed. You turn to look as the door opens, revealing King John.
“Y/N,” he greets. “I may have something that will assist you.”
You turn to face him fully. “What is it?”
He walks to an elaborately carved chest on the mantle and carefully removes a rolled parchment. It’s sealed with wax, but there are two seals. Curious, you meet John at the table. Charlie stands to make room for the two of you. It only takes a second for you to recognize the crests imprinted into the seals.
“What is this? Why does this hold my family’s crest?” you question.
“And mine,” he adds. “This decree was created and signed by your father and I during our last visit together. I promised to keep it safe until the right time had come.”
“The right time had come? For what, John? How come I’ve never heard of this?”
He glances at you, then breaks the seals and unrolls the parchment. It’s yellowed with time, but the words are written in black ink and they’re as clear as day.
“Let it be known that on this day, Y/N Y/L/N of Athos and Samuel Winchester of Ashela are betrothed in marriage. Upon agreement from both parties or in time of need, they shall be wed and the marriage shall be consummated within a fortnight,” John reads, and you feel yourself falter. Charlie places a hand on your back to help keep you upright.
“Athos shall be ruled by Y/N as the heir apparent, and any heirs produced by Y/N and Samuel shall become the next heirs. An alliance shall be formed between Athos and Ashela at the time of marriage. This betrothal can only be broken by death or upon act of God.”
At the bottom of the parchment, there are two signatures. Only one is familiar to you, and the world tilts around you for a moment when you see it.
“I beg your pardon,” you say, your mouth suddenly very dry. “But this cannot be true. I would know if I were already betrothed.”
John places the parchment on the table and it rolls up again. “Nonetheless, your father has signed it and stamped it with his royal seal. You are betrothed to my son, and in agreement with the decree, our kingdoms will be allied after your marriage is consummated.”
A dark shadow in the doorway makes you look up. Sam ducks into the room, his eyes immediately scanning the people in the study. When he sees the distress on your face, he frowns, but he answers to his father first.
“You called for me, Father?” he asks.
“I did.”
John picks up the parchment again and hands it to Sam, who unrolls it and reads it over. You watch his eyes scan the words once, twice, then three times before he looks up. He glances at you for a split-second.
“This must be false,” Sam finally says. “I would know if I was betrothed! You would have told me a long time ago!”
“Why do you think I never pressured you to marry, as I did your brother?” John asks.
Sam clearly doesn’t have an answer because he turns his attention to where you’re standing behind his father. “Did you know about this?” he asks.
You shake your head, hands clasped in front of you. “I did not. I’m just as shocked as you are.”
“I can’t believe that you are treating Y/N like this! She is in the middle of trying to save her people and you’re scheming!” Sam accuses. He’s glowering down at his father, even though he’s only a few inches taller.
John scoffs. “Samuel—”
“You say that this was created when we were children? And yet it has remained hidden from us until now? Why wouldn’t my father have told me about my own betrothal?” you ask, relieved that Sam is just as angry and surprised as you. It stings a little that he seems disinterested in marrying you, but you have more important problems than your feelings.
Sir Robert speaks up from where he still stands by the fireplace, and you whirl to face him when he says, “The betrothal is real. I witnessed the decree when it was written.” His expression softens when you meet his eyes, shocked at his revelation. “I had just been appointed as your father’s advisor. It was the first decree I helped him create.”
You can’t help but feel betrayed. “You helped him? All this time, you knew about this, and yet you never said a word?”
He nods, and there seems to be genuine regret in his eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Why now?” Sam questions. “Of all the times, Father, why would you tell us now?”
John gestures to the parchment in Sam’s hands. “You’re to marry whenever you agree there’s an opportune time, or if there’s ever a time of great need. If you marry, an alliance will be formed between our kingdoms. I can send our armies to help defeat Elcium and save Y/N’s people. Your people, once the marriage is consummated. Your enemies will become my enemies.”
Torn between a mix of anger and humiliation, you turn your back on the men, taking a few steps away from the table to stare out the window. Has it really come to this? Will you really have to marry to save your people?
There’s a shuffling of papers behind you, and the crackle of the fire, but nobody dares to speak. You know that they’re all waiting for you to make the decision. Though you’ve only known him for a few days, you’re certain that Sam would never force you to marry him and follow through with the decree. 
“Would you form an alliance without marriage?” you finally ask, without turning around.
A beat passes, and then John answers, “Think over what I’ve said, Y/N. I will be in the Great Hall, awaiting news.”
He leaves after that, and you hear Sir Robert and Charlie excuse themselves as well, which leaves you alone with Sam. He keeps his distance from you as you continue to stare out the window with your arms wrapped around yourself. Despite the fire, you’re cold all the way down to your bones, and you shiver.
“What are you thinking?” Sam finally asks. His voice is gentle, hesitant even, in the silence of the study.
“I don’t know.” You shake your head. “This isn’t…”
“Did you dream of marrying someday?”
Surprised at the question, you have to stay quiet and mull it over. Then, after a few moments, you nod. “Yes,” you tell him, quieter than before. “Someday. I knew it was probably expected of me too, but then Crowley invaded…”
“And you had to put the needs of your people before your own desires,” Sam guesses.
“It’s my duty as queen.”
Your father’s words return to your head, ringing loud and clear as a bell.
“Sometimes doing what’s best for your people isn’t immediately what’s best for you, Y/N, but if you’re lucky enough, the two will align.”
Turning around, you smooth your skirt and meet Sam’s gaze. “As is marrying you,” you say.
“You’re not going to oppose the decree?” he asks. Sam sounds genuinely surprised, and he steps closer. He’s still in his dinner clothes, though you know he had time to change. 
“I don’t have a choice,” you admit. “If I don’t marry you, your father won’t aid my men, and my people will die. My kingdom will be taken and I’ll spend the rest of my life in prison or as a servant to Crowley, unless he decides to kill me, which is unlikely. Crowley is a ruthless king, and he tortures for sport.”
Something hardens in Sam’s eyes, and his jaw clenches. “You can stay here indefinitely as my guest. I wouldn’t let him do that to you.”
“And I wouldn’t live in hiding while my people suffer,” you counter. Closing the distance between you, you reach out and grasp Sam’s hands in yours. “I will understand if you choose not to marry me. It is your choice, and I will live with whatever decision is made.”
“Why wouldn’t I marry you?” he asks. 
“I don’t wish to force you—”
“You wouldn’t be,” Sam says, cutting you off. “Though I haven’t known you long, Y/N, I find you wonderful company. You’re kind, intelligent, brave, and you care deeply for your people. I could not ask for more in a wife, though I hope we can become friends first.”
You duck your head, caught off guard by his praise. Sam crooks one finger underneath your chin and lifts it until your eyes meet his again.
“You’re beautiful, too,” he murmurs. “Far more so than any woman I’ve ever met.”
“I… Don’t know what to say,” you admit. After months of fighting and living in the war camp, the tenderness in Sam’s voice and his touch is foreign to you.
“Say that you’ll marry me. Say that we’ll save your people before any more harm can be done.”
Silently, you nod. You don’t look away as Sam smiles wide, his eyes full of a joy so complete that it makes your chest ache just from witnessing it. He pulls you close, crushing you against him as he hugs you tightly, and you gasp in surprise.
“I’ll tell my father to make the necessary arrangements,” Sam says as he pulls away. “The sooner we are married, the sooner we can rescue your men.”
You nod again, a bit numb as Sam kisses you on the forehead, narrowly missing the bruise, and hurries out into the hallway. His footsteps are quick and the sound fades before you can even recognize that he’s truly left you alone in the study.
“Y/N?”
Charlie appears in the doorway and you turn to her, trembling hands clasped in front of you.
“Are you well?” she asks. She steps into the room and you can immediately tell that she’d heard the whole conversation between you and Sam. The walls and doors are thick here, but Charlie is an expert at eavesdropping.
“I— I’m getting married,” is all you can reply.
She gives you a knowing look and then carefully guides you to sit in one of the high-backed chairs near the fire. The warmth helps to soothe the shock from finding out your kingdom was most certainly doomed, then from finding out it would be safe once you were married. Your world is changing so quickly that you can hardly keep up.
“He’s a good man,” she tells you.
“I know he is,” you reply, staring at the fire. It makes your eyes water but you can’t look away. If you do, you might cry for real for the second time today. Your emotions have been twisted by so many things and people today that you’re unsure of how to feel.
“It’s okay to be scared.”
You turn your head just enough to show that you’re listening, but you don’t look away from the fire.
“You’ve been through so much, Y/N, and I know you believe that queens should not show their weakness, but you forget that you are also just a woman,” Charlie continues.
This time, you turn to look at her. “But I am not just a woman, Charlie.”
She gives you a gentle smile, then reaches out with one hand to squeeze yours. “When you’re with Prince Samuel, you are.”
“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admit, your voice breaking. You clutch her hand with both of yours when she moves to pull away, turning in your seat so you can better face her. “What if he expects me to spend more time being a wife than being a queen? I cannot afford to give up who I am because of a man.”
Charlie considers your question for several long moments before she sighs and collects your hands completely in hers. She holds your gaze as she says, “You are brave for doing this. I cannot tell you what to expect, but I can tell you that I have heard many things from the ladies and the servants here in Ashela. All of them, every single one, has told me that Prince Samuel is as wonderful as he seems. I do not think that you have very much to fear, but I will be by your side no matter what you face.”
You inhale deeply, closing your eyes, and then breathe out. Charlie waits patiently as you try to collect yourself, and her presence is enough reassurance that it doesn’t take you very long.
Finally, you nod and stand.
She does the same, dropping your hands. “Now, I need to get you ready!”
“Ready?” you ask, and Charlie laughs. She guides you out of the study and into the hallway.
“For your wedding! I can’t give you the prettiest dress, but I’ve asked around and we’ve come up with something that I think will work.”
A spark of excitement grows inside of you as she chatters on about her plans for the impromptu wedding. It’s amazing to you that she’s managed to work so quickly, but you don’t question it. Charlie has many ways of doing many things, some of which are better left unsaid.
Soon, you find yourself back in your guest chambers. Charlie helps you into a plain ivory dress, then fixes your hair. You sit quietly as she works, and when a handful of Ashelan maids and ladies start to swarm around you, you simply close your eyes. It’s been a long day, and exhaustion is starting to creep in.
“The Queen needs to rest before the ceremony,” Charlie announces, and you open your eyes just enough to see the women leaving. She starts to blow out the extra candles, until there’s only one remaining beside your bed.
“You only have an hour,” she murmurs as you carefully climb under the covers. She helps you arrange your dress so that it won’t become wrinkled.
Nodding tiredly, you rest your head back against the pillow she props up for you. “Thank you, Charlie. For everything.”
She smooths a hand over your hair and sits in the chair beside you, closing her eyes as well. She doesn’t have to say anything for you to know that she’s staying close to help you sleep. 
The ceremony is simple. You don’t expect much, but John rouses enough servants for there to be an arch of evergreen placed at the end of the Great Hall, and there’s a bouquet of branches and berries for you, as well. Sam dons his royal robes and a thin crown with vibrant gemstones that sparkle in the candlelight from the nearby tree. John and Dean change clothes too, and somehow Charlie finds a new dress just in the nick of time. Only you aren’t wearing something elaborate. It stings a little—you’d once imagined your wedding day as an occasion to remember, but now you could simply melt away into the background and it’s quite possible that nobody would even notice. It gives you a miserable feeling in the pit of your stomach, and when you pass by a mirror on the way to the Great Hall, you have to look away. Tears prick at your eyes before you can stop them. 
A priest marries you with little grandeur, and in only a few words, you find yourself bound to Sam in marriage. It’s not even dawn on Christmas Eve when he leads you by the arm back out of the Great Hall. Charlie stays behind with Sir Robert to help prepare the carriages for travel while he advises John on where to send his armies, and when you arrive at Sam's chambers, they’re empty. You’re alone with him for the first time as husband and wife.
“We should leave for Athos immediately,” Sam says, and you nod in silence. He lets go of your arm once the door shuts behind you, then hurries into a separate, adjoining room. You set your bouquet down on a nearby table.
Through the curtained archway, you can see a bed similar to the one in your guest chambers, as well as a writing desk and another easel. Sam’s sword is propped up against the wall near the fireplace, and a bow and arrow are laid haphazardly on a nearby dining table. The room is decorated for Christmas, just like the rest of the castle, though the greenery here is minimal. Where you would expect to see much of his personal belongings, there are empty spaces that leave you feeling strangely out of place. His chambers are practically bare except the furniture and the decorations.
Sam goes behind a dressing screen and you look away, heat in your cheeks at the thought of being alone with him while he undresses. It’s not the first time you’ve been alone with a man in a similar state of dress—you’ve lived in a camp full of soldiers, many of whom are careless—but it’s the first time where something could be expected of you.
“Sam?” you call out, staring at the candle on the window ledge nearest to you. Outside, the sun is just barely beginning to rise. Its rays are slowly stretching over the snowy landscape, revealing the hundreds of pine trees and the lake whose frozen surface glitters in the light.
“Yes?” You hear him pause and the room falls silent. When you don’t immediately answer, you hear some quick shuffling, and then he’s coming out from behind the screen and approaching you.
“Y/N?” he asks.
You turn, and Sam is standing before you in plain clothes. There’s no trace of the robes or the crown. The only thing that would give away his royal status is the signet ring on his left pinky. There’s a plain gold ring on the finger beside it, which matches the one he’d given you during the ceremony.
“Your father said our kingdoms would only be allied once our marriage was… consummated,” you say, deciding to use the same language as John, though you know there are easier ways to say what you mean.
“I do not expect anything of you,” Sam gently replies.
“But your father—”
Sam shakes his head. “He does not need to know what’s between you and I.”
You’re holding your breath; you can’t breathe a sigh of relief until you’re absolutely sure Sam will go along with the ruse. “You will lie to your own father? Your king?”
He’s quiet for only a moment before he answers, “He is not my king any longer. I am married to you. I am your husband, and you are my queen. I will tell him whatever I must to ensure that your people are safe.”
You gingerly take his hand and allow yourself to breathe again. “Our people, Sam.” You pause to look up at him, offering him a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”
He nods and leans in to kiss you on the cheek. “We should leave. I am ready, if you are.”
“Don’t you want your things?” you ask, glancing around his chambers. 
Sam lets go of your hand, then walks around his room. He gathers his sword, a book from beside the bed, and a small wooden case from near the easel before he returns to your side. You take the book and the case from him so he can strap the sword around his waist, then hand them back to him.
“The servants have already brought many of my things to the carriage. The rest can be brought another time.”
Nodding, you take Sam’s arm and let him lead you out of his chambers, through the castle, and to the waiting carriages. There are three of them, two of which belong to you, and another that is clearly Ashelan. It rocks as the occupants move around.
John, Dean, and two of your guards are waiting at the open door of the middle carriage when you arrive. As you walk the gray stone path leading away from the castle, you catch a glimpse of Sir Robert as he climbs into the carriage at the front of the line.
“Y/N,” John greets. He nods politely to you, then to Sam. “My men are already on the way to Athos. Sir Robert has been helpful in ensuring they will be of sufficient help to you. I have also sent word to Crowley to inform him of our newly formed alliance. I suppose everything went well after you retired to Sam’s chambers?”
He raises an eyebrow at his son, who nods once. The implications of his words weigh heavily in the winter air, and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to look nervous or uncomfortable. You cannot give away the lie.
“All is well,” Sam replies. He smiles a little and places a hand over where yours rests on his arm. “She is ready to travel now.”
Dean hugs his brother goodbye, then leads you toward the carriage. He stops a few feet away and holds his hand out to one of your guards, who produces a familiar sword.
“I believe this is yours?” Dean asks.
You smile, relieved that you’re once reunited with your father’s blade. “Yes, thank you.”
Taking the sword, you fasten it around your waist. The weight is comfortable, and it bumps against your thigh as Dean helps you into the carriage.
Meanwhile, Sam talks quietly with John. You’re too anxious to eavesdrop once you’re alone, so you sit back on the seat and try to keep your breathing even as Sam finally climbs into the carriage and the door shuts behind him. He sits opposite you, where Charlie would normally sit. It feels strange to not travel with her by your side, but you remind yourself that she’s in the next carriage, and that you’ll see her again when you arrive in Athos.
Moments later, the horses lurch forward. You sway with the movement, and Sam reaches out to place a steadying hand on your arm. You offer him a small smile before you sit back once more.
The sun rises as you journey to Athos, just like it does every day, and you cling to that normalcy. Even as you wring your hands, your mind whirling with every possible outcome of the coming battle, the sun continues on its path. You find yourself glancing out the window at it more often than usual. The snow outside is beginning to melt and drip from the tree branches as the temperature warms from the light, and as the horses carry you closer to home, the snow starts to disappear entirely, replaced with mud and trampled grass left in the wake of tired soldiers and weary knights.
Suddenly, Sam shifts to sit beside you, and he takes your hand without a word. You stare at him, baffled by his strange actions, but he doesn’t say anything, nor does he look at you. Finally, you look back out the window. His thumb rubs over the dry, scarred skin of your hand, and though it’s foreign to hold hands with a man you barely know, there’s something comforting about his presence. It’s soothing enough that you doze off for a while, grasping at what little rest you’re allowed during the journey. He holds your hand the entire time.
After the half-day ride, the carriages arrive in the village that surrounds Eryas Court. You release Sam’s hand and sit forward on the bench to give yourself a better view through the window. 
The houses and shops that you’ve grown up around have been burnt and destroyed, and there’s rubble lining the cobblestone paths. Wooden stalls and stables have been smashed into splinters, and stone buildings have begun to cave in on themselves. Your breath hitches when you see blood staining a wall.
“Where are the people?” you ask, your voice cracking. “Where are my people?” The question is desperate, meant for nobody but the world, and you feel Sam pulling you away from the window a few seconds later.
“Let me go!” you bark at him.
He pulls you back a second time, and you twist in your seat, angry and aching with grief, but you stop when you see him.
Sam’s expression is grave. “We don’t know who’s out there. You are not dressed in your armor, and you are giving Crowley’s archers an easy shot. Until we know what’s happening, you need to stay hidden,” he advises.
You stare at him for a moment, then nod mutely. All the anger drains out of you, because he’s right, and you’re no use to your people if you’re dead.
While leaning back against the wall of the carriage, you can still see enough through the window to tell that the destruction starts to lessen as you near the keep. The pressure in your chest starts to ease when the noise of villagers and soldiers talking reaches you, and you exhale shakily when you hear someone call out,
“Make way! The Queen is here!”
There’s a commotion outside the carriage. Cheering erupts as soon as the first person spies you through the windows. Sam’s hand finds yours again. He squeezes, and you squeeze back even harder, clutching his hand as the carriage moves through the crowd and into the guarded castle.
When the carriage stops, you and Sam wait until the door is opened by guard. They help Sam out first, then you. You don’t know what to expect as you exit, but you’re relieved to find that most of your castle is still intact.
“Eryas Court lives on, Your Majesty,” someone says, and you turn to find Sir Robert walking from his own carriage. Charlie is close behind, and you start to smile.
“Indeed, Sir Robert,” you tell him. “It seems the battle was over before we even arrived.”
After a moment, you laugh and pull him into a hug. It’s improper, but you find tears brimming in your eyes when he murmurs in your ear, reminding you that your father would be proud of how you’d handled the invasion.
“Welcome to Athos, Your Majesty,” Charlie says.
You release Sir Robert and turn to where Sam and Charlie stand off to one side. He gives her a short bow as she dips into a curtsy. An Ashelan man is standing on the other side of Sam. You recognize him as one of the men from your breakfast the day before. There are several Ashelan servants helping yours unload the carriages, as well.
“It’s a beautiful kingdom,” Sam says to you. “How long has Eryas Court been standing?”
“Four generations,” you proudly reply. “Would you like a tour?”
He opens his mouth to answer, but the conversation is put to a halt when the captain of the guard approaches and bows in your direction. 
“Your Majesty,” he greets. He does the same for Sam before turning back to you. “I bring word from the fields.”
“How are my men?” you ask. Your expression grows serious as you focus on the matter at hand. Sam stays silent, allowing you to do your job without interference.
“We have lost many, but we have made it through the darkest nights. Elcium has retreated, and they have dropped their banners. They stand with white flags now.”
You raise your eyebrows, unable to keep your expression neutral. “They have surrendered?”
He nods. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“That’s very good news, Captain,” you tell him, smiling. “Tell them that we will negotiate terms after Christmas. I will expect a full report then, but I have other matters to attend to tonight. I will also expect to see your wounded, and I would like a full list of the dead. Please ensure that any news about the Ashelan soldiers is sent to King John, and also reported to King Sam.” You gesture to Sam without looking his way.
Your captain bows to both of you, then heads back the way he had come. Satisfied with the news, you turn back to Sam with a wide smile.
“Let me show you my home.”
Sam smiles back at you, then offers you his arm. Before you leave with him, you instruct Charlie to make sure everything is in order after the maids unpack your and Sam’s belongings in your chambers. She agrees with a smile brighter than you’d seen on her in a long time.
You and Sam walk the castle grounds most of the afternoon, stopping only to have tea. You show him your favorite spots, tell him stories of your childhood, and you show him the study you’d abandoned after inheriting your father’s. The windows there overlook the wildflower fields, and the river beyond. Though there’s no flowers in bloom now, he assures you that the frozen river is subject enough for his paintings.
As the sun begins to set, you and Sam retire to your chambers. They’re smaller than you remember, and it feels cramped as the two of you prepare for sleep. You’d never opted to take on your father’s chambers when he passed, instead choosing to stay in the rooms you’d had your whole life.
Charlie helps you change into a sleeping gown, and behind an opposite dressing screen, you hear Sam and the Ashelan lord—Castiel—talking quietly. When the two of you emerge, you share nervous smiles as Castiel and Charlie leave to go to their own quarters.
“I’m not quite ready to sleep,” you say after the door finally closes behind them. You keep your distance, unsure of how to act now that you’re alone.
Sam nods. “I’ll try to keep to myself, so there’s room when you are ready to retire.”
You glance at the bed, then back at him. “Perhaps I will go to bed early then.”
He frowns a little and searches your face for something, clearly trying to figure out why you’ve changed your plans. Truthfully, you don’t want him to have to try and make himself small. You’re already feeling too many emotions; you don’t want to add guilt into the mix. 
You smile as if you don’t know what he’s thinking, then head to the bed and climb under the covers on one side. Charlie has warmed the heavy blankets with irons, and the furs from last year’s hunts still provide you with plenty of warmth. 
Sam watches, still standing in place, until finally you let out a sigh.
“I’m perfectly okay sharing a bed with you,” you tell him. “We are husband and wife. If we don’t lie together, it will raise suspicions.”
“And I am prepared to face them.”
“Do you really not want to share a bed with me?” you ask, a little hurt by his resistance.
His eyes widen slightly and he shakes his head. “I do not want you to be afraid of me, nor of expectation that I might—”
“I am not afraid of you.” You sit up in the bed, suddenly aware of the nighttime chill in your chambers as the blankets fall from your chest. “I have fought in many battles, and I have seen many horrible things. Sharing a bed with a kind, gentle man who is now my husband is not a fear that I possess, Sam Winchester. Even so, I am capable of much more than you may realize, and I am not afraid of anything you could possibly do to me.”
He stares at you for a moment, and then a small smile appears on his face. “Very well.”
You lay back as Sam crosses the room and climbs into bed beside you. Both of you lay on your backs, staring up at the fabric canopy. You want to talk—you feel like you should, anyway—but the events of the past few days start to catch up with you, and you find your thoughts beginning to wander as Sam’s breathing grows slower on the other side of the bed. He falls asleep before you, but not by much.
When you wake, there’s a heavy weight over your waist and hot breath against the back of your neck. Your legs are intertwined with Sam’s and your back is pressed up against his chest. It’s not uncomfortable, but you lie and stare at the wall, trying to figure out how you and Sam have become so entangled. Surely, you would have kicked him during your nightmares.
“Are you awake?”
His question is barely a whisper, but then Sam shifts and you feel him raise himself up on his elbow to look down at you. He’s checking to see if you’re asleep, you realize.
You turn your head to meet his eyes in the darkness. “Yes,” you answer. “I’m awake.”
He sighs softly and lays back down, resuming the close contact from before. You wonder if you should push away. Is it improper to sleep like this if you don’t know each other, even if you’re married? Does it matter?
“Can I ask…” You finally begin, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room again. “When we went to sleep, we were not touching.”
“No,” Sam answers. His breath tickles the hairs at the nape of your neck and you fidget under the covers, but you don’t pull away. “You were dreaming. It was a nightmare.”
“Oh.”
You can imagine why he’s pulled you close now. Without Charlie sitting by your bedside, there had been some anxiety over if you’d sleep through the night, but Sam’s comforting touch seems to have soothed you. For the first time in weeks, you feel well-rested.
“It’s Christmas,” you say after another minute has passed.
Sam yawns and his thumb strokes against your stomach. His voice is drowsy in your ear.
“So it is,” he replies.
“Merry Christmas, Sam.”
“Merry Christmas, Y/N.”
You turn in his arms until you’re facing him, and you carefully place one hand on his chest. It feels natural to be this close and to lean against him, and Sam watches you with half-mast eyes as you get comfortable. When you do, however, you don’t know what to say. You stare at each other, listening to the castle stir awake. Finally, you lay your head down on him. He helps you get comfortable, and then you close your eyes. You can hear Sam’s heartbeat.
“We’re married,” you murmur.
He hums. “So we are.”
“What do we do now?”
“Celebrate Christmas, I suppose.”
You move your hand, unconsciously fidgeting with the tie on Sam’s sleep shirt. “Can we stay here for a while first?”
Sam presses a kiss to the top of your head and you smile to yourself, even though you know he could probably see.
“Yes, Y/N. We certainly can,” he answers.
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Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @alexwinchester23 @shaelyn102 @lyarr24 @supermoonpanda @ultimatecin73 @musiclovinchic93 @shamelesslydean @mlovesstories @ellie-andthemachine
Sam: @fandomoniumflurry
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
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Fanfic Ask Game (the movie, the sequel)
In celebration of me actually working on a fic, I made y’all an ask game instead of continuing to work on that fic. Pls enjoy.
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💖 What do you like most about your own writing?
😐 What embarrasses you most about your own writing?
👻 What is one WIP you think you may never pick back up?
👀 Do you have any WIPs that you would never let see the light of day? If yes, what are they about?
📥 What is your fave fic to receive comments/messages on?
✏️ Do you write every day?
🖊 Post a snippet from a current WIP.
🏅 What is something you recently felt proud of in regard to your writing (finished a fic, actually planned for once, etc).
😈 Is there anything you enjoy doing that you think your readers hate?
🌙  What time of day do you prefer to write? Why?
👖 Are you a planner, plantser, or pantser? Is it consistent?
📊 Current number of WIPs
👨‍👧‍👧 Do you tell people in real life that you write fic? 
🌝 Who is one character you haven’t yet written for that you would like to?
📝 What is one growth area you have for your writing?
📚 Do you read your own fic?
🌈 What inspired you to write [insert fic here]?
🤔 What is the hardest part of writing fic?
🧠 What’s an idea you have that you can’t quite call a WIP yet?
💻 Do you do research for your fics? What’s the deepest dive you’ve done?
✨ Choose three adjectives to complement your own writing.
💭 What is a headcanon you have about your own work?
🍰 Name one of your fave comfort fics (doesn’t have to be your all time fave).
👩‍🏭 If one of your fics was going to get you arrested, which one and why?
⏰ Do you spend more time reading fic, writing fic, or do you do both equally?
💋 [Freeform - what is something you want to know about one of poster’s fics?]
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
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“Do we have to get out of bed?” you groaned, stretching languidly under the toasty blanket.
Dean chuckled and pulled you closer to him. Your feet stuck out from underneath the covers and you rubbed them against his, making him scoot them away, frantically tucking them under the blankets again.
“Only if you want that hot cocoa I promised we’d make…” Dean trailed off, letting the suggestion hang over you.
After a moment, you pecked his lips and buried your face in the warmth of his shoulder. Your reply came out muffled, so much so that Dean barely heard it. “What if you make the cocoa and bring it in here?”
He could feel your mischievous smile against him and in that instant he knew any fight he would’ve normally put up was gone. “You’ve gotta promise not to spill on my bed then, sweetheart,” he told you, pulling away reluctantly.
You nodded with a wide grin and he rolled his eyes, slipping off the bed and onto the cold bunker floor.
_________________
You heard him making the cocoa and bustling around in the kitchen just down the hall, and you wrapped the blankets even closer around yourself, trapping the heat and the comforting smell of Dean around you. Your eyes drifted closed and you didn’t open them until you heard Dean set the ceramic mugs on his nightstand. He was smiling softly and you ducked your head at the look he was giving you, hiding within the confines of your wrappings. Dean chuckled and slid back onto the mattress, wrapping his arms around you. You moved the blanket so he was underneath it as well and gladly took the mug he handed you.
“Be careful, it’s hot.” You nodded and took a tentative sip, laughing when you looked over and saw a spot of whipped cream on Dean’s upper lip. You wiped it away with your thumb and took another sip of your own cocoa, letting the mini marshmallows bump against your mouth. Leaning against Dean’s shoulder, you listened as he told you stories from his childhood, sipping your cocoa and reveling in the closeness the moment had brought to you.
x x
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
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You woke up shivering. The cabin hadn’t been cold the night before, and you quickly pulled all the blankets around yourself before padding out to the main room to see what was going on. Dean was by the window and you watched as he pulled his lighter out of his jacket pocket and carefully lit the few candles in their holders.
“A little mood lighting before we leave?” you asked. He smirked but then shook his head.
“Power’s out. We’re snowed in, sweetheart,” he told you. Pulling back the curtains behind him, you grinned as you saw the white flurries obscuring any view of the road you’d had earlier. You were smiling wide as you headed into the kitchen, ignoring Dean when he asked what you were doing.
Minutes later, you felt him wrap his arms around your waist, his fingers finding their way through the many blankets to press against your stomach. His wedding band was cold on your skin, but you didn’t mind. Dean kissed your neck, smiling when he saw the two mugs of cocoa you were stirring.
“You read my mind,” he murmured. Smiling, you turned and handed him his.
“Oh yeah? Can you read mine?” you asked with a grin. Dean nodded and took a sip from his mug, taking yours so you could hold your blankets around you better.
“Yeah, you’re thinking about cuddling with me on the couch,” he replied. You laughed and followed him into the living room, silently thanking Chuck for the extension on your honeymoon.
x x x x
#rr
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
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This is technically a belated Christmas drabble, since the reader and Sam are still celebrating a day after. Hope you guys like it anyway!
“Looks like we’re gonna be stuck here another day,” Sam sighed, dropping his hand back down to his side and letting the curtain back into place.
You hummed happily, stretching your arms above your head and watching him from your spot on the couch. “Oh no,” you replied lamely. “Whatever will we do?”
Sam laughed and crossed the cabin, reclaiming his spot beside you and pulling you into his lap. He wrapped his arms around you and you hummed again, snuggling against his warm frame. The fireplace in front of you crackled merrily, but its warmth paled in comparison to Sam “The Human Furnace” Winchester.
“I’m sensing that you’re not too disappointed,” Sam remarked, and you tilted your head back to grin at him.
“Hell no!” you cried. Sam chuckled again. “If a little bit of snow is what’s keeping your dad from finding us, I’ll spend the whole rest of the afternoon praying that a blizzard comes.”
“You really don’t want him to find us?”
Shaking your head, you shifted in Sam’s arms so that you could tuck your feet in between the cushions of the couch, adding another layer between your toes and the cold. “No. I mean, he’ll be pissed when he finds out we’re dating, but he’s gonna be even more pissed when he finds out that we snuck out of the motel to spend Christmas in this cabin.”
“Yeah… He’s definitely not gonna be happy about us spending the beer money on this.”
You laced your fingers between Sam’s and sighed, letting him fidget with them as you watched, your head resting on his shoulder. After a long while the fire began to die down, but you’d already drifted off to sleep by then, so Sam left it. Instead, he watched you sleep for a few minutes, your eyelids fluttering as you dreamed about God knows what. It was odd to have you in his arms, to have openly spent so much time with you after months of hiding your relationship from both John and your own parents. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to go back to sneaking around and stealing kisses whenever the adults weren’t looking. 
“Best Christmas eve,” you mumbled, turning your face further against Sam, and he smiled to himself, silently echoing your dream-like words.
x x x
Christmas Request: Snowed In, from @smallriderbigdreams
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
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This is a Reader x Sam submission for @spnfluffbingo.
Square Filled: Walking the Dog
“Sully, slow down!” you cried, holding desperately onto the polyester leash as your little dog pulled you down the slippery sidewalk. It was a miracle your feet didn’t slide out from underneath you. The sound of Sam’s laughter came from behind you as he caught up, his long legs carrying him the same difference in half the time, and you sighed gratefully when he reached around you to take the leash from your hand.
“Thanks,” you sighed.
Sam caught you eye and smiled. “I told you he’d get excited because of the snow. You always forget that, no matter how many winters we go through.”
Grinning, you glanced down at your hand to make sure you didn’t have any friction burns, then replied, “Yeah, well, I get too excited about the snow myself that I forget. I should probably write a note or something to keep by the door…”
Sully leapt up again, his little paws leaving wet patches on the fabric of your jeans. You couldn’t help but laugh and lean down to scratch between his ears.
“You havin’ fun, buddy?” Sam asked, his voice gentle. Sully barked in reply and Sam laughed with you this time. He crouched down, rubbing your dogs soft ears before watching him leap into a nearby pile of snow. The end of the leash disappeared, then reappeared once more as Sully barreled out of the snowbank, heading straight for you. Before you could stop him, he pushed you onto the ice. Your butt was immediately freezing, and you let out a surprised laugh when he pressed his wet, snow-covered nose into your hands.
“Sully!”
x x
#rr
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
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Merry Christmas, to all my followers who celebrate!
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“I think she’s gone insane,” Sam whispered.
“Have a holly, jolly Christmas—it’s the best time of the year! I don’t know if there’ll be snow, but have a cup of cheer!”
“Where did she get all this stuff?” Dean hissed back. “I didn’t even know we had a tree!”
You could hear him and his brother, of course, from where they were whispering in the doorway of the library. The three of you had just gotten done with a long hunt, and after six days of staying one of the crustiest motels you’d ever seen and a two-day drive back to Kansas, you probably would’ve thought that you’d snapped, too. Usually you’d head straight to your room for your room and not come out for days. This time it was different, though. As soon as the Impala had come to a complete stop in the garage, you’d barreled out of the backseat, making a beeline for the Christmas decorations you’d stashed in one of the spare bedrooms.
By the time Sam and Dean had dropped off their bags in their own respective rooms and made it to the library, you’d already put up the fake evergreen and scattered a few other decorations around the room. Music was coming from the the speaker on your phone. You’d put on your Christmas playlist and you were singing along to one of your favorites when they finally got up the nerve to talk to you instead of just about you.
“Y/N?” Dean asked, his voice tentative. “Whatcha up to?”
“Decorating!” you called back, a wide smile on your face as you bent slightly backwards, leaning away from the tree you were in the process of decorating.
“It’s already Christmas, Y/N. By the time you get all this up, we’re gonna have to take it back down again,” Sam said. “Besides, we don’t have any presents. We’re not really big on Christmas around here, if you haven’t figured it out by now.” He left the doorway, glancing at Dean over his shoulder, and made his way around the table and the boxes of decorations blocking the aisle.
“Not necessarily. We can keep it up as long as we want. We used to take our decorations down on New Year’s Eve when I was little. And I got you guys presents! It’s okay if you didn’t get me anything, we can consider decorating my present.”
Dean gaped at you and you couldn’t help but laugh when he asked, “What? New Year’s Eve?” 
“Yeah,” you grinned. “And we’d celebrate for a few days, too—not just on Christmas.” Glancing down, you started to step off the chair you were standing on, murmuring a thanks to Sam when he took your hand to help you so you wouldn’t fall. “And since I’m big on tradition, that means that we get to celebrate for a few days, too.”
Sam and Dean exchanged a look, then gave you matching grins. 
“First order of business for this Holly Jolly Christmas, the tree.” You cocked a hip, glancing back at the tree before looking back at them with a smile of your own. “Who’s gonna help me?”
x x x x
Christmas Requests: Tree, from @alexwinchester23, and Holly Jolly, from @pheonyxstorm
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
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Thank you for recommending my fic! ❤️❤️❤️
November 2023 Fic Rec List
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November was even busier than October. It literally flew by in a wink for me. However, I did manage to carve out some time here and there for a bit of reading.
Enjoy!
This is the last fic rec post for this year.😲
💜Thank you to all the authors who share your stories for my enjoyment. I am so very grateful for your talent and generosity!💜
I've been hoarding links and am looking forward to reading as many of those stories as I can during winter recess.
Many of these blogs and fics are NSFW-18+. Please honor any requests from a blog regarding no minors. I am not responsible for the content you choose to consume; heed the warnings for each fic.
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~Supernatural~
An Imagined Life ~ @imagineteamfreewill. Author's Summary: Y/N and Dean have been best friends since childhood, and though they’re both adults with busy lives, they still manage to keep up their weekly traditions.
Before I Fall ~ @stusbunker. Author's Summary: None (Ficlet; Dean Winchester x Female Reader)
Deceiving Dean ~ @wayward-and-worn. Author's Summary: Taking place during Life with Dean.  Sometimes you just need a little deception to keep things interesting.
Geronimo ~ @trektraveler. Author's Summary: Dean and Y/N. Oil and water. Always at each other's throats, their endelss bickering comes to a boil and Y/N has had it. She storms out of the bunker leaving Dean high and dry! Well, he isn't about to let her get the last word! What happens when he catches her?
Gift Wrapped ~ @wayward-and-worn. Author's Summary: Dean has been away on a hunt for quite a while.  She has a surprise for him when he comes back.
Happy Thursday Food Coma Day ~ @wayward-and-worn. Author's Summary: It’s Thanksgiving, and Dean and Y/N feel bad that Benny can’t enjoy a feast like they can.  So, an alternative is offered.  And devoured.
Jessie ~ @little-diable. Author's Summary: The reader is missing Dean too much, so she tells him all about the places she wants to visit with him – mere dreams Dean is set on turning real.
Just Like This ~ @pink-sparkly-witch. Author's Summary: Working a second job in a bar to help pay for Sammy’s education, Dean finds a kindred spirit in bar manager Y/N. When a drunk Douchebag gets too handsy with her, Dean quickly jumps to her defence but faces harsh consequences.
Loving and losing ~ @mcavoy-girl. Author's Summary: None (Ficlet; Dean Winchester x Reader)
Meeting In The Darkness ~ @princessmisery666. Author's Summary: You forgive Dean for what he did when he had black eyes but he can’t forgive himself.
Mini Date ~ @avanatural. Author's Summary: Based on 12x22 “Who We Are.” Y/N vowed to herself that she’s done with meaningless hookups. And Dean vowed to himself that, when the time is right, he is going to give her more than that. But what happens when their time is running out?
No Title ~ @supernaturalfreewill. Author's Summary: None (Drabble; Dean Winchester x Reader)
Say You Won't Let Go ~ @cockslutpadalecki. Author's Summary: After a bad experience at a haunted house attraction when you were a kid, you promised never to step foot in one again, but Dean helps you to overcome your fear.
Showed Me (How I Fell In Love With You) ~ @mind-empty-just-fictional-people. Author's Summary: Dean helps you up your flirting game, but there’s really only one set of eyes you want on you.
Something In The Way ~ @impala-dreamer. Author's Summary: Young Dean might have the swagger of a player, but when it comes down to it, he’s just a shy, excited little boy…
Stay The Night ~ @wearywinchester. Author's Summary: When a hunt goes wrong, Dean gets protective and finds he’s got to keep an eye on you, something more coming out of it than expected.
Thanksgiving Dean ~ @wayward-and-worn. Author's Summary: Another holiday has arrived.  
What He Doesn't Say ~ @justagirlinafandomworld. Author's Summary: When Dean learns that you’re sick, he drives all night to get to you.
~On Patreon~
Rebekah Jordan (Impala-Dreamer)
Tourniquet-Chapters Three through Eight ~ Author’s Series Summary: Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.
thinkinghardhardlythinking
Close to Home - Author's Summary: Y/N and Dean are neighbours, and friends. The thing is Dean is a ladies' man and she has always known it, if he wasn't, maybe he'd be the ideal guy...but his eye for the ladies, how well they work as friends, as well as the fact that he'd never even think of her that way, all means that they are meant to be just neighbours and friends. Doesn't it?
Someone To Watch Over Me-Part 30 ~ Author’s Summary: (AU) Y/N is married to a very rich, decidedly unscrupulous and powerful man.  A man whose inability to trust means he hires someone to watch over his wife while he isn’t around. He hires Dean Winchester, a handsome stranger to Y/N, who is soon to become a very big part of her life.
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Oops! I didn't realize until putting the post together that everything I read this month was a Dean Winchester fic.😏😆
Guess I was missing him a bit.🥺🥺🥺
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
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Thank you! I'm so glad you liked it!
An Imagined Life
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Title: An Imagined Life
Pairing: Author!Dean x Interior Decorator!Reader
Word Count: 4.3k
Warnings: Fluff
Summary: Y/N and Dean have been best friends since childhood, and though they’re both adults with busy lives, they still manage to keep up their weekly traditions.
A/N: Wow! It's been SO long since I posted on here. Hey everyone! This kinda came out of nowhere, but nonetheless, it was fun to write. Thank you to everyone who supports me here, on Patreon, and on ao3. Thank you for reading, and enjoy! Dividers are by @firefly-graphics
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There’s no response when you knock on Dean’s front door, and you smile to yourself as you crouch down to pull the spare key out from behind the loose siding at the base of the house. He’s never quite gotten around to finding a new place to put it, even after his dad found the hiding spot and trashed the place while the two of you were out of town, but it really doesn’t matter anyway. Very few people actually know who Dean is. You’re fairly certain most of his neighbors think that he’s a hermit, rather than a bestselling author.
Once you’ve wrangled the door open, you set the key on his entryway table and shift the plate of hot pancakes so you can carry it with both hands.
“Dean!” you call, peering up the stairs. There are no lights on in the hallway. His living room’s a mess, and you have to step over several piles of books as you cross through to get to the kitchen. “Dean, I brought pancakes!”
He still doesn’t answer and you sigh, shedding your jacket and tossing it on the island before heading back through the living room and up the stairs to his room. He’s probably still in bed. There’s no doubt that he’d been up late writing again, considering the various pages spread across the couch cushions. His laptop sits nearby, too.
The couch is his second favorite place to write—with the back porch being his first—despite the fact that in the beginning, he’d been adamant against your choice in seating. The two of you had argued about it for over an hour. He hadn’t liked the legs. You’d insisted that he’d needed it, and in the end, he’d relented. After all, he’d hired you to decorate his new house, and he trusted you to do a good job. Even though you’d played pranks on him ever since you were little, you wouldn’t dream of screwing up a client’s house, even if it was Dean.
You and Dean have been best friends since kindergarten. During your very first week of school, he’d stood up for you when another kid had tried to take your beloved coloring book during a rainy day recess. The two of you have been like velcro ever since. You’d gone to all the same schools, even for college, and you’d both moved across the country to pursue your dreams after graduation. He’d moved into a modest fixer upper on the outskirts of the city and you’d moved into an apartment nearby the studio where you’d started your career, but the commute hasn’t stopped either of you from continuing your tradition of Sunday morning breakfasts, or in this case, Sunday afternoon breakfasts.
Knocking on his bedroom door, you carefully push it open and poke your head into the room. Sure enough, Dean is sprawled out across his bed, the blankets covering one bare leg and his upper half. The only thing visible at the top of the comforter is a tuft of brown hair. Smiling to yourself, you open the door the rest of the way and cross the room to open the curtains. You slide the plate of pancakes onto the only clear spot on his dresser as you pass.
“Rise and shine!” you cheer, and Dean answers you with a singular, sleepy grunt. Chuckling, you leap onto his bed, making him bounce on the mattress. He groans again and pulls the covers closer around him from the inside. 
“Come on, Dean! I brought pancakes this week!”
Silence answers you, and just as you’re opening your mouth to try and coerce him for the third time, Dean grumbles,
“Remind me to hide the spare key.”
You grin and yank his pillow out from under his head, then lean down so you can speak directly into his ear. “You and I both know you’ll never do that.”
He groans again, and you briefly wonder how he ever managed to start a career when his vocabulary is so limited in the morning. When you tell him as much, Dean reaches his hands out from under the blankets, pulls his pillow from your grasp, and flips the blankets off his head before shoving the pillow back under him where it belongs. He turns onto his back and rests his head back on the pillow as he squints up at the ceiling, his eyes adjusting to the midday sun streaming in through the tall bedroom windows.
“Did you really have to open the curtains?” he asks as he rubs his eyes with the back of one hand. His voice is thick from sleep, making it gravelly and just a little deeper than normal. It makes you smile. You love Dean in the morning, even if he is a grump.
“Probably not,” you reply. Flopping down beside him, you stare up at the ceiling fan in silence, letting him wake up the rest of the way on his own. You’ve done your job spectacularly.
Finally, Dean sighs heavily and sits up, letting the blankets slide halfway onto the floor as he shifts his legs over the side of the bed. You turn onto your side and prop your head up with one elbow, watching him. He’d gone to bed in just his black boxers again, leaving his back exposed to you. The sunlight turns his skin golden.
He’s been out in the sun, you think. His freckles stand out more than usual, and as he stretches, your mind wanders. The two of you have never dated, which is strange. You enjoy spending time with him, and it’s not like you think he was ugly. In reality, Dean is one of the most attractive people you know. He could convince you to do anything if he smiled while he asked. If he asked you to date him, you’d say yes. Hell, if he asked you to marry him, you’d say yes.
“You just gonna stare at me or are we gonna eat?” Dean asks, and you grin, pushing away your thoughts as you quickly try to make up for your long silence.
“Eating sounds good, but I can’t say I’m opposed to staring at your back for the rest of the day. It’s a nice back,” you tease.
“Shut up.” Dean turns and grabs his pillow, tossing it at your head.
You laugh and move your hand from where it’s supporting your head, effectively blocking the hit. Dean smiles down at you, despite his initial grumpiness after being jarred awake, and you grin even wider when his expression softens.
"You have a good week?" he asks, and you nod.
"You? Looks like you got a lot of writing done."
Dean nods slightly and stands, stretching his arms above his head with a groan. You force yourself to look away.
Why am I suddenly thinking about dating Dean?
Silently, you scold yourself and sit up on the other side of the mattress. Your back is to him, which gives you a moment to compose yourself. It’s too early for crazy thoughts about going out with your best friend. That’s more of a 3:00 AM thought.
You don’t want to mess with a good thing, you remind yourself. It’s the reason you avidly avoid the topic of dating when anyone brings it up, especially at holidays. For the longest time, your mom and Mary Winchester have been conspiring to get the two of you together. Back when you were younger, you fielded their questions with ease by telling them that you only thought of Dean as a friend and that you were more focused on your career, but you can practically picture their expressions if they ever heard your private thoughts about Dean’s back. These thoughts will have to be something you take to your grave.
You clear your throat and get up, grabbing the plate and rounding the end of the bed. “Ready?” you ask.
Dean grabs a t-shirt from the laundry basket on top of his dresser, then pulls it over his head. He glances at himself in the mirror before running a hand through his hair and heading out into the hallway. You follow him down the stairs and to the kitchen, plate in hand.
He starts pulling down plates, cups, and silverware for the two of you while you stick the plate in the microwave. 
“There’s syrup in the fridge,” he tells you, pointing just behind you. “Can you get the creamer, too?”
You hum in acknowledgement and turn around to do just that, and he starts the coffee maker. Dean knows exactly how you like your coffee. The thought that he does makes you smile as you hunt through the contents of his fridge.
“So what’s the plan for today?” he asks.
Glancing over your shoulder, you grab the syrup from the door before closing it and taking a few steps to the island so you can dump the bottle of creamer there, too. You settle on one of the bar stools and watch him from the side as he makes your coffee. Last year, you’d convinced him to buy a fancier coffee maker, and though he’d been reluctant to change and get rid of the faithful machine that had helped him through his first bestseller, Dean eventually agreed that the newer model was better. Plus, it meant that he could make you some truly great breakfast drinks, not just plain coffee with creamer like he normally has.
“Besides pancakes? I have to run to IKEA and look at some decor options for a client. Do you want to come with?”
His nose crinkles enough that you can see it from your seat. “Shopping?”
You lean forward over the island, propping your chin on your hand as you give him the biggest puppy eyes you can muster. “Please, Dean?” you whine. “Please spend time with your oldest, prettiest, and most talented friend so I don’t perish of loneliness before I can settle down like a good, upstanding citizen. I need someone with me to ward off all the suitors that might harass me while I do my weekly throw pillow shopping.”
Dean snorts. “You’re insane.”
“Am I?” You drop your hand down and push yourself up on the counter, just enough that your reach is long enough to reach the cup of coffee he’s brought over for you. You pull it closer and lift it to your nose so you can breathe in the rich aroma, then take a sip. As predicted, it’s perfect. With a sigh, you plop back onto the stool.
“Yes, you are,” he laughs.
The microwave beeps and Dean abandons his mug to get the pancakes, and you busy yourself by arranging your plate and silverware in front of you. You don’t have to ask Dean to heap your portion onto your plate. He does it automatically, piling pancakes in front of you until you give him a satisfied nod. As he plates his own food, you start dishing up your toppings.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to get out of the house a little today,” Dean says after the two of you have had a chance to tuck into your food. 
You look up at him, eyebrows raised in surprise and a loaded fork held halfway to your mouth. “Really? You actually want to go shopping with me?”
He shrugs and takes another bite.
“Okay, then I’m going to finish these pancakes so we can get going before you change your mind,” you tell him, and you start to shovel your food into your mouth more earnestly. He smiles a little before doing the same.
After you and Dean clean up from your late breakfast, you pile into the Impala. He has to stop for gas, so you spend that time searching through your inspiration photos and the screenshots of items you’d looked at on the website. It’s nice to not have to drive, and it gives you a better chance to focus your thoughts on what the most important items will be. As much as he loathes shopping, Dean likes to wander, which means you can’t get distracted from what you really need for the houses, rather than what you’ve walked past four times.
“All good?” you ask, glancing up from your phone when he climbs back into the driver’s seat. Dean hums in agreement and turns the key in the ignition again, then cranks the music as he pulls out of the gas station. You laugh a little when he punches the accelerator once you’re on an open stretch of highway, and you lock your phone, leaning back in your seat.
It’s a nice enough day that you can have the windows down. The wind in your face reminds you of the long road trips you’d taken together in college, and the drive you’d made to move from college to your current home. Those are some of your happiest adult memories with Dean. Some of the moments you replay over and over again in your head each night are from those trips. 
“So what exactly are we getting here?” Dean asks as he turns into the massive store lot. “Throw pillows? Vases with fake grass? Giant, framed, sepia-toned pictures of cows?”
You roll your eyes at the design cliches he always teases you about. “A couch and a coffee table,” you shoot back. “Although, you seem to know a lot about those cow pictures. Have you been researching one for your own house?”
He sends you a scathing look, but it’s quickly replaced by a small smile when you laugh at his reaction.
Climbing out of the car, you pull out your phone again. “I haven’t picked out a coffee table, but the couch…” You scroll through the pictures until you find the one you want, then hold it out for him to see. “Here, this is what I’m looking for. I just hope they have it here—they don’t ship this one and I don’t want to drive four hours to the next IKEA.”
Dean glances over at the Impala, and his smile is gone. “That’s not going to fit, Y/N. If I’d known you were getting furniture—”
“I’m just reserving it.” You shake your head. “I’ll have one of the interns pick it up tomorrow morning.”
He nods back and his shoulders relax slightly as you head into the store. Thankfully, it’s less crowded than you’d anticipated, which lets you keep a lazy pace as you walk. You’re not quite wandering, but you’re not worried about people trying to get past whenever you and Dean stop to look at one of the room displays.
“This one’s nice,” Dean says. He nods at a metal coffee table in one of the fake living rooms. 
You crinkle your nose, feeling a little bad that you can’t agree. “It’s okay. Not quite what I’m looking for, though. It’s not really the vibe of the family.”
“Yeah?” He glances over at you as you hum and pick a pillow to inspect the design closer. “What’s the vibe?”
You set the pillow back in the giant metal basket and think about it for a second. “They’re more natural, like a… spa commercial. Lots of light natural woods, white linens, birdsong in the background, that kinda thing.” You gesture vaguely with one hand.
“Ah, so the daughter’s name is Serenity and the mother does weekly yoga with the other women from the neighborhood,” Dean replies.
“Exactly.”
“Dad’s probably a workaholic, and he goes along with whatever the mom wants because he knows it’ll keep her off his back. He doesn’t mind all the organic stuff, but he’s not above getting McDonald’s for lunch. He pays with cash, though, because his wife keeps careful track of their money,” Dean continues.
You raise an eyebrow. “You’re really fleshing this one out, aren’t you?”
He shrugs with a little satisfied smile, then pushes the cart forward to the next display room.
“Okay, so what about this one?” you ask. You wave your hand toward the half-dining room, half-living room display that’s been set up. It’s clearly meant to mimic a small apartment, because almost everything doubles as storage. The decor reminds you of your own apartment when you’d first moved out of college. You’d been broke after the cross-country move, and most of your things had been leftover from your dorm. You didn’t get “real” furniture until almost two years later. Dean had offered to help pay for the basics, but you’d turned him down. He’d already had his hands full with fixer-upper he’d bought with the advance from his first book.
Dean considers the faux apartment, letting his eyes sweep over each item with care before he finally answers, “They just moved cross-country. He’s planning on proposing to her, but he doesn’t have a ring yet because they spent all their money on the new apartment. It’s barely big enough for them, let alone the stuff they have from college and from their parents’ basements, but she loves it anyway. She likes to decorate with things she finds at thrift stores and the flea market, and he’s secretly been saving every penny he can to buy her the ring he thinks she deserves. If everything goes his way, he’s hoping to ask her next summer, and he’s going to string up the living room with lights because she always mentions how much she misses the fields of fireflies from where they grew up together.”
You smile to yourself, imagining the couple as Dean weaves his story around you. The aisles in this area of the store are empty, and his voice draws you into the picture he’s creating on a whim. It’s warm and homey, and it reminds you a little of your own life, just enough that you can imagine it clearly.
“I like that,” you finally say, after several moments have gone by. “What about that one?” You point a little farther down the aisle.
“The kitchen?” Dean asks. You nod in response. “Well, our couple’s gotten older, but he still hasn’t proposed. They still live together, and they’ve got a better place now that they both have better jobs, but every time he sees a ring or thinks it’s the right time to pop the question, he starts second-guessing himself. So, since they have a backyard now, he gets her a dog, instead.”
“What kind of dog?”
He looks over at you. “What kind of dog do you want it to be?”
You nudge him with your elbow, smiling. “Come on, Dean. You know me. I’m always gonna answer that they need a golden retriever. Every cheesy romance novel and movie has a golden retriever.”
He laughs a little and looks back at the empty kitchen. “A golden retriever it is, then. He’s a rescue, so he’s already three, but she spends every extra minute she has training him. She’s worked hard to make their house a home, you know, so she has to make sure to keep his muddy paws off the couch.”
“Of course,” you agree.
Dean pushes the cart forward again, and the two of you walk a little further, passing by countless closets, more living rooms, a plant display, and another kitchen. Finally, you reach a children’s bedroom, and you pause just for a moment. It’s long enough that Dean notices, however, so he stops and looks over at you.
“Did you find something you like?” he asks. “I didn’t see that couch you wanted earlier when we passed through the sofa section.”
Something about the first story Dean had come up with today stuck with you, and as you peer at the display, you can’t help but picture yourself crouching down beside the ladybug-themed bed. You imagine yourself brushing hair back off a child’s forehead, and you chuckle at the idea of a golden retriever who would hop up by the kid’s feet though it’s too big for the bed.
“What about this?” you ask, quietly, almost so quiet that the music covers it up.
Dean’s silence for a second. “We have a kid now, and he’s everything we’ve ever dreamed.”
You don’t fail to notice that Dean’s changed his story—it’s no longer “them” and “the couple”. It’s we. He keeps his eyes focused on the bed as he talks, but you look over at him. His eyes are a little glossy, and his expression is far away as he continues,
“We still live in the same house, and I’ve got a ring stashed away in a box of rough edits. You haven’t found it yet, but every time I go out, I’m worried that you’ll try to tidy up my office and find it.”
You swallow thickly and stare at him, wide-eyed. Careful not to disturb him too much, you move your hand a little. Your fingers bump against his, and Dean lets you maneuver his hand so it’s wrapped around yours, but he still doesn’t look away from the display bedroom. People are walking past you. Their voices and the music playing overhead feel far away, like they’re in a totally different universe. You’re so focused on Dean that you can’t see, feel, or hear anything outside of your little bubble.
“You’ve totally taken over everything,” Dean continues, chuckling. His lips turn up in a smile. He speaks without hesitation, and with enough passion in every word that you know he means everything he says. This isn’t just pretending anymore.
“The house is amazing, and you’ve gotten into gardening. Everything you touch seems to thrive, including me. I’ve got two more books on the bestsellers list, and it’s enough money that I don’t have to worry about how we’re going to make it. I know that we’ll be okay, no matter what happens. Your business is doing great, too. You stepped back since Robert was born, but you’ve got a partner and enough employees and interns that you can relax.
“You’re up here, right now,” he says. He lifts your joined hands to point towards the bed. “Tucking Robert in.”
“I am?” you prompt.
He nods. “When you’re back downstairs, I’m going to propose.”
“How are you going to ask me?” you murmur, almost afraid to ask.
Dean looks away from the display. His eyes meet yours, and you inhale sharply when he reaches behind himself to push the cart further away. He sinks to one knee and takes your other hand as you gape down at him.
“Dean…”
“I have loved you since the moment I saw you, Y/N,” he says.
You can sense people watching you, and to your left you can see someone holding up their phone to take a picture or to record you, but you can’t tear your eyes away from him. Tears are welling up, making your vision blurry, and you blink them away. They roll down your cheeks. In any other circumstance, you’d be embarrassed to cry in public, but it’s Dean. He chases all your fears away, and his hands in yours pull you into a moment you never thought you’d see.
“I have thought about proposing to you since we moved here,” Dean continues. “I think about it every day. Every morning, I wake up, Y/N, and I wonder why I haven’t asked you yet. Sometimes it feels like if I go another minute without being engaged to you, I’ll die. I don’t even have a ring; I haven’t been able to find the perfect one, but I want to marry you. I want to spend the rest of our lives together. I want to reach our goals and make new dreams together. I know this is sudden, and it’s a lot, and you can say no—I know that you weren’t expecting this—but I can’t let another day go by without asking.”
You’re at a loss for words. He’s right— you weren’t expecting this. You and Dean aren’t even dating, but the idea of spending your life with him doesn’t feel wrong or far-fetched. It feels perfect. You may be blindsided, but you’re not afraid of admitting when something is right.
Dean rubs his thumb over the side of your hand, and it draws you back down to him. “So what do you say, sweetheart? Will you marry me?”
After a second, you find yourself nodding. You throw yourself down into Dean’s arms. “Yes,” you say into his ear. You sniffle and press your face into his shoulder, and though your voice is muffled by his shirt, you know he’ll understand. “Yes, Dean. I love you so much.”
There’s scattered applause from all around you. Slowly, you sniffle and pull away, wiping your eyes with a smile and a laugh. Dean helps you stand again, and you brush the dust off your knees as shoppers crowd in to congratulate you. You nod along and thank them, a little embarrassed at all the attention, but soon you’re following Dean out of the store. An employee stops you at the door to give you a gift card from management, which you pocket in a daze. 
Neither one of you has bought anything, and you’ve totally forgotten to reserve the couch and coffee table you’d come for, but Dean leads you out to the Impala anyway. Then, once you’re away from prying eyes and the warmth of the sun is on your skin, he kisses you. His hands find your hips as he presses you back against the passenger side door, and you wrap your arms around his neck. Dean’s kiss is sweet and slow, and you know that it’s going to be something you remember for the rest of your life.
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imagineteamfreewill · 3 months
Photo
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This is the mobile masterlist for all Christmas/Winter-related one shots and gif imagines, regardless of pairing. Anything marked with an asteric (*) is more winter-related than Christmas-related.
Graphic created by @lipstickandwhiskey
Divider by @firefly-graphics​
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One Shots
Almost Christmas (Marine!Sam x Reader)
Christmas Fair (Dad!Sam x Deaf!Reader) (Edited 12-22-17)
Christmas Past (Ghost!Sam x Reader Friendship, Past Sam x Jessica)
A Collapsible Crutch Christmas (Dean x Reader)
Crowned (Prince!Sam x Reader)
Eleven Days (Gadreel x Reader) * (Hanukkah)
First Christmas (Dean x Reader)
Hot Cocoa Cuddling (Sam x Reader)
New Year’s Eve (Sam x Reader)
No Man’s Land (Dean x Reader)
Snowflake (Photographer!Cas x Photographer!Reader)
Whatever Makes You Happy (Dean x Reader)
What You Always Asked For (Sam x Elf!Reader)
White Christmas (Cas x Reader)
Your Heart (Cas x Reader)
Imagines
Imagine Dean Being Excited to Give You His Gift
Imagine Convincing the Winchester to Spend Christmas Someplace Warm
Imagine Decorating Your House For Christmas With Sam
Imagine Getting Snowed In During Your Honeymoon With Dean *
Imagine Growing Up Spending Christmases With the Winchesters
Imagine Having an Extended Christmas Vacation With Sam
Imagine Putting Up Last-Minute Decorations With Sam and Dean
Imagine Spending a Snowy Day at the Bunker With Dean *
Imagine Spending Your First Christmas as a Family With Dean
Imagine Spending Your First Christmas With Gadreel and Your Daughter
Imagine Teaching Cas to Make Eggnog
Imagine Throwing a Christmas Party at the Bunker
Imagine Walking Your Dog With Sam *
Imagine Watching Christmas Movies With Cas
Series
25 Days of Tropes (Various Pairings)
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