artoys

Feral - part 4

Pairing: alpha!Sam x omega!Reader

Word Count: 4,488 

Warnings: angst, injury, smut, a/b/o dynamics

Summary: set during and after 9x12 “Sharp Teeth” - When Sam gets bitten by a werewolf, it falls to you to keep him safe and under control.

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That night, you and Sam met Dean at a small bar in town. It was crowded with heavyset, inked up bikers and the occasional riffraff who looked like they may or may not have gotten out of a night at the local jail. You quietly nursed a lemonade and waited for both men to strike up a solid conversation before excusing yourself to go to the bathroom. Sam watched you go, your ass encased in those slightly baggy jeans he loved watching you wear.

“So, what’s the deal with her?” Dean tossed back a swallow of Stella Artois and cocked an eyebrow. “She your girlfriend now or somethin’?”

Sam felt his cheeks turn scarlet. “Uh…”

Keep reading

‘There were many heated arguments concerning the burning question of why the United States had not entered the World War on the side of the Allies. Canadians, stimulated perhaps by the proximity to the United States, could not understand why the war was not as much America’s war as Canada’s war; why Canada should be in the thick of battle while America was idle.

I will never forget the gloom when the casualty lists were published. The first Canadian regiments to answer the call of the King were composed largely of volunteer soldiers. The finest flower of young Canadian manhood had been stamped out in a horrible welter of blood thousands of miles from the homeland. Rushed desperately into the front lines in France during the first years of the World War, these young Canadians were slaughtered by the thousands.

Knowing that America had suffered no losses at all, Canadians were understandingly critical.’

Early 1917 - Harry L Smith, MD, Memoirs of an Ambulance Company Officer

Photo: Late 1916 - early 1917 - Inspection of Canadian troops in Pernes-en-Artois

War Series-NewtxReader (Continued)

A/N: This story is very dear to my heart, and is by far my favorite one. I’m a sucker for angst and war. I know it isn’t my most popular but I adore it to death. I hope you like! ❤️

****

“Dear, Y/N,

I cannot describe the joy I felt upon reading your last letter. I never thought a few simple words from you could make my days feel all the brighter…

Yesterday, I visited a POW camp, trying to discern enemy from friend is becoming more and more tiresome. The look upon their faces at the sight of me was something I cannot soon forget, should I feel treasonous to think such things?

Forgive me…I know speaking of such topics cannot be the letters you expect from me.

You spoke of a young man in your letter last time, is he well? It’s the strangest thing, I can’t seem to get him out of my head, I think of his family. He’s far too young…probably joined with a soldier’s passion, then realized the hell hole he had been driven into. But, I know in your hands his chances of survival are high.

You healed me after all. In more ways than one.


Newt Scamander
05, July 1915”

***

Your fingers ran along the crumpled parchment, teeth worrying at your lip. His letter had taken a while to get to you, no surprise. Post was hard to receive these days, and truthfully you merely thankful to receive word from him at all. You could already picture his face, the tone of his lovely voice coming right off the paper. Yet, there was a tiredness there, one that broke your heart for the young soldier. Newt was a constant thought for you, and no matter what you did or where you went he was always heavy on the back of your mind. It had been weeks since you last him, and every letter you received was a relief.

With all the hope you had, you held the letter to your chest, looking out at the horizon as you sat upon the broken down stone wall. Smoke rose in the distance, and you could hear the faint sounds of gunshots. But, even so, you braved the open air and waited all morning until you finally saw the one vehicle trudging along the muddy road, carrying the mail. It took all your dignity not to cry when you were handed his letter, and you only hoped yours would reach him as quickly.

***


“Dear, Newt


I was glad to hear from you, your lack of response worried me. I admit, shamelessly, upon receiving your letter I nearly wept tears of joy and relief. I can already hear you chuckling at my pathetic nature.

As for the boy, he’s doing well. At least, as well as one can hope. He won’t walk again, but he had his life, and I believe that to be enough for him, and his family. I sit with him often, reading him stories, he seems content during those times. I’m sure in time he will heal.

You’re quite gracious to compliment me so, but you seem to forget your own strength. That’s what’s carried you this far.

Sincerely,
Y/N
17, August 1915”

***


“Scamander!”

Newt glanced up from the letter, quickly rising when his superior came striding into the tent. He saluted him, fixing his hair as best he could. “Sir.”

“Get your things ready.”

“Sir?”

His lieutenant turned to him, a deep scowl on his face as if he wasn’t in any mood to be questioned. “The French are currently breaking through German defenses, along with our other western units. We have our orders, we’re moving to the western front.”

Newt felt his face run pale, and while things had been relatively tame the past week, save for a few casualties and bombs, he knew the battle on the western front wasn’t something to be desired.

“Yes, sir.”

The lieutenant sighed, and as much as he wasn’t one to let emotions cloud his duties, he turned to Newt. “Finish whatever you need to, then head out with the other unit. They’ve already prepared the Iron Bellies. Besides, your brother should be stationed west, no? Perhaps a family reunion will do you some good.”

Newt gave a half hearted smile, nodding and saluting one final time as the flap to his tent closed. He sat back into the makeshift chair he had, rubbing at his tired eyes before reaching for his paper and quill.

***

“Dearest, Y/N


I suppose life is all we can ask for now days. One could consider themselves lucky to escape with that…please do not weep for me though. Knowing I cannot be there to hold you….forgive my boldness, I’m already overly romanticizing what we have. I know I cannot ask much of you, considering the only thing I have to offer is my heartfelt promise to care for you at the end of all this.

Regardless of the fact, I want you to know if another man offers you a better life, that I wish for you to take it. I know you may think this odd, that what I’m telling you seems cruel. But, I fear my time may not be as long as I hoped, and I only tell you this because I do not want your heart to wait for a man who can only bring you pain.

I move to the western front tonight, if you’re not fully aware by now, A battle has started there. The French and British seek to destroy the German defenses in Artois, though I hear that battle may already be a loss for allied forces.

I must end this letter, though not happily as I wished it’d be. Know that I carry you in my heart always, and May safety follow you.


Love,
Newt Scamander
25, September 1915”

***

There are few times in a person life when emotions are so strong everything else ceases to exist. And the only thing that can be heard is the beating of one’s heart and the crushing weight of reality that threatens their very existence. And as you slowly laid Newt’s letter on your cot, you fully experienced that heart breaking moment.

Tears flowed freely down your cheeks, silent sobs wracking your body. You were far too gone to rationalize, to feel anything but pain, and as you sank to your knees you leaned over your small bed, letting out a loud scream that conveyed all your anguish.

Days would go by, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do much else but cry, your work kept you busy enough, but whenever you sat to write, nothing came out. Your mind only lingered on Newt’s wellbeing, yet somehow, thinking of writing him only made your heart ache. It was like confirming he was already gone.

“You should write him.”

You looked up from your coffee, meeting the eyes of your friend as she dusted dirt off her smock. You exchanged exhausted smiles, and she took a seat across from you.

“Write him, Y/N.”

“I can’t….what if-”

“He’s alive.”

“How do you know that?”


“Any man would do everything it took to be able to come back to you.”

A laugh escaped your lips, and you wiped at the tears that spilled, smiling over at her in thanks.

***

“My dearest, Newt


While it is my dearest wish to fulfill every one of your desires, I cannot promise you those ones. You ask too much of me, Scamander. I will not, nor will I ever, cast you from my thoughts or heart. You’ve fully taken them from me, and I willingly let you.

I am deeply, and forever will be, in love with you. From the very moment you took me upon your horse, to the kiss you placed upon my cheek. I am yours. And I will wait through a thousand wars for you, if I must.

Sincerely,
Y/N
11, October 1915”

***

“I’ll be back, Meredith!”

You rushed passed your friend, smiling widely when you saw the post heading down the road. Your heels clicked along the concrete of the makeshift hospital you were stationed in, and you excitedly turned around the large pillars, waving at the soldier who was dropping all the mail off.

“Good morning, sir.”

He nodded at you, grabbing a bin from the back of his cart. “Ma'am.”

He placed the bin on the ground, rummaging through it and handing you a pile of envelopes that had twine around them. There was only about 10 letters in hand, and you furrowed your brow.

“Is that all?”

With a sigh, he rose back up, removing his cap and scratching his head before putting it back on. “That’s all, ma'am.”

He moved quick enough, replacing all the bins back properly before moving to get in the vehicle again. You undid the twine, sifting through the letters until you came upon your own. It had a red stamp on it, and all it said was ‘RETURN’.

“Excuse me….”

Dread filled you, but with the slightest bit of hope you held your letter out. “I sent this out weeks ago…”

The war weary soldier glanced at you, shrugging his shoulders as if that wasn’t the first time he’s heard that. “If we can’t find the soldier the letter is addressed to it gets returned when possible. Good day, ma'am.”

****

A/N: Don’t hate me! Lollllll TBC

Originally posted by overboardmisha