#fandomlovingfreak

  "(y/n)!" I follow Paul's imprint into the house. The anger still lingers on her face when she turns toward me. Damn, despite looking like she could kill someone, she was still really pretty. Paul was one lucky bastard; he better grovel on his knees for this girl.

"Can I talk to you?"

(y/n) looks momentarily conflicted, her eyes landing on the floor as she mulls over giving me the time of day or not. It feels like minutes pass before her eyes meet mine, "Fine. I guess I sort of owe you for saving my life... Talk about what?"

I motion towards her, trying to give her as much space as possible in an attempt to make her feel comfortable around me, "About... everything. I can answer any questions or just talk... about the situation?"

A wave of emotions washes over her face. Embarrassment, annoyance, sadness-- and then nothing.

"Fine. But I don't want an audience. Having everyone watch me yell at... him was enough embarrassment for one day."

I nod, "We can take a walk! There's a cool path not too far from here."

(y/n) agrees, following me out the back door and to the right of the house. For a while, we just walk. It feels like the right move to let her calm down completely after what had to be one of the most overstimulating days of her life. I remember how confusing it was when I learned about our world. Of course, I was the wolf, not just someone thrust into the world of supposed myths and legends, but seeing what she saw and finding out some random guy now considered her his perfect match wasn't something you woke up expecting.

I break the silence once we've been walking for around ten minutes. The guys can probably still hear, but (y/n) doesn't need to know that, "Lay your questions on me. It's not every day strangers reveal the existence of shapeshifters to you." 

"A million, honestly. I'm not sure where to start."

Nodding, I say, "That's understandable."

"Are you all-- I mean, I only saw a few of you..." She scrunches her nose, "Do you all turn into wolves?"

"Yes. We call ourselves a pack. Brothers, even if it's not technically true. Well-- and Leah. Brothers and Leah."

"Who's Leah?" (y/n) asks interested.

"Leah is the only female shapeshifter in our history. She's-- well, she's Seth's sister. You haven't met our most obnoxious pack-member yet."

"So, shapeshifters-- they're usually only male? That doesn't seem fair." Her words register with her, and she looks away, embarrassed to be interested in any of this.

I shrug, "I personally think phasing is cool. Being a member of our group, we're pretty exclusive, you know. But, most, including Leah, don't feel the same way."

"Why?" Her brow furrows slightly.

I grasp for the words, trying to say exactly the right thing. "It makes life abnormal. You can't really live like a regular human when the shadow of your wolf lives within you. Weird things can cause you to phase-- heightened emotion, anger... It's hard to control yourself sometimes." I hesitate before continuing, "Paul's one of them that still struggles, and he's been phasing since he was eighteen."

"Lovely," sarcasm drips from her lips, "And that's the one I'm cosmically stuck to."

I chuckle. I really, really like (y/n). Paul better not mess this up. "It's intense. I'm aware. Maybe it's too much to deal with for one person."

"It's ridiculous, is what it is. I don't know how this happened to me." She crosses her arms over her chest.

"It's really not as bad as you think, I promise."

"Have you-- imprinted on someone?" She tilts her head in interest.

Embarrassment floods my body. Maybe I wasn't the person for this conversation after all, "No... but because I phased when Paul did, I heard his thoughts as he imprinted. So, I have an idea what it's like."

She perks up at this confession, "What do you mean heard his thoughts?"

"That's the annoying part about being a shapeshifter. When we're wolves, we hear all of each other's thoughts. Like—" I cringe as the embarrassing memory reappears at the front of my mind, "Like you can't think about the girl you're seeing without the entire pack knowing every detail or if you're trying to keep a secret... we'll we can't, I guess is the gist."

"What did--" her eyes dart away, a frown pulling at the edges of her lips, "what was it like? When he-- imprinted."

I chuckle, "If I tell you, you have to promise not to tell Paul I told

you. He'll kill me, I swear."

(y/n) rolls her eyes, "I promise I won't."

Pretending to be worn down by her questions, I say, "Fine... It was like his world sort of stood still in the moment his eyes met yours. Imprinting does that, slowing down the universe's rotation as the center changes its focus. The focus changed to you. Everything that is Paul, now reaches to you only. Like you're the gravity that holds him to the ground. That's the... short version of his thoughts at that moment."

She blinks rapidly, "That's a lot."

A grin rises to my lips, "Yeah, I guess so. I've always thought it was sort of romantic."

(y/n) scoffs, "Of course you do. Try being on the receiving end, buddy."

"Hear me out! It's like... well, the most common—human interpretation would be a soulmate. But an imprint isn't strictly limited to the human idea of a soulmate. I guess it could be a platonic relationship. Really, whatever you needed from him, Paul would be it. But, all the imprints I know, I guess, are... romantic relationships now. It's a really intense sensation; I'm not surprised you reacted angrily towards him." I want to continue, to tell her how much she reflected Paul in that way. She scoffed at his inability to keep his cool, but twenty minutes later, she'd yelled just as ferociously at him. The stars align themselves in funny ways.

For a moment, (y/n) is quiet, her eyes glued to the tree line.

"It is a lot," she finally admits. Her face turns toward me, "But what if I don't want it?"

This question takes me aback. I know Emily had been-- cautious, even going as far as initially rejecting Sam's imprint. But that had mainly been because of Leah's feelings. (y/n) didn't have a third party to worry about, no obvious reason for rejecting Paul's imprint on her. Only her current annoyance with Paul and his temper. Or maybe there was more she hadn't revealed. I found her hard to read.

"We don't know exactly what would happen," I glance away, unease running up my spine, "But, in the short-term? It would cause Paul a lot of pain. Emotionally and physically..." My words trail off, seeing how I'd accidentally reset the fire in her eyes.

"How is that fair?" She stands, stepping toward the trees before turning back to face me, "My choice to leave will harm him? I just have to accept this or live knowing I'm a bad person? How are these my only choices?"

I don't touch her, but close some of the distance between us, "I'm not saying-- give in and immediately be with him or even be best friends. Make him work for it a bit. Work for your acceptance of the imprint, but allow him to be around you. It'll soothe the need to be nearby, but you'll have the choice in the direction the relationship progresses. You can be friends only if it's all you want in the end."

The anger on her face fades with every sentence, and I can tell she's seeing the humor in the situation, "Something tells me being friends isn't what Paul's looking for."

I chuckle, raising my shoulders apologetically. She was probably right; I guess it was an imprint thing, knowing the other's feelings without confirmation, "Maybe not. But, Paul thinks you're pretty." He'd kill me if he knew I'd revealed that thought to her.

(y/n)'s eyes widen, and I realize she was embarrassed to hear this. Interesting.

"Quit telling me stuff like that!"

"We're friends, and Paul's a jerk. Telling you all his secrets is my long-awaited revenge."

"We're friends?" Her voice comes out softly, a small smile rising on her lips.

"Duh, obviously," I playfully punch her arm, "You owe me after I saved your life and everything."

(y/n) rolls her eyes, "Wasn't it you who caused me to hit my head in the first place?"

"That is-- technically true, but I could've left you there unconscious, and I didn't. So you're welcome or whatever."

  My head whips towards the noise of sticks cracking under a person's weight. Paul stands there ten feet away. The first thing I notice is the t-shirt he wears. None of them seemed to wear a lot of clothing for whatever reason.

"Can we talk?" The words come out of his mouth with an edge of hesitancy. I mentally note that it's the second time he's said those exact words to me today. But, unlike the last time he'd said it, I don't feel angry or awkward. Sure, I wasn't exactly the guy's number-one fan, but I had a better grasp on what the hell was happening behind those dark eyes.

"Yes," I move without a thought towards him, stopping for a second to look back at my new friend. "Thanks for talking, Quil. I appreciate it."

I know I'm not actually angry with her as I watch her retreat back into the house. Truthfully, I was mad at myself. That first impression was a shit show, making it abundantly clear that I had a lot of work ahead of myself if I wanted (y/n) to welcome the imprint.

It's not like she could know that I could hear her entire conversation with Sam and Emily before I walked into the house due to my heightened hearing, but hearing her call me Mr. Hothead had sent a spike of hurt through my body. Even if it was fair-- especially after watching someone spiral out of control like I had. 

My piss-poor explanation-- our conversation, if you could call it that-- made me all too aware that her anger was also fair. Just because I could admit all of this didn't mean her rejection didn't sting.

You couldn't pry this information from me, but I had pictured a fantasy where I'd meet this so-called soulmate by whatever chance. Nowhere in that sick romantic fantasy had I expected this outcome. I guess I'd expected whoever she was to feel that instant connection and know we were fated to be in each other's lives. Reality had kicked my ass enough times. You'd think I should have anticipated the opposite.

A sympathetic hand lands on my shoulder, squeezing slightly. I don't need to turn to know it's Sam's hand on my shoulder.

"Give her some space. There's no use in continuing to argue. It'll only drive her further away."

I want to knock his hand off and tell him to go fuck himself... but he's right. I wish I could say he doesn't understand this rejection, but I know out of everyone here, Sam understands everything I'm going through perfectly. Emily wasn't the type to yell, but she'd wanted nothing to do with him initially. I'd felt and heard that memory a thousand times in the past years as his thoughts had unintentionally been shared around the pack.

"Okay." The single word comes out in a huff under my breath. 

"Maybe you should run it off," Sam suggests, "One of us will talk to her,

talk her through it... better, and then you can come back and try again later."

The idea of Sam or any others explaining these... almost intimate details

with (y/n) reignites the stinging pain inside me. It should be me. It's our bond. 

Rationally, I knew we couldn't find common ground with the heightened emotion that raged between us. Still, I desperately wanted her to understand I wasn't forcing her to do or be anything because of the imprint. I needed to give Sam or someone else to explain the things I fumbled through before... letting her know that the imprint wasn't something that held her to me, but honestly, the opposite. It was me who needed her.

Releasing a breath, I hadn't realized I was holding in, I nod, "You're right. I'll go." It was probably good to get away from the current environment. The breather-- the distance-- away from the pack would help me find my composure.

The first step towards the tree line stung, like there was a rubber band between me and her, and every step away pulled the rubber unnaturally... too tight. I force myself to continue until I'm out of view, mentally blocking out the screaming in my head, begging me to run back to her.

Stashing my shorts under a fallen tree, I phase, breaking into a spring down the familiar path. Though I'm still fighting myself mentally, I try to enjoy the run and surrender to my wolf instincts. 

Run. Fast. Hard.

Her face pops into my head, crystal clear, like she's standing right before me, and my claws dig into the dirt, my lungs burning as I stop dead in my tracks. Panting hard, I let my mind wander across the details of her face. We'd spent only minutes in each other's company, yet I could recall the smallest details like I'd known her for decades. Like I had had the chance to study her intimately.

My feet move on their own, propelling myself through the forest toward home as the imprint bond offers me more possible scenes from the future. She's smiling, her hand reaching for mine, our fingers entwining lazily as she laughs. (y/n) looking at me from the passenger side of the car, singing to something I can't hear. She's reaching for me, our lips meeting as she initiates a kiss.

These possibilities, moments where she smiles at me and laughs with me, wants to kiss me, bring me hope. I can fix this.

Phasing back, I make my way into the house. Dad's in the kitchen, drying dishes.

"Paul?" He calls, wiping his hands on the kitchen towel before leaning on the counter to watch me, "What are you doing here?" 

"Showering," I smile, close-mouthed at him, trying to make my escape towards the bathroom.

"Showering? It's only," he looks down at his watch, "Four. Don't you have patrol tonight?" 

I pause, "I have a good reason."

Dad raises his brows in interest, "And that is?"

"I'm-- going to see a girl." It's not really a lie; it's not really the truth.

"Sam's letting you blow off patrol for a girl?" He doesn't look like he believes a word of it. Or at least, he doesn't entirely "Doesn't really sound like Sam."

I shrug, "Kinda has to. I… imprinted."

The gears turn in Dad's head momentarily as the words catch up with him, "Well, I'll be damned. Are you bringing her over soon? I'd like to meet my

future daughter-in-law." I know he's ragging, but it still makes me

anxious. Bringing (y/n) here would not happen for a while, especially if he

insisted on making that type of joke. After today's events, I'd walk on eggshells around her regarding this sort of humor.

"Not anytime soon. Gotta convince her to talk to me without it ending it an

argument."

"Ah--" Dad crosses his arms over his chest, looking delighted for whatever reason, "She's not local, is she?"

I scoff. As if that matters. An imprint is an imprint no matter their

background, "Nope. The wolf thing really-- freaked her out." The image of her running back into Emily's house screaming about wolves flashes through my memory. 

"Understandable. It's not every day you encounter shapeshifters." 

The understatement of the century.

"Listen, I'll talk about it later, okay?" I move to make my escape, "I want to drive her back to her car—"

"Why doesn't she have her car?" Dad interrupts.

"I'll explain later!" I turn, making my way down the hall before he can ask any questions.

Shutting the bathroom door behind me, I turn the small shower on before stripping down. Standing under the ice-cold spray immediately relieves some of the tension in my shoulders. I exhale, my body seeming to deflate further. Finally, my head starts to clear ever so slightly, and I can begin to rack my brain for the words I must say to (y/n). Without being pushy, I need to explain the imprint in a way that balances out the power. It was obvious by her words and reactions that she felt I was trapping her, leaving her with no choice but to be with me. I can see how alarming that would be; a stranger coming on to you strongly would freak me out, too.

Driving that point across was important. The other part I needed to make right was her perception of me. I was so much more than anger. And I could be so much for her if she only asked.

If I could get her to see beyond her concept of 'Paul', the asshole who screamed at the guys who saved her and then argued with her when he was supposed to explain imprinting, I would be golden.

Recovering my image wasn't impossible. I'd just have to be more patient with my imprint. If I could be patient for anyone, it would be (y/n).

The belief that this could have all been a fantastical experience straight from a horror movie, a nightmare, is shattered when I blink my eyes open to find an unfamiliar ceiling instead of the forest's canopy.

Pain shoots through my skull as I sit up. No, this couldn't have been a dream; I must have hit my head, and hard, by the throbbing at the base of my skull.

Wobbly, I stand and move towards the closed door, silently praying it's unlocked. The knob turns easily, and I swing it open, expecting to find an axe murderer. Not... the delicious aroma of baked goods. 

Maybe my captor was like the witch from Hansel and Gretel and was planning on feeding me in preparation for their meal. I try to stifle a laugh. This wasn't funny! I was moved from where I'd fallen to someone's house. This was serious and scary.

Taking a tentative step toward the smell, I glance around the expanding room, looking for exit points for my escape.

"Oh, you're up." I whip my head in the direction of a woman's voice. She's sitting at a big kitchen table, a timer in front of her, "How are you feeling? Quil and Embry said you'd hit your head. I'm glad they had the sense to bring you back here."

I blink back at her, noticing the red scarring that ran down the right side of her face, marring the delicate flesh of her forehead, cheek, and chin.

"Here," the woman stands, moving around the table. She brushes past me, quickly grabbing a tray of pastries, "Eat something. I don't think your head injury is serious, but I'm sure you're hungry."

Hesitantly, I take something from the outreaching tray, "Thank you."

The woman gestures to the table, "Sit, I'm not a doctor, so my word might be complete bullshit. Better safe than sorry."

We sit silently for a few minutes before I say, "I'm (y/n)."

"It's nice to meet you, (y/n). I'm Emily; welcome to my house."

I smile, "Nice to meet you too. How-- how did I get here?" Emily seems nice, but lots of serial killers are charming. I needed the full story before I determined she was safe to be around.

Emily returns the smile, "Quil and Embry brought you after you hit your head." Something in her tone makes me wonder if she's telling the complete story. 

"I don't remember--" The memories come rushing back, "There were wolves! Two giant-- almost unnaturally, giant wolves. I fell because they were almost... stalking me. I don't know what made them run away."

Emily bites her lip, "Huh. I guess Embry and Quil must have scared them off. You're lucky they were around, I suppose."

Lucky was an understatement. There was something odd about the coincidence. "I suppose so..."

We sit in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes before I ask, "Who are Quil and Embry to you? I mean-- why did they bring me to your home?"

"You could say-- they're my husband's brothers." Weird answer, again.

"Oh. Are they around here? I want to thank them for saving me."

"They're around here somewhere. But they'll be in sometime soon. They're waiting for their other brothers to come home."

How many brother-in-laws did this woman have?

Arguing outside breaks the uncomfortable silence that comes over us. Three men's voices yell back and forth.

"Yes! She wasn't your problem! How stupid are you two?" One man's voice is mean, rough, and fiery angry. 

Yikes. He sounds... reasonable.

"You shouldn't go out there, (y/n)—" Emily's voice interrupts my horrified interest in the scene.

Disregarding her words, I walk towards the front door to see why the man was so upset with who I assume saved my life by the conversation. A group of men stand, opposing two others, no more than fifteen feet away from Emily's home. The tallest looks at the scene, annoyance written on his face as he watches the one-- the presumed yeller by his predatory stance, chest puffed, muscles straining-- become angrier with each second. To the right of Mr. Hothead, the other stands with an authority none of the others match.

"We weren't going to leave the girl in the middle of the woods, Paul. She was hurt, and it was our fault." 

Their fault?

"There's no need to wolf out, Paul." The tall man crosses his arms over his chest, his expression continuing to sour.

The angry man, Paul, I guess, begins to shake like he's been unfortunate enough to have stepped on a minuscule earthquake.

I take a step back, bewildered by the scene before me, as it takes an even more... shocking turn.

In an instant, the place where the man was standing is filled with a monstrous gray wolf similar to the ones I'd seen in the woods. Within seconds, two others have exploded, too, leaving behind wolf beasts in their place as well.

"What the fuck?" I yell out on impulse.

All eyes, including the three wolves, turn to me. Surprise is written on-- the human's faces as they take in my presence for the first time. One wolf dashes off towards the back of the house before I can further respond.

I don't wait for the explanation, turning back towards the door, "Quick, Emily! There's a wolf— it's headed towards the back door—" 

My head snaps towards the sound of footfalls on wooden steps. A man walks through-- the stern one who, a minute ago, had exploded into a wolf. 

The wolfman's eyes lock with mine briefly before landing on Emily, "Paul."

"Paul?" she asks, confusion evident on the unmarred side of her face.

He glances back at me, his expression conflicted, "It's not my place…"

Some sort of understanding comes over Emily's face, "Paul… really?"

The man nods before stepping closer to where I stand.

Panic spreads through my body, "Wait, no--" I put my hand out in a lame attempt at defending myself from the supernatural, "Don't come any closer."

My hostess hesitantly approaches me, "It's okay, (y/n). No one's going to hurt you, I promise."

"You— why aren't you scared? Something freaky is happening here! He's a—" I point an accusatory finger at the man, "A wolf! Same with the people who saved me! And probably the others, too."

She smiles, "I know. They're not going to harm you. You trust me, no?"

"The one— the one yelling? What the hell is happening!"

The man interjects before I can spiral further, "Paul has trouble controlling his anger. We have an agreement between the pack to never bring outsiders into our circle for their protection. He wasn't angry with you, per se. Sit. I'll explain as much of the situation as I can." He motions towards the empty table.

My mind feels eerily empty as I absorb everything he's just said. Still wary of him, I sit in the chair farthest away, "Okay..."

He smiles. I'm not reassured at all by the smile. "First of all, I'm Sam Uley. Emily's husband."

My gaze shoots over to Emily, suddenly feeling silly. No wonder she wasn't afraid; she was completely aware of the oddities happening around here, being married to one of the oddities himself.

"I know what you just saw was-- alarming. But I promise it's not as scary as it seems."

I very much doubt that.

"You just saw what we are. Shapeshifters, wolf shapeshifters, more specifically. I'm the Alpha; the dark brown wolf is Jacob, our Beta, and the—" he chuckles, looking like he knows something I don't, "hot-headed one is Paul, our third in command."

Emily's smile at me as Sam talks about Paul… is weird, to say the least.

"Shapeshifters?" I ignore the uncomfortable look the couple shares.

"It's a-- hereditary trait triggered by the presence of vampires."

"Vampires?" I choke out. Maybe I died, and I'm in hell. Or I hit my head so hard I've lost all connection to reality.

Emily shoots a glare at her husband, "Don't focus too hard on that right now. You're entirely safe with the pack around."

"Sorry," Sam looks sheepishly between his wife and me, "Disregard that for now."

Another bombshell that apparently no one would be addressing.

"I want to say you're ridiculous, and that's a great story, but— I guess unless I've got serious brain damage from my fall and am hallucinating hard, you're not lying… what do I have to do with any of this? You didn't need to tell me anything if it wasn't important."

"It's-- well, it's not entirely my place to explain this next part."

"Then who will?" I'm so over this dude's crypticness. 

Sam looks at Emily once again. I'm getting really tired of their shared, knowing looks.

"Paul."

"Paul?" I laugh, "Mr. Hothead's going to explain? No thanks. There has to be someone else, someone more reasonable, that can explain it."

Sam glances at Emily, biting his lip like he's unsure he should be saying this next part. Lucky for him, another voice butts into the conversation.

"Can we talk?" 

My head whips around, spooked by the intrusive voice. The man, Paul, is standing in the doorway. He's got a shirt on now, his expression hard for me to read.

I look back at Sam and Emily, unsure I want to be alone with him. Emily nods towards me encouragingly.

Awkwardly, I stand up from my seat, "oh—Kay." The word comes out in two clumsy syllables.

Paul moves away from the door frame, allowing me to walk past him outside.

The uncomfortable vibe between us seems to be one-sided, me being the one who apparently wants the space between our bodies, and he, unknowingly or not, stepping closer with every step forward. I have the sneaking suspicion that he'd take my hand if he could. 

We stand silently for a moment away from the house before he speaks, "I didn't ask your name."

"You didn't get the chance," I look away, "But it's (y/n)."

"I'm Paul."

"I'm well aware," I glance up at his face, regretting it. How can he look at me like that? What have I done to deserve the reverence he wore on his face?

I can't handle it. I need to put more space between us.

"Can we walk and talk?" I hope the movement will help prevent my anxiety from bubbling up again.

Paul nods, again taking a step that made it seem like we were magnets that couldn't keep apart. What was up with this guy?

After a few minutes of walking silently, I ask, "Mind telling me why I'm being pressured to talk to you after I listened to you scream at those two for saving my life?" I don't care that the words are harsh. He had said it, after all.

Paul physically cringes, "That— I wouldn't have said it if I'd known."

"Why are you all saying weird, cryptic things like that to me? Known what exactly?" I move further away, and his next step brings us back together again.

Paul kicks a rock, his barefoot evidently fine as it smacks into the decent-sized stone. He huffs once, conflicted by his thoughts.

"I don't know how to explain it without coming off insane."

My laugh sounds a bit more like a-- scoff, "I just watched a bunch of people hulk out, literally. I think I can handle whatever you're going to say."

This gets a smile out of him, "I guess you're right."

After a moment, I wave my hand, "Go on then."

Paul stops walking, and I follow suit. His gaze doesn't waver as he asks me, "Sam explained about the wolf thing, right?"

"That you're a— a shapeshifter wolf? I guess. He didn't go into any great detail, but yes."

"He didn't tell you why we— I stopped fighting, though?"

I shake my head no. I hadn't seen the fight end, too freaked out to pay attention to what the beasts did after I'd rushed back into the house.

"What happened-- caused me to stop, is somewhat indescribable to humans. It's— it's specifically a wolf thing. Or at least I've never met another creature who has experienced it."

"And it is?" I prompt, hating the beating around the bush.

Paul smiles, "It's called imprinting."

I frown, "Imprint— like a duck? What does this have to do with me?"

He momentarily looks startled by my words before regaining his composure, "Not— Never mind. I imprinted on you."

I blink once, twice, three times at him before bursting out into laughter, "What are you talking about? No, you didn't!"

I didn't really understand any of this, but the whole scenario was hilarious. Maybe I really did have a head injury.

Hurt crosses his face before morphing into a glower, "Why are you laughing? I'm not joking."

Shaking my head, I walk away, "I don't even want to know what you're talking about. Nope. Go imprint on someone else." I make air quotes as I say the word imprint.

Paul's growl sends a chill up my spine, "That's not how it works."

I turn quickly, my patience for this insanity ending, "Then how does it work? Because I frankly don't want this!"

Paul looks like I've slapped him, "What do you mean?"

"I don't want to live in this nightmare any longer! I just wanted to hike on my vacation, and now suddenly, I'm the werewolf's girlfriend? Can any of you hear how insane this is, or is it just me?"

"Listen—" his hand wraps around my wrist firmly, probably an attempt at grounding me in his words, "I'm being dead serious. Imprinting is never wrong. It's— it's the universe placing two people who belong together, together."

I blink back at him before I feel the simmer of annoyance beneath my skin, "Are you saying I don't have a choice?" I spit the words back at him, shaking his hand off me.

The anger melts off his face as he stares blankly at me. It returns in seconds, "What do you mean a choice?"

"A choice!" I take a step closer to him. "The ability to walk away right now if I wanted!"

"Why would you walk away?" The way he says it, like it would be stupid for me to even consider this, changes the simmer in my chest to a raging boil.

"Have you ever considered that I'm not from here? I don't live here! Hell, I don't want to move here, especially just so your weird wolfy side believes I'm its predetermined soulmate! News flash, buddy, I don't know you!"

I think he's gotten the memo as I successfully make it all the way back to the house's yard until I hear him behind me again, "(y/n), stop."

"No!" I yell back, ignoring the group of men sitting on the porch, watching.

He growls, "You're really pissing me off—"

I reel around, the anger consuming me completely, "You wanna see pissed off, meathead? You ain't seen nothing yet."

Crickets.

One of the men— werewolves' voice speaks, "Shit. She's just like him."

A chuckle rains over the group, causing Paul's nostrils to flare in anger.

Tigris adjusts and then readjusts his white cravat, careful that the knot looks as perfect as if a valet had done it up. As much as he appreciates his cousin's help dressing, thinking of the implications grates on his nerves. They were Snows; he was a Viscount, for Christ's sake! They should have maids, valets, and a cook—people to do these things for them!

Instead of boundless wealth, his birthright as the ninth Viscount Snow, Coriolanus Snow inherited gambling debts and a title that meant little without the funds to keep up the family estate, the London home, and the lavish lifestyle his Grandmother still clung to.

Tigris straightens the collar of his tailcoat, smiling up at him, "You look handsome." It was the finest of his few well-fitting tailcoats. A stunning blue color that brought out the intensity of his eyes. Tigris had fashioned it satisfactorily, giving away nothing of their... financial struggles, as she had kept much of the lavish embellishments and expertly sewn stitching.

Another fact that grated on Coriolanus's nerves: his cousin, Lady Tigris Snow, had been forced to learn to fashion clothing for the family instead of paying visits to the modiste herself. Tigris had assured him plenty that she adored sewing, to create dresses for herself and the Grandma'am, waistcoats, tailcoats, and more for him... but really! A Lady- a Snow, more importantly- shouldn't be doing such... common work, in Coriolanus's mind.

"Only because of your-- talents," it made his stomach turn to compliment the styling she'd done to one of his father's old coats, even if she was saving them once again from embarrassment.

Tigris's laugh is soft and breathy, "Oh, baby cousin. It's you who makes the coat beautiful, not the other way around."

Coriolanus flushes slightly. He knew he was considered-- attractive to many of the Ton and commonfolk, but it still made him blush pink whenever someone used the word beautiful to describe his looks.

Tigris smiles at him, "Sorry, sorry. Handsome. Your handsomeness." 

She knows him so well.

Coriolanus clears his throat and changing the subject, "Are you coming tonight?"

Tigris shakes her head, not meeting his eye. "I—I'm afraid I don't feel my best tonight."

"Headache?" Coriolanus asks, noting the lie for what it was. He knew his cousin was avoiding the events this London season because of a certain gentleman—one who most indubitably felt exactly the same about his beautiful cousin as she did him. Tigris, though, was under the impression that this gentleman would turn her away if he found out about Snow's fortune or lack thereof, and had been avoiding a public meeting to keep her feelings at bay. Too many times Coriolanus had caught his cousin shedding silent tears when she thought herself alone in the kitchen. He couldn't bear to see her tears.

"Besides," he's sure it must be a Snow trait to change the subject once one was uneasy, "Your attendance is far more important than mine."

Coriolanus purses his lips at that comment. Ah, yes, the true reason he must attend these blasted soirees. 

Marriage.

The Viscount turns away from his cousin, pacing across the room in a manner that gives away his anxiety about the subject. This choice wasn't just for a content life; it was hardly about that. It was for money, a fortune. An alliance that would restore his family name and keep the Grandma'am and his cousin comfortable. Maybe somewhere in the middle, he could secure a particular marriage proposal for his dear cousin.

"Don't worry, Coryo," his cousin's voice is full of affection and understanding, "You are so handsome and splendid. Certainly, many of the ladies and gentlemen are already pining after you. You practically have the pick of the Ton."

"But, it's not about picking-" Coriolanus says in a frustrated tone, "It's about restoring our home, our wealth--"

Tigris stops him before he can begin his typical rant, "And those things are important to you, I am well aware, but you shouldn't marry only for wealth, Coryo. Focus on finding a life partner that can make you... happy as well." Tigris smiles at him as if it's that easy.

Coriolanus holds his tongue, wondering how on Earth his cousin had become so romantic in their shared environment. They ate what little they could afford, struggled to keep their fires lit, and wore clothing she fashioned from old garments left by their deceased respective parents—worn out, out-of-fashion, struggling, and poor! In Coriolanus's opinion, there was nothing to be romantic about in life—certainly not a prospective marriage.

He eventually nods, refusing to be the one to tamper out that flame of romanticism in her, even if it was foolish, in his humble opinion.

"Oh, Coryo," Tigris chuckles, "I know you don't believe in such things, but you never know. Perhaps you'll meet someone who catches your fancy tonight, and you'll understand..." She drifts off, certainly thinking of her gentleman friend.

He can feel her sadness as much as he can see it in her eyes.

"Perhaps," he humors her, "So, I ought to look my best," he says with a close-lipped smile. 

Tigris smiles back, but it doesn't reach her eyes, "And you will." His cousin returns to fussing with his shirt collar once again, "I'll make sure you look extraordinary in case-- a dashing gentleman or stunning lady catches your eye."

Coriolanus smiles at her, genuine this time, "You always do."

"I always do," Tigris nods, a matching smile on her lips.

Hi there! Here are some other things you should know about this AU:

1. There's no homophobia in this Regency Era AU. Marrying someone of the same gender isn't uncommon or discouraged. It's normal for these people. 2. Coriolanus is bisexual. I think it's important to point out because it's often hinted at. But, again, it's not uncommon or odd for a man to marry a man or a woman to marry a woman in this AU. BUT, it's also important to note that Coriolanus would marry ANYONE if it meant he'd gain a fortune. 3. Coriolanus is British, Sejanus is American. This is Regency England. There is no Panem in this AU. 4. The one big thing I kept from Canon is that the Snow's are poor but act wealthy (in this AU it's because they hold a title in society).

I'll add anything else if I need to about this AU if questions arise!

"Please?" The whininess in my voice makes me want to barf. I never beg, especially do I never beg my best friend, Eddie. But what choice did I have?

"No, (y/n). That would be too weird." He's moved across his small apartment, putting distance between us as he pretends to look through his record collection.

"Please! I swear I won't ask you for anything ever again!"

Despite his obvious agitation, Eddie chuckles, "Yeah, I believe that."

"I promise you! Just one week back in my hometown, so my parents get off my back. I'll--" I try to think of something I can do to convince him to come home with me and pretend to be my serious boyfriend, "Buy you that jacket you've been saving up for from Duke's."

This catches his attention. The long-haired man looks up from his records, "The black leather one?"

"Yes! I'll buy it the moment we get back from Hawkins."

Eddie looks back at the record he's holding, running his finger across the edge of the jacket as he contemplates what I'm proposing. "What would I need to do besides show up?"

Damnit, I knew he'd want the full details of everything I'm asking him to do... "Well, besides spending time with my parents and extended family--? Um..." I hesitate, "There's a family reunion at my Gam Gam's house--"

Eddie snorts, a wide smile spreading across his face, "Gam Gam?"

Rolling my eyes, I say, "Yes, Gam Gam. That's another thing you'll have to do. Use my stupid pet names for my grandma."

"I can manage that. Is there anything else you're not telling me? I don't want to get there and be blindsided by your crazy family expecting your," he makes air quotes with his free hand, "serious boyfriend to propose. I'm not marrying you so you can escape your prying family's interest in your love life." 

I know he's joking around with me, but talking about this with him is still embarrassing. We've been close ever since I moved to the cities and met him at one of his band, Corroded Coffin's gigs. That's why I had gone to him first when I panicked and told my mom over the phone I was bringing my secret boyfriend I'd been dating for the past year to my visit back to Hawkins. If I had to pretend to date someone, it made sense to choose the one person I felt the closest to.

"Shut up; I'm not asking you to propose, Eddie Munson. But, you could... I mean, it wouldn't hurt if you dressed a little more midwestern Suburban..."

"Hell no," his face turns icy at the mention of changing anything about his appearance. 

"I'm not asking you to cut your hair or anything! Just maybe wear a nice button-down and pants without rips in the knees."

Eddie pulls a face, "You're really abusing our friendship, asking me to dress like I have a mortgage and a divorce."

God, he was so dramatic. "It's one week! And then you can come back here and wear your nice new leather jacket!" I tack on his reward, hoping it will distract him from my requests.

"Do I have to kiss you in front of people?" He suddenly asks.

"What?" I squeak out, "No, of course not!"

That stupid shit-eating grin pulls at his lips again, "You don't think it would be weird if your long-term boyfriend didn't kiss you at all? I mean, even I would find that weird."

I hate to admit it, but he's got a point. My parents, especially my mother, would find it weird if I completely avoided being affectionate with the guy I was supposedly dating.

Scrunching up my nose, I concede, "Fine. But nothing more than a chaste kiss once and a while.

"Lucky me," Eddie says dramatically.

"You're such an asshole..."

"Hey, you're the one who wants to fake date me. I tried to dissuade you."

Rolling my eyes again, I change the subject, "Do you even have any nice clothing you can pack."

Eddie's expression sours again, "My clothes are nice. Are you sure your parents wouldn't be thrilled for their little girl to be dating a wannabe rockstar?"

"It is every parent's dream," I get up from his couch, "For real, though. Do you have anything besides ripped jeans and band t-shirts?"

"Do I look like someone who owns a tie (y/n)?"

"Do you even know how to tie a tie?" I say with an innocent tilt of my head. 

He laughs, "touché."

"And I don't trust you to buy appropriate clothing--"

"Smart."

"So..." I bite the inside of my cheek, "I'll foot the bill for that as well."

"I've always wanted a Sugar Mama," he grins, thinking himself so clever.

"Another condition, Munson."

"Yes, dear?" He replies in a sugary-sweet 'tv-sweetheart' voice.

"Cut the attitude. My dad hates smartasses."

Saying this only makes Eddie's grin grow, "What's a family reunion without a little drama between your girlfriend's dad and yourself?"

Hearing him refer to me as 'his girlfriend' sends a little unexpected thrill through my body, "My god. You're going to make me regret this, aren't you?"

Eddie scoffs, "Do you see this shirt, (y/n)? It's made of boyfriend material. You have nothing to be worried about."

"This shirt?" I tug at the front of his Metallica shirt, "Definitely not. But the nice ones I buy from The GAP will be."

He pulls a face, "The GAP? Are you sure you don't hate me?"

I laugh, "We'll see by the end of next week, won't we?"

Eddie groans, "Forget you regretting this. I'm clearly the loser in this affair."