#and then here comes along angel. and she hates how he's coping with it all because she can see the appeal of self ruin & self erasing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sortasirius · 4 years

Text

“Unity” and the Broken Boys

BOY Y’ALL BETTER SIT DOWN BECAUSE THIS IS AS LONG AS CAN BE AND I TOOK OFF WORK TOMORROW SO I’VE GOT TIME

This is....one of the best episodes in the show. Yeah, in all 325 of them, this is hands down one of the best.

First of all, stan Amara for clear skin.

That silent treatment babey, right out the gate with the Angst. Tbh Dean deserves it.

“Like I said, killing Amara, Jack dying...that’s the only way.”

“The only way. Our one shot. Our Last chance. You ever get tired of saying stuff like that?”

“We don’t have to like it, alright? But you and me, we gotta get it done.”

Amara is such a welcome energy in this whole episode. She’s warm and understanding, whip-smart and probably more powerful than Chuck. I love her.

Sam is a wonderful, understanding, loving dad. I love him eternally. He loves Jack so much, he’s trying so desperately to do what’s right for Jack but also what’s right for the world. Jack made this choice, but he can’t live with it. How do you support your child when their life is at stake?

“Come on man. Blindly following orders, lying to Amara, sending her to her death. Does any of this feel right to you??”

“It doesn’t matter how we feel! You know what? Stay. Stay. Someone has to be the grown up here.”

“Yeah well someone has to keep fighting for Jack!”

“He knows what he signed up for!”

“Last I checked, we don’t give up on family.”

“Jack’s not family.”

Y’all should have heard the noise I made. What a fucking line.

“I know how you feel about the kid, I care for him too, I do, but he’s not like you. He’s not like Cas. He’s just not.”

“I’m- I’m ready.”

You can see the regret, the heartbreak in Dean’s eyes. You can see how he wants to take those words back the moment he said them, and for Jack to hear them? It’s unthinkable.

Sam and Cas I’m just so fucking emo dude.

“Sam, you stayed behind to find another way huh? I woulda done the same.”

AMARA

First of all, LOVE this structure.

Amara and Chuck have such a fascinating dynamic. Rob and Emily do a great job (as they have all along) by clearly being siblings but...heightened. You can just tell they both exude power, and the other is the only one they consider an equal.

“You and Dean had that whole weird...thing.”

“That wasn’t you writing?”

“Ugh, not that part. Gross.”

What I took away from this is what I’ve suspected all along. They HAVE free will, just not total free will. Dean and Amara’s connection wasn’t Chuck, there are parts of the story he didn’t write. Obviously, this comes into play later.

I also have a hunch that Chuck doesn’t write romance. I also think that in particular will come into play.

“Balance. Something we’ve never tried before. Creation and destruction, light and dark, brother and sister united again, but on behalf of one world, this world. True balance. The way it was always meant to be. But you can’t. You only care about your pleasure, your story. Well, I guess that makes you the villain.”

“Villains get all the best lines.”

We see again and again this season, Chuck is irredeemable. He doesn’t care about the angels, he doesn’t care about the world, he doesn’t care about anything. He is a petulant toddler who has broken his toys. And when he realizes he’s trapped, he gets angry, he shouts and screams, completely at odds with Amara’s peace.

“You can’t hold me here forever.”

“I can hold you long enough.”

DEAN

Pain is the name of the game in this section homies. Because not only are we dealing with Dean’s pain, we’re also dealing with Jack’s. Jack says he understands why Cas and Sam mean more to Dean, but Dean clearly doesn’t, he, once again, wants to say more, but is stopped, still stopped by his fear: his fear of not beating Chuck.

Alright guys, gals, and non-binary pals. Let’s talk about Adam and Seraphina.

Adam. The first man. And Seraphina. The angel.

“My old lady. She’s the only one who could put up with me all these years.”

Yeah okay. Volume at 100 I get it lmao.

But also: Adam wants God dead not because he and Eve were kicked out of the Garden, but because he went after their sons. The theme of protecting the children strikes again.

“Killing God is your plan?”

“Yeah, Billie’s been giving us a hand but Sera and me, this is our baby.”

This juxtaposed directly with Dean’s own pain at what he has to do to kill Chuck, to gain his free will: the cost of his child.

Adam’s rib.

And who else might get his ribs hurt, only to be likely healed by an angel?

It’s fine, that’s fine. I’m fine with that.

“Jack, I don’t know how to explain it but, when I found out about Chuck, it’s like I wasn’t alive. Not really. You know like my whole life I’ve never been free, but like really free. But now? Now me and Sam, we got a shot at living a life, without all this crap on our backs. And that’s, that’s because of you. So, I want to say, I need to say...thank you, Jack. Thank you.”

I’m gonna have to do a separate post about just Dean in this episode, because there is so fucking much to talk about, but there are a couple of things that I think are important: Dean realizes how wrong he was, to say what he said. He knows that it’s not true, this is the way he’s always coped with loss, by pushing the person to be lost away, but for Jack to hear it? He can’t stand for that.

And:

Dean has finally pushed through the barrier. He won’t be quiet in the face of his doubts anymore. This is a breakthrough for him, and, of course, there are more to come.

SAM

Sam and Cas, my chaos duo.

The box, the inscription, the door.

Death’s library, filled with dead reapers.

And there it is. The Empty.

It tells Sam the plan, the plan for Billie to take God’s place. For everything to go back to the way it’s “supposed to be.”

This has always been the game, since season 13. This is the longest of long games.

Sam fuckin Winchester, lying his way out of a confrontation with the Empty like the legend that he is.

He comes back with a new purpose: to stop Billie’s plan, and here’s where we get to the heart of the episode and maybe the heart of the season.

“You hear that? Dean, brought to the edge of doubt. His sense of duty, his rage winning out in the end. And poor Sam, always gotta know everything. Can’t leave well enough alone. This is my ending, my real ending.”

The gun comes out, pointed at Sam.

Hmm...what did I say during 15x05? Oh yeah, this.

And:

Dean would never survive killing Sam, but he’s willing to do anything, anything to earn his freedom. His ending, where one brother kills the other and then kill himself.

Why, you might ask, did Sam not mention that the angels would be sent back to Heaven, why does he not mention Cas? I’ll tell you why, or rather, Becky will.

Plus, Dean looks back at Cas IMMEDIATELY when Sam says that, when he mentions Eileen, and THAT’S the first time he hesitates. He can’t lose Cas. But at the same time, he’s willing to do anything to have his freedom.

“Sam we don’t have a choice, Jack’s about to blow!”

“We always have a choice!”

You know me, just sitting here thinking about choice, the ability to choose, and how that translates to their free will.

And Sam...I don’t think there will ever be characters I love as much as these.

“I don’t care if Billie gets what she wants! I don’t man, I’d trade it all, I’d trade em all for Chuck. In a heartbeat!”

“What about me?”

“You’d trade me?”

“Chuck has to die. He has to! Otherwise he’ll keep us tap dancing forever, and I can’t live like that man, I can’t live like that, I won’t!”

“I know you feel like that right now, okay? I know you do, but you gotta trust me. My entire life, you’ve protected me. From Dad, from Lucifer, from everything. I didn’t always like it, you know? But it’s the one thing in the whole world that I could always count on. It’s the only thing I’ve ever known that was true. So please, put the gun away. Just put it away. We’ll figure it out, Dean, we’ll find another way, you and me. We always do.”

Okay I feel like this is going to be one of those scenes that I cry watching for years to come. Because fuck. After fifteen years they finally admit that not only did Dean protect Sam from Lucifer, but he protected him from John. John. On a par with Lucifer.

Dean and Sam have, for so many years, sacrificed themselves for the other. Dean’s demon deal, Sam and the trials, every season they have fought to see who can die the quickest for the other. But this? This is them fighting to stop the violence, to stop from killing the big bad. This is them growing, in our eyes, in real time. Sam has always been able to get through to Dean when no one else had a prayer, but for Dean to listen, for Dean to take his words to heart, to stop the hunt for Sam, for their family, that’s how you know they do have free will.

(Btw Chuck’s eye effect when he dusted Amara was sick as fuck but I’m emo for my boys so.)

Chuck knows it’s a loss, he knows that his story has, once again, been thwarted by the boys making their own choices. And he’s pissed, but in his anger, we get a bomb dropped on us.

“Spare me your contempt Castiel, the self-hating angel of Thursday. You know what every other version of you did after “gripping him tight and raising him from perdition”? They did what they were told. But not you. Not the one off the line with a crack in his chassis.”

Are you fucking kidding me?

Also, just worth bringing up this one as well:

Every Castiel pulled Dean out of Hell. Every one told him the same thing. And yet, immediately, with this Cas and this Dean, something was different. Because what has everyone seen about Cas, from the moment he met Dean?

And there’s our endgame people. Laid out on the line.

But we ain’t done yet, fam.

We’ve talked about the handprint, but you know:

So there you have it, our prep into the “monumental” 15x18. I have spec on that, of course, but I think a novel is long enough for this.

What to take away: Dean’s rage was always Chuck’s plan, they do have free will, their love for each other, for their family, is what will stop Chuck’s control, Death is about to come back with a vengeance, Cas’ deal is at play, and, most importantly, Castiel and Dean Winchester are a blind spot for Chuck, something he has never, not once, controlled.

#welcome to my essay lmao #supernatural #spn #spoilers #my meta #spn 15x17 #destiel #dean winchester #sam winchester #jack kline #castiel #amara #chuck shurley #lilly liveblogs supernatural

2K notes · View notes

annie-blackhill · 3 years

Text

Aight, I know that I've been away for awhile but now I'm back and I have ideas babes!

____________________________________

Warnings:

Depression

Anxiety

Past panic attacks

Mentions of past domestic violence

Abusive childhood

Post traumatic events unconscious coping mechanisms

Unconscious flinching out of instinct

Sudden panic when hearing fighting between a man and a woman screaming very near

Loss of breath

Domestic violence

Blood

Panic attack

____________________________________

Dazai Osamu

________________

Safe and Sound

________________

Dazai and (Y/N) have been in a relationship for two years now. They're so in love with each other that everyone at the ADA are questioning the fact as to why they weren't married yet.

Dazai really loves (Y/N) and she loves him just as much back. They both really love each other and they both understand each other the most too.

But there were still some things that Dazai didn't know.

The main reason why (Y/N) and Dazai weren't married yet was because Dazai wanted to get her parents' blessings first. He was so excited to get their blessings, to meet the people who brought his perfectly imperfect lover into this cruel, tainted world.

He was eternally grateful to them for bringing her into this world, although the cruel world had tainted her and made her the broken person she is now, he still loves her for her. She's the only reason he has to live now. And he loves her for that.

Whenever Dazai asked (Y/N) about her family, she would tell him stories about when she was a child and how her dad would bring them to the beach every weekend because they lived near to the beach or when they went back to school shopping together.

But that was it. Her dad never really appeared in her other stories much. He would pop in at some point of the tale and then disappear. Her mum, was mostly the one to witness her achievements.

But (Y/N) has never described her parents' proud expressions whenever she achieved something.

At times, when Dazai did pry lightly, she would turn the story somewhere else, mostly to her friends.

He knew that she didn't really have a good primary school life, seeing as she's told him before that she's been bullied at that time. She's described them as the loneliest years of her life and how much she's hated herself those times.

Whenever (Y/N) talked about friends, it would be about her friends from her high school life. Her high school was much more on the better side.

She had been a prefect in her high school years, since her first year to her last year.

The only bad memories she had was when she realized that being in the first class and being the top of the class meant the other students would sabotage her and the two times in her senior years where she had to fight back as self-defense when she tried to break up a fight and they started to hit her too.

Dazai wasn't daft. Of course, he picked up on all the signs she showed that she wasn't really fond of her parents.

At first, he thought that it was just because of a small fight they had. But two years have passed in their relationship and (Y/N) hasn't cracked even the least to tell him why her childhood stories are only until a certain age or why she's never told him how proud her parents were of her.

Dazai was worried. In the end, he decided that maybe her parents just have a slightly tight relationship with each other.

Dazai decided to not ask. He let it slide and slip past them. He never touched the subject of her parents for the half of the second year of their relationship.

As the other half year of their relationship rolled in, Dazai and (Y/N) had saved enough money to buy a cozy little apartment near the ADA and move out of the ADA's hostel.

The day they were moving in, the couple were greeted by the middle aged woman who lived next door with her husband and 4 year old daughter.

She had been a very sweet auntie that welcome the sweet couple to the apartment complex with open arms and a sweet smile.

More than once had she cooked good food for the duo since they always returned late from work.

"You two kinda remind me of how my husband and I used to be when we were younger and so in love," the auntie would say to the duo all the time.

The little 4 year old would also come by and play around with the loving couple whenever they were on leave.

Auntie would always try persuade her daughter from "disturbing the lovely young couple" as she would always say to her daughter.

"It's alright, auntie! I love kids! (N/N)-chan and I are planning to have a few little munchkins like this when we're married too!" Dazai would assure her, while playing with the little girl.

But there was always something about how (Y/N) would send the auntie knowing looks as though she knew something that he didn't all the time, so he decided to pay more attention too.

When Dazai did start to notice more, he noticed the dark bags under the auntie's eyes and he noticed how tired she always was.

The more he noticed the more concerning she looked to him day by day.

"Auntie, would you like to join us for tea, today? Osamu and I wanted to play with that sweet little angel," (Y/N) invited the auntie.

"WHO'S THAT AT THE DOOR???!!!" the booming voice of the male from inside the auntie's house shook (Y/N) to the core and it ignited old memories that she didn't have to remember.

"Auntie, you really should come. Osamu insists! You know how he gets when he doesn't get what he wants! He'll be whining all day long like a little baby!" (Y/N) tried to convince the auntie discreetly.

"I ASKED 'WHO'S THAT AT THE DOOR'! ANSWER ME YOU USELESS WOMAN!!!" the man shouted from the bedroom again.

(Y/N) flinched. She was regretting sending Dazai to the store now. They had been running low on groceries and she had sent Dazai to the store, as she would say "please contribute you're lazy arse to do something in this household, my love" and he had carried his lazy arse to the store near the apartment complex.

After Dazai had left was when she started to hear the shouts and yells from the next door auntie's house.

Even as the bad memories plunged her being, she had forced herself to go and at least try to save the auntie before anything bad happened to either her or her daughter.

But even then, if you looked closely at (Y/N) you could see that she was trembling badly and that she could barely stand on her two feet.

"Auntie, come on please!" (Y/N) begged in a mutter exclamation.

"I'm sorry," the auntie murmured before closing the door on her with an apologetic smile.

"Auntie, no!" (Y/N) exclaimed.

And that was when she heard the terrible screams and the yell. The cries of the little 4 year old teared her soul apart into the smallest of pieces.

"NO, NO, NO!!!!" (Y/N) yelled as her mind turned blank and the memories flooded her brain.

Her mind turned so blank that she forgot that she was slamming her fists onto the door and that she had an ability.

The memories of how her father would come home drunk and lay on the sofa. Of how her mother had found out that he was having an affair. Of how, he would beat the living daylights out of her mother.

(Y/N) never told Dazai any of that. She felt ashamed to tell him that her childhood was the most terrible thing to ever happen to her.

A blood curdling screamed pierced the air along with a loud cry and that was enough for (Y/N) to snap out of her traumas and remember that there were lives on the stake right now.

She finally regained her senses fully and remembered that she has an ability.

Using her elemental abilities, she bent the wooden front door so much that it broke it half and broke off of it's hinges. The lower half flew to the side of the corridor almost hitting her while the other half flew into the house and hit the middle aged aggressive man that was about to beat his wife over the head with a glass flower vase.

The auntie stood in shock as the younger woman ran to her and hugged her.

"Auntie! Are you alright?! Are you bleeding anywhere?! Do you have any fatal injuries?!" (Y/N) questioned quickly as she held the shorter's woman's face in her hands and looked her over, making sure that she wasn bleeding anywhere majorly.

"Why you little freak show! You must one of those freak shows that are born with those little abilities! How dare you interfere with someone else's family problems?! Youngsters these days don't know how to respect their elders! Let me teach you then!" the man yelled at (Y/N) as she stood in front of the trembling woman, making sure that the older woman was perfectly hidden behind her.

(Y/N) slipped a hand into the back pocket of her jeans. She clutched the holster of her gun.

"Step away, right now before I seriously hurt you," (Y/N) warned as she held her left hand out to stop him from coming any nearer to them.

The man took off his belt and folded it into two, straightening it out with a snap, which caused both women to flinch as more dark memories flooded into (Y/N)'s mind.

"I said STOP RIGHT THERE!" (Y/N) warned yet again. It was against the law for her to shoot him and she couldn't even use her abilities against him as he was a normal civilian.

She was trying her best to not hurt anyone here and let the civilian authorities handle the ruthless man.

The moment the man raised his arm was the same time (Y/N) slipped her gun out of her back pocket and shot his arm.

The man let out a cry of pain and fell back from the sudden pain. He looked at the younger woman, wide eyed as she held the gun tight and pointed the barrel to his forehead.

"Armed Detective Agency member, (L/N) (Y/N)," (Y/N) announced as she showed him her ADA card.

The man backed away more at that. His eyes wide as he realized that she was a member of the authorities.

"(Y/N)?!" Dazai shouted as he entered only to see the bloodied situation of the man and the two trembling women.

"Where's the child?!" Dazai asked immediately.

"Sh-she's in her room," the auntie answered meekly.

Dazai nodded. He looked down at the man, disgust, venom and a desire to kill clear on his face.

The man even then, still tried to gain Dazai's pity as Dazai was a fellow man too.

"S-sir! All I was trying to do was educate my wife to be more better and obedient! I wasn't trying to do anything other than that! I swear!" the man said.

That only made Dazai even more disgusted as he spat on the man's face in disgust. He stomped his foot harshly on the man's hand that was holding the belt.

"You disgust me you old fool! You're an utter disgrace of a human being! I'm disgusted to see people like you are still alive! Terrorizing women's lives! Making them only feel like obedient dolls that should only do whatever you say!

I'd rather kill you then let you go to jail and then get back out after a few months! People like you shouldn't exist at all in the first place!

Your wife is supposed to be your life partner! Not some maid or toy that would do everything you say! You're supposed to live life and do everything together!

I can't believe you even had a child with her only to state your dominance over her and make her unable to run away from you!

You disgust me!" Dazai yelled at the man as he twisted his foot on the man's hand more and stomped it over and over and over again, intent on breaking it.

(Y/N) shielded the auntie's sight form her lover's rage as he broke the man's hand and rendered it completely shattered under his shoe.

"Osamu..." (Y/N) called out for him.

Dazai raised his head to look at his lover, tears streaming from his eyes from utter pure white hot rage.

"Are you alright? Are the two of you alright? Is that little angel injured?" Dazai's voice turned so soft that (Y/N)'s heart broke at the mere sound of it. He sounded as scared as she was feeling.

Dazai went over to the two women and squeezed them into a light hug, he buried his face into the crook of (Y/N)'s neck. (Y/N) hugged his waist, her arm practically limp, but her hand still clutching the gun tight just in case the man tried anything, her ear was placed against his frantically beating heart.

The older woman had wrapped her arm over his back and was hugging him tight, scared out of her life and grateful for the presence of the two youngsters at the moment.

"Osamu... We need to call the police and the ADA, specifically Kunikida-san. We need to explain a hell load to them all," (Y/N) murmured lightly to the shaken man.

Dazai nodded lightly at her statement before pressing a light kiss to the crook of her neck and removing himself from the hold of the two women.

"Auntie, do get your little girl and wait outside of the house. (Y/N) and I will call the police and our co-worker to handle the mess here," Dazai informed the older woman.

She merely nodded, not trusting her voice to be strong enough to answer him as she went to the little girl's bedroom to get her out of the house.

Once the child and woman were safely out of the house, Dazai dialed Kunikida while (Y/N) dialed the police station.

Both at had arrived at the house. The man was brought away on a stretcher by the paramedics as (Y/N) was explaining to the police as to why she had used her gun.

Kunikida and Dazai, both standing on either side of her, trying to justify the reason as to why she did so and the police accepted the reasons in the end.

Dazai said his end of the story and then they moved on to ask the wife and the child about their ends of the story.

"(Y/N), you know you shouldn't have used your gun. I'll have to confiscate it for now. You'll only be allowed to use it on missions. I'm sorry but those are the rules that you need to follow after that little act of 'misusage' as the police says," Kunikida sighed as he took the gun lightly from her slightly slackened grasp on it now.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I was scared and he raised the belt above me, ready to hit at any moment---" her voice cracked and she couldn't continue the sentence anymore.

Kunikida held her hand softly as Dazai brought (Y/N) into a soft side hug, holding her softly and rubbing her shoulders.

"I know and that's why I'm the one that's supposed to be saying sorry for taking away your gun, (Y/N)," Kunikida said.

"Hey, hey. It's alright, the both of you. I'll pull some strings here and there and make sure, (Y/N) gets her gun back, alright? Easy peasy!" Dazai lightened the mood up a little.

"Sigh, thank you, Dazai. For making this easier for all of us," Kunikida said before excusing himself, saying that he needs to fill out a few more forms at the police station and make sure that neither Dazai or (Y/N) get accused for anything that they didn't do.

Dazai proceeded to lead (Y/N) back to their little home as the auntie and her daughter were led to the second ambulance by the new paramedics.

(Y/N) leaned into Dazai as she curled up onto him. He held her close and tight, knowing full well that she was shaken up from the encounter.

"Osamu... Remember how you always asked for the truth about my childhood... What you witnessed today that was happening to that auntie and her daughter? That's the real truth to my childhood.

But no one saved us. And as I grew and my dad lived his other life with his little affair, he would come and go to let off steam on my mother and my mother started to blame me for how miserable our lives were.

That's why I never had a past occupation like everyone else. I had been working with the ADA ever since I was 18 and I ran away from her.

The president helped me. He helped my mother by providing her safety and a new home.

My father is still out there, somewhere with that other woman.

And I... I've never seen my mother since the day I ran away. She must be happier now," (Y/N) said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Dazai hugged her closer and kissed her forehead.

"It's alright, love. You have me and the other ADA members for you as well now. Hell, even the Port Mafia is with you right now after how much you helped them out when we were all having trouble with The Guild and Fyodor. You have all of us here for you.

Most importantly, my love, you have me. I won't let anyone so much as hurt you even a little bit and go off the hook.

I swear," Dazai murmured softly into her ear and she snuggled closer to him, their feets touching and their hands interwined with each other's.

____________________________________

"Port Mafia strikes again as a man who was arrested yesterday due to commiting domestic violence was murdered by them brutally in his own jail cell much to the surprise of all the police officers present.

Police officers were considering requesting the Armed Detective Agency to further an investigation at first, but has now decided against it as the chief of the police station has deemed it as a waste since the man was a criminal," the news reporter announced on the morning news as (Y/N) sipped her (bitter/sweet/neutral) (coffee/tea) and Dazai adorable chewed his crab sandwich.

"Who did you ask to do it?" (Y/N) asked immediately as soon as Dazai swallowed.

"Chuuya was more than willing after I told him the story. I didn't even have to tell him which police station and cell that scum was in, he ran off and figured it all out himself and finished the job," Dazai answered before continuing to adorably eat his crab sandwich.

"That scum deserved it," (Y/N) agreed as she continue sipping her (coffee/tea).

____________________________________

Awareness Note:

Stop domestic violence. The pain lingers on even after the relationship has ended. No one should have to be bounded to a spouse that only views them as an object and an inferior instead of a human being and an equal. No one has to go through physical and mental pain with a monster that prefers to take control of everything. No one has to go through such pain.

Marriage isn't pain! Marriage is a bond of two people who love each other!

If it hurts both physically and mentally, then it's not love.

Know the difference.

#stopdomesticviolence #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x y/n #dazai x you #dazaibsd #dazai oneshot #dazai x reader #dazai x reader fluff #comfort

152 notes · View notes

gamerwoo · 3 years

Text

[Tales from the Pack] Seungcheol: Stubborn (Bonus)

Characters: Seungcheol x female reader

Genre/warnings: werewolf au, fantasy, fluff, smut during the second half (fingering/eating out, a lot of praise, just cheol being really soft, unprotected sex [remember to use condoms friends!!!], unintentional sorta exhibitionism?????)

Word count: 4,544

Summary: You’ve heard the stories your relatives told you about werewolves when you were younger, but you always thought it was just a scare tactic to make kids behave. Well, up until you woke up in a den full of werewolves.

a/n: this part takes place further into the future during seungkwan’s part, and since it contains spoilers for the future, i recommend skipping this and reading up to part 8 of seungkwan’s series, and then coming back when you’re done!!

Previous | Stubborn Masterlist | TftP Masterlist

Maybe it was because everyone was on-edge about Seungkwan’s condition that was rapidly decreasing. Maybe it was because everybody was still a bit shaken up over Eunjin being what she was. But something was making your old habits of being a thief kick in. You hid in shadows, snuck around the house, and came and went like the wind. Hardly anybody saw you, including your mate.

You weren’t avoiding Seungcheol, not at all. You were just uncomfortable, and that made you want to stay hidden. You assumed it was the tension in the house, but you just didn’t want to be seen, heard, or noticed. Unfortunately, this also happened to effect Seungcheol who now usually had to sniff you out or simply follow the imprinting pull.

The last couple weeks, though, Seungcheol had gotten down your typical hiding places – although, he did almost trip over you while trying to find you because you were crouched down behind the counter while you sharpened the kitchen knives for fun. Today, though, he found you upstairs in Seokmin’s room.

Seokmin was a very positive person in the pack, and all he wanted was for everybody to get along. But because things weren’t working out between Seungkwan and Eunjin and there was nothing he could do, he typically hid away in his room and kept himself busy with reading or singing to keep his mind off of it. But today, you were hanging out with him while he tried to practice his weather power since he hadn’t intentionally used it before. It was only during those nights he had nightmares when it was developing that he’d used it -- but he didn’t even know it was him doing it -- and the few days he was first coping with the situation with Seungkwan. But none of those instances were intentional, so he wanted to hone in on his new power.

“Does it change the weather in town or just in our little area?” you wondered as Seokmin stared out the window, holding his hand out palm-up as his fingers slowly curled inward. Clouds started forming in the blue sky, turning it a grey color.

“I don’t really know,” Seokmin said absentmindedly as he watched the weather start to change at his own will. He suddenly looked over at you with a warm grin. “Do you like snow?”

You frowned, shaking your head. As a thief, you only had bad memories with snow. You didn’t really have a place of your own before, so you associated snow with being cold and struggling for the next few months. Sure, it was kind of pretty, but you never actually enjoyed it.

“What, really?” he asked, surprised that you didn’t like it. “Why not?”

“I was always stuck outside in the cold,” you said with a small pout, looking away from Seokmin and at the familiar grey sky that indicated snow coming.

Seokmin just smiled, “Don’t worry, I’ll show you how to enjoy it.”

“You’re really going to make it snow?”

“Just here – I think…”

Soon enough, little snowflakes began to fall from the sky. All you could do was frown as you watched, dreading when it would start accumulating. You knew you could just come back inside when you got too cold, but it was just the bad memories that were dragging you down.

You heard a soft knock at the door before you heard it open with a very quiet creak. You didn’t even have to turn around to guess who it was.

“What’re you two doing?” Seungcheol chuckled as he walked over to where the two of you were sitting on the floor, staring up at the window.

“Making snow,” Seokmin reported, letting his hand fall into his lap as he turned to look at the alpha. “You like snow, right, Seungcheol?”

Seungcheol shrugged as he crouched down behind and between the two of you, “Yeah, it’s fun – especially seeing the rest of you run around in it.”

Seokmin turned to you excitedly, “We shift and run around outside when it snows. The pack loves it.”

You just nodded, mumbling, “Good for you.”

“_____, do you not like snow?” Seungcheol wondered.

You shook your head in exaggerated movements to really get the point across. Seungcheol just smiled in amusement, putting a warm hand in the center of your back as he stroked it with his thumb.

“You can play with us in the snow tomorrow when it accumulates on the ground,” he suggested, “and if you hate it, I’ll bring you back inside and make you soup. Okay?”

You shrugged, mumbling an, “Okay…”

Thankfully for Seokmin, he didn’t have to sit there and constantly make the weather do what he wanted. Once he got it going, he didn’t have to do anything else until he wanted it to stop.

“C’mon,” Seungcheol stood before he helped you up, “I need to get food in you.”

“Are Mingyu and Danbi back from Jiung’s?” Seokmin wondered.

“You just want to play with Jiwoo,” he chuckled. “Yeah, they’re back.”

“Finally!” Seokmin grinned, hopping up from the floor.

The next morning, you were awoken by the sound of howling and excited yipping. You groaned and rolled onto your other side, burying your face in your pillow to drown it out. You felt Seungcheol’s arms encircle you and pull you to his chest, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head.

But then you heard Yeji from downstairs shriek excitedly, “There’s snow everywhere!”

Your eyes opened, staying narrowed. You were definitely awake now.

“Guess the pack saw Seokmin’s little surprise,” Seungcheol said, his voice raspy and deep from sleeping.

Everyone had obviously noticed the snow falling the day prior, but about a foot or two had accumulated quickly on the ground around the house. A few of the wolves had already run outside to play, but apparently some people had just woken up and noticed – and by some people, you meant your overly-excited sister.

Soon enough, you heard feet bolting down the hall before throwing open your bedroom door.

“Seungcheol!” Mingyu was panting. “Seokmin made it snow yesterday, and look outside!”

“I didn’t realize snow on the ground meant everyone forgot how to knock,” Seungcheol said as he sat up and stretched his arms above his head.

Mingyu blushed a bit even though he knew he wasn’t interrupting anything, “Sorry. Are you gonna come outside?”

“In a bit. Let me bundle up _____.”

“_____, we can have a snowball fight!” Mingyu gasped excitedly. “I bet you’ll be really good at it.”

You rolled over, looking up at Seungcheol, “Is that the thing kids do?”

Seungcheol chuckled, nodding his head, “Yes. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re all just very big children.”

After being put in five sweaters, two pairs of pants – one pair being yours and the other being Seungcheol’s just because he thought they might somehow be better for you – and a hat, Seungcheol brought you outside with him while he wore just a sweater and a pair of pants. You looked up at the sky, scrunching your face as snow hit your skin. Seungcheol chuckled as he watched, taking note of how beautiful you looked with fresh snow falling into your hair.

The entire pack was out in the yard, even little Jiwoo who was bundled up in multiple blankets and was being held on Minghao’s hip while her father was enjoying the snow. Most of the boys were in their wolf forms, running around, rolling in it, or trying to catch snowflakes in their mouths. Mingyu was rolling a ball of snow with his muzzle while he helped Danbi make a snowman. Minghao was softly talking to Jiwoo about how pretty the snow was as her large eyes looked around in wonder, it being the first time the young child had seen the white, fluffy stuff. Those of the pack in their human form were tossing snowballs at each other and others while they laughed loudly.

The only person who wasn’t playing in the snow – that you could see – was Joshua. He just said the last thing he wanted was to be pelted with cold things. You couldn’t say you disagreed with Josh.

“How is this fun?” you grumbled, looking back at Seungcheol as you blinked snowflakes off your eyelashes.

“Well just staring at it isn’t fun,” he told you. “Go make a snowman or a snow angel or–”

“_____!” you heard Chan call. You turned your head just in time to catch a snowball to the chest. You froze, staring at the same spot while the youngest giggled. “Come play with us!”

“Ah, maybe after she gets used to the snow, Chan,” Seungcheol told him pointedly as he grabbed your arms and pulled you over to where Wonwoo and Danbi were now making snow angels together. “Why don’t you stay with Wonwoo while I go get changed. He’ll make sure you don’t get hit with anything.”

Wonwoo nodded up at you from where he was squatting down on the ground, not even looking as he put up a hand to block the stray snowball coming his way. As soon as it splattered against the side of his arm, he let it down and looked back down at his sister on the ground.

“See? You’re in good hands,” Seungcheol grinned as he pressed a kiss to your temple before he went back into the house.

Mingyu, who was watching the siblings make snow angels, pressed his snow-covered nose against your cheek as he sniffed your face. Even that made you make a face and recoil away from him, shoving his furry face away.

“So,” Danbi sat up with snow in her hair, “you really have never played in the snow?”

Wonwoo chuckled at his sister as he began to brush the snow from her hair, saying, “Not everybody likes snow, Danbi. Lilly was allergic.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, “How can somebody be allergic?”

“I believe the doctor in town called it cold urticaria.”

“Excuse me?”

Wonwoo just laughed softly, shaking his head.

Seungcheol came back outside quickly, but he was in his wolf form this time. He ran up to you and nuzzled into your hair happily, excited to be able to play outside with his brothers. You couldn’t help but laugh at how happy he was, but it stopped when he moved his nose to nudge you in the side, moving you closer to the chaos of the pack.

“Whoa, what?” you asked as your legs were forced to move forward. “Seungcheol, I didn’t agree to this!”

Still, your mate continued to move your forward so you could properly experience the snow. Of course, the pack noticed this and started to get even more excited. Soonyoung bounded over to you, skidding to a stop and kicking up snow.

The first thing Seungcheol tried to get you to try was making a snowman. He started by poking a snowball on the ground with his nose, nudging it around until it started to roll into a bigger ball. He looked up at you expectantly before he gestured to the growing ball with his head.

You huffed, “Seungcheol this shit is cold. I don’t want to touch it.”

He let out a huff of his own before pointing at the ball sharply with his nose.

You grumbled to yourself about how you didn’t want to, but you did it anyway. You bent down and began rolling the ball around until Seungcheol decided it was big enough to be a snowman base. Then he helped you make the middle and managed to maneuver it on top of the first ball with his muzzle. Then he let you make the head and put that on as well.

Yeji had ventured into the woods earlier with Hansol and Junhui to find pebbles on the ground since the property was completely covered in snow. So she gave you a few from her pocket for eyes and buttons. Then Seungcheol trotted over with a stick in his mouth and handed it to you. You very un-enthusiastically jammed it in the poor snowman’s face. Your fingers were numb, your nose and cheeks were red, and you just wanted to go inside and curl up under some blankets.

To add insult to injury, the wolves were playing too rough with each other, and Junhui skidded straight into your snowman, knocking it over and causing its snow body to splatter on the ground. Seungcheol looked down at the dead snowman body before he growled and leaped at the younger werewolf, wrestling with him for ruining your hard work.

You wished you were the snowman.

You walked into your bedroom with a towel still between your hands as you dried your hair, damp from the snow. However, when you walked into your room, Seungcheol was in there, still without clothes on. He had shifted back downstairs while you went to go get a towel to dry your hair, and now he was digging through drawers to find new clothes for the both of you.

This wasn’t the first time seeing Seungcheol naked. You’d taken showers and baths together plenty of times. But for some reason, your cheeks were heating up – and not just because you had been playing out in the snow.

You walked over to your mate – you knew he could hear you enter – and wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your nose into his back to warm it while your hands clung to his toned stomach, making him shiver from how cold they felt.

“I feel like an ice cube,” you whined.

“Yeah, you do,” he chuckled. “Do you want me to warm you up?”

You nodded, your nose rubbing against his back. Except, you were thinking of other means of warming up than he was. Most of the pack was still playing outside anyway.

“Alright, let me just find some–”

“Seungcheol?” when you spoke this time, your voice was a lot smaller than it had been.

“Hmm?”

“Y-you don’t have to, like…put clothes on if, y’know…this is more comfortable…”

Seungcheol laughed softly, turning in your arms to face you. He cupped your face between his hands, eyebrows raised, “Is this your way of telling me you want to do something?”

You’d done things with Seungcheol before, sure. But you’d never actually had ‘proper’ sex with him before. It wasn’t that you were scared or didn’t know how, you just always felt a little uncomfortable knowing that the rest of the pack would be able to hear you. But now that they were all preoccupied outside…

You nodded, “I’m cold, it’s for my health.”

“_____, you’re not going to get hypothermia,” he laughed, rolling his eyes playfully. “What do you want me to do?”

“Well…” you began slowly, trying to ignore the heat that was now crawling to the tip of your ears, “I-I think I’m ready for marking.”

Seungcheol’s eyes widened, though he looked more surprised than afraid. The statement just took him off guard. You’d never even mentioned marking other than when you asked about how it worked and if the pain was bad, but you hadn’t mentioned it in a while.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his hands stroking up and down your arms. “You don’t need to feel pressured or anything.”

“Seungcheol, I really want to,” you insisted. “I love you and I want to be yours.”

“You are mine, with or without a mark,” he promised, a soft smile on his face as he placed the bend of his finger under your chin. “Look at Danbi and Mingyu – she wasn’t marked for a long time.”

“I promise, Cheol, I’m asking because I want it.”

Seungcheol nodded, “Okay. Then I’d be more than happy to mark you as mine.”

He smiled as he leaned down to press his lips to yours, softly and playfully at first but slowly growing in intensity and desperation. Your back hit the mattress, making both of you giggle as he toppled down on top of you, making sure to catch himself with his hands as to not actually crush you. But still, his lips never left yours.

“Guess it’s a good thing you don’t have all those layers on anymore,” he chuckled against your lips, one of his thumbs stroking your cheek that was still flushed from the cold.

Seungcheol sat up just enough to pull your shirt off over your head. He let his eyes scan over your body, a warm grumble resonating in his chest as his hands wandered over your soft skin, “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

“Only because you never stop telling me,” you laughed softly, rolling your eyes.

“And I’ll never stop telling you,” he insisted before he was leaning down again to meet your lips.

His lips moved feverishly against yours like he couldn’t get enough of you. One hand cupped your cheek while the other held him up, his tongue pushing passed your lips to explore your mouth. Your arms were around him, fingers tangled in his hair to keep him as close as possible.

Seungcheol’s lips began to trail downward, leaving open-mouthed kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking on your skin on their way. His hands moved to take your bra off, unclipping it behind you before sliding the straps down. That was tossed off the side of the bed, Seungcheol not even paying attention to where he threw it.

His lips went to one of your nipples, one hand massaging the other and brushing your nipple with his thumb. You moaned out his name softly, arching your chest up as your eyes fluttered closed. His tongue flicked over the hardening bud, looking up at you as he did so to watch every little movement from your face.

Seungcheol’s mouth continued its decent, his hands also moving downward to pull off your bottoms and underwear. You lifted your hips to help, and then he tossed those off the bed to join your bra on the floor.

Now, Seungcheol was laid down on his stomach between your thighs, pushing your legs open to make room for him. Seungcheol had seen you like this before already but it didn’t stop the heat rushing to your cheeks or the urge to close your legs and hide from his eyes that were locked on your heat as the yellow began to dot red.

“So beautiful…” he whispered, brushing his index finger through your folds before teasing your slit.

You whimpered softly, covering your face from embarrassment.

Seungcheol chuckled seeing your expression, dipping his head closer to you, “You’re cute when you’re shy.”

You felt his tongue lick a stripe from your slit to your clit, and you bit your lip to keep from moaning. Your hands went to his dark hair as his lips wrapped around your clit and sucked lightly, flicking his tongue over the bundle of nerves. You already knew what Seungcheol’s tongue was capable of, and yet, it still took you by surprise.

“Don’t keep in those noises, baby,” Seungcheol cooed as he teased his finger at your entrance again. He slowly slid it in, smirking a little at the way you said his name in a quiet moan. “The pack is outside and they’re not paying any attention – nobody will hear you.”

He began pumping his finger slowly, curling it to reach all the spots he’d learned you liked while his lips and tongue worked on your clit. You let out a moan that was a little louder this time, your hips starting to grind up into Seungcheol.

He added a second finger, curling them the same way as he pressed his tongue flat against your clit and let you grind against his face, growling softly as your hands tugged at his hair. He started scissoring his fingers in you, stretching you out for what was to come once he decided you were prepped enough. For now, he just wanted to enjoy the soft moans and mewls that fell from your lips.

You felt a knot starting to tighten in your lower abdomen, so you started rocking your hips faster. Seungcheol noticed the signs of your incoming release – your hips speeding up, the way your eyebrows knitted together, the way your whines started to get higher – and removed his fingers, sitting up and away from you. Had you not known Seungcheol planned on giving you exactly what you wanted very soon, you would’ve never let him hear the end of your complaining.

You watched as Seungcheol stuck his two fingers in his mouth, lapping up your juices as he smirked at you with red eyes, “You taste so sweet, princess.”

“Cheol…” you whined, covering your face with your arms.

He just chuckled, leaning down above you to move your limbs away from your face, pressing a kiss to your lips. He kissed you softly for a moment as to try to get rid of any nervousness you might’ve had before he gripped his member, stroking it a few times to get it fully hard before he was teasing your folds with the tip. He smirked at the way your hips wiggled and bucked up slightly.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, all of the playfulness melting away, “Are you ready?”

You nodded, moving your hands to grip his shoulders.

“Just tell me if you want to stop, okay?”

You nodded again, so Seungcheol lined himself up with your entrance. Then he was slowly pushing into you, letting out a soft groan and an even softer “fuck” as his head dropped into your neck. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he stretched you out, your eyes squeezing closed. It definitely hurt a little but but not enough for you to want him to stop.

Once he was completely inside, he stilled, his lips brushing across your neck in small kisses to help you relax. When you finally gave him the okay, he moved at a slow pace, trying to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable in any way. You’d done other intimate stuff but he’d never been inside you – and he knew you’d never had sex before – so he didn’t want to hurt you. He was even honored you trusted him with this.

“You’re doing so well, baby,” he hummed, capturing your lips in a sweet kiss as his hips continued to rock at a steady pace.

You let out a quiet moan at his praise, your arms wrapping around his neck to keep him close to you. He smiled against your lips, the happy grumble in his chest vibrating against yours. One of his hands moved down your body, raising goosebumps until he reached your clit. His fingers worked circles into it, drawing soft mewls from you that were music to his ears.

“Do you feel okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, biting your lip softly. The pain had slowly gone away, leaving you with only pleasure that was slowly building the knot in your stomach back up. The look you gave him with your eyebrows knitting together in pleasure but your eyes almost begging him to do more was enough to almost send him over the edge, especially with how amazing you felt around him.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispered, using his thumb to gently tug your bottom lip from between your teeth. “My beautiful little mate.”

He sat up as his own orgasm began to approach, determined to get you to cum before he did. He knew it would distract from the pain of marking and that was his biggest priority. Seungcheol wanted to avoid hurting you at all costs, at least for your first time.

His fingers started moving quicker as he started aiming his thrusts into a new spot, making you moan out his name and grip the sheets beneath you.

“You’re doing so good for me, baby,” he moaned, his dark bangs sticking to his forehead with sweat. “Fuck… You take me so well; you’re so amazing.”

Your orgasm started to approach a lot faster than you thought it would, your moans and whimpers growing louder and more needy. Seungcheol could tell you were getting close from the way you clenched around him, but he couldn’t have you cumming just yet.

Seungcheol removed his fingers from your clit, placing both hands on your hips as he rolled his hips into yours. You whined, the quickly building high dying down a little bit because of the loss of stimulation.

“Just hold on a little longer, love,” he grunted, trying to get himself closer to his own high. His eyes closed as his head dropped back, the sight of his toned body shining from the light sheen of sweat on his body making him look godlike. “You feel so amazing, I’m almost there…”

Your high was still building with every thrust of Seungcheol’s hips, though. You pulled him back down to you, trying to distract yourself by leaving little kisses and love bites along the column of his neck and across his collarbones. Seungcheol groaned at the feeling, his hips suddenly sharply thrusting forward into you. With the burn of your orgasm approaching, you bit on Seungcheol’s shoulder – not enough to break skin or anything – to hold yourself back, clenching around him.

That was enough to tip him over the edge, one hand going back down to your clit and rubbing into it quickly. Your eyes squeezed shut as your body tensed with your orgasm.

“Let go, baby,” he said softly, but his voice was a growl.

It hit you harder than any other high you’d had, but it was the second wave that really got you. It came with a sudden sharpness in the crook of your neck, but it had you crying out Seungcheol’s name as your toes curled and your thighs locked around his hips. It felt amazing.

After riding out both of your highs, Seungcheol took his teeth out of you and dragged his tongue across the wound to help it heal. You whimpered at the feeling of him pulling out of you, his release and yours dripping slowly down your thighs.

“It didn’t hurt too much, did it?” he wondered.

“No,” you sighed, letting your fingers drag through Seungcheol’s dark hair. You smiled up at him softly when he pulled away to look at your face. “I love you.”

He grinned, bumping your nose with his own, “I love you, too. Thanks for letting me do this – it means so much to me.”

Your sweet moment was cut off by a knock at the door, which had Seungcheol’s head whipping around to look at the door.

“I want you guys to know,” Joshua’s voice came from the other side, “that I didn’t go outside, and I heard everything. Also, you’re lucky Seungkwan’s on his deathbed or you’d have two disgusted wolves here.”

Your face turned completely red as you hid in Seungcheol’s neck while he laughed at you.

“You said nobody could hear!” you whined.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugged, not seeming to care if his brother heard or not, “I guess I forgot about Josh.”

332 notes · View notes

alphabet-blues · 3 years

Photo

Here it is, chapter one of my baby, my magnum opus. This fic is going to be so long so I hope you guys are buckled up and ready. Each chapter also is accompanied by a literature/media excerpt and five song mini-mix as a YouTube playlist. - Venom

Read on Ao3

Title: drowning lessons

Pairing: Harley Keener/Peter Parker

Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland), and MCU

Chapter: One

Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Angst, Depression, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Graphic Drug usage, Addiction, Graphic Usage of Opioids, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, brief mentions of forced prostitution, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, drug overdose, Graphic Depiction of a Drug Overdose, Getting Together, Fluff, Banter, The Euphoria Fic, Blowjobs, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drug Addict Harley, Aged-Up Harley Keener, Aged-Up Peter Parker, Drowning Lessons, Falling In Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags Are Hard, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Underage Drinking, Partying, Purchasing of Drugs, Harley's Nirvana Hoodie is a character

Summary: It all started with a house party and a bad idea, like most things in Harley’s life.

In which Harley takes pills, listens to Nirvana, and doesn't want to be alive anymore.

Falling for Peter is easier than breathing, and also the least of his problems.

(Also known as the Parkner Euphoria Fic)

Mini-Mix 1 for Chapter 1

The Pool Players. Seven at the Golden Shovel.

We real cool. We Left school. We

Lurk late. We Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We Die soon.

- Gwendolyn Brooks

It all started with a house party and a bad idea, like most things in Harley’s life.

He was 14, and it was his first party. Well, not his first party, but his first party with actual high schoolers that involved booze that wasn’t snuck out from a parent’s meticulous liquor cabinet. Harley though, didn’t have much of a taste for alcohol.

The smell of beer on people’s clothes was tainted by memories of his Father. He’d had his first beer when he was 10, given to him by his Uncle with strict orders not to tell his Mother. It was bitter, rancid, and burned as it went down and Harley couldn’t understand how people loved this stuff. Or how his Father had chosen this over their family.

The party was a little ways out from the main road and tucked behind a line of trees that led to a few rolling fields of corn. It was October, and there was a slight chill in the air. The corn had been combined at the end of summer, leaving a desecrated patch of land in its wake. By the time next summer rolled around, there would be stalks nearly as tall as Harley. He was fascinated by the cycle of it all.

Technically, there wasn’t supposed to be any freshman at the party, but he had weaseled an invite from his friend Joey’s older brother, Mike, as long as he followed his strict orders to “be cool.” Harley could do that.

When Harley made his way into the house he watched the different crowds of upperclassmen interact. Some were dancing to the loud thumping of the music playing from the speakers by the TV in the living room, while others were huddled into tight groups, either drinking, or passing a joint around. An ache settled inside Harley’s chest.

Harley committed to his role of being a wallflower and held back from all of the groups as he made his way through the house. He had sat on the couch for close to a half-hour when someone passed him a joint and told him to take a hit. Harley did, and was careful not to choke so he didn’t look green at his first-ever real party.

The joint in question got passed around their circle a few more times until someone put it out. At that point, Harley had taken several puffs and was starting to feel light-headed and fuzzy, but in a good way.

The ache in his chest morphed - it spread warmth over Harley’s ribs and clavicle, but it still burned.

Harley floated through the house afterwards, giggling at nothing, and took whatever was offered. He drank something bitter and sour that made him want to hurl before he was passed something sickly sweet but felt like acid as it washed down. When he finally stumbled out of the house he felt a happy buzz wash over him. He could barely feel the cold nip of the air, and goosebumps raised all up along his arms.

He found his bike where he had discarded it on the grass lawn when he arrived. It was hard to see in the dark, especially with his head swimming, but he managed to pull his bike onto the road. The wind of the night air blew through his shaggy overgrown hair as it fell in his eyes. He biked down the eerily quiet streets of his hometown as the persistent aching in his chest eventually subsided, for the first time since it had arrived. No one was around, and his ears were filled with static due to the lack of sound - a sharp contrast from the thudding bass of the party.

He fell off his bike twice before he got home, and winced as his elbow got scratched up from the gravel. But instead of being frightened, he was elated, he couldn't really feel it. He snuck back into his room through the window he kept unlocked for that exact purpose, and made sure to be as quiet as possible, even though the motor functions in his hand were failing him and it took him multiple tries to get his window up.

He changed his clothes, noting how they smelled, and buried them deep into the bottom of his hamper so his Mom wouldn’t get suspicious. When he finally collapsed onto his bed he felt sated. He was warm, and the rocking of his bed from his head spinning as he closed his eyes lulled him to sleep.

It was probably the best sleep he’d gotten in years.

That was the start, but it wasn’t the beginning.

The beginning was not quite a year later, at the start of summer break. He was invited to a pool party by Mike’s friends. As soon as the sun went down they all changed out of their bathing suits and into t-shirts, and shorts. They relocated to Maddy’s basement - the girl who had been throwing the party. Harley was expecting the alcohol, and the weed. He’d gotten used to it by now, and even knew how to roll one of the best joints in town. He kept a stash in a sealed bag buried deep inside his nightstand that he would pull out and smoke in the backyard by the shed whenever things got overwhelming. Or, for when that well-known emptiness crept into his veins, that instead of making him angry, just made him sad, and desolate.

He was used to the weed, but the pills were something new. He was halfway through a joint that he had matched with a girl he vaguely recognized. She had introduced herself as “Tasha” when one of Mike’s friends stumbled over and sat down next to him. Harley passed the joint over to Tasha. His head was swimming pleasantly, and he grinned over at the guy who he was pretty sure was named Toby.

“Look what Jessica’s sister brought,” Toby said excitedly as he held up a baggy with a bunch of tiny perfectly round blue pills. “She’s like the fucking tooth fairy, I swear to God,” He crowed as he handed a pill to Harley and one to Tasha. Tasha glanced over at Harley nervously, and Harley didn’t say anything until Toby left, probably to go distribute the pills to the other partygoers.

Harley looked down at the pill he had clutched in his palm. It had a ‘5’ etched big in the center, with a smaller ‘325’ carved under it. Harley recognized the pills from health class. It was percocet.

Tasha finished the joint and then stubbed it out on a spare plate that everyone had been using as a makeshift ashtray. “I’m gonna go see what Josh is up to,” She told Harley in a small voice before handing him the pill she had been given. “I’m good with just weed.”

Harley nodded dumbly as he watched her scamper off. He took in the scene of the party going on around him as he stared at the now two pills in his hand. It felt like an old cartoon where there was an angel and devil sitting on his shoulder arguing over what he should do. He stared at it for entirely too long before he said, “Fuck it,” and swallowed one down dry. He tucked the other one into his weed grinder for safekeeping, figuring that even if he hated how it made him feel he could probably sell it to someone at school for a couple of dollars.

The next twenty minutes passed slowly as he waited anxiously for it to kick in, to see how it would feel. He didn’t feel anything for the first while and was gonna accuse Jessica’s sister of being an idiot and buying counterfeit pills when it started washing over him in waves. He went out to the back deck where the pool was, and where it was relatively empty. He sat down on the edge as his eyes went half-massed, and the ribbons of euphoria made their way through his bloodstream.

For a blissful while he didn’t feel anything. Nothing at all. He laid out flat, head facing the water, and started swirling circles in it with his pointer finger. He watched for what felt like hours as his finger caused ripples in the pool.

It wasn’t until later, much later, when Joey was helping him into his house quietly, because he was too fucked up to stand, that he pulled the grinder out of his pocket. He opened it once Joey had gone home and looked at the little pill inside of it. Harley didn’t understand alcohol, but he understood this. He would do anything to feel nothing again.

It wasn’t an all-or-nothing type beat, at least in the beginning. It was more gradual. As the low simmer of Harley’s misery built so did his coping mechanisms. It wasn’t until right after he turned 16 that he was sneaking out to parties every single weekend, coming back high, drunk, or sometimes something worse.

He bought from Jessica’s sister for a while until she left town. Then, he bounced around various dealers getting wildly different qualities. He tried a little bit of everything, and never turned down a pill if it was offered. He passed out in so many different basements he lost track. He could tell that his Mom was catching on to his worsening attitude and sunken eyes. Hell, even he had noticed the weight he had lost and how he was able to count most of his ribs without sucking in anymore. None of that mattered. All that mattered was how he could get rid of the emptiness inside of him, even if it was just for a night, or however long the drugs in his system lasted.

He got a job bagging groceries at the mini-mart downtown. Most of the people that he worked with were college burnouts who sold and did drugs whenever they weren’t showing up for a shift. He bought baggies of pills in the parking lot whenever he got off work with the money he made from his minimum wage. He knew that he couldn’t keep up the delicate balance forever, and eventually there would be a tipping of the scales.

It was a month before his 17th birthday when he ran out of money.

He needed a fix so bad that his hands were shaking and he could barely see straight. He had nearly crashed his bike 10 times on his way over to Tyler’s apartment. He wasn’t the best of dudes, but his shit was always pure, and Harley knew he could deliver.

Once Harley climbed up the steps he walked along the railing until he got to the door that led to Tyler’s apartment. He rang the doorbell as he fidgeted with his hoodie and dug his fingers into his palm so hard he nearly drew blood. When Tyler opened the door he followed him inside, chewing on his lip.

Tyler went back to his room as Harley waited anxiously in the foyer. He didn’t have any money, and he didn’t know what he was going to do. All he knew was that he needed another pill. He needed everything to stop. He bit his thumb as he waited for Tyler to come back out. After a few tense moments, Tyler came back out with a baggy full of familiar pills. He sat them down on the coffee table and glanced at Harley expectantly.

“I can pay you back next Friday. That’s when I get paid,” Harley told him, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.

Tyler sucked on his teeth and grabbed the pills back up, before Harley had a chance to reach for them. “You still owe me for last time.”

Harley’s stomach dropped. “Right. I know that. Just- ... I can pay you back next week.”

Tyler shook his head. “And what’s in it for me?”

Harley’s eyes widened as he took in the setting of what was going on. “W-what do you mean?”

Tyler shrugged. “How bad do you want ‘em, kid?”

Harley bristled, and brought the sleeves of his hoodie down to hide his hands. He wanted to hide from the situation completely, but knew he’d be right back here tomorrow if he didn’t leave with the pills that he needed. “What do you want?”

“I heard you gave Colson head at the bonfire party a few months ago,” Tyler said, as Harley’s face burned. “You any good?”

Harley counted to 10 in his head. He thought about a lot of things in the time it took for him to count. He thought about his Mom, his Dad, and his sister. He thought about his one English teacher from the previous year who always had an absurd amount of faith in him and told him that he was capable of great things if he just put his mind to it. He thought briefly about Tony and his billions of dollars while here he was broke as shit and questioning his morals. He thought about Colson, who he’d had a crush on for a couple of months, who let him blow him at a party and then told him afterwards that he wasn’t gay, and that they probably shouldn’t do it again. Lastly, he thought about how shaky his hands were and how all of this would be over as soon as he got his hand on the pills. There were five in the baggy. If he paced himself he could last until next Friday when he got paid and he would never have to do this again.

With that resolve in mind, he closed his eyes and dropped to his knees.

| | |

When he left Tyler’s apartment he couldn’t stop wiping at his mouth, and how it felt dirty and raw. He got halfway down the street before he let his bike fall to the ground and bent over to wretch into the grass on the side of the road. He didn’t have much in his system so it was mostly just bile, but anything, literally anything, was better than the lingering taste of Tyler’s cum in his mouth that only served to remind him what he had let him do.

Once he gathered his wits back up, he was able to make it to the 7-Eleven that was only a few blocks away from his house. He parked his bike in the bike rack outside half in a daze, feeling like he was no longer inside his body. He went into the bathroom with his hood up, and made sure nobody else was inside. He wiped down the edge of the sink with soap, and dried it meticulously with the thin paper towels from the machine. He took one of the pills out of the baggie and smashed it until it was basically powder. He spread it with his finger into a line on the edge of the sink and snorted all of it in one go.

As soon as he did he felt the immediate head rush and stinging pain in his nasal cavity that made his eyes burn and well up with tears. He grabbed onto the sink for dear life as he took several deep breaths. He looked up and finally made eye contact with himself in the mirror. His hair was a messy tangle, and greasy, on top of his head. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nose was red, as well as his mouth, which looked rubbed raw. In a certain light, it could have been enticing, but Harley knew that he just really looked wrung out.

He glared at his reflection in the mirror until someone else walked into the bathroom. Harley froze in place and waited till the guy took his position at one of the far down urinals. “Whatever,” he whispered to his reflection as he turned around and left the bathroom, wiping at his nose with the bottom of his hoodie sleeve. The moment he reached his bike he felt it start to kick in and he breathed out a sigh of relief as the telltale rush he had gotten used to spread from his head down his shoulders, all the way to his toes as his chest flooded with warmth.

He just had to make it until next Friday, and then everything was going to be okay.

| | |

The thing was, Harley was a pretty angry person. He wasn’t angry all the time, but the slightest thing could set him off. He had a temper like his Dad, and it was always hard to stop himself from doing something rash, or impulsive. His Mom liked to say that he thought with his fists before his head. His anger was more like a low simmer, on a backburner constantly until something set him off and he snapped. It had only gotten worse since he started the pills, but so had everything in his life. He knew he had a problem, but that didn’t mean he wanted to stop.

Harley had been getting into fights at school for almost as long as he could remember. There was a day in elementary school where he had to wait outside the principal's office with a split lip and torn-up knuckles. He could hear his Mom crying through the door, he could hear her saying how tough it had been since Harley’s Dad had left and it made him feel awful. But, it also kind of just made him want to punch stuff more.

Kids at school were mean, but all kids who are growing are mean, and seem to have endless bouts of nasty shit to say. They picked on Harley because he was weird, and nerdy, and his Dad had left. There wasn’t even a divorce like some of the other kids in his class. He didn’t have elusive tales of two Christmases, or weekends at his Dad’s - all he eventually got was Tony Stark showing up in his garage when he was 9, before he fucked off just like everybody else. Sure, he had decked out his garage, but that didn’t mean much. Tony was a fucking billionaire, it was probably the equivalent of him giving a homeless kid on the street a 5 dollar bill.

Harley got better at learning how to deal with his anger. He also got better at not getting punched, and throwing his own. He learned how to hide bloody knuckles, or bloody noses, and only got pulled into the office a handful of times. They made him go to the school counselor and she said it was a coping mechanism; that the violence was a way for him to act out and ask for attention. Harley thought she was mostly a quack who didn’t actually give a shit about the kids she was supposed to be helping. The fighting had been self-defense, but the pills? He could admit that those were probably the coping mechanism.

Harley thought about his school counselor as he locked the door to his room and threw the baggy of pills that he had worked so hard for into his nightstand, under a pile of books he was supposed to be reading for class and knew he never would. He wondered what she would think of him now, or what he had done. He laughed mirthlessly at the picture of her horrified face as he told her that the school system had failed him, just like his Dad, and just like everybody fucking else.

Despite everything, his grades were good. Harley was smart. He knew he was smart, and that was half of his problem. He stopped having to try in school after the second week of 6th grade. He always showed up, and always finished his work though, even if he was working on his projects high out of his fucking mind. He usually wrote his best papers that way.

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, he thought about his Dad. He thought about what his Dad would say to him and his pills. Maybe an outsider would draw parallels to him and his Father, from one addict to another. He wasn’t anything like his Father, though. Yeah, Harley had a problem, but he was still here, still doing the shit he was supposed to be doing. He was still a functioning member of society as far as he was concerned and hadn’t ran away as soon as things had gotten tough. His Father was a coward and that’s all he’d ever be.

Sometimes though, sometimes, in the dead of night when he was shaking and sweating from either a comedown, or withdrawal, he would try to discern if his Dad would be sad, if he even gave a shit at all. He wondered if he would be disappointed.

Whenever those thoughts took hold he would just text one of his friends to see if a party was going on, and there usually was. He’d smoke a joint, or take a pill that was offered and suddenly he’d forget all about the thoughts that had previously been consuming him.

But the thing about all of his anger is that he would gladly take it over the sadness. There was a hole inside of him. He wasn’t quite sure when it formed, but it was there. It threatened to consume him whole on nights he was alone and could only stare at the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom. The only time when he didn’t feel empty was when he had some chemical pumping through his veins. So that became his thing.

He couldn’t ignore though, how it was hurting everyone he loved. Abbie and his Mom never said anything, but sometimes it was like they knew. They would give him a look with their sad eyes like they wanted to help him, like they somehow had the capability to heal him. When he came home on certain nights, pupils blown and speech slurred, his Mom would look at him like he was his Father.

Maybe he was slowly becoming his Father.

Either way, it hurt, and he couldn’t stop. The only thing that didn’t hurt anymore was the dizzying rush he got whenever he snorted the pills that he had come to love so much.

There was one night that Harley could remember. He had slammed his bike on the front porch a little hard, and had made a little too much noise coming in through the window of his bedroom. He was high as shit and the world was thick, but buzzing around him. He changed out of his jeans into an undershirt, his hands fumbling and not working right, like they were no longer connected to his brain. When he finally finished his task he stumbled out into the hallway to go to the bathroom before he could pass out for school in the morning.

As soon as he got to the door of the bathroom he could hear his Mom talking in the living room, and he froze. Her voice was muffled, but he could still make out what she was saying. It sounded like she was on the phone with someone, which wouldn’t be an unusual occurrence for her, especially at this time of the night. It always made Harley smile whenever he would come home and she would be gabbing excitedly with one of her girlfriends, or spilling town gossip. This time, however, Harley could tell she wasn’t chatting with her friends.

“He’s just been so withdrawn. I know he sneaks out of the house almost every night and I don’t know if I should let him have his freedom or be concerned.” Harley heard her say, her voice sapped, and weary. “He’s so bright. You know that. I’m worried that’s going to be what gets him.” She paused for a while, so someone else on the phone must have said something. Harley took that time to let his head fall against the door of the bathroom.

Harley had a feeling the conversation was about him and it made him sick. His fuzzy brain was taking in all the words she was saying and knew that he didn’t want her to feel that way. He didn’t want her to worry. But he also couldn’t stop. His brain was whirring all the time and the only thing that ever gave him peace; a fucking reprieve, stopped the voice in his head - the one that sounded like his Father, the one that told him he was a waste of space, that he was nothing - were the pills that he took, or snorted, whichever was easier, or quicker, really. At least when he was high he was a good nothing.

“No, I know. And he’s so good sometimes. He’ll be happy and chatty, and he’s always been so good with Abbie...it could just be a teenager thing. Sometimes I’m just at a loss. I know he needs something, but I don’t know what that is.”

The world to stop turning, Harley thought, with a sudden flash of vengeance. If there was one thing he could write on his Christmas list it would be for the world to stop turning, and for him to stop breathing. But that would definitely cause his Mom more concern and he didn’t want that.

He didn’t want to listen to the conversation anymore, so he made sure to open the bathroom door obviously, and took a few stomping steps inside, hitting his hand on the counter in the process, that way she would be alerted to his presence in the hallway.

He couldn’t make out her voice after that.

Harley stared at his face in the mirror. He took in his red eyes, pupils swallowing his irises, skin pale and sickly. At one point he might have been something to look at, with sweeping blonde hair, and a crooked grin that his Mom used to always pinch and say was her favorite.

He didn’t look like that anymore.

He didn’t even look like himself anymore. His outside finally matched his inside - a hollow shell of someone pretending to be a person.

When he got out of the bathroom his Mom was no longer on the phone, and he couldn’t pretend to be anything other than absolutely exhausted, so he shuffled into his room and fell back onto his bed. He played the words she had said on the phone call over and over again in his head until he fell asleep.

| | |

Harley was smart, brilliant, actually, that was the thing. School was a breeze, but he knew that even though he kept his grades up, every time he snuck back in through his bedroom window his Mom was disappointed in him. He knew that she had no idea what he was doing, but she also wasn’t stupid, and somehow knew he was close to doing something that would throw his life away.

If only she knew that this was the only way he could keep on living. If only she knew he probably would have slit his wrists in the bathroom if those tiny little blue pills hadn’t kept him company, and drove away all the malicious clawing thoughts that flickered through his brain constantly.

Harley had an affinity for building things. He also had an affinity for hacking, which would have been worrisome if he wasn’t good enough to hardly ever get caught. After he burned his bridges with Tyler he started exploring his other options. Hacking into the local hospital’s database was so easy it was almost laughable.

He quickly learned it was going to be a dead-end because they kept all their opioids in a Pill-O-Matix which was an automatic drug dispenser that used doctors’ credentials to unlock it. Even if Harley could somehow bypass it he would have to disable the security cams, and it wasn’t something he could do on a regular basis. It wasn’t worth it.

After that, he did some digging into his local pharmacy, but that was mostly a dead end as well. Their computer systems were out of date, but most of their pill tracking was manual, as it was a tiny small-town pharmacy. If any of their opioids went missing they would surely be noticed.

So Harley started bouncing around dealers again. He knew it was dangerous. But the hole inside of him was just as, if not more dangerous, so he knew what he had to do. He got shitty pills from freshmen with older siblings that dealt; who didn’t know the worth of what they were selling. On one occasion he got a set of pills of oxy that were cut with speed that made his heart race and he felt like he was having a low-grade heart attack for hours.

He didn’t want to be this way - a junkie. But he found something that worked when nothing else had. He could feel himself getting worse and worse and knew rock bottom was just around the corner. But he couldn’t stop. He didn’t know if it was a sick desire to actually hit rock bottom and to see what that felt like, or if his own self-control had finally waned to a point of no return.

It all came to a head a week before his high school graduation.

Graduation parties were popping up all over the place, and Harley wasn’t about to miss any of them. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see his friends (friends that he could barely even call friends anymore because he didn’t really talk to anyone who wasn’t going to eventually sell him drugs).

It wasn’t even that he wanted to have a nostalgic cry fest with all the people who had tortured him his entire adolescence. He just wanted to get as smashed as possible so he could forget everything. Then he wouldn’t have to think about college, which he couldn’t afford, or all of the stress that came with being on the cusp of adulthood.

He could tell that something was off as soon as he took the first pill. He got high quicker than usual, and he also felt higher than what was normal. He relished the buzz, every second of it, and used his impairment as an excuse as to why he took another one, and another one once it was offered. He was never one to turn down free drugs. By the time the third one kicked in he could barely walk outside. He must have fallen on the grass lawn because one minute he was looking at the driveway that led to the house, and the next minute he was blinking up at the night sky.

He didn’t even realize that he was puking until someone was rolling him over with a bruising grip on his arms and back. The bile that had been clogging his throat rose and fell out of his mouth as he heaved and heaved. He puked into the grass for what felt like ages until he tried to focus his eyes and could only make out a vague blob of a person standing over him.

“Fuck, Harley,” he could hear the voice saying, but it was distant. It sounded like they were crying, but he couldn’t figure out why they would be crying. Harley opened his mouth to speak but when he did he only choked on bile once again until he was forced to spit it out in the grass.

A loud ringing was in his ears and all the talking he could hear was muffled and unintelligible. He started shivering violently and couldn’t stop. The hand that was holding him reached for something in the pocket of his jeans but Harley could barely feel it. He came back to himself enough to glance over with glassy eyes and recognized the person as Joey. Fuck. He shouldn’t be seeing him like this.

Joey had a phone pressed to his ear, and Harley tried to piece all the details together to figure out what was going on but it was hard to think. All he could feel was the sudden pounding in his head and how his whole body ached in a way that made him feel like he had just been run over by a semi.

It could’ve been hours later, or only a few minutes, time was passing weird for Harley. But suddenly he was seeing his Mom. She was pale as a ghost as her face floated in front of him, blocking his view of the night sky. “Mom?” Harley said, not quite believing what was in front of him. Just saying those words scratched against his raw throat and suddenly Harley was so, so tired. All he wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up.

“Harley, baby.” His Mom said, her cool hands pressed against his face. He was burning up. When did that happen? “What did you take? We need to know what you took.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Harley mumbled out, his words barely coming out as sounds or words. His Mom must have understood because her face turned thunderous.

“What did you take!” She yelled, her voice turning shrill as she screamed. Harley winced and his eyes fell shut until someone was shaking him, causing him to blearily open his eyes again. His Mom and Joey were like little pale-faced moons over his head as he could hardly make out the details of their faces, or why they were looking at him like that, or why they were so concerned. Couldn’t Harley just go to sleep?

“...hospital,” He heard his Mom say distantly. Then jerkily he was being pulled up by two pairs of hands until he was upright. The movement jostled him and his head fell back painfully like a rag doll. The sudden motion caused him to start puking again, and he bent over and heaved on an empty stomach which only made his throat feel like it had been hacked at with razor blades. Every inch of his body hurt.

He didn’t realize he had been put into a car until he was laying in the backseat while Joey held his head, probably to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit again. This was one of his worst nightmares. He could hardly think but suddenly he was stuck in a spiral of guilt so strong that it choked him even further. He could taste the bile he had been throwing up all over his mouth and tongue, and could hear his Mom crying from the front seat.

He was so sorry.

Nobody should be seeing him like this. All he wanted was to go home and pretend like none of this was even happening.

“I’m sorry,” Harley said, even though it was hard for him to talk. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to his Mom, Joey, or possibly both. “I’m sorry,” he kept saying in between the tears that were rolling down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

That was the last thing he remembered before he fell asleep.

| | |

When Harley woke up he was in a brightly lit hospital, and was lying in a bed. He had various wires hooked to his arms and he felt like death warmed over. Once he was able to blink through the blinding lights and focus on the room he noticed Abbie and Mom, both sound asleep in their own respective guest chairs. A lump formed in his throat as it settled in his bones what had happened.

| | |

After his Mom woke up they fought for what felt like hours. Eventually, it led to her crying as she said she didn’t know what to do. The pills Harley had taken at the party had been laced with fentanyl, and they had caused him to OD. The doctors had told her that he showed signs of having a long-term opioid addiction and would have to go through detox before he would be released. Harley had denied it vehemently until his Mom had told him to cut the bullshit.

In the time that it had taken him to recover he had missed graduation, and hadn’t been able to walk across the stage like the rest of his classmates. Harley pretended that it didn’t sting.

It was clear that his Mother didn’t know what to do with him, and Harley didn’t know what hurt worse, the fact that she looked at him differently now, or the fact that he had hurt her so deeply. It wasn’t until he went through the detox with gritted teeth and false promises that he would stay clean that he knew nobody really believed, that he was able to go home.

When Harley got to his room, he stopped short in the doorway and stared. All of his stuff had been packed up into bags that were sitting on his bed. He turned to look at his Mom, who was only a few feet behind him, with betrayal and fear. Was she kicking him out?

Instead of answering him right away, her eyes trained on a picture that was hung up in the hallway, just a little ways down from the entryway to Harley’s bedroom. It was a baby picture of him. His blonde hair was platinum then, but still tangled at the top of his head like a bird's nest, and he had a wide smile on his face that was completely toothless and all gums. He could see the tears welling in his Mom’s eyes as she turned back to face him.

“When you first mentioned that you wanted to take a gap year I got in touch with Tony. He gave me his number years ago and said to call if we ever needed him. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if the number was still going to work. I thought it might do you good to go and see him.” Her voice trembled then, “Lord knows he has more resources than I do.” A tear trickled down her cheek, but she continued. “I know you’re not happy here, baby. You haven’t been happy for a while, and I don’t...I don’t know what to do.”

Harley tried to let her words sink in, but they weren’t making any sense. “Since when does Tony give a shit about me?”

“Oh sweetie,” His Mom said, eyes sad. “He’s always been keeping tabs on you. He wants what’s best for you.” She seemed to gather herself together then, and her voice was less wobbly when she said, “I think a change of scenery will do you good. You have a flight to New York tomorrow morning, so you should probably get some rest.”

Harley balled his hands into fists at his sides and glared at the bags that had been packed for him. He was a problem who was being shipped off to New York because his Mom no longer knew how to handle him. He wasn’t sure what Tony fucking Stark was going to be able to do for him. The fact that he had been keeping up with Harley and how he was doing hit him as a shock because he genuinely thought that the man had forgotten about him, or at least, didn’t care for him anymore. He didn’t know how to handle the information that not only did Tony in fact care about him, but cared about him enough to open his home to him and want to help him.

“And what if I don’t want to go to New York?” Harley tested, because he always had to push.

His Mom only pursed her lips sadly. “It’s not negotiable.” She closed his door then, he guessed to give him a semblance of privacy. Not like it mattered, he was sure his room had been cleaned of all his stashes, and all his shit was packed up anyway.

Harley punched his pillow repeatedly, and screamed into it a few times before he ended up curled up in his bed and staring unblinkingly at the wall. If he was miserable in Tennessee he doubted New York was going to be much better.

Thanks for reading! This fic means so much to me and I can’t wait to hear the response to it, and post more :)

#Parkner #Drowning Lessons #Fic #Chapter One #Parkner Euphoria Fic #Graphic Drug Usage #Harley Keener #Peter Parker #Keenker #Parley #Harley/Peter #Harley Keener/Peter Parker

92 notes · View notes

killian-spey · 3 years

Text

Death Would be Kinder [ch.1]

[Drusilla/Spike/Calendar!Reader]

Words: 2626

Fic Concept: Jenny Calendar’s sister spends some “quality time” with the Season 2 Vampire Squad. [Ch.1 takes place in BtVS S2 Ep14]

TW/CW: Kidnapping, Violence, Nightmares.

AN: Check out the [Prologue] first if you haven’t already! :D

Tags: @prose-for-hire , (Comment below or send an ask to be added!)

You had run through the sewers for hours before you pulled yourself out of a manhole halfway across town. Escaping from the factory had worn you out completely, and you made your way home, hoping that Angel and Buffy had done the same.

When you got home, Jenny was asleep on the couch. It looked as though she'd been waiting up all night for you. You tucked a blanket over her and took her empty tea mug to the kitchen before going upstairs, where you flopped into bed and immediately found sleep.

You opened your eyes in the dark and two stormy grey eyes were staring into yours. You sat up confused as your eyes adjusted to the dark. A moment passed, then a new pair blinked into existence; they were blue, cold and unmoving. Their faces grew recognizable and a pit of anxiety grew in your stomach. Spike was leaning against your window sill. Drusilla was laying on your bed, reaching for you with one hand. You stumbled backwards with a yelp, falling onto your floor. Yellow eyes flashed once in your peripheral and then everyone was gone, just as quickly as they'd all appeared.

As you stood up, you found yourself in the factory. It was brighter here, but cold and empty. You spun, looking for an exit. Flashes of images knocked you off balance like punches. A red dress, flowing ribbon, blonde hair, black hair, crooked smiles, pointed teeth. Bells rang in your head, you saw a wheelchair, then painted red nails, then a ridged face. Your head was spinning. You were spinning. Faster and faster until you felt nauseous.

It stopped suddenly. A single thought pierced your adrenaline-rushing head. Soon-

You opened your eyes with a gasp, staring at the ceiling of your bedroom. It was morning and your alarm was going off. You stayed there a few minutes, snoozing the alarm so you could let your heart catch up with reality -or rather slow down to reality- before you got ready for the day and hopped in the car with your sister. Seems Buffy wasn’t the only one having bad dreams about vampires that should've been dead. Lucky you...

As it turns out, Buffy and Angel didn’t check in after last night’s screw up at the factory; thankfully Buffy came into school a couple minutes later to confirm she was still alive. The same couldn’t be said for Angel though, so tensions were high among the Scoobies while researching the Judge.

You were asked to use your artistic skills to draw the Judge to the best of your memory while the others looked into tomes with written references. The world tended to pass you by when you were drawing, so you almost didn’t notice when your sister left the library. She had been summoned by your Uncle, but for what you didn’t know. Not long after, the lights went out.

You stalked out of the library, seeing Xander, Willow, and Angel in the lobby of the school just down the hall. Willow was making her way towards Angel when-

“Willow, get away from him.” Jenny came from the left, holding up a cross as she stepped towards Angel. Oh. Oh no. You pulled a stake from your belt and called out to Willow as calmly as you could muster.

“Willow, walk back towards me.”

“What are you two talking about? It’s just A-”

Angel lunged forward and grabbed Willow by the neck. Familiar yellow eyes peered out of the darkness of the hallway as Willow yelped, struggling against the choke hold.

“You’re not Angel anymore, are you?” Jenny walked closer to Angel.

“Wrong. I am Angel, at last.” He pulled Willow back away from Jenny, “I’ve got a message for Buffy.”

“Why don’t you give it to me yourself?”

The two of them exchanged words and fought, allowing Willow the opportunity to escape Angel’s clutches and join your huddled group on the outskirts of the fight. Buffy got shoved into the water fountain, dumbfounded as Angel walked out the door laughing. The fight was over as quickly as it started, and a blanket of stunned silence covered the whole group. After what felt like an eternity of numb, unmoving shock, you and Jenny gave each other a knowing look. You’d failed. Angel was gone.

You don’t remember how long you’d been sitting in the library, vaguely listening to the group tell Giles about the confrontation with Angelus. Jenny was trying to keep Giles from panicking, and you sat numbly with your guilt. You only looked up when Buffy fled the room, Giles calling after her. You wanted so badly to apologize, but if Buffy ever found out what you’d known, she might kill you herself. You excused yourself from the library, mumbling to Jenny that you’d be in the studio back home.

-----

The garage door creaked as you lifted it. Jenny had given you one of the car bays to use as an art studio while you lived in Sunnydale. Your studio was one of the only places you knew where you could truly be alone with yourself. Jenny had never judged you or your art. Ever since your parents died, she’d stepped up and been supportive of you. You brushed your hand along the top of your canvas stash, picking a large, almost square canvas and setting it on your easel.

Painting had been a way for you to cope with strong emotions for as long as you could remember, but with the events of today you felt lost. You sat on your stool in front of that blank white canvas for what must have been hours. You eventually decided that nothing could convey what you were feeling in the moment, so you decided to paint something the opposite.

You used cream-white, gold and rust to block out a background; it was light, idyllic, and serene. It would be a white-stone conservatory, full of hanging candles and lanterns with a mezzanine balcony covered in ivy. Over that you dropped bright, vibrant tones of yellows and reds and greens. You blocked them into the spaces you would put dancers in flowing gowns and painted blues where you would place their partners. It would be full of life. You stood back a moment, studying. The scene was missing something; joy and innocence, maybe. You place a few, short splotches of pinks and light yellows for younger girls. They were running in a small stampede, weaving through the forest of colorful silks on the dance floor- chasing after fairies or some magic that existed only in their imaginations. There it was. You had vague shapes and a vision, and you were intent on chasing it.

You painted all through the night, and well into the morning. Jenny had left for the school hours ago, but hadn’t said anything. The painting was finally done. You sat in your stool and wiped your hands on your jeans. It was done, you had worked for hours, you had cried for Angel, you had smiled for the imaginary children, and for a moment you were satisfied... Then you noticed it.

In the center of your painting was a lone dancer. She wore a red gown with dark lace over the bodice and had equally dark hair. Your painting was somewhat post-impressionist, preferring interesting shapes over pinpoint detail, but it was unmistakable. In a ballroom of strangers, you’d painted her. Drusilla. You didn’t know what to think about that.

You stared at Drusilla in the painting, stuck in an introspective daze until a creaking sound pulled you back to reality. Your uncle had opened the garage door and stepped into the studio bay with two cups of coffee. You pulled up a stool for him and he handed you one, sitting beside you in front of the painting.

“Janna called,” he began cautiously. “She is on her way home with your friend, Buffy. I don’t know how, but she knows.”

“She’s going to hate me for this,” You scanned the sweeping lines of a yellow skirt somewhere else on your painting, trying not to let the tears prickle at the corners of your eyes.

The door to the garage opened behind you both and you looked down into your mug, anxiously tapping your nail against the ceramic. You couldn’t bear to look Buffy in the eyes, your guilt returning in full force.

Your uncle lit a pipe and stood up as he spoke,

“She told me you would be coming. I suppose you want answers,”

“Not really.” The voice wasn’t Buffy’s.

You snapped your head towards the door to find Angelus leaning against the door frame, blocking your exit. You scrambled, picking up a fistful of wooden paint brushes off your work table in a desperate search for weapons. You spun back towards Angelus just in time to watch him snap your uncle’s neck. An arm smacked against your leg as he dropped onto the concrete floor- a sensation you would no doubt remember the rest of your life. You snapped a large paintbrush in half to give it a pointier edge, but Angelus grabbed your wrist before you could even make a move on him. This was the sickening moment you realized just exactly how tall Angelus was. Exactly how far above he loomed over you.

“Ah, ah.” He tutted at you with a smirk. “Wouldn’t want to go angering the guy who holds your life in his hands, now would you?” He twisted your wrist until you let go of the brush, then wrapped his other hand around your throat and pushed you onto the worktable.

“You know, it really is embarrassing that you’re so darn fragile!”

He was laughing, but he was right. In comparison you were a mouse fighting a lion, you had no chance against him. You clawed fruitlessly at his hand, but he just squeezed harder. Your vision was already fuzzing out, and it was getting difficult to even see Angelus’ face clearly as he taunted you.

“Oh, stop squirming, you’ll be unconscious in a minute, kid. Lucky for you, I need some bait. So you get to live for a while, isn’t that exciting?!” His voice was giving you something tangible to focus on, but it was no use. Another moment and you were unconscious.

-----

Your head pounded like a drum when you woke up. You opened your eyes, but it took a while for them to adjust to the dim light. You tried to rub your eyes, but your hands were tied down to the armrests of the chair you were sat in. Your eyes darted around for any sign of Angelus, but found none. Everything was empty. Silent. Against your better judgement, you called out into the empty factory.

“Hello?”

You waited. No one responded, but you felt you were being watched.

You didn’t know how much time had passed before you heard a small, soft melody coming from behind you. Humming. Your heartbeat kicked up a notch as you scanned the room.

“I can hear you going pitter-patter from here,” Drusilla had spoken from a place you couldn’t see. You heard each of her footsteps click closer and closer behind you until you could feel her standing just inches away. You let out a shaky breath and she shushed you quietly.

She ran her hands through your hair, dragging long red fingernails across your scalp. She began detangling your hair with her fingers, idly humming once again. You let your head tip back as she picked lightly at a particularly bad snag, dismantling it and continuing her exploration of your hair. By now you’d noticed you were crying, silently terrified and unnerved by the ministrations of the vampire behind you. She yanked a new snag in your hair and you couldn’t help the small yelp that escaped you.

“Is the doll hurting?” She pulled her hands away when she realized you weren’t going to answer her. She walked agonizingly slowly around your chair, stopping directly in front of you. “It’s rude to ignore people.” You stared at the floor, avoiding her gaze. You did notice, however horrified, that she was wearing a new, yet familiar, red dress with black lace.

You could feel her staring down at you, almost willing you to look at her. When you didn’t, she dropped to her knees to meet your eye line, resting her cheek on your knee. You studied her face as she ghosted her hand up and down your left thigh, occasionally picking at the smatterings of paint that were still all over your jeans.

“You’re an artist. I like artists,” She picked up her head and you chuckled nervously as she looked at you. In a morbid way, you were glad she liked you, whatever that meant. It might mean I live a little longer.

You looked up at the ceiling uncomfortably, then scanned the room for an escape, for something, anything you could do. She dragged her finger from your thigh up to your neck as she looked up at you. For a moment, you were scared she’d slice your throat, but she wrapped her hand around your jaw and pulled your face down gently to look at her.

“You’ll be my little pet Artist. We’ll have lots of fun together,” She stared into your eyes with a dangerous smile. She rubbed her thumb against your jawline -her hand still holding your face as she stood up- until she burst into a fit of giggles. She dropped your face and pulled her hands together, close to her chest, as she walked backwards a few paces.

As if she’d sensed him coming, Spike rolled into the room and stopped his chair just next to you. Drusilla gracefully perched herself on Spike’s lap and after a few minutes of flirting, Angelus came down the spiral staircase with the Judge, who voiced that he was ready to leave.

“About time.” Spike gave Drusilla a kiss and told her to have fun.

“Too bad you can’t come with, huh?” Angelus was taunting Spike and -despite your fear- you were studying the interactions for a better understanding of the relationships at play. Spike was staying behind under the pretense of watching you, but it was a thinly veiled jab at his current handicap. You watched silently as Angelus practically stole Drusilla off Spike’s lap before they left the factory. Spike stared at the doorway they'd left from for a while before he glanced back at you, staring at him. You dropped your eyes immediately, but it was too late.

“What are you lookin’ at?” He wheeled himself to the other side of the table.

“I won’t be in this chair forever. I’ll get back at him.”

“Of course you will.”

He squinted at you, probably just as surprised as you that’d you’d actually spoken back at him. He turned his chair and got up close to you again, murder glinting behind his eyes.

“Are you being funny? ‘Cause I could kill you in half a second, you know.”

“No, no jokes,” You shook your head at him, weakly lifting your hands within your restraints in surrender. The last thing you wanted was for him to prove just how tough he still is.

“Good, cause I would,” he pointed his finger at you as he continued on, “...kill you, I mean.”

“Right.” You squinted, processing.

“You’d do well to remember that.”

You pressed your lips together and nodded awkwardly. He stared at you about 7 seconds longer than he needed to before huffing and rolling off to another room. As soon as you were alone, you sighed in relief and stared up at the ceiling; only one thought in your mind.

Oh. My. God.

#spike #btvs #tv: btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #drusilla #drusilla x reader #drusilla x Spike #Spike x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #multichapter #chapter 1 #angel #angelus #ats #jenny calendar

82 notes · View notes

phantomnostalgist · 3 years

Photo

An Interview with Peter Karrie

From “POTO: The Phantom of the Opera Magazine”, Millennium Edition (2000), published by Carrie Hernandez. (This btw is the greatest Phantom fan publication ever made, and if you ever see it on eBay you should snap it up. I don’t even have my copy because it’s with Paul, who conducted this interview with Peter in 1994.)

Enormous thanks to @panto-of-the-opera for typing this interview up for me!

Peter Karrie, interviewed by Paul Day Clemens:

Since falling under the spell of “POTO” (the day the Original London Cast album (OLC) became available in the U.S.) I’ve seen many fine – and a few brilliant – Eriks but only two performers have ever made me feel I was in the actual presence of the Phantom himself. One was Michael Crawford – yes, he really was that special (and you can forget the OLC which is but the palest shadow of what he was like on stage!) – and the other is Peter Karrie.

Commanding, dangerous, elegant, chivalrous and heart rending with an unparalleled physicality and wealth of detail, Peter not only made the role his own, completely, but by some rare and strange alchemy, somehow managed to make me forget I was watching a performance at all.

Thrilled, hypnotized and deeply moved, it was not until visiting with Peter after the show that the full impact of his transformation hit me. How could this warm, funny, soft-spoken, down-to-earth guy possibly be the same man I was watching on stage not an hour before hand?

Therein lies the difference between craft – albeit of a rare excellence – and true inspiration. Dare I even say greatness?

Yeah, I dare. For Mr. Karrie’s Phantom is simply one of the greatest portrayals by an actor in the musical theatre that I’ve ever had the privilege of experiencing.

I had the great pleasure of interviewing Peter at length in December 1994 in Toronto as he was getting ready for the Far East tour of “POTO” and what follows here are never before published excerpts from the interview. – Paul Clemens

Paul Clemens: Do you find that the role of the Phantom makes enormous demands on your voice, in terms of the wear and tear of doing at night after night? If you had a sore throat, for instance, would you be able to get through the show?

Peter Karrie: Yeah. You learn I guess. All professional singers in theatre have to cope with colds and sore throats. Otherwise you’ll be forever off ‘cause it’s a breeding ground of germs. And you develop your voice for stamina over a period of time where you’re doing eight shows a week. You have to. You have to survive it.... So, basically, yeah.

You take the angel [scene] for instance where [the Phantom is] absolutely broken. I’ve had very, very bad laryngitis and I’ve sung that and it sounded great! Simply because you’re breaking down in your voice is all kinds of scuffed up and cracky, you can enact it. But the show takes horrendous wear and tear on the body. It really does. You end up playing mind games with the role.

PC: That’s interesting. How so?

PK: Well, it’s such a powerfully written piece for the actual Phantom. You have to portray a person who’s schizoid, psychotic... and it all sounds very grand and technical. But the actual emotion of it can cut only come from the inside. And so you continue fighting with it.

[Note from Christine posting this in 2021 - Erik isn’t actually schizoid or psychotic (not that either are “bad” things). I know this is pedantic of me to point out, but I pointed it out at the end of Ethan Freeman’s interview from the mid 90s so I’ll point it out here too.]

PC: I imagine you found a core within the character of identification, something you had an understanding of and could feel a great deal of sympathy toward.

PK: Yes. You have to put yourself through the gambit of it. You have to be the Phantom emotionally for that time, and then it comes out quite naturally. You don’t have to think about it.

PC: Do you find, after all the times you played the role – first in London and now in Toronto – that the emotions are still immediate for you?

PK: Oh, yeah. But as I say, there’s wear and tear. When the mind gets tired then you find you get into problems.

PC: How do you keep the role fresh?

PK: There are all types of hand holds all the way along, from the time you start ‘til the time you finish. I guess the majority of it is set in the rehearsal room where you rehearse at a certain level into a certain standard, and it becomes automatic. But each show will always be different because you have a different audience, different weather conditions, you have different musicians playing in the pit, you have different people you’re playing opposite. So you will always get a variation on the theme. And so that, coupled up with what you’ve put together in rehearsal so you get a fairly high standard of performance every night, merges together. And so you do get a different show every night. But, as I say, it’s a very wearing role. More so than Jean Valjean, where you’re virtually on stage for three and a half hours. But I find the Phantom far more draining.

PC: I can imagine. Whenever you’re on stage you’re at peak intensity and you run the emotional gamut. So that, combined with the vocal demands, must make for one walloping experience.

PK: Exactly.... That, coupled with the exposure. You’re so exposed on stage. Whenever the Phantom does appear, it’s either him on his own, or it’s him with Christine, and something powerful and moving is happening. He doesn’t appear with the chorus – barring the “Masquerade.”

PC: For that reason, a number of the actors who have played the role have complained about a sense of loneliness and isolation. I wondered if you felt that way about it?

PK: No, I haven’t felt that. But I’ve always mingled with the rest of the cast and crew. I can’t abide all this keeping the door shut. So we open the door and play rock and roll music.

PC: Do you ever feel hampered by all the makeup involved?

PK: You get used to it. Totally. In fact, there are times when you forgotten you’ve got the mask on in the wig lady has to ask you for it. And you think ‘What? I’ve already given it to you!’

PC: That’s right – you wouldn’t be able to feel it, would you? Because it’s actually touching the appliances rather than your face.

PK: You feel it slightly. You know, if you first put it on you’d know it’s there. But after a while... But the wire band ‘round the head lets you know it’s there! And the edge of it catches you sometimes. But no – it becomes part of you. And as for the lip which is built up top and bottom ‘round your mouth, you get used to that as well.

PC: Has it ever come loose during a performance?

PK: Oh, God yeah! We’ve had some great moments where it’s been hanging off. That’s a bit gross. And the bald cap’s come loose in the back, so you do the Second Lair with one hand ‘rounds the back of your head holding your bald cap in place? [laughs] Yeah, you’ve got some good moments.

PC: How did you find the voice which is so distinctive?

PK: Well, that, once again came from the feeling inside. It was like once you had all that stuff on, and I discovered the walk, and kind of latched onto his intention, the voice just followed.

PC: Your interpretation of the line “You try my patience“ is unforgettable. So chilling. I was wondering how that evolved.

PK: Well, I felt that was the climax of the man. That, literally, for me, is where he turns ‘round and he’s at the actual peak of his hate, his frustration. I knew I had to find something which made that moment special. It was set to be special by the music and the way it was directed. That was the key to the man.

PC: It’s as if your voice came from some deep well – as if it bubbled up from some deep, dark place.

PK: That’s right! That’s exactly how I felt it. And then when Christine kisses him it’s like he can’t believe it. “I’ve won!” That euphoric feeling... “She can suffer this face! I think I’ve got her! I think, yes, she does love me!” And then, as he reaches out to touch her... a moment.... He’s taken in the scene of Raoul hanging as he went back to her... and then, all of a sudden, it struck a chord.... “Hang on....” And then the realization hits him: “She’s just doing it for him. She’s literally giving me her self to save him. She loves him... She can never love me the same as she loves him.” And it’s all a kind of mental game there. And you’ve only got split seconds to get the audience in on it, so he has to be kind of demonstrative in his actions.

PC: After the kiss, there was a moment where you sort of winced, pulling away from her twice like a wounded animal, your right arm almost becoming spastic... there were so many levels, all going simultaneously.

PK: He’s coming to terms. All these thoughts are rushing through his head and he’s off balance. Everything has shaken him and he’s lost his façade of “everything-under-control.”

PC: And the body is breaking down.

PK: That’s right. He’s been stripped of everything just by having to face himself – and face the truth. That one clear moment where he realizes this is wrong – this is all wrong – this is not how it should be.

PC: And when the phantom cries “GO NOW AND LEAVE ME!” – you built each word into a series of escalating crescendos which was tremendously effective, I thought. Very powerful.

PK: It’s all the process of him actually coming to terms with himself. It’s as you say – one after another, one after the other – then finally she’s gone and he’s left.... This is after she’s given him the ring and she’s gone... And he looks... and he sees the empty throne. And he knows that’s all his life is.

PC: That’s very moving. Do you ever find that the final words – “It’s over now the Music of the Night” – are difficult to get out with all the emotion you’re experiencing?

PK: I did at the beginning, yeah. Sometimes I used to get caught up in it, which is a dreadfully dangerous thing, ‘cause then everything tightens up and you get the proverbial lump in your throat.

PC: It’s sort of walking a bit of a tight rope, isn’t it?

PK: Yeah! [laughs] That’s right. And then there’s a moment where I can get space to subdue all that and concentrate on doing the last bit. That’s where he’s got the veil in his hand and she’s in the boat comin’ across the back singing with Raoul and I say “Christine I love you” very, very quietly, and very broken, and then I can take some breaths which calm it all down and get myself kind of poised for the last bit. ‘Cause that’s gotta be kind of the statement: “You alone can make my song take flight.” That is the statement of release. It’s like a rhetorical statement – you will always be the music of my life. And therefore I can’t change it.” It’s that feeling he’s got in his body. He bends over backwards. And then the final moment is where he turns around and wipes it clean. And he does it in a far stronger attitude than anything else he does... “It’s over now the Music of the Night.”

PC: I’ve read that you feel he’s starting a new life at that point.

PK: Yes! Yes... When I’m walking to the chair, I let the veil just drop behind, and I think to myself “It’s over. Now what else is there? There must be something else... It’s over.” And you do it with such a final flourish – the cape and everything – you’re back in control of yourself. You’ve had the osmosis. You’ve come out of the one period of your life which actually threatened to ruin you, and you’re now standing on the threshold of another one.

PC: Oh yes. It’s wonderful to hear what’s going through your mind as you’re doing the scene. And the impact of that final scene is tremendous. Do you have a favourite scene in the show?

PK: That would be it. ‘Cause it’s only six minutes long, that Second Lair. And in that six minutes you literally travel from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other. It’s a whole journey.

MORE BELOW... Keep reading, it’s a long interview, with plenty more thoughts and content about Phantom, including some really funny classic mishaps.

PC: The show obviously touches a universal cord in many of its audience members, sometimes to the extent that a bracket (sizable) number of people see the show again and again. Men and women openly moved to tears by the play are common sight in Phantom’s audiences. And yet, paradoxically, a substantial number of critics have charged the show with having no heart.

PK: I think they’re being very unkind. There are some Phantoms – just as there are leading men and women in any show – who do not commit themselves quite as much as they should do.

PC: I’ve seen that it does make a difference in the overall impact of the show.

PK: It makes a big difference, yeah. ‘Cause eight times a week to commit yourself to it to it as it should be done is hard work. But once you get used to it and once you get into it you can’t do it any other way. At least I can’t. They said to me many times, like when you’re feeling rough or whatever, “Can you mark it a little bit? You know just take it easy. You don’t have to give one hundred percent.” But you see, it’s not a question of giving that. That’s just the way I do it. If I start altering that, I am altering a lot more than just singing a lift show. You’re altering a thought process which I can’t control. I wish I could mark it. It would be a lot bloody easier! But you can’t. You have to do it as you do it when you do it, and that’s it.

PC: I believe you hold the record for the most injuries sustained by any actor playing the role.

PK: Touch wood it’s never been completely death-defying! [laughs]

PC: Is it true that you asked if you could actually ride the chandelier down to the stage at the end of Act One?

PK: Yes. But I’m afraid the insurance people did not exactly share my enthusiasm for the idea.

PC: The stories about technical mishaps are legion. Can you relate some of the more memorable moments along those lines that you can recall?

PK: Well... there’s been so many of them now. There’re many, many boat stories. And the same thing happen to Colm, has happened to Michael, has happened to ‘em all. The boat has a life of its own. The monkey also has a life of its own. That can be very temperamental... I’ve had some excitement in the Angel, where people have tripped over wires and tipped it up while you’re inside it, and you’re hangin’ on for grim death... I fallen off the proscenium, yeah...

PC: [laughs] you say that so cavalierly.

PK: [laughing] Cracked a couple of legs and so forth. And the Star-Trap, the same thing. I’ve fallen down that the wrong way... In London one day, the Star-Trap didn’t open at all. So you did the “Your chains are still mine – you will sing for me,” and threw the cape – I always threw the Cape up to make a trail as you go down the Star-Trap. So the trail came down and I hadn’t gone anywhere. In the cloak – they had a bigger cloak for the Masquerade then – and it just piles on top of me. And I couldn’t get it off because you’ve got the mask on. So it ended up with the two managers having to lead me off! [laughing] I mean, here you’ve got this dreadful creature saying [puts on a creepy voice] “Your chains are still mine – you will sing for me!” And then, all of a sudden, the managers are saying [whispers] “Come on! This way, this way!”

PC: [laughs] In one of the U.S. Touring Company performances, the Punjab lasso failed to work, and so Raoul just fell to the floor and lay there writhing as if he were in the grip of some supernatural force.

PK: [laughs] many times things go wrong with a bloody lasso! One time I was over here in Toronto, Byron Nease [Raoul] all of a sudden acted like an invisible hand had gripped him ‘round the throat – the noose was nowhere, it was on the floor many miles away from him – but he’s going [Karrie makes some strangling sounds] and it was as though he was being thrown—forced backwards! And he got to the grill and his hands came outstretched and he was like held there by and invisible force...

PC: Yes – the “magnetic grill!“

PK: Yeah! And I just looked at him and I started laughing. it was like a three act play to get him to the back of this grill...! But I think the funniest thing is words. The things people say. Quite innovative and inventive. I remember when I was in the wings doing the “seal my fate tonight...” and sometimes your mind wanders. It’s that mind-game I mentioned about concentration. You have to keep focused all the time – blah blah blah. And so I’m saying “seal my fate tonight... I hate to have to cut the prisoner short...” Prisoner short? Prisoner short? And I thought, no, that can’t be right. And I’m thinking that while I continue singing... And the words have gone ‘cause I’m singing “but the ducks warring in...” And I said “ducks warring in??? – By now I’ve turned away from the monitor ‘cause I’m singing on an off-stage mike – and I’m lookin’ at my dressers. And I’m waving to them as if to say “Tell me the words! What are the words??” And now I’m singing “Let my destiny ride, ‘cause my music’s afire!” And I sang it as though I’d been singing those words all my life! Loud... And of course I’m falling around. And the conductor – I can see on the monitor – he’s laughing and waving! The baton had gone to hell!!

PC: [laughing] That’s marvelous!

PK: But what was the funniest thing what the poor people on stage! ‘Cause you had the managers and everybody else all walking ‘round in this trance – like, floaty, floaty choreography. And all of a sudden, as soon as I got to “ducks warring in” – by all accounts – they as if on cue, turned up stage; all of their backs to the audience! And they all walked to the back of the stage! And they’re all laughing and laughing, ‘cause it got it worse and worse. The more I was singin’ the wrong words the more they were laughing! ...And when I came on for my bows that night, all the course we’re going “Quack, quack!” ...So the next night I got changed I did my sound-check, and all of a sudden there’s a call over the tannoy for a meeting in the greenroom. And I went there, and I thought, well, somebody must be coming down to see us. And all of a sudden, over the gentle hubbub in the greenroom, I could hear on the tannoy my voice doing this “cut the prisoner short, but the ducks warring in...” and everybody started laughing. And then all of a sudden, the company manager showed up and presented me with a cassette – they record every show, you see – and the company had the words printed up and framed, and they presented it to me with the cassette. And that’s how I know the words so well!

PC: I’d love to hear that sometime!

PK: I learned from a very early age that if you’re gonna sing the wrong words, sing them as loud and convincingly as possible. And everyone in the building will think you’re right and everybody else is wrong.

PC: Of course. Because that if they haven’t seen the show before, they’re not going to know.

PK: That’s right. It’s so true, because I had people in that night for that magic moment, and they didn’t know anything was wrong at all.

PC: [laughs] Be honest with me – are you tired of the music after all this time? For example if you’re in an elevator and you hear a song from Phantom do you just want to scream?

PK: No. I get out of the elevator. You do try to escape from it after doing eight shows a week... A number of times we’ll go into a restaurant ,] my wife Jane and myself, and we’ll sit there. And all of a sudden you’ll hear the music come on – Phantom. And you think, oh God! You don’t want to be reminded of it when you’re out enjoying yourself. But I’m not tired of the music when I’m performing it.

PC: You’re about to take Phantom to Singapore and Hong Kong. I understand that their audiences tend to be rather formal. I believe it is considered disrespectful to make too big a display of appreciation. That will be quite a change for you. How do you think you’re going to handle it?

PK: I did a satellite link up the other day with about forty reporters from the Far East, and the same questions came up then – “How are you going to cope with the way Singaporean and Hong Kong audiences show their appreciation?” And I told him as long as they enjoy the show, I don’t care... It’s quite funny actually, because when I started off working in Britain, I used to do clubs in the Northeast which is the hardest area prefer performer to work in. [laughs] The miners – it’s a big mining area – and they didn’t used to applaud. They threw ashtrays onto the stage.

PC: [laughing] Ashtrays?!

PK: That’s right. You do a Sunday lunchtime and they’d all be sitting reading the Sunday newspapers. You walk onto the stage and there’d just be a sea of newspapers. And at the end of the number, if they liked you they drop one hand onto the table, pick up the ashtray and throw it onto the stage as a mark of respect. Or are they’d just bang the table with one hand two or three times. But still, never, never, did they come out from behind the newspaper. Not unless the performer was of the female variety.

PC: [laughs] Your rock band – Peter and the Wolves – how long did that last?

PK: About four years, I think.

PC: Are there any records available?

PK: I doubt it. What records were made have probably long since been turned into ashtrays!

PC: To be thrown on stage by miners, no doubt! ...Well ,a final question: in Phantom, when you’re up in the Angel, do you ever feel a mad desire to plunge headfirst into the audience?

PK: No. Quite the opposite.

PC: Not a serious question, but I appreciate the answer nonetheless.

PK: The desire to jump off is never further from my mind.

PC: Sometimes I wonder the way you move around up there!

PK: [laughs] It does get a bit hairy up there sometimes! But it depends on which way it swings. If it swings left to right, you’re okay, but if it swings front to back then ya’ got trouble!

PC: This has been a delightful interview, Peter. Thank you.

PK: My pleasure.

- Paul Clemens

#peter karrie #poto #phantom of the opera #the phantom of the opera #classic phantoms #phantom legends #musicals #musical theater fandom #musical theatre

67 notes · View notes

some-kindofgnome · 4 years

Text

Kinktober #3: Hallucinate: Mirio Togata

In which you and Mirio assume (incorrectly) that you’re way too wholesome for the campus bar.

Characters: Mirio Togata x f!Reader

Warnings: smut (18+ please!) nightclubs, aged up characters, mentions of drinking, mentions of breakups, tipsy dry humping, strong language.

Notes: Title inspired by this song. Feel free to rock out. Today’s prompt is “Thigh Riding”! As always, all characters depicted in this story are adults and, in this case, of the legal drinking age.

Additionally, if you liked this story, feel free to tell me what you think! I’m new to writing on Tumblr, so I’m open to all forms of commentary, suggestions, and feedback.

Ride on- and happy Kinktober!

Kinktober Masterlist

(edit: guess who’s an IDIOT and didn’t paste the whole story in? Updated....)

“I’m going to throw up.”

Those words ring alarm bells in your head that they might not have on a weeknight. Your best friend is one too many shots deep and the lights at this club flash so brightly, they’d nauseate anyone unfortunate enough to stare too long.

But you see the firmness of sobriety in her expression as you check her over. In fact, her gaze is turned entirely elsewhere. And then you realize what she’s spotted.

“Don’t look now,” she hisses, grabbing your shoulder before you can spin around. You haven’t been drinking quite so heavily as she has, but you’re far from subtlety. It doesn’t matter, anyway. You don’t need to look to see who it is. The only reason you’re here anyway is because she’s determined to “win” her breakup.

Whatever that means.

If it were up to you, you’d be spending your Saturday curled up back at the apartment, taking advantage of a night with the place to yourself by spending the whole thing with…

“Mirio,” you sigh, spotting his blonde head bobbing above the crowd as he sidles his way back toward the two of you. He agreed, the absolute angel, to come out with you tonight. And he’s been taking good care of you. Just like always.

He appears in full, popping out from behind a couple dancing as closely as you wish you were. You know this kind of place isn’t normally your thing, but he’s wearing this burgundy button-down and you think maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if you were here just the two of you.

He spots you and grins, and suddenly he’s your sweetheart again and you bet he’d catch you if you swooned right into his arms.

“Let’s see… ah, gin and tonic,” he mumbles, passing you the highball. Drinking these will always make you think of him now. On your first date you let him try your gin and tonic and he hated it so much he nearly choked. He’ll never understand your love of the obscenely strange-tasting drink.

But he buys them for you anyway.

“And vodka cranberry, hold the vodka,” he chuckles, passing a red-tinted glass full of ice over to your friend. She takes it, but she’s pouting.

“I said hold the cranberry,” she insists.

“Yeah… The bartender wasn’t so sure that was a good idea,” Mirio replies, and you can tell by the look in his eye that the bartender had nothing to do with it. You move close and grab his hand behind your backs, squeezing.

Smart move, you wish you could tell him. Unfortunately, you’re still not sober enough for subtlety and your friend rolls her eyes, pretending to gag into her cranberry juice.

“That’s it,” she quips. “I can’t take you two tonight. Don’t wait up, I’m not coming home if it’s gonna be alone.”

You call to her, but she’s cut through the crowd before you can even reach out. Like iron gates the crowd closes in around you, and the best you can do is turn back to your boyfriend. Luckily, he looks just as sheepish as you do.

“Don’t worry, baby,” you plead, throwing an arm around his neck. You know for a fact that your friend thinks the world of Mirio. But she was with her ex for a long time. And a breakup that nasty had turned her harsh and bitter. Maybe she wasn’t coping as well as she might have. You were ready to ride it out.

You just hoped Mirio wasn’t letting it get him down.

“My phone’s on,” you murmur in his ear, a silent promise that if she needs you you’ll be there, but there’s no reason to go after her tonight. She came here with one mission- and nothing is going to put that on hold. If you know your best friend, you can guess that much.

His hand slides into the small of your back out of sheer habit, but it sends a little shower of sparks up your spine. You haven’t forgotten how good he looks tonight, nor how good he smells now that you’re pulled so close.

“Wanna dance?” You push your lips against the tender spot between his jaw and his ear and he chuckles all deep and loving, the sound vibrating against your palm as you brace it against his solid chest.

“Might as well,” he rumbles and you shiver all over again. His hand slides from your back to your hip, the other one tracing up and down your side as you start to move your hips.

Suddenly he’s gone from golden retriever Mirio to incurable flirt Mirio, shooting you a smirk so devilish you know you’re going to hell. He grabs your hand and spins you, pulling your back flush against his front.

“Have I told you what that dress is doing to me?” He purrs, making you keen. You’re not even shy about it as you start to slowly rock back and forth, matching the thrumming bass around you. You love dancing close to him like this and based on the way his hands roam across your front, he does, too.

“Bad,” you scold playfully. The dark satin of your tight dress is starting to ride up your thighs, helped along by the path of his fingers as he traces his palm from your thigh to your ribcage.

“I mean it,” he groans, shifting a little behind you. He pushes one thigh forward, sliding his knee ever so slightly between yours. You can feel where this is going, but you’re of no mind to stop it. It wouldn’t be the first time you got a little frisky in public. And you’re far from alone, underneath the low-slung ceiling of this shitty college town club.

“You got any idea how pretty you are?” He presses.

“You do your best to remind me,” you mumble back. You can’t take facing away from him any longer and spin in his arms. You twine your fingers in his hair and pull him down to you. Hard. He lets out a low grunt as you kiss him harshly and his hands slide immediately to the curve of your ass.

Stinker.

It feels like you’re in a new relationship with him all over again, making out in the middle of the dance floor like this. You’re both tipsy- you can taste the whiskey ginger on his tongue- but you’re in love and you don’t give a damn who sees.

“Mirio,” you gasp, gripping tighter at his hair as his mouth escapes yours to trail down your jaw.

“So sweet for me, princess,” he mumbles.

“Baby,” you whimper, tighter this time. The ache between your legs refuses to be ignored, burning urgently with every breath he puffs along your skin.

He grabs you by the upper arm, taking you a few paces forward. You lose your sense of direction for a moment, but when you come back to yourself, you’re against the rough cement wall of the place. The cool grooves dig into your skin, but Mirio’s kissing you again before you have time to care.

This time it’s carnal- a bruising press of lips as his tongue licks forward like he could swallow you whole. One hand plants itself on the wall beside your head, the other holding your shoulders against the wall. You lean into it as best you can.

You love this.

He’s never been shy about loving on you in public, but you can tell that it’s the whiskey driving him this far forward. You’re too desperate and horny to care, though, and you twine your fingers in his golden hair one more time, combing your fingers lovingly through the gelled strands.

He doesn’t give you much time to adjust before that denim-clad thigh is pushing forward again, shoving itself between yours and pushing your dress even higher around your hips. You’re not sure who’s looking but you know it’s got to be somebody.

“Lemme take you home,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Can’t,” you choke, “c-can’t wait that long.”

You tilt your hips down against his thigh, firm and strong. He can bear your weight easily on it, but you keep your toes on the floor even as you start to rock yourself against his jeans. There’s something about the angle he’s holding you and the fabric between your bodies and the desperation of your arousal that’s catching you just right. And the familiar sensation hits you- you might actually cum if you keep this up.

He seems to catch on at the same time, pulling his face back a fraction of an inch with an expression of thrilled shock settling into it. He barely hesitates an instant before he’s on board, though, pushing his knee higher and ducking his head into your neck.

He attacks the skin there, licking, sucking and nibbling away at the spot where he knows you’re sensitive. That sends fresh shivers through your body that rattle down your spine and land with a splash in the pit of your stomach, shooting more pleasure between your legs where you’re unapologetically grinding your clit against his thigh.

Whatever insignificant scrap of underwear you picked out tonight isn’t doing much to keep you covered and you’re sure you’ll be mortified when you inevitably leave a spot on his jeans but you’re both too wrapped up in each other to care much now.

“Miri-“ you start to groan. That all-too-familiar wave of pleasure has started to build, and you’re chasing it like your life depends on it. You grab for his shirt, forcing him against you with a jerk.

“Are you gonna cum for me right here, princess?”

That’s a blow you’re not ready to withstand. Instead of answering him, your peak hits you hard and fast. You seize in his arms, your fists crushing the fabric of his shirt as you whine into his ear and come, high and shallow against his thigh.

You come back to yourself slowly, sagging against the wall as he peppers kisses along your collarbone. He carefully lets you down- one foot at a time, holding you by the hips to make sure your legs don’t give out.

“Y’okay?”

You tilt your chin up to look at him, breathless and flushed. On some level, you can’t believe that just happened. But one look at the glint in his eyes and you’re not so shocked anymore. Your man has a dirty side, and you’re the only one who gets to see it.

“I just came on your jeans,” you pant, making him chuckle.

“So that wasn’t a fever dream?” He’s teasing you, nuzzling the tender spot on your neck where you know he’s left a mark. You might have cared, if you weren’t in so deep with him already. Hook, line and sinker. You don’t care who sees.

Probably a good mental state to occupy, when half the club just saw you dry-humping each other against the wall.

“Can we go home yet?” You mumble. You’re hazy and pliable now, sleepy and weighty and ready for bed. Or, at the very least, to be alone with your boyfriend.

“Yeah,” he replies, taking a softer, tender tone with you. You reach up and touch his cheek, stroking your fingertips lovingly along the angle of his jaw. You really do love him. More than you ought to, at this point in your relationship.

But he smiles down at you, and you see the same feeling reflected in his gaze. He bends his head and captures your lips- soft, almost chaste, if you weren’t still basking in the afterglow- then nuzzles his nose against yours.

“Yeah, I think we can.”

#my hero academia #mirio x reader #kinktober #jbbkinktober2020 #mirio togata #kinktober 2020 #mirio togata x reader #lemillion #mirio fanfiction #mha fanfiction #mirio x you #gnomewrites

221 notes · View notes

shirtlesssammy · 3 years

Text

4x02: Are You There God? It’s Me, Dean Winchester

Then:

Dean Winchester is saved

Now:

Olivia, a hunter, wakes to cold air and flickering lights. She runs for her shotgun just as Bobby leaves a message on her answering machine.

Her EMF is going nuts as she patrols her house. Suddenly ghosts that she recognizes give her the one two punch and she’s a goner.

At Bobby’s, Dean is vehemently denying that he was “groped by an angel.” Bobby’s got lots of lore on angels, though. It seems they’re the only thing that could pull a human soul from Hell.

Sam thinks it’s a good thing that Dean was saved “by one of the good guys.” And Dean wonders if there is a God. BABIES. Dean’s having a hard time believing there’s a god out there that personally believes in him. Oh, buddy, he cares just a little too much, I’d say. Dean’s self-loathing is off the charts though. And this is getting way ahead of myself here, but even though Chuck cares in the sense that Dean is a fun little puppet for him, it’s Cas that really cared all along. He believed in Dean so much, he gave up everything for this man. BIG SIGH.

Dean demands pie before digging into the angel lore.

Sam runs off to forget get the pie, when he sees Ruby lurking. She wants to know if the angel stuff is real. Ruby’s scared for her demon life and takes off.

Sam gets back to Bobby’s in time for all three of them to take off to investigate why Olivia isn’t answering Bobby’s calls. Also, he forgot the pie.

They find Olivia disemboweled on her bedroom floor. And Bobby can’t get a hold of any nearby hunters. They check them out to find everyone dead.

They need to get back to Bobby’s to regroup.

Sam’s getting gas for the Impala while Dean sleeps. He makes a pitstop in the gas station restroom. The room suddenly gets cold and Victor Henrickson appears!

He blames Sam for his death. He starts to attack Sam but Dean comes in with a save and a shotgun.

Bobby meanwhile is haunted by a couple giggling raggedy twin girls. Fun!

Sam and Dean race back to Bobby’s. They can’t get a hold of him so they enter his house with shotguns ready. The boys separate and while Dean checks out the upstairs, Sam heads outside.

Dean runs into the ghost of the woman who was once Meg Masters.

She blames Dean for her possession...and Dean hates himself enough to actually believe it all. It wasn’t your fault, dude. Also, as much as they’ve learned about demon possession and all, if they would have met Meg at any point in the future, they would have just stabbed her with Ruby’s knife and she’d be dead anyway. Idk, saving people is good in theory, but hard in practice for these guys. I also know this is a manipulation. “Do you know what it’s like to be ridden for a month by pure evil?” HE DOES! Leave him alone!

Meanwhile, Sam’s trying to find Bobby outside. He’s currently being held down by a couple scary ghost twins.

Ghost of Meg continues to taunt Dean, and pins her sister’s suicide on him as well. MEG. NO.

Outside, Sam finds Bobby trapped in an old scrap car. He helps break him out and together they swing iron through the ghost girls.

Dean drags himself away from Meg, and aims his gun at the iron chandelier up above. DAMN BOBBY that’s some fancy light fixture work! The chandelier smokes Meg out...for now.

Back in Bobby’s living room, they realize that all the ghosts had a brand on their hands. Bobby hauls out the lore and leads the Winchesters down to...dun dun DUN...his safe room.

We get the grand tour because this is the FIRST TIME WE’VE SEEN IT. This safe room has everything! Iron! Salt! Devil’s traps! Lore! Racy posters! Booze! Weapons! The vanished hopes and dreams of Dean Winchester! A cot complete with restraints! The Winchesters are impressed.

Later, Dean breaks into a theological monologue while making salt bullets. My sweet sunshine! How dare you speak my love language! “If [God] doesn't exist...fine. Bad crap happens to good people. That's how it is. There's no rhyme or reason - just random, horrible, evil. I get it, okay? I can roll with that. But if he is out there, what's wrong with him? Where the hell is he while all these decent people are getting torn to shreds? How does he live with himself? You know, why doesn't he help?” (Because, sweetie, freedom is a length of rope and God LITERALLY wants you to hang yourself with it.)

Bobby finds the brand - it’s the “mark of the witness.” They’re ghosts forced to rise and destroy people. In fact, the Rising of the Witnesses is part of an ancient prophecy. A prophecy of...DOOM. It’s a sign of the apocalypse. Dean suggests coping with a series of wish-fulfillment trips including: Grand Canyon, Star Trek Experience, and the Bunny Ranch. Somebody please write me that fic. Instead of Dean’s plan, Bobby suggests running an ancient ritual to shut down the witnesses. To do so, they first have to race out of the panic room to gather ingredients before the ghosts have a chance to yank their insides outside.

Ronald from the bank heist greets them at the stairs. Bobby blasts away Dean’s guilt ghost for him, and we cut to a montage of spell preparation. The three of them split up to fetch supplies. Ghosts appear to torment them.

Meg appears to Sam, only she KNOWS more than she should. She knows about Sam’s fraternization with Ruby.

In the kitchen, Victor appears to Dean. He reveals that after the Winchesters left, Lilith gruesomely tortured those left in the station for almost an hour before blowing up the place. While Dean absorbs this fun fact, Victor makes his move, plunging his hand into Dean’s chest.

Sam saves Dean just in time with a well-aimed salt round. They start the ritual, Bobby’s living room teeming with ghosts. Bobby chants while the Winchesters play shotgun whack-a-mole with the ghosts. Meg jabs a hand into Bobby’s chest. Bobby drops the bowl and Dean dives for it like it’s a football, then tosses the spell into the fire to finish the job.

That night, Dean wakes from his slumber.

Castiel stands waiting for him (watching him sleep??) in the kitchen. He congratulates Dean on their triumph over the witnesses, and announces that he has already started doodling Mister Castiel Winchester in his notebooks!

Dean feels a little raw about nearly dying (again) and wonders why angels are total dicks. “Read the bible,” Cas advises. “Angels are warriors of God.” Oh, and also? He’s not here to PERCH ON DEAN’S SHOULDER. Oh honey sweetie baby.

Dean tries to read Cas the riot act and rails against God’s shitty parenting.

Cas: The lord works…

Dean: If you say "mysterious ways" so help me, I will kick your ass

Cas warns Dean that big...no, cosmic things are afoot.

The Rising of the Witnesses is one of sixty-six seals that Lilith is busily unlocking. Each seal is a lock holding Lucifer in his cage. Dean has trouble believing that Lucifer is even REAL. Sassy Cas smiles. “Three days ago you thought there was no such thing as me.”

Cas tells Dean that Heaven isn’t infinite. Angels have died in the battle so far, and more may be at risk. (Excuse me while I weep for the next twelve seasons. There have been 0 days since the last angel mishap.)

“You think the armies of Heaven should just follow you around?” Cas asks, telegraphing his series story arc. “You should show me some respect. I dragged you out of Hell. I can throw you back in.” Cas flaps out.

Dean wakes up for realsies. WAS IT ALL A DREAM? He asks Sam if he believes in the Devil…

You Should Show Me Some Quotes:

All I know is I was not groped by an angel

If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?

When have I ever forgotten the pie?

Where’s the pie?

I thought angels were supposed to be guardians. Fluffy wings, halos -- you know, Michael Landon. Not dicks

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #castiel #cas #bobby singer #spn 4x02 #Are you there God It's me Dean Winchester #Victor Henriksen #ronald reznick #meg masters #supernatural season 4

29 notes · View notes

irishseeeker · 3 years

Link

this is for day 2 of @katexanthonyweek ! prompt: lovey dovey

p.s I love you

Kate and Anthony spend their first week apart. They cope as well as expected.

“I must go.”

“Five more minutes,” Kate murmured, burrowing closer to her husband’s chest. “Then you can go.”

“We said that ten minutes ago.”

“I am failing to see your point.”

She felt Anthony’s laughter vibrating through his chest. They had been lying in bed all morning, Anthony’s departure creeping closer and closer. They had made love twice before Anthony left her to bathe and get dressed for his departure to Aubrey Hall.

Kate rested her chin on his collarbone, sighing softly as she looked at him. She wanted to remember every inch of his face. She knew she was being terribly dramatic, it was not as if he was leaving for weeks-it was merely a week he would be gone.

Anthony’s nose bumped hers, pressing his lips softly against hers. Her wretched splint had finally been removed, so their legs were tangled freely together on the bed.

Kate brushed some of his dark hair out of his eyes. “I have packed all of Newton’s things for you.”

“Must I bring the dog?” Anthony sighed, brushing his lips against hers. She could spend her entire life kissing him and it would never be enough.

Kate nodded, it was not up for debate. “You promised. I cannot bare the thought of you being alone down there.”

She felt him soften, pressing another kiss to her cheeks before ending with one on her lips. “You are lovely.”

“When are you going to admit that you love Newton? Do you think I do not notice the treats you bring home for him when you think I am not looking?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, wife.”

“You, Anthony Bridgerton, are far more soft than you would ever admit.”

“Kate. I am a dangerous, intimidating man. I told you to stop calling me that-“

She interrupted him with a kiss. It was quite effective whenever she wanted Anthony to stop talking. “I will miss you.”

It worked, his lips moved against hers but they broke apart. “Not as much as I will miss you.” I hate leaving you. Are you sure you will be alright?”

Kate carefully considered her response. Anthony had not been to Aubrey Hall to attend to his duties physically since before her accident. He dealt with any issues through penmanship and had sent his brothers on his behalf for any pressing matters. He had refused to leave her side for weeks. However, Kate was nearly fully healed and it was time for Anthony to visit his tenants and attend to his duties. Kate’s leg was too weak to join him moving from house to house each day, so she was staying behind.

The last thing Kate wanted was for Anthony to worry about her while he was away. He had only begun to relax about her leg and it had been two weeks since her splint had been removed. “I will be absolutely fine. My leg is nearly healed. Mary and Edwina are coming to stay and your family will call everyday.”

Anthony nodded at her response, although the creases on his forehead showed his distress at their current situation. “I have instructed the entire staff, including your lady’s maid, to keep an eye on you. If anything happens during the night or you need anything, they will be waiting.”

“I nearly forgot I had a lady’s maid,” Kate teased, dragging her fingertips delicately down his cheek. “You were such a good one.”

Anthony had been an angel since her accident. Of course, they had argued plenty and she had cursed him to oblivion when his overprotective and controlling nature got too much. The ridiculous man had believed her incapable of feeding herself at times, claiming it was too strenuous of an act. He had taken care of her in every way he could, much to her disdain at times. He would bathe her, dress her, feed her and take her to relieve herself during the day and night, much to her mortification and severe objection.

He kept her company throughout most of the day, working while she lay in their bed reading, sleeping or complaining. She had felt awfully sorry for herself at times and Anthony had always made her feel better.

Despite her occasional annoyance, Kate absolutely adored him for everything he did and she still struggled to comprehend what she had done to deserve such an incredible husband.

She was going to miss him so much she wouldn’t know what to do with herself.

Her leg had healed, she just needed to learn to walk on it again. Her muscle was quite weak and could not handle too much pressure, but there was no longer any pain when her leg moved or was touched. She was slowly improving.

Anthony’s expression turned serious. “I want no funny business, Kate. If I hear a word of you putting unnecessary pressure on your leg or attempting to walk recklessly-I will come straight back here and tie you to that bed myself.”

In the six months they had been married, Kate had come to learn a few things about marriage.

This was a deciding moment, where she could either start an argument with her husband about treating her like a child or choose to understand this was how her emotionally stunted husband struggled to express his emotions and feelings.

Kate wanted to make him feel better, to let him know she understood him and to reassure him nothing was going to happen while they were separated.

“Is that a promise?” Kate’s smile was devious, she couldn’t resist flirting with him. She had become much more daring with her newfound experience as a married woman.

“You will be the death of me, woman,” He said, groaning softly as his hands moved down her nightdress to squeeze her derriere. They both knew they did not have time to finish what they were about to start.

“I promise I will be on my best behaviour,” She said, pressing a reassuring kiss to his lips. “I will have someone with me at all times. I will not get into any carriages but your mothers. I will not be up to much, I will need to save my energy for the ball this coming Sunday. Where I will be waiting for you.”

It would be her second public engagement since her injury. She had not seen anyone but her family and Penelope since the accident. Anthony had escorted her to a ball the previous week. She did not do much but sit in the short time they were there, but it was better than lounging about in her home as she had been for weeks.

She felt Anthony reach for her hand, which he brought up to his lips to kiss. She felt him slip something cool inside of her palm, which she quickly opened.

“I want you to keep this until I return.”

It was his pocket watch.

“Anthony, I cannot. You bring this everywhere-“

“Here she is, again, arguing with her husband.”

“It is a favourite pastime of mine.”

“I will keep it safe, counting down until your return.”

“I packed my blanket with your things. For when you to go to sleep.” Aubrey Hall was a home to Anthony, but it was also full of painful memories of his father. She hated the idea of him being completely alone, but her leg was too weak for her to join him. He would be too busy with his duties to see her until nighttime.

“The blue one?”

It had been a gift from her father a few years before he had died. She had never slept without it, and often wrapped it around herself when they were alone. “Yes.”

“I like that one. It smells like you,” He said, his thumb brushing the top of her cheekbone. “Lillies and soap.”

Anthony carefully sat up, pulling Kate along with him. “I must go.”

As she watched her husband stand up and straighten out his clothes, Kate fought off the embarrassing urge to cry.

They had spent a single night apart since their marriage, which was the night of his emotional breakdown that led to him running away to Bridgerton House. They had never been apart since.

Anthony knelt between her legs where she was sitting on the edge of the bed. He held her face in his hands, resting his forehead against hers.

“It is only a week.”

She nodded reassuringly, more for herself than Anthony. “It will fly by.”

“Please don’t cry, darling,” He said soothingly, wiping the tears that were freely flowing down her cheek.

“I am not,” She said stubbornly, the sob breaking free from her throat removing any plausibility from her statement. “T-there is something in my eye.”

Anthony snorted as he wrapped his arms around her, hugging her to his chest. He kissed her hair as she let out a few more sobs, ungracefully wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “I am being ridiculous.”

“Never,” He teased and they simuntenaouestly burst out laughing. ”I love you so much, Kate.”

“I love you so much,” She replied, pulling him towards her for a passionate kiss. She slips her tongue between his lips, glued to hers and never wants the moment to end. It does, a few moments later. “Please be safe.”

He pecked her lips softly. “Of course. I will write to you this evening.”

She watched him walk towards the door, putting on a brave face to smile at him. “I will see you on Sunday.”

She nodded, biting on her bottom lip hard. She was trying not to blink, to force the tears to stay at bay behind her eyelids. “Sunday,” She said, nodding at him. “Goodbye, Bridgerton.”

He laughed, staring at her with an intense expression that made her feel self conscious and alive at the same time. “Goodbye, Bridgerton. I love you.”

Kate waited until she heard the rumbling of his carriage leaving the front of Bridgerton House before she burst into tears. Anthony had left before sunrise, so she allowed herself to go back to sleep after her tears had subsidized before rising for the day.

That evening, Kate sat in the drawing room with Edwina. Mary had retired to bed and the sisters were relaxing, it was still too early for them. Usually around this time, Kate would be sitting on Anthony’s lap in his chair. They would tell each other about their days and just converse for hours.

They never ran out of words to speak to each other.

Kate knew she was being dramatic, but she missed her husband. It had not been a day and she was feeling quite sorry for herself. She was already writing to him, wanting to send it on the overnight postal carriage to Kent. It would be with him by morning.

“What are you doing?” said Edwina, putting down the novel in her hands to glance at her sister’s scrawling on

“I am writing to Anthony.”

“Kate.” Edwina laughed softly. “It has been a day.”

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.” Kate huffed, letting her head fall back onto the cushion. “If I send it soon, it should get to him by morning.”

“I hate not knowing what he is doing,” She said, letting out a frustrated sigh. “Is he eating? When he is really busy, he sometimes forgets to eat. Maybe I should write to Aubrey Hall and make sure the servants bring him regular meals when he arrives home-”

“Kate,” Edwina said, interrupting her sister’s tangent. “Anthony is a grown man. He will be fine.”

“I suppose so,” Kate said grumpily, still debating whether she would write to the butler.

“It is rather lovely to see you like this, you know.”

“How so?”

“Completely in love,” Edwina replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Kate felt herself blush. “It suits you.”

“I can only hope I will have it someday.” Edwina bit her lip, fidgeting with the skirt of her dress.

Kate reached towards her sister, squeezing her hand. “I believe you have, sister. Mr. Bagwell is a lovely man. Once the appropriate time has passed for your courtship, you will be married. If that is what you desire.”

Kate dipped her pen in her ink pot and began to write.

Dear Anthony,

How are you? How was your day? I miss you terribly. How is Newton? I hope he is not terrorizing the cattle, he does love to play with them. I am imagining him running through the fields surrounding Aubrey Hall and the cross look on your face as you chase after him. I wish I was there with you both.

My day was very exciting. I ventured all the way to the drawing room and the kitchen. Colin called on me earlier and ate the chocolate cake meant for dinner, Cook was quite cross.

I am now playing games with Edwina after dinner. Please remember to eat and to get some rest. Brandy and biscuits are not a sufficient meal, Anthony Bridgerton.

I do not want to hear a word about my penmanship in your reply.

Please say hello and give Newton a kiss from me.

I love you.

Your Kate

The following evening, their butler walked into the dining room during dinner. “My lady, a letter has arrived for you.”

“Thank you.” Kate hastily grabbed the letter, squealing with excitement as she tore the letter open. Mary and Edwina watched her with amused expressions.

“Oh be quiet,” Kate said, scrunching her nose at her mother and sister before focusing on the letter.

Dear Kate,

Apologies for the delay in my response, it took me quite some time to make out what you had written.

Kate could practically see her husband’s grin as he wrote this letter. What an ass. Oh, she loved him. She continued to read on.

I began visiting tenants yesterday. There is a roof to be repaired and crops that extra help is needed to harvest. I met two newborn babies, I had forgotten how small they usually were.

I have eaten eggs for breakfast, beef for lunch and chicken for dinner. Are you satisfied?

Dessert was strawberries and cream, which I would have much preferred to have eaten off you. Remember?

Kate bit her lip, feeling her cheeks warm. This was not a letter she should be reading at a dinner table with her mother and sister. Of course she remembered what her husband was referring to. It had happened during their short honeymoon in Aubrey Hall. It involved a picnic blanket, strawberries, little clothes and a lot of cream.

She took a deep breath before continuing to read.

Please do not worry about me. I am fine. More importantly, how are you? How is your leg? I hope you are resting it. Please do not overexert yourself or I will make good on my promise to tie you to our bed.

How was Colin? Did he mention anything regarding his future travels? I worry about him. He seems to be keen to travel for the next few years without much purpose.

Newton is loving the attention most of the tenants are giving him, particularly the children. He had taken Hyacinth’s old doll hostage and has now beheaded her.

He noticed your absence after a while and began to whine but I managed to bribe him to keep quiet with some leftover butcher meat.

I love and miss you,

Your Anthony

Kate had sent her reply late the following afternoon, sending it out with one of the servants.

Dear Anthony,

I received your letter at the dining table, with my mother and sister present. Do you enjoy teasing me so?

Colin spoke of visiting Spain next. I know you worry, as an older brother should, but I believe he is still finding his purpose. He is still young and he has an adventurous spirit.

Benedict taught me how to paint with watercolours today. I had a splendid time, although it did make quite the mess. He is very talented. We should ask him to do one of our portraits. I have always wanted a portrait of Newton for our bedchamber.

Are you well? How are the tenants? I very much look forward to meeting the new arrivals when I come down. Please do send them my well wishes. I am looking forward to seeing them again once we move to Aubrey Hall after the season.

I hate sleeping without you. I love you, darling.

Your Kate

Anthony’s reply arrived the following afternoon, when Kate was having tea with the Bridgerton women. Kate had to excuse herself briefly to read the letter, she was too impatient to wait.

Dear Kate,

A portrait of Newton is not going in our bedchamber. It is not going anywhere in Bridgerton House. As pleased as I am to hear of my brother’s talents and your enjoyment, there will be no portraits of ill behaved dogs.

Your, not our, delightful dog decided to take a swim in the lake this afternoon. However, your dog had failed to take into account the depth and temperature of said lake and got frightened. He swam to a rock and refused to move until I had to swim to him, grab him and bring him inside.

I am still debating his murder.

This is the second time Newton has led me into a lake.

Newton is now attempting to follow me to bed. This is why we do not allow animals to sleep in our beds, Kate. They get needy.

I miss you desperately. I love you.

Your husband,

Anthony

Dear Anthony,

You would do well to remember Newton was sleeping in my bed before you were, Lord Bridgerton.

I do not believe for one second that you did not let Newton into your bed. I cannot lie to you, I am laughing as I read your letter. Newton is very naughty. He does get excited and he cannot help it. The world is a cruel place to not let me witness such an event.

I suppose I will always have the Serpentine.

When are you going to admit that you love him? It is rather sweet he wanted you to get him out of the lake. You are his papa.

Regarding the portrait of Newton, perhaps your office would be a suitable place for it?

Love,

Kate

It was very enjoyable to tease her husband and she even managed to do it through a letter. A letter arrived each day throughout the week, and she sent her reply shortly afterwards.

Dear Kate,

I am not going to have this argument again. Newton is not our child. He is an animal.

I will concede that he is good company. When he is not dragging me into freezing lakes or terrorizing the tenants chickens.

How is your leg? Have you been resting it?

The nights are so dull without you, I miss you. I would pay ten pounds to listen to you play the flute right now if I could. Instead, I am listening to Newton's snores.

Anthony

Dear Husband,

Newton is most definitely our child. If he is not our child, why did you have the tailor prepare him coats for the winter to keep him warm? His coats were made out of very similar fabrics to yours, I might add.

A coincidence? I think not.

My leg is doing well. I have not moved much. Eloise and Francesca joined Edwina and I for tea today, which was quite pleasant. Francesca played the piano, it was so lovely. However, when I offered to play the flute, they suddenly had to return home. Edwina then declared she needed a nap.

Mr. Bagwell joined Edwina and I for lunch this afternoon. I do think he will propose soon. They are so sweet together.

You would be so lucky to listen to my flute playing, Lord Bridgerton.

I love you. I am counting down the minutes until your return.

Yours always,

Kate

Dear Wife,

That is beside the point. I ordered those coats because it was the practical thing to do. I was not going to spend my time picking out additional fabric for Newton’s coats. A Viscount has much more important things to attend to.

Besides, I only wear the best fabric. There could not have been a better choice.

Newton is very fond of his coats, so I win. He wore one during our walk this morning.

I will listen to you play the flute anyday, darling. I might require a glass of brandy beforehand.

That is good news about Edwina and Mr. Bagwell. Perhaps for their wedding gift, I could pay for some carriage handling lessons?

The tenants appreciated the baskets you had put together for them, I had a few of the servants' assistance distributing them today. They asked me to pass on their thanks and appreciation to the wonderful Viscountess.

I cannot wait to see you, I love you.

Your husband,

Anthony

Anthony Bridgerton was on a mission to see his wife.

It was the longest they had been apart since they married, and Anthony had hated every second of it. He had arrived in London and headed straight for Hastings House, where the ball of the evening was taking place.

The Duke and Duchess of Hastings, his sister and brother in law, were celebrating Simon’s birthday.

The ball was well underway when Anthony walked into the ballroom. He was nearly two hours late, much to his delight. He planned on taking Kate home straight anyway, he just had to find her first. He scanned the ballroom but to his dismay, she was not in sight.

“Anthony!”

Anthony sighed as disappointment flooded his veins when he turned around to see Daphne, and not Kate.

“Have you seen Kate?” He stepped forward to kiss her cheek. “Hi Daph.”

“Please do not look so ecstatic to see me,” Daphne teased, smirking as she looked around the room. “It is only my husband’s birthday ball. The last I saw of her, she was sitting with Penelope. How was Aubrey Hall?”

Penelope would not be hard to spot, the poor girl was usually forced into an unfortunate frock that blinded the eye.

“It was busy but an enjoyable week.” That was a lie, Anthony had been miserable without his wife. He had spent the first month of their marriage trying to avoid falling in love with her and keeping his distance from her. “If you will excuse me, I have to find Kate.”

“Brother! How was Aubrey Hall?”

Anthony practically hissed before turning around to look at his younger brother, Colin. He wasted no time with pleasantries. “Have you seen Kate?”

“Hello, Colin,” Colin said, enjoying his brother’s irritated expression. “How are you, brother? I have not seen you in a week. No, no. I insist. Are you enjoying the ball? I am, our dear sister chose quite fine food- ”

“Did we not spend eighteen years of our lives together? Was that not enough?” Anthony replied, rolling his eyes at his brothers. “I would speak more kindly to the person who handles your allowance, brother.”

“As if you would refuse any of it to me, brother,” Colin retorted, grinning at his brother and Anthony huffed, he knew his stupid little brother was right. “You should try the pastries, they are divine.”

Anthony shook his head. “I am not hungry, Colin. I want my wife. Have you seen Kate or not?”

He knew he would get grief from his brothers later, for acting like a lovesick fool. However, he could not find it in him to care. He was one. He was completely infatuated with his wife, who he had not seen in a week and that was a downright crime.

“Lord Bridgerton. Kate is in the drawing room, resting her leg.”

A small voice piped up from behind them, and Anthony turned around to see Penelope Fetherington, smiling pleasantly at the two Bridgerton brothers.

Panic initially filled his chest as Penelope spoke. Had Kate hurt her leg? It was unusual for his wife to rest without some sort of bribery. His family would not be so calm if she had injured her leg, he rationaled, so he took a deep breath.

“Miss Fetherington, I did not see you there. Forgive me, how are you?” Anthony pressed a kiss to Penelope’s glove before nodding his head. It was rude but he did not plan to stick around for his reply. There was one thing on his mind: Kate. “Thank you, Penelope. If you’ll excuse me.”

He did not waste the opportunity to subtle whack the back of Colin’s head as he left the pair.

Anthony practically sprinted through the ballroom, the drawing room was onto two doors down from the large ballroom. He opened the door and there she was, breathtakingly beautiful, sitting on one of the chairs.

Kate’s head turned swiftly at the interruption, her eyes widening at the intrusion before a large smile settled on her face when she saw who it was.

“Did you miss me, Lord Bridgerton?”

His wife’s voice flooded his body with a lightness one would think only drugs could achieve. He felt almost giddy, striding towards her. If he did not kiss her in a few seconds, he would go insane.

“Not as much as you missed me, Lady Bridgerton.” Anthony could not even convince himself on that note.

He swiftly pulled her onto his lap, carefully lifting her leg, before he took his face in hers and kissed her with every fibre of his being. The scent of lilies and soaps flooded his nostrils as her lips moved against his.

He was never leaving her again.

“Hi,” She whispered as they broke apart, panting heavily as they caught their breath.

“Hi,” He replied, laughing at her as he pulled her closer, pressing his lips against hers softly before burying his face in her hair.

“I was told you were making quite the ruckus in the ballroom in your attempts to find me. It is quite rude to shove people out of your way, you know.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “People need to learn to get out of my way to simply avoid being shoved. Where were you?”

He twirled a few strands of her hair around his fingers, watching her intently as she spoke. “Cressida Cowper purposely spilled wine on Penelope’s gown. I was helping her get the stain out.”

Anthony scowled, “What an abomination of a person. Penelope was the one who told me you were here. She seemed alright. Was she?”

Kate brushed some of his hair behind his ear, her fingertips lightly trailing his cheek. “She was upset, but tried to hide it. We did not have much luck removing the stain, though. She is dancing with Colin now, so her mood has improved significantly.”

“Cressida had to depart quickly afterwards. A few cream tarts found themselves smeared on the back of her dress.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow. “How they got there, one could only imagine.”

“I suppose we will never know.” Kate’s deviant smile said it all. He really had married the greatest, slightly terrifying, woman to ever exist.

Anthony grinned at her, his incredible wife, their noses touching now as his hands completely wrapped around her. “How are you?”

“Splendid. I did miss you terribly, though. It was quite the nuisance.”

He stole another kiss. “Oh, Kate. You do wonders for my ego.”

She laughed, that sweet, beautiful laugh that rang in his ears and made him feel alive. “It will eventually burst if we are not careful. Was everything well at Aubrey Hall?”

Anthony nodded. “Everything is splendid. I fixed every problem, collected rents and solved disputes. I am glad to be home.”

Kate kissed him, running her fingers over his cheeks. “You work so hard. Next time, at least, you will not be alone. That is the last time you will ever leave me.”

Anthony nodded in agreement. “I have no idea how I lived so many years without you. A week without you felt like a lifetime.”

“I suppose we should make up for lost time, my lord.”

“How so?” Anthony’s gaze darkened.

“Take me home and I will show you,�� She whispered, blinking up at him in a way that made Anthony catch his breath.

He did not have to be asked twice.

#bridgerton #my fic #kateandanthonyweek21 #kateandanthonyweek #kate x anthony #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #I am slightly late with this eek but I hope people enjoy!#fanfiction #bridgerton fanfiction #ao3

24 notes · View notes

songtoyou · 3 years

Text

Epiphany - Part Four

Paring: Luke Crain x Female Reader

Chapter Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 3,080

Warnings: Talks of drug use and recovery. Swearing and self-doubt.

Description: Life has never been easy for Luke Crain. After the death of Nell, Luke realizes that he needs to make some changes. He decided to stay in Massachusetts and attend rehab. He was determined to remain on his path of sobriety. When you get assigned to be Luke’s sponsor, it opens a new door of possibilities that neither you nor Luke expected.

A/N: I am sorry that it has taken me so long to write and upload this chapter. I have not been feeling so good since I posted that last chapter. Lots of anxiety keeping me from doing things such as write. Anyway, here is the new chapter. I wanted to write about Aunt Janet. I felt that the show didn’t really tell us much about her except that she took care of the kids after the events of Hill House in 1992.

Note: Italics represent the past or past conversations.

Feedback is wonderful. It is nice knowing if people are actually liking this fic.

I do not permit my work to be posted on any other site without my permission.

Tag list: @morningstar09

~Aunt Janet’s House – 2002 ~

“Luke! Hurry up, or you’re going to be late for school!” Aunt Janet yelled up the stairs.

“Luke! Come on!” exclaimed Nellie. “I’ll go check on him.”

“Thanks, sweetie,” said Janet. Her youngest nephew often worried her, especially since it was the tenth anniversary of Olivia’s death this past summer. Janet started to notice that Luke became more recluse and stayed up in his room. The only person Luke would interact with was Nell, which was not surprising to Janet. The twins only managed to become closer as they got older.

What really began to cause Janet to worry was catching Luke steal money from her purse. She asked him what he was doing and why he was stealing. However, Luke could come up with a pretty decent lie about needing money to buy flowers for Olivia’s grave.

In truth, it was to buy beer. Luke had taken a liking to the barley and hops beverage. It helped him feel numb and not worry about anything. Unfortunately, Luke had one too many beers last night and was paying for it. Nellie found him headfirst in the toilet regurgitating the contents of his late-night beer binge.

“Eww, gross. What is wrong with you?” asked Nellie. She pinched her nose as the stench of Luke’s puke was overwhelming.

“What does it look like! I’m sick! Tell Aunt Janet that I can’t go to school.”

“Luke, come on. You have missed too many days already. They’re going to hold you back another year if you miss any more school,” Nellie argued while searching through Luke’s drawers and closet for clothes.

Luke managed to get up from the bathroom floor when he felt it was safe. He rinsed out his mouth to relieve it from the after taste of throw-up.

“Come on! Get cleaned up and put these on,” ordered Nell and shoved Luke’s clothes in his arms.

Luke groaned and plopped down on his bed. “Nellie…I can’t go to school today. I’m too sick.”

“Well, your sickness is also making me sick, but I managed to get up and ready for school today. Now move it! I’ll keep bugging you if you don’t move. I’m not going to let you fall to the waste side. Do you hear me, Luke?”

“Fine! I’m getting dressed!” Luke yelled to get Nellie off of his back.

No matter what occurred between them, neither twin could ever hate the other. They were each other’s best friends and closest confidante. They had to be. Especially now that they were the last two left in Aunt Janet’s care. As soon as their eldest siblings turned eighteen, they hightailed it out of Janet’s house for college.

Luke slowly trudges down the stairs with his backpack slumped on his shoulders.

“Hey, there he is,” greeted Aunt Janet. “Would you like some breakfast, sweetie?”

“No! No breakfast,” Luke replied with his head on the table.

However, Nellie pushed a plate of dry toast in front of him and told him to at least nibble some bites. “Here’s some orange juice. Take slow sips. The last thing we need is you spewing junks in the toilet again,” whispered Nellie while Aunt Janet was in the kitchen. She would not out that her brother was hungover. That last thing Nell wanted was to cause any more trouble for Luke.

She knew why Luke did not want to go to school, and it had to do with, what else, their family. Some of the kids at school saw Luke as an easy target to bully and terrorize. The topic of their “messed-up” family was their go-to whenever they wanted to antagonize Luke. Nell often found herself a target for bullies but could stand up for herself a lot better than Luke.

With the anniversary of Olivia’s death, the bullies made it their mission to torment Luke about growing up without a mother or father. They would push him against the lockers, knocking his glasses off his face, and trip him in the hallways. It was too much to handle, and Luke was tired.

Leaning back in his chair, Luke re-read the words on the computer screen. His instructor loved the essay he turned in and advised him to expand upon it. Luke pushed aside his reservations about exploring his past traumas through writing. It was a better outlet for Luke to help cope and tackle past stressful life experiences. Not only did Luke have support from his instructor and you, but his counselor at Banyan Treatment Center, Rob, also supported the idea of using expressive writing as a way to heal.

Luke could not deny that writing helped clear his head. Something he learned while being in rehab back in Los Angeles. It allowed him to face things from his past that he had pushed aside. However, Luke had some reservations about how much he should…open himself up when it comes to sorting out his past events. There were still things that Luke was not quite ready to face.

Oh my God!" exclaimed Luke. "It has been a month and a half since we have seen that movie. It would be best if you got over the ending. It happened. There is nothing you can do about it."

"I can't, Luke. It was total bullshit!" you yelled back furiously.

Luke calmly said your name to get your attention. "Listen to me; we don't even know if Steve Rogers actually stayed back in time to be with Peggy. He may have…"

"Then where did he go? Huh? He just up and left his friends who he just got back. Steve and Peggy never even dated! They kissed, that is it. Yes, there was an attraction that each had for one another, but that was all it ever way…an attraction. They are a 'what could have been' type of couple—the movie completely throughout all of Steve's character development…right out the window. Whatever, I'm over it," you stated, throwing your hands up in defeat.

You and Luke were driving to his Aunt Janet's house for a visit. He mentioned to you about wanting to visit his aunt for some time but had not gotten around to it. You were surprised that he asked you to come along.

Luke mentioned that Shirley and Theo were too busy to come with him and did not want to go alone. You agreed on the condition that he drive since Aunt Janet lived an hour and a half away from Wilmington. Lately, your anxiety has been going up and down, so you were not comfortable being at the hands of the wheel, especially on the freeway. You did not understand why you had such anxiety these past few days. You chalked it up to being nervous about your final project at school. The assignment was to create a self-portrait. It should be simple enough, but of course, the art instructor wanted students to "think outside of the box" and not have it be a regular standard portrait of themselves.

Each draft you came up with was of you in some state of turmoil, whether it be you depicted on a gurney getting resuscitated from your heroin overdose or lying in a pool of your own vomit. You could not understand why this particular project was giving you such a hard time. You were three-years sober. You had a steady job and gone back to school. Your relationship with your parents was better than ever. So, why the thought of a self-portrait brought upon negative thoughts about oneself?

You mentioned your troubles to Luke, and he was very sympathetic. While he was now 206 days sober, there were times where he felt…like the achievement did not mean much.

"What do you mean by that?" you asked him while on the way to Aunt Janet's house.

"It's just…this isn't my first rodeo when it comes to recovery," Luke began to say. "There is always this little voice in the back of my head that…"

"That it is only temporary. I have that little voice too. I'm not too fond of that little voice. Three years sober, and there are times where I still feel like a total failure. I shouldn't, but…I can't help it," you revealed to Luke honestly.

"Thankfully, there is another little voice in the back of my head that gives tells me that I'm doing a good job now and then. It's just that positive little voice has been a tad quiet lately," you added.

Luke could pick up on the little defeatist tone in your voice, and he did not like it. You immediately felt his worry about you. "Hey," you said to get his attention and placed a hand on his arm. "Don't worry about me, okay. I'm fine. I have my fears like every recovering addict. It is nice to talk to someone about it, particularly someone who understands, you know. That helps."

Silence soon filled the car, but it was not awkward. You never had awkward or uncomfortable silences with Luke. For some reason, Luke was one of the few comforting presences in your life. Regardless of all of the hardships he has gone through in his life, he offered a sense of hopefulness. With his 6'3 stature, Luke really came off more like a gentle giant. It was like he did not view himself as this grown tall man, but probably still felt like that little kid hiding under the bed from the "Tall Man" at Hill House.

"Luke," you said to get his attention. "Are you happy?"

"No," he replied immediately, then clarified when he saw the look you gave him. "I mean, am I happy that I am over 200 days clean, then yes I am, very much so. But…I don't know, there is a small part of me that is scared to be happy…to be content in fear of something going wrong."

When Luke pulled the car into Aunt Janet's driveway, the older woman immediately came out of the house to greet her youngest nephew.

"There he is, my little boy," she said and wrapped her arms around Luke, which he reciprocated.

"Hi Aunt Janet, how are you?"

"I'm fine, darling. How have you been?" Aunt Janet asked, pulling away to get a good look at Luke. He looked much better than he did at Nell's funeral.

"Good. I'm doing good. Everyone is doing…fine," Luke replied, then turned towards you. He introduced you as his friend and not his sponsor to his Aunt, which kind of surprised you.

"So nice to meet you," said Aunt Janet taking your hand. She motioned for you both to follow her into the house. "I hope you both are hungry. I made an array of sandwiches and salads for lunch. Luke, I also made your favorite…chocolate pecan pie bars."

"Thank the Lord because he was hoping you would make them on the car ride here. It was all he talked about?" you teased.

"Once you have one, then you will know what I am talking about," Luke responded with a smile.

Aunt Janet lead you both into the kitchen.

"Can I use the bathroom to freshen up?" you asked her.

"Oh yes, dear. It is down that hallway, the first door to the right," told Aunt Janet as she showed you where to go. "Luke, you should probably wash your hands first," she added.

"Yes, Aunt Janet," he said and went to the sink to wash his hands.

When you were no longer in earshot, Aunt Janet stood beside her nephew and said, "Your friend seems really sweet."

Luke could not hold back his smile, "Yeah, she is genuinely nice. She's fun to hang out with. We have a lot of the same interests. Shirley and Theo have met her as well," he mentioned and shared that both of his sisters really liked you.

Aunt Janet turned her head to see if you came if you were around the corner. When you were not, she leaned over to Luke and said, "Very pretty too. She'd make a lovely…"

"Aunt Janet, she is just a friend. I can't date her anyway. She's…they say you shouldn't date anyone while still in recovery."

"I'm so proud of you," Aunt Janet said as she placed the food on the kitchen table. "You are becoming the man I always knew you could be."

Luke would be lying to himself if he denied that there was some form of attraction that he had for you, both physically and emotionally. He knew that the feelings that he was slowly developing towards you could be considered wrong. You were his sponsor…a dedicated one at that too. It would not be right for him to act on any attraction he may have for you—no doubt, that you would not reciprocate them, which would be disappointing to Luke.

"Better to just suffer in silence," Luke thought to himself.

"Don't you want a girlfriend? A family of your own someday?" asked Aunt Janet.

"Yeah…maybe. Someday. I'm just learning to take care of myself without drugs in my system. There is no way I can be a dedicated father or husband to anyone… at least not right now. I am still a work in progress," Luke admitted to his aunt. "I do like…" But Luke stopped when he heard your footsteps approaching.

"Oh, my goodness. The pictures on the wall… I'm assuming the little kid with glasses is you, Luke."

The three of you sat around the kitchen table with your plates stacked with delicious food.

"Luke was the absolute cutest kid. He had a little lisp as well," Aunt Janet shared. "I have more pictures of the kids if you would like to see them?"

"Yes," you replied ecstatically.

"No," Luke disputed, "We are in the middle of eating."

"We can multitask. Let's see those pictures," you asserted gleefully while Aunt Janet got up from the table.

With a belly full of food, the three you were now sitting outside on the patio, drinking tea, and eating Aunt Janet's yummy chocolate pecan pie bars. You already looked through three photo albums that showed Luke and his siblings' younger years.

"I wanted to take as many pictures as I could of the kids. They hated it, but I told 'em they would appreciate it when they got older," expressed Aunt Janet. "Here's a picture of Nell on her wedding day. That's her husband, Arthur. Sadly, he passed away a couple of months after they got married. But…they are together now."

You looked at the photo of the young couple. Nell looked very much like her older sisters and her mother. You could tell that there was a kindness about Nell just by looking at the picture. She was the type of person to go above and beyond for her family and even strangers. Luke would say that Nell was just that type of person to care about everyone, no matter who they were or where they came from.

Luke did share with you that one of his biggest regrets was not going to Nell's wedding. He said that he tried, but Shirley told him to leave. Luke said that it was for the best and that he was in no right state of mind to support his twin the way she deserved on her wedding day.

Thankfully for Luke, Nell understood and held no hard feelings. She never did when it came to her other half.

Aunt Janet began to sniffle, and when you looked up from the photo, you saw the older woman dab her eyes with a napkin. Out of instinct, Luke grabbed his Aunt's tiny hand and squeezed it with his as a way to show support. Just as he was Aunt Janet's little boy, Nell was her little girl. She was the one to raise them, take care of them, and guide them into adulthood.

None of the Crain children were perfect; they were far beyond that notion. However, there is no denying that if they did not have Aunt Janet take care of them and love them, they could have been worse off. Luke had the overwhelming feeling of guilt encompassing him at the moment as Aunt Janet tried to hold back her tears.

You instantly looked up at Luke. You could feel his sense of guilt towards the way he treated his aunt while growing up. He looked over at you. It was a silent conversation you both were having between one another. You mouthed, "Do you want me to go?" so he could have this moment alone.

With a shake of his head, 'No,' Luke spoke up to get his aunt's attention. "Aunt Janet…I'm sorry. I'm sorry for…for all the Hell I put you through while living here. You did so much for Nell and me, and the others that I…shit all over it. I stole and lied to you like it was my job. You deserved better. I just want you to know that…me getting hooked on drugs…well…that was…no matter what had happened…it was my choice to go down that path of destruction. I love you, Aunt Janet, and I am so appreciative of the sacrifices you made for my siblings and me. I wish that I weren't such a fuck up…"

"Oh sweetheart, no, you are not a…fuck up," Aunt Janet interjected and continued, "Not at all. I love you so much that…I would do anything for you, you know that, right? Your childhood is in the past. It happened. It is a part of you. The fact that you are continuing to remain clean after all that has occurred…well, that is something you should be most proud of. It shows that you are dedicated to your sobriety and turning your life around. No one said this process was easy, but you stayed the course and continued to make good decisions. As I told you earlier, you are becoming the man I always knew you could be."

"Now, I'm going to cry," Luke giggled as he dabbed his eyes with a napkin. "I didn't mean to turn this into a sob fest, but I wanted you to know that I'm sorry for what I put you through and that I love you very much, Aunt Janet."

Aunt Janet emerged from her seat to wrap her arms around her nephew and kiss the top of his head. It was a sweet moment to witness.

#luke crain #luke crain x reader #luke crain x female reader #the haunting of hill house #oliver jackson cohen

43 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 4 years

Text

Magic Fate

Summary: You reside in the bunker as your best friend Sam insisted you need to hide from the monster as you are pregnant with his brother's child. The problem is – Dean doesn’t remember your week together…

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader (platonic/best friends), Castiel

Warnings: angst, pregnant reader, A/B/O, A/B/O dynamics, light smut, mentions of sexual intercourse/heat/rut, spells, Dean being a douche, Sam being a good friend, language, arguments, nesting

Words: 2,8 k

Hot, slick and animalistic.

It wasn’t your plan to end up in a cheap motel bed, the cocky hunter on top of you. He was wild, unstoppable and you submitted without thinking twice, believing Dean finally stopped hating you.

Your voice was hoarse at the end of the first night, your body sore and your neck, well it was marked with his claim.

Dean still didn’t let up, he was like a man on a mission, or possessed as he pumped his cock into you. Anytime you believed he will give you a break, Dean was on you again.

He called you his mate, beautiful and sexy but it all ended the moment Sam stormed into the room, followed by your favorite angel.

It didn’t take long to break the spell, and to your horror – Dean lost consciousness while you were wide awake.

Shame filled you as your best friend found you underneath his brother, crying out dirty words to urge the wild Alpha on.

You believed you and Dean could find a way to cope with what happened. It wasn’t his fault, nor was it yours but when he woke a few hours later – Dean didn’t remember he spent the last week with you…or that he claimed you.

Now you are here, in the middle of a fight between the man who claimed you and his brother, your best friend. Well, not in the middle. You are standing at the sideline, unseen by both brothers.

Thing is – Dean didn’t spend that godforsaken week with you on free terms. You realized too late that the witch you were fighting put a spell on both of you.

While you can remember every detail. Every word. Every moan. Every high you and Dean reached - the hunter acts as nothing happened. Well to him nothing happened – but to you, your whole life changed.

“She shouldn’t be here Sammy, you know that. Why can’t she stay at her place?” Dean’s words make you flinch.

“Dean, she is seven months pregnant and a hunter. What happens when any monster or demon finds Y/N in her condition? She has no one to turn to but me, her best friend.” Sam raises his voice, frantically running his fingers through his hair.

Sam had to promise you to never tell Dean what happened. The mark at your neck started to fade the moment Sam broke the spell. Now it's only a barely visible scar which will disappear sooner or later.

“That’s not my problem, nor yours. It’s the Alpha’s problem who was dumb enough to knock her up! I don’t want a needy Omega in our home.” Dean retorts. “What happens when that guy comes around and finds her with two other Alphas?”

“Dean just stop it! I don’t think he will come here, okay. Y/N is my friend since Stanford. She will not leave, period.” Sam is just done with his brother’s behavior, so he turns to leave the kitchen.

“Yeah. Why should the Alpha come back to her? It is not as if anyone wanted her…” Spatting the words Dean catches a glimpse of you.

He wants to say something, wants to apologize but you press your hand to your mouth, gasping.

“Y/N…fuck, Dean…” Sam tries to soothe you, but you step backward, shaking your head furiously.

“I…I’ll be gone in the morning, Dean. You do not have to worry about me and my bastard child any longer. You’re right… Wy should he have stayed after he had what he wanted…no one would…” Sniffling you rush toward the room next to Sam’s to hide in your makeshift nest.

“Dean, you fucking idiot! If she gets hurt or worse…we are done…” Sam storms off while Dean stands in the kitchen, not knowing why you were that hurt by his words.

You two used to be at each other’s throat, never got along well as you tend to pretend you are Beta or even Alpha to make sure the other hunters do not underestimate you.

Not minutes ago, you looked like a kicked puppy and Dean’s stomach dropped as he never saw you cry before. The hunter always believed you are too cold-hearted to even show emotions.

Now he knows better and feels like the worst person ever…

“Y/N, it’s me, Sam. Do you want to talk about it? Do you need anything?” Sam stands in front of your room, head hung low he listens to your silent sobs. “Y/N?”

“’m fine, Sam. I just realized it was a stupid idea to come here. Dean is right. I only caused chaos and fights between you and your brother. I’ll find a safe place. Maybe I can spend some time at Donna’s place until I found an apartment.” Wiping your eyes with the blanket you suppress another sob.

“Y/N, can I come in? I know you didn’t feel well this morning.”

“I am fine, Sam. Just go to sleep, you need it. Stop worrying about me. Last time I checked I wasn’t your responsibility. Just leave me alone…” Your words came out way too harsh, but you need to distance yourself from Sam.

“I know you try to push me away, but this won’t work with me. You know that. I’ll leave you alone for tonight, but tomorrow we will find a better solution than you leave the bunker.”

Sam places one hand onto your door, sighing heavily as he can hear you try to hold back another heartbreaking sob.

Past midnight Dean strolls through the hallway, still not knowing how to fix things he listens to you talk to someone.

“I am fine, Castiel. Just a bit of evening sickness or something.” Muttering you take a sip of the water you tried to get as the angel stopped you. “Stop looking at me like I am a broken doll or crap.”

“Y/N…” Castiel sighs heavily. “You need to tell him. He can’t keep on doing this to you while it’s his fault you are in this condition. We have to do something about it.”

“No, Cas. We have to do shit, okay. I am pregnant as I gave in to my instinct. He was just lost in his instinct and the spell. It was…bad luck, I guess.” Huffing you grab your glass of water.

“Listen, you can’t leave the bunker. Not pregnant with a Winchester baby!” Dean’s heart beats faster.

His brother knocked you up and didn’t say a thing? Why is Sam hiding you and his brother are a thing?

“Cas, it was just my bad it wasn’t Sam who got hit by the spell. I know he would’ve been able to handle he claimed and knocked me up during his forced rut. Dean is…”

Sniffling you place one hand onto your baby bump. “He always hated me from the first day we met. There is no way to tell him it’s his son in my belly.”

Dean’s legs are about to give in as he must listen to your conversation with Castiel. Not in his wildest dreams, he would have imagined you could ever be interested in him.

You always gave him glares and snarky comments, even kicked his balls years ago. But here you are, carrying his child and you seem to be sad he doesn’t give you attention.

“Y/N, the mark is fading. You and Dean need to bond soon…” Castiel tries to help you, but your forced smile let him fall silent.

“He doesn’t want me or my baby. Dean doesn’t have to know what happened. Let’s keep it that way.”

Walking toward your room you don’t recognize Dean flatten against the wall. He holds his breath, looks at your swollen stomach once again and his heart drops.

“You know, I am an angel and can sense you, Dean.” Castiel chuckles as Dean looks at the angel like a deer in the headlight. “I caught you with your hands in the cookie jar. It’s not nice to eavesdrop, Dean.”

“She’s…that’s…” Panting Dean looks at Castiel. “That’s my pup growing inside of her. Why can’t I remember anything? Why did Sam and Y/N never tell me so?”

“You can’t remember as only you got hit by the spell. When we broke it, you forgot what happened and we decided it’s for the best not to tell you about the witch and what she did.”

“Why? I had the right to know!” Shrugging Castiel looks at his friend, a dark look on his face.

“The moment you woke all you had in mind was to nag about the fact that Y/N was around. You couldn’t remember Sam called her for the case and with every passing minute, I saw the hurting get worse. You have to know…”

Castiel steps closer to intimidate Dean. “Y/N can remember everything. Every word you said and every touch. I tried to stay out of her mind, but she replays the week in her head over and over again.”

“Cas…”

“It pains me to see Y/N like that. I offered to delete the memories, but she cried even harder. Do you know what she said?” Shaking his head Dean digs his fingertips into his thighs.

“No…”

“Y/N said that this way, she has a pleasant memory of you, not only harsh words and hard looks. She’s vulnerable right now, Dean. You better stay away from her and the baby in her body…”

Dean doesn’t listen to his friend's words. He’s running toward the kitchen to prepare a meal for you. He did a lot of research lately to find out what a pregnant Omega needs.

Believing you would reject his help, or rather him being close to you Dean acted like he doesn’t care.

“She’s mine…” Humming silently he prepares food, water, and sweets for you before he rushes toward your room.

Dean is unsure how to start a conversation so he just storms into your room only to find you curled into a ball on a nest in your wardrobe.

“Sweetheart…” Dean’s heart drops seeing you want to close the doors to hide from him. “You shouldn’t make a nest in your wardrobe. It’s too small for you.”

“It's safe in here. Now one can catch me off-guard.” Pointing toward the gun, an angel blade and the sigils you added to the doors you snuggle into the flannel you stole from Dean. “Don’t need much…”

“Y/N…shit…” Placing the tray with food onto your bed Dean kneels next to your wardrobe. “This doesn’t look comfortable, Y/N. How about making one on your bed…”

“No…no…” Furiously shaking your head you try to close the door again. “’s safe in here. No one can come in.”

Whimpering you must watch Dean get closer to your nest and you grasp for the knife under your pillow. “Stay away from my pup…”

“Jesus, Y/N. I would never hurt you or my baby.” An icy shiver runs down your spine as Dean moves closer to place his hand onto your belly. “’s my baby inside your belly…right?”

“How’d know?” Your eyes round as Dean moves one hand to your neck to brush your hair aside.

“There is my mark. You’re my mate now let’s make a nest somewhere else.” You look at Dean as if he is crazy. “Sweetheart. Let me help you. I am sorry for what I said. It’s just…”

“You hate me…”

“No, Y/N. It’s…the thought you are pregnant with another Alpha’s pup made me go crazy. I couldn’t think about anything, but you are having that faceless Alpha’s baby…”

He’s fighting to get hold of you as you wiggle in his grip as Dean tries to bring you into his arms. “Stop wiggling ‘mega. I want to bring you to my room. My mate will not sleep in a wardrobe…”

“I want to stay here. It’s safe and asshole proof.” Dean chuckles at your words, but you are not amused at all.

Fighting his hands, you call for Sam’s help but Dean is determined and hooks one arm under your legs and the other safely around your back to pick you up.

“Fuck, you're heavy. Sweetheart.” Smirk on his lips, Dean looks at you in his arms as he tries to get up. “You eat for three or four…”

“Only for two, idjit. Now let me down…” Punching his chest you glare at the hunter but he won’t let go of you. “Don’t drop me!”

“You’re heavy and annoying but I’ll not drop you, Y/N. Now be still and let your Alpha carry you into his room.” He groans as he gets up and you can’t hold back a chuckle as you know, you are way too heavy for him to carry you around. “I’ve got this…”

“What the…?” Sam storms into your room. Hair a mess, shirt upside down he looks at you in his brother's arms. “Dean?”

“Get out of my way. That’s my mate and pup. Next time, do not hide I had dirty and mind-blowing sex with your best friend. Damn…I wish I could remember…” While Dean forces his way out of your room, you call for Sam.

“Don’t, Sammy. She’s mine, not yours. You can open my door to help me enter the room, nothing else.”

“That’s wrong…” Snarling you fight for your nest. Dean brought all the pillows, blankets and clothes to his room and placed it onto his bed but you are not satisfied. “You ruined my nest…”

“It looks better than yours.” Grunting Dean puts one of his flannels onto the nest but you toss it away. “OMEGA!”

“You’re a lousy Alpha. This is my job, idiot. Do not ruin my nest…” Wiggling on the bed you straighten the blankets, put the pillows a few inches to the left before you drape Dean’s flannels over the blankets. “That’s better. Now give me the one you are wearing…”

“No! That’s my favorite.” You are unimpressed. Holding out your hand you purse your lips, faking a sob and Dean strips the plaid off. “Greedy little Omega…”

“Stop muttering. Now I want your shirt…” Dean rolls his eyes as you move closer to the edge of the bed to tug at his shirt. “I want it, give it to me…”

“Damn, are you that dominant in the bedroom too? I could give you something better than my shirt…” Sticking your tongue out you point toward his chest. “You only want my clothes, I get it…”

“If you weren’t an asshole all the time, I’d let you knot me.” Eyes narrowed you snatch the shirt from his hands, not missing the chance to ogle the Alpha for a moment.

“I bet you want me to knot you good.” All cocky bastard again Dean kicks his shoes off. “I’ll conquer this nest…”

“Nah…” Pointing toward the floor you toss a pillow at Dean. “I will not share my nest with you. This is mine…” It’s your turn to grin but Dean ignores your words.

Dipping one knee into the mattress he glances at the free place next to you. “I’ll lie next to you and my baby. I will not leave this nest. I am your Alpha, now be a good Omega and let me rest to protect you and the pup.”

“Hmm…” Glancing at Dean you make space for him to let him lie next to you. “You can lie there to attack any enemy. Do not touch me or the nest…”

While you eye Dean warily he rolls to his side to face you. His hand lands on your belly but you do not shove it away.

“He’s mine…” Purring for you Dean scoots closer, becomes braver as he occupies half of your nest. “You’re mine. Now rest ‘mega. Tomorrow I’ll knot you good.”

“No…” Dean ruined half of your nest, dared to lie on his favorite flannel and your eyes darken. “This is my flannel, I want it…” Sniffing you purr low in your throat as Dean smells better than the fabric. “Or I’ll have you…”

“What?” Squeaking Dean must fight your hands but it’s too late. You dragged him onto your nest, rolled the hunter onto his back to make sure he’s in the middle of your nest. “Care to explain?”

“You are part of the nest now. Shush…” Ogling your nest you hum before you grasp for the last blanket. Dean dares not to move as you wiggle on his bed until you found a comfortable position.

One leg draped over Dean’s, head resting onto his chest you close your eyes.

“Do not move! You’re part of the nest, Alpha…”

“What if I have to pee?” Dean chuckles but your serious look makes him gulp. “Y/N?”

“I don’t care. You’re part of the nest. Now let me sleep…”

“You’re one annoying Omega. I had to knock you up…must be fate…” Dean groans and you gently pat his chest.

“You’ll get used to being my Alpha. I’ll teach you all you have to know. We will start with my lessons tomorrow by you making me breakfast. Now shut your cakehole and be part of the nest.”

“I hate you…”

“Hate you more Dean…”

591 notes · View notes