#when i tell you the moment she said that buffy popped into my head

[davinaclare]

BUFFY THE VAMPIRE SLAYER - 1x01: "Welcome to the Hellmouth"

ANGEL - 3x18: "Double or Nothing"

[prose-for-hire]

Clueless

Pairing: Angel x reader

Request: As I said, Spike will always be my favorite, but every now and then you gotta mix it up. 😅 So here comes my Angel request! 😀 The scoobies find out he has a human girlfriend. And when they meet you they get the impression that you have no idea of the supernatural. So they try to subtly prod if you're aware of what Angel is. You on the other hand are enjoying to play with them. Pretending to be clueless as hell even though you're well aware. 😂 Thank you Darling! 💞

Requested by: @kind-wolf​

A/N: I really enjoyed this one !! Reader is older than the Scoobies and works in the school library. The timescale is reaaally made up. Giles left to open the Magic Box while the Scoobies are still in high school.

[Also i know the gif has nothing to do with anything but it makes me giggle every time so I had to use it !!]

You were the new School librarian. Giles had left to open the Magic Box but still always managed to be in your library when you turned around. The excuse at the moment was that his personal collection had been left behind, but you new there was something more going on. You had a boyfriend that told you of the real side of Sunnydale.

His name was Angel. You had met him after dark, a shining ember amongst all of the despair. He was kind to you and you had kept running into each other until he decided it must be fate. So he asked you on a date. It was the Bronze and you both stuck out like a sore thumb – him for his dark clothing and because you were both slightly older than the regular clientele. You and Angel had been going steady for a while now. He was heavy into courting and doing everything properly. He wanted to keep you happy and ensure you felt safe with him at all times.

He called you his sunshine. You were the one thing that made his un-life worth living. The brightness in the centuries of black. The fiery flame of passion that could never be put out. You were his light. A kind of salvation he didn’t know he needed. All of his guilt. The doubt. The brooding about whether he was enough for you, for the world. For any of it. You filled in these cracks with light. With love and the most important thing: hope.

He knew that he needed to limit the amount of people that knew about you together to a minimum. You hadn’t understood why at first, but one evening when you had been wrapped around each other in bed, he confided in you. His relationships were not destined to last. Literally. He told you everything, almost reducing the both of you to an emotional mess. You laid there, underneath the sheets as you both recounted the worst moments of your lives. The secrets, the fears. Everything.

“Are you embarrassed about dating a human? Is it frowned upon in vampire… culture?” You asked, half embarrassed and half fascinated. He shook his head as you were still speaking, clasping a hand to yours and brought it to his unbeating heart.

“I, uh, just want this for us. You’re too special to me, y/n. I don’t want anyone else to ruin it. I love you more than you can imagine”

“You love me?” You ask, eyes shining with emotion. He nodded, pulling you into him as you told him how much you loved him back. Your voice muffled as you rested in the crook of his neck. He held you to him so delicately as if he was scared that you would break. That if he didn’t hold tight enough, you would disappear into nothing.

The Scoobies had caught glimpses of you around school and sometimes after school when you popped into the magic Box to ask to speak with Giles. Just to ask for tips on your new job in the library (and to check if he had stolen any of the dusty occult books you had started to lock away in case he was snooping again). You didn’t really know the Scoobies, you just recognised their faces from around school and now obviously you had heard the lowdown from Angel. But you weren’t so familiar that you could tell which one the slayer was if you were asked to pick her out of a line up.

One afternoon after you called your goodbyes to Giles and nodded at the teenagers on your way out of the store, talk quickly turned to you. Anya, Xander, Willow, Buffy and Cordelia were all whispering before the door had even closed properly behind you. The Scoobies loved to gossip. And each of them had their own titbit of information that they had heard from someone who had heard from someone else about you. Even Giles had become involved in the discussion as he had started to become aware you were making his life difficult and

“I heard they mastered kung-fu judo which is the most lethal form of martial arts”

“Apparently they were fired from their last school for literally throwing students out for talking too loud in the library”

“Well, they’re apparently an undercover agent planted by the CIA to monitor the supernatural”

“I heard that one – but they’re FBI, not CIA”

The piece of information they found most interesting was that you were human. Despite being the coolest librarian like, ever. Most of the librarians the student body had come across were positively fossils, most recent librarians not included. Suspected kung fu martial arts hybrid training aside, you didn’t have any supernatural powers to speak of. As far as anyone was aware. So, this became the most interesting thing about you, until Cordelia told all.

“They’re totally sleeping with Angel!” Cordelia said, as everyone looked extremely interested in this news, “I saw him open a door for them as if they were in some period drama! Way over the top but their eyes said everything! They’re having sex”

“You can’t tell that from a look”

“You can!” Anya insisted as Cordelia nodded along.

“Yeah, I can tell from hot librarian and the salty goodness that is Angel” Cordelia replied matter-of-factly.

“Do you think they know he’s-” Xander mimed fangs and held his hands up to imitate a vampire, “They can’t know. Why would anyone want to do that with Angel?” Xander insisted as the women of the room, and Giles, stayed silent. He looked around looking for some support for his statement but got nothing.

But now the fact was, they were concerned that Angel hadn’t told you about himself. The vampirism. The soul. The curse. So, the meddling kids decided it was their duty to make sure that they were acquainted with you and made sure you knew who Angel really was. Which was exactly what Angel presumed was going to happen. They were convinced that they were worried about how clueless you obviously were, but also it was their duty is seemed to get involved in other people’s personal lives.

This had been the plan, but it appeared that you were a very busy. You never stayed long hours after the school day ended like Giles used to. Nobody could follow you home because you always sped off in a shiny car. Plus, you often wore headphones in the corridors so you didn’t have to talk to the students.

It had been a while after their plans to befriend you and they had almost given up seeing you in your private time. They wanted to make sure the rumours weren’t true. That Angel wasn’t taking advantage of some clueless human.

Unfortunately, the whole gang stumble into you both while they’re on patrol. On date night. their eyes widen, it looks so normal. You’re both sat in the restaurant in the window seat and they all just stopped and very obviously stared. As if you were zoo animals. They noticed that Angel had ordered human food and had been moving it around the plate a little for appearances. This confirmed it. they decided they needed to save you. Who knew what horrible bad luck would befall you if you kept dating a vampire. 

Angel looked a little embarrassed when he sensed being watched and looked up to see none other than the people he had wanted to keep this from. Buffy had scowled at him, shaking her head. She wasn’t impressed that he would do this. Especially if you didn’t know – it wasn’t fair she decided. You noticed his look but didn’t comment until the group had walked past with their wooden stakes badly concealed under their jackets.

After your meal, you walk back together (he always insists on walking you to your car) and you softly ask why he was embarrassed. You wondered if it was because you were a librarian. You tell him you know people don’t think it’s a great job, but you really enjoy it.

“They just don’t think us being together is a great idea” He said and you nodded along. You understood. There was a history there. The Slayer obviously is the only one that makes and breaks the rules.

“Well lets introduce them to me properly?” You offer, trying to soothe him. Reduce the fretting. He had wanted just one thing. One good thing that was yours and his. “I know they’ve been trying to talk to me all week. I’ll make some lemonade and you can invite them over” You offer. He nodded, curling an arm around you as you walk together both in thought.

It had been a week and the day was finally here. You were meeting the... friends? Weird kind-of family? Annoying brats that were always under both of your feet? 

Angel had gone out to pick up some blood from the butchers before it closed now that the sun was down. This left you hosting solo for the moment. You showed them to Angel’s living room and started to offer them lemonade and snacks. They start dropping hints instantly to try and gauge whether you know about Slayers or vampires. For some reason, you decide to play dumb.

“Have you, uh, ever seen Angel’s teeth up close?” Willow asked, barely above a whisper.

“Yes, we do kiss if that’s what you’re asking sweetie. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll have your first kiss soon” You smiled at her mock-sympathetically as you turned to the rest of the room.

“What about, ah, those specialist books I told you about, y/n? Have you read them as of late?” Giles questioned, his hint much craftier than the younger members of the group. The books had been vampire history and very specifically passages were highlighted about Angels past.

“Oh yes, Angel said he would give me the overview - he’s read them before” You smile as Giles shook his head and started to clean his glasses. This wasn’t a lie, Angel had told you instead of reading through that book he would tell you anything that yo uwanted to ask. Every gruesome detail if that was what you needed. But you had told him you cared for the person you knew now instead. “Isn’t he just the perfect man?” You continue, smiling dreamily (which if you’re honest isn’t even an act). 

“Man isn’t the word I’d use” Xander muttered and Buffy had to elbow him to make him be quiet. You frowned, but they didn’t realise that you had caught onto what they were doing. Angel entered and the room quietened. He nodded at everyone but came straight to sit beside you.

You sat comfortably, leaning against Angel as chatter started to warm up a little again. After a while, there was a bit of doubt from some in the room whether meddling was the right thing to do or not. You appeared friendly and you definitely cared about Angel. And he definitely cared for you. His eye was always on you and he had kissed your forehead more than once when he thought the others were wrapped up in conversation.

“Do you like Halloween? What about vam-” Cordelia was cut off as she yelped and scowled as someone had stepped on her toes to get her to be quiet. Especially after he had already said something himself that could have made things obvious. You and Angel shared a look and then a shrug as conversation started up again.

You excused yourself to make more lemonade after three more not-so-subtle-hints about your man’s true identity and Angel followed you. Meanwhile, they were whispering about how clueless you appeared and how familiar you both were in front of them – as if you were going to hide that you were in a committed relationship. You knew this as Angel was telling you everything that they said, between light kisses he was pressing against your neck. From your position pressed between his body and the kitchen counter you were grinning as you rested a hand against his side and used the other to lock your hand with his. He hummed softly, only able to get through this strange indirect interrogation was that he knew he always had you.

When you returned and offered everyone refills, one of them asked while you were pouring, “Does, uh, Angel like garlic bread?”

“You might have to ask him on that one, we’re still getting to know each other” you smile sweetly before catching Angel’s eye. He raised his eyes at you but didn’t say anything to ruin the fun. In fact, he had a glint in his eye too. This was the reason he loved you, you turned even a potentially serious situation with the Slayer into something that you could make fun.

 “Uh, have you ever seen Angel in the light?” the questioning continued.

“Have you seen his face? He’s beautiful in any lighting” You smiled sweetly, looking over at him again. He shook his head at you and you knew he’d be blushing if he had any circulation.

“Yeah but- in the daylight?”

“No, he has a sun allergy, isn’t that right sweetie?” You smiled around the room at their horrified faces. They knew it! They knew Angel had been lying, they just needed to find a way to break the news to you. Or warn him away from you.

When asked about his (and your) sleeping habits, you replied, “Some nights he’s dead to the world” You smile, “He sleeps really deep, sometimes I have to check on him – it looks like he isn’t breathing” You have to stifle a laugh at this one as Angel snorts out loud. It was awkwardly covered by a cough and he had to leave the room to hide his laughter.

He was happy with you, the only sunshine he wasn’t allergic to apparently. He was so happy in this relationship he was often worried that Angelus was only around the corner. You caught him stuck in his head, worrying about the what-ifs but you always offered your comfort any way you could. He was glad of you being there for him. Willow and Giles had been talking of working on a way to lift the curse, or at least make it so that it wasn’t so simple for him to change back into Angelus. That was the last thing any of them needed.

The evening started to darken further and conversation had started to lull. You were trying to think of a way to politely hint yourself that maybe it was time for them to go (your hints a lot more subtle and well-practiced than theirs). But before you had chance to open your mouth, you were interrupted, “Demons. Thoughts?” Anya asked bluntly. Nobody cut in this time, they wanted to hear your response now they suspected Angel was lying.

“The ones that creep in late at night when you’re trying to sleep? I try and just ignore them, or get a book to read if I really can’t sleep” You say smiling as you knew Angel had heard that one too when some plates clattered in the other room. You knew him inside out and, although rare, when something like this tickled him it really made him smile. You just wished he had been in the room so you could see his expression. His face lightened when he smiled and you told him all the time his smile was your favourite feature of his. He would also probably be shaking his head at you, trying to discourage you from getting into too much trouble with them.

Angel returned to the room and you couldn’t help yourself. You stood up and instantly closed the space between you. You looped your arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the lips. It was only a lingering peck, nothing too scandalous as these were students at your job. You always missed him when he wasn’t close by. You felt like a lovestruck teenager when he was around and admittedly, so did he. Giles saw the way you both looked at each other. Moved around each other, anticipating  and saw how real it was. It was the same he had with Jenny. He couldn’t let the rest of the group ruin this kind of love. It was rare and he wouldn’t wish it on anyone to lose it (not even the man with the face that tore his from him).

Giles shook his head as Buffy was about to shout something to break you both apart. Something about demons and vampires. About Angel and evil. His apparent lying. To try and warn you. She closed her mouth, rolling her eyes.

 “We need to go patrol- uh, not patrolling, just – walking. At night” She muttered instead, taking her jacket and giving Angel a hard stare.

“Make sure you watch out for vampires. There’s a couple extra stakes in the weapon’s closet if you’d like to take them” You smile sweetly, “You can never be too careful, some bite” you teased before kissing Angel on the cheek and reluctantly moving from his arms which were loosely looped around your waist still. You started walking over to clear the coffee table from the glasses everyone had used when they visited. Leaving the others wide-eyed and eventually laughing at the way you had kept up the pretence so well.

[inkandpen22]

Not Playing Nice

Request: a transman!reader x protective!Spike after the reader gets insulted or invalidated

Pairing: Spike x transman!reader

Warnings: swearing, fighting, mentions of violence, bullying 

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: Y/N is a member of the Scoobie gang and attends UC Sunnydale with them. When Spike walks Y/N home after a group meeting, he notices some marks on his skin and gets concerned. 

A/N: Thank you so much for the request! This is my first time writing a story with this POV and it was such a fun new experience! I hope I did the story justice and I hope you enjoy it! X 

Masterlist

Curled up in the armchair, I struggle to not doze off. Buffy and the others discuss the latest Big-Bad that’s been ravaging Sunnydale. When Xander called this meeting at his and Anya’s apartment after he spotted the demon earlier at the construction site, I almost lied and said I was busy in the library. Usually, I’m of greater help than this, but classes have me drained and last night was a long night. The idea of having to walk back past the frat houses on the way to the dorm keeps popping into my head every time I close my eyes, so at least I have that to keep me alert. 

I feel a gentle hand on my shoulder. “Hey Y/N?” 

I hum, too tired to open my eyes. Spike is squatting in front of my chair, studying my face. 

“You seem tired. How about you head on home?” He suggests. 

I shake my head, sitting up to prove I’m awake. “Nah, I’ll stay until everyone calls it a night.” A yawn escapes me accidentally. 

“If you’re worried about walking back with Mr. Munchie-Man out and about, I could join you,” he offers, referring to the toothy demon we’ve been hunting. 

“It’s not that, thanks though,” I offer the blonde vampire a weak smile. 

“Yeah, Y/N, you should get some rest,” Willow agrees. “I know you’ve had a lot of projects this week. We’ll bring you up to date tomorrow!” She offers enthusiastically. 

I yawn again, “alright, maybe you’re right.” 

I shift in my seat to stand and Spike’s hand remains on my arm kindly. 

“Come on, Mate,” he mumbles, guiding me to the door. “I’ll walk you home just in case.” 

I roll my eyes, “I’m human, not a defenseless puppy.” 

“Doesn’t mean the Hungry-Hungry-Hippo won’t make you into a chew toy,” he insists. 

Spike is always so uncharacteristically protective of me. He’s not that way with Xander. I suspect it’s because Buffy and the others treat me the same. I’m the ‘empathetic one’ of the group. 

Everyone says their goodbyes and repeat for us to stay safe. Buffy adds a request, for me to call when I get back to my dorm room okay. I promise her to do so. 

As Spike and I arrive at my dorm room, I go to unlock the door. Considering how late it is everyone on my floor is asleep and the only lighting in the hall is the emergency lights. 

“Well, thanks for playing bodyguard,” I start to bid the vamp farewell as my door swings open. “I’ll see-” 

“Wait,” Spike grabs my wrist suddenly. 

I jump, thinking he says something in my pitch-black room. “What?!” 

“What’s this on your neck?” He releases my wrist and his fingers brush against my neck. 

Shit. 

“Oh, I uh...” I stammered, struggling to think of an excuse. “Willow was messing around and tried flat ironing my hair! She kinda got to close ya know,” I laugh nervously, moving to step inside my room. 

Spike grabs my forearm and I wince. Noticing my reaction, he frowns and swiftly raises the fabric of my sweatshirt’s sleeve. 

“Spike, don’t-” 

His sight lands on the massive, hours old, scrape that travels from my elbow to my wrist on the outside of my forearm. 

“What the hell is this?” He mumbles, peering up at me with hooded eyes. 

“From the last time, we fought a Big-Bad,” I explain plainly, taking my arm back and lowering the sleeve. “I’m not vampy like you, don’t heal as quickly.” I force a smile. 

Not buying the story, he nudges my shoulder aggressively and I bump into the wall of the hallway. He presses his palm against the wall beside my head and reaches for the hem of my hoodie. I swat at his hand away and he slaps it back like a cat. 

“Stop that,” he orders sternly. 

I turn my head to the side, clenching my jaw. I focus on a single piece of wood positioned at the end of the corridor. Swallowing hard, to distract me as Spike picks up the hem of my hoodie hesitantly. He shifts on his feet as the dark-colored bruise that coats my rib cage becomes fully exposed. For a moment that feels like an eternity, he examines the many clustered marks around my abdomen. 

He clears his throat and drops the fabric. Pushing off the wall, he paces away to the opposite wall. There’s a prolonged silence between us as I protrude far within myself. 

Spike spins on his heels to face me. “All of these marks from one fight where you had me, two mega witches, a Slayer, an ex-vengeance demon, and her lapdog to help you? What are you, a human or a peach?” 

I toss my head back in annoyance. “Just leave it, Spike!” 

“So, you’re just not going to tell me what happened?” He clenches his jaw. 

“I did tell you,” I defend calmly and go to enter my room. “Now, goodnight.” 

He rushes to the doorway and slams his hands against the frame. “I’m going to find out!” 

“See you tomorrow!” I dismiss, shutting the door in his face. 

Finally, alone, I slide down the back of my door and bring my knees close to my chest. Releasing a deep breath, I do everything I can to relax, even in the slightest bit. I’ve gone this long without any of my friends finding out, I just hope Spike doesn’t say anything. I’ve just never wanted to trouble them. I mean, considering we fight demons and forces of legitimate evil each day my problems don’t exactly match the level of priority. I can handle this. Besides, I’ve been dealing with it for a while now. I’m used to it. 

_________________________________________________

The following night, we all gather at The Bronze to celebrate another win against a demon. I really didn’t like this one, he gave IT vibes this his racks of teeth. Gives me the heebie-jeebies! 

At the bar, I wait patiently for my drink while the group is around our usual table just a few yards away. 

“Jack Daniels please,” a familiar English accent requests the bartender. 

I glance to my right and sure enough, there’s Spike in all his glory. He turns to face me directly and I stare ahead, watching the bartender make my drink. 

“You were good today, you know when you picked up Xander’s ax and whatnot,” Spike compliments awkwardly. 

“Thanks,” I mumble. 

“So you’re still not going-” 

“Nope,” I nod. “Still not gonna tell ya.” 

“Right then, fair enough,” he sighs, spinning on his heels to face the bar. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him tapping his black painted nails against the bar. After a second of fidgeting, he reaches into his coat pocket and reveals a pack of cigarettes. He slips one between his lips and holds the pack out to me. I give him a knowing look, he can’t be serious. 

“You know I don’t smoke,” I remind him. 

“You know I don’t smoke,” he mimics my voice, stuffing the cigarettes back into his pocket. 

I suppress my amusement, biting down on my lip. That impersonation was just horrid. Spike notices and continues his act. 

“Oh Spike, you’re just the best!” He says in a sing-songy tone. “You’re the evilest, most vicious vampire I’ve ever met. I just-” 

I swat his arm and he whines, rubbing the wounded area. 

“I don’t sound like that!” I laugh. 

“You’re right.” He takes a quick smoke of his cigarette and clears his throat. “Let me just get in tune here-”

I whine, “Spike, I-” 

“Well if it isn’t the SheMan!” 

My heart stops as soon as I hear the eery insult. It’s nothing original, I hear it almost daily, that’s not what makes me anxious. The part that has me so worried is I hear from the same group of asshole every day. They’re all in the same frat at UC Sunnydale. I have to pass their house to get to my dorm, that’s how I ran into the first time. They were are their porch and one of them recognized me from our English Literature class. 

The douchiest one of them all, the leader, appears at my side rubs against me. “We missed you in class today!” 

I turn my body to Spike, putting my back to the Frat guy. His friends circle us like a wall of steroid driven rage. Spike clenches his jaw, switching his sight between me and the group of guys. 

He removes the cigarette from his mouth and barks past me at the Frat leader. “Piss off you wanker!”

“Ooh, got yourself a boyfriend?” One of his minions purrs, making the others laugh. 

“Trying to compensate for something are we?!” Spike insults the group, unfazed by the dickwad’s insinuation. 

“Just ignore them,” I grumble to Spike. 

“I’m sorry? What was that you little tranny?” Another one of them snickers and shoves me into the bar top. 

The wind gets knocked out of me as I grip my bruised side. Sweet Lord, that hurt like a bitch! 

“Okay, this should be fun,” Spike remarks, having had enough. 

I push off the bar weakly, still suffering the shooting pain in my abdomen. I grab the vampire wrist pleadingly. “Spike, don’t!” 

He won’t always be there to play bodyguard and I’ll be the one left to deal with the consequences at school. Next year I’ll live in a different building and I’ll never have to see these pricks again. 

Spike is ready to drop-kick each of them and huffs when I stop with him. He opens to argue with me. “But-” 

“Let’s go!” I repeat sternly. 

We go to walk back to our friends, leaving the group of Abercrombie models by the bar. 

“Must you always be so patient,” Spike grumbles, his cigarette balancing on his lips. 

I can tell it’s taking everything in him to restrain himself. It’s not in his nature to leave a fight, baby steps. 

“I thought you liked that about me,” I laugh lightly. 

A faint smile appears on Spike’s lips, at least he’s easing up a little. Soon, we’ll be back with our friends and it’ll be fine. 

“Oh yeah, you run!” One of the boys shouts over the chatter of the club. 

Spike shifts to turn around and I press a hand to his back, urging him to keep walking. “Ignore them!” 

“You sissy!” Another adds, earning a series of laughs from his friends. 

“Alright fuck this nice-person bollocks!” Spike snaps, dropping his cigarette and smashing it with his boot. His face morphs into his vampy one as he allows his frustration to consume him. “I’m evil for Christ’s sake!” He spins on his heels and marches toward the group of guys gathered by the bar. 

“Spike!” 

Before I have the chance to stop him, he grabs one of the guys by the collar of his polo and punches him right across the face. The college boy falls into his friends then the floor with a grunt. He covers his face, his nose bleeding excessively. 

Spike leans over him with a wicked snicker. “How’d you like that you gutless tit?!” 

He stands up straight to address his circle of friends. “Anyone else what a goat it?! Suddenly I’m very thirsty!” 

Taking one look at Spike’s face, all of them scatter. I watch as they shove each other out of the way to get away and sprint up to the exit. They leave their friend on the floor moaning and groaning in pain. Spike brushes his hands over his gelled hair, sleeking it back. 

“Well, that was refreshing,” he sighs, dropping his arms at his sides. 

He rejoins me and presses a hand to my back to walk me back to the bar to where we were peacefully before. 

“You didn’t need to do that,” I mutter, nonetheless appreciate. 

“Of course I bloody did,” he debates. “If there’s anything I hate more than sympathetic, humanitarian namby-pamby, self-righteous prats! It’s weak high-and-mighty bullies!” 

Spike playing defender instead of the offender? What an interesting turn of events. After a moment, the bartender brings us our drinks. 

“Thank you,” I say to Spike before I forget. 

“Eh, don’t mention it,” he waves his hand, dismissing it as nothing. “And the next time any other prep-fest frat boy gives you trouble you tell me, alright! Promise?!” 

I nod, taking a sip of my drink. 

“And don’t worry, I won’t tell the others about any of this,” he assures me timidly as a side note.  

That truly comes as a relief to me. I wouldn’t want to deal with the constant questions and fussing that I’m sure would ensue. 

“So...do you wanna go join the others?” I suggest. 

“Nah,” he makes a disgusted face as he lights himself a new cigarette. “They all annoy me.” 

“I don’t annoy you?” I laugh, raising a brow. 

“No, you’re quite pleasant actually,” he compliments to my surprise. “You think I’d punch someone for just anybody?” 

“Umm, yeah?” I argue, not hiding my amusement. 

“Okay maybe you’re right,” he concludes. “But if it were Xander I’d let him get hit!” He rushes out to maintain his tough facade. 

“Oh, of course, certainly,” I agree, snickering at his sternness. 

There’s a comfortable silence between us as Spike finishes his cigarette and I sip on my drink. Then, out of nowhere, Spike pops off like a rocket, causing me to jump a little. Evidently, he’s been going over the events of the conflict with the boys. 

“I just don’t get why people get their knickers in a twist about some things?!” He complains to me. “And it changes with every bloody decade! One minutes it pre-martial sex and every other woman being called a harlot! That was real a drag for many centuries, let me tell ya! I couldn’t shag a girl without her panicking after! I was going through villages like I was on a damn pilgrimage! Then, a lot of the focus was shot at the gays for a couple decades following Stonewall and AIDS! I was in New York for that whole thing and people were down right bonkers! And the same people who were so pissy about it also blasted Freddie Mercury and Elton John from their boomboxes! Bet it came as a real shock to them when those closet doors swung open!”

Resting my chin my hand, I just listen to him rant and sip on my drink. 

He goes on, “it’s just a load of bollocks how you humans are so quick to attack one another! It leaves us vampires and demons with little work to do! Most of the time, we just sit back and watch the bloody shit show!” 

An amused grin appears across my lips as the decades old vampire bitches about closed-minded humans. He’s preaching to the choir here. 

“For thirteen years everyone was up in arms about alcohol! Alcohol!” He repeats, peering at me with raised brows. “Of all things! So, for thirteen fucking years we had to hide and sneak around because a group of Jesus loving women decided alcohol was the reason their husbands didn’t like them! Well, I have a hunch that it might of been their constant nagging and preaching!” 

He pants, catching his breath after his tangent. Honestly, it was quite amusing. I hope he has more. 

“My point is Y/N, if I’ve learned anything from my many years on this planet, it’s that humanity constantly evolving along with the world. In this point in time, you’re who you’re meant to be,” he tells me as he fidgets with the paper from his straw. “Only you can define who that is and fuck anyone who tries to do it for you. Be yourself, people will learn to fucking deal.” 

I sit quietly, processing his words and wait to see if there’s more. Then, he meets my gaze for the first time since his tangent. 

“Would... would you mind if we just sit here, have a few drinks maybe?” He requests. “Those nitwits have me all moody.” 

I struggle to hide the smile that’s forcing itself across my lips. “I’d like that.” 

For the remainder of the night, Spike and I sit at the bar. We talk about a ridge range of topics from my major to his life before vamping out. I try imagining Spike as William the poet, it doesn’t quite work out in my head. He tells me some funny stories about his experiences during Woodstock, and we laugh about them for a good hour or two. It’s unspoken between us, but it’s evident that this is the start of a real friendship. 

__________________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @mx-pibbles​

[10moonymhrivertam]

Buffy/Witcher fic fragment

“Julian, duck!” The voice is a little shrill and definitely frantic. Jaskier’s still reeling from the portal, but something about the words has his hand shooting out to drag Geralt down with him. Something flies over their heads, and he looks up to see a headless body crumbling into dust. Which he hasn’t seen anything do in a very, very long time. He tenses at running footsteps, and he has a dagger in hand based sheerly on how frayed his nerves are. The girl standing over them is in jeans and a t-shirt, and he hasn’t seen the combination in decades.

“It is you! Everyone’s going to flip. It’s been years, I’m pretty sure they thought you were dead, especially since nobody really did magic yet when you went missing.” The girl has a hand out, and Jaskier stares at it, his brain buffering. Eventually, he realizes why. He’d gotten a spell to help him learn the most common language on the Continent when he’d arrived there, and now his brain is scrambling to parse English for the first time in twenty years.

“Who the hell are you?” He asks, the words wrapping strangely around his tongue. The girl frowns, her face scrunching into an expression that rings a bell deep in his memory. He’d had a friend that made a face like that...

“Right. The spell. You were gone.” Her hand still hangs in the air between them. “I’m Dawn Summers. I can take you to Giles, if you want.”

Jaskier eyes her for another moment before accepting the hand and then turning to help Geralt up. He doesn’t refuse the help, but there’s something tight in his face that says he doesn’t trust conversations he didn’t understand being had over his head.

“She knows someone that might know something,” he says to Geralt. Geralt grunts, his eyes darting from grave to grave. Jaskier suppresses a sigh and turns back to Dawn.

“Lead the way, Miss Summers.” Her face does something strange, but without a word, she turns on her heel and heads for the gate of the cemetery with unerring accuracy. Geralt’s stony silence felt significant, but every time Jaskier thought of something to say, all he could think was how Geralt was going to tear him apart for this pile of shit later when Jaskier wasn’t the only translator around. Another voice speaking English stopped his anxiety from ratcheting higher.

“Dawn, all I want to know is how I didn’t see you go.”

“I literally just waited until you stopped asking me questions while you were reading. But look, I survived!” Her voice is as bright as the sun. “Also, I found something!”

“You found something?” It wouldn’t have been easy to miss the skepticism in his voice even if Jaskier didn’t already know him. Dawn looks back, drawing Giles’s eye. Jaskier waves awkwardly, suddenly aware of just how much distance time has put between them.

“Julian?”

“Giles. It’s been...a while, for me.”

“It hardly looks like it.” Jaskier recognizes the look from seeing one like it on Geralt’s face more than he remembers it on Giles’s.

“I think that first portal did something to the way I age. Do you want to not-invite us back somewhere?” Which clears up a little bit of the look on Giles’s face, at least.

“I suppose there is an anniversary pizza party which can use a few more guests.”

“Oh, yeah!” Dawn grinned. “You haven’t met Tara yet! Oh, and, um - who are you? Sorry.” Jaskier looked back at Geralt - for a split second, he was waiting for Geralt to answer, then remembered.

“Geralt, this is Dawn and Giles. Giles, Dawn; Geralt. Language barrier.” Geralt had figured that much out already, so he didn’t feel the need to repeat himself.

“Sounded Polish.” Giles said a string of something which almost sounded like a greeting, but made Jaskier make a face. The easiest explanation was just that his accent was incomprehensible, but - then he remembered that they’d hopped from the thirteenth century to the twentieth.

“I’ll look into it,” Jaskier said in very firm English. Giles winced, and Jaskier felt bad for a moment. They quickly got on their way, and silence reigned. Jaskier hated the thick tension in the air, so with a mental fuck-it, he started speaking.

“Say something,” he pleaded with Geralt. “Anything. Three words or less?” The prompt usually worked when all else failed, but then - that had been before that awful dragon hunt half a year ago.

“Apologies are difficult.” The words came slowly, and Geralt looked pained. Jaskier didn’t bother hiding his surprise. Geralt eyed him for a moment before dropping his eyes to the sidewalk. “Harder now that I’m confused. And you’re the only one that knows what’s going on.”

Jaskier bit his lip, processing that. Geralt wanted to apologize, before they were portalled into Sunnydale. That was...a lot.

“This is...” Jaskier trailed off. “It’s where I’m from.” He looked away from Geralt. “A few years before we met, a portal took me from here and dropped me on the Continent. There was a mage that was so frustrated with my charades that she just slapped a translation spell on me. I’m just lucky the mechanics of it mean I can be a great bard. I can still tell the languages are separate, they still feel different, but I just - understand them.” He tapped his temple.

“This is where you’re from?” Geralt repeated. Jaskier looked over to see his eyes roaming from the sidewalk to the road to the power lines.

“It’s got monsters, too, but no witchers. Got something else, though. Oh, and it’s the twentieth century. Twenty-first, maybe, depending how long I was gone. It was the 90’s.”

“You know them?”

“The man. The girl said something about a spell, but...I don’t know what she means. Hold on. Miss Summers, what was that you said before about a spell?”

“Oh, yes, you were gone.” Hearing Giles say the same thing was a point in her favor. “It’s...rather complicated. There was memory alteration involved.”

“So I forgot you?” Jaskier couldn’t help but be a little upset by the idea.

“Wrong way around,” Dawn said, looking a bit uncomfortable. “We probably should wait until we get back, and then everyone else can tell you the way they remember things. It might be kind of neat to see how you tell things.”

“Alright, then.” Jaskier flashed them a disarming smile before turning his attention back to Geralt and shrugging. Geralt hummed and fell quiet again. Jaskier did the same despite himself, at least until the girl drifted back towards them.

[disappearance somewhere mid-s3; this is set in an ambiguous post-s5 everyone-is-happy-fuck-you]

“Is that a guitar?”

“A lute. Learning it was a little different. The tuning’s a bitch.” Giles shot him a look over his shoulder, and Jaskier rolled his eyes. “This is a special one. I got it from the king of the elves.”

Dawn’s eyebrows rose. “Okay, Bilbo.”

“Hey, no, they’re real on the Continent!” Jasker protested. He outlined what history he’d learned at Oxenfurt for her, and by the time he was coming to the end of his impromptu lecture, they were outside a house he recognized, just barely. Giles was first through the door, tossing out a greeting to get a chorus of voices in return. Dawn followed. Jaskier hesitated just one moment. His high school friends seemed to be in there. He hadn’t seen them in going on thirty years. Nonetheless, if he didn’t go, Giles wouldn’t trust him, and he didn’t have any chance of either settling in here or finding his way home. So he forged ahead, hanging onto Geralt’s sleeve. He crossed the threshold without a lick of trouble, and Geralt shadowed him silently.

“Who’s that?” That was Joyce’s voice, he thought.

“We found them in the cemetery!” Dawn said, far too cheerfully. “But we didn’t invite them in,” she added quickly. “You heard!”

“We heard.” That was another familiar one. A few moments later, one of his old friends was in the doorway. “...Julian?”

There was a chorus of ‘what’s, and suddenly it seemed like the entirety of whatever party they were having was in the doorway. Before he’d quite processed it all, Xander had drawn him into a hell of a hug.

“Lute!” He protested, squirming out of the hug. He took off his case and floundered for a place to set it. Geralt gently removed it from his hands and nodded back to the others. Jaskier flashed him a quick, warm smile, then turned his attention back to distributing hugs.

“It’s been a while,” he offered when they’d had their fill.

“How are you not dead?” Xander asked, earning an elbow in the side from Willow. He winced and pouted at her. 

“There was a portal. Which did do something strange to my aging, I’ll admit.”

“You barely look older than me,” Dawn observed, which didn’t help Jaskier as much as it ought to.

“Well, that’s flattering.”

“Why, how old are you?” Buffy asked.

“Coming up on forty-three.” Geralt tensed at the various ‘bullshit’s that rose up. Jaskier flashed him a smile to reassure him. “I’d offer to prove it, but all I have is Geralt’s word, and he never even argued with Yennefer about those crow’s feet jokes, so I don’t know if he noticed.”

“Oh, what are we all standing around the hall for?” Joyce tittered. “Come on, come sit. There’s pizza; soda; some wine.”

“Ooh, they’ve got wine, Geralt!” Geralt hummed. Still holding Jaskier’s lute with something like reverence, he followed Jaskier. At least until Jaskier stopped dead in the door, his eyes narrowing at the man with bleach-blond hair in the middle of what sounded like a pop culture argument with a woman who hadn’t come to greet him. 

“You have more to catch me up on, right now,” he said lowly. Spike looked over and his eyebrows shot up. 

“Pretty boy. Thought you were dead. Nice going on the still being here.” Spike made a vague gesture of congratulations and then turned back to his partner, but she was squinting at Jaskier like she knew him.

“There was a thing,” Dawn answered, dropping onto the couch. “An organizationy thing. Now he basically has a taser in his brain so he can’t eat people. He doesn’t have a soul but he’s still okay.”

“Watch yourself, little bit.” Spike waved a threatening finger at her, and Jaskier nearly leapt forward with his dagger, clear invitation be damned. A hand landed on his shoulder. He tensed and nearly whipped around. 

“Jaskier,” Geralt rumbled in his ear. “What’s going on?”

“When I left, that bastard was out to kill us.”

“And now?”

Jaskier huffed angrily through his nose. “He’s been invited to the party.”

“Treat him like he’s Valdo Marx, then.”

“Not fucking well helpful, Geralt, someday I’ll murder that little shit, I really will.”

“You’re Jaskier and Geralt of Rivia!” The accusation was sudden, giddy, and in the language Jaskier was used to hearing. He and Geralt turned as one to look at Spike’s conversation partner. Jaskier distantly noticed he was staring at her, too, though in a more ‘what the fuck’ way.

“And who would you be, madam?” The flirty, pleased smile touched easily on Jaskier’s face. Xander’s eyes narrowed. 

“Oh, when I went there, I usually went as Anyanka.”

“Anyanka...that’s familiar.”

“It had better be. I had at least three separate summons that stopped me and Hallie having days out because of you.”

“Summons?” Most of Jaskier’s excitement had dropped away.

“I was a demon zemsty.”

“Shit.” Jaskier could feel himself go pale. He could feel Geralt at his back, but couldn’t tell if he was angry or smug or indifferent. 

“But I’m not stupid. Witchers are almost as infamous as Slayers, and you’re the White Wolf’s bard.”

“Slayers?” Geralt asked. 

“It’s what I told you we have instead of Witchers. Except there’s only one, and she’s always a girl.”

“Seems like a lot of responsibility for one person,” he remarked. 

“Which is why Buffy has everyone.” Jaskier made a gesture encompassing the room. “And hasn’t died yet. No, wait, Kendra was Called. Well, she’s never died properly.”

[captainkippen]

idk if you're still taking prompts but, TJ as a tattoo artist and Cyrus getting his first tattoo. i love your writing so much, my friend and i just spent an hour talking about how much we love 1986 and best laid plans kskskskss

This ask is literally like over a year old, I’m so sorry. Thank you for your kind words about my fic though!

The Sun Sets Of Itself

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” Cyrus said, peering into the studio.

Behind him, Buffy and Andi shared an unimpressed look. They’d been through this entire song and dance at least three times since they got on the bus to get to the shop, and that had been after the several months of Cyrus going back and forth on whether it was a good idea or not.

“Dude, if you don’t want to do it you don’t have to,” Buffy sighed.

Cyrus worried at his lip for a moment, eyes flicking up to the intricately painted lettering.

‘DARKSIDE TATTOOS.’

The studio had a five-star rating on Google. Its reviews all said the shop was clean, the staff polite and the artwork itself was of excellent quality. Cyrus had spent weeks pouring over their Instagram, checking out the individual artists and stressing out about the exact wording of his booking email. It was perfect.

“But I do want to,” he said.

The girls groaned. Andi looked heavenward with an expression on her face that said Cyrus might die by her hand if he didn’t walk through that door in the next ten minutes.

“Look,” she said. “Like Buffy said, you don’t have to, but you know if you don’t you’ll end up regretting it. This was your idea dude.”

It was true. He had wanted it badly enough that he’d gone to his Rabbi to talk through it. The idea had been sitting in his head since he was thirteen; a rose for his Bubbe, just over his heart, with her favourite phrase written underneath in Hebrew.

“Okay,” he said, bracing himself with a deep breath. “Okay.”

A small bell tinkled overhead when he pushed the door open and within an instant, a blonde head popped up from behind the desk at the front. The girl raised an eyebrow at the three of them and zeroed in on Cyrus.

“Cyrus Goodman?” She asked.

He nodded mutely.

“Awesome! Okay, I just need you to sign these forms for me before you can get started. Do you have your I.D on you?”

He pulled his driver’s license out from his pocket and handed it over, taking the clipboard of papers from her as she checked it over. After seeming to decide that he was not, in fact, lying about his age, she turned and bellowed towards the back of the studio.

“TJ! YOUR TEN THIRTY’S HERE!” She then turned back to him, smiling sweetly. “You can take a seat over there. He’ll just be a minute.”

Cyrus spent the next ten minutes sitting with Buffy and Andi on a small rustic bench, bouncing his leg restlessly and taking in the artwork that filled the walls. It was obvious that each wall was dedicated to a different artist, the styles all unique and eye-catching in their own way. There was a small collection of framed watercolour pieces above Andi’s head that had captured her interest and, across from them, several traditional pin-up pieces were displayed. The longer they sat the more tattoos Cyrus wanted, but the more terrified he got at the same time.

“What if this is a mistake?” He whispered to Buffy. His attempts at subtlety were lost, though. From where she was filing her nails at her desk, the blonde girl looked up and smirked. She was quite scary, actually.

“You’re overthinking it again,” Buffy hissed back.

He sighed. She was right. What he needed was a distraction. Maybe he should’ve brought his knitting with him. He still had a sleeve to go on the sweater he was making for Bex, after all.

Just as he was pondering how well knitting might have distracted him from the thought of permanently etching a piece of art onto his chest, a rather different distraction showed up.

“Cyrus Goodman?” Came a voice.

When he looked up, his jaw dropped. Standing there waiting was the prettiest guy Cyrus had ever seen. He looked like he’d walked straight off the cover of an alt-rock magazine. Tattoos covered his arms and neck and his hair was carefully shaved into a sharp undercut. He even had the gauges in his ears that Jonah was always saying he wished his mom would let him get. Beneath the fluorescent lighting, his green eyes seemed to glitter. Cyrus was aghast. 

“Catching flies there, Cy,” Andi murmured, and he snapped his mouth shut.

“I’m TJ,” Tall, Punk and Gorgeous said, offering Cyrus a hand. “You ready to go?”

*

When Cyrus had finally gotten himself together enough to greet TJ properly, he’d followed him to his section in the back.

“Are your friends coming?” TJ asked.

Buffy had interjected quickly enough with her, “It’s cool, we’ll wait here.” And Cyrus wasn’t sure if he was grateful or not. On the one hand, he didn’t need to embarrass himself in front of all three of them, but on the other… he kind of wanted someone there to tell him to stop being a weenie when the needle started up.

TJ smiled at him all the way through agreeing on the design he’d drawn up, Cyrus taking off his shirt and getting the near purple outline copied onto his chest. Cyrus thought he might vibrate out of his own skin.

“I’m glad you messaged me for this,” TJ said as he prepared the ink.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I really like doing flowers, especially when customers let me do the whole design. They always turn out exactly how I pictured them.”

Cyrus laughed nervously. “That’s good. I really like what you came up with - the gold detail on the petals was a nice touch.”

TJ grinned as he pulled out the gun.

“You ready?”

No.

“Sure,” Cyrus squeaked.

“Tell me if you want a break.”

The pain wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. After a moment he even found himself relaxing. For some reason, he’d assumed that it would be a silent encounter, but TJ chattered on as he worked. He asked about Cyrus’ degree, getting excited when he mentioned film and going on a tangent about Fight Club. For a brief moment, Cyrus was worried he was about to reveal himself to be one of those men who called other people ‘snowflakes’ unironically, then found himself surprised and delighted when TJ started talking about the inherent homoeroticism of Tyler Durden’s character. After a while, Cyrus found himself chatting back just as happily. He hadn’t expected the two of them to have so much to talk about.

“So, what does it mean?” Asked TJ, after finishing up a long-winded rant about the coffee he’d spilt all over Amber - his sister and the girl at the front desk apparently - earlier that week on one particularly bad morning.

“Huh?”

“'The sun sets on its own.’ Is that right? I ran the words through a translator, but the internet screws it up sometimes.”

Cyrus smiled, trying to glance down at the tattoo without moving too much. TJ had just started on the words.

“Almost,” he said. “It’s ‘the sun sets of itself’. It’s an old proverb from the Talmud. My Bubbe used to say it to it me a lot when I was worried about something. I think she meant it kind of like 'life goes on’, but I don’t know if that’s actually what it means though.”

TJ nodded, smiling back. “That’s pretty cool. Is that why you’re getting this, then? For your Bubbe?”

“Yeah, she died a few years ago but I figured it would be a nice way to honour her. She was really into art.”

“Sounds like a cool lady.”

“She was.”

When they finished up, Cyrus was surprised to find disappointment settling in. Not with the artwork, which looked just as wonderful as he had hoped, but with the fact he had to leave. TJ’s smile and warm manner seemed to be strangely addictive. He wanted to know everything about him.

“Think you’ll be coming back anytime soon?” TJ asked, leaning against the desk as Cyrus handed a wad of bills over to Amber.

“Definitely.”

“Thank God,” TJ said, looking genuinely relieved. “I was worried this would be my only chance to ask you out.”

Cyrus left the studio bright red, grinning and with TJ’s cell number programmed into his phone. Buffy and Andi could tease all they wanted, but getting a tattoo had definitely been a good idea.

[ex-vengeancedemon]

Averting Disasters and Other Ways to Avoid Your Problems

Chapter 4

Characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Mentions of things that occurred in Angel: The Series season 5.

Main Pairing: Buffy x Spike

Characters: Buffy, Spike, Giles, Willow, Xander, Andrew, Faith, Dawn

Summary: Set in 2008, five years after Spike’s resurrection at Wolfram & Hart. Buffy is living in Cleveland guarding the hellmouth. Spike has left Angel and company and is hiding out in Chicago. The Scoobies are scattered. When something starts going wrong with the slayers around the world, it’s time to get the gang back together.

Masterlist & Chapter 1

"Well it's not like I'm thrilled to see you either!" Spike retorted. "Always buggerin' up the works! What are you gonna do? Whine the slayer's sane?"

"How? What? How?" Xander stammered, blinking rapidly.

Xander seemingly hadn't changed much in the past 5 years. He was still as incompetent and irritating as ever. Although - Spike would admit - both he and Willow did look a bit older. Some might even say a bit haggard, like they hadn't slept right in a year or two. One thing was certain, the ponce's wardrobe hadn't improved a lick. Even Andrew had him beat there. Sad really.

"I'm sure there'll be plenty of time for interrogate the Spike later," Spike replied, waving a hand at him. "Maybe when we're not, say, dealing with a wave of off their nut slayers?"

"You were dead," Xander continued, pointing a finger at him.

"Yeah. And now I'm not. Of all people, you lot really shouldn't be so surprised. It's bloody impossible to stay dead around here."

The shock factor had yet to wear off. A more generous part of Spike's mind knew he couldn't really blame him. The only other person to come back from the grave was, well, Buffy. And people had wanted her back.

"Xander, later," Willow told him. "We need all the help we can get. Especially since we can't ask any of the slayers. It's just us on this one."

"And the librarian," Spike drawled.

"Where is Giles?" Xander asked, finally composing himself a bit.

"On his way." Willow stood up and dropped a book in his hands. Xander coughed as a plume of dust puffed up in his face. "Well?" Willow pressed. "What are you waiting for? Research won't do itself."

Xander took a seat at the table next to Andrew, noticeably at the furthest point away from Spike. Unsurprising really. Git had always had a chip on his shoulder. But, if they had to make due with non-slayers, he supposed Xander might not be... the worst. Although his arrival did beg the question of the one missing party.

"So where's everyone's favorite little ex-demon, eh?" Spike asked. "Anya retire from the Scoobies? She always was the smart one."

The table froze, the rustling of pages coming to an abrupt halt. No one made as if to answer and a grim silence descended over the room. Spike no longer needed their answer. It was clear from their faces. Anya was dead. Gone. Six feet under or what all.

Spike's sardonic demeanor vanished.

"How'd it happen?" he asked quietly.

Andrew sniffled a bit, wiping at his eyes. "She um... she saved me. She died during the attack. You know, at Sunnydale. Same as you."

Xander and Willow remained dry-eyed. Willow's eyes were downcast and she carefully avoided looking at anyone or anything in particular. Xander's face was hard, an uncommon sobriety plaguing his normally lighthearted countenance.

Xander scoffed and shook his head, the frown lines deepening on his face. "In what world is it fair that you come back, and she doesn't?"

"Only the twisted kind," Spike mumbled under his breath. He didn't think Xander heard.

"Xander, that's not really fair," Willow replied softly.

"Yeah. It damn well isn't," Xander snapped back.

A tense pause persisted before Andrew's shudder broke the silence. He had his head in his hands and looked like he was still grieving her all these years later. Guilt will do that to a person.

"I'm sorry," Spike said louder. "She was... well she was one of the good ones."

"She was," Willow seconded with a terse nod.

The room fell back into that uncomfortable silence that had started when Spike mentioned Anya's name. A moment of silence for you, our dearly departed. Buried beneath the rubble of Sunnydale. Gal deserved better. Who the bloody hell didn't?

While the rest of the gang continued with the barrels of books and the magic of boredom, Spike perused the magic shop's other wares. He had no idea what half of the junk did, and he was a bit wary to find out. With his luck, he'd go poking around and wind up a toad. 

He picked up a small golden mirror and almost dropped it when he noticed his reflection staring back at him. Only it wasn't him. It was the face of a decaying corpse, rotted through almost to the bone with sickening tufts of hair jutting out at random from his skull. The reflection had no nose or eyes, just gaping holes into the abyss with tendrils of black smoke slowly curling out. He hurriedly put the mirror back face down. Windows to the soul my ass. No more magic mirrors for this vampire.

Spike shook off the disturbing image and made his way over to the cash register in search of a quick distraction. Sitting neatly next to the register was a leather-bound book labeled "Bills of Sale". Had to be a ledger of sorts. Spike flipped through it and spotted Willow's name pop up more than a few times. She'd been quite the little Wicca since he'd been away. Giles' name cropped up a couple times as well. 'Course it did. And then his finger stopped on Buffy. It seemed she had ordered a few things from the mystical multi-dimensional magic shop from hell. 

It listed her address. Right there in Cleveland. It couldn't even be that far. Maybe ten kilometers.  

Spike glanced up at the gang. They seemed engrossed with their books and chatted sporadically amongst themselves. Part catch-up, part theory, part shared anxiety.

Andrew got up to pull another book from the shelf and Spike slipped out from behind the counter. He made as if to casually pass by the table - as he had done multiple times before already - just as Andrew turned back from the shelf. Spike rammed into Andrew's shoulder, causing him to drop his book.

"Watch it Watcher!" Spike snapped. "You'd think a Watcher would be better at watching where the hell they're going."

Spike continued to mutter under his breath as he walked away from Andrew's somewhat confused apologies. Spike smiled as he gripped the keys in his pocket. A lifetime of delinquency came in handy every now and again. Who was he kidding? It came in handy all the damn time.

***

Spike parked Andrew's car on the curb just outside of Buffy's house. At least, it was the house the address at the magic shop had listed. Dusk was just falling and Spike was sure the Scoobies had noticed his absence by now. He had only circled the block six times. Just to be sure. Hard to tell sometimes with... addresses. With specific house numbers. Maybe that six should really be a nine. Who knows? Could happen.

The house was small. Spike supposed it didn't need to be big if it was just Buffy living there. Seemed odd. Buffy living alone. In a city with none of her old mates. A lot had changed since he died. He wondered if anything had stayed the same.

Lawn looked like it could use a mow. It was a bit unkempt and probably angered some suburban Homeowners Council or what all. But the rest of the house looked nice. All cookie-cutter with that early 90s retro-chic vibe. Bloody hell. Now he was just stalling, examining the bloody architecture.

Spike took a breath and opened the door of the car. The neighborhood wasn't busy and the streetlights had just come on. He made his way up the concrete walk to the front door. Moment of truth. 

He rapped on the door and waited for what felt like an eternity. Maybe she wasn't home. Then he heard a shuffling from behind the door. Finally, the door opened, and there she stood. Radiant.

"Buffy," Spike said, barely managing to get the name out.

Seeing her again, alive and standing in front of him, was so much better than revisiting the memories. It struck him that her face had started to fade from his memory the way a worn picture does when you carry it around in a wallet for years. And a picture is nothing compared to the real thing. A shadow of a person. Less than a flat, lifeless imitation.

She gave him a puzzled look, her brows furrowing together in a familiar way. "Spike. What the hell is going on?"

He finally noticed the blood that soaked the front of her shirt and the disarray of her hair. Mud coated her bare feet and a deep gash ran up her calf. Spike could smell the blood. It seemed old. Something was very wrong here.

"Come in," Buffy said, stepping aside to let him pass.

Spike hesitantly stepped across threshold. She pulled him the rest of the way inside and slammed the door shut behind him, immediately jumping over to the window and peaking out behind the curtains at the street as if she thought he might have been tailed. It wasn't exactly the reception he had been expecting.

"Spike, what's going on?" Buffy asked, whirling on him. "Where am I? How'd I get here?"

Spike glanced around, looking for any clues as to what might be causing this bout of frenzied panic. To no avail. The inside of the house looked just fine. Not very lived in. Bare bones. No overturned furniture, no broken glass. Some muddy footprints. But overall, fine.

"You're in Cleveland," Spike said slowly. "Remember?"

Buffy shook her head, becoming more agitated. "Why? Does this have something to do with The First? We need to get back to Sunnydale, now."

[leeholtwrites]

Magical Girl Reunion Tour - C6

Sarah 

Sometimes there seemed to never be enough space in her bag. Sarah hiked her bag back up on her shoulder as she climbed the steps to her small apartment. She wished she lived in a building with an elevator, but it was one of the many prices she paid for chasing her academic aspirations. At least her studio was large, if a bit strangely shaped. It had been remodeled before she moved in, and she quite enjoyed having her own small washer and dryer stacked by the fridge in its own alcove.

She unlocked her door. Once inside, she heaved her bag onto her bed and sighed in relief. Sarah had some time before office hours, so she'd thought she'd come home and eat while going over some of her dissertation work which was code for hunkering over left over take out while watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer for the fifth time with a notebook and a scowl. Sarah was beginning to think that doing a deep dive into the representation of women in late nineties and early two thousands genre television wasn't so good. What hadn't been talked about already? She tried to convince herself that her own magical experiences hadn't influenced her decision, but all she as doing was lying to herself.

The glass top of her stove clicked when she set a skillet on one of the burners. She turned it on and added some oil before opening the fridge to retrieve the box of left over sweet potato fries from the day before. She placed the box on the small square of counter and stared off to the other side of the room as she waited for the pan to heat. Looking over her possessions on the shelves framing the window on the other side of the room allowed her brain some time to focus as she catalogued her collection of books, shows, movies, and things. Academic tomes on feminism and film, sometimes both. The occasional fiction book. Seasons and seasons of shows, because she was one of those hardcopy people, most of them bent in a fantasy or science fiction direction. The worn copies of Veronica Mars always stood out.  Movies were a different story. She only had so much space, so many of her films crowded hard drives instead of her precious shelf space, but she did have a few precious ones. Amongst her media - usually shoved in front of it - were a couple of photo frames and the occasional Funko Pop, gifts from friends. The photos were of her family, and one was of her high school friends in between the magic crime fighting.

Next to that photo lay her wand. She had long ago wondered if hiding it would have been smarter. The truth, she discovered, is that everyone thought it was some prop from some obscure genre show, maybe an anime. It's bright blue diamond textured handle, and pale blue orb patterned in little gold arrow heads could only be found in blurry twenty year old newspaper photos, but no one really questioned it. If they did, she said she made it up.

She crossed her arms and pursed her lips. Now that she had time to think, things had felt a little off lately. For one, her friend and down the hall neighbor Michelle hadn't sent her one cat gif in the last two days, and that was unlike her. Normally, her program coder friend would bounce down the hall at random or throw open her door to wave at Sarah as she headed off to class. Michelle was also a graduate student, albeit way more perky and put together that Sarah herself felt. Michelle was life and loved her work. And that is why she was worried.

She knew she was home, Sarah could hear Michelle's taste in obscure bands blaring through her door, no doubt upsetting the rest of her neighbors. She looked down at the sad box of sweet potato fries. No, today she would see if Michelle wanted something to eat. Maybe get her out of her apartment.

In the bathroom, she brushed out her wavy dark hair - resisting the temptation to tie it back up in a messy bun - and cleaned her glasses. She arranged her bag for her afternoon schedule. Now a lot lighter, tossed it over her shoulder. With her hand on her door knob, she paused and turned back to her shelves. Something was telling her to grab her wand. It was probably her intuition. It had always been pretty solid. Slipping her wand into her bag, she marched down the hall to Michelle's apartment.

"Michelle?" she called as she knocked. "It's Sarah. Want to go for lunch?"

No answer.

"Michelle?"

"Go away!"

Her hand hovered over the door. What? That was so unlike Michelle. Normally it was her  yelling at Michelle to go away when she was struggling with some particularly hairy bit of theory. She hesitated, then knocked again. "Come on Michelle. Come eat. Then you can get back to whatever your doing."

The door flew open. Sarah recoiled from what she saw. Michelle stood framed by the door frame, gaunt and grey with dark circles around feral eyes. Her red hair was dirty and unkempt, and she still wore the clothes Sarah had last seen her in. Behind her, her massive computer set up glowed with an eerie light. Sarah narrowed her eyes. She knew what Michelle's computer set up looked like when she was working, and that wasn't it.

"Fuck off, Sarah," Michelle snarled. "All you do is get between me and my work with your… friendship."

Michelle tried to slam the door in Sarah's face, but she caught it. From Michelle's appearance, Sarah imagined she would be much weaker, but there was something supernaturally strong about her. A thought began to itch at the back of Sarah's brain. A thought she didn't like.

With a all her body weight, she shoved Michelle's door open. Michelle stumbled back into her studio apartment. It was the same size as Sarah's, so she practically stumbled into her desk chair, catching herself at the last moment on the edge of her desk.

"You're going to regret that," Michelle sneered.

"Look, you're sick," Sarah said placating, her hands up. "Did you find some strange magical device, uh, thing. It can look like anything. Maybe it was something that gave you a bad feeling, but you touched it anyway. It told you it would make you great. It would give you the skills you needed to achieve your dream. It knew your insecurities. It knew just what to say."

By Michelle’s hand, her mouse unfurled. It grew legs, six from by Sarah's guess and skittered up Michelle's arm. Michelle cried out in shock. Sarah rushed forward to pull it off her before it could reach the back of Michelle's neck. She grabbed her friend by the left shoulder and began to reach over her. With her unnatural strength, Michelle shoved her away. She tripped over the edge of a rug, smashing into the door frame, and spun around to land face down in the hall. Her bag had fallen off in the tumble, spilling its contents next to her. In the hall's dim lights, her wand glowed softly.

Michelle screamed. Sarah looked over her shoulder. The place where she had hit the door frame protested. She grit her teeth, ignoring it. She had to see.

The mouse had latched onto the back of Michelle’s neck and grown. Chitinous growths sprung from her neck and along her shoulders, slowly expanding down her arms and over her chest. It was the shiny black of the tech it had impersonated. Worry and dread ran through Sarah. Hitting someone covered in the stuff was like punching steel, and trying to hang onto her would be nearly impossible. The device would turn Michelle almost superhuman. There was only one answer.

She reached her hand out towards her wand, scooting forward, her hand outstretched. It flared the moment her fingers brushed it. Warmth flooded through her and a strange wash of joy. Sarah had long suspected that the wands might have their own feelings, but now was not the time to dwell on it. With the wand now firmly in her hand, she jumped to her feet, her wand in the air, and shouted, “Dress me in patience!”

Time slowed. Her arms stretched, one before her and one behind, as glittery golden light ran along them. In its wake soft, shiny gloves covered her once chipped nail polish. The light spread to her torso. She spun on her toes. The light revealed a vibrant blue short sleeved tunic, an enormous voluminous bow of soft blue at her throat. She kicked a leg up, drawn by the golden light. Bright blue, knee high boots and soft white leggings. Her arms over her head, she spun again, her loose hair drawn into an elegant braid, a gold band across her forehead. With a flash, she struck a pose. “I will not stop till this fight is through!”

Sarah tried to ignore how silly she felt. At least she had pants this time.

Michelle roared, if Sarah could even call her Michelle anymore. Her eyes were pure black and her skin had grown even whiter. The black growths had spread, giving her a tech-like armored look, all shiny black plates. “A Defender. How predictable.” She said, her voice layered with whatever magi-tech parasite the mouse had been.

Sarah held her wand out in her left hand. “Reveal your true form!” Another flash of glittery gold and she held a bow, soft blue with gold filigree. She grabbed the string with her right hand and drew it back, a streak of iridescent light appearing in place of an arrow. “Let Michelle go.”

The creature laughed, a twisted smile on its lips. “Did you really think I would make it that easy?” It spun around and dove out the window.

A scream wanted jump from Sarah’s lips. She tamped it down, dropping her right hand and running for the broken window. Fighting the urge to stop, she threw herself out into the air, spinning to face the sky. She grabbed her string, pulled, and shouted “Rainbow braid!” She let go. A streak of rainbow light shot towards the top of her building, embedding in the brick. She grabbed the line as it solidified and slid along it to the ground, moving much faster than she wanted to. Swallowing another scream, she hit the ground in a roll. Sarah jumped to her feet just in time to see the black armor of the creature, now having entirely swallowed Michelle, charging down the street still laughing.

Sarah dashed after her, arms pumping, the pain in her back forgotten. With her magically enhanced abilities, she caught up to the creature quickly. The creature hadn’t just been running from her. It had been busy. A cloud of technical components surrounded her. Broken bits of cell phone screens, computer boards, SD cards, and other bits stolen from the screaming crowd orbited the creature as she whipped around to face Sarah.

The pieces began combine, turning into four orbiting satellites. There was the gleam of camera lenses, the glitter of metal, the shine of the black material that covered Michelle. The creature had used a piece of itself to create whatever circled it now. Sarah wasn’t going to find out. She raised her bow, the streak of light appearing when she drew the string, and fired. The magical arrow bounced off an invisible force before the creature, leaving a blue ripple in its wake. She fired a couple more times. Same effect.

The creature laughed in its strange voice. And then it multiplied. Four of the armor-plated creatures stood before her. Sarah struggled not to look dumb-struck. The parasites drew on their host’s passions, their work. What had Michelle been working on again? Some kind of encrypted security software that automatically made back-ups of whatever the user was working on. And protected it.

She swallowed a curse. Defenders didn’t curse, openly. That explained the copies, the armor, and the force field. It had been a long time since she longed to be surrounded by her team, but now the feeling threatened to swallow her. Sure, she kept in touch with them, still played virtual Dungeons and Dragons with Shonda, but as friends. The barely even talked about their magical girl soldier days, and actively avoided speaking about Maggie.

God-damned Maggie, who she would need to defeat this parasite properly.

Her hand brushed her hip, feeling for her phone. She could at least call Shonda or Chloe or Kelsey for backup. Unfortunately, it was still on the floor in her building’s hallway outside Michelle’s room.

“Well, of fucking course,” she muttered.

[kingreywrites]

Take every dare

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 1720

Summary: [Set in season 2]

When Eugene had invited Rapunzel on a date today, he had expected them to go see some beautiful scenery, or maybe grab some fresh fruits to eat. There wasn't much to do on the road, but as long as they were with each other - and as long as Rapunzel found beauty in everything - he was sure that they would be fine and enjoy themselves. He should have known that, with their luck, it wouldn't happen quite like he had envisioned it.

Warning: A bit of hurt and blood mentions.

Note: A little scene I wrote for fun! Not my best work but I hope you’ll enjoy anyway!

Read on ao3

When Eugene had invited Rapunzel on a date today, he had expected them to go see some beautiful scenery, or maybe grab some fresh fruits to eat. There wasn't much to do on the road, but as long as they were with each other - and as long as Rapunzel found beauty in everything - he was sure that they would be fine and enjoy themselves. He should have known that, with their luck, it wouldn't happen quite like he had envisioned it. At least, this time, it was thieves and not a weird monkey supposed to predict their future - then again, there was a dozen of them, and only two of Rapunzel and him (well, Pascal might count, so three), so, perhaps, the monkey had been better…

Ha. Who was he kidding, he'd take attempted robbery over monkey hair on his face any day.

"You really couldn't have chosen a worse target," Eugene laughed, raising his sword as Rapunzel let down her hair with a smirk.

The thieves looked at each other, puzzled, then proceeded to attack them, foolishly thinking that their superior number would be enough to bring down the Princess of Corona and her - quite dashing - former thief of a boyfriend. Something they promptly learnt to be a mistake, as Rapunzel knocked out three of them in one swoop of her hair. Eugene laughed, paring his opponent's sword easily before knocking him out, going to his next target as his girlfriend was taking care of virtually everyone else without even breaking a sweat.

Boy, did he love that girl.

His new opponent was better with a sword than the first, for sure, but he was still no match for Eugene - one slick move from his hand and the goon was disarmed. Eugene grinned, ready to say something witty, when the guy had the crazy idea to simply… Run right into Eugene’s sword. Eugene yelped, and then tried to get the sword away, not too keen on actually stabbing anyone, but it meant that dear stupidly buffy thief - he’ll call him Steve for time related purposes - could throw his whole body weight at him with no obstacles.

With a yell, Eugene fell backward, crushed under Steve as a white hot pain in his back took his breath away.

His brain disconnected for a second or two, before a growl made him come back to himself. Above him, Steve was raising his fist, ready to strike down and Eugene squeaked - not the most heroic sound, for sure, but his amazing face was on the line. He didn’t have his sword anymore, had probably dropped it as he fell, and his other hand was pinned under Steve, so he was in for a real bad time... Until something blond obscured his vision.

"Eugene," Rapunzel called worriedly as she casually grabbed Steve with her hair and threw him to the side without a second thought, "you’re okay?"

"Yeah," he breathed, feeling lighter now that he wasn’t being squished under someone else, "thank you Sunshine!"

She smiled and grabbed someone else’s leg to destabilize them as Eugene got up. His ribs were pulsating in pain, and he nearly doubled over again as he stood up - the world swam around him for a few moments, but he bit his lips and powered through, hoping that Rapunzel didn't see the pain on his face. She would be worried. He also really hoped he hadn’t broken anything, because it would be a pain to deal with. Quite literally. Sighing, he went to collect his sword, trying not to bend down too much as it ignited the pain again, and seathed it right as Rapunzel took care of the last thief. She was beautiful like that, and he couldn’t help but smile as she pumped her fist in the air with a grin, Pascal clapping on her shoulder. 

"Here goes our peaceful date, huh?" Eugene joked as he pushed an unconscious thief’s arm out of his way with his boot, wondering what they should do with them.

"Ah, it’s funnier that way," Rapunzel teased, before frowning. "Are you okay, though? That guy made you fall pretty hard."

Eugene hummed, and was happy to see that, despite the pain, his breathing was seemingly fine. That had to mean nothing was broken, no? Though, he still felt not quite right. The buzzing pain in his back felt as if it was seeping through his whole body like poison and, as he watched Rapunzel walk toward him while talking to Pascal, he couldn’t shake off the impression that sounds were becoming muted around him. His next step was wobblier than he expected, as if the ground under his foot was soft - but when he looked down, it was to see that it was as firm and solid as everything else.

He raised his head and noticed concern on Rapunzel's face - and noticed too that the world was tilting dizzyingly to the side.

"Uh, Sunshine?" he said, his voice sounding far away to his own ears. He took another step, swaying. "I think… I don't feel so well..."

His legs crumbled under him and his vision tunneled right as an intense pain exploded in his entire body. He thought he heard Rapunzel yelling his name, but he blacked out before even hitting the ground.

Eugene woke up to a hand softly stroking his hair, getting it out of his face. He wanted to smile, but his head was pounding, his mouth was dry, his cheek was stinging and- wait. His cheek was-

Something slapped him hard and his eyes popped open, indignation on his lips until his movement made him cringe in pain.

"Eugene! Are you okay?" Rapunzel cried out, relief evident in her voice as her hand cradled his head.

"You… You slapped me?" Eugene sputtered.

"Oh, yes, sorry, but you weren't waking up- hey, don't move," she said sternly, one of her hand holding him down, "you've been stabbed."

"I've been what?!" he screeched.

"Stab- no, I mean, not stabbed stabbed, but you fell on a piece of wood that was sticking out, and it's still in your back, which is probably why you passed out and- and-"

Rapunzel stopped herself, taking a deep breath and Eugene could feel his fear recede as he softened. Her hands were trembling in his hair. She was freaked out more than enough, he really shouldn't be panicking and pilling more stress on her. Especially since, despite the general pain coming from his back, Eugene didn't feel that bad. His hand sneaked its way into her empty one, and he drew a smile out of her, like he had wished to do. Gently, she helped him sit up fully and he had to bit the cry of pain that wanted to escape his lips - though, going by her frown, she had seen right through him.

"We need to get you back to the caravan," she said in a whisper, voice heavy. He couldn't see his own back, but he could guess that her gaze was focused on the blood oozing from his wound, and that it must be bringing back bad memories. He nodded, squeezed her hand and she focused back on his face - better.

"We'll have to go on three dates to make up for this one," he grinned, raising his eyebrows suggestively. Pascal levelled him with an unimpressed look, but Rapunzel's lips went up, and even the frog smiled.

"Hmm, we'll have to," Rapunzel said softly, helping him to his feet. His back still hurt, his ribs were protesting and the world still didn't seem as solid as it should be, but he managed to stay upright after a few minutes of Rapunzel supporting his weight.

They chatted along the way to the caravan, Eugene much more steady on his feet as time passed. His injuries weren't that bad, they had just been a shock to his system. He hadn't even been passed out for too long, really, but he had scared Rapunzel half to death going by the nervous glances she threw his way every five seconds. Eugene wasn't about to tease her for it, though - he understood where she was coming from better than anyone else, and could only wish to forget the cold panic that had washed over him when he had heard the word "stabbed".

They didn't have to say it outloud, but they both refused to let themselves think of Gothel, and both tried to distract the other from the memories.

Rapunzel's hand slipped back into his gently, and he squeezed, hoping to tell her that everything would be fine. Then he met her eyes again, and lost his breath at the way she was gazing up at him - like he was the most precious thing in the world. Eugene knew that she loved him. He knew that he was her dream, just like she was his. But right here, right now, he could see in her eyes all the love and the affection she couldn't always put into words, and any lingering pain from his injury seemed to fade away as he leant down to kiss her.

Then Eugene made a wrong move and pulled at the wound, and yeah, ow. The pain was still here, his bad.

"Come on," Rapunzel breathed out, her worried frown making a comeback - though her eyes were still shining and her shoulders seemed less tense after their kiss. "To the caravan."

"Aye ma'am," Eugene grinned.

Getting the piece of wood out was not a pleasant experience. Cass was the one to do it, grumbling about it all the way through while Rapunzel crushed his hand in hers, but Eugene was sure sure that, despite her words, Cassandra had tried to be gentle with him. He appreciated it. Appreciated it a whole lot less when she slapped a bandage over the wound without warning.

However, less than pleasant experience with a pointy thing meant a more than pleasant comfort offered by Rapunzel. His ribs were still aching and his back still hurting, and maybe they would for quite some time, but that night, Rapunzel cuddled closer to him and whispered in his ear how much she loved him, and kissed him, and slept in his arms - and he thought that it wasn't so bad in the end.

Eugene slept peacefully, knowing that they had three more dates to look forward to.

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

“Radio”

Spike x Summers!Reader

Warnings: S5 spoilers + cursing + violence

Description: You didn’t mean to become friends with a creature of the night. It just happened. But when a demon drives you off the road, the two of you have to develop more than a tentative friendship. You have to trust each other with your lives.

I’m trying to make these all linked, but also as fics that can be read alone? Kind of just can’t commit to doing it as a chaptered series oops

Sometimes, late at night, you and Spike go driving. You make sure to leave a note in case Buffy comes back from slaying early or Dawn wakes up, but you never mention who you’re with. Dawn and Spike get along okay, but Buffy is wary of him even though he’s helped out enough times to proved he’s changed. At least, he’s changed enough so that he’s not an immediate threat. And with all that’s happened, you find yourself so lonely that you almost don’t care that he’s a bloodsucking demon.

It started after your mom died. On the nights when you didn’t work, you would slip out of the house for some solitude and cruise around Sunnydale. Normally, that wouldn’t be the safest idea, especially with Glory around, but your car was stocked with slaying supplies and Willow had given you a charm that you hung from your front mirror, right next to your pair of lucky dice. It wouldn’t protect you from everything, but you figured that anything that wanted to hurt you could just as easily find you at home.

You had driven past the cemetery almost a month ago without any specific purpose in mind. Spike was sitting on top of one of the mausoleums that faced out to the gate, so you pulled into the parking lot. The two of you had been on good terms lately, though it was difficult to gauge how meaningful that really was. You had let him sleep at the house once while you were in class, but only last week he had tolerated the pain from his chip in order to knock the shit out of Xander. You guessed you preferred to live life on the edge.

He hopped down when he saw you coming through the front entrance, tossing the blood he had been drinking out into the bushes. A dribble streaked down his chin, spotting his shirt. Maybe that was why he always wore dark colors.

“To what do I owe the pleasant surprise?”

You couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. You tucked your hands in your pockets to keep yourself from fidgeting.

“I just wanted to say hi.”

Your pasted smile faltered as Spike stepped into your personal bubble.

“Hi.”

You tilted your head back. His face was shadowed, his pupils as wide and dark and gleaming as oilspots. You had the sudden urge to reach out and comb your fingers through his Billy Idol hair. You had always wondered if it was softened by the gel, despite the bleach. Sometimes he tugged on strands of yours teasingly when it was just the two of you, so it seemed fair to return the favor. But something kept your hands glued to your side.

“Hi.”

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way...” He leaned down, his nose almost-but-not-quite brushing yours. “What are you really here for?”

“Do you want to go for a drive?” you blurted. You dangled the keys in front of him. “I’m... bored. By myself. I’d like some company.”

He eyed you like he thought Buffy was going to burst from the shadows and clock him for even considering your offer, but then he shrugged and joined you in the passenger seat of your mud-splattered sedan. Since then, you had been passing by the cemetery more often and he had been throwing rocks at your window. Both of you, it seemed, were restless.

Sometimes you picked up Anya so she and Spike could talk about the good old days when they could kill people. Neither of them would initiate the friendship themselves and you didn’t exactly love the topic, but it was good for them. A kind of support group. Though God forbid that anyone found out that you thought of it like that. Or that Xander discovered how you had facilitated contact between his girlfriend and the person—vampire?—he hated most in the world.

Tonight when you walked outside to your car, Spike was waiting.

“Took you long enough,” he said, sliding into the passenger seat.

It was a cool night, but true to form you rolled your windows down for the ride. You turned the radio on, loud enough so that you could feel the music in your chest but quiet enough that the two of you could have a conversation. Not that you usually did. Sometimes he would ask about Dawn or school and you’d ask about poker and demon hunting, but mostly you drove in comfortable silence. 

When Foreigner came on the radio, you turned the volume up absentmindedly, humming along as the breeze tousled your hair. You loosened your hands on the wheel, tapping on the dashboard. Sometimes you sang along, although it made you a little embarrassed to have Spike watch since you were so off-key. This time he surprised you, matching Lou Gramm’s deep, smoky voice with his own. 

“I would climb any mountain.” You could barely hear him over the wind, which made you wonder if your mind was playing tricks on you. But his mouth was moving in time with the music, forming around the well-loved words. “Sail across the stormy sea.”

Your eyes flickered to the road and then back to him. He was watching you, his lips pulled back in a wicked grin, less brooding than you had ever seen him. He could have been any boy you’d known all your life, engaging in the time-honored tradition of late night carpool karaoke. It was all you could do to remind yourself how dangerous he could be if he ever got the chip out of his head, how bad of an idea it would be to let yourself get wrapped up in the fantasy. You could hang out with Spike, try to humanize him, but he would never stop craving the kill. When he got tired of these games with you—

“If that’s what it takes me, baby, to show how much you mean to me.”

Your heart stuttered. Focus on the road, you told yourself, but it was hard when Spike’s fingers began creeping across the barren land of cupholders in between you. 

“And I guess it’s just the woman in you, that brings out the man in me.”

He unbuckled the seatbelt that you always insisted he wear, despite the deadness, and his hand hovered over yours for a moment before abandoning it in search of another target.

The two of you were usually a little flirty, but this was something else entirely. This crossed a line that you worried couldn’t be redrawn.

“Spike—”

“I know I can’t help myself,” he breathed, brushing a strand of your wind-blown hair behind your ear. He missed a line as he peeled your right hand off the wheel, threading your fingers with his. He placed your clasped hands over his heart almost playfully, leaning close and whispering, knowing you’d shove him off in a second and taking full advantage anyway. If you glanced over, you’d see him smouldering at you in the way only vampires seemed able to perfect. “It feels like the first time.”

“Spike, sit— Oh, god!”

You threw your arm across his chest to keep him from hurtling through the windshield as you swerved to avoid a demon that had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the road. It felt like your arm was going to be jerked out of its socket and he still hit his head hard on the dashboard, but he didn’t black out, which you were taking as a good sign. 

Spike slumped against the seat, dazed, as you pressed your foot down hard on the gas in an attempt to outrun whatever it was. The engine purred and you let yourself breathe a sigh of relief, but it cropped up again.

“I hope my insurance covers this,” you muttered, deciding to hit it head-on, but your car stopped mere feet before the creature. Everything except the radio shut down completely.

Well, at least my own personal horror movie has a great soundtrack, you thought. Then it grabbed at you through the window and you could barely hear the music over the sound of your own screaming.

I have waited a lifetime.

The yak-headed demon wrenched you from the car, slicing through your seatbelt and tossing you out onto the side of the road. You rolled, scraping every exposed piece of skin up on the tar. Before you could stand, it lifted you by the back of your shirt with one clawed hand, leaving you hanging helplessly in mid-air. Then it dropped you. You bent to your knees to soften the impact and then straightened. It caught your foot when you kicked out, twisting your ankle harshly. The bone gave a sickening pop! and you screeched into the night. You had spent the past few years training to be strong enough to help Buffy, but the Slayer strength was unfortunately not genetic, and you still weighed considerably less than a demon that was the size of a grizzly bear.

It yanked you off balance, dragging your body toward it by your ruined ankle as a deep, hoarse laughter bubbled from its throat. Its jaw unhinged, dropping to the ground, as it opened wide.

Spent my time so foolishly.

You didn’t see Spike drag himself from the car due to the crippling fear, but he got its attention when he clocked the demon on the side of the head. You scooted yourself backward in a weak imitation of the crab walks your gym teacher made you do in elementary to avoid being flattened.

If you could make it to the car, you could grab Buffy’s tools, but it was all the way on the other side of the road. You’d have to crawl. God knew you couldn’t stand, not right now. 

You cursed to yourself as you further scraped your tender skin, leaving it raw and bloody where it touched the ground. The demon almost tripped over you, but Spike hauled it off in another direction, trading blows that you could have sworn made the ground tremor. 

“Is that the best you can do, mate?” Spike taunted even as blood dripped down his chin. He flicked his tongue out and licked it up in a motion that could only be described as feral. “Her little sister can hit harder than—”

He was thrown backwards on his ass a second later. When you got out of this, you were going to let him have it for that one.

It feels like the first time.

It hurt like hell to put pressure on your ankle, but you hauled yourself up by gripping the car handle and opened the back door. You kept all of your supplies hidden behind your duffel bag of work clothes in case you got pulled over, in a case that you stashed under the passenger seat. You had a couple stakes, a butcher knife, pepper spray... But nothing big enough to hurt something like this.

“Could use a little help over here, love,” Spike gasped. He clawed against the demon’s grip on his throat, failing to even leave surface level scratches.

You tossed him your tire iron in a panic and he caught it with one hand, but he couldn’t get the strength for a hard blow in his position. As his face reddened, you rushed in from behind to crack the demon on the back on the skull with your industrial strength flashlight.

Most lower level demons had a short attention span, and this one was no exception. You got one more hit in before it sent Spike flying and whirled around to face you. With one swipe, it sent you careening into the car.

Your impact actually left a small dent in the side of the sedan. You could barely see straight, the demon doubling and then tripling in your vision, but now you were pissed. You stumbled to your feet, barely succeeding keeping your dinner from hours earlier down.

“Stay... away... from my baby,” you wheezed.

Spike leapt onto the demon’s back, cutting off its air with the tire iron pressed against its windpipe. “No concern for me? Not very nice, pet.”

The demon wheeled backward and tripped over its own enormous feet. It almost crushed Spike beneath it. His grip loosened for a moment, but then he reapplied pressure and didn’t stop until the demon had been lying stock still for two minutes.

It felt like a lifetime.

“Get this thing off me!” he grunted finally, and you found it in yourself to lumber over. You almost got a mouth full of the pavement because your balance was so shot, but together you eased the beast off him.

You collapsed next to them, the three of you lined up like victims of a very strange and supernaturally diverse massacre. The world was still spinning. You crawled off to be sick in the grass.

A moment later, there was a crunching noise and then he was holding back your hair for you, steadying you so that you wouldn’t fall over into your own sick.

“I think maybe I should drive you to the hospital,” Spike said when you had finished. You shook your head, wiping your mouth on what was left of your sleeve.

“We’ve got a social worker visit this week. I don’t want them seeing the records. Just get me to Willow and Tara.”

“Whatever you say.”

He loaded you into the car, buckling your seatbelt for you. You almost reminded him to clip himself in as well, but then you saw the tattered remnants of the driver’s side and closed your mouth.

He turned the keys in the ignition and the radio came back to life. Spike turned it up, ignoring your complaints that it hurt your head.

“We can’t have you falling asleep before we get you all magicked up,” he said, actually hushing you. There was a surprisingly tender expression on his bruised and bloody face. “I’ll sing again, if you want. If it’ll keep you awake.”

He was only teasing, but you could use something soft right about now.

“Please.”

Mötley Crüe was on. It was hard not to close your eyes to the slower, sweeter beginning. You focused on the sky outside your window instead, dark and deep and inviting. You watched it so you wouldn’t watch Spike’s hands wrapped around the steering wheel or his Adam’s apple bobbing as he sang.

Take me to your heart.

He was willing you to look at him. You could feel it. But if you did, his eyes were going to tell you something you didn’t want to hear.

Feel me in your bones.

It was only after he had pulled into the driveway and you were helping each other up the front steps that you allowed yourself a glance. He caught you in it; of course he did. His arm looped with yours, your fingers pressing against his ribs, tangled up in each other in a messy support system, which was how all of this had started anyway. For a moment, you saw yourself from his perspective. Your hair sticking to the bloody cut on your forehead, your complexion a little washed out, an unhealthy sheen to your skin. You wanted to turn your head to make him stop staring at you, but it came to you in a flash of certainty that he didn’t mind. He had never minded.

Just one more night and I’m comin’ off this long and winding road.

Your body drew closer to his without your own consent. You looked up through your eyelashes at him, breathing shallow but quickening.

You had thrown up not too long ago. You felt like you might throw up again. You couldn’t do this. It was— it was wrong. This went past late night drives. This—

He bent down, unwrapping himself from you for a brief second. You almost sunk down onto the stoop, but then he readjusted his grip.

I’m on my way.

“Summers,” he murmured. “Are you feeling all right?”

It was like having a heat flash. The embarrassment could have killed you.

“I— Let’s get inside.”

“Let’s not be hasty.”

The front porch lights snapped on. Neither of you noticed.

I’m on my way.

“Want me to kiss it better?”

Oh. Oh.

His lips sealed themselves to yours, as the hand that wasn’t keeping you from collapsing traced over the curve of your jaw. You ran your fingers through his hair. It was soft, just like you had thought it would be. When you tugged on it, he sighed into your mouth.

He separated himself from your lips to latch onto your neck. He was careful not to leave a hickey as he ghosted over your shoulder, sucked on your collarbones, bit down gently on your earlobe. He felt so warm and alive and human.

Then the door opened and he dropped you.

“Holy fuck.”

Your breath escaped in a low hiss. Your ankle bent underneath you, shooting with white hot pain. Willow burst from the house.

“(Y/n), is that— Oh, my God, you look terrible! What happened? Spike, what happened? Are you okay?”

Home sweet home.

[bestillmyslashyheart]

part one || part two 

for @partsofthesamecosmicbeing because she wrote part 2 in such a way that I couldn’t not write a part 3

Alex tossed his phone on the coffee table and buried his fingers in Buffy’s fur. In the three hours since he’d talked to Michael he’d received no less than 16 texts and seven phone calls. There were four voicemails on his phone but he hadn’t listened to them. 

Another text popped up on the screen and this time it was Maria’s name that flashed. Alex groaned and kicked the phone off of the table onto the floor. Why did Michael have to tell them? He’d specifically pulled Michael outside so that everyone wouldn’t know. He was barely coming to terms with this himself, he was not prepared to explain or defend himself to all of his friends. 

There was a sharp knock on the door.

“For fuck’s sake,” Alex muttered under his breath. “I’m not getting up!” He yelled. He’d taken the prosthetic off when he’d gotten home and his crutches were too far away and Buffy too comfortable on his leg for him to bother. The latch clicked open anyway.

“Well you look like shit,” Isobel waltzed in, closing the door behind her as an obvious afterthought.

Alex blinked at her blankly. “What are you doing here?”

Isobel didn’t answer right away as she looked around the room. Alex wasn’t sure what she could be looking for, the place hadn’t changed since the last time she was here. “Tell me you didn’t know.”

“Sorry?”

“Tell me you really didn’t know about this marriage until now. Tell me you weren’t hiding this from my brother for seven years.”

“Fuck you.”

The corner of Isobel’s mouth ticked upwards before settling back into a scowl. “That’s not an answer.”

“Actually it is. You don’t get to break into my house, insult me, then interrogate me. Fuck you. And get the fuck out.”

“Is that any way to talk to your sister-in-law?”

“Yes.”

Isobel stared at him for a long moment, long enough that Alex knew she was playing around in his head, even if he couldn’t feel it. “Ok.” She finally said. “Be good to him. And make sure he’s good to you.”

She was gone before Alex could respond. He stared at the door in her wake before deciding, “I need alcohol.” There was a beer resting at his elbow but it wasn’t enough. With a heavy sigh he moved Buffy and reached for his crutches. 

The door swung open again just as he was reaching for the cabinet over the microwave. He jerked around in surprise, one of the crutches falling to the ground, and started to teeter. He had enough wherewithal to grab the counter but his other hand hit only air as he fell sideways. 

It was a short fall. Only a heartbeat after he’d resigned himself to hitting the floor, he hit a soft cushion of air that pushed him back upright. 

“Sorry,” Michael apologized as he walked over and picked up the dropped crutch. He handed it to Alex without comment and grabbed the whiskey from the open cabinet. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Drinking with my husband.” Michael dropped heavily onto the other end of the couch from where Alex had been sitting. Buffy gave him approximately 0.2 seconds to get comfortable before she was in his lap begging for attention. Alex glanced at his bedroom door before joining Michael on the couch.

“Careful. Your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy to hear you say that.”

Michael took a large swig. “Don’t have a girlfriend. Not while I’ve got a husband at least.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault. Not unless you knew the whole time and just never bothered to tell me.” Alex shook his head as he took the bottle from him. “She wants us to get an annulment.”

“I don’t know if you can get an annulment after this long.”

Michael shrugged and dropped his head back on the couch, his eyes closed as he petted Buffy. “Full disclosure, I’m more than a little drunk but-”

“You drove here drunk?”

“Isobel drove me. She came out to the Airstream and literally threw me into her car. I didn’t realize where we going until we pulled up outside.” Alex didn’t know how to process that. “Anyway, what I meant was I don’t want an annulment.”

“What?” Alex stared at him.

“When Maria suggested it, all I could think was ‘no’. I told her I had to talk to you first but-”

“But what?” Michael didn’t say anything. “But what Michael?”

Michael shrugged awkwardly, his eyes still closed. “Do you remember that morning? When we woke up and saw the rings?” Alex did remember. It was imprinted on his mind. “I was happy. I didn’t remember it but I saw the rings and I knew what they meant and I was happy. I don’t remember the last time I was happy, other than that.”

“Michael-”

“I don’t want to lose that moment, that feeling. Not now that I know it was real and not just some joke we played on ourselves.”

“You’re dating Maria.” Michael opened his mouth to protest. “Regardless of whatever happened tonight, you chose Maria. You can’t just decide that you want to be married to me all of a sudden.” Alex reached for the envelope on the coffee table and dropped it in Michael��s lap, careful to avoid hitting Buffy. “I’m pretty sure an annulment is off the table, but a divorce isn’t.”

Michael looked down at the envelope and then at him. “That’s it? You find out we’re married and the first thing you do is get divorce papers?”

“We’re not together! You’ve been in a committed relationship with someone else for almost a year! This is just-” Alex sighed. “Paperwork.”

Michael stared at him for a beat before ripping the envelope open and yanking the pages out. He didn’t even look at it before flipping to the last page. “You didn’t sign it.”

Alex looked away. “Haven’t had the chance yet.”

“When did you get these?” Alex didn’t answer. “Alex!”

“When I left the base, I went to see a lawyer.”

“You retired two weeks ago,” Michael spoke quietly. “You’ve had these for two weeks? And you haven’t had time to sign your name? Bullshit.”

“Michael-”

“You don’t want a divorce.”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Alex glared at him. “You’re with Maria.”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” Michael shot back with a glare of his own. 

“Michael, we got married in a drunken haze almost seven years ago and didn’t even know it. There’s literally no reason not to get a divorce.”

Michael’s eyes flitted between his own before dropping to his mouth and lower. He reached out with a steady hand and looped a finger around the thin chain hanging from Alex’s neck. Alex reached up to stop him but he was too slow. Michael pulled the chain out from under his shirt and revealed the three things hanging from it.

Two were his dog tags. He kept meaning to take them off and put them away but he couldn’t quite bring himself to do it yet.

The third was a ring. Cheap, scratched up silver. Roughly seven years old.

“No reason, huh?”

[captainsassmanes]

Prompt: After Alex finds out about Michael/ Maria he gives up on him and Michael ever being really together. He is convinced that he's the worst thing to happen to Michael. He tries to make Michael's life easier by avoiding him and helping with Project Shepherd. So when Michael breaks up with Maria because he realizes he's still in love with Alex, Alex doesn't understand why he wants to be with him and becomes super insecure in the relationship. So Michael has to show him they're still cosmic.

I took some liberties, anon. I hope that’s okay.

It had been the longest year of Alex’s life.

His seventeenth year living alone with his father had felt long. His first deployment felt long. The second even longer.

His first year being in Roswell with Michael but not being with Michael? The longest.

He’d been proud of himself when Michael and Maria sat him down, neither able to look him in the eye, on the back deck of the Pony, each of them looking across the empty field instead of at each other.

Alex had clamped down on his emotions, swallowed his protests and sadness, and smiled, as genuinely as his muscles would allow. He had nodded along as Maria did all the talking, explaining how Michael was always there to help her, there for her when her mom kept getting worse instead of better, made her feel safe and adored. He agreed when she said she deserved to be loved.

In the moment, he hadn’t been able to find the words. How could he express his happiness for his friend without breaking down with his own loss?

With a hug for Maria and a quick glance to a stoic Michael, Alex had left.

Sleep left him wanting that night. He moved from his bed to the shower to the porch to the bed to the couch, restless and uncomfortable. Without his permission, Alex kept imagining life from then on. There would be no way to avoid them and he knew, for his own sanity, those relationships had to be over. Maybe one day he’d rebuild with Maria though he couldn’t picture it now.

But Michael?

Alex sat with his third glass of whiskey, mindlessly petting a sleeping Buffy’s head, trying to slow his heart rate. It was done. He knew Michael was the one, his person, the one he wanted to spend his life with. He’d known it when he was surrounded by computers, orders being barked in his ears across the country. He’d known when his lungs were filled with hot, desert sand and his ears echoed with explosions. He’d known it as soon as Michael put a hand on him at the airstream, turning him around and stopping the world.

Michael was the one.

But he wasn’t his. And he never would be.

“May your happiness last forever,” he toasted with a slur to the darkness. With a swig, the dark liquid was gone and the glass landed on the floor with a loud clank. Clumsily, he took off his leg, fingers not moving the way his brain was commanding. Eventually he felt the sweet release of the last latch and tugged the sock off, tossing it onto the couch.

Somehow, he managed to get to the front porch, hopping and holding on to anything he could find, too unclear to remember where he last had his crutches. He landed with a groan on the rocking chair, holding his arms and rubbing to keep warm against the early morning chill. The sun was shining through the trees, casting large shadows next to pools of warmth on the ground.

As he watched the sunshine spread and claim its territory, Alex made his decision. He’d do the right thing by Michael. He’d get all the intel he could from Project Shepard and then shut that shit down for good, make sure Michael and the Evans were just another trio of nobodies from Roswell. And he’d do it all while staying away. Michael wanted easy, simple? Maria wasn’t the only one who could give him that. Alex could be a ghost, vanish into the background to give Michael a chance at the life he deserved.

Even if it wasn’t with him.

So, for a year, Alex was an enigma. He went to work during the day, boring data analysis he could do in his sleep. But at night, he used his clearance and the information he not so legally obtained to hack into old records, disbanded programs, anything that looked like it could possibly be associated with UFO investigations.

Kyle checked on him regularly, bringing him greasy bags of goodies from the Crashdown or his mom’s empanadas. He’d stay, sometimes, chatting about interesting cases at the hospital or quietly combing through new files, sometimes updating Alex about the latest town gossip.

Never about Michael, though.

The last month had been insane after he’d acquired the final pieces of the Shepard puzzle and handed them over to a newly risen Max with his five thousandth apology.

Max had squeezed the files in his hand, knuckles turning white and papers wrinkling, before pulling Alex into a surprise hug. Max had whispered an emotional, “thanks,” before letting him go and walking away. That moment felt final, like Alex could finally close the book on the disaster that was his family’s legacy. With his father in military prison for the foreseeable, Alex was finally free of obligation.

The next few nights after handing over the last of Shepard, Alex sat in the bunker, computers silent, only a few lights on, and breathed in the peace of it all. At first, he’d sit with a smile on his face, shoulders relaxed, and hands unfurled. He slept well for the first time in a long time. But on the third or fourth day, sitting in that bunker with no work to be done, no worries to be had, a new reality struck Alex.

He had no purpose. And no one.

His job was through. Responsibilities complete.

It was these thoughts running aimlessly through his mind that put him in his comfortable sweats with a glass of whiskey in his hand. As he decided a Scott Pilgrim rewatch sounded good, his phone rang, Kyle’s name popping up on the screen.

“Hi.”

“When were you gonna tell me, Manes?”

Alex stupidly looked around the cabin for the answer to Kyle’s question. “Tell you what, Valenti?”

A muffled scoff greeted Alex. “About you and Guerin? Liz just told me. I’m so happy for you, man!”

“Whoa, whoa,” Alex stood up from the couch too fast, spilling his drink a bit and trying to cover up the wet spot on the floor before Buffy came to get sloshed. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“They split up, Alex.”

He froze, afraid that if he moved Kyle would say just kidding and his heart would shatter. He took a deep breath before mumbling, “I haven’t spoken to either of them in, like, a year.”

“Yeah I know that, you dumbass, but it doesn’t seem to matter.” Alex rolled his eyes at Kyle’s enthusiasm.

Grabbing some paper towels from the kitchen, Alex leaned over and cleaned up his mess, Buffy never moving from her prime location on the couch. “What doesn’t seem to matter, Kyle?”

“Ugh, oh my God you have to get out more! That he hasn’t seen you, Alex! He broke up with her for you! He still loves you!”

A wave of nerves moved through him but he was in strong denial. There was no way. They hadn’t seen each other, hadn’t spoken. Michael didn’t feel anything for him, at least nothing that wasn’t disgust and anger. Plus, Maria was perfect, they fit well together.

“This doesn’t make sense. If you’re fucking with me-“

“No chance in hell, dude. I would never mess with you over Guerin. Never.”

Alex dropped the towels and sat back on the couch, eyes staring at the black tv. “I’ve gotta go.” He hung up before Kyle could say another word and felt the phone fall out of his hand.

Hope.

He’d promised himself it was done, that he was done. Michael had made himself clear: loving Alex was the worst thing that ever happened to him. Alex had been determined the fix what he could to keep Michael and the people he loved safe. He did that. He did it while staying out of everyone’s way. He did exactly what he was supposed to, followed his plan to a T.

So why would they break up?

He grabbed a glass of water and downed it, gasping for air once it was gone. He refilled it and repeated one more time. Confused, scared and exhausted, Alex climbed into bed, a tolerant Buffy allowing him to hold her close. It took a few hours for sleep to come, so many scenarios and thoughts clouding his brain, keeping it too busy to shut down.

Eventually, he started counting Buffy’s soft snores and he fell into a restless sleep.

The sound of metal against metal woke Alex, hand instinctually reaching into his bedside table for his gun. But he paused when he noticed his room was filled with sunshine, Buffy was missing but not barking and his intruder was humming a Fall Out Boy tune he couldn’t find the name of.

He wiped his eyes and quietly slid his prosthetic on. Kyle must be in one of his moods. Maybe feeling guilty about the bullshit he called with the night before.

Turning the corner, kitchen in full view, Alex thought he might faint. Flipping pancakes in his cabin like he owned the place was Michael fucking Guerin.

The warm feeling that coursed through his chest couldn’t be denied. Michael looked perfect standing there, first thing in the morning, in his socks making breakfast. He was smiling, still humming the same song while Buffy sat wagging at his feet. Alex covered his mouth, physically restraining himself from speaking, afraid he’d beg Michael to never leave.

As he stood silently watching, that warmth turned to anger and bitterness. This was such an invasion of privacy. Alex knew he’d locked the door the night before. And, besides, they hadn’t spoken in months. Michael’s solution to that was to show up, uninvited? Play the domestic game?

“I don’t remember giving you a key,” Alex said when he found his voice and was confident he was in control again.

Michael jumped slightly but the smile never left his face. “You know me. Don’t need ‘em. Hope you’re hungry. Made your favorite.”

Moving a bit closer, Alex furrowed his brow, sure Michael had no clue what his favorite food was. Excitement flooded his veins as he watched Michael put the finishing touches on churro pancakes.

“Go on, sit down. I’ll grab you a coffee.”

Maybe it was the early hour or the shock of seeing Michael or some combination of both, but Alex moved in a daze to the small table and took a seat, wrapping his hands around the mug of perfectly made coffee Michael placed in front of him.

When the churro pancakes slid under his chin, Alex was pulled out of his shock.

“Michael, what the hell is this?”

He got a smirk in return, all straight, white teeth and plump, pink lips. “Just tryin’ to do something nice, Private.”

“Why now?”

With a mouthful of pancakes, Michael shrugged and asked, “why not now?”

Alex pushed his plate away, stomach churning with anxiety. “It’s been a year, Guerin. Your relationship had its run and now you don’t wanna be alone? So, where’s Alex? Bet he’s just sitting there, alone and pathetic, waiting.”

Michael shook his head and straightened his posture. “No, that’s not what this is.”

“Then what is it?” Alex stood and walked outside, needing space and more air than the cabin could offer. He gripped the wood railing, counting his breaths and listening to the birds chattering. The sun was pushing through the branches, tossing light here and there, a sliver of it landing on Alex’s hand, warming one up while the other stayed cool.

The door squeaked open and he heard Buffy’s paws on the decking before he felt Michael standing next to him, giving off a warmth he missed.

“I’m gonna make an assumption so I apologize in advance if I’m wrong.” Michael sounded hesitant, unsure. He waited for a response from Alex but must have decided he wouldn’t be getting one. “You’ve always hated Roswell.” Alex raised his eyebrows, his body naturally responding to the truth.

“I’m guessing you didn’t realize it was the only place that felt like home until you were overseas.”

Alex didn’t know what to say. The idea of agreeing with Michael didn’t sit right with him but he couldn’t deny that while he was spending nights in makeshift tents and praying the last bomb was the last bomb, he wasn’t dreaming of Roswell.

“So, you always hated me?”

Michael laughed and shook his head. “Jesus, we’re so good at this communication shit, huh?”

Alex laughed, too, and looked out over the property, watching a squirrel grab an acorn and run off with his treasure, holding it selfishly in its paw. “I guess so.”

“You left me. You helped me realize I was bi, you were so nice to me and then you were gone. I resented you for ten years.”

“Michael, I told you that I shouldn’t have-“

“Shut up. Just let me finish.” Alex pouted as Michael raised his hand. “When you came back, I hoped. I was an ass about it sometimes, I know, but I hoped we had a shot, that you still felt the same way about me. About us. But you didn’t want to be seen with me, didn’t want people to know about us, you pushed me away over and over again. So, after everything, with my mom…”

“You needed someone who’d stay close.”

Michael nodded and looked at his boots, kicking a twig onto the dirt. “I didn’t choose Maria to hurt you.”

Alex scoffed, “fucking felt like it, though.”

“Well, I didn’t.”

Alex shook his head, his bottle of empathy run dry. “I told you I loved you. That I wanted to start over again. I was ready.”

Michael nodded. “I didn’t believe you. And I shouldn’t have to work on your timeline.”

Alex tilted his head toward the cabin. “Okay. So why should I have to work on yours now?”

Michael bit his lip and looked toward the trees. “Fair enough.”

They stood in silence, listening to the sounds of undisturbed nature around them. Alex was still angry, filled with confusion and caution, but he’d be lying if he said simply being in Michael’s presence didn’t bring him comfort.

“I don’t get your analogy.”

Turning, Michael leaned against the banister and Alex had to look away. With his tight t-shirt and curls blowing in the breeze, Michael looked like a fucking dream.

“The war analogy?”

Alex nodded. “Yeah, that one.”

“It’s a bad one, but I convinced myself I didn’t love you. Then I was with someone else I know I loved and realized it’d never come close to how I feel about you.”

Blinking rapidly, Alex refused to cry. When he knew he had control of his voice, he asked, “are you gonna look away again?”

Michael slowly slid his hand into Alex’s and squeezed. “Never.”

[impalementation]

what played differently positively and negatively on your buffy rewatch?

putting under a cut because this got long! disclaimer: this is all just my personal opinions and reactions, nothing objective or definitive. also when i talk about how i reacted “as a teenager” i mean from ages 13-16 rather than more mature teenage years. i did revisit the show briefly around 18, but don’t remember what i thought. so i’m comparing how i watched it at ~15 to how i watched it at 27, basically.

negative:

- a lot of trouble connecting to the more high school elements of the show. i just grew out of caring about teenagers, unfortunately. so i got impatient with a lot of seasons one and three, and some parts of two. which was really a shame, since i used to pretty unreservedly adore those seasons.

- in that vein, a lot of trouble connecting to buffy/angel. partly because adult men are no longer as opaque to me as they are to buffy, and so although i respect what the writing was going for by objectifying angel, it was still frustrating to feel like i wasn’t given much to go on as far as understanding his character motivation or why he and buffy were drawn to each other. boreanaz’s acting also got in the way of my enjoyment, unfortunately. i have nothing against the pairing, as a pairing, and i like a lot of the writing around it, but it lost the ability to give me any of the feelings it gave me as a teenager. i was sad about this!

- having seen a lot more movies and tv shows by now, buffy’s often ungainly execution was difficult to ignore. there are a lot of jokes that just strike me as clunky and unfunny, pacing i thought was slow, character writing i thought was dumb, etc.

- all the parts that haven’t aged well from a political perspective (some of which people complained about at the time too, of course). the weird attention given to xander’s self-deprecating possessiveness, terrible jokes like the one about the first slayer’s hair in restless, baffling moments of sexism, an often facile approach to gender politics, etc.

positive:

- i wasn’t a dumb teenager, but i wasn’t sophisticated either. i didn’t have the analytical toolkit that i have now. so the biggest positive change was being hit over the head with the realization of how intricately and elegantly thematic the show could really be. the feeling of “oh shit, they were doing things.” when i got to the end of season six and saw buffy crawling out of that grave a second time i was just on the floor like “fuck you buffy the vampire slayer and the symbolism you rode in on.” overall i gained a lot of respect for it as tv with literary tendencies. as messy as the show could be, and as superficially “pop” as it was (as in, it wasn’t a prestige-y hbo show), it’s one of the few tv shows i’ve seen that is clearly and consistently “about” something, both from season to season and over the course of the whole show. one of the few good comparisons i have is the wire, which is consistently about institutional decay and how systems fail people, and then explores that idea from season to season by looking at different failing systems (crime, labor, reform, education, media, etc). similarly, buffy is (among other things) about the trials of growing up, and growing into a person that has agency and ownership of themselves. and each season explores that subject in new ways by putting buffy into new situations that challenge her to be mature in a way she hasn’t been before. the wire achieves literary coherence in a much more controlled, focused, and overall skillful way. but people know that the wire is Serious Art. buffy fascinates me in that it has similar aspirations while also being goofy, stupid, messy, unabashed genre entertainment. unabashed television, at that.

- in general, i also felt like i had a deeper understanding of a lot of the storylines. i’d always liked seasons six and seven, even when i felt like i wasn’t “supposed” to (and hey that was another nice thing about watching it as an adult. i no longer had a need to care about whether i was supposed to like something or not, because i felt confident in my own ability to assess that.), but i didn’t quite get them on that emotional level. this time though, i felt like i completely understood the experience that the writers were trying to convey. buffy’s struggle with mortality in season five, depression in season six, and isolation in season seven, all hit me unbelievably hard. even the college experience stuff in season four had new, added layers.

- in a weirdly equivalent-but-also-opposite situation to buffy/angel, my life experience colored how i received the whole buffy/spike storyline. on the one hand, i was newly able to properly appreciate that their season six story was a story about a toxic and self-destructive relationship. as a teenager i found it hot and engaging, but also sort of baffling; i couldn’t tell what the writers were going for. because i was so used to a sex = romance paradigm in tv, instead of the sex-as-character-writing that you see in more sophisticated media. similarly, i was finally able to understand the more disturbing sides of spike’s character, instead of just finding him funny and entertaining. yet instead of that understanding making the dynamic, or spike as a character, less interesting to me, it actually finally gave me an emotional “in” with it. it made things compellingly complicated instead of just confusing. i couldn’t be moved by it before, because i didn’t understand the emotional conflicts at play. whereas watching it with life experience that echoed it, a lot of it felt like being suckerpunched, in a good way.

- for whatever reason, i also found myself really enjoying the willow/tara dynamic. i was pretty dismissive of it as a teenager. i thought tara was dull, and resented the feeling from friends that i was supposed to like it just because it was gay. but i found them (and tara) very sweet this time around, in a pleasantly subtle way, and with more understanding of my own queerness, i appreciated things like how implicit their courtship in season four had to be, or their easy domesticity. and it meant that when their relationship fell apart in season six it genuinely made me sad instead of just “well alright.” and i really like it when stories affect me, whether or not the way it’s affecting me is a happy emotion.

- my love for buffy as a character like...quintupled. i’d always loved her but, as i’ve said, my enjoyment of the show was on the superficial side. i think i used to basically take her at face value, and accept everything she goes through as “well, that’s just what happens to protagonists of tv shows.” also, since i’d never related to the sorts of coming of age narratives typical of high school shows (popularity! boyfriends! virginity! cheerleaders! prom!), and i hadn’t experienced any of the things the show explores past season three, it was difficult to feel like buffy as a character was speaking to my own struggles in growing up. but now that i wasn’t expecting to relate to her, it was easier to see her face everything and go “man, you brave, amazing girl.” i felt like i could finally really appreciate her as a character, which made all the times that i did end up relating to her feel richer too.

- all the parts that have aged well. there have been great female protagonists since buffy (and great female protagonists before her), but few great female heroes. and buffy is kind of incredible for being both. i’ve said this before, but one of the great things about her as a character is that on the one hand, she’s able to participate in a hero narrative that is normally only the province of male characters, and be a source of admiration or inspiration that isn’t about gender. but on the other hand, she’s also allowed to be human...sometimes to people’s dismay, especially in the later seasons. and that duality, particularly in a female character, is deeply, deeply rare. buffy summers is just an utterly remarkable character, and consuming more media only made that more obvious to me. aside from buffy, i think many of the show’s more experimental choices have aged quite well, whether the format breaking episodes in season four, or the postmodernism of season six, or buffy’s mourning and depression in seasons five and six. i also really appreciated the show’s themes around forgiveness, atonement, responsibility, and agency, and found myself wishing that more contemporary things had them.

[inkandpen22]

Shared Minds and Shared Souls (7/?)

Pairing: Spike x Female!Reader

Warnings: Swearing, mention of past trauma, fluff 

Word Count: 1.8k

Part Summary: Y/N is doing everything in her power to get back to normal and recover. However, when Dawn goes missing, she’s stuck having to ask the one person she knows can help (though she hates to admit it). 

Masterlist

Sitting on the floor of the living room, I place each healing crystal ranging from rose quartz to jade neatly in a circle around me. The strong scents of peppermint and lavender fill my senses as the oils radiate from my anointed hands. These elements will help me heal both physically and mentally. It will be a tedious process, but I hope that I’ll eventually be as strong and powerful as I was previously. Closing my eyes, I do my best to focus and internalize my thoughts. Every part of healing is internalized. I have to channel the healing power from these elements and transfer them to myself.

As I sit in silence meditating, I start to hear a faint buzzing sound. This is good, it means the spell is working. I’ll have to do this each day for a certain amount of time until I feel recovered.

The front door creaks open, distracting me for a second. I return my attention back to my task. If I slip, I’ll have to start over. Besides, it’s probably just Dawn getting home from school. She insisted on walking home today and I didn’t put up a fight. The girl has been through enough already and could use some space to breathe.

“Dawn?”

I hear Joyce traveling down the stairs to greet her youngest in the foyer.

“No, it’s me,” Buffy replies.

My eyes snap open and the crystals that were floatings around me fall to the wood floor with scattered thuds.

“But where’s Dawn?! Is she with you?!” Joyce rushes out, already panicked.

“She isn’t home yet?!” Buffy questions.

“No!” Joyce frets.

I gather my belongings together and set them aside, no healing today for me. It’s alright, I can survive another day all off-balanced, what else is new. I join Joyce and Buffy in the foyer, reaching for my jacket on the hook. The two of them turn to me.

“Where are you going?” Buffy questions.

“Going to go find Dawn,” I explain plainly, slipping on my leather jacket.

“But you’re still recovering,” Joyce ever so kindly reminds me.

Someone has to go find Dawn and these two are just standing here going back and forth.

“Someone has to do it,” I remark, sounding unintentionally snarky.

“Use a tracking spell!” Buffy suggests as if I haven’t already thought of that.

“I’m too weak. My intuition, along with everything else, is all out of wack,” I grumble, annoyed with my useless state.

“Then I’m coming with,” Buffy declares, already setting down her things from school.

“Peachy,” I mutter, already heading out the door. “You take the north side of town and I’ll take the south,” I instruct Buffy on the way to my car. “Call Willow to have her be on the lookout. I’ll check in with Xander and Anya, Dawnie may have gone over there.”

Buffy grabs my forearm, stopping me on the sidewalk in front of her house. “Why didn’t you pick her up from school today?!”

I raise my brows at her, the audacity of this girl. Is she seriously trying to accuse me of something? Who was the one who saved Dawnie’s ass last week and nearly lost my mind because of it?

I pull my keys out of my pocket and unlock my car with a snicker. “Don’t start with me, Buffy,” I warn her with a dismissive grin. “Let’s just find your sister.”

She releases my wrist and I jog to the driver’s side of my car. Climbing in, I immediately turn on my radio, blasting alternative rock. Buffy runs down the sidewalk, heading north. Geez, I was right. The sooner I can get out of this town and save everyone’s ass, the better.

___________________________________

As the sun starts setting, I’m running out of places to check. Xander and Anya haven’t seen Dawn all day. The achy feeling in my gut is growing with each passing minute. Dammit, why didn’t I just pick her up from school?! I slap my hands against the wheel of my car, screaming at the top of my lungs. If Dawn is fucking hurt, it’s going to be my fault and everything is already my fault! First, I go and get my head scrambled like damn eggs by Glory. Then, I fuck things up with Spike which were already pretty fucked up already now that I think about it. Finally, it’s my fault that Dawn is missing!

Wait, Spike! He’s the last person I feel like seeing right now, but he might be able to help! After the other day, when he said what he did and Buffy came in, he ran off. He never came back. Oh screw it! Ignoring the laws of the road entirely, I do an illegal U-turn in the middle of the road, whipping back in the direction of the cemetery. I guess I’m making a late visit to Bleach Head.

_____________________________________

Without invitation, I barge into Spike’s crypt. I’ve never actually been here before, never having the pleasure of a visit. However, Buffy’s told me a million times about it, so it wasn’t hard to find.

“Spike!” I shout for the peroxide crazed vampy. “Dawn’s missing, I need-”

I halt, my eyes land on Spike and Dawn sitting across from one another on a casket vault. What the actual hell? Spike’s eyes nearly pop out of his head as I slowly approach the duo.

“Y/N!” Dawnie squeals with excitement. “Spike was just telling me the most intense story!”

My eyes remain on Spikes as I stand beside my young cousin. “Is that so? What about?”

“Oh it was nothing,” Spike is quick to hurry along with the conversation.

“It’s so suspenseful!” Dawn gushes.

“I don’t think Y/N cares to-”

She interrupts Spike, continuing to ramble. My attention fades as I look to Spike for some real answers. I haven’t seen him in a few days. He looks like shit. Well, he’s still gorgeous, but a little... well... undead. Spike nervously avoids my gaze, his eyes flickering between me and Dawn.

“Hey Dawn,” I interrupt her chatter calmly.

She hums, perking up.

“Could you wait for me outside? Your mom and Buffy are losing their shit and I need to get you home,” I explain, finally breaking free of Spike’s gaze to focus on Dawn.

“Oh great! So Buffy is just going to hell at me when I get home?!” She fusses with a whine.

“I’m not the one who decided to visit the cemetery on the way home with calling to let me know first,” I smirk at her with a knowing look.

She hops down from the vault with a huff and slings her back over her shoulder. “At least it was you who found me and not Buffy I guess,” she grumbles.

Abruptly, she grabs my arm in a panic. Why is everyone doing that today? Do I have a sign on my forehead that says ‘please grab me! I love to be touched!

“You’re not going to tell her where I was are you?!” She rushes out.

“You think I want Buffy yelling at me all night?” I sass, looking at her like she has three heads. “No way, you were at Janice’s, deal?”

“Deal,” she smiles and heads to the door. “Bye Spike!”

“Later Nibblet,” he hollers back before directing his attention to me.

“Go wait in the car!” I command. “No running off!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she repeats monotony, shutting the crypt door behind her.

Spike fiddles his rings, his head hanging low. I lean against the vault, crossing my arms over my chest. There’s a painful silence between us. Since the moment we met, there was never silence. When he thought I was Glory, we spoke. Even when we were fighting and arguing there was discussion. I’m unsure of what to say, but I’m certain I hate the silence.

“You’re... you’re very good with her,” he compliments quietly. “Nibblet.”

I swallow hard, finding myself wishing he would just look at me. Instead, he continues to avoid my eyes as he pulls himself a cigarette. I watch quietly as he lights it and takes a smoke.

“You are too,” I return the compliment in a whisper, lacking confidence.

His head slowly rises with surprise written on his features. Evidently, he didn’t expect me to exchange pleasantries. He forgets I’m not my cousin. I didn’t come here to yell at him or be bitter about everything. I’ve seen his memories, I’ve seen the cards he’s been dealt, and I understand. Why would I want to add to that mix? He’s been through enough and has caused enough suffering as it is.

Hesitantly, I approach Spike steadily. He sits uncharacteristically still with his sea-blue eyes locked on me. Slowly, I raise my hand reaching out for his cheek as my eyes search every aspect of his face. He cowers away slightly, avoiding contact for my sake. When I don’t flinch or show any signs of fear of the action, he relaxes. His brows scrunch together in faint confusion. I hover my fingers over my cheekbone, unable to actually touch him. The limitation frustrating me to high heaven. All I want to do is to touch him, feel him, yet I can’t.

My eyes glance back to his, his exquisite sea glass blue eyes. They flicker between my eyes and my lips. Compelled by him, I lean forward at a cautious pace bringing my lips closer to his. Spike hesitates, searching my eyes worriedly for any sign of second thoughts. Considering my hindered and weak state, I can’t blame him. It’s the only way we can touch and I need to touch him. He places his hand on my jacket covered arm, squeezing it gently. Then, he completes the remaining distance between us, pressing his lips to mine.

Closing my eyes, I see bright flashes of white and silver light. They’re bright like fireworks illuminating a dark sky and I feel an immense charge coursing through my body. Pressing my palm to Spike’s chest, I guide him back to rest against the vault. He complies, gripping my waist as I climb on top of him. No different than a rushing wave, it travels through my blood like a golden stream of life. I haven’t had this much energy in me since before Glory’s attack. My weak state is squashed and becomes a distant memory. As if I’m drinking from the Fountain of Youth, I can’t get enough. I lean into the sensation, deepening the kiss, craving more. I surrender to the glorious essence that consumes my body and soul. I let myself go and a jolt shocks me, causing me to break away. Sitting up, I catch my breath.

“Y/N!" Spike shouts my name beneath me.

I snap my head down, meeting his wide-eyed gaze.

"Your eyes,” he gasps, prompting himself up on one arm and holding me with his other. "They're... they're bright blue! Almost white even! Like bolts of lighting are circling in them!"

I blink rapidly and glance down at my hands. Strays of electricity travel between my fingers at random. I feel their charge and warmth. I snicker lightly, the overwhelming sensation makes me feel like I'm floating on a cloud. I've never felt so high and powerful in life. I could part the whole damn Pacific if I wanted to! God, this feels great!

_________________________________

Masterlist

Tags: @it-was-all-a-beautiful-dream​ @hexmancia​

[cupcakesandtv]

Never Have I Ever Been Bad at Sex  Just a quick fic as I jump into this ship. Enjoy!  Ao3 link

It’s me, John McEnroe again. It’s been a minute since we’ve caught up with Devi and while we’re skipping ahead a little, don’t worry, we’ll go back and cover all the stuff you missed eventually. For instance, the explosive breakup with Ben Gross over the student council elections, Fabiola’s minor robot rebellion, Kamala’s defense of her dissertation, and the time Devi got to save Paxton at prom from the kids who put on a Buffy The Musical revival. (No, Eleanor was not involved no matter what people think.) But for now we’re gonna pop in on this event that Devi would consider a big moment for years to come. No, not her deflowering, wow, that’s gross! We’re talking about a different moment although come to think of it I don’t even want to be here but it turns out the other narrators are out getting cold brew and I’m the only guy left. Anyway, what’s happening with Devi and Paxton?

“I just got caught up in everything because I was finally having sex with Paxton Hall-Yoshida!” Devi pulled her hoodie, well his hoodie, over her head.

“Can you please not say it like that?”

“Like what?”

Paxton threw up his hands. “Like we haven’t been dating for weeks! Like we haven’t been friends for like a year, it’s been forever since you were just the medium hot Indian girl in a wheelchair so can you please stop referring to me like the upperclassmen you have a weird crush on!”

McEnroe: Paxton would regret his request for Devi to refer to him simply as her boyfriend in three, two, one...

“You’re bad at sex!” she said. Not even the least bit embarrassed by the harsh statement.

“I’m what?” Paxton was caught off guard. “No I’m not!”

Devi shrugged as if she was doing him a favor. Someone should tell him, if it had to be her, then so be it. Tough love.

“It’s not that surprising. Hot girls probably just didn’t want you to feel bad! Or worse, maybe they didn’t know any better.” She put her hand on her forehead. “Oh my god, are hot people just having bad sex? Do they even know it can be good sex?”

Paxton stood up, grabbing his own shirt and putting it on. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

McEnroe: me either, P. H. Y.

“Where are you going? This is your house!” Devi followed him out of his room and out the front door.

“I’m taking you home.” He opened the Jeep door for her, gesturing for her to get in.

“I don’t want to go home,” Devi said, annoyed. He was being too sensitive.

“Well you can’t stay here.”

Devi huffed before tossing her bag in the Jeep.

The drive back to her house was uncomfortable, punctuated by Paxton looking at Devi (safely at stop lights and stuff, c’mon, he has never had an accident and despite his teenage boy status, his parents’ insurance company loved him.) and Devi looking at him but never at the same time. Devi knew she should say something but when Paxton’s feelings were hurt it didn’t really matter. Nothing she could say helped.

“There was just a lot of pressure,” he said at the stoplight before her neighborhood. “And I didn’t really get to prepare or whatever.”

“You needed to prepare?” Devi asked, confused. “Is it about my small boobs? Because-“

“Devi, no, I don’t care about that! You make me sound like such a jerk.” He scrunched up his face, frustrated before the car behind them honked. He pushed the gas suddenly, causing them both to jolt. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Devi looked out the window. “It wasn’t that bad. Just coulda been better.”

“Maybe next time you can give me more direction. On what you like or whatever?” He was trying too hard to be cool when he really did not feel it.

McEnroe: this seems like a good time for me to interject and tell you that Devi had not yet told her mother that she was dating Paxton. I’m sure you recall that Nalini Vishwakumar was not Paxton Hall-Yoshida’s biggest fan.

“Oh god, your mom is home.”

Devi shrunk down in the seat and covered her face. “Go around the block, around the block!” She swatted at Paxton and he also slunk down as best he could while still driving.

“Should I drop you off at the corner?”

“Drive back to school. I’ll walk from there.”

“You can tell her you were at robotics with Fabiola,” Paxton offered.

“Good call.” She swatted his arm again. “How did you know she had robotics today?”

“I paid attention when she was talking at lunch.”

“Where was I? Oh,” Devi smiled fondly to herself. “Stuffing myself with chili cheese fries.”

Paxton smiled at her.

“What? It’s not my fault Lunch Lady Dolores knows exactly the right cheese to chili ratio!”

“If you want to try and have sex again, I will try to be better at it and make sure you enjoy it as much as you enjoy the chili cheese fries.” He looked embarrassed. Maybe not the best use of language. “But if you don’t want to have sex again that’s fine too.”

“I just don’t get how-“ Devi started but was quickly cut off.

“The only thing you were interested in was having sex with me. That’s literally how you introduced yourself to me. There was a lot of pressure.”

“But that was forever ago.” Devi put her hand on his knee as he pulled into the school parking lot. “And I didn’t really know you were like a person with-“

“With what? A life? I was just a sex machine swim star?”

Devi cringed. “Yes, but you thought I was a weird nerd so aren’t we kind of even?”

Paxton turned off the car. “I guess. Maybe? A lot has happened since then and now you’re telling me I’m bad at sex when you barely gave me a chance to…”

“Do you wanna try again, right now?” Devi asked eagerly.

Paxton shook his head. “I’ve had sex in the Jeep and it’s not going to be better.”

“Is this because I’m not a virgin? Because Ben and I-“

Paxton put his hand over Devi’s mouth before she could go on. He didn’t like thinking about the fact that for a hot minute he lost the love triangle competition to a guy who ironed his jeans. Also didn’t really feel good about constantly being reminded that Ben Gross was probably smarter than him. Which is why he was fine with Devi not telling her mom about the new dating situation.

“Devi, stop.” He started to lift his hand away from her mouth. “Sorry.”

“I was going to say it took a while to, you know, get in the swing of things so I’m sure it will get better.”

Paxton got out of the car and walked around to open Devi’s door. The sun was starting to set and it was just a quick walk to Devi’s house from school but he didn’t want her walking in the dark. She got out and let him shut the door behind her before leaning on it.

He leaned next to her, hands in his pockets, and bit the inside of his lip. “You’re good at so many things, you’re smart and you are so good at playing the harp and you speak Chinese. And I swim. And I’m popular. Which is really more of a weakness because popular people do not let you step out of line. You make one mistake and you’re on the bottom again.”

McEnroe: Paxton had let loose the secret terror of being a popular kid. It wasn’t all cool parties and people worshipping you. Although there was a lot of that. But like being the bad boy of tennis, there was a certain expectation that Devi had never considered the popular kids suffered from.

“You’re good at things.” she said, sliding her hand around his forearm, coaxing his hand out of his pocket so she could hold it. “For one, I’ve never seen anyone put together an IKEA shelf without the directions and not have any leftover pieces. That’s like top shelf useful skills. I like you for more than your sex machine swim star body.”

Paxton squeezed her hand, and let out a small laugh. “And I like your small boobs and your big, beautiful brain.”

Devi leaned into his side. “I’m gonna tell my mom we’re dating. I promise.”

“Whoa, do not feel like you have to do that quickly because of me. I am very okay with her not knowing for a while.”

“You’re scared of her aren’t you?” Devi asked, a half smile forming.

“Isn’t everyone? She’s mean! One time I went to her office to get a skin tag removed and even her staff cowers, she’s scary .”

“Good, because originally I was thinking I’d tell her when I graduated medical school but maybe now it can be when I finish my bachelors.”

McEnroe: I don’t know if they’ll still be dating when she finishes either of those degrees but I’m not omnipotent so we’ll all have to check back on that.

Devi turned and put her chin on Paxton’s shoulder so he could turn and kiss her. “You’re a very good kisser Paxton Hall-Yoshida.”

“Please, Devi, just call me your boyfriend,” he said, resting his forehead on hers.

“You’re a very good kisser, boyfriend.” She leaned in and kissed him again, reaching for that very nice jawline.

McEnroe: this is a rollercoaster of teenage emotions and I want to get off. I hope the other guys brought me a cold brew back because I deserve it after this. All is well now, so we’ll check back later because I don’t think they’re gonna finish kissing anytime soon.

[your-typical-giggle]

Two Truths, One Lie (Damien Haas)

This was originally written as a Damien Haas fanfic, but then my friend (who loves wes) wanted a story, so I changed the names of a few things, but now it’s back with its original names and holy shit, that took forever to do because I forgot about find and replace.

Requested: No

Word Count: 1272 Words

-

“So today we’re playing two truths and one lie. I’m here with my girlfriend, Y/n.” Damien gestured to you. “Are you ready?”

“I guess, I’m really nervous. I don’t want to get any wrong.”

“We’ve been dating for four years now. I’m going to be really disappointed if you get any of these wrong.” Damien laughed. 

“That doesn’t make me feel any better!”

“Well, you can start.”

“Okay,” You grabbed your phone. “My first ever boyfriend shared the same name as my brother.” You looked up to make sure he was listening. “My first kiss was with a girl. And I had a crush on Shayne when I first got here.” You looked up at Damien and put your phone away.

“It’s supposed to be two truths and one lie, Y/n, not three truths!” Shayne said, getting a laugh from everyone. You looked back at Damien, raising a brow.

“Oh god. I know you dated someone with the same name as your brother. I’m not certain about kissing a girl. But I’m really skeptical that you had a crush on Shayne. I’m pretty sure that you had a crush on Noah first.”

“Is that what you’re going with?” You smirked, leaning down and grabbing a water gun.

“Yes.” Damien crossed his arms.

“Well, I hate to do this to you… but…” You sucked in air as you pumped your gun, “you’re right.” You sighed, setting the weapon down.

“Wait, what?!” Damien looked shocked.

“Why do you seem so surprised? You got it right. Now spray me.” You laughed.

“I know,” Damien reached down to grab a water gun. “Then who was it?” He started pumping the gun, then pointed it at you.

“What do you mean?” You put your arms up, hoping to block the water that has yet to hit you.

“Who did you like first?”

“You think I remember that? It was five years ag- AH!” You squealed as the cool water hit you.

“That is such a lie,” Damien said, squirting more water at you.

“Fine! Fine!” The water stopped and Damien raised a brow. “I liked Noah.” You got hit with water again. “Hey!”

“I knew it!” Damien looked at the camera. “I should get double points for getting the name correct!”

“No!” Everyone shouted.

“Fine.” Damien pouted. “Alright, my turn.” Damien looked you in the eyes. “Our anniversary is February 12th, my mom didn’t like you at first,” That got some ‘oohs’. “And I drank two cups of tea today.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms with a smirk.

“Oh god. I know our anniversary is February 12th, that’s easy-”

“Are you sure?” Damien leaned forward.

“Positive. I believe your mom didn’t like me at first. So… you had three cups of tea today.” You stated confidently.

“Darn it! Yeah, I had three.”

“Boom!” You grabbed the water gun on the table. “I wanna get you wet.” You gave him a wink and smirk while everyone laughed.

“You don’t have to though.” Damien pleaded.

“Oh, but I want to.” You pumped the gun.

“Can we get a close up on Y/n, she looks deranged,” Shayne commented, feigning a laugh of worry.

“I’ll spray you too, Buffy.” You threateningly moved to the gun towards Shayne.

“Oh god!” Shayne leaned back, laughing still.

“I can feel the power coursing through my veins.” You looked at the water gun in your hands. Very quickly you pointed the weapon at Damien and pulled the trigger.

“Oh my god! That’s cold!” Damien moved in his chair, trying to get away and dodge the stream of water.

“The power felt so good. I want to do it again…” You whispered.

“Please no.”

“Oh, but I want to.” You said, manically.

“How about this, if I get this next one wrong, then you can spray me again.” Damien pleaded. You cocked an eyebrow, considering his words.

“Alright.” You agreed, setting down the weapon.

The game continued with the both of you neck to neck. No one getting any wrong, so you were tied. After a while, both of you went into a tie-breaker; the moment you’ve been waiting for.

“Because apparently Y/n and I know each other so well, we’re going into a tie-breaker,” Damien said to the camera. While he was explaining the rules you couldn’t help but smile. “You ready?”

“Yup.” You popped the ‘p’ while pulling out the biggest water gun, Damien doing the same. “You first.”

“Okay,” He pumped his gun. “I plan on marrying you.” A few awe’s echoed around the room.

“I’m going to say true?” You looked at him confused. Was he planning a surprise, too? You regained your composure. Rolling your shoulders back and giving the best straight face you could, “I’m pregnant.” 

The room went quiet. Damien had a look of shock written all over his face. He lowered his gun. “Wait…” He tilted his head. “Are you serious?” You gave him a sly look.

“Yes, that is my serious statement. Now, true or false?”

Um… false? I don’t think you’d tell me this way. Not with how shy you get on personal things.” Damien brought his gun back up.

“Okay, Three! Two! One!” The sideline shouted.

Nothing happened, the two of you just starring at each other.

“So, you’re not pregnant?” Damien almost didn’t finish because of a large stream of water hitting his face. “Wait.” He whipped the water off his face with one of his hands. “Does that mean I got it wrong?”

“Yes.” You said, slowly losing your confidence.

“So you’re pregnant?”

“Yes.” You sunk into your chair, a worried expression staining your features. Did he not want a child? Is he not excited? Did you make a mistake?

“And it’s mine?” You nodded in reply. “Holy shit!” Damien stood. “I’m going to be a dad?!” He came over to you as you stood up, and picked you up. “This is amazing!” Damien hugged you, laughing in your ear. “I can’t believe it.” He set you down.

“You’re okay with it?”

“Okay? I’ve been wanting a kid for forever! And the fact that it’s with the love of my life? I couldn’t be happier!” He hugged you again. “I can’t believe you out surprised me.” You pulled away.

“What?” You questioned. You stood in silence as Damien got down on one knee. He pulled out a little box from his pocket.

“Y/n L/n.” He cleared his throat and looked you in the eyes. “Will you do me the honors of becoming my wife?” He opened the box, showing off a simple but perfect diamond ring.

The room went quiet, the celebration of your pregnancy dying out. Tears were streaming down your cheeks. The room, waiting for your response.

“Yes.” You whispered. You went to your knees so you were eye level. “Yes.” You said a little louder, nodding your head. You grabbed the side of Damien’s head, pulling him in for a kiss.

Loud cheers erupted behind you and Damien, but it was drowned out in your ears. The only thing you cared about was you and Damien. You pulled away, looking the love of your life in the eyes. You both had tears streaming down your cheeks.

“We’re going to be a family.” You said quietly.

“Yes, we are.” Damien chuckled, pulling you into a hug. The two of you sat there for a few seconds, just enjoying the embrace. When you pulled away again Damien took your left hand and delicately placed the ring on your finger.

“I want to be the bridesmaid,” Noah said, earning a laugh from everyone.

[pastelwitchling]

25 Days of Fluff Day 17

Trigger Warnings: Anxiety, Symptoms of Claustrophobia/Cleithrophobia. (It’s fluff, though, I swear.)

***

               If Michael straightened his back, scrunched his shoulders, and furrowed his brow, he would look convincingly upset at waking up to find that he and Alex were snowed in. Alex was muttering under his breath about water bottles while setting candles everywhere, Buffy following him as if to ask if she could help with anything.

               Michael hadn’t meant to fall asleep on Alex’s kitchen counter, but the two had been up looking at files for all hours of the night, and before he’d realized it, he’d drifted off. Alex had nudged him awake, hardly looking at him as he did, and told him they were stuck inside with no way out.

               He had asked Michael with a plea in his eyes that Michael didn’t want to think about too much (was Alex so desperate to be away from him?) if he could move the snow away from the doors with his telekinesis.

               “Sorry, Private.” And he explained to Alex that snow wasn’t one big thing, it was a bunch of little things piled on together, so he had no idea how to move something like that. Not that it bothered him in the slightest. Why? Simple. He wanted to be alone with Alex. There was no reception with the storm, the electricity was off, and with nothing but faint candlelight and the fireplace to show them the way around the cabin, Michael found himself getting excited.

               He and Alex had tried for months to be friends, to talk as normally with one another as Michael might talk to Isobel and Max, or as Alex might talk to Kyle, but Michael had realized all too quickly that he and Alex just weren’t meant to be friends. He couldn’t listen to Alex without wanting to hold him and tell him everything would be okay. He couldn’t see him with tears in his eyes without wanting to kiss him senseless, until Alex forgot all about his troubles, all about what haunted him, all about the darkness of the world. He couldn’t sit beside him without wanting to reach over and touch him. And it was all driving him crazy.

               He sat down on the couch with a deep sigh, his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlaced.

               “You gonna sit down?”

               Alex glanced at him. “Yeah. Yeah, just – uh – let me put up another few candles.”

               “This is as bright as it’s getting, Private. Sit down. Did you even sleep at all?”

               Alex didn’t answer as he leaned against the wall in an attempt to crouch down beside Buffy. He said something to her, and she barked before running into the hallway.

               “She understands you?”

               “She’s a service dog, Guerin,” Alex said distractedly as he shuffled around the room, unable to stand still.

               “Alex, would you please just – Alex,” he said, grabbing his wrist to hold him in place. Alex blinked and looked at him as if just remembering he was there.

               “Sorry,” he muttered, and slowly took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. As far away from Michael as he could get. He hugged his arms, his fingers scratching the fabric of his sweater as if looking for something to do. “Um… I didn’t even ask. A-are you okay?”

               “Me?” Michael blinked. “I’m fine.”

               Alex’s head fell into his hands for a second as if he was struggling to hold it up, his fingers running incessantly through his hair before he was hugging himself again, looking into the flames of the fireplace, their biggest source of light. “I’m sorry we’re stuck in here.”

               “Not your fault, Private,” Michael fell back against the couch, hands spread out beside him. If he turned his palm up, would Alex come closer and take his hand? Would his always-cold fingers curl around Michael’s warm ones?

               “Hey,” he nudged. “You okay?”

               Alex began to nod, his eyes glancing to the door, then the windows which on account of the frost were sealed shut. He looked away without saying anything, his left foot tapping against the rug.

               “Alex?”

               “Yeah,” he rushed out. “Yeah, I’m – yeah.”

               Michael looked to the door himself, the windows, thought of the way Alex had been dashing around, making sure they had enough supplies – as if he didn’t know Max or someone was bound to come looking for them later if they couldn’t answer any calls – and it clicked. The way he slouched forward as if it took too much energy to sit up, the way, at the same time, his fingers and leg couldn’t help but be jittery as if itching to escape, the way he kept looking for exits. Alex was terrified of being trapped.

               “Alex,” he tried slowly. “Are you claustrophobic or something?”

               Alex shut his eyes tight, his head ducked. “I don’t know. I don’t – I’m going to throw up.”

               “Okay, okay,” Michael said, moving to his side of the couch in a flash, putting an arm around his shoulders. He couldn’t understand the tone that his voice had taken, the fierce desire to protect Alex from what bothered him. He considered using his powers to shatter the windows, but there was no way Alex would get them all fixed in this snowstorm, and he lived in the coldest part of town, so he’d freeze to death without them.

               “I’m here, Private. Look at me, I’m right here,” and he pulled Alex against his chest, one hand on his back, one on his head. He held on so tightly that Alex was unable to keep fidgeting. Michael kept repeating, “I’m right here, I’m right here,” even as he felt Alex’s arms go around his waist, holding on just as tightly as if hoping to keep himself grounded to earth, and not sucked into whatever dark nightmare his head was trying to suck him into.

               “Hey, see?” he said into Alex’s hair when he felt the airman’s breathing calm. “You’re okay.”

               After a long while, Alex’s arms around him loosened, and when Buffy ran in with a small plastic bottle in her mouth, Alex let go completely. He took what Michael now saw were pills from the beagle, and popped one into his mouth.

               “You get anxious a lot?” Michael asked, his hand still on Alex’s back. He refused to take it off.

               Alex said nothing for a moment, then, “Everyone gets anxious.” He rested his head in his hands with a deep sigh, and if nothing else, Michael was relieved he wasn’t panting anymore. “It’s just a little… too much sometimes.”

               “I never knew that,” Michael said, rubbing Alex’s back soothingly, eliciting another deep sigh. He felt pride and warmth bloom in his chest. “I always thought you weren’t afraid of anything.”

               At this, Alex scoffed. “That’s rich.”

               Michael stared at him. He really was an idiot. Ten years in the war after spending an entire childhood under the roof of a homophobic monster – of course Alex was afraid. But the thing was, he was always so good at making you forget. Michael was ashamed to admit it, but sometimes, he’d forget Alex had been a soldier, that he had been abused at all. He’d even forget about the prosthetic. All he saw was Captain Alex Manes, the hero. His Alex Manes, the love of his life.

               He told Alex as much, leaving out the “love of my life” part, and Alex said nothing for a long time.

               “Stupid, huh?” Michael said, if only to fill in the silence.

               Then Alex wordlessly rested his head on Michael’s lap, staring at the flames. “It’s kind of nice, actually.”

               “Oh,” he said, and felt like an idiot for it. He put a hand in Alex’s hair, and tried not to melt at the way Alex’s eyes fluttered shut. “Are you… feeling any better?”

               Alex sighed, reaching down mindlessly to pet Buffy who was staring up at him, as if awaiting her next orders. “Yeah. I think the pill’s starting to work.” Then, as if afraid to say it, “Someone will come get us soon, right?”

               Michael once again heard the silent plea there, the one he’d initially misunderstood so badly, loud and clear. Alex was smart, he must’ve known it would only be a matter of hours before one of their friends came to check on them and got them out, but he was not in a state to think rationally right now, not in a strong enough state to reassure himself. Which was also fine. Michael didn’t mind being the strong one if it was for Alex. In fact, he liked it.

               “Yeah, Private,” he said reassuringly, raking Alex’s hair back from his face. “Any second now.”

               Alex bowed his head gratefully on Michael’s lap, turning to hide his face which – by the tips of his ears – Michael guessed was flushed. He fell asleep with Michael’s warm hands on him.