#torture me for about five years and in this form i have been abandoned by the person who Cursed me to live like this and have been used as

[anyatomy]

Deso gerry is still really bad btw. I would hope everyone has grown past surface level character analysis but i dont think im that lucky

[itsscromp]

hellloooo so i wanted to request something I've been thinking of for a while <3 you can just call me 🦇bat anon :D sooo i was thinking rocket raccoon x reader who is also a genetically modified raccoon by the hands of high evolutionary with the same amount of trauma and torture as rocket experienced, but they're more brain modified, so they look like a sorta normal raccoon but they're really REALLY overly intelligent and are agile and smart and all that, but they use a human body hologram, and when rocket met them he saw them as a human, but reader later revealed their secret and they connected with their trauma or something i dunno X( i just want someone to let rocket know he's not alone <3 if you're gonna do this, thank you :D if not, have a nice day anyway and i love your writing!!!

We're not so different

Hello there 🦇bat anon :D, Apologies for the delay in this, Now for this request, I had read over it and ultimately my brain has gone splat in the moment. BUT !!! I cooked another idea relating to what you asked. So I hope you like it. Warnings: Mentions of abuse. Word count:985

How you were brought into this world will continue to baffle you until the day you die. How many children have happy families, Yours was utterly broken, Your mom abandoned you before your first birthday, leaving you with your dad who turned to alcohol to cope with the stress. You would always have to bring him his bottle... unless you would cop something in the head. You still had the scar across your eyebrow from the shard cutting through, you were thankful that it didn't get your eye.

By 10 years old when you were on the way home from school as quickly as you could. Your teacher stopped you before you could rush home to talk about the results of your test. Heading home... Guess who was there.

"Where the fuck have you been ??!! I told you to get back as soon school finished."

"I... I know... The teacher just wanted to talk to me..."

"You got into trouble !!" He grabbed your arm and twisted it.

You yelped in pain and started to cry, You yanked your hand away and ran away, Having enough of his endless hurting. Running as fast as you could, You rushed down into the nearby park and fell over, started to cry. As you cried, you felt yourself getting dragged up by something in the sky, Soon being sent away thousands of light-years away in the galaxy.

The cycle continued just with your kidnappers, Whatever your dad did, they did ten times worse when you didn't do what they said. You didn't escape for another 5 years. Being placed into hiding on Knowhere and stayed there for the time being. At least you were free.

You took up some mercenary work with the ravagers, coming across Peter quill from time to time. And it just so happened that that day when the guardians of the galaxy were formed. The day you met Rocket Raccoon.

You knew straight from the start that the attitude that he pulled off when you worked together in prison was nothing more than a cover-up for a deeper trauma that he had witnessed. But it became more evident when you saw his drunken out burst in the bar.

"He thinks I'm some stupid thing he does !! Well, I didn't ask to get made !! I didn't ask to be torn apart and put back together over and over, turned into some... Some little monster !!"

"Rocket, no one is calling you a monster" Peter told him

"He called me vermin !! She called me Rodent !!! His bottom lip wobbled a bit before he grew angry. "Let's see if you can last after five or six good shots in your fricken face !!" He aimed his gun at Drax.

"No no no no !! 4 billion units, Rocket come on suck it up for one more lousy night and you're rich !!" Quill begged him to think rationally.

Rocket thought for a bit before disarming his weapon. "Fine... But I can't promise when this is over I'm not gonna kill every last one of you jerks."

He then bolted out of the bar, Your heart absolutely shattered hearing all of this. At this, you wanted to hold him and tell him that everything was ok... But you knew this wouldn't work knowing Rocket for the short time.

But regardless he needed someone right now, So you headed outside to find him. Looking around nearby until you found him in an alleyway crying softly to himself. You grew sad as you saw him... You walked over as you gently sat down across the other side, remaining silent.

He looked up and saw you, quickly regaining his composure. "Get lost y/n..."

"I didn't say anything" You softly said.

He opened his mouth before shutting it, His ears fully drooped. Crossing his arms as he looked away from you. "Why are you here ?? Wanna call me monster too ??"

You shook your head gently, Trying to figure out how to properly say it. "Rocket... Whatever it is... that you have gone through." You could feel his eyes glaring on you, almost to say choose your next few words very carefully.

"Whatever it is... I get it... I know what it feels like."

His eyes slowly softened a little, but still glaring at you.

"The scar... On my eyebrow... This was by the man who was meant to protect me..." You pointed to your eyebrow.

He inspected your eyebrow a bit before he looked down at the ground. "I... I'm sorry you had to suffer that"

"My whole life... And not even that... When I was 10 I was kidnapped from Earth, The people who kidnapped me... They endured so much pain on me... For 5 flarking years..." You moved your shirt a bit, showing scared underneath your ribs... this one hurt you the most, you couldn't even stomach to talk about it.

Rocket's eyes went soft, And soon, you could see a different side to him. "I'm sorry... I really am..." He hesitantly started to move, moving next to you. Wanting to be in your company and feel safe.

"Rocket, Whatever this galaxy throws at you... I want to let you know... I'll be there for you ok ??" You looked at him.

He gave it a bit of thought for a little bit before nodding. "Yeah... Same to you y/n" He looked up at you, saying it sincerely.

You smiled and gently raised a fist to him, he tilted his head a little bit in confusion. "What are you doing humie ??"

"You never heard about fist bumps ??"

He shook his head, wanting an explanation.

"It's kind of like a symbol of friendship on earth, so here" You gently helped him achieve his first fist bump, "There you go" You smiled,

You would always have his back, And he with yours. Always.

Taglist: @callofdudes

[moveslikebucky]

Yay!! My Bestie @ouidamforeman tagged me in a fun little AO3 game and I'm still crying about their post and how niceys they were to me in it <3

We've been collaborators on so many projects for so long now that it almost feels like we're a package deal at this point xD (and i love it <3)

1. how many works do you have on Ao3?

177

This isn't counting, I don't think at least, the five or six that I've orphaned over the last year.

2. what’s your total Ao3 word count?

642,686 <3

3. what fandoms do you write for?

Good Omens is by far my largest fandom lol. I have a long abandoned series that's a rewrite of Fallout 4, but no idea if I'll ever get back to it.

4. what are your top five fics by kudos?

They're all fairly older ones that have been kicking around AO3 for a while <3

well then, ask me to stay (904)

unpath'd waters, undream'd shores (643)

And now I'm ready to feel your hand (545)

Hush, darling...I've got you (532)

All the Idle Weeds That Grow (519)

5. do you respond to comments?

I love to respond to comments! Often they get away from me and I won't for a long chunk of time, and then inevitably the ADHD hyperfixation will kick in and I will answer some 60-120 comments in one go because I let them sit for far too long sometimes xD

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Gonna have to go back old school for this one, I think it would have to be Hopelessly, I'll Love You Endlessly, simply because it implies that Crowley is going to the bar to drink himself into a stupor after Aziraphale's discorporation as a form of suicide. Honorable mention for What good would common sense for it do? which has the two of them spending the night together after Crowley has a mental breakdown about the Spanish Inquisition, which ends with him leaving at the end because he doesn't think he's worth what Aziraphale clearly sees in him. As well as, as Ouida mentioned, I think about you, which ends with Crowley in a very distressed state after masturbating in the shower.

I think... I like torturing that old man. Oh well.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Oh there's so many of those I might as well list my five favorite happy ending fics:

It's Not the Years, It's the Mileage - My fusion that puts Aziraphale and Crowley in the place of Indy and Marion during Raiders of the Lost Ark. It ends with them proclaiming their love and continuing their mildly illicit affair and lots and lots of kisses.

I won't have a life (until you're dead) - My first big long project with @ouidamforeman will always have a special place in my heart for happy endings. These two found each other despite all of the odds, and now they have eternity together!

Night of the Living Boyfriend! - Me and @ouidamforeman's 70s horror pastiche which I don't think anyone realized would have a happy ending. We certainly jumped through hoops to get there, but it got there all the same.

go where I go, do what I must - This one is going to be a series of interconnected one-shots in the same world but really... Poor little repressed Victorian man deciding to kill himself rather than get married to a woman he doesn't love by sacrificing him to the fae, only to become married to one of them instead? And then get to take part in their bacchanalian cultural customs? AND eventually get to have an orgy with two big Satyr fellas while his husband claps and squeals gleefully? He's living his best happy ending ever!

formation displays of affection - The android fic... oh my beloved android fic. I wrote this one specifically as a vehicle for Ouida to express some of their feelings and thoughts around their autism, and it ends so hopeful and happy and full of love to bursting.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I have only gotten hate twice. The first time was on a zine fic once it was published, someone saying that I was a hack and that my writing style was shit so I shouldn't get into zines. They bragged about it in a few discord servers, I've had them blocked since. The big one, as Ouida mentioned in their post, was on formation displays of affection, where apparently we are abelist against ourselves? For writing our experiences? Because the character is a robot. Whack as hell if you ask me.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh please honey, you know what blog you're on xD

All kinds of smut every configuration. Solo, couples, orgies... heavy kink, monster fucking. Always unapologetically queer and joyous. A few of my most Out There smut fics for your consideration (the first two are both collabs with Ouida!):

En Eski Aşk Şiiri - Vore sex. It's vore sex! Devour your angel husband for fun and profit!

The Nature of Intricate Rituals - Are they animals? Yes, strictly speaking. Reverse Omens where Crowley is a harpy and Aziraphale is a sphinx and they fuck good and Gadriel (Crowley) lays a lot of eggs and also comes about that.

In The Depths - Dubious consent wherein mech pilot Aziraphale gets fucked via that neural interface by a sea monster. Said sea monster comes back for more in a more compact, human looking form, but he still doesn't quite grasp the limitations of human bodies.

Five Sparrows for a Penny - Five Aziraphale clones give Crowley the ride of his life.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I've only written one crossover, and that was The Curious Case of Old Mr. Fell, where Basil of Baker Street and Dr Dawson from The Great Mouse Detective meet Aziraphale.

Fusions though, I have It's Not The Years, It's The Mileage as mentioned above, as well as the group project Reclamation and Reconnaissance which is an au set on Bajor during the events of Deep Space Nine, but with Good Omens characters.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Several times! Mainly into Russian, once into French and Italian I think.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

The majority of my writing is co-written. Me and Ouida are a great team <3

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Aziraphale and Crowley, hands down.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My Fallout 4 rewrites. I just don't have the hyperfixation energy to work on them anymore.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I"m pretty good with dialogue and with scene details without them being overbearing. Ambience and mood as well.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I am not good at long form fiction, writing multichapter fics is a struggle for me because I struggle with plot of all things. I'm much more a one-shot person. However, part of the benefit of working with Ouida so much, is that they balance me out and are very good at hammering down worldbuilding and plot points. Also they beta everything I write!

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I haven't done it myself yet, but I feel like it's so cool to do! If I can ever get it off the ground, eventually me and Ouida have a cold war spies concept that we're working on and Aziraphale will speak Russian in it a lot of the time.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Teen Titans. Not GO!, the original one.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

God I've written so many it's hard to pick, but I definitely have to say that it's I won't have a life (until you're dead). It will always be that one, forever and ever. That's why I haven't ever changed my profile picture xD

I'm gonna tag uhhhh @ashfae, @entanglednow, @charlottemadison42, and @waldosakimbo

[adventuresinclientservice]

How to beat Procurement at its own (negotiating) game.

Tim Williams is one of the few marketing consultants I hold in high regard, in part for the quality of his counsel, in part for the quality of the way in which he delivers that counsel.

Tim is expert in value-based pricing, adept at advocating for what appears to some as a radical departure from the norm:  the need for agencies to abandon the timesheet and everything it entails.

We’ll save that discussion for another day; right now I’d like to talk about an email Tim shared, offering his perspective on the role Procurement plays in the negotiating process between client and agency.  In it he points out,

“Early in the buying process, procurement professionals present sellers with a series of mandatory requirements, often accompanied by politely-worded warnings that failure to comply will result in disqualification.’

He then goes on to say,

“if the seller in question is a professional services firm (ad agency, law firm, accounting business, etc.) many "mandatories" can usually be viewed in the context of a poker game. Procurement is simply laying its first bet.”

Poker metaphor notwithstanding, if you ever have sat down to negotiate with Procurement, you already know this is serious business, with you on the losing end of the bargain.

Years ago I was approached by a senior marketing executive working in the entertainment industry – to remain on the right side of confidentiality I’m reluctant to share his or his company’s name -- who wanted to explore my conducting workshops for the in-house advertising agency he led. 

To make what follows easier, let’s call my contact “Jack.”

Jack and I went back and forth in a series of emails and phone calls that lasted the better part of a year, with me sharing letters of proposal and he responding, until we finally got to “yes.”

If our ongoing marathon discussions were complicated before, they were about to become downright tortured.

Jack asked his procurement person to oversee the signing of a contract that would precede my work.  Keep in mind that in all the years I have been doing business, I never – I mean never – signed a contract for any reason, preferring to share a letter of proposal that once approved, would result in an invoice. That gets paid and off we go.

I received said contract -- eleven pages of convoluted, mind-numbing, onerous legalese -- and began mucking my way through it.  Mucking complete, I didn’t bother to email the procurement person – that would have been DOA -- instead I emailed Jack:

“If you go to Section Seven on page two, “OWNERSHIP OF WORK PRODUCT,” you’ll see that Disney wants to own what I present.  “You may videotape me and use what I say in any reasonable way you see fit, but under no circumstances can you own what I present.  The analogy I would use is the relationship I have with my book publisher, John Wiley & Sons.  They have the right to reproduce my work in all forms and formats, but I own my work, and even hold the copyright on it. “If we do this [modify the contract], I can sign the agreement.  “If we don’t, I cannot sign it.”

A willingness that came with a cost, I was wholly prepared to walk away from what was a five-figure engagement.  That willingness conferred the very thing I needed most:  leverage in our negotiations.

Jack emailed back:  “No worries.  This is important.  We’ll figure it out.” 

Figure it out we did.  Not with Procurement, but with my client, relegating Procurement to serving as little more than a messenger service, charged with ensuring the revisions I mandated were made.

The contract was rewritten to strike the company’s ownership of my work.  It also eliminated an insurance provision I found unacceptably burdensome and unnecessary.  Equally important, the contract stipulated I would be paid in advance – something I always insist on – rather than the untenable, after-the-fact payment the company customarily considers standard in its agreements.

Changes made, I signed the revised deal – the first and only one I ever signed -- got paid in advance, and conducted the workshops.  Based on the post-workshop research Jack shared with me, just about everyone appeared to be pleased with the outcome.

Tim Williams reminds his readers that, when it comes to negotiating, Procurement, “is simply laying its first bet.”  Be prepared to walk away, you will lay the last one.

If you are proud of what you do, confident in your ability to perform for clients, and certain about the fairness of your fee, know that the skill, knowledge, and problem-solving creativity you bring to the table is your leverage.

Given they’re better at purchasing paper clips rather than ideas, Procurement might not give a damn.

But I’m willing to bet your client does. 

[messers-moony]

Someday | F.H

Paring: Five Hargreeves X Wife!Reader

Summary: The Handler kidnaps Five’s wife in hopes of him coming for her, yet he never does.

Request: Well I'd like to order a FiveXWifeReader but I'm afraid you're full of orders and I don't want to get in the way🤧

She sighed, “ This is bloody exhausting, ya’ know? “ 

“ Well, maybe if you hadn’t abandoned the commission, this wouldn’t be happening, Mrs.Hargreeves. “ The older woman spoke. 

The eighteen-year-old girl was tied to a chair. It had been approximately five years since her and Five’s last run-in with the commission after doomsday in 1963. Why they had decided to get them back on their side is unknown.  

“ So Y/n, how does it feel? “ The adult woman taunted, “ Your taunting doesn’t work on me. “ Y/n retorted with boredom. 

Nonetheless, the adult woman held a glass of whiskey, “ Whiskey? You have absolutely no taste. “ Y/n commented, and the woman rose her eyebrow, “ Really now? What would you prefer? Rum? Perhaps moonshine? “ 

“ Vodka, straight. “ Y/n snapped, “ What a tough cookie you are. “ The Handler cooed. 

“ I’m not thirteen anymore. “ The young girl replied, “ It appears so. “ The Handler stated. 

Y/n scoffed quietly, “ What’s the plan here? Why have you kidnapped me instead of one of your pawns? “ 

“ Well, hun, you know more than anyone that this task isn’t easy. It’s easiest for me to get this job done myself. “ The commission superior answered, “ In case you’ve forgotten, I willingly did this. “ Y/n informed. 

“ I know. You did it to protect your precious Five and your sibling in-laws. What brilliant timing of mine. “ She boasted inconspicuously, “ Ah, so that was your plan. Get me at a moment where I’d willingly let you have me. So smart. “ Y/n rolled her eyes as the sarcastic comment rolled off her tongue. 

The Handler winked at her, causing her to scoff again. Getting kidnapped wasn’t necessarily on her to-do list, but Five needed time, and she couldn’t let his siblings get hurt. Truthfully, getting kidnapped by the Handler wasn’t torture. It was just irritating with the constant belittling comments. 

It was a tedious thing to go through. Five wasn’t around when she did it. Otherwise, the Handler would’ve been shot dead by now. How she managed to come back after the barn incident, she knew not. What she did know was she was threatening her husband's siblings. 

The Handler paced with her cup of whiskey, “ What's it like? “ 

“ Pardon? “

“ What’s it like being married to him? “ The commission superior queried, “ That’s none of your concern. “ Y/n snapped. 

“ Does drinking make you sentimental? “ The Hargreeves girl narrowed her eyes, “ And for what’s it’s worth, Five and I are just fine. “ 

The Handler pondered, “ So where is he? “ 

“ Hell, if I know. I’m only here because I wasn’t letting you take Claire. “ Y/n replied, “ What is the little girl to you? “

“ Five’s niece. “ She answered, “ His pride and joy. “ 

“ Do I hear bitterness? “ The Handler teased, “ No, you don’t, you blithering idiot. “ Y/n retorted, annoyed. 

Hours went by of annoying banter that, frankly, Y/n didn’t have time for. It would only be a matter of time before Five noticed her disappearance. The last thing he needed on his mind at the moment was the reappearance of the Handler. So when the commission superior left, Y/n began her escape. 

The girl flicked a knife from her back pocket, “ You’d think for a commission superior she’d be a tad bit smarter. “ Y/n rolled her eyes as she cut off her restraints. 

Even the assassins who had kidnapped her beforehand took her knife off her. Maybe they just knew her better. Since the apocalypse, Y/n always had a knife or some form of sharp object in her back left pocket. It was something she nicked from Diego in the apocalypse. She never told Five where it came from. 

So when Diego was almost hit with one of his knives while fighting her after arriving in 2019, he was astonished. Her aim was impeccable and seamless. Possibly better than Diego’s. Nevertheless, a sharp object was always on her person. 

Running out of the motel and towards the academy was easy. All that walking she did really came in handy when needing to stay in shape. Despite being a master at her power– telekinesis, she still trained countless days. Five and her would spar. An activity that kept them together. 

Knocking on the wooden door to the academy, a nine-year-old girl opened the door, “ Auntie Y/n! “ She yelled, hugging her aunt tightly, “ Hey sweet. “ Y/n replied. 

“ So, where have you been? “ A male voice queried, making her look up, and Claire let go, “ We can talk about it later, I promise. “ Y/n replied, not wanting to talk about it in front of Claire. 

He sighed, “ Fine. “ 

“ Thanks, love. “ Y/n smiled gratefully, “ Yeah, whatever. Claire, you should go see the cookies Grace made. “ Five smiled softly at the little girl. 

“ Okay. “ Claire responded, walking away. 

Once she was out of eyesight, Five embraced his wife closely, “ I was worried. “ His voice held so much concern and love it made her heart melt, “ I tried to be fast. “ She answered. 

“ What happened? “ 

And so she explained everything. From top to bottom, she informed him on everything she learned, which wasn’t too much but enough to know for now. But when she brought up the fact she went willingly, the look in his eye was not one any person would want to cross. 

“ She threatened to take Claire. Or one of your siblings. So I went willingly. I watched her tie my hands and tie me to a chair. “ Y/n informed, “ You voluntarily decided to get kidnapped to save my family? “ Five questioned, not meeting her eyes any longer. 

She shrugged, “ Perhaps. “ 

“ You choose the right woman. “ Diego announced from the steps, and Five had a prideful smile present, “ Don’t get too full of yourself, Hargreeves. “ Y/n replied, playfully walking away towards the kitchen. 

“ What's it like? “ Diego questioned his brother, “ Excuse me? “ Five responded. 

Diego turned to look at Y/n and Claire in the kitchen, “ What’s it like being married to her? “ 

“ Well, it’s- “ Five couldn’t find the right words, “ It’s like coffee. “ 

“ The meaning is? “ Number two inquired, “ Well, some days it’s like hot and cold others it could be warm. It depends on the day and how the person feels. “ Five answered. 

It was silent for a minute as Five watched Y/n happily talk with Claire about something. She looked absolutely stunning. Her eyes shined as Claire spoke passionately about the topic. Maybe that’s why she liked Y/n so much, because she listened to her no matter the subject. 

Diego swallowed, “ Do you want kids? “

The question took Five a long moment to ponder. He wasn’t expecting that question in the slightest. Sometimes he forgets that he’s already lived his life and is still mentally sixty-three. Sometimes he prefers to act like an actual eighteen-year-old. 

“ Someday. “ 

[theghostnugget]

Hiei has C-PTSD

This is going to be a long-ass post so get a cup of hot cocoa, get comfy with a nice blanket, turn the lights down low and get ready to feel sad

I hope I make you cry

Content Warning: Non-graphic discussions of neglect, abuse, suicidal thoughts, exposure to violence in childhood, trauma reactions... Please feel free to tell me if there's anything else I missed

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and Complex Post Traumatic Stress disorder can both be more severe if:

The trauma happened early in life (which for Hiei it definitely did considering he's 14 at the oldest at the beginning of the series)

The trauma was caused by the primary caregiver - We see the guy he refers to as his father for about five seconds but in those scant seconds we see a drunk who's willing to steal from a baby and then abandon that baby after years of exposing him to violence. At best, Hiei grew up in an emotionally neglectful environment where he was constantly exposed to death and bloodshed, taught that his emotions were a weakness, and taught to be violent himself if he wanted to survive - I can only assume there was other forms of abuse that we didn't see because Hiei wasn't willing to share them with Mukuro - who was practically a stranger at that point

The trauma lasted a long time - His whole life has been bouncing from one horrific event to the next - Taken from his mom, almost murdered, taken in by beligerent assholes, abandoned by said assholes, constantly taking care of his own safety from a young age in an environment where no one seems to have qualms about murdering a child for a necklace, losing the only item that matters to him and the only connection to his family, an incredibly painful surgery that took away his ability to defend himself, finding out his mother killed herself over grief about losing him, finding out his sister went missing also because of him, finding his sister only to A. hate himself too much to tell her the truth and B. realize she's been tortured for 5 years and he didn't save her, OH and let's not forget that in season 2 his life is threatened if he doesn't join a life-or-death tournament and in season 3 he is forced to helplessly watch as one of his only friend's is murdered in front of him

...

Now that that's out of the way, let's get into the actual symptoms

PTSD has symptoms that mostly fall into 3 categories: Re-experiencing, Avoidance, and Sense of Threat

~ Re-experiencing consists of things like nightmares, flashbacks, and triggers that cause trauma responses

The only time we see Hiei sleep (as opposed to being knocked unconscious by the Dragon of the Darkness Flame) is on the way to rescue Yukina where he wakes up gasping for air and reaching out for his sister

I can't think of any flashback examples (but to be fair I haven't watched the series in it's entirety for a hot minute and as someone with PTSD I very rarely have waking flashbacks) - This also might be because we rarely get to see inside Hiei's head because the story is from Yusuke's perspective

However, when it comes to triggers I think he can easily be triggered by people questioning his strength or claiming to be stronger than him - In part because in the past that usually meant someone was about to attack him and in part because in order to feel any semblance of safety, he needs to believe he's too strong to ever be the victim again. That's why he says "hot", and why he leaves the team for several episodes after being told he's not an A class demon, and why he sacrifices his entire arm to take Zeru out in one hit

~ Avoidance symptoms consist of all the steps a person takes to avoid re-experiencing their trauma

For Hiei, this mostly means never appearing weak, but it also includes fun things like isolating himself from friends and family/never trusting others/cutting off his relationship with Yukina because you can't be hurt by the people you care about if you never let yourself care about anyone

I think the reason he engages in so many reckless and destructive behaviors (which is another symptom of C-PTSD) and part of the reason he was suicidal is because it's less scary to be hurt or killed if you're the one making the choice to put yourself in harm's way - rather than feeling safe and having that safety ripped away from you

I have no evidence for this but I also believe he dissociates regularly (yet another symptom) - like 1/2 the time he's staring dramatically out the window (or up at the sky from a high tree branch) he's brooding like you'd expect, but the other half he's full on floating away from his body - completely out of touch with his thoughts and feelings and even his sense of identity

~ Sense of Threat Symptoms

This is where Hiei really shines (or, I guess struggles is a better word)

His whole character can be boiled down to trauma-induced hyper-vigilance

He doesn't trust anyone, he's always worrying about outside attack, he never relaxes, I don't even think he blinks unless he's alone because that split second could be the difference between life and death

Another reason he never lets people close is because they can't be trusted - they feel unsafe to be around let alone trust with his thoughts and feelings (which he considers to be weaknesses easily turned against him)

Hiei's worse nightmare is losing his sword and being unable to access his energy because (and I cannot stress this enough) the only way he has ever been able to feel any semblance of safety is because he convinced himself that he was the strongest person around - The concept of "there's always someone stronger than you" would make him spiral into a dark, deep anxiety hole that I'm not sure he'd ever be able to climb out of

~ So, those are symptoms typically associated with PTSD, but C-PTSD comes with a whole slew of fun, new symptoms such as:

Problems with self-esteem: Nothing makes his feelings towards himself more clear than the fact that he never told Yukina who he is because he was certain that she would hate him - he feels fundamentally broken and unloveable - someone who belongs nowhere but on his own

Emotional Dysfunction: Emotional reactions that are super intense and often innapropriate for the situation - For Hiei this almost always means anger (because that's the only emotion he actually allows himself to express) but I imagine after the show, as he gets more comfortable with the team, he also starts to react strongly to fear stimuli which leads to him have panic/anxiety attacks over things that wouldn't provoke such a strong response in someone who wasn't a walking, talking personification of trauma reactions.

Besides anger, sadness, and dissociation, people with C-PTSD might have trouble feeling happy, even in the best of situations - We see him laugh 2 times (BOTH TIMES BECAUSE OF YUSUKE - BE STILL MY SOFT SHIPPER HEART)

Also, PTSD/C-PTSD often brings along some other painful friends like depression and anxiety (both of which I think Hiei has - along with either an avoidant or disorganized attachment style)

[earnestly-endlessly]

Cherik angst!

Ooooh the angst!! The cherik fandom has an abundance of angst fics and I could probably make a list of hundred fics to recommend, but these are some of my favourite angsty cherik fics. I should warn you though, some of these require tissues.

Cherik Angst

Everyday Love in Stockholm – tahariel

Summary: Magneto is the ruler of the posthuman world.

His only secret? Charles Xavier, the human he's kept locked in his bedroom ever since his right-hand woman, Mystique, came to him pleading for mercy for her stepbrother, who accepted her mutant form and protected her as a child. The human he started fucking after Mystique was killed in battle, despite the guilt he feels at contaminating even this last promise to the woman who was integral to his life's work and happiness.

Boden’s Mate – kaydeefalls

Summary: "Shaw has information that we need, and we need him alive to extract it," Moira says, and there it is: the job is on the table. Extraction.

XMFC/Inception fusion AU. Erik is an extractor, Alex is his point man. They're assembling a team to go after the most dangerous mind in dreamsharing: Sebastian Shaw. But unless Alex and the team can keep him in check, Erik's desire for vengeance might just rip the whole job apart around them -- and then there's the shade that haunts his dreams...

Ritual Self-Torture – TurtleTotem

Summary: Shaw is King, Charles is his royal consort and Erik is a Knight/Lord. Shaw is sterile but his kingdom can't find out, so he asks Erik to impregnate Charles.

He doesn't know Erik and Charles are in love.

The Winter of Banked Fires – Yahtzee

Summary: Charles Xavier has returned from the dead -- but is lost within his own mind. Rogue has cast aside her own power and doesn't know where she fits in the world any longer. The production of synthetic Cure means mutantkind itself is newly at risk. And Magneto, turned human against his will, is in despair until the day he feels a familiar consciousness tugging at his own

Us – Pangea

Summary: “Charles,” Erik says, and if his voice hits a pleading note then who can really blame him, “Charles, it’s me.”

It takes several longer moments before Charles musters up the strength to answer, breath stuttering horribly as he tries to breathe. He’s shaking, entire body trembling.

“Erik,” Charles says, his voice cracking, “Erik, I want to die.”

Enigma – Yahtzee

Summary: Erik dies, or finds a reversey-time mutant, or a magical time travelling device, and wakes up in the past. This time, though, it's before he ever met Charles - in fact, it's before his mother died.

He can save his mother that one time (thanks to his mastery over powers carrying back), but what does Erik do after that? Does he stick around, or escape and run to find Charles again (and hope everything doesn't go wrong)?

By Faint Indirections – kianspo

Summary: Erik is in his ~50s, and lonely and bitter. He survived the Holocaust and was only ~14 when the war ended; and even ~40 years later, living in a country that helped to end WW2 and the Third Reich, homosexuality is still a taboo topic. Then one day, he stumbles over Charles, who is young(early 20s) and bright and smart and cheeky and full of energy and beautiful. And moving in the same street where Erik lives.

Lonesome on the Shelf – ikeracity

Summary: After three years of marriage, Charles has to admit that his relationship with Erik has significantly cooled off. These days, they're barely ever home at the same time and it seems like every conversation they have turns into an argument. Charles misses the way they used to be, misses the spontaneous dinner parties and the surprise morning sex and the wake up calls in the early mornings to catch the sunrise. But it's going to take two of them to fix this marriage, and some days, it seems as if all Erik wants is to be rid of him.

A fic about rekindling marriage.

When the Spell Breaks – kianspo

Summary: Erik, a high-profile lawyer with a successful career, meets a 21-year-old grad student in a bar, and within a few short months marries him. He and Charles are blissfully happy, until Erik's boss runs a background check on Charles and discovers he's been cheating on Erik. Charles denies everything, as there was no affair, but Erik doesn't believe him and throws him out. As Charles tries to figure out how to survive and stay at school that he can no longer afford and makes a lot of bad if not plain dangerous choices, Erik has to fight his own battle of discovering the truth and winning Charles back.

The Tower and the Hurricane – dreamlittleyo

Summary:(Post-movie AU.) Five years after Shaw's death, Erik's predictions prove painfully accurate. Violence rages on both sides of the human/mutant conflict. In a world ravaged by war, it doesn't really matter who's more at fault. Charles struggles to teach his students a better way, but what choices will he make when peace really isn't an option?

The Attempt – Yahtzee

Summary: Charles knows everything about Erik, knows how obsessive and self-destructive he is, how Erik would do anything, give anything, in his quest for vengeance against Shaw. But he also knows that Erik loves him in ways that aren't exactly platonic.

I'd like to see a completely straight!Charles, out of pure love and care of Erik, initiate a romantic relationship with him. It can be because he wishes to give Erik something positive in his life or because he thinks it might help change Erik's mind about Shaw, the reason is up to author. Also, while Charles finds intimacy with Erik strange and awkward, he does enjoy the new, non-romantic layers that have developed in their relationship.

Apple Seeds – pprfaith

Summary: Charles, Erik, apple seeds and Shakespearean love affairs.

Ashes, Ashes – winterhill

Summary: Post-apocalyptic AU — When the bombs fall, and mutually assured destruction occurs, it turns out that Shaw was right and radiation does enhance mutant powers. Snapshots of the XMFC main ensemble in the time after the bombs: Erik decides to stay, Moira thinks she might be the only human left, Raven is having trouble sleeping, and Charles is losing his mind.

Warnings: nuclear holocaust: death (death in general, not a specific character), cancer, burns, medical procedure, mutant powers gone awry

Five Bullet Points – Sperare

Summary: It was supposed to be Erik locked away in a prison one hundred stories below the ground.

Charles was never supposed to be there with him.

Tequila on a spaceship – faerie_ground

Summary: In 2014, Charles Xavier gets brutally murdered and Erik Lehnsherr spends the rest of his life mourning his death.

In 3014, Captain Lehnsherr and CMO Dr Xavier are colleagues, best friends and maybe a little more besides that aboard the Magneto I.

The Tower and the Hurricane – dreamlittleyo

Summary: Post-movie AU.) Five years after Shaw's death, Erik's predictions prove painfully accurate. Violence rages on both sides of the human/mutant conflict. In a world ravaged by war, it doesn't really matter who's more at fault. Charles struggles to teach his students a better way, but what choices will he make when peace really isn't an option?

Simple and Uncomplicated – Pookaseraph

Summary: Erik and Charles had been fuck buddies for some, but when Charles is in an accident he figured their relationship would be over. Erik's visit to his bedside in the hospital changes his assumptions even as he has trouble believing Erik is sincere.

Lazarus – Clocks 

Summary: Erik is 19 when he says ‘I love you’ for the first time.

It would take five long years before Charles says it back.

Broken Eternity – CractasticDispatches

Sumnmary: It starts with being alone. It shouldn’t, perhaps, but it does because, of course, alone is what no one ever wishes to be.

Shout it Out Loud – dreamlittleyo

Summary: (Movie-Concurrent AU.) When Charles forges a telepathic link between himself and Erik, the two men find themselves bound together by more than just destiny. With the world on the brink of war, Charles and Erik struggle to cope with a psychic connection that may well be permanent.

Call Me By His Name – sinuous_curve

Summary: Charles wakes from the absence of noise.

There is an empty space in his room, beside his bed. Not quiet as in an abandoned room, but utterly, featurelessly blank. Like a box made of unblemished, impenetrable metal and Charles knows before he opens his eyes.

The Longest Word – septicwheelbarrow

Summary: "I'm Charles Xavier," he says, smiling from ear to ear. Then he gestures to his wheelchair. "Terminal spinal osteoblastoma, reaper due to collect in a year."

After some time, the man gestures at himself with a sardonic smile. "Same, one year. Lung." And then, reluctant, as if trying to keep his name to himself, "Erik."

I reject your reality and substitute my own. Doesn't really work that way, both ways.

Copy – chantefable

Summary: Charles wakes up without his memory. His sole caretaker, Erik, claims to be his husband, and tells him he's recovering from a car accident on their honeymoon.

Slowly falling for Erik again, Charles begins to regain his memories. He starts to notice strange things about his body, Erik, and their secluded mansion.

Myosotis – SomeCoolName

Summary: When Charles got back from Cuba, he lost the two things which made him stand: his legs and the love of his life, Erik Lehnsherr. Charles can get used to the wheelchair but he won't ever be able to get pass the loss of Erik.

"I wish I never met him" is something Charles says one night, maybe a bit drunk, absolutely wrecked for sure. It's a bit silly but Charles figures out his only solution is to use his own powers to erase Erik from his mind, progressively.

Except one day Erik comes back to the Xavier mansion to win him back. And even if Charles doesn't want to stop forgetting about him, Erik will do anything he can to convince him otherwise.

Das Haus am See – sareyen

Summary: The Lake House AU:

Erik is an estate planning lawyer who takes some time off to get away from the big city after his marriage fell apart. He lives in a picturesque lake house by Chautauqua Lake for almost two years, before moving back to New York City. This is in 2019.

Charles is a famous but very private author stuck in a creative rut, and moves to his lakeside estate for a short while to try and find a reason to write again. This is in 2017.

By magic or fate, Charles and Erik discover that the letter box at the lake house has the ability to send letters through time, between Charles in 2017 and Erik in 2019. Through letters that transcend the barriers of time, Charles and Erik fall in love. Charles vows to find Erik two years in his future, and Erik promises to wait for him. Two years - just two, meagre years.

But, fate is fickle, and time waits for no one.

Appropriate Boundaries – Yahtzee 

Summary: Charles has been having serious problems with back cramps in the year and a half since he's been in a wheelchair. His doctor prescribes massage therapy. But when Charles meets his masseur, Erik, in some ways they begin to heal each other. So how do you cross the boundaries between professional touch -- and the personal?

Unbound – Cesare, helens78

Summary: Thousands of miles apart, Erik Lehnsherr and Charles Xavier form a soulbond. But when that bond is severed five years later, they have to spend the next ten years trying to rebuild their lives alone.

Do You Love Me – cgf_kat

Summary: Charles and Erik have been married for 25 years, thrown together by a mandatory post-apocalyptic pairing system attempting to increase and strengthen the population. They have seven children. They have never spoken of love, but change is on the horizon.

A Quiet Riot – cloudstroke (aQuired)

Summary: Erik can't stand the fact that his father has brought home a boy less than half his age.

But mostly because he's madly in love with Charles Xavier himself.

[sundaysundaes]

Thirst

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Smut, Fluff | 3.8k | Vampire AU

Summary: You have walked the earth for more than a hundred years but your eternity finally means something the second you meet a human boy with smiles brighter than the sun.

Warnings: Vampire!Reader X Human!Hyuck, unprotected sex, blood sucking

“Wait, ah…” 

You pull back at the sound of his voice, fingers squeezing his upper arm. “Nervous?”

Donghyuck throws his head back and runs a hand over his face. He averts his gaze, slightly hiding behind his lean fingers. “Of course, I’m nervous,” he confesses, the tip of his ears turning scarlet. “I have a cute girl sitting on my lap, about to drink blood from my neck—how could I not be nervous?”

You reach out to him, gently running your fingertips at the side of his throat, and see him swallow hard at your touch. You can hear his heartbeat soaring, which only fuels your thirst for his blood. It has been days since you last drank from him and the flame in your throat is scorching. You know that if you don’t do something about it fast, you’ll lose what’s left of your humanity.

“Hyuck…” You plead, gripping against the collar of his black shirt. “I’m… I really need to drink…”

All the anxiety on his face is replaced instantly with concern. “Shit, you’re right, I’m sorry.” He takes a deep breath, unfastening two of his top buttons to reveal more of his collarbones. The previous bite marks have begun to fade on his skin, appearing almost as faint as the little mole he has on his Adam’s apple. He’s beautiful, so beautiful, that if your mind wasn’t too clouded with the thoughts of consuming human blood, you would praise and cherish every little detail of his features with your lips.

Donghyuck closes his eyes, eyebrows adjoined in the middle in anticipation of your bite. His hand is fisting his collar, slowly tugging it down to reveal more sun-kissed skin to your glowing eyes. “H-have it your way.”

The way he’s reacting like a child curling up in fear of a syringe being plunged into their skin, makes you feel contrite but there’s no other option but to consume what he offers. Otherwise, your thirst for blood will drive you to the brink of your sanity, forcing you to do something even more terrible to him.

You try your best to divert your attention and focus more on trying to comfort him, even when your entire body nearly blazes in flame. Softly, you brush your lips against the column of his throat.

Donghyuck shivers, his breathing tatters. “Don’t—“ He curls his fingers, nails sinking into his palms when he feels your mouth move to lay wet kisses down his chest. “Don’t do that, please.”

“I’m trying to calm you down.”

“Well, you’re doing the opposite 'cause then I’ll be nervous for an entirely different reason.” Donghyuck brings the back of his hand to his mouth, murmuring the words against his skin. But despite the heat that warms his cheeks, he does seem a bit more relaxed, slightly smiling sheepishly at you over his flirtatious words. “I’m fine, just do it.”

You nod, leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. Caught off guard, the blush blooms a little wider on his face but he tenderly strokes your cheek. “We’ll do that again after you’re finished,” he promises, “A lot of that.” His hooded eyes are captivated with the way your lips glisten under the slide of his thumb. “Right here.”  

You smile in return. Landing yet another soft kiss to his jaw this time, you extend your fangs and make your mark.

Donghyuck winces away from the pain of your cuspids puncturing the skin under his jaw, right between the earlobe and the collarbone. His hand immediately finds your shoulder, fingers twisting against the fabric of your dress. He takes his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes shut close as he endures the pain, but in the next few seconds, his breathing gradually becomes slower.

His head swirls as the rush of endorphin fills his system, elevating him with bliss. He slides his hand down from your shoulder to your arm, resting it on the dip of your waist. You can hear him curse under his breath but he slowly relaxes, his body reclining with you pressed tightly against his chest.

“You’re not so gentle today, are you?” He chuckles softly, slurring a little bit as his thoughts become hazy with ecstasy. “You don’t usually bite me like that.”

You can’t respond, too busy drowning in the pleasantness of his blood.

“So serious.” He quietly laughs. “Well, I guess, it has been a while since we did this so you must be very thirsty.” His free hand slips around your neck, tangling your locks around his fingers. He lets his lips brush against your strands as he murmurs, “I’m sorry… It must have been painful.”

It was painful. So painful that you were about to lose your mind, but with Donghyuck’s arms wrapped around your body protectively, his warm skin under your fingertips, and his sweet, sweet blood on your tongue, every pain, every suffering, every torture you’ve experienced vanishes into a blur.

“Calm down,” he whispers, his honeyed voice soothes you more than anything else in the world. “You don’t have to rush. I’m not going anywhere.”

And as he relishes the feeling of your tongue on his skin, your teeth sinking to draw even more blood, he closes his eyes again, and witnesses a flashback behind his eyelids.

Eight years-old Lee Donghyuck stood on the frozen ground with his tiny gloves covering his trembling fingers. Smokes of warm breaths were clouding over his mouth. His teeth chattered from the cold; a weird, repetitive melody to his ears. And although his tears were no longer falling, his reddened cheeks were still lined with them. 

“Jaeminnie…” He sniffed, one arm hugging himself by the waist while the other one moved to rub his puffy eyes. “Jaeminnie, where are you…?”

His warm chocolate brown beanie was no longer covering his head—a small reminder of how he had previously tripped himself and scraped his knee on the way down. It hurt. His trousers were ripped open from the fall, enough to show the small bleeding wound on his right knee. Kissed by the cold, his ears were red to the tips, freezing. 

He was alone. And lost. And no matter how much he called out for Jaemin’s name over and over again, no one ever came to reply.

Losing strength, Donghyuck fell to his knees. His gloved covered fingers sank into the five centimeters deep white snow and he began to cry, as loudly as he could, just like how he usually did at nights when he was too scared of the monster lurking under his bed.

He cried, and he cried, and he cried, and then he stopped.

He was not alone.

Donghyuck had his gaze on you; his big, watery, round eyes blinking in surprise. Your dress was tainted with splotches of red, fresh liquid that dripped from your chin as you just feasted upon a human. Turning around to look at him, Donghyuck noticed something peculiar.

Your eyes were glowing, strikingly so. Even in the darkness, even when the moon didn’t set afoot to shine that night in the silenced forest, Donghyuck saw them shining like the stars. And they were brighter, much brighter than anything he had ever witnessed.

The little boy stopped crying and gazed back at you. But no matter how cold your eyes were as they raked in his features, Donghyuck was not as much afraid as he was curious of why you could stand in the middle of December, wearing nothing but a sleeveless knee-high summer dress. And he was still starstruck with your glowing topaz eyes.

When he reached out a hand, you took a step back by instinct. Humans made you nervous, especially after your last encounter with the hunters. The memory of one of them nearly driving a stake into your heart made you more cautious than ever, even when your opponent was only a child.

Donghyuck stood up and dared himself to take another step and this time you bared your teeth in response. Your natural human face suddenly dispersed into a form of fear the second Donghyuck saw your teeth.

They were fangs, small but sharp enough to tear skin apart. You snarled, like a beast in a corner, ready to pounce when threatened. 

But Donghyuck’s fear only lasted for a minute, while his curiosity and admiration lasted forever.

“You…” Donghyuck spoke, his voice quivered from the cold and perhaps, excitement. Blood was still dripping from the corner of your mouth and he saw a long cut, spreading from your right palm to her wrist. “Are you hurt? You’re bleeding…”

Your eyes widened in surprise at his words, blinking twice before your shoulders began to loosen.

“If you’re hurt, I have band-aids,” Donghyuck said, immediately shoving his small hand inside his pocket to grab two blue band-aids with soccer balls printed on them. He showed them to you, his teeth still chattering from the cold. “See?”

You examined him more, looking for any kind of sign that he might be a threat to your existence but it was no use. Donghyuck was as harmless as he was adorable. He didn’t even have the strength to keep his little, stubby fingers steady from the cold.

“Why are you crying?” You asked instead, standing a little better in a less offensive stance. 

Donghyuck finally remembered. “Nana… Jaeminnie’s gone… He fought with his brother so we went out here to have some time for ourselves but… But we got separated and now he’s gone...”

“In the woods like this?” You wiped the blood off your mouth with the back of your hand. “What, do you want to die? It’s not safe.”

“N-no—I don’t want to die… I didn’t mean it to be like this.” The little boy shook his head. “I was just trying to help… Jaeminnie looked sad and I wanted to help…”

You fell quiet for a moment, noticing how Donghyuck’s eyes had turned watery once again. You retracted your hands, no longer had your claws out to defend yourself. “Maybe your friend’s already gone home first.” 

“Y-you think?” Donghyuck’s eyes grew hopeful and that was when you realized that the boy was not crying because he was lost in the woods late at night, nor was he crying because he thought his friend abandoned him. Donghyuck was crying because he was worried sick about him. “W-well, if he’s home then that’s great… I really hope he’s with his family again… Fighting is bad…”

So frail, you thought, humans are so frail. Leave them and they cry. Break them and they die.

You sighed. You couldn’t find the heart to leave him alone.“Come with me,” you said, “I’ll help you find your way out of the woods. You can check whether he’s home or not after that.”

And Donghyuck was not one to think twice when people offered him help. With a bright smile, he let his little feet carry him closer to your spot. “I’m Donghyuck,” he said, smiling brightly as he stood beside you. “And you are?”

You glanced at him, noticing how his bangs were fluttering from the winter breeze. His nose was red and his skin, although it was slightly tanned, was thin and easy for you to sink your teeth into if you wanted to. 

You told him your name and you had to repeat it twice until he could pronounce it correctly. He smiled even warmer. “Your name is pretty. Just like you, Noona!”

Noona? You almost snorted. When was the last time someone ever called you that?

But you kept yourself in silence and although you appeared cold, Donghyuck managed to find your charm in his own way. 

“Can I hold your hand on the way out, Noona?”

“Don’t get too full of yourself, brat.”

Twenty years-old Lee Donghyuck smiles at the memory, even when he’s somewhat dazed from the chemical of your saliva. He embraces you tighter, sighing close to your ear, “It took a while before you warmed up to me. I’m just so glad you accept me the way I am.”

That’s my line. You close your eyes, fingers curling against the back of his shirt. You can faintly hear his heartbeat growing slower and during the time you begin to worry, Donghyuck caresses your cheek.  

“Can we…” He breathes heavily. “Stop for a moment?” His head swirls, always an aftereffect from having his blood sucked more than he can contain. But even then, he still smiles like always.

“Oh…” Embarrassed and startled, you pull away, immediately wiping the trace of blood on the corner of your lips with the back of your hand. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… Umm…” Donghyuck witnesses your fangs before they’re fully retracted, as you turn away, shy and ashamed, hiding the only thing that distinguishes you from a normal human. 

Donghyuck smiles wider, and wider, until he produces this little chuckle that always sends a trickle of warmth and desire through your soundless heart. “You’re adorable, come here,” he says, hugging you from behind and tugging you closer to his chest, your intertwined hands lying idly on your lap.

After years have passed by since your first encounter, Donghyuck has become stronger and taller, with broader shoulders and veiny muscles appearing along his wrists. You, in return, stay as young as always, never changing. But like this, sitting above his thighs and curling up to his chest, you look like a normal girl, perhaps even a few months younger than he is.

“Hyuck...” 

“Hmm?”

“Did it... hurt?”

“When I fell from heaven?”

You don’t indulge him with his jokes. “When I bit you, did it hurt?”

“Yeah, but I like it.” He grins, placing his chin on your shoulder. "Seems like I’ve developed a kink for it.” When you don’t mirror his laugh, he embraces you tighter. “I’m fine,” he whispers to your ear, tickling you with his warm breath. “Just a little low on blood, but come on, it’s nothing new.”

You don’t say anything but Donghyuck understands how guilt is gnawing at you from the inside. “Hey,” he gently turns your body around until he has his eyes peering into yours. You’re reluctant, not sure how to face him with the look of guilt on your face. “I said I’m fine. Can’t you see?” he coos, smiling with his chocolate brown eyes turning crescents. “Don’t look like that. You know I don’t like it when you’re blaming yourself for drinking my blood.”

“But it’s…” You nibble on your lower lip. “It’s not right.”

“You’re just filling your needs,” Donghyuck corrects you. “What’s wrong with it? I do it all the time. Think about this as your late-night snack.”

“Hyuck, I’m snacking on your blood.”

“And yet you’re the one who complains about it. You see how weird that is?” You shoot him a glare but Donghyuck counters back with a pout—a habit from his childhood days that somehow only occurs more often now that he’s an adult. “Look, I volunteered to do this. I want you to drink my blood.” He swats the bangs out of your eyes, leaning close. “I’ll be pissed-off if you drink from someone else, actually. You’re supposed to be mine, just as much as I am yours.”

It’s funny how you’re superior than him in terms of experience, strength, and possibly anything else, but he shamelessly talks like he owns you. And you don’t mind, not at all, because after living behind the shadows for so long, it’s nice to have someone as bright as the sun holding you captive under his light.

You trail your fingers through the blood on his neck, painting his skin with crimson. “I’ve made a mess,” you mumble to yourself and Donghyuck stiffens, even stops breathing for a second. You dip your head into the crook of his neck, darting out your tongue to wipe the rest of his blood away, slowly and gently so you won’t scrape his skin with your fangs.

“Don’t hold back.” He holds you closer until your teeth are grazing against the supple skin. “It’s okay if you want to do it again.”

The temptation is too much, too strong, and you can’t find the will or strength to decline. “T-then... Just a little more.”

Donghyuck’s ragged breathing devolves into soft moans that ring in your ears, and you want him so desperately in every sense of the word. “Fuck, it’s so weird that it feels this good,” he sighs, the back of his head pressed against the wall behind him. “Do I taste this good to you too?”

You hum, squeezing his shoulder.

He smiles between deep sighs. “Then, I guess, we’re both each other’s drugs.”

You only take a sip of his blood and lick the rest until nothing seeps out from his wound. Donghyuck is in a haze, eyes nearly closed when he smiles softly. “Are you done?”

You nod, wiping your mouth clean. “Thank you.”

“You’re being too formal.” He titters. “But you’re welcome. Anytime you want.”

You don’t really blush, not when you’ve lived for more than a century, but Donghyuck has his way to break into your facade and knows when he’s succeeding. He says there’s just something in the way you avert your gaze, the way you lick your lips nervously, or the way you put a hand on his chest as if you were about to push him away, but at the same time, making sure that he stayed near.

Donghyuck understands all that. He knows you like the back of his hand. 

“Listen to me,” Donghyuck says, cupping your face with both hands so he can stare directly into your glowing eyes. “If you ever crave for blood, you come to me, okay? I won’t let you starve. I won’t let you die. You can drink from me, as much as you want. I want you to.”

You’re surprised at the sudden pressure on his words and Donghyuck’s hands are hot, nearly scorching compared to your icy cold skin but they’re comfortable. He reminds you of the sun, of its heat on your skin during the day, reminding you how good your life was as a human.

“But I’m not even alive, Hyuck,” you say, smiling weakly as you lean more into his touch.

“Scientifically, no.” He shifts closer to press his forehead against yours, his heat seeping through your skin. “But to me, you’re much more alive—and you make me feel more alive than anyone I’ve ever known.”

You want to meet his eyes, but his stare is directed to your lips. “Is that a compliment or a white lie?” You whisper, and his eyes grow half-lidded when he sees you moving your lips to form a sentence.

“It’s the truth.” Donghyuck swallows the soft noise you make directly with his mouth, lips slanting against yours perfectly like pieces of a puzzle. He groans from the back of his throat when he tastes a hint of his blood on your tongue, kissing you deeper with more passion.

Being with Donghyuck is suffocating and it’s funny because you don’t even need to breathe to live. It’s suffocating in the sense of how desperate his kisses are, how there is only one innocent kiss at the beginning that only lasts for a few seconds and then vanishes entirely, changing into hard, bruising, deep ones that feel possessive and dominating.

But being with him is also comforting. He gives you solace you don’t know you need. His touch, a stark contrast to his kisses, is gentle, almost silky smooth whenever his hands glide on your skin. He’s the only one who knows how to make you laugh, even when you can hardly remember how or the sound that you make when you do. His laughter is contagious, his protested whines are both annoying and endearing. He’s the fire that keeps you alive.

“Hyuck—” You circle your fingers around his wrist, feeling the heartbeat that faintly beats under the skin. “Wait, you’re losing a lot of blood—”

“I don’t care,” he gasps against your mouth, yanking his hand from your hold so he can cup your cheek. “I’m fine, so let’s just—“ You let him overpower you for once to do as he pleases and he pushes you down to the carpeted floor, crawling on top of your body. “I want you—for two weeks, I’ve been—I’ve missed you—”

Donghyuck is adorable when he wants something so desperately, like the way he furrows his eyebrows as he runs his fingers on his keyboards. The way he’s shouting a train of expletives at his computer screen before he leaps out of his chair, punching the air when he finally completes the mission. 

Donghyuck is captivating when he desires to achieve something in his life, like the way he practices dancing over and over again to earn a scholarship to college. Or the way he told you he loved you a few months ago, and no matter how many times you said no, telling how ridiculous of him to even think about being with a vampire, he never relented. 

And Donghyuck is beautiful—so out worldly beautiful—when he wants you.

It’s beautiful, the little moan that escapes his lips when you touch him back. Even the slightest touch at the right spot can make him shiver and he blushes when you notice him react that way, immediately saying, “It’s just cold here, okay? And your ice-cold skin isn’t helping.” 

It’s beautiful, the way a bead of sweat rolls down his temple as he’s sheathed deep inside you, not quite moving yet as he tries to catch his breath, his cheeks flushed. “You’re driving me insane,” he confesses, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, grazing his lips against your skin as he sighs. “Can we stay like this forever?”

It’s beautiful, the way he laughs when you answer him with, “Actually yes, we can, if you’re willing to be turned into a vampire.” The appalled look on his face only stays for a split second before he beams at you, his smile bright enough to replace the sun. “That doesn’t sound so bad,” he giggles, taking your earlobe between his teeth as he whispers, “Any man would be happy to sacrifice their souls to be able to make love to you for eternity. Including me.” And as he moves back to your lips, he adds, “Especially me.”

It’s beautiful, the way he throws his head back in pleasure at the feeling of you clenching around him. The way he murmurs expletives while biting his lip as he brings his eyes down to you. His expression is erotic, his voice obscene, his lips are parted and bruised. His hands are on your knees as he spreads your legs apart, pushing himself deeper inside. “I can never get enough of you. I—“ He flinches when his thrust hits your sweet spot and you squeeze harder around him in response.

It’s beautiful, the way he rambles when the sensation becomes too much. “The way you feel around me—” He places open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his hips moving frantically at a faster pace. “Y-your entire existence—” His hand heads over to your breast, his thumb sliding over your nub. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

And it’s fucking beautiful, the way he says your name in a soft gasp as he comes inside you, his arms trembling when he places them on the floor on each side of your head to keep him from collapsing on top of you. His temple is pressed against your collarbone and he quivers when you kiss his hair. His lips immediately chase after yours when his name escapes your mouth, and he kisses you again, and again, as if he hasn’t been kissing you a thousand times already.

“Stay with me,” he begs, his hooded eyes nearly hidden behind the bangs that are damp from his sweat. “I’ll keep you alive—as alive as you make me feel so please just…”

Don’t leave me.

***

[the-witty-pen-name]

Deadbeat Pt. 8

Lee Bodecker x F!Reader

18+ ONLY

Warnings: age gap (reader is 21), fluff, angst, cursing, abandonment, toxic parent, violence, toxic siblings, infatuation, cheating/divorce, insecurity, mild housewife kink, mentions of prostitution, mentions of alcohol, corrupt official, fake relationship, jealousy, jail

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: You work at the bar at the edge of town, the Sheriff is going through a divorce and needs to rent a room.

A/N:

IMPORTANT UPDATE

I made a Google form to be added to my taglists, so if you want to be added, the link is in my bio. I’ll only be adding people to the list if they requested to be added by filling out the form! This way all of the requests are just in one place so I don’t miss requests! Thank you!!!

Also, if you are liking this series, consider checking out my new Lee Bodecker series, The Nanny. Part One

Thank you all so much for reading and sharing my work. Everyone whose reached out and told me how much they love the story really makes my day, oh my gosh!! I love you all so much, I’m so thankful.

This is unedited, and I missed anything I should include as a warning let me know! I hope you all enjoy!

Also, even when this fic is over (it’s not yet don’t worry!), I want to continue writing for Lee and this reader, so send me ideas of what you would want to see! Smut, fluff, I just wanna hear ideas you think would match this story! Like moments of them living together, dreams, or even ideas for one shots of Arvin x Reader when they were dating if you want more from that aspect of the story... anything else you want to see with this story that will be like one shots that are part of this same universe. 

Tags and Requests are OPEN

Part One // Part Two // Part Three // Part Four // Part Five // Part Six // Part Seven

That’s the funny thing about time. More often than not it’s the one to dictate you and not the other way around. Rationalizations regarding time hardly ever work out in your favor.

Oh, I just need more time for this, and then everything will work out.

Just need to make it through this week and then next week will be better.

If I had had more time, I could’ve gotten everything done.

How often did those actually ever work out? Time, especially in this town, was never an ally. It worked against you, spreading and infecting as fast as a forest fire. Time let rumors spread and time allows for circumstances beyond your control to unfold. It’s the catalyst that expertly pulls people apart and sometimes if you’re lucky, back together.

Perhaps, two years ago, you would have thought you would have been one of the lucky ones. One of the select few that time actually heals, but you had since given up on that notion. Lee was gone, ripped from you as quickly as he had swooped in. Your job was ripped from you as well, leaving you incapable of supporting yourself. And now you had Tommy back as well you needed to worry about. That was the one positive in the whole mess Lee left you to clean up alone.

The events like a domino effect just tore things done one by one. Now the room is cleaned out and his things are tucked away in boxes in your garage just like his car. It was the only physical evidence that had proved it all had actually been real.

You didn’t even want to try to visit him at first. You were hurt, and felt used. He had kept so much from you, especially your job. His lies had been so effortless. It bothered you immensely. He let you believe you had been able to land it by yourself. Maybe you could have. But now you’ll never know. What employer is going to hire you now?

Tommy got a job fairly quickly and you found a job outside of town, away from the people who knew your name or Lee’s. The article published that revealed Lee had gotten you the job was evidence enough for the town that all the rumors and gossip that they spread with no forethought were actually true. You had slept with him for the job, of course. Some people pinned the blame on him and some on you.

It took you six months of him being gone before you would even go in his room. Anything of yours that had secured a permanent spot there you just went without. But you needed the money, and Tommy had the good idea to get another tenant. He helped you box everything up and move it all down to the corner of the garage, making it all out of sight out of mind.

You had managed to sneak several of his shirts into the bottom drawer of your dresser. You were impressed with how much of a front of indifference you were able to put up. You had made it like an assembly line, and you ignored the tug at your heart at how it reminded you of when he first moved in. Keeping busy kept your thoughts at bay. However, nothing prepared you to what you found in the drawer of his nightstand.

You had just wanted to get the work done fast, removing the whole drawer and dumped the contents into a cardboard box. It was mostly junk, but then a black velvety box had caught your eye. It stood out from everything else. You hadn’t been nosy, and up until this point, you hadn’t given much thought to any of the items you had been packing away. It was a necessity to keep you sane.  But like Pandora’s box, you really just couldn’t control the urge to open it. You reasoned it was probably cufflinks or something for special occasions he just never wore. But the temptation was just too much and you sat down on the floor and fished it out of the half-filled box. You opened it and you immediately burst into tears. Not once had you cried since he had been gone. You hadn’t given yourself the opportunity to, not when there were so many things that needed to be done.

It looked brand new, a gold band with a perfectly round diamond sat perched in the box that he had hidden away in the junk drawer he assumed you’d never have a reason to go through. You distinctly remember Janie’s ring had been white gold, and you remember Lee had told you she kept her ring. He said he didn’t want it back anyways; he had said over coffee one morning. Nope, this was yours and the receipt you found in the cardboard box confirmed it when you saw the date printed on the top. He had gotten it a month before your whole world went to shit.

For the next two weeks, you had kept it stashed away, hidden under the t-shirts you selfishly kept out as well. The weeks really started to blend together, just going through the motions and not really feeling like you were living. You were on autopilot. And before you had realized it, it was coming up on a year. Time had moved somehow simultaneously slow that year and also fast enough for you to lose track. You hadn’t moved on. You were just ignoring it, not wanting to acknowledge the hurt that was still behind your eyes, still as apparent since the day he was carted away.

One night, you don’t know what switch in your mind flipped, but you started crying in the shower and then couldn’t stop until you had cried yourself to sleep. You had just exhausted yourself and the cycle continued night after night as soon as you stepped in the door after work. You were lying on your bed, still in your clothes that you had worn to work even though it was way past midnight. You turned your head and just stared at the bottom drawer of the dresser, your eyes straining from the tears and also from the darkness. Maybe, just maybe, it would make you feel better. You got up, walked over to the dresser and sat crisscross in front of it. It was probably the first conscience decision you had made in weeks. Somehow it made you feel more alive.

Stripping down to just your underwear, and leaving the work clothes haphazardly in piles on the floor, you grabbed one of the t-shirts and pulled it over your head. Just the smell of him cleared your head. The way it was able to just aid your headache was almost instantaneous. It smelled like him. It grounded you, and had the opposite effect you thought it would have. You skeptically believed you were torturing yourself, and grabbing one of his shirts would make you feel worse. For the first time in a while, you felt comforted and finding a candy wrapper in the front pocket just made you smile.

You then pulled out the ring and looked at it, taking it out of the box for the first time. You slipped it onto your left ring finger. It was a little loose, but Lee didn’t do awful guessing your ring size. You didn’t care, you thought it fit perfectly. It was understated and stunning and you had never seen a nicer ring. It was simple, very unlike what your relationship had been. Actually, that wasn’t true, you realized. It was very easy falling in love with Lee, and when it was the two of you, it was perfect. It was the world and circumstances outside of your control that made it complicated. You also realize you had forgiven a while ago, but you had been too stubborn to admit it.

Fuck it. Fuck everything that you let overpower you for so long. What? The old ladies at Church call you a slut? Let them. The amount of weight that words hold over everyone here is so toxic. No one in this town was a saint. The whole town is held hostage by their own twisted dark secrets and the way people get by is just exposing the secrets of others. No one was moral. You hadn’t done anything wrong. What was your crime? You did nothing. Lee was as guilty as sin, but what made them better? What gives anyone the right to decide for themselves his motives, and ignore the good in him to villainize him?

It was early Saturday morning. Getting up from your spot, somehow feeling lighter on your feet, you see its after two in the morning. You settle back into your bed, and the revelation allows you to have the most restful sleep you can ever remember having. You woke up feeling refreshed, and feeling alive. Your head was clear. You still didn’t look good. Your undereye bags were dark and heavy. It would take more than a few hours of uninterrupted sleep to remedy those. The pain behind your eyes was still there, but the motive had changed. It was a longing, and a missing of him that weighed heavy on your head.

You wake up shortly after seven and your body doesn’t allow you to sleep in despite your attempts. You get ready for the day, changing into a pair of your fitted jeans that were cuffed, a pair of your Keds and one of your white t-shirts. You grabbed your purse, and made your way downstairs. Tommy had already left for work early and he doesn’t like to wake you. It was probably better, because had he been there, he would probably talk you out of what you were going to do.

The bus was pretty crowded, always was on Saturday morning. You hadn’t realized how close he was to you this whole time until you realized you had been on the bus for less than twenty minutes. This whole time, he had felt so far away, almost like he was erased, even though he was just in the next town. You arrived just as visiting hours had begun. You weren’t even sure you’d be allowed to see him, or if he’d want to see you. You hadn’t come before, and you wouldn’t blame him if he refused to see you. Hell, you didn’t even know what you’d say. You didn’t think about it once. You just wanted to see him.

The guard at the front desk took all your information and got you situated and then you just had to wait. It was probably less than fifteen minutes you had to sit there but it felt like forever. It was that familiar feeling of time messing with you again. Finally, the same guard returned and led you down a really bleak hallway, until you reached a room with a long table, with seats and dividers, and phone receivers. The seats situated across from each other separated by think glass. You gulped, you’d only ever seen rooms like this in the movies, and you shuddered facing where Lee had been stuck for so long. You weren’t the only one there, and other prisoners in beige scrubs were seated behind the glass talking over the receivers with their loved ones.

You took the seat the guard motioned to, and you thanked him. You were trying your best to not shake or show how nervous you were to see him again. You were scared he would hate you for not coming sooner, or he’d say he didn’t want to see you again. You couldn’t blame him. It has been a year. Yet, your heart leaps and betrays you when he walks in and any brave front you had is gone. He looks more tired than you, and his hair is slightly shorter than when you last saw him. But overall, it’s still Lee and goddamn, what you wouldn’t give to break the glass. The silence is deafening when he doesn’t even look up at you when he grabs the receiver. Does he not even want to look at you? He sat down without even looking up from his feet. He looks so defeated.

“Lee?” you ask softly into the receiver; you aren’t even sure if it picked up the sound. Apparently, it had because his eyes shot up at the sound of your voice. His eyes were wide and looked vulnerable as he scanned your face, like he was trying to keep from blinking.

“Oh sweetheart,” he gasps, “I’m so sorry. Everything- all of it. It was all my fault.” He also looks close to tears.

“I’m sorry I took so long,” you say, unable to pull your eyes from his.

“I didn’t expect you to even want to see me, darling,” he admits.

“You left an awful mess I had to clean up first,” you joke, making him chuckle halfheartedly.

“You deserve so much better,” he said sadly, “Settle down with someone your age, with a nice job or something- get out away from this place.”

“Christ, Lee, if I wanted that do you think I’d be here?” you joke. He smiles.

Four months ago, Arvin offered to drive you home from Church. Even with your brother being back, you still ended up going by yourself most Sundays. You weren’t even sure why you still showed up. It was an hour of being stuck in a room with a ton of people where you didn’t even have one ally. Actually, that wasn’t entirely true. You had Lenora, who’s sympathetic smiles from across the aisle let you know her silent solidarity, and you had Arvin, who wasn’t one to care what others thought much anyways.

Leaving Church now since the news was finally printed, no one tried to talk to you afterwards except for Arvin and his family. His grandmother was still as sweet as always, but you could see how much she pitied you. Arvin was always friendly still, and he had been so helpful with everything.

“I don’t even care if it was true you know,” he said suddenly, pulling your attention from the open window on the passenger side.

“If what was true?” you ask looking back to him.

“You know, how everyone is talking,” he says in a hushed tone, not wanting to actually say it.

“That I slept with the Sheriff to get the job?” You finish his sentence for him.

“Yeah, I- It doesn’t change anything,” he says, “You’re still you and I don’t care. We’re all human.”

“It’s not true,” you confirm, crossing your arms, and then looking back out at the passing landscape.

“Look (Y/N),” Arvin continued, “I’m sorry about what happened. I feel awful. I want to do anything I can to help you.”

“You’re always such a good friend to me,” you smile, “You shouldn’t be putting yourself out too much for my sake.”

“I want to,” he insists with a smile, “We got a history, you and me.”

“Yeah,” you say with a content sigh.

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately,” he admits nervously. He pulls in front of your house, and as usual he runs over quickly to get the door for you. “And just that we aren’t kids anymore,” he continues, and you nod. You dig for your keys as he talks.

“I got a job, pays pretty good,” he continues on, “You got a good job, and this old house. I know you better than anyone. I know it isn’t that romantic, but I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I’d love to marry you, if you’d have me.”

“A-Arvin, are you serious?” you ask, your heading whipping up at the sudden proposal you hadn’t anticipated.

“Tell me it wouldn’t make sense,” he laughs softly with a shrug, pushing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Arvin, I don’t want to just marry someone for the practicality of it,” you sigh.

“It’s you and me,” he continues, holding your shoulders gently and his eyes are latched onto yours. “I know I made a horrible mistake, but I have been trying so hard to make it up to you. You’re the only girl I ever loved- I never stopped. I loved you when we were eighteen, I love you know that we’re twenty-two and I swear if you let me, I can love you for the rest of my life.”

“Arvin…”

“It’s always been us, hasn’t it?” he asks rhetorically, “There’s never been anyone else…”

“I’m in love with Lee,” you say hurriedly, cutting him off before he continued.

“You what?”

“I’m in love with Lee,” you say again, slower and much more purposeful. You watch his whole expression fall, and it breaks your heart to hurt him.

“You’re in love with Sheriff Bodecker?” He asks, “That fucking deadbeat?”

“He’s not,” you insist, “You don’t know him…”

“You don’t either, (Y/N),” he cuts you off. “He’s no good and crooked. He manipulated you, took advantage…”

“No, he didn’t,” you affirm.

“(Y/N), he’s a liar, and he’s good at it,” he continues, “You don’t think he just up and told you anything he thought you’d want to hear to just get what he wanted…”

“You’re wrong!”

“He’s an alcoholic, no good drunk who took advantage of you with your mama gone…”

“Shut up!”

“He was using you!”

“You’re wrong, Arvin! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Okay, fine,” he sighs, “Let’s say you’re right. So, you’re gonna wait for him? Wait out the five years until you’re twenty-six? And then after you wait for him to get out, how do you know he wants you? Then what are you going to do? I know right now you hate me, but God, (Y/N), I’m a good guy who only wants to put your happiness first… I’ve always put you first. I love you and I’m not going to make you play a ton of games or keep things a secret. I’ll run around this whole town right now screaming how much I love you at the top of my lungs so the whole town knows.”

“I don’t love you.”

Lee still can’t believe you’re finally here in front of him. He thought about this moment for so long. He had even tried to prepare himself to brace the possibility that you might never want anything to do with him ever again. His dreams would plague him with thoughts of you. Sometimes they were happy, and he’d be woken up with the horrible realization that they hadn’t been true, and others were worse. He’d dream about getting out, and seeing you with someone else. Married, and happy, and he wasn’t the one you settled down with. Sometimes, he wouldn’t actually see you with someone else, it was always just implied, or he’d see you with Arvin.

Most nights he’d jolt awake and be covered in sweat, and he would still be cursed by the images that flashed before him in his dreams. He just thinks about all the things he wished he could change and how much he’s hurt you. He just thinks about all the things he would say if he ever got to see you, or what he would do to try to win you back. Then, other nights, he’d be much more self-deprecating and he’d internally fight with himself about how you don’t want him anymore, and you’d realize he was never what you wanted.

Now, he can’t believe you’re here across the glass. He could see the pain and exhaustion behind your eyes and he hates that he is the cause of it. He can’t stop looking at you, and part of him thinks he’s actually back in his room, having another dream about you that he will wake up from and find himself alone again. His eyes scan your face and just wants to take in every part of you, it had been so long. Then his eyes land on a shimmer of something on your hand and he might just die in his seat.

“You found it?” he whispers, looking at the ring on your finger. You look puzzled and then you follow his gaze down to your hand. You had forgotten you hadn’t taken it off.

“Um, yeah,” you admit shyly, looking down at it, “I assumed it was mine.”

“It is,” he smiles, pressing his fingertips gently to the glass briefly. “If you really want it.”

“It’d be a shame for it to just sit in the box,” you shrug. Neither one of you say anything for a moment, neither one of you not knowing what to say to fill the silence.

“I’m going to wait for you,” you declare, aimlessly playing with the ring on your finger.

“Are you sure?” he asks. He can’t let himself get too hopeful. Not yet.

“I’ve never been surer of anything, Lee,” you affirm.

“I will make it up to you.”

“Yes, you will,” you joke, making him laugh.

“I love you,” he sighs relieved, like the weight of everything that has held him down this past year just vanished. You wanted him, and he wouldn’t lose you.

“I love you too.”

PART NINE

Taglist:

@scar-is-bi @jiminlife2k18 @asylummaniac01 @rosalynshields @charmed-asylum @jamesbuchananbuckybarnes1917 @alexandrathegreat3 @hersilencedscreams @malar-region @purplerain85 @vesper852 @smilewolfdolan @softshell-taco @champagnebucky @lilacmeadows @mollygetssherlockcoffee @bluebouquetcupcake29 @stucky-my-ship @moonliightbabes @sassy-kassaay @lharrietg @bbmommy0902​ @hoe-for-sebstan 

[impalementation]

spike, angel, buffy & romanticism: part 3

part 1: “When you kiss me I want to die”: Angel and the high school seasons

part 2: “Love isn’t brains, children”: Enter Spike as the id

* 

“Something effulgent”: Season five and the construction of Spike the romantic

Prior to becoming a romantic interest, Spike is everything I discussed in the last section. He is an id and a mirror for Buffy, he’s prone to both romantic exaggeration and cutting realism, and his liminality suggests ambiguity. But outside of “Lovers Walk”, the writing doesn’t actually delve too deeply into Spike’s nature as a romantic. If you stopped the canon at “Restless”, you’d probably think that Spike’s love for Drusilla was intriguing, but that the show hadn’t really gone anywhere with the implications of it, and for all you knew, that might not be an important part of his character anymore. So one of the most interesting things about season five to me, is that in this season in which the writers first consciously, deliberately decide to explore the sexual and romantic tension between Spike and Buffy, they also emphasize Spike’s romanticism more than ever. The choice to define Spike by his romanticism is a choice that follows naturally from everything established about his character, but it was also not an inevitable choice. Therefore, it’s a choice worth looking at in some detail.

Consider everything that “Fool For Love” establishes about Spike, especially the things that contradict what was supposedly canon at the time. It makes Drusilla his sire instead of Angel, meaning that he is sired by a romantic connection, and as a direct result of heartbreak. It makes him a poet living in the middle of the Victorian era, an age at odds with his previous ages of “barely 200” and “126”. Meaning that the writing specifically decides to ignore its canon in order to associate him with an era in which passions would have been repressed (rather than the Romantic era of the early 1800’s or the modern energy of the early 1900’s). Moreover, the episode reveals his entire aesthetic and personality to essentially be a construct. But most tellingly of all, it reveals him to be an idealist. Spike is not just a performance artist; he yearns for the “effulgent”, for something “glowing and glistening” that the “vulgarians” of the world don’t understand. In other words, he yearns for something bigger and more beautiful than life: something romantic. Later, he chases after “death, glory, and sod all else.” Spike may be a “fool for love”, who has a romantic view of romantic love specifically, but the episode is very clear about the fact that he is also a romantic more generally. When Drusilla turns him, she doesn’t tempt him by telling him she’ll love him forever. She tempts him by offering him “something…effulgent”. (Which, in typical Spike form, the episode immediately undercuts by having him say “ow” instead of swooning romantically). The fact that “Fool For Love”, Spike’s major backstory episode, is so determined to paint him as a romantic--and in particular, a disappointed, frustrated romantic--that it is willing to contradict canon to do so, tells you that this choice was important for framing Spike and his new, ongoing thematic role.

I’ve talked in the past about how season five is all about the tension between the mythical and the mortal--between big, grand, sweeping narratives, and the reality of being human. Buffy is the Slayer, but she’s also just a girl who loses her mother. Dawn is the key, but she’s also just a confused and hormonal fourteen-year-old. Willow is a powerful witch, but she also just wants her girlfriend to be okay. Glory is a god, but she’s also a human man named Ben, and finds herself increasingly weakened by his emotions. And Spike embodies this tension perfectly. He’s a soulless vampire with a lifetime of bloodshed behind him, but he’s also this silly, human man who wants to love and be loved. He wants big, grand things, but every time they are frustrated by a Victorian society, a rejection, a chip, a pratfall, or dying with an “ow”. Furthermore, his season five storyline is all about the tension between loving in an exalted, yet often selfish way, versus loving in a “real” or selfless way. 

There was a fascinating piece a ways back that discussed how Spike’s attempts to woo Buffy in season five almost perfectly match the romantic narratives of Courtly Love. In the words of the author:

The term "Courtly Love" is used to describe a certain kind of relationship common in romantic medieval literature. The Knight/Lover finds himself desperately and piteously enamored of a divinely beautiful but unobtainable woman. After a period of distressed introspection, he offers himself as her faithful servant and goes forth to perform brave deeds in her honor. His desire to impress her and to be found worthy of her gradually transforms and ennobles him; his sufferings -- inner turmoil, doubts as to the lady's care of him, as well as physical travails -- ultimately lends him wisdom, patience, and virtue and his acts themselves worldly renown.

You can see for yourself how well that description fits Spike’s arc. He fixates on the torturous, abject nature of his love, and has it in his head that he can perform deeds and demonstrate virtue, and this will prove to Buffy that he is worthy of her. But despite Spike’s gradual ennobling over the course of the season, I think it would be a mistake to see the season as using the Courtly Love narrative uncritically, or even just ironically. The same way it would be a mistake to see season two as using the Gothic uncritically. Spike is as much Don Quixote as he is Lancelot. He is a character that deliberately tries to act out romantic tropes, giving the writing an opportunity to satirize those tropes, including the tropes of chivalric romance. In particular, the writing criticizes Spike’s (very chivalric) fixation on love as a personal agony, something that is more about pain--and specifically, his pain--than building a real relationship. Over and over in season five, he is forced to abandon these sorts of flattering romantic mindsets in favor of a more complicated reality. 

So at first, Spike’s “deeds” tend to be shallow and vaguely transactional. He tries to help Buffy in “Checkpoint” even though she doesn’t want it (and insults her when she doesn’t appreciate it), he asks “what the hell does it take?” when Buffy is unimpressed by him not feeding on “bleeding disaster victims” in “Triangle”, he rants bitterly at a mannequin when Buffy fails to be grateful to him for taking her to Riley in “Into the Woods”, and he is angry and confused when Buffy is unmoved by his offer to stake Drusilla in “Crush”. While these attempts to symbolically reject his evilness are startling for a soulless vampire, and although Spike certainly feels like he is fundamentally altering himself for Buffy’s sake, none of it is based on understanding or supporting Buffy in a way that she would actually find substantial. Moreover, he lashes out when his gestures fail to win her attention or affection. He has an idea in his head of how their romantic scenes should play out, and reacts petulantly when reality fails to live up to it. 

But these incidents of self-interested narrativizing are also continuously contrasted with scenes in which Spike reacts with real generosity, or is surprised when he realizes he’s touched something emotionally genuine. When Buffy seeks him out in “Checkpoint”, his mannerisms instantly change when he realizes she actually needs real help (“You’re the only one strong enough to protect them”), rather than the performed help he offered at the beginning of the episode. At the end of “Fool For Love” he’s struck dumb by Buffy’s grief, and his antagonistic posturing all evening melts away. He abandons his romantic vision of their erotic, life-and-death rivalry in favor of real, awkward emotional intimacy. In “Forever” he tries to anonymously leave flowers for Joyce, and reacts angrily when he’s denied—but this time not because he wanted something from Buffy. Simply because he wanted to do something meaningful. 

This contradictory behavior comes to a head in “Intervention”, the episode in which Spike finally begins to understand the difference between real and transactional generosity. Up until that point, Spike has been reacting both selfishly and unselfishly, but he hasn’t been able to truly distinguish between them, which is why he keeps repeating the same mistakes. Although he touches something real at the end of “Fool For Love”, for instance, he goes on to rifle through Buffy’s intimates in the very next episode. And so “Intervention” has Spike go to extremes of fakeness and reality. He gives up on having the real Buffy, and seeks out an artificial substitute that lets him live out his cheesiest romance novel scripts. It’s important that the Buffybot isn’t just a sexbot, even if he does have sex with her. She’s a bot he plays out romantic scenarios with the way he played them with Harmony in “Crush”, allowing him to almost literally live within a fiction. But then he “gives up” on having Buffy in a way that’s actually real, by offering up his life. He lets himself be tortured, and potentially killed, for no other reason than that to do otherwise would cause Buffy pain. The focus is on her pain, not his. For the first time, he acts like the Knight he’s been trying to be all along. He performs a grand, heroic deed that causes the object of his affection to see him in a different light, and even grant him a kiss. Yet ironically, as part of learning the difference between real and fake, he ceases to press for Buffy’s reciprocation. Through the end of season five, Spike continues to act the selfless Knight, assisting Buffy in her heroism without asking for anything in return. Which culminates in his declaration that he knows Buffy “will never love him”, even after he’s promised her the deed of protecting Dawn, and even though she allows a kind of intimacy by letting him back in her house. He proves that he sees those gestures for what they are, rather than in a transactional light. The irony of the way Spike fulfills the narrative of chivalric romance, is that his ennobling involves letting aspects of that narrative go. 

In a Courtly Love narrative, the object of the Knight’s affection is fundamentally pedestalized. The Knight himself might be flawed, but the woman he pines after is not. She is “divinely beautiful” and “unobtainable”, something above him and almost more than human. This is why it’s so comic that in Don Quixote, which was a direct satire of chivalric romance, Alonso Quixano’s “lady love” is a vulgar peasant farmgirl who has no idea who he is. (Think of the way Spike asks if Buffy is tough in “School Hard” or threatens to “take her apart” despite “how brilliant she is” in “The Initiative”, followed by scenes where Buffy is acting like the teenage girl she is. Or how Giles in “Checkpoint” says that Buffy has “acquired a remarkable focus” before cutting to Buffy yawning.). Although it’s true that Buffy is beautiful, and supernatural, and profoundly moral, she is also very human, and the writing is very concerned with that humanity. Season five in particular, as I’ve mentioned, is preoccupied with the duality of Buffy’s mythic and mortal nature. Thus it becomes significant that Buffy is assigned such a heightened role in Spike’s chivalric narrative. Just Spike is at once Lancelot and Don Quixote, Buffy is at once Achilles, Dulcinea, and a coming-of-age protagonist. 

And part of the “lesson” of Spike’s arc is for him to see both sides of the roles they embody. One of my favorite things about the scene in Buffy’s house in “The Gift” is how adroitly it conveys the dualities of both Buffy and Spike with simple, but poetic imagery and language. Buffy stands above Spike on her steps, conveying her elevated role, and Spike honors the way her heroic status has inspired him by physically looking up to her as he explains that he expects nothing from her. But by expecting nothing from her, and promising to protect her sister, he also honors the fact that she is a real person with no obligation to him, and a younger sister she cares about more than anything. He also honors his own duality by at once making Knightly promises, and acknowledging that he sees through his former delusions: “I know that I’m a monster, but you treat me like a man.” In “Fool For Love” he tried to acknowledge the same duality of realism and romance, by declaring to Cecily that “I know I’m a bad poet, but I’m a good man.” But at the time, he was an innocent, whose desire to be seen, and whose romantic avoidance of “dark, ugly things”, left him unprepared to understand how Cecily really saw him (similar to Spike’s insistence in “Crush” that what he and Buffy have “isn’t pretty, but it’s real” just before Buffy locks him out). Spike is a character defined simultaneously by continuous disillusionment and dogged aspiration, which is why he makes perfect sense as a character to embody a season torn between the pain of being human, and the wonder of the gift of love.

Fittingly, the season ends with Spike’s most devastating loss of innocence of all. He fails to be the hero for Buffy or Dawn (note that Knightly language he uses on the tower: “I made a promise to a lady”), and he loses the woman he loves. He may have become more virtuous, but unlike in a chivalric romance, that virtue wins him neither Buffy, nor something flattering like “world reknown.” The climax of the “The Gift” is full of romance—a god, a troll hammer, a damsel on a tower, a heroic self-sacrifice, a vampire transformed into a Knight—but the end result is that Buffy is dead, in part because he wasn’t good enough, and all that he and the Scoobies can do is grieve. Stories got Spike nothing, even when reality finally lived up to them. It is a swan song to the myths of childhood, and on the other side of Glory’s portal, Spike and the other characters will have to confront a world where those myths have been left behind.

part 4: “But I can’t fool myself. Or Spike, for some reason.”: Buffy and Spike as a blended self

[thekillingjoke-haha]

Angel With A Shotgun

Summary: The Novak family was big talk,but not nearly as famous as the L/n’s. Togther they can be unstoppable,so what say family ties like guns,drugs,money,and murder?

Paring: Michael!Dean x Male!Reader

1900's Mafia/Gangsters AU

A/N: this is a Micheal fic,but its him in Dean's body so like...idk its the same snake different skin. Also Chuck is referred as Charles

Warning:Blood,guns,knives,gore,torture,swearing. Homophobic comments like just a few. No proof reading

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The Novak's that a family that was one of the most feared yet respected. The way people talk about them down south you'd think they were inspiration for the Bible itself. A man by Charles or Chuck Novak is the head honcho with five sons to help him run is kingdom.

The youngest is Castiel he was probably the nicest of all his siblings,but also the most protected with three other brothers, Gabriel is the definition of trouble and if he slipped up head could easily get lynched good thing he puts that silver tongue to work. Raphael was one of the more head strong,but sadly he was shot when several rivals attacked at on of their bars. Lucifer is the second oldest and the most hot headed with a temper to match the black sheep in his family if you will, then last,but not least Michael he was something else entirely the play boy,a demon is a flat cap and tailored suit.Now that the Novak's have been introduced the world's most feared gang the L/n's is one family not to be fucked with.

(Father's name) leading his kingdom no...empire with his wife (Mother's name) and togther they had only two sons. The second born William and the oldest M/n. William wasn't much involved with the criminal side of the business,but his big brother was the prime example of a gangster. No one besides the L/n gang has seen him he stays out of newspaper coverage and that only allows his terror to run ramped. A man with no face and a title of Satan himself made the oldest Novak just a little timid when he found out. "WHAT THE HELL!!!" Michael threw the newspaper on his fathers desk in anger the older man looked up after glancing at the paper. "I'm due to be wed to a L/n and none the less a man! I can be hanged for so much as saying I do and it IN THE FUCKING BULLETIN!!!" He was seething with hatred in every word. Michael will admit it hurt a lot finding out he was to be wed by the slight disgust look he got while grabbing the paper before getting coffee. "I wanted to tell you sooner,but you were handling something. There's no way out of this a deal was made before you were born me and (Father's name) have been waiting for his wife to bare a girl or your mother to do the same,but your mother's untimely passing and (Mother's name) having gone unfertial our oldest are due to wed." Chuck sighed taking off his thin wired glasses.

"You two were once friends,but I guess time got rid of those memories." Chuck sat down his spectacles down looking at his son. Michael turned to father with shock evident in his eyes. He was friends with M/n L/n the man with no face. Everything was too foggy. The shorter male stood up to a shelf in the office and grabbed a small match box opening it looking around before pulling out a picture. Handing it over to his son he sat back down. "He was one of the only people you'd go to when you were a baby. Heavens he was probably the only person you liked,but when he was five and you were three the fact that our business was centered around blood and there's on bonds it became a fight,mafia versus a gang, and you guys saw eachother less and less till around the time Luci was born not at all." Chuck sighed. The young man was in shock a little boy maybe two or three was cuddled up to a baby in a pale blanket that he remembered was blue fully awake and if the picture could come to life he's sure the boy was humming all while rubbing the infants back.

"No ones seen a picture of him in twenty six years and he was on his fathers hip with a match box car. He's in town and should be coming for dinner here by himself in three days time. So til then keep your brothers in check we don't need them to shoot the young man with a stray bullet." With that Charles dismissed his eldest son as the green eyed boy stormed off in a huff. Michael started to do digging. M/n L/n was in headlines weekly in every post known to man from shootings,assassination,and gangbanding to rumors of his love-life,what he wears,and people claiming to have met him. One thing caught his eye that made him falter. "Gangsters M/n L/n Captures Murderer" that when he started reading the full paper that crumbled a bit due to age. Maybe he's not so bad the guy he caught never saw a courtroom,but met a far worse end all because he caused problems with his people. It was admirable the brunette knew he'd do the same,but not just for anybody. Marriage wasn't settling well with him that didn't mean it felt completely wrong.

One day later

Looking in the mirror Michael watched as his maid adjusted his tie while another smoothed the wrinking in his white button up and vest of his three piece suit. As the oldest he had business to handle people to keep in line. When their hands left his body they scurried out of the room rushing to be down stairs before him. His dress shoes met the floor as he grew closer to the door his youngest sibling ran up next to him. "Can I come,please!" His raven head of hair and doe blue eyes almost made him cave,but with a firm look he gazed down at him. "Sorry little raven,but I have things to handle another time." The pout on Castiel lip didn't move as he held up his hand his pinky out. "Promise?" Interlocking with the ten year olds pinky. "Promise." With that he happily skipped away to play in the garden.

Out the door he went. His flat came on his head and coat thrown over his shoulder his effects tucked in his waistband. Screams caused him to smile as he stood before the butcher on payroll. He wore the man's leather apron having abandoned his tailored suit jacket in the front of the deil. "Were is my money?" He cut the man some more as he continued to scream in pain the white fire from the rusted meat hook in his shoulder flaring with each jerked motion. "Help please!" He yelled all of a sudden in the past hour he hasn't called for assistance. "No can do." A deep voice said behind the oldest Novak turning around sharply his green eyes clashed with e/c. The man looked like anyone off the street his shoes tattered and clothing dirty form labor no bet. "I came for my five notes." The didn't seem fazed at the torture. "Fuck you gypsy scum!!" The pig of a man responded as the tall s/c man crept closer gripping a knife Michael was using. "I just unloaded a load of meat in the summer heat that would give the devil a sweat and all I asked for my effort was five notes nothing more nor less so cough of the money that you clearly owe both of us or I'll carve it out of you and make you squeal like the piggy bank you are." His tone dropped further the blade under the man's fat chin and the Novak felt aroused at the threat. This guy meant every word when the hanging man spat in his face the off color of snuff and blood made the normally clear liquid seen and thick. Let's just say Michael sat back crossing his legs in a attempt to compose himself as the man hit pitches not even the girls in the church choir could master. The heavy weight man forked over the money then some I got my full and he ended up giving the mystery man a hundred notes if he made the pain stop after pocketing the money he shot the man.

He turned around and began to leave when the brunette stopped him. "Wait! I give you my thanks friend he was stubborn for a hour almost" The h/c man turned looking at him giving a smile tilting his head for the Novak to follow as he stepped out the deli. Scrambling he walked down the street next to the man their attire clashing a well tailored suit next to rags that looked more like a potato sack then cloth. "Glad I could help a fine looking fella like yourself." His flirtatious grin caused butterflies to run ramped in Michael's guts. As they walked down the street they slowly moved from the good side of the town to the slums. No cars drove on the gravel a fire hydrine spat out water for all the children playing around it,women hung up clothes on wire between tenements and men looked more like the mysterious gypsy next to the Novak. Speaking of the mystery man he went to each crowded tenements door and knocked the women or young men of the families came to the door and he handed over twenty notes each. The women cried and clung to his tall figure and the boys almost men looked at him in wonder like a hero before running off to tell the adults of the place. "Why did you do that?" Michael asked as they walked out of the town. "You worked for that money and gave it all away." He was confused he's never seen a man work for a family that wasn't his own.

"They need it more. Schools out the children don't get meals and the men work hard to feed them at least a meal a day. I'm alone here no lover or children with the energy and muscle to work." Novak wasn't sure before,but he was sure now this was love and it felt better then any harlot he could spend the night with. "Thats very admirable of you." Michael complmented which was not a normal accuracy. "It was truly nothing to admire,handsome. I'm not saying I'm amazing,but sometimes I'm decently above average. That's what people need someone decent enough go care."

Before he knew it they were back on his side of town and getting closer to the business. "It's been a pleasure,Mr. Novak." The man dripped his head as he turned to leave somewhere. "You know who I am and I don't even get a name." He turned back around and got closer to him his chest pushed up against his till he was pinned to the wall he leaned down his lips so close to his face just out of reach. "I'm N/n,but you can call me the man of your dreams." Michael almost leaned up to peak his lips when the warm body pulled away taking with it the lust filled tension. N/n turned and left out of sight that night was full of the man tossing and turning dreaming of the e/c man that made him feel high as the clouds above. N/n smiled as his men drank around him he finally saw his baby boy all grown up and he's taking what's his this time.

Two days later=Six Hours Before Family Dinner

The buzz of the New Yorker coming to Kansas was the rage. Any man that was new in town was watched like a hawk by commoners and the Novak's. Michael was no longer looking forward to this marriage he didn't want this man no matter who he was. N/n stole his heart like a petty thief and ran away from him. No one in Kansas knew who he was a s/c skinned,h/c haired,e/c eyed gypsy was all he had to go on no last name just a image that burned bright in his mind. Michael sighed as he left his office and went down to the bank he needed enough cash on hand to throw away on booze and maybe angel dust. People parted for him like the red sea and he easily got money when gun shots went off. The teller in front of him fell to the ground wounds ridding his body and Novak turned to see men...no boys with guns.

"Everyone get down on the ground. We've come only for the money we won't hesitate for blood as well." The group chuckled as the leader smirked people shook as they easied to the ground all except Michael who stood tall. "Ah! If it isn't Michael Novak no men to protect you now." A man he didn't realize came behind him hit him over the head with his gun causing him to fall to his knees. "Pathetic." The band of thugs leader grabbed the Mafia bosses chin looking and the blood coming from his brow. Someone stood from on their knees a flat cap covering their hair and a long trench coat that was only slightly open. "It would be in your best interest to leave,boys." They all train their guns at the man. "Why's that,you motherless bastered?" The man turned his gaze upward deadly sharp e/c orbs looked at him and Michael was in shock it was N/n. "Cause I have twelve guns ready to blow holes in you and your men." After his words ten men stood up all wearing the same clothing flat caps,overcoats,and suspenders with a Tommy on every man except the leader. The cowardly man looked frightened looking around keeping his gun on the s/c man. "I only count ten I still have the upper hand." N/n gave a devilish smile that made Michelle gaze on love struck and excited for what's to come. His gray trench coat hit the floor and two sawed-off shotguns in each hand. "Upper hand you say?" He pulled both triggers the left one killing the man sending himself flying back and the right killing the man behind Michael blowing his brains painting the tan walls this made the others fire as well. The bodies of the criminals and one civilian litter the floor.

N/n sent the men off to get the people out as he walked up to the bleeding Novak. "Thank you." His green eyes gleamed making the standing man give a grin as he held his hand out to help him up. "Consider it a gift from M/n L/n." The gleam disappeared from his eyes his soon to be husband was in town has been in town and set his men up to keep him safe. "Now if I'm not mistaken you have a dinner to get ready for,pretty boy." He takes the handkerchief out of his waist coat dabbing the blood away. "Will you be there?" Michael voice sounded weak so full of hope. "You can count on it. We'll be seeing eachother alot more." The man stood up and quickly left and not a moment later Mafia men came in running tending to the boss. Looking longingly at the piece of cloth (Your Initials) were sowed into the reddend white square of fabric.

Family Dinner was about to start the Novak's sat at the table Charles sitting at the end his three eldest sons to his right while his youngest sat to the left two spots were available one across from Michael and the other on the opposite end of Charles. A maid came in the dinning hall and cleared her throat. "The L/n's are here." Two young men came through the door one taller then the other the shorter of the two sat across from Michael while the other sat at the other end of the table closest to Michael and the other man. Charles smiled at them both and Michael was in a state of shock. "M/n been a long while hasn't it?" The oldest Novak looked at the man infront of him waiting for a response when the man he thought to be just a gangster working under the L/n's answered. "That it has Chuck. Sorry father couldn't come he had some other business to handle." N/n or M/n now to Michael's knowledge said before placing a hand on the man beside him. "This is Benjamin or Benny my right hand man don't mind him." The man gave a nod of acknowledgment his blue eyes piercing. "Heard about the blood bath at the bank quite impressive from what Michael has told me." A side smile and a teasing look was turned the mentioned Novak's way. "Saw low life scum trying to rob the place and touching what's mine,their little toys they call guns were child's play compared to my men." M/n sent a wink addressing the men hitting Michael from behind.

"Are you a knight that saves people?" The youngest asked his blue eyes wide in wonder. The s/c males eyes turned to the child a warm smile gracing his lips. "Sometimes when I want to be." A bubbly giggle rang out. "You saved Mikey making him your prince." Those words caused different reactions from all the men. Gabe covered his mouth trying not to laugh at his older brother,Lucifer grinned leaning over to his brother. "Did he have to kiss you sleeping beauty?" He chuckled lowly making kissing noises in his ear,Micheal was beet red as he couldn't bear to face any of them,Chuck smiled looking at his son and son-in-law,Benny nudged his boss sliding something to him while everyone was distracted. "Yeah and I'm gonna make him my king and take him to my castle." M/n leaned towards the boy and whispered in his ear. "We'll ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after." Castiel was gobsmacked as he gazed at his brother all giddy he was gonna live a fairy tale like in all the books their mother use to read. "Um if you'll excess me. I need some air." Micheal stood up and not long after M/n followed when given a reassuring nod from Charles.

The garden of the estate was beautiful in the moonlight and it wasn't hard to spot the oldest Novak on a bench on looking the pond that reflected the night sky. "You knew the whole time who I was." Micheal didn't look up at the man as he sighed. "Yes I knew who you were...we were once closer then the stars and the skies itself." The L/n sat next to him on the bench looking forward. "Chuck knew as well." Michelle turned in shock at that statement a goose chase for nothing. "He didn't know what I looked like now,but letters everyday asking about you seemed to do the trick." Those e/c eyes turned to look into those apple green ones. "Learning from a young age that in you grasp was the person you were due to wed was shocking I almost hated you,but the moment you grabbed my finger as if I'd slip away made me realize it can't be so bad." M/n held out his hand palm up so the younger male rested his hand in his grasp. "I was afraid at first you'd hate me. So I swore to protect you always. Some of my men live here with their families and they keep me posted. Just last year a rat was found on you door step admitting his faults."

Micheal remembered that the maids came rushing to get the family and a man bloody and beaten spilled his guts about planning to cross the family having been hired by a rival Mafia to get information to attack them at a weak state. "I know this won't mean munch to you know,but maybe at some point you'll be happy to carry my last name and call yourself my husband." In M/n hand that wasn't interlocked with Micheal's he opened a box revealing two wedding bands both were silver while one had a gold trim and the other had a f/c trim. "No matter what,Novak,I'll be there when yiu need me through it all most of the times guns blazing." M/n chuckled lightly taking in a deep breath. "Just ponder on it,pretty boy,I'llbe here waiting." as he slipped the ring on the silent man's finger before doing the same with himself he gently kissed the top of his head as he stood up and left wanting to give him space. Micheal smiled at the ring that perfectly fit his finger. The one man he felt attracted to was his guardian angel always there no matter what.

Lifting his hand up he kissed the metal band as a laugh left his lips. "My angel with a shotgun."

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A/n: Second Male reader and I had to spell check for almost 50 she/her in her so I think I got them all lol.

@spnquotebingo

Quote: "I'm not saying I'm amazing,but I'm decently above average."-Blacklist @spnquotebingo

[august-anon]

prompt: one character knows how to read their partner like an open book so can totally tell when the other is in a ler mood even when they’re denying it, maybe with the line “oh hush, you know there’s no point in lying to me anymore” (or something along those lines)? dealer’s choice for fandom!

I don't even remember how old these prompts are at this point, thank you for being so patient all this time lol. Hope you enjoy this!!

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You Want To

Fandom: Witcher

Ship(s): Geraskier

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Jaskier/Ler!Geralt

Word Count: 2308

Summary: Geralt's in a bit of a mood, and Jaskier thinks it'll be a bit fun to tease him. He doesn't account for the way Geralt teases him back once he finally convinces Geralt to give in and tickle him.

[ao3 link]

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Jaskier liked to think he knew Geralt pretty well, after all these years.

He knew what each particular furrow of Geralt’s brow meant. He knew how to translate each and every hum and grunt. He knew how to measure the tenseness in Geralt’s shoulders, in Geralt’s jaw, in Geralt’s fingers. He knew exactly how Geralt liked his hair played with, and what scents Geralt preferred in his baths.

So, after well over a decade of learning to read him, Jaskier thought he knew Geralt rather well. And he was pretty certain he was right about what was plaguing Geralt, now. Twitching fingers, shifting eyes, hungry gazes. The fact that he couldn’t look away every time Jaskier had stretched so far (and maybe he had started doing it on purpose, just a little bit. Sue him, he liked feeling Geralt’s eyes on him, and the added element of teasing was just a plus).

Geralt seemed to be in quite the mood. Of course, Geralt nearly always seemed like he was in some sort of mood, with his scowling and his growling and his generally aggressive nature, but this was quite the different mood.

Geralt wanted someone squirming beneath those twitching fingers, squealing and giggling with abandon. He wanted to pin someone to the ground and draw out every mirthful sound they were capable of. He wanted to bury those fingers into someone’s flesh until they pleaded for mercy.

And luckily for him, Jaskier was more than happy to oblige.

But the thing was… teasing Geralt was just so fun.

It wasn’t often Jaskier could get Geralt’s full, undivided attention, and he was going to take advantage of this while it lasted. The way Geralt’s fingers twitched when Jaskier stretched his arms high above his head. The way Geralt’s nostrils flared when Jaskier slipped off his boots and wiggled his aching feet during a rest from their travelling. The way Geralt eyed him like a starving man eyed a buffet when Jaskier added a little more bubbliness to his laughter throughout the day.

Teasing Geralt was fun. The only downside was, it led to Jaskier himself getting trapped in a little bit of a mood as well.

A mood leaving him aching to be underneath someone’s twitching fingers, squealing and giggling with abandon. A mood to be pinned to the ground and have every mirthful sound he was capable of painstakingly drawn out of him. A mood to have fingers buried into his flesh until he pleaded for mercy, and then keep going until he truly couldn’t take it anymore.

And that just wasn’t fair.

So Jaskier convinced Geralt to let them stop and make camp far earlier in the day than they normally would. He agreed way too easily, and Jaskier knew his plans were set into motion.

They stopped next to a river that fed into a nearby lake. Jaskier stripped and bathed, washing his clothing as well, setting it all out on a rock to dry. It left Jaskier only in his underclothes as he rolled out his bedroll and settled atop it. He watched as Geralt deliberately kept his gaze away from Jaskier’s skin, putting an outrageous amount of attention to unpacking things for their camp and untacking Roach. Jaskier lasted all of five minutes before he groaned and flopped backwards on his bedroll.

“Geralt, come on,” he said. “Just tickle me already. We both know you want to.”

Geralt shot him a glare, but Jaskier watched on it glee as it froze on his face and he swallowed heavily at the sight of Jaskier stretched out on the ground. Jaskier tried to squirm tantalizingly, stretching his arms high above his head and leaving them there. This was starting to feel more like a seduction than a tease, and Jaskier had to force down the flush that wanted to rise to his face.

Geralt didn’t like him that way, and that was fine by Jaskier. He could pine perfectly in peace without it getting in the way.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Geralt ground out, turning away again.

“Oh hush, you big brute,” Jaskier said, wiggling his toes. “You should know by now that there’s no point in trying to lie to me. Not anymore.”

Geralt turned his scowl back onto Jaskier. Jaskier gave him a bright grin in return, and it only made Geralt narrow his eyes.

“You’ve known all day,” Geralt said eventually.

Jaskier bit his lip. “I have.”

“You’ve been teasing me.” Geralt’s face darkened. “All day.”

This time when Jaskier squirmed, it was neither intentional nor meant to be tantalizing. “Maybe. Just a little.”

Geralt stalked toward him. “A little?”

Jaskier was pinned to his bedroll by Geralt’s weight before he knew what was happening. He gasped and tried to wiggle out from under Geralt, vicious swarms of butterflies suddenly filling up his chest and stomach.

“Wait--wait wait! Let’s talk about this--”

“I don’t think there’s any more need,” Geralt said. “Unless it’s me reminding you how ticklish you are. Or how helpless you are. Or how I know all of your most ticklish places by heart.”

“Oh shit,” Jaskier breathed.

Geralt gave him a feral grin.

Jaskier very quickly found himself inside the grave he had been digging for himself all day, though he hadn’t noticed it was a grave until just now. He was practically naked, only smallclothes left on to protect his decency, and had been teasing a witcher all day, and a witcher with a proclivity for tickling him silly at that.

Jaskier really hadn’t thought this one through, had he?

Geralt reached up to grab Jaskier’s wrists where they still rested above his head, gathering them both in one of his hands. He gave them a brief squeeze before pulling away.

“These stay here,” he said. “Or I’ll make you regret it.”

Jaskier gulped and nodded.

And then Geralt did the most evil thing. Geralt teased back.

His fingers just barely brushed over Jaskier’s skin, so light that he wasn’t even sure Geralt was touching him despite the goosebumps erupting all over his body. He squirmed and clenched his hands into fists, biting back a whine. Geralt remained straight-faced and quiet the whole time, watching Jaskier’s every twitch and flinch and wiggle.

Jaskier finally broke. “Geralt, come on.” He tried to move into Geralt’s touch more, but Geralt followed and kept his fingers just as feather-light. “Geralt!”

A smirk tugged at the edges of Geralt’s lips. “I don’t know, Jask. I think this may be all you deserve, after teasing me so much.”

Jaskier opened his mouth to protest, but Geralt’s touch became firmer right at that moment and all that came out was a gasp. It wasn’t much firmer, not even firm enough to make him laugh -- and that was saying something, considering Jaskier often found himself cackling from only feathers -- but it was enough to make him jump and pant and let out breathy little whines.

Geralt’s fingers skimmed down his arms and through his hollows, across his ribs and sides, over his stomach and hips, and all the while not giving Jaskier what he truly craved. Surely Geralt was craving this as much as Jaskier at this point, right? Surely Geralt couldn’t hold out much longer, after a whole day of teasing. Jaskier certainly couldn’t hold out much longer, and he’d only been suffering a handful of minutes.

“Gods, Geralt, please!”

Geralt leaned down to whisper directly into his ear. “Please, what?”

At this point, Jaskier was considering pulling his arms down just to see if Geralt’s “punishment” would give him what he was searching for. Odds were, though, with as mischievously cruel as Geralt was feeling, it would be the exact opposite. Maybe he would tie Jaskier down to a tree or a rock and wiggle his fingers centimeters away from Jaskier’s skin, making it crawl and his nerves beg for the touch even more. Making Jaskier impossibly more desperate and never delivering. Just the thought of it made a pit of excitement swoop in his belly.

“Please, tickle me, Geralt.”

“Are you sure you’ve earned that?” Geralt murmured, still directly into Jaskier’s ear.

“Yes, yes, please. You’ve had your revenge, you terrible witcher.”

Geralt hummed quietly, and Jaskier swore the air around his neck was displaced by the vibrations. A sound alone couldn’t tickle like that, that had to be the explanation.

“Are you sure you deserve that?” Geralt asked.

“Please,” Jaskier panted. “Please, Geralt, I’ll be good. I’ll be so good.”

Geralt chuckled, lips directly against the shell of his ear. “Will you, now?”

“Yes, just tickle me already!”

Jaskier didn’t expect his outburst to get Geralt to comply so quickly. He thought there’d be a few more moments of teasing, a warm-up before the main event, but Geralt didn’t waste time with any of that. He immediately sat back and reached behind his own hulking form, latching onto Jaskier’s inner thighs and kneading.

Jaskier’s eyes bulged out of his head as he instantly started screaming in laughter. His eyes squeezed shut quickly after as he kicked his legs out, instinctively trying to displace the torturous feeling.

“No, please!”

Geralt rumbled with laughter above him. “Was this not what you wanted, lark?”

Jaskier couldn’t answer, he could only squeal and cackle. Geralt’s hands shifted upward, finding a particularly sweet spot inside Jaskier’s worst sweet spot, and Jaskier went silent. He tried to be good like he promised, he really did, but he couldn’t really help how he shot upright and into Geralt’s chest. He laughed into Geralt’s shirt -- beyond glad he had removed the armor for once, this was much more comfortable -- as he reached around, trying to pry Geralt’s fingers away.

“I thought you said you’d be good,” Geralt said, immediately stopping his fingers. Jaskier could hear the teasing smile in his voice.

Jaskier slumped against him, too busy catching his breath to respond. He felt Geralt’s hand sweep up and down his back, trying to help calm him despite his words. His eyes popped open when he felt Geralt’s lips press into his sweaty hair, and he tilted his head back to look at Geralt. Judging by the look on Geralt’s face, he was surprised too, like he hadn’t quite meant to do that.

Geralt cleared his throat. “Would you like to take your punishment now or later?”

Jaskier bit his lip. “I think I deserve a reward first, don’t you?”

Geralt shot him an incredulous look. “A reward? For what?”

Jaskier gave him a cheeky grin. “For holding out as long as I did. For being an outlet for your little mood. For being the best companion you could ever ask for. Take your pick.”

Geralt hummed. “And what would this reward entail?”

Jaskier straightened his back and tilted his head up, so that their noses were nearly brushing. “Take your pick,” he whispered.

Geralt searched his eyes for a moment longer before closing the distance between them, pressing their lips together. Jaskier sighed into the kiss and reached up to wrap his arms around Geralt’s neck. They kissed for long moments and Jaskier became dizzy with it, feeling like the sun itself was buzzing bright in his chest. When Geralt finally pulled back, it took all of Jaskier’s willpower not to chase his lips.

“You tease,” Geralt murmured against his jaw, having ducked his head to tuck his face into Jaskier’s neck.

“I can hardly believe it was that easy, myself,” Jaskier breathed out. “I’ve wanted to do that for years.”

“Tease,” Geralt repeated. “I should add onto your punishment for that.”

Jaskier gaped. “What did I do to deserve that?!”

Geralt didn’t answer him. Instead, he pushed Jaskier back onto his back and slid off Jaskier’s legs. He lifted one up, draping it over his shoulder. Jaskier gulped, his mind going in a very different direction.

“This may tickle,” Geralt said, a sly look in his eye.

Jaskier’s own eyes went wide again as he tried to catch up. Geralt’s lips attached to the thigh he had draped over his shoulder, nibbling and kissing in the most ticklish of ways. Add in the short, scratchy scruff that littered Geralt’s cheeks and jaw and Jaskier was in his own personal hell -- or perhaps this was heaven, not that he’d ever admit it.

Either way, Jaskier howled with laughter, his eyes welling up with tears of mirth. Geralt chuckled against his thigh, his breath fanning out over the skin and making Jaskier shiver. Geralt then had the brilliant idea of blowing a raspberry against his inner thigh and Jaskier’s nerves exploded, tears spilling over as his laughter went silent once more. Geralt blew another raspberry, this time shaking his head so his scruff tickled Jaskier just as much, his stray hairs brushing across Jaskier’s skin with the movement and doing plenty of damage itself.

After a third and final raspberry, Geralt finally pulled back, dropping Jaskier’s leg from his shoulder and letting him curl up on the bedroll. He reached down to wipe away Jaskier’s tears as he caught his breath.

“Next time,” Geralt said, “listen to instructions.”

Jaskier chuckled weakly. “It’s a bit easier to listen to instructions when they’re not quite so impossible,” he said. Then, quieter, “When’s next time?”

Geralt flopped down onto the bedroll next to him. “Soon as we’d like.”

Jaskier hummed. “I’ll have to get my revenge, you know. As well as you know my weak points, I also know yours.”

Geralt shifted behind him and Jaskier let loose a tired grin. His revenge could wait for tomorrow, at least. For now, he intended to catch his breath and figure out how to get Geralt to kiss him like that again. And again, and again, and again.

And maybe get a few more tickles out of it along the way.

[cherryyharryy]

i have an idea for a request (it’s totally ok if you don’t want to do it) like an angst-> fluff where one of harry’s songs accidentally gets leaked bc of y/n like she has something on a flash drive and the song is on another and they get mixed up and obviously he’s really mad at y/n and they have a fight he’s super snappy with her but something happens to her like she gets into a really big accidental or something and he forgives her bc he cares about her more tha the leaked song

WC: 2.7k

***

Damage control wasn’t even an option. 

Y/n sat there, staring at Harry’s laptop, numb to everything except the blaring desire to go back in time just two minutes. Two minutes is all she would need to undo possibly the biggest screwup of her life.

And the worst part is that this mistake ultimately doesn’t affect her. At least not in comparison to how it will affect Harry. And his band. And his team. Basically everyone involved with his career. 

Her mind is equally begging for her to shut down and come up with a plan—an excuse—something, Is there anyway this wasn’t my fault?  

She checks the time, her heart sinking to her stomach when she realizes Harry and his team will be back any minute. Any minute and she’s done for.

They’ve only been together for five months, officially. She’s still new to most everyone. She’s that girl Harry’s dating.

“I told you he played in that movie.” Jeff’s voice echoes outside the studio. Y/n closes the laptop and prays for strength. 

“I have him confused with someone else.” Harry bustles through the door, a small crowd of people filing in behind him, back to the spots they left an hour ago. “Hey darling,” he greets, “finish your paper?”

Y/n’s frozen, morbidly wishing he had found out about his song leaking on his own so she wouldn’t have to tell him. “Uh, almost.”

He kisses the top of her head and hands her a cup of frozen yogurt. “Your favorite.” 

“Thanks.” She sets it on the table she’s sat at while Harry pulls up a chair beside her. “Aren’t you guys still working?”

He waves in the direction of his band, “Mitch’s gotta fix his guitar.” He snickers, and slides his laptop out from under y/n’s hands. “Had a bit of an accident in the car.” 

Y/n’s head tingles with what must be nerve damage, her place in this world, her place in this room, decreasing in value as Harry opens his computer.

“It’s gonna melt.” He nods to her yogurt.

“I’m not hungry.”

He furrows his brow. “You alright?”

“Mhm.” She looks around the room, everyone busy getting back to work, light chatter passing among them. “Uh, actually, I uh, I have to tell you something.” Y/n tries to swallow the lump in her throat with no luck.

“Okay…” He shuts the laptop and gives her his full attention.

“Okay, um—”

“What the fuck!?” The room freezes as everyone turns toward Jeff. “Harry someone’s got a hold of your song!” 

Harry scrambles to his manager, complete shock on his face as they both stare down at Jeff’s phone. “Fuck.” They start to play a video, the sound of a girl screaming, with Harry’s unconsented voice playing in the background, fills the room. “How the hell did this happen?” He’s gritting through his teeth, neck red, veins bulging in his hands as he rips the phone out of Jeff’s hand. “HOW? Someone answer me!”

Y/N considers keeping quiet. Playing innocent. What good will it do to confess anyway? It’s not like it’ll undo what she’s done.

Sarah chimes in from across the room, “It looks like it happened half an hour ago. That’s when this video I’m looking at was posted.”

Y/n’s staring down at her lap, holding her head up with her fingers pressed into her temples when Harry slings himself back into the chair next to her.

“All that work, all that fucking work,” he nearly growls, “for some cunt to spread my unfinished song around for a buck.”

Y/n peers up to the room, a completely different picture compared to five minutes ago. Now there’s talk of lawyers and pressing charges while everyone shuffles around. Jeff slams the door as he steps out with his phone to his ear, and y/n knows she can’t claim denial, it’ll only make things worse.

“Uh, Harry?”

“What is it?” He doesn’t look at her, eyes glaring at his phone while another video plays of a group of people reacting to his song. “Glad they fucking like it.”

“Harry?”

“What, y/n?”

She shrinks under his gaze, mouth dry as she forces her confession out. “I uh, this is all my fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m so, so sorry. And I’ll do anything—I know I can’t fix it—but...”

Harry’s tongue presses against the inside of his cheek, his eyes narrowing in on her as a morbid silence forms a little bubble around them. “Go on,” he whispers with grit, “finish what you were gonna say.”

She stutters, desperately trying to figure him out. “I’m just sorry. It was an accident.”

“An accident? How did you even manage to do this?”

“I—”

“Do you have any idea what this accident means, y/n?”

She reluctantly shakes her head no.

“How the fuck did you do this?”

“I—I don’t know...I was taking a break from my paper, and, I don’t know Harry.” She’s in tears now, warm and salty as they spill down her cheeks. Her mouth wobbles around another apology, but no sounds make it out.

“Fix it.”

“What?”

He stands up, yanking his laptop off the table, pausing to glare at her one last time. “I said, to fix it.” With that he storms across the room, slinging the door open just as Jeff reenters.

“Harry, your attorney—”

“Forget it.” He turns around and points his phone towards y/n silently sobbing in the corner. “She’s gonna handle it.” He takes one step out into the hall and stops, spinning on his heels to face the studio. “Don’t speak to me until you do.”

Mitch’s guitar that was fixed and propped against the wall, crashes to the floor when Harry slams the door. 

Chatter passes around the room one more time, only now everyone seems to be in agreeance—that girl never should have been allowed in the studio, and maybe, Harry should break up with her.

***

Early morning rain fell outside Harry’s apartment. It was still dark, street lamps burning through the fog in the city below. His home fills with coffee as he pours his fifth cup; the prior four never offering more than a few sips before he had abandoned them somewhere, the counter, mantle, bookshelf, because he can’t talk without his hands.

Y/n sits on his couch. It’s velvet and pink and too big for one person. She hated it the first time he invited her over. If he breaks up with her, she’s going to tell him how ugly it is.

“I don’t know what you expect me to do.” She’s exhausted. She hadn’t hesitated to drive over when he finally responded to one of her hundreds of texts in the week since the mishap. But now she regrets it. They’ve been going in circles with the same argument for the past four hours. She’s convinced he invited her over just to be mean. She sighs, rubbing her temples. “I said I was sorry. You know that I’m sorry. And you know that I never, ever in a million years, would have done something like this on purpose.”

“I’m allowed to be angry with you. I have every right to be.”

“Do you, though?” She straightens up on his ugly couch and looks at him leaning against the doorframe that leads into the kitchen. “Aren’t you a little tired of hating me? God Harry, everyone else in the whole world has moved on except you.”

“It’s not everyone else’s song, is it? It’s not everyone else’s months and months of hard work. It’s not everyone else’s unfinished art? Nobody else is having to deal with a girlfriend that is so careless, so thoughtless, that she actually managed to leak my song!”

“Stop raising your voice at me!”

“You had no business snooping around my computer anyway! I told you you could work on your fucking paper, not to go prying around my personal shit!”

“You know what,” she scoffs, shooting up off the couch, “this argument is so pointless. You didn’t want me here so we could talk. You just wanted to torture me because you’re mad that people don’t love your stupid song.”

“What the fuck did you say?”

She brushes his shoulder as she passes by him, and a drip of his coffee spills onto his hand. He curses, and follows her into the kitchen where he lays his final cup down on the island.

“You’re being a baby because people aren’t fawning over you like they usually do.” She shrugs and slings her bag over her shoulder. “It’s not your best song, Harry.”

The veins in his neck strain against his flaming skin. His cheeks are sucked in, and if he bites down on the skin any harder he’ll puncture his face. “Get the fuck out.”

“I was already leaving, dumb ass.” She strides by him once more, practically feeling the heat steaming off his body. When she gets to the front door, she pauses with her hand on the knob. “Your couch is hideous, by the way. Just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you have to buy shitty looking stuff.”

When she slams the door behind her, the apartment shakes, and cold coffee spills from each cup.

***

It’s nearing five a.m. when y/n backs out of the complex. Her wipers race across the windshield, but do nothing against the downpour wreaking havoc in the city. She does her best to stay on what she assumes is her side of the road, swerving to the right each time headlights blind her.

“Shit.” Nothing is open, and she can’t even see where it would be safe to pull over to let the rain pass. But her home isn’t that far, and traffic isn’t too bad. 

She comes to a stop at a red light, only to realize she missed a left turn she should’ve made a minute ago. “Damn it. Fucking hell.”

As soon as the light turns green, she spins the wheel to make a U-turn, and if it hadn’t been for the rain, and her own clouded mind, and Harry’s voice echoing in her ears, she might have seen the truck who didn’t even try to avoid her.

***

It’s the headache from hell that wakes her up. And it’s the sterile smell of hospital that jogs her memory. And it’s a nurse not much older than y/n that says something about you’re lucky to be alive. 

She’s poked and prodded and asked a thousand questions before her IV is adjusted and a pill to ease one of the many pains scratching her body is handed to her in a small plastic cup. A police officer repeats half of this process, and somewhere in the mess of her reality, she learns that the other driver was sending a text to his wife when he plowed into her car. He’s at home and she’s here. Lucky to be alive.

She made calls to her mom and friends, and even managed to type out a decent email to her professors for her upcoming absence in class.

When she automatically pulled up Harry’s name on her phone, the last text he sent, the one inviting her over so he could make her more miserable than she already was, sat there in all its taunting glory.

What is she even supposed to say? Hey, I know you hate my existence right now, but I’m lying here in a hospital bed with bandages wrapped around my head. It’d be cool if you stopped by.

It’s not long before the sun pops up and reminds y/n of just how early it is. The clouds part, and it’s like it had never even rained, like it had never even been dark for hours, and if she closes her eyes, y/n can pretend that the past week hadn’t even happened.

***

 “How are you feeling today?” The nurse checks y/n’s IV, humming after her question.

“Just sore. Ready to get out of here.”

“We’ve started the paperwork, so shouldn’t be too long. Who’s coming to get you?”

Y/n blinks, feeling stupid she hadn’t thought this far ahead. She doesn’t even have a car anymore. The nurse looks over the computer monitor, waiting for a response.

“Uh, my friend.”

“Awesome. Dr. Kirby has to come check on you one last time before you leave. I’ll go see if he can stop by now, if you want to let your friend know.”

As soon as the nurse is out the door, y/n scrambles to turn her phone back on, and once it is, her lock screen is filled with missed calls and unanswered texts.

She’ll respond later; gives her something to do in the car to occupy her in front of Harry. 

She can’t call him. Harry’s not a monster, although the past week doesn’t exactly prove her case, but she knows he wouldn’t refuse to come get her. If anything, he’ll be annoyed she didn’t tell him about the accident sooner. But she’s too emotional to deal with hearing his voice.

She types out a text recounting her last 24 hours, along with the name of the hospital. He immediately reads it, and a moment later he’s trying to call.

To: Harry

I’m too tired to talk rn

She lies. And it works.

From: Harry

I’ll be there as fast as i can

***

“Baby?”

Y/n cracks her eyes open, irritated she never quite fell asleep. Confused as to why Harry’s calling her baby. Angry that she cares. And the next words out of his mouth are ones she’d been predicting.

“Why didn’t you call me? I would’ve dropped everything. You’ve been here all alone, shit. Are you okay? What hurts?”

He’s hovering over her, fidgeting, unsure if he can touch her.

“I’m fine now. Just sore. And tired.”

“Fuck I can’t believe this, I—”

“The doctor already said I can go. I’m not allowed to walk out on my own, so, you need to let the nurse know you’re here. She’ll take me down in a wheelchair.”

“Baby I’m so sorry-”

“No, Harry. You would still be busy hating my guts right now—”

“Hate you? I don’t hate you?”

“Well you did a great job this week making me feel otherwise.”

Harry sighs, gripping the bed frame and dropping his chin to his chest. When he looks back up he has tears brimming his eyes. “I’m sorry,” his voice cracks. “I know I’ve been an ass this week. I—you were right. I took out my anger from no one lovin’ the song on you.”

“Well it’s not no one. A lot of people did. And it’s unfinished anyway. You wouldn’t enjoy a meal if it was only cooked halfway.”

He nods, but y/n knows he’s only accepting her words because of the situation.

“You mean so much more to me than a leaked song. I’m sorry I treated you like shit. And that I—I made you think I hated you. You have every right to hate me.”

“You annoy the hell out of me, but I don’t hate you.”

His lips twitch, but a few tears slide down his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” She takes his hand off the rail and smoothes her thumb across his knuckles. “You can make it up to me by getting me out of here.”

“I can do that.” He kisses the top of her head and hits the remote to call for the nurse.

“You can really kiss me, y’know. I’m not gonna break.”

He’s hesitant, but slowly lowers his head to press his lips to hers. He’s timid, and his lips are still damp from tears, but it’s more relieving than either of them would ever admit.

The nurse ends their moment when she pops in the room, pushing a wheelchair in front of her. “Hi, you must be y/n’s friend.”

“Friend?” He peers down at y/n, suggestion lacing the word. “Care to explain?”

“Not really, I’m so tired.”

“Mhm.” He clicks his tongue, supporting her arm as she swings her legs off the bed. Once she’s standing and steady, he tucks her hair behind her ear and bends down so his mouth can graze her lobe. “Since we’re just friends, I guess you’ll have to sleep on my ugly couch.”

[itsthestutterforme]

Second Chances (Jang Hanseok)

Summary: Hanseok was spiraling and was starting to get paranoid as Vincenzo's plan began to unravel. Y/N, his best friend, gets hurt because of him and he never forgives himself.

Characters: Vincenzo x nurse!reader (platonic) Hanseo x nurse!reader (platonic), Hanseok x nurse!reader (platonic)

Requested by @letsnotcrytoday

--

Sighing as you rest your head on the steering wheel, your phone chimed. You just finished your 12 hour shift in the hospital as a nurse and you felt tractor trailer ran over you. A scolding hot bath, a vibrating pad and a foot massage from Hanseok sounds like heaven right about now.

Speaking of Hanseok, he's been very distant lately. You've been best friends since junior high and you know each other like the back of your hands. But you haven't seen him so closed off before. It's almost as if he doesn't know who to trust. And it makes you wonder how he became that way.

Without pulling away from the steering wheel, you reach into your bag and take out your phone. You glance over at the phone to see a text from Hanseo saying, "He-." That's odd. Hanseo has been just as distant as Hanseok. Something doesnt feel fight. Was he trying to say "Help?"

You drive to Hanseo's office first but they said that he was out for the day. Then you drove to Hanseo's house and your heart bangs in your chest when you look through the window.

You see Hanseok walking around the house with a gun and Hanseo tied up in front of him. He looks to be bleeding from his head. There are two other people there, a woman and a man.

You don't want to see Jang Hanseok go to jail. He's not a bad man, he just made mistakes that led him down a terrible road. Your heart was shattered to pieces when you visited him in jail and saw him in those awful, beige jail clothes.

You can't see him there again. You grab your first aid kit from your glove box and shove it into your purse.

You slowly walk into the house and open the door, careful not to make any noise. You walk into the living room when you heard three gun shots. "Oh my God, Hanseok, what you-."

Another gun shot rings in your ears and a sharp pain struck your hand. You fall to the floor and cradle your hand against your chest to see a gaping hole in your palm.

Taking deep breaths, you look around the room to see the woman with a gun shot wound in her shoulder and Hanseo with multiple wounds in his chest. If you don't patch those up soon, he won't make it. You finally look up to see Hanseok looking at you with wide eyes. "Y/N, what are you doing here!"

The other man stands up and Hanseok pulls the trigger once again but the gun exerted a soft click. Hanseok looks at you with guilt and anger as the man rush toward him. Hanseok jumps off of the balcony and disappears. A soft whimper left your lips as blood spills from your hand and on to the floor.

You take some cloth from your purse and wrap your hand tightly to prevent any more blood loss. You wince as the pain intensifies and make your way to Hanseo, where the man was kneeling. "Can you help him?" He asks.

"I can try. Did you already call the ambulance?" "Yes," "Okay." You unbutton his shirt to get a better look at his wounds. He has a total of three wounds, luckily there are three people here.

You open the first aid kit and pressed gauze to his wounds, making him wince. "I'm alright," Hanseo says weakly. "No, you're not." You snap, angry at Hanseok for doing this to his brother. "I'm sorry, I j-" His hand comes up to touch your cheek. "You two were more like siblings to me than he was." He says.

"Stop talking and save your strength. Apply pressure to this one." You tell the man. "Miss, I know you're hurt but can you use the other arm to put pressure on his wounds? I'll tend to yours in a minute." You add. "Y/N, please. Let it run it's course." "No, I won't. You're going to live, you hear me?" you say, blinking away the years forming in your eyes.

"I don't want to live in fear anymore. I did good, right? Please tell me I did good." "You're going amazing, Han seo. I'm so proud of you." "P-proud?" More tears escape your eyes as you ease the pressure of his wounds and uncap 5 milligrams of morphine. You inject him with it and he sighs softly. "This should ease the pain enough for him.." you trail off.

"I'm so sorry, Han seo." You add, taking his hand into both of yours. He takes his last breath as you press a kiss to his forehead. Shaky breathes leave your lips and you wrap your arms around him. "I'm sorry for your loss, but can you please help my friend?" The man asks.

Wiping away your tears, you nod and made your way over to the woman.

**

It's 2 A.M. It's been five hours since you came home from the hospital and you didn't get a lick of sleep. What happened at Hanseo's house replays in your mind like some reoccurring nightmare. You wish it was a nightmare. One of your bestfriends was shot a killed by your other best friend.

Sniffling from crying about Hanseo's passing, you blow your nose a few times. That was when you hear a soft clank in your kitchen. Your nose flares with annoyance.

Whoever broke into your home was one unlucky son of bitch. You're feeling everyone emotion besides fear and you have a locked and loaded pistol in your drawer.

Taking the pistol into your hand, you take the safety off and slowly walk down the stairs. You lean your back against the wall next to the kitchen. "Whoever you are, you have five seconds to get the hell out or I'm putting five bullets in you." "Y/N?" You hear Hanseok say.

You step away from the wall and aim your gun at him, not caring about the searing pain of your hand wound opening up again. "Get the hell out," "Y/N, please. I.. I never meant to hurt you. I never meant for any of thi-" "That was your brother, Hanseok! Your blood! And you killed him, because of what!"

"I had no choice! Vincenzo threatened to kill you if I didn't." You were at a loss for words. "Don't. Please don't turn your back on me. The whole world can but the minute that you do, then I'm a lost cause." He says, making your heart lurch in your chest.

You weren't aware that he was stepping closer to you until his hands were taking the gun out of yours. Putting on the safety, he tosses the gun on the couch. His gaze fixes on the gauze wrapped around your right hand. You put your hand behind your back. "It doesn't hurt that bad," you lie.

Still unsure of whether to believe him, you thought that it was best to sleep on it and talk to him about it in the morning. Your brain was physical exhausted from work and recent events.

"You can see yourself out," you add before turning around to go back to your room. He grabs your uninjured hand and pulled you into his chest. "You could have died, and it would have been at my hand. I'll never forgive myself for that." You chose not to say anything and listened to his heart racing in his chest.

"I didn't know it was you. My body reacted before my mind could register... I know you're pissed at me but please don't lose faith in me." He adds. "What were you thinking!" You push him away from you and slap him across the face. It wasn't until you heard a faint rip of your stitches that you realized it was with the injured hand.

A shriek of pain leaves your lips and you fall to floor, cradling your hand. He kneels down next to you and you both watch as blood seeps through the bandage. "Where's your first aid kit?" He asks. "Bathroom." Without a second thought, he lifts your into his hands and carries you into the bathroom.

He sets you on the counter and sets the first aid kit on the toilet lid. Slowly peeling off the gauze, he winces when he sees the wound. Guilt weighs on his eyes and he cleans around the wound on both sides before putting an antifungal cream.

He puts a large piece of gauze on both sides of the hand and uses a new wrap to intricately wrap the hand between each finger and the entire wrist.

He tucks away the loose end of the wrap and we both sigh in unison. "We have to get out of the country," "What the hell did you get yourself into, Hanseok? Why didn't you tell me sooner, I could have helped you." "No, you couldn't." He walks out of the bathroom and you jump off the counter to follow him until you heard him scream.

"Hanseok!" You rush out of the bathroom but a hand clamped around your mouth and felt a sharp prick on the side of your neck. You drop to the ground as black wisps cloud your vision and the last thing you saw was Hanseok being dragged away.

**

Gasping for you breath, you find yourself laying in your bed. What the hell? Was last night a dream? You look at your hand and remember Hanseok wrapping it after pulling your stiches. It wasn't a dream. Someone took Jang Hanseok.

You stand up from the bed and reach for your phone. You thought of Hanseo saying that he our a tracker in his brother's watches. You thought he was crazy but now you couldn't help but to thank him. You look up to the ceiling and say, "I'll make sure you get the justice you deserve, Hanseo."

Following the GPS, you stop in the middle of traffic when you see the man from Hanseo's apartment leaving the warehouse that the GPS led you. "He's the one that forced Hanseok to kill his own brother." You say to yourself. Your blood runs cold in your veins when you see blood splattered on his face and clothes.

Horns honk at you and you park on the side of the road and waited for the man to leave. You rush into the gravel road to park the car. Running as fast your legs can take you, you follow Hanseok's screams to a large room of the abandoned warehouse.

He's connected to some weird torture device that looks automatic. There is a drill that looks to be a half an inch inside his chest cavity. "Oh God," you say. "Y/N," he says weakly and you had sudden flashbacks to Hanseo dying. You couldn't loose another one, you refuse to.

You pull out a knife and pop open the circuit of the device and you cut the red wire which prevents the device from functioning. You're so glad you took that programming class in college.

You stick the sharp end into the crease and pushed the drill out of the device so it would stay in his chest. If you took out the drill now, he would bleed out in seconds.

What kind of monster would do this to another human being? You pull him to his feet and walk him down the stairs to get to the car. "Stay with me okay?" You say when you notice his eyes starting to close his eyes.

He looked terrible. His eyes looked sunken, his skin looked pale and lifeless and his lips were blood stained. When you find this guy, you're going to tear him a new one.

Going 80 on the highway, you were at the hospital in a blink of an eye. "Help! Someone help me please!" You yell as you drag him into the ER.

"Y/N, what happened to him?" Your coworker asked. You wait until he is on the gurney to say, "Someone was torturing him with a drill." You say flatly.

"What kind of sicko does that?" When you don't respond, she adds, "Right, sorry. Not time for jokes. I'll keep you posted." You nod and watch as she accompanies a doctor's taking him to the surgery floor.

Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.

[itswildwinters]

✰ here’s a masterpost with all my fics (+ their fic post) that you can find on my ao3! This post will be regularly updated, from earliest to oldest fic!

✰ carpe diem — (E • 2,9k)

The world has succumbed but two lovers find solace in an abandoned grocery store.

✰ In Your Scent I Thrive — (E • 33,3k)

There are very few things on earth that makes sense to Harry. Louis is not one of them.

OR; Harry’s particular condition has made it impossible for him to enjoy people’s scent, until he meets Louis.

✰ Memory of a Dream — (E • 64,7K)

Harry hums. “Why else do you think I brought you here? It's our places now," the alpha smiles, gentle. "Have you always lived with your godmothers?”

He nods, gazing at the leaves as the breeze comes to ruffle them. “As long as I can remember. And if you’re wondering what happened to my parents, I don’t really know. Apparently they died when I was still a baby.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry tentatively reaches over to put his arm around him; he doesn’t protest. Instead, he snuggles closer and closes his eyes.

There seems to be a barrier between them, or some kind of deep gulf that can’t be crossed. He feels it right now even though he’s never been so close to Harry before. Harry’s entire body is kissing his curves, in a place remote from everything; and yet… and yet he can’t connect with Harry. Maybe it is for the best — getting attached to somebody he can’t have sounds like torture. At one point, Harry moves so that he is sitting right behind Louis, allowing for the omega to lean against the alpha’s chest; it feels good, he feels safe. He is succumbing to illusions; he will get hurt.

Somewhere behind them, a raven croaks.

-

OR; a Sleeping Beauty AU.

✰ Hamartia — (E • 67k)

“Your scent lingering on my pillow… oh Honey, If only you knew that the moment I dread most every time you leave… Is when it fades.”

Six years is a long time for Louis to mend his heart back and erase every lingering, stubborn memory of his ex-lover, Harry Styles. But when news of the war being over spreads across the world like wildfire, and he stumbles upon the alpha he vowed himself to never see ever again, he realises that not even a lifetime will be enough for him to pick up the scattered, broken parts of his soul. He's far from expecting the alpha he loved to be struggling in the same way.

All the ointments in the world might never soothe the pain out, but it doesn't take long for them both to come to the conclusion that, maybe, the only medicine to their heartbreaks are what caused them in the first place.

✰ dirty laundry looks good on you — (E • 50k)

When Louis Tomlinson finds his clothes lying in a sad soapy mess on top of the washing machine in which they are supposed to be, he acts upon his anger and retaliates. What he doesn’t expect is having to deal with a six-feet tall, curly-haired and dimpled man in return, who seems to arouse confusing feelings within him and to make his life take an unexpected turn for the better (or worse?).

OR; the utility room is a great place to fall in love.

✰ a taste of freedom and sweetened passion — (M • 74,7k) for @falsegoodnight

“Are you mad?” he explodes, throwing his hands up, groaning. “I was so, so close to reaching my goal, and your stupid, stalking ass had to creep up on me, hm?”

Harry is trying to keep his laughter in, walking closer to him, eyes soft. He doesn’t like the way those eyes make him feel, an odd, dangerous mix of nervous and flustered, so he bends down to pick up the books, raising an eyebrow when Harry growls in protest.

“I wanted to pick them up for you,” the alpha pouts, and Louis glares at him, getting into position and lowering the pile of yellowed pages over the top of his head.

“I’m a functional human being, thank you very much,” he grits out as he begins to walk and mentally count the amount of steps he takes. One, two, three, for heaven’s sake Harry fuck off!, four, five. He doesn’t let himself be distracted as the alpha walks along with him despite the slow pace, green eyes focused on him in a way that would, in any other cases, compelled him to throw a book in the alpha’s face.

He doesn’t know why he doesn’t do it and certainly doesn’t want to think about the reason, whatever it might be.

✰ in a sea of mist — (E • 126,7k)

A Greek Mythology/Camp Half-Blood AU where Harry is lost, the road to peace is a wretched one, and somehow, through a mist of confusion and regrets, Louis seems to be the only thing that makes sense and everything Harry needs.

✰ those who from the Pit of Hell, roam to seek their prey on earth — (E • 17,6k)

1889. Louis Tomlinson is a student at the prestigious Harrow School for Boys, nurturing his passion for forensic medicine under the care of a particularly mysterious and dark teacher, Harry Styles, who has set his main focus on a series of gruesome murders, all of them reflecting the year 1888, when Jack the Ripper went rampant in the poor streets of Whitechapel.

✰ ruby eyes and tainted vices — (E • 666) 

Harry goes to bed alone, but wakes up to a body next to his.

✰ the hope that warbles in my fluttering breast — (M • 10k)

"I don't feel good," Louis admitted, eyes watering. Harry rounded the table to sit next to Louis, worry eating at his guts.

"It's alright, we've got everything we need. We will be fine."

But Louis shook his head.

"No, it's not that. I don't feel well."

Harry bit his bottom lip, hard. "The babies?"

"No, they're not moving, I just... I don't know, something is wrong. I think I need to lay down, alright?"

The winter growls loud and mean outside as Harry Styles comes home to his precious Louis.

✰ you contain in your eyes the sunset and the dawn — (M • 38,1k)

Louis moaned prettily as he grabbed one of the hybrid's thighs and inched it up, his hand big enough to cover almost the entire of it. When he looked into Louis' eyes, they were practically just black, a pool of lust and tension rendering the baby blue of his eyes intense and rich. And they kept kissing until their lips tickled, until they were sure they would bruise and turn a deep burgundy colour.

"How was I supposed to know?" Harry mumbled in the crook of Louis' neck, letting his tongue and teeth play with the skin there.

"Couldn't you just talk to me?" was Louis' answer, and Harry thought.

He thought of how much time they had wasted because of him.

Harry Styles was to spend six months at AT&T Inc. of all telecommunications companies in the world, also known as the largest one in its field. This was the biggest deal of his life; it will both improve his expertise in the domain and maybe secure the job of his dreams. There was only one problem standing in the way, and it came in the form of a stunning, irresistible and intimidating cat hybrid of the name Louis Tomlinson. In other words, his boss.

[akirosama777]

If nothing brings me joy and I always feel quite hollow, does that mean I've died inside already because I refused to follow...

Every person in the world who seems to skate, to flutter by... while the music fills my hollow ears and bleeds from glassy eyes?

Am I worth the amount of energy that I never seem to have, while the mother I once called a friend goes out to poison herself and die?

And I stand here in the bleakness of a hollow, brittle world, while I pick up all of the pieces that she left when she unfurled...

I am broken and I'm bleeding... I have nothing left to give, but the love I'd once begun to give, and barely alive to live.

I was beautiful once... I had a dream... had a goal or two in mind... but I'm sitting here in the broken wake that her destruction left behind.

But it began way before my time, began with a little girl... my mom... and her grandpa, such a piece shit, let's called the bastard, "Tom,"

Took from her, her innocence, shattered her life apart, sent her down a road of agony, and her father killed her heart.

When he sent her far away at the behest of a beastly cunt, sent her to a boarding school, a common parental stunt.

And her life began at 11 when she'd had it all ripped away, sent her down that road of agony in blood and tears was paved.

Then at 16 she met a Jewish man, who with her had his way, then abandoned her with two children on one fateful Christmas day...

But she picked up the pieces, worked 3 jobs, she became addicted to a couple of drugs... met my father in a satanic band, acting like a thug.

So when she fell in love with him, got him to change his ways, both of them kicked the drugs they'd started and set out on another day...

She soon became again pregnant with my father's first born son, and he tried to kill the baby, with a doctor... not a gun...

Told her if she loved him badly, loved him half as much as she'd said, that she'd abort that fetus and remove its tiny head.

But she didnt... and he stayed... later giving birth to me... but that's not the last of her children... I was only number three.

Then as I grew he would abuse me, threaten, beat and apparently molest... then she had my little brother but he'd never face these tests...

As I began to mature and grow, I could see the patterns form, and my mind became a labyrinth as the alters would soon be born.

And at 6 I tried to end it... but my little brother was there... just one of the many treasures that kept me from joining the City of Air.

And he saved me... I don't know why, but he removed the chord I would choose... saved me from my madness as the alters began to fuse.

All the while my mother from her past she'd grown quite numb... and my father kept her helpless, kept her silent... kept her dumb.

My older brother fell to drugs and disappeared one day... right around the time, eleven I think, where I realized I'm gay...

And my sister fell to young love, to a man who started fires... and my mother fell to drinking when the divorce set forth in ire...

Sent my sister too to heroin and my mother to her dark, while my brother depended greatly on my ability to endure the harsh...

So I shouldered all that hatred... shouldered all the pain inside... let the alters guide me forward through the labyrinth in my mind.

I pushed forward for my brother until my little sister was born... as my mother found another man who left her completely forlorn.

And another life depended on the strength I'd come to own... after all the pain of a father, who's approval was never shown.

I was broken, I was bleeding, I was yearning for a hand... never found it... never searched, for on my own I had to stand.

Now my brother... little brother, grown and turned into a guy, who too had shouldered pain and suffering likely due to mine.

And my sister, little sister, worst of all had witnessed decay... and was tortured by a mother who'd been through so much hate and pain...

But im here now... for my sisters... for my brothers best I can... all five of me are standing and I've grown into a man...

But I'm broken... fuck... im broken... and my mother now she's gone... left my darling little sister on a strangers dying lawn.

And I'm picking up the pieces... trying so hard to hold me up... trying so hard to remember but the memories are scuffed.

Yeah this story's probably cliche... im sure you've all heard it once before... heard about a broken persona raped and bloodied on the floor...

Yeah, you've probably already heard it... probably seen it on a show... nothing shocks you people anymore, when it's something you already know.

I'm so certain that it's pointless to write these words and cry... while my mothers out there drugging and likely about to die.

And my sister... my poor little sister... all those years I tried to protect... will soon be here to visit this pathetic, broken mess...

And I'm trying to keep it together... to tell the alters to quiet down... in my brief and silent lucidity in a new and peaceful town...

And despite my anger... sadness... despite the insidious voice of pain... I understand why mother did it... though I know it doesn't explain...

But her life was so much harder... she'd had so much love to give... but the entire world around her let her run into their shivs.

So she tried her best at surviving, passed those lessons on to us... taught us how to keep on fighting but never how to trust.

Now I'm married... and I love him... but I'm broken, hurting, mad... at the life they gave my mother and that treatment from my dad.

I'm so full of rage and agony... so full of hope and full of pain... that's why I can't get to healing... why I cry whenever it rains.

And she's missing... my mothers missing... a person who never could refrain... She went out to numb the agony, the voices in her brain.

And... I empathize. I sympathize... I understand those thoughts... im still fighting... im still trying... Im still battling... distraught...

For my sisters and my brothers I have never touched a drug... for my sisters and my brothers I have never said no to a hug.

For my sisters and my brothers I am fighting yet, so hard... to keep my head above the water and stay away from all the shards...

I won't cut myself again... I won't try suicide to commit. I won't do again what I'd tried to do at least five times... maybe six.

For my father I'll keep fighting... I'll keep being a better man... prove him wrong and keep on going... on his grave I'll one day stand.

For my family that was broken... I'll keep searching for our mom... I'll keep hoping she'll find solace deep within her sorrowful song.

Mom if you're out there somewhere breathing, just know I understand and care... Im still your standing pillar, still your darling baby bear...

For my little sister Anna and for Justin im still here... I'll do my best to outlive them and watch them live out all their years...

I will never let this agony... from my health or lack there of... push me down to join the army of the defeated by the drugs.

I will never let this anger, let this rage or let this pain, push me to the point again where I grow more alters in my brain.

I'll keep fighting for my dogs... keep on fighting for my man. Keep on fighting for my sisters... and for my brother's I will stand.