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31 December 2015 @ 06:33 pm
Old habits  
Characters: Angel & Barbara
Time: Night
Location: Outside of California/Angels apartment
Thread Status: Open to Angel

It's almost like old times.

Okay. You know. It's really not. It's almost like old times if you...You know. Minus ALOT of things. Like the blood and the torture and the innocent lives. If you minus the fear and tension in her chest. If you minus the having to share him.

Some things are the same.

Barbara still doesn't call him Angel or Angelus. She's given a list of titles she can choose for. His name is a curse on her lips, which ends with her bent over his knee. This isn't hard. She's never really called him by his given name, then again. He's never been Angel before - and it's strange. She didn't know it would be like this.

She had imagined.

The hunger is still there, her blood still warms when he's near, and his hands, fuck, his hands make her feel desperate and needy and nervous. She stutters for answers to questions he barks at her, and rope finds it's way around her body, and around her wrists more often than not. She still sees that familiar glint in his eye that says 'Just wait Kitten.' She still has to remind herself to focus on anything that's not him.

But it's different.

She's not afraid.

His touch can hurt, and sometimes there's blood, but there's no buckets. He doesn't slice into her flesh, he doesn't break her fingers or close his hands into fists that hit like freight trains. When the gravel crunches under her knees he doesn't kick in her ribs. He holds her like he cares, and he explains why he's doing what he's doing. Sometimes that reasoning is just because he needs too - because he's on edge and she's a receptacle for his frustration - but he tells her, and that's new. There was so many times the pain came without reason or logic, and she was left sobbing and confused on what exactly she did wrong. You can't correct the behavior if you don't know what exactly needs correcting.

This Angel is not her Angelus, but he needs her all the same.

It takes her months to fully understand that. The darkness is still there - the desperation and need for control, but there's love. She had always figured Angelus loved her - he told her he did anyway, but now...She's not sure. Maybe he thought that was love, but no. Love is not names carved into flesh to mark your terrority, it's not the brand that still sits on her hip - almost a full century later.

She has always looked at this man with the utmost adoration. She was completely obsessed with him - any version of him. She was made for him. She was nothing before he found her. She barely even remembers what it felt to be human. Such a short snapshot in what would be her life. Things like souls don't matter to Barbara. Not like they did to Darla. To Drusilla. No she was always like Spike...

They were more alike than she liked to admit.

They're still on the road but she knows they're heading home soon, not because he tells her, but because she can feel it, his back straightening, his voice short and curt. They're heading west. He takes his time, but you can only take so much. Soon they'll be heading back into California. Back to where he works and hopes to make a difference. It was nice pretending none of that mattered. To be completely wrapped up in him and whatever was going on between them.

But he has a life. She just has to figure out how she fits into it.

She fears she won't. Fit that is. She doesn't tell him that. She was never really good at speaking up. She just watches the night sky as it passes by. The windows are down and the air is turning crisp, but she knows it won't get too cold. Californias not known for that sort of thing. Good thing. Vampires are cold bloodied.

That night, when he pulls off into a hotel she's quieter than normal - and maybe he notices and maybe he doesn't. She's happy. Really happy - and she doesn't know that she's ever felt like this, and she doesn't know if she ever will again. She doesn't know if it matters, and she doesn't know how long it's going to last.

The second Angelus got his soul, Angel had left their family. Which she more than understood, Darla was a nightmare; but...

"You know it didn't matter to me right?" She asks rather suddenly, breaking the silence between the two of them. She spins in her desk chair toward him. Her legs crossed up on the chair. By the look on his face he has absolutely no idea what she's talking about or where she's at in her mind. She's never spoke about this. Not outloud. Not to anyone. But they're going back home soon and he has to know. He has to know before it's too late. There's been so many times things have been left unsaid in her life, and she is going to be damned if this is one of them again.

"When you got your soul." She continues, clueing him in on where her mind has been wandering for the past fifty miles or so. "That was always Darlas hang up." The name tastes bitter on her tongue and she wants to tell him that after he left she took out her anger and frustration on Barbara's body for years before she turned back to the Masters side. She doesn't tell him that.

"I would have gone with you then, as I am with you now." Her voice is sad, and angry all at once.

He left her. He built her to be completely and utterly dependent on him. She wasn't supposed to be able to function without him - so when he left, she lost herself. She was crippled and useless. If it wasn't for Spike - she know's she'd be dust by now. She didn't care if he had a soul, she didn't care if following him meant upheaving her entire life and figuring out how to survive on bagged blood. She would have done it without hesitation because she needed him. She had thought, stupidly, that he had needed her back.

Now she knows better.

Angelus did alot of fucked up things to her.

He never fucking left her. One time, he was wayward for a month or so, stuck behind on one of the times Spike had them chased out of town. When he caught up to them, Darla had gotten her claws into her. He never left her alone again. She was his, his to hurt, to bruise and to break. In exchange for her loyalty he kept her safe from anyone - anyone else.

Angelus didn't leave her. Angel did.

It's a hurt she's been holding on for far too long. It's the base point that spiderwebs out into every insecurity she has, and it's all focused now on one fear she can't seem to shake. She has to know. She has to know before she gets too invested and she gets her heart broken again, because it took her fucking decades to patch herself together enough to even be able to function and she doesn't know if she can do it again. She doesn't know if she wants to do it again.

"Are you going to leave me again?"
 
 
 
angelusdarkness: Taken Heartangelusdarkness on January 9th, 2016 06:19 pm (UTC)
Angel was grateful that they’d finally found a motel room after hours and hours of driving. He needed to get out of the car, not because of her, but because his legs were aching something fierce – even for a vampire, and he needed to stretch them. Plus, he was getting really hungry and wanted to warm the blood up in an actual microwave instead of having it at ‘room temperature’ as they continued to drive back to his office.

He wasn’t sure what kind of reception that they were going to get. Of course, his team was going to be thankful to see him again, alive and well after his sudden impromptu trip to Sunnydale to visit Buffy and the rest of the gang but… with him came two things they wouldn’t be expecting. They wouldn’t be expecting the fact that he was bringing news of the possible end of the world. That Buffy was going to be on the front line, and that he hoped the amulet he gave her would help but he wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything except that they were the second line if they got past Sunnydale.

He didn’t know how much time they had before it all went down, but he knew that it had to happen and that they all needed to be prepared for the worst.

Okay so, they worked with him and for Wolfram and Hart. They knew exactly what he was bringing home with him.. but they wouldn’t expect him bringing an unsoiled vampire along for the ride. Someone that Angelus had ripped completely to shreds… and did the worst job at sewing her back together.

He was a bit worried, how they were going to react to finding out that Angelus’ favourite childe in the entire world was now standing next to Angel. He wasn’t sure he could handle the looks that they were going to give her… maybe he should call them, give them a bit of a heads up and warn them to keep their eyes to themselves.

Especially when he figured that everyone thought he was going to abandon her back in Sunnydale with Spike and Samantha, her childe.

He was just putting a container of blood in the fridge when he heard the voice that had been so silent for the most of their trip; ”You know it didn’t matter to me right? When you got your soul.. That was always Darla’s hang up. I would have gone with you then, as I am with you now.”

Angel planned to open his mouth and get words out, to explain everything to her before she spoke again.. asking him if he was going to leave her.

He immediately abandoned the blood in the microwave and moved toward her. His hands cupped her face before he could help himself, and smashed his lips against hers. The kiss was passionate, it was rough.. but it was nowhere near what Angelus would do to her when he got his lips on hers.

Even though air was not an issue, it was still a bit of a force of habit and he moved to rest his forehead to hers. “I am never going to leave you again,” he promised her, his eyes were closed, as he was painfully reminded of the monster that he used to be. The monster that he prayed he would never become again.

“I didn’t… leave you behind because I didn’t think about how you would be. I left because of how ashamed I was - Because of all the things that I had done as Angelus, to everyone in my path – especially to you. He was an extra prick toward you and I’ve never, not once, been able to forgive myself for what he’d done.”

He sighed, pulling himself away and beginning to pace, beginning to brood a bit as he tried to pick his next words carefully. He knew she was fragile, okay, well she used to be but she seemed completely different to the woman that he had left behind.

“I couldn’t look at you, not every day, not after what he’d done. I couldn’t be around you, I couldn’t hear your voice, look into your eyes and be reminded every single day that he ruined you. He ruined your mind and body and I just..” he sighed.

“I know it wasn’t right to leave you behind, and I was selfish in doing so… I’m so sorry, Barbara..” he whispered.

He had never once in his lifetime as Angel ever want to hurt her, or ever want to hurt her again. He was going to take extra care this time around with her to never hurt her like Angelus did again.
Barbara O'Connor: after all this timechaoticxbarbara on January 12th, 2016 11:38 pm (UTC)
Barbara frowned as he spoke. His words floating in and out of her as he spoke, some of them resonating, others not.

"Couldn't look at you."

Or was it that he couldn't stand to see how she would still look at him? Eyes wide and full of adoration and worship despite the fear that she knew always lingered there when Angelus was around...that would have lingered there as she tried to realize that they were two very different people.

"Not after what he did"

He made her. She shaped her. He beat her down but it made her unbreakable. Or was she always that way? She went back and forth on that one. Nature versus nurture, the never ending question.

"Ruined you."

Is that what he thought? Her stomach sank, her undead heart chilling in her chest, if that was at all possible. She felt a sick sense of dread filling up her veins, seeping into every pore of her body.

"He ruined your mind and your body.."

She glanced down at her frame, there was no lasting damage, aside from the A burned into her hip, a branding iron and holy water and razor blades made sure it stood the test of time. It took alot of experimenting on her Sires part to figure out exactly how to scar a vampire and make it last.

She had screamed so loud, but she wonders if he forgets how much Angelus made it up to her, calling her his pet, and his kitten and his precious little one. How he held her and fucked her and let her cum until she couldn't anymore.

It wasn't a bad memory.

Not entirely.

She had always thought that vampires just felt differently, they looked at this kind of stuff differently.

Was that true? Was Angels soul keeping him from seeing how special and important her bond with her sire..with him was? Was he only able to see the wreckage and not the beauty of the war itself?

"I'm so sorry..."

Or was she just fucked up beyond repair?

Was everything she'd been told a lie?

True, she didn't do the same kind of things to her childe, she didn't play mind games or slaughter her family or rape her. She never had too. Samantha was so kind and willing and perfect. She never needed the kind of restraint that Barbara did.

She didn't plead for it the same way. It wasn't in her blood.

She just thought they were just different. She thought Angelus just saw her...really saw her and knew what...

What would work best for her.
Barbara O'Connor: find my placechaoticxbarbara on January 12th, 2016 11:39 pm (UTC)
She suddenly was having a hard time thinking. Her hands were trembling and she put them under her legs to try and silence their tremors. She was hurt and confused and...angry.

She was really fucking angry.

She lifted her eyes finally, after a moment, taking a long unneeded breathe. She felt like the walls were closing in.

"I'm not excusing...what Angelus did, but....if you think he ruined me you are way off." She told him, her tone cool because she wasn't going to sit by and let him tell her that she was broken when she wasn't. "I feel...like...he just..prepared me...for you."
God, she hated being this cheesy. Romance did not settle well with her, her stomach turned, tightened..
"I know what's right..and wrong now. I know..how I should be treated and how I shouldn't. He didn't break me - he couldn't. I was just..waiting for you."

She let out a second breathe she didn't need. She tipped her head up and their mouths met, cool, like mint, and needy, desperate. Angel would never hurt her. Not like Angelus, but she wasn't interested in something human or vanilla or normal. She wanted the dirt under his fingernails and the darkness in his eyes. He was still a vampire.

Even if he didn't want to be.

She loved every single part of him. She knew how much he struggled, he felt like he was sharing a body with a monster. It wasn't true. He was the monster. It was always inside him. Just as hers was always inside of her. The vampire didn't destroy that, it just brought it out, without guilt or remorse. That's what the demon does.

Angels struggle was in vain, it felt all wrong. He was holding pulling his punches, always trying to be human. You shouldn't have to try to be anything. You should dive in, headfirst, and ask questions later. So he could keep doing his human things. She could do them along side him.

But she'd always be his dark place.

Maybe some would say it's wrong to use someone as a vessel for your frustration - but Gods, she'd be lost without it.

His hands found her hips, she kissed him harder, pulling him in close, fingers tight in the lapels of his leather jacket. A soft whine fell from her lips, he met it with a growl.

The microwave went off, she smiled against his mouth.
angelusdarkness: dont tempt meangelusdarkness on January 22nd, 2016 03:06 am (UTC)
”I’m not excusing what Angelus did, but if you think he ruined me you are way off. I feel like he prepared me for you.”

Despite his lips being plastered against hers, despite her body being pressed against his… the words that left her lips were still echoing in his brain. Could Angelus really have done such a thing? Could have just… prepared him, prepared her for what was to come? No. No, that wasn’t possible. Angelus couldn’t see the future.

And then Angel realized that she wasn’t being… literal, so why was he? It wasn’t that Angelus could see the future, it wasn’t like he… specifically molded her for anything in the future.. not really at least. He made her to be strong. He made her to withstand what was coming, what was always coming; pain, death, blood and anger. She survived it, out of everyone that Angelus had created, by his own fangs… she was the one that truly survived.

He had to give her credit for that.

But there was one thing that she was missing. Despite how much she enjoyed it, despite how Angelus craved it.. despite how they both did, himself included… the memories of her tears, her screams of utter anguish and pain would always haunt him. Even if he dipped a toe into the deep end of evil, he would never become Angelus again, he would never do what he had done to Barbara.

At least, not to the extent of everything. Didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little bit of fun right?

He was just moving, moving to press her against the nearest flat surface when he heard the sound of the microwave going off and he let out a long, low, rumbling growl that began at the base of his throat. “Hold that thought,” he told her. He moved toward the microwave and pulled out the container. With him having a soul, he wasn’t about to send Barbara out on a run to go and bag herself some breakfast, so he took the container and placed it into two glasses that the motels always supplied so that you could drink. He gave her one, and took one himself.

He didn’t sip it, not yet, he moved to the mini fridge and pulled out one of the scotches that were just begging to be devoured by someone, or something. Though Angel couldn’t get drunk, that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the taste.. and scotch, surprisingly, gave blood that little… spice to it. Spike liked his Weetabix, Angel liked his scotch. He poured half of it into the glass and shook it around to mix it everywhere before tossing the mini bottle her way.

He saw the look on her face and laughed, “Don’t knock it, little red. It gives the blood a bit of a kink.”

What had started this was when he became Angelus the second time around and was destroying Sunnydale from the inside out, a few of his choice meals from the Bronze had scotch lingering in their blood and he immediately got hooked. It was strange to say that that was how he got addicted to it, but hey, to each their own right?
angelusdarkness: Angel smirkangelusdarkness on January 22nd, 2016 03:06 am (UTC)
He took a sip of his blood, thankful that it was just at that perfect temperature. He felt it slipping down his throat and pooling in his stomach. He felt the urge to feed lesson and it made him feel better. It made him feel less on edge and more in the drivers seat. Because when he didn’t eat… Angelus was louder. He was banging at the cage he was placed in, threatening to break free and destroy everything in his path. Especially Barbara. Specifically Barbara. He’d be the first one he’d come after and destroy her all over again.

Though she survived this one, came out stronger.. he didn’t know if she would have been lucky the second time around.

“Drink,” he told her as she just stood there, holding the glass and the bottle as if he was insane. He just gave her a smile, “We’re almost there and I have a sinking feeling that despite how much my employee’s trust me… they aren’t going to like the fact that you’re coming back with me again.”

He knew them. He knew that even though he’d left with her, they would have probably hoped that he left her in Sunnydale to keep in contact with him. Left her there with her childe to run amok in Sunnydale. But honestly, if they had known him, they knew he wasn’t going to let her out of his sight, or even leave her stranded in a town that was going to be destroyed. He didn’t even really want to keep her here, on the second front but he felt safer having her next to him.

If it came down to it and Buffy and her little gang of minions had lost the battle.. he would send her somewhere. Somewhere safe. He didn’t know yet…

Maybe he’d send her to Peru… he’d always been fond of that place.
Barbara O'Connor: fly burn fallchaoticxbarbara on February 9th, 2016 06:39 pm (UTC)
When doctors stick their firsts into the chest cavities of human beings, they leave something behind, some sadness that glues itself to the insides of the operated ribs. It is as if your heart knows it has been exposed to the sky and it is mourning the loss of light. It grows dark when they break you open.

She remembers, when he's been disappearing for weeks, when he comes back smelling like sewers and rats and dirt. When he barely looks at her but begs for darling Darlas attention. When he finally looks her way and Darla just laughs and says there's no way in hell she's getting any where closer to any of her girls. Hers. Darlas spent the last few weeks drilling that idea into her flesh, with branding irons and razor blades and broken glass and nails and teeth. Angelus was hers. She was Angelus's. Angelus was gone. Gone.

She follows him out into the alleyway, because she doesn't care what Darla thinks. Or anyone. Because all she wants it to keep being his, whatever that entails because God, what the fuck else use is she?

It's just him and her, and she expects it to be like it is always is, he's so much softer when they're alone.

She knows the conversation is coming before it does. He says it's over between her and him and she thought she was ready for it but instead she finds herself shaking and sobbing with the same nauseous out-of-control feeling as when she was seven and her brother accidently through her off the playground equipment and she hit her head against the cobblestone. His words are a high speed collision without a helmet.

She remembers the hurt.

This is what it feels like when he leaves her in that alley: it feels as if she is lying with cold feet on the crinkled paper of a hospital table and there is an ongoing surgery occurring without anesthesia. Every doctor has his face. She pictures the small moments that are being carefully plucked from her sternum - no more quiet moments where she sorts clean clothing, no more ice cream trips at two in the morning, no more waking up before him to see the moon shift through his eyelashes, no more of his hand tangled in her hair and the gravel digging into her knees, no more summer days with bare legs tangled on beaches, no more kissing him, no more curling up near him, no more him.

And she hates that she wants it all back, that she would take everything she has and trade it for another chance to feel him beside her. In that alley she comes to the truth: she is not some ones princess. She never was. He did not raise her with a wolf in her chest so she could howl over losing a man.

But here she is: open heart operation in progress while he cleanly snips out his connection to her. That's it. No more future.

He leaves her there, bones bent back to make room for the hole he has punched in her. She is the one in charge of her recovery, but she has shaky hands and there aren't enough band aids for a hurt like this. Every time she hunts down a boy with dark hair and dark eyes, every time she listens to a certain song or stares up at the ceiling, she remembers him and the stitches come undone again.

Spike grows weary of hearing her story and hearing her drunkenly slur about the memories that are good to her and disgusting to everyone else. Drusilla cries, and Darla leaves. They all hate hearing how she hates him, and hearing how he loves him, and hearing how she'll never be the same and hearing how she's feeling better really, and hearing how she's back in the same sad space and her mouth grows wearing of saying his name like each letter is a prison wall.

One day. She doesn't speak of him at all. She carries the scar but no longer flinches when the sharpness of this world brushes against her chest. She is wolf, and she might be wounded but she knows one day she will get over it. She decides to wait for that moment to hit.

Exactly three months later, a girl with brown hair and brown eyes, a girl with a sad smile that changes when magic sparkles between her fingers passes by. The moment hits.
Barbara O'Connor: lets use this chancechaoticxbarbara on February 9th, 2016 06:40 pm (UTC)
The microwave door opens and closes, and pulls her from her thoughts. She's watching with a look of half disdain, half disgust as he mixes scotch and blood and sips it like it's not the most repulsive combination on this planet. She catches the half full bottle of scotch - that she's never really liked besides in small tastes on the back of his tongue or the pads of his fingers. She turns it over in her hands.

"Don't knock it, little red, it gives the blood a bit of a kink."

She snorts at the irony of the statement.

This is a new habit.

She would have remembered this.

Bagged blood is bad enough, adding scotch to it makes her stomach turn over itself. No way. She's been trying - really, and it's been nearly four weeks since she fed off a human. It's hard. She hears their heartbeats hammering in their throats like beacons calling her home. She wonders if he has to deal with it - he wonders if the soul deafens it or at least muffles it. She wonders alot of things.

"Drink."

She drinks, because obeying him is like second nature, and her body moves despite her shifting stomach. The taste combination is...interesting. She closes her eyes as she swallows, and she's oddly comforted by how the drink reminds her of him, of home. She licks her lips, and finishes the glass. She empties the bottle and the mattress dips under her weight when she sits on the edge, her legs folded beneath her. "You know you don't have to keep getting me drunk, didn't you learn your lesson in Sunnydale?" She teases, but holds her hand out for another bottle because, duh. He doesn't give her one. Just raises an eyebrow. She sighs and gets up, crosses the room and goes to the mini fridge. She takes out each bottles to fill her arms. She doesn't give him one.

Angels cheap. She sees his eyes widen. He can say old fashioned but..

She returns to the bed. When he approaches her, pushing himself off the counter he was leaning against, each move calculated, graceful and fuck, he knows how to work those long limbs of his. She flips onto her stomach with the nest of bottles beneath her, as if she was a dragon hoarding a stash.

She growls playfully when he gets too close, and scoops them further under her small frame. She snaps white teeth at his fingers in warning. They may be returning soon, but it wasn't tonight.
So she decided to make tonight count.
angelusdarkness: Angel smirkangelusdarkness on March 4th, 2016 12:57 am (UTC)
Angel see’s the look on her face when she takes her very first sip of the combination and he couldn’t help but smile. The way that her nose scrunched up, the way that she narrowed her eyes as she tried to figure out if the taste was appealing or just… completely far from something she ever wanted in her mouth.

“Spike puts Weetabix in his blood. It’s gross. It’s all gritty and sandpapery.. I don’t know who ever got him into that combination but in all honestly they should not be on this earth.” He commented.

He was happily sipping his blood when she was moving to the mini fridge, making a stupid comment about him getting her drunk. He wasn’t planning on getting her drunk! He just wanted to continue to help her work on her blood bag drinking. He knew what she was going through, knew the difficulty of being near the beating hearts of humans, the sound of the blood rushing beautifully through their veins. He understood how hard it was. How desperate she could get from not feeling that perfect warmth underneath her fingertips, to feel the splash first hit her lips and tongue when her fangs would slip like butter into the flesh of a neck.

He knew how hard it was and he just wanted to make it easier for her, better. Make the transition something that wasn’t just… painful.

His eyes narrowed when she filled her arms to the brink with all the tiny little bottles of whisky, vodka and… something he’d never seen nor heard of. It was brown and looked.. disgusting if he were to be honest. But there she was, taking every last bottle to the bed as if she were going to drink every last drop down. He took one last sip of his blood from the mug, licked his lips and put the ceramic onto counter behind him.

His feet moved slowly toward the bed like a lion hunting down its prey and then he pounced. He felt his fingers get nipped when she tried to bite him, he tried to scoop his hands up underneath her stomach to grab hold of the bottles that she tried to keep away from his fingertips.

He moved to sit up on his knees just on the back of her thighs and near her ass. He brought his hand down hard on her ass, letting the leverage help him before he could reach under and grab only two bottles.

Well, that wasn’t the score that he was looking for. He let out a small growl. It wasn’t a warning, it was a playful one, one that Angelus used to use with her when he wasn’t being a complete and utter asshole to her. Which wasn’t very often but obviously often enough to have gained such a love from her.

If she wanted to play a game, then she would and she would completely regret it. He knew they both needed this to relax, to forget the conversation, to be able to move forward at a better pace – together and he knew that this little tumble over all the tiny little bottles in the fridge would be exactly what they needed.
Uno Valentine: dark cloud over mepotionprincess on April 15th, 2016 10:14 pm (UTC)
There were moments between Angel and Barbara that would have made for great poems. Moments even with Angelus that would have made for stories that go down in history. That light up the sky with love, that made their mouths red and their tongues numb. That made even the ones who only heard the stories in passing get goosebumps and not be sure if it's from fear or something else, something deep and primal and wanting.

It was not these moments that did it for the raven haired vampire. It was the quiet moments that were enough. It was sitting on the floor of a messy hotel room, sipping nuke warm blood from mugs and eating cheap take out food. It was discussing what dinosaur they'd be if they could transform, if they thought history had proven one religions might over another, the famous people they had met over time and how overrated most of them were or one of the other hundreds of conversation topics that came and went between the two battle worn soldiers. It was leaning all the way back in the dark of Angels car and telling ghost stories about lost travelers. It was two in the morning when Barbara wakes up panting, and Angel, half asleep, pulled her closer and kissed her.

They chased the moon. They had made beaches remember them. They have walked forests. But here, in the slow afternoon of what should be a work week, she loves him simply for the way he looks at her before he pounces. Her mouth is twisted in a half giggle/half yelp when he's pressed against her, and her face would be warm and dusted pink if her blood still pumped instead of sitting dead in her veins. She only has a half second to think of how perfectly his hips fit the curve of her ass before his hand comes down the first time and causes those thoughts to scatter from her mind.

She half whines, but it catches in her throat and she forces it down with a growl when he manages to steal some of her stash. She narrows her eyes and glances, briefly, over her shoulder, and then instantly regrets doing such a thing. It's always been his influence over her mind rather than her body that was her undoing, and his eyes spoke so many more words than he would probably ever say. She tried (and failed) to swallow the lump building in her throat.

His fingers are cold on the white ridges of her hipbones, scar territory, flinch territory, missed-the-sad-but-found-the-blood territory. His breathe is a desert wind, is a sun she cannot run from, is a water-less river. She remembers the first time he kissed her - or Angelus did, she's still trying to separate the two in her head. She remembers how he held her against the wall and said, "girls like you are so hot, the messy ones are always the best ones in bed."

Girl like her are so hot. They are red dwarf stars. They are burning up in the sky of your sheets. They will do anything just to stop thinking, they are open fires, they are the forest turning to ashes. They have destroyed everything close to them because it's better that way and they never deserved it in the first place. They have ruined their lives because it's all they seem to know how to do. Girls like her are so hot. They are hungry hands that search over their bodies, picking at soft places. They are eyes that cannot cry, not for the lack of wanting, they are a high noon that never ends, they are shaking, they are barely able to form a fist but still beat themselves up with it when no one else is around to do it for them.

She's a supernova, if she had a soul, it would be burning.

Don't fall in love with boys who have given their hearts away, and Angelus was already with Darla but still she fell. Now, she knows, Angel is in love with Buffy, yet here she is. It's like a cruel joke, but these chains around her heart are so deeply embedded and she cannot breathe for the scent of him.
Uno Valentine: revolution beginspotionprincess on April 15th, 2016 10:15 pm (UTC)
Don't fall in love with boys like him, because no one will ever ask if you're okay. You have to be okay because you fell in love with a boy knowing he would never love you back. But she's never told anyone how she's convinced herself that she was what he needs, she still thinks that. And after so many days of being unloved she began to unravel like soft yawn until all that is tying her down is this pile of memories that she can't quite seem to untangle herself from. Even though everyone tells her she should stop giving him everything when he comes across her heart string, he says he's too cold to function so she knits herself into ugly sweaters he wears like an apology.


No one asks why they're still wearing that stupid sweater far, far into the summer and you know if he asked, she wouldn't tell him because he's sewed her heart on the sleeve and she doesn't want to let go.


She's simply say she has this condition where she's always cold even in hot weather and she'd leave out the part about how she thinks he's the sun and without him she's turning to ice and she's a storm that won't stop haunting her and she's promised Sam she's be better than this. She promised the stars. She promised herself.

But God.

This fall.

This fall is like spiraling downwards to earth from fifty thousand feet because he is a space station and Good God she wants to be an astronaut. He laughs because she's blushing but her heart is exploding in her chest and his smile fucking sky rockets her all the war to Mars.


The fall is like sinking into the deepest abyss of the Arctic Ocean because God damn he makes drowning feel like floating and his eyes are too bright to be water they're more like glaciers filled with bones of girls like her who should have known better. Maybe she's freezing to death but every time he says her name she simultaneously suffocates from the warmth of a thousand suns.

This fall is like flying and it is both so spectacular and terrifying. He is cold air and a warm hearth. He is coming home and leaving behind everything that she had worked for. She doesn't know what else she can do other than wait for this train wreck to happen because maybe it will kill her but oh God. How fast they'll go before hand.

She doesn't know many things, but she knows who her heart will always ache for.

She pushes all of those thoughts aside, she pushes everything aside. His hand is coming down again and she can't focus on her thoughts or the ache in her heart or the dread in the core of her. She now, can only feel the warmth his sun imposes on her, and feel alive because of it. She can only twist and squirm, yelp and whimper. To curl herself around the pile of bottles that started this whole thing, and laugh when he manages to unravel her as easily as a worn sweater.

She laughs until her stomach hurts, until she is choking on tears and smiles and a happiness she never thought she'd feel again. Until she twists, and forgets the bottles shes supposed to be hiding from him, and instead, wraps her arms around his neck and laughs against his open mouth, and kisses him until she forgets...everything. Her hands move beneath the dark fabric of his cotton shirt, and it rides up beneath for their skin to press flush against one another.

He stops laughing first.

Her fingers twist into his hair, and she breathes in his exhale as if it's going to keep her from dying all over again.
angelusdarkness: come to feastangelusdarkness on July 16th, 2016 12:54 am (UTC)
When Angelus started to try and grab the little booze bottles that Barbara had snatched from the mini fridge, he didn’t plan to end up so close to her. He didn’t plan to lay on top of her, head to toe, his eyes gazing deeply into her beautiful ones. His hand moved up, gripping at the dark strands as he felt her hot breath against his own. How is it, even by being a vampire, your breath was hot? The rest of their body temperature was cool. 

His eyes continued to gaze into hers, her eyes darker than normal…blown out from something he only remembered seeing. It was excitement, it was lust. He sucked in a deep breath of unneeded air and before he could chicken out, his lips smashed hard against hers, his hands moved up her arms that were wrapped around his neck and took both of her wrists, moving to transfer them to the pillow and against the wall. His one hand stayed there, gripping onto both small wrists, as the other moved down the side of her body, slowly, counting each rib that it passed on the way down. 



His fingers trailed underneath her shirt, his fingertips touching her flesh before sliding up, repeating the same counting as it moved up and down her side before he gripped tightly to her hip. He knew that this wasn’t the greatest ideas. Actually, it was on a really long list of really bad ideas that Angel has had in his life, and his unlife… but it wasn’t the first time that they’d been together since they’d had their little reunion. But each time, he grew more worried. He could feel his heart beginning to react more and more to her. Even though it was dead, it still knew what it was like to love, and be loved. He didn’t want it to happen but he never was able to help himself around her. He never could as Angelus, why in the hell could he be able to help himself as Angel?



His lips moved from hers, moving to create a trail of nips and bites along her perfect jawline, along her wonderful, porcelain neck. He let out a low growl when he realized that he was on the side that a bite marked her throat, but it wasn’t his bite. He felt his fangs elongate and he knew that they wanted to pierce her flesh in that same spot – trying to claim it but he pushed it back. He gently ran the tips of his fangs across her collarbone, her taste exploding against his tongue and he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a low growl.



“You always had such a distinctive taste, Barbara…” he purred out gently, his tongue lapping like a kitten against her perfect flesh. He could feel his pants begin to grow tighter as her blood continued to splash against his tongue each time he made a new little scrape with the tips of his fangs against her flesh. He moved his way over to the other side of her neck, the growl a different, primal sound when he recognized his own scent. He raked the tips of his fangs against the scar that resided there and he wanted nothing more than to fully sink his teeth into her skin, freshening her bite, his claim on her.



With his hand still firmly holding her hip, he moved it to press against the small of her back, lifting her pelvis up against his as he ground down against her. He let out a groan against her neck, breathing in her scent. “I’ve never been able to help myself around you.” He purred out, licking at her flesh. “How in the hell… am I supposed to stop? Being around you twenty four hours a day, seven days a week?” he asked. “it’s torture. Having you so… close to me and not being able to touch you properly.” He knew now wasn’t even the right time to do this.

angelusdarkness: dont tempt meangelusdarkness on July 16th, 2016 12:54 am (UTC)

They were waiting for the sun to set. A battle was coming. They needed to get the second front up and ready for when and if the battle had escaped from Sunnydale and headed straight for Los Angeles.

They were the world’s second hope and he needed to focus. 

Even though his mind was on the beautiful girl beneath him, he couldn’t help but wonder about what was going on in Sunnydale. He had a feeling that Buffy would have already spoken about the amulet to Spike, about it needing a champion. Though Spike had changed, and he’d found love… he knew that he’d never be able to stop trying to redeem himself in the eyes of everyone. Especially Buffy. He knew that because he was still going through it, even after years later. 



Spike was always going to love Buffy, and he hoped that one day it wouldn’t get in the way of him and Sam if they survived the Battle of Sunnydale. He knew what it was like to love and be loved by the Slayer, and he knew what it was also like to be without her. He loved her, he always would...but he wasn’t in love with her anymore. He hadn’t been in love with her for a very long time.. and he hoped that Spike would realize that sooner than later, that the young vampire didn’t love the Slayer as much as he thought that he did. That the love of his life stood next to him on the frontline and would do anything to protect him.

He really just hoped that Spike didn’t fuck up like normal.
Barbara O'Connor: find my placechaoticxbarbara on January 17th, 2017 11:42 pm (UTC)
There's full decades of life that Barbara was very much a part of that she has trouble remembering these days. She gets bits and pieces when she scratches at the surface of the memories, but there's so many things that won't go past a single word as far as description or detail go. Whole seasons, whole years filled with happy; sad; lost. Decades that are filed under the color blue or the concept of healing. Growing pains, or just pain in general. You live so long you can't remember the details of everything, you just remember...the hurt. Or the smells.

"You always had such a distinctive taste, Barbara..."

Barbara doesn't remember what strawberries taste like anymore, but she remembers that she used to love them, back when she was whatever it was before she was this.

She wonders, why, her mind would be as cruel as to make every moment of her life before this crystal clear. She remembers that her father taught her that everything she loved could be shoved into a fireplace. At ten yers old she promised herself she simply wouldn't want things so she couldn't be dissapointed. She thought if she emptied herself of all love and happiness and hope that there was nothing left he could take from her that she hadn't already destroyed. She couldn't be hurt if she was gone already.

And she lived her life like that. Ashes and cinders where would be success because when she self-destructs at least it's her hand alone on the button, at least this fragile thing is hers and hers alone because he can't kick her out if she never had a home.

Then she met Angelus; and she found something she didn't want to lose.

"I've never been able to help myself around you..."

But their fights because volcanoes and one late night she gives up the ghost. He asks with a snarl why she's so hell bent on burning every building they have in the city.

She remembers opening her shaky hands and discovering she was sobbing, trembling as she whimpered out, "Can't you see, I will never be good enough. Breaking people, breaking thing is all I know how to do."

And Angelus made love to her for the first time that night even though he'd fucked her pretty much every night for the past five years or so.

"How in the hell....am I supposed to stop?"
Barbara O'Connor: lock me up insidechaoticxbarbara on January 17th, 2017 11:43 pm (UTC)


She wonders...now...what Liam and Barbara would have done, if they had met anywhere, at any time, other than when they had. But Liam was dead before she was born, so maybe wondering doesn't do much good because they never would have met if Angelus hadn't taken her, and Angel might very well never exist at all.

That thought leaves her feeling hollow.

We are all carrying the bodies of our younger selves; it becomes distinctly different when you've had the same body for as long as Barbara has. The years pile up and you think you're getting better but then he kisses you or he touches you in a way that you haven't felt in decades and you're back - just like that. Arms full of her crying, of her begging to take back that night and shove it into a better place. Of the memories of him leaving and where she screamed her throat raw. The child she was is sobbing and she has been carrying her uphill ever since. Things are getting cold. Her feet are slipping in the frost and she is so tired. She has outlived her time, and she is hungry. She is constantly whispering about the small things that hurt.

She just wants to get that child somewhere warm. Here. Where she can learn that they can be happy again. Where whispers can be shouts but she's so afraid of sliding backwards. Blizzards show up from nowhere and she and this child freeze in the nothing. She forgets to keep walking sometimes. She wants to be somewhere flat, where she can see the storms coming.

But she is always, always, climbing. She's trudging through with her boots filled with mud, and she's getting stuck, and she keeps moving but each step is harder than the last.

"...Being around you twenty four hours a day..."

Except now. Except when he's touching her. The boots come off, the weight is gone, suddenly the room with only walls has windows and doors and she can get out.

One second. That's all it takes.

"...seven days a week..."

She loves him and that's all that matters. She knows she's small and he can't feel what warms her up. He doesn't understand that when he looks at her and she doesn't glow or sparkle or show it because she's just always loved him. For being alive and existing. So she knows she's got the same number of freckles as before, no cool tattoo with the first words he said to her. But he's her somebody. Not even necessarily romantically. She just loves him. They're a train wreck waiting to happen but he's alive and she's alive and they could tell each other how they kept breathing while at the bottom of the ocean.

"It's torture."

Take a deep breathe, it's okay if it feels like there's nothing left, she's here and she's listening and maybe they can give each other cool rocks they found or handmade glitter glue cards with deep dark seconds on them or just teach each other a good recipe for cookies. He can stir and she'll cut out the shapes and listen it's okay if this all feels like it's not meant for them. It's okay if their hands shake. It's okay if he loves somebody else in a way that he'll never quite love her - it's okay if he's sad and he doesn't know why because she's sad and she doesn't know why anymore, but she does know she loves him.

So it's okay.

"Having you so close..."

She'll listen for as long as it takes and help to get him to okay, even if that's six holidays away, even if that's years, even if he thinks its pointless to wait. It's okay. She doesn't have much to her name but she can give him her and her heart.

"And not being able to touch you properly."

It's okay. It's okay. It's okay.

"There's never been anything proper about the way you touch me," She whispers back, only just now speaking for fear of her voice being too tight with...everything. An explosion of emotions moving out through her bloodstream like spider webs, touching absolutely every single little hidden spot inside of her. Shining bright, burning light into every dark corner until she's swallowed with the warmth of it.

"Tomorrows still gonna come," She tells him, "So why not just spend the night with me anyway?"

After all, what's the worst that could happen?

Edited at 2017-01-17 11:45 pm (UTC)