#BTVS fanfictions

[misskittyspuffy]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Spike/Buffy Summers, Buffy Summers & Dawn Summers Characters: Buffy Summers, Dawn Summers Additional Tags: Spike's death, Buffy's grief, Chosen, BTVS 7.22

Résumé : Après le combat final dans la Bouche de l’Enfer, Buffy se retrouve seule dans une chambre de motel et réalise pleinement ce qu’elle a perdu dans cette bataille. (Spuffy - Juste après la fin de Chosen, 7x22)

[evieelyzabethh]

Warmer than a Comforter

pairing(s): Spike x fem!reader

summary: it wasn't unusual for Spike to 'break' into your apartment, but it was unusual for him to want to spend the night.

warnings: very long (4.4k words), spike being a simp, one bed trope, dry humping, thigh fucking, masturbation, some fingering, slight praise, Spike being Spike, a smidge of possessiveness, and thats about it

It was no secret to anyone your favorite time of day was long after the sun went down. A full-time college student who worked a part time job on top of that was no easy feat. Your time during the day was never your time, it was your shitty professors time who assigned reading after reading that needed to be read for the never-ending stream of papers and theses, it belonged to your shitty boss who piled on tons of paperwork and demanded you be at his beck and call even after you clocked out. As much as you loved them, your time off belonged to your friends; patrolling, looking through dusty-old books, trying not to die every time you stepped out of your apartment.

When you got home (if there was no patrolling to be done), it was your time and while you were tired, you made time for your nightly routine. You'd slip off your shoes and walk in the dark to make it to your room to turn on your lamp, because you'd be damned if you were turning on one of the big lights this late.

You would usually strip down and dig a pair of pajamas out of your drawers before taking a scalding shower. You'd brush your teeth and wash your face, maybe if you had the energy, you'd do a face mask and paint your nails. You'd turn on your stereo or switch on your TV to fall asleep to the fuzzy sound and soft light. This, of course, is what you'd be doing right now had you not walked into your house with company.

You could see him lounging on your bed, the darkness of his attire somehow darker than your unlit room. His duster slung on the back of your desk chair, only clothed in some tight navy shirt and jeans.

"What are you doing here, Spike?" You crossed your arms over your chest, annoyed when you realized he had his dirty ass boots on your bed.

"M' paying my favorite Scooby a visit." You walked over to turn on your lamp, giving you enough light to see how smug he was. His arms sat behind his head, his eyes glittering with amusement. He was doing this to annoy you. He did most things just to annoy you.

"Pay another Scooby a visit." You were dead tired, practically forcing your eyes open. You had just gotten back from work, your bag still in your hand which you used to knock his legs off your bed. He could've been stubborn, but he let you.

You stripped off your hoodie, flashing him your stomach as your undershirt rose with the movement. He whistled, "Scandalous."

"Get out of my apartment." You tossed your hoodie at him while rolling your eyes. He caught it midair, bringing it to his nose to sniff it.

"Smells different. You using a different bodywash?" You hummed as you walked around your room to find something suitable to wear to bed. It was dreadfully hot out, even worse than what you'd expect from a California summer. You had at least 3 fans going anytime you were here, especially since your landlord could never seem to find a permanent solution to the junky A.C unit.

"Midnight Rose. Real fancy stuff." You hadn't even noticed a difference, but of course Spike would. Vampire senses had a way of being intrusive in a way that was only helpful when it came to your cycle and saving you bed sheets.

"I like the other one better: the cocoa butter one. It was fainter. You smelt more like you." You scoffed.

"Duly noted." Your hands roamed over the old t-shirts from high school and camisole tops so old the straps had snapped on a couple of them.

Spike sat up on your bed, untying the laces on his shoes haphazardly before setting them by your bedroom door. He roamed around like you had been, picking up bottles of nail polish and flipping through one of the books on your shelf.

"You could spare me a bit of your attention, love. I mean I did go through the trouble of-"

"Breaking into my apartment?" You interrupted.

"On second thought, it was a bit easy. I pushed it a bit and the window came right out. Are you leaving it open for somebody?" His tone was supposed to sound much more teasing than it did. There was a pang in his chest, probably of jealousy. Much to his chagrin, he was jealous a lot these days and he couldn't quite tell if his frequent visits were enabling that or the very cause of it. Either way, it was hard not to just crawl through your window anytime he pleased.

You acted like you were annoyed and if he had a dollar for every time you threatened to call Buffy on him, he wouldn't need to dumpster dive for furniture. If he had another dollar for every time, you never followed through, he'd be even richer. You said it's because you could handle yourself without her help, but, admittedly, you didn't hate his company that much.

As far as house guests go, it could be worse. It's not like he eats all your food, talks your ears off, or is unfunny. He was just there. A pain in your ass sometimes, like when he insists on being half a step behind you during patrols and never fails to tell you how great your ass looks from behind. Never a malevolent presence, just annoyingly noticeable.

His boots were clunky, and he smelled of faint cigarettes and alcohol. He also hated silence. He was fidgety and anxious, even if his intentions were stealth, he couldn't help but break the tension and open his mouth. At times against his will, he just wanted to be noticed that bad. He just needed to be around you that bad.

"I keep telling the landlord to fix it, but he insists it's just fine. 'Nothin' some glue won't fix'." But you had tried gluing it. Had it not been for the clear shit jammed in the lock, the window would've just come right open with the flick of a finger.

"I could fix it for you." He went ignored while you had made your way to your bathroom, taking your hair down from the claw clip it had been stuck in for the past few hours. A slight moan of relief slipped through your lips as your fingers carded through it to massage your scalp.

"You know how to fix windows?"

"Well...no. But it can't be that hard. I've been around a few hundred years, surely I can figure out how to fix a bloody window." What he meant to say (if he had the balls) was that he would be more than happy to learn how to fix a window for you. It would give him an excuse to hang around, it would keep him in your good graces for a solid month, and he wouldn't have to break an entering anymore. Granted, his preferred place of entry had long been broken and he could always come through the front door, but it was a matter of principle.

You looked him up and down, trying to decipher if this was a set up for a joke or if he was actually serious, but he kept his head down. He hadn't been able to blush since he was a human, but the habit had a way of rearing its head for you.

He was so pretty too. With his high cheekbones and the way the warm light made his complexion look less ghastly. As ironic and cliche as it would be to say, he looked slightly angelic. Like one who fell from Heaven and donned the dark and mysterious charade to make it hurt less. He would burn away under a cross just to make it back to Heaven. Nearly break his spine falling out of windows and bleed out taking stabs if it meant he was closer to your doors. If there was one thing Spike did well, it was devotion.

"You wouldn't even know where to start. I'll just call Xander or something."

"What're you gonna do that for!"

"Because, Spike," you laughed incredulously, confused as to if this was going to become an argument or form a chip on his shoulder. "If I want something fixed, I'm going to call someone who does it for a living."

"But would Xander do it for free?"

"Would you?"

"I wouldn't charge anything of monetary value." You snorted, not surprised at all with his answer.

"You are such a whore, you know that?"

"What can I say, baby?" He leaned against the door frame of your bathroom, where you stood staring at your reflection in the mirror. He was happy that his nonexistent reflection could betray him. He was grateful to be a part of this routine - your routine- in a way that didn't disrupt your peace. It was soft. Almost domestic.

You were so meticulous about the way you scrubbed your face and brushed your teeth. He liked how when you took off your makeup the glitter remained. You sparkled at the right angles, really fucking sparkled. Of course, he was going to sit and stare at you; mascara still not completely wiped away, hair tied back with a fuzzy headband, lips agitated from being bit throughout the day. It was poetic. Second nature to him. He didn't need to breath, but it came to him then, overwhelming and filling his lungs like water until he was full as he stared at you in the mirror with not even his own reflection to judge him.

"I'm gonna hop in the shower."

"How rude, without me?" Damn, he sounded like a bloody idiot. You only looked him up and down, trying to appear deeply disgusted but stopped just shy of mildly annoyed.

"Get out of my apartment before I stake you." You slammed the bathroom door in his face, hiding your blush behind the wood.

"That's not a no." His voice is muffled behind the door, and as much as you'd like to believe he didn't hear it, you did laugh.

***********************************************************

Spike had to have been a cat in a previous life, is what you decided when you found him still on your bed, nose in some magazine he found pretending to care about the newest Natasha Denona palette.

"That crypt must be uncomfortable as hell for you to still be here." You skated around your room to sink beside him. He reaches across his side to pull out a bottle of water and hands it to you.

"Your showers are hot as hell; I'm surprised you didn't pass out in there." He flips through the pages nonchalantly, pretending not to be incredibly fixated at the water dripping from the nape of your neck and disappearing into your shirt.

"You would've loved that, wouldn't you? Getting to play 'knight and shining armor' while I'm conveniently naked." The sound waxy pages being torn was a surprise. So much of you and his banter was contingent on the assumption that neither of you meant anything serious so nothing would become anything.

Spike, who spent most of his mortal adult life swallowing his feelings until his stomach became an endless chasm where his feelings went to fester rather than die, was more than okay with this unspoken arrangement. Sarcasm was a second language to you. You were used to your words not mattering, especially since in your group of friends, your existence seemed to matter far less than everyone else's. You wondered if that was why you and Spike got along so well.

He just got you. Maybe a side effect of him being around you whenever he could. He just got you. In a stupid way. In an annoying way. The kind of way that made you worried that reading minds was also one of his vampiric powers. He wormed his stupid way into your brain, slithering around in his own sort of Spike way til you didn't know where his influence began.

He did sort of have this hypnotic way of speech. Maybe because he was a poet. Poets have to have some sort of hypnotic power, right? Surely, there was some connection between rhythms and brain waves that made the effect of Spike's voice so persuasive. Maybe it's not the rhythm and it's just the honesty. Ironic, since the basis of your "relationship" was built on never assuming that the other meant what they said, but who cares. It gave you guys flavor. Something to keep things interesting.

"I'll have you know; I am a very old-fashioned guy with manners." You snorted as his response. He talked about his "old-fashioned" ways a lot. Maybe to convince you that he was a gentleman. Gentleman your ass, you'd seen what he kept in his crypt.

"My deepest apologies for assuming that a guy that used railroad spikes as a murder weapon of choice wouldn't be above jumping at the opportunity to see me naked."

"Am I that transparent?"

"When it comes to mirrors, yeah." His scoff was lost in the sound of a car horn going off across the street. Damn, you needed a new place. He had complained to you about the noise before. If you didn't leave near a busy street, he would try his luck spending the night far more than he already did. Each blare deepened the scowl on his face as he flinched at the sound, even louder from where he sat in front of it.

"Those death buggies have to be the worst thing to come out of the 20th century. So obnoxious, and for what?"

"I imagine they are more convenient than horse drawn carriages."

"Yeah, more convenient and not even half the charm." He turned his head to gaze out the window. "It's not even a nice car! I'd rather ride around in the fucking Angel Mobile than drive around in that thing."

"You are so dramatic. Usually I just," you swing your leg over his waist, straddling and reaching over to close the window. He swallowed hard at the feeling of your chest pressing against the magazine, the only boundary between him and you, and the nonchalance of the action. "Shut the window." You felt him tense beneath you, his right hand awkwardly meeting your hip, blue eyes staring up at you through dark eyelashes. "Then again, I'm not a pansy who needs complete silence to sleep."

He cleared his throat before he spoke. "I sleep in a cemetery, love, ain't much noise around those parts." His eyes wandered everywhere they could but the worst part about beautiful people is that there is no unsightly place to avert your gaze. He couldn't stare at your gorgeous eyes, or your stunning nose, or your lips to distract himself from the steadily growing boner that you were sitting right on top of. You were no better than he was.

Within the context of the unspoken agreement, this meant absolutely nothing. The boner was just a normal reaction, that didn't have to mean anything. The way he was looking at you was a bit hard to ignore, but that was the way he always looked at you. He was a lot closer right now, sure, but that stupid lovesick look that you have spent years trying to ignore, totally just a joke. Not real at all. A trick of the light, in fact. The hard-on was very real though.

After sitting there for a few seconds too long, you shift your weight to move back to your side of the bed, but his hands keep you in your place. " 'm cold", he mutters, his thumb rubbing circles between where your shorts meet your bare skin.

"Yeah?" You feel him pressing up against your core. "I didn't think you could get cold."

" Me either but-", you lowered yourself completely on his clothed dick and the groan he let out was salacious. "Here we are." The frigid way he moved made his lie believable. Incredibly cautious, hesitant. No idea what to do with himself. He ran his hands along your thighs, up and down your side, one cold hand sliding underneath your shirt, rubbing the hem of it between his pointer finger and his thumb.

You leaned forward, warm breath fanning against his nose. It smelled like mint. You smelled like some sort of cocoa butter. Smooth and soft on top of him and he didn't know if you were going to roll right off or melt into his skin. Your hands come to the sides of his face, and you stare intently at him. He felt like he was under a microscope with the way you looked at him like you were committing each detail of him to memory so that even when you closed his eyes, it was still him burning in the forefront of your mind.

"You gonna kiss me?" You whispered, pressing yourself further into him. He let out a breathy laugh.

"What, a guy's always gotta make the first move?" With that, you leaned down to give him what was meant to be a quick peck. A tester. A tease. But when you give Spike an inch, he takes a mile, and he took the opportunity to devour you. Mouth open, sloppy, wet kisses while his hands worked as eagerly as his tongue did. You were a calming presence, slow and sane as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to try and ground the both of you.

Breathing through your nose, you inhaled him. The faint smell of smoke, the fresh smell of whatever he washed the gel from his hair with, the distinctly Spike musk. Your thighs wrapped him more closely, subtly grinding into his lap, ignoring the slight burn on your knees from the friction between them and your sheets. His large hands covered swathes of skin, cooling you where you grew too hot from his touch. When he had his fill, he broke away from you, still nose to nose, a string of saliva still between the two of you.

"Do you wanna spend the night?" Your voice was somehow meek as if there was any way in hell he would say no to you. He breathed out, turning his head into the crook of your neck, leaving searing kisses on your silky skin, worshipping at his altar, and thanking who or whatever got him here tonight. He kisses you from your neck, along your jawline, to the corner of your lips.

"Yes", he whispers against your skin. He bucks his hips into you, the imprint of his cock and the rough material of his jeans kissing your pussy through the thin layers of material. You nearly choke on his tongue at the feeling. Fuck.

Your eyes are closed, hips moving furiously against his, too blissed out to even care about the steadily growing wet patch in your underwear. You're lost in kisses, kisses that overwhelm and confuse and steal your breath until you wonder how much you need to breathe anyway. Along with not needing to breathe, you learned they must have incredible resolve. He chases you. Not like how a wolf chases a lamb but how the sun chases the moon.

He pulls and you push for breath, some sort of reprieve, some time for your mind to catch up with your body because right now everything but the way the seams of his jeans catch your clit is one of the only things on your mind. He pulls you, still, his hands squeezing at your waist, moving up to cup your breasts, thumbing at your nipples, and flicking the already hard peaks. And you push, still, not in protest but in harmony. Your hips pressing down, his jerking up. Your hands tugging his hair, his squeezing your waist. It was good. It was so good.

"What is the point", he starts breathlessly, "of these damn shorts if they're so thin. You're leaking right through, love." He smiles against you, sharp teeth grazing against your cheek as he smirks.

"Take 'em off me then." For once in his life, he takes his time. The desperation of his prior movements forgotten as he looks at you as he trails a finger from your chest down between the valley of your breasts, to your navel. He draws invisible shapes along your stomach, diamonds, hearts, and letters spelling m-i-n-e. And he stalls there. Looking from beneath you, smug as you ground yourself onto his dick in an attempt to move him along.

He was amused. Fascinated. You in your own world, mewling, moaning, putting on a show just for him. Choosing to ignore how sticky your panties had gotten, how much they stuck to your cunt as you wiggled your hips as if you could get any closer. Your tits moving with you, the way your mouth was slightly agape, the way you keened when you rubbed against him just right. It was no motivation for him to move his hands at all, not when it was much more rewarding to angle his hips up and make you see stars. "You gonna cum like this?" He crooned, full of fake sympathy.

"You're really gonna make me get myself off." You rolled your eyes, maybe out of pleasure, maybe out of faux annoyance. Either way, his hand slithered to the waistband of your shorts and dipped even deeper. He left feather-light touches on your clit which sent jolts of electricity up your spine. Overcome with the tightening feeling in your belly, your hands grabbed at his shoulders as your hips worked and worked you snapped. Impossibly wet and dazed, you rocked into him until the high had passed and the stars had left from behind your eyelids leaving only Spike.

His fingers still, in your panties, he moves to slide them and your shorts off your body. You hover slightly, still too sensitive to rub your bare pussy against him. You fidget with the button of his jeans and zipper, Spike's hands coming to cover yours to ease the shakiness. Maybe to give the appearance that he was much calmer than he was. He was painfully hard, and you felt it when you palmed him through his boxers after getting his pants down enough. Where his tip sat was a wet spot. You smirked.

"Did I get your dick that wet?" A shiver went down his spine. The heat from your palm was felt through his boxers. Your hand was barely big enough to cover it. Before either of you was prepared for it, he flipped you on your back. His hands sat on either side of your head while yours removed him from his boxers. He was so big.

You tore your gaze away from his cock to meet his gaze. He still looked at you the same. Pupils widened from lust, cheeks with a slightly pink tinge, lips puffy, eyes looking down at you with the same look they always had. It's then he leans down to kiss you for the millionth time. No urgency, less messy, a kiss like he was trying to wake you from a thousand-year slumber.

Your hand still on his cock, you pumped it a few times, swiping your thumb against his tip to lubricate his dick. He groaned into your mouth, humming in pleasure. You try to line him up to sink in your hole, but he slaps you on the wrist. "Don't want your cunt tonight," he mumbled in between kisses, "Jus' let me feel you."

He pumped his cock a few times before slotting it in between the meat of your thighs. The veins and ridges of his dick would occasionally slide between your folds, but that wasn't the focus. No matter how much you wiggled for him to plant his cock so far deep it kissed your cervix, you were ignored as he squeezed your thighs together, panting as he fucked them.

The juxtaposition made your head dizzy. The softness with which he kissed you and the fervor of his dick between your thighs, them getting wetter with the accumulation of precum leaking from his dick. It only forced him to press harder, leaving handprints from how hard he gripped. "Such a pretty thing, aren't you." He sighed out, his pace still even but his breaths far from it. "Go ahead and touch that pretty cunt f' me."

As much as your brain wasn't working, it wasn't needed to do what you were told. Bleary-headed, your hand traveled from the outside of your leg to between your folds. Still wet from your previous orgasm, it didn't take much to just slip a couple fingers in, moaning as you did. One hand toyed with your tit as the other toyed with your clit, your hips wanting to buck into your hand had it not been for Spike's palm on your stomach.

Had he had the composure, he would have made some sarcastic comment. Slow down, love, what's the rush, is what he would've said had his thrusts not been as sloppy as they were. He pulled away from your lips to see the mess he was making. White beads pooled on the skin of your stomach, dripping down your thighs like liquid pearls. And you. Low warm light bouncing off your skin, lip tucked in your teeth, staring right up at him. It took all of him not to cum at the sight.

Not before you did, he decided, which by the way your moans pitched up wasn't that far away. Each "accidental" slide into you was met with a jerk of your hips. "Stop it", you squealed, the bucking of your hips screaming otherwise.

"Feels too good, doesn't it." Then he did it again. His large hand drifts around before grabbing your abandoned tit, groping it until you hit your limit again. Your chest heaved unevenly as you tried to catch your breath as Spike's hips sped up, stuttered, then stopped as his cum splashed on your stomach and breasts.

Spent and not knowing what to do, he kisses you again. He smiles into it, and to his surprise, you do too. Like it was the only thing that made sense to do. The fuzz gradually fades from your mind, the noise from the multiple fans running and the faint humming of electricity apparent again. There's a breeze coming in from your window and you giggle.

"Are you still cold?"

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Character: Buffy Summers

Sample Size: 14,801 stories

Source: AO3

[spuffybot]

I’m going through a really hard time so please drop your fav Spuffy fics so I can distract myself.

[ptieuca]

[ourflagmeansworms]

Giles is a bi metafore

Rupert Giles and Ethan Rayne were so exes and I feel like this isn't nearly as mainstream interpretation as it should be. The man is bi guys. And he's such a bi metafore. Never really felt like he belonged amongst the watcher crowd (other heterosexuals) and he's just not. Dark magic, heavy music, his youth gets written off as a phase and that isn't fully true. Giles seems so by the book and scholarly until you actually see the other watchers and see what a rebel he truly is, how even his way of being a watcher challenges the intuitional norm.

[sapphistically]

the leather jacket

read on ao3 | masterlist/s

description: you’re having a bad day and spike runs into you, a conversation sparks and you realise you might actually feel something for him.

relationship: spike & reader

a/n: in my mind reader is fem, but idk if i specified it anywhere? they are wearing a dress, but that’s mentioned once, in the beginning.

wc: 1140

You sat down on a bench, it was dark, there was only one lantern a couple meters away from where you were. You felt the cold air caressing your bare arms and calves, as your skirt reached a little below your knees. It was hard, adjusting to living like this, living and haunting demons while you had your own demons haunting you, for a good while now, life was just, too much. Buffy’s life seemed to be piecing together, Willow met Tara and was obviously in love, Xander started to work and had Anya, you were just… there.

Wishes and what ifs filled your thoughts, you wanted to go back to high school, when it was just the Scooby Gang, when you had Cordelia, who you were close with at the time, you two were always outcasted to an extent, she was especially after Xander cheated on her, that’s when you distanced yourself more from him, while Willow always seemed honestly sorry, he never did. It was never the same after that, while you enjoyed spending time with them, you just never got that close again and your life seemed to go down hill from that ever since.

You watched people passing by in distance, you felt so empty, like someone cut a whole in you that could never be filled, today was especially bad and all everyone cared about was demons and other strange creatures of the dark to fight. A set of footsteps caught your attention, it was getting closer to you, you looked over to see a face you recognised, but haven’t seen in a while.

His hair was still platinum, combed back, he had his leather jacket on per usual and a funeral like — all black — outfit. Your eyes stopped at his face, he tilted his head, as he just stood there for a moment, his gaze lingering on your face, you could swear you saw his eyes soften for a brief moment, before they went back to being cold as usual.

“What’s wrong?” He said and the question took you aback for a second, you parted your lips ready to answer, but ended up biting your own tongue in time.

“What do you want, Spike?” Your voice was calm, almost emotionless, a chill run down your spine as the wind blew again, creating goosebumps on your skin.

“What? What do I want?” Spike let out a scoff, as he relaxed more, now standing in a less of a dull position. “Do I always have to want something?”

“Well, you usually do so… What is it?”

He scoffed again, you could feel your hands clenching slightly at that, he was bothering you and now wouldn’t even say what he wanted.

You just focused back on the people you could see in the windows of the dorm rooms, those passing nearby or those going out, probably to party. You kept a mental note of the fact that he was still there, his gaze was lingering on you and you could feel it. He eventually moved to sit down next to you, you glanced at him, your gaze paused on him, as you noticed his eyes softened again.

“If you’re hoping to see Buffy, she’s not coming.”

“Oh right, the slayer…What a loss.” He said, his tone more playful now, you just glanced between him and the passers by.

Silence fell between you two for a moment, he was just… sitting there and so were you, you didn’t really mind or care as long as he didn’t annoy you too much, it was quite nice, having company wasn’t so bad, even if it meant his company.

“Something is wrong.” Spike said, catching your attention, you turned to him, this time focusing on him. “What’s wrong, hm? Maybe I can help out.”

“I don’t need your help. Or want it.”

“Gee, no wonder you’re sitting alone.”

Ouch.

Your lips lightly pouted, it was instinctual, your head moved down as you looked at him with hurt in your eyes.

“Well, you’re sitting with me. So…”

“So what? You’re not alone? You’re in my company, a bloody vampires and not your ‘my little pony’ friend group?”

You let out a sight answering with a simple, “No.”

He took out a flask bottle out of his coat, he took a long sip, moving it towards you with a raise of a brow.

“What is it?”

“Apple juice— What do you think it is?” He scoffed.

“God you’re insufferable.” You mumbled taking it from his hand and taking a huge sip yourself.

It didn’t take long for you to get more talkative, you had a pretty weak head when it came to alcohol, you were shivering by then, the cold becoming unbearable. You began to think how cool was the fact that the cold couldn’t affect him, he was dead after all and probably cold himself as well�� you stopped your train of thought there, because why on earth were you thinking if he was hot— warm or cold.

“You’re shivering.” He noticed, his voice was deep, he took his jacket off. He moved it onto your shoulders, allowing you to adjust it, so you did, doing your best to cover up as much as you could, it just ended with you putting it on fully.

You smiled lightly at him, your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, “Thanks.”

“So you were saying…” He clears his throat as he takes another sip of the drink.

“Right… Um… What was I…” You frowned your brows, your mind was fuzzy, each thought went in and out within seconds, not letting you to focus on anything. He seemed to notice you struggled with putting it together so he just spoke for now.

“Well truth be told, the… whatever you called them gang… they are not as half as cool as you are, I mean, think of that prat Xander.”

You just nodded in an agreement, there was something in common between you, a human, struggling mentally and a blood thirsty, old as time vampire — your hate for Xander Harris.

“I— I don’t know…” You shook your head, drinking more, the flask was almost empty. “It’s all just… I’m just… Tired.” You looked down as you spoke, voicing it all felt a little too real.

“God this is so depressing.”

“Is it? I think that’s just you, love.” He smiles lightly at you, making you smile, he had a pretty smile… wait what?

God.

“You know what… I- I need to go.” You got up, giving him back the flask, unable to say much you just… took off. You could hear him yelling a couple of “hold up” after you, but you kept on walking, you eventually reached your dorm room, you walked inside.

You took your leather jacket off, but it wasn’t yours, was it?

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 1

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 9.4k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships.* Abusive relationship, getting *out* of an abusive relationship, alcoholism, alcohol, mention of sleeping in a car. Summary: One of the worst days of your life takes a sharp right turn into the unexpected when you learn of the death of a long-lost relative. Notes: It's heeeere! Spooky season has officially arrived and with it comes our annual spooky-themed soulmate story! Bringing our two canonical vampires together is going to be endless shenanigans. 🧛‍♂️🧡 Since this story is mostly set inside one of the mansions that I work in, we're planning on using photos of the house as chapter headers some of the time. Visual reference fun!

"Hurry up and get your shit." The drunken bellow from downstairs is followed up by a loud crash, another curse and a thump as your boyfriend – ex-boyfriend – continues to throw the equivalent of a temper tantrum. It hadn't been the first time you've fought, or that the asshole had threatened to throw you out on your ass, but the fist sized hole in the wall that had only been an inch from your face was new, escalating violence.

"Lazy, good for nothing cunt! I work all goddamn day and you couldn't even fucking do what I asked!"

It's not that you don't work. Or that you didn't work. But after getting fired four days ago following yet another day calling out of work to clean up some mess caused by your boyfriend, your manager had said it was the final straw and sent you packing. Since then you had tried to clean up the house, get the back-log of laundry out of the way, and at least make a nice dinner while you applied for new jobs. It isn't your fault that the neighbor's dog got into your yard and ripped a hole in one of his shirts on the clothesline. There is absolutely no way you could have done anything about it. But it is the thing that sent him over the deep end this time and has him screaming at you yet again.

Running upstairs was the best thing you could do to get away from his fist, and now you're just praying that you have enough trash bags in the house to cram your stuff into before he decides to come after you again. You'll be sleeping in your car tonight, but at least all the locks on the doors work. You can manage a few nights in a securely locked car. It's just...that you're not quite sure where you'll go after that.

The sound of the top to a Natural Light beer being cracked open sounds from the base of the stairwell and he takes several loud gulps. Belching from drinking too fast and hitting the wall with the flat of his hand. "Come on, bitch!" He calls out. "I ain't got all night!"

Wiping the tears from your eyes, you pace back to the top of the stairwell and lean down so you can actually see him. Ten goddamn years with this man and this is how it ends. "I'll be gone by the time you get home," you promise him, the resignation obvious in your voice. He'll go to the bar to see his friends like he does after he eats dinner almost every night. You've never been the kind of girlfriend to stop him from seeing his friends, so they have had a routine for almost as many years as you've been together.

"Good." He glares up at you and points a finger. "You better not take any of my shit either." He warns you. "Tired of taking care of your stupid ass. You're in for a rude wake up call. Shit's not easy out there." He burps again and turns around to stumble down the hall. "You are such a disappointment." He yells out before opening the front door and letting it slam behind him, rattling the windows.

"Yeah." You sigh, shaking your head with one of those cheap fleece throw blankets in your hand. It has ballet slippers on it, a relic of a childhood long dream long forgotten. "I know I am." Holding up the blanket to look at it more closely, you debate throwing the damn thing out entirely, but it will keep you warm in the car tonight. It will go into a trash bag along with everything else.

As soon as the blanket is shoved in with your two miniature throw pillows, your phone goes off in your pocket. Expecting it to be Derek, ready to yell at you some more, you're surprised to see Private splashed across the screen instead. If you don't answer it and it is him for any reason, there will be hell to pay. "Hello?"

The smooth, cultured voice on the other end of the line is slightly raspy. As if the person has spent a lifetime swallowing brandy and smoking cigars, or had spent all day talking. In actuality, both of those things are true. Your name is spoken in the form of a question. Asking if he had reached the right person.

"Speaking." The automatic answer doesn't make you feel any less confused, but at least they aren't yelling at you. "Can I ask who's calling, please?"

"Antonio Colette," He tells you quickly. "With Colette and Dupree. I am calling about your late, great aunt, Etienne Brown." He shuffles through the papers to bring up the will that had been laid out, along with the investigators report on you. It was how he had found your current number. "I am executing her estate and quite frankly, it has been a search to find you."

"I'm sorry," you shake your head against the phone as though the man could possibly see you. "I don't know anyone by that name. My, um...I don't know a lot of my family. But that isn't a name I recognize. Maybe you have the wrong person?" There is no reason that any family member you've never heard of would have left you anything in a will, so he must have the wrong number. That's the only explanation you can think of.

"No, ma'am." He tells you. "I don't think I have the wrong person. Is this not a good time to talk?" He can hear something in your voice, and while most were always happy to inherit something, you might have pressing matters to attend to.

Hesitating for a reason you can't quite put your finger on, you glance out the window in the corner of your now former bedroom, the one that overlooks the driveway. Derek's truck is gone, and your shoulders slump a little. You have hours until he comes home now. Usually it's not until after last call. "No...no it's okay. I'm just...not having a great day. What did you want to speak to me about?"

"Ms. Brown was very particular about her will. As executor of the estate, it is my duty to make sure that her last wishes are carried out. As there is no other living relative on your mother's side, she decided that you would be the sole heir of her estate." He explains. "This includes the eight-bedroom mansion and the trust that has been established to pay for the manor. Her private accounts. The total combined monetary worth of twelve point two million dollars."

The crash that he hears from your side of the phone call is you falling over – a product of your legs giving out the second he said the word mansion and then losing your balance all over again at the sum total of the estate. "Wh—what?" You manage to breathe, barely managing not to break down in tears all over again. For an entirely different reason, this time.

"Of course, there is one issue that you must be made aware of." He's used to people being surprised, so he doesn't try to explain. You will soon be holding paperwork that you can read again and again if needed. "There are two tenants in the mansion. Ms. Brown has given them a lifetime estate on the rooms they occupy." He tells you. "Meaning they live there for as long as they wish."

"O—okay..." As fast as your mind can possibly turn, you still feel like you can't quite keep up with it, and you end up curled up at the foot of your bed hugging the throw blanket that was still in your hands when your phone rang. "So...I just...get a mansion? And twe—twelve million dollars? And the only caveat is that I have two tenants?" None of it makes any sense, but you'll be damned if it doesn't sound like the perfect way out of the hell that you've found yourself in.

“Pretty much.” Antonio agrees. “When would you be available to tour the property and sign some paperwork?” He asks, flipping over to his calendar to pencil you in.

"I—" Stumbling again, your forehead drops onto the pillow clutched against your chest before you tip your head back and stare up at the mottled ceiling. "I guess...as soon as I can get there?" It's not as though you have anything else to do at the moment. Or even anyone to tell where you're going. "But, can I ask? Um...where exactly is this house?"

“Newport, Rhode Island.” He supplies. “I must confess that I could not find a current address for you, just this phone number, so I am not quite sure where you are traveling from.

"Dandridge, Tennessee." Six years you've lived in this town and it never felt like home, but maybe now that's for the best. With a sigh, you try to think if you've ever even heard of Newport, Rhode Island and come up entirely blank other than knowing that Rhode Island is in New England. Which is a pretty decent drive away. "It might take me a few days to drive up there. Maybe two days? Depending on how late into the night I drive."

“That’s fine.” Colette agrees. “I will give you my number. If you find yourself here quicker than you anticipate, give me a call and I can meet you with the keys.”

"Okay." For a second the brief fear that your car might not even last a two-day drive flashes through your mind but you push it aside and let out a sigh in favor of sitting up to grab the pen off your nearby desk so you can take down the lawyer's phone number. "I...um...thank you, Mr. Colette. This is..." It's insane. It's completely insane and you can't even wrap your head around it. "It's life changing."

“I will see you in two days.” Mr. Colette responds and then ends the call before he sighs. Dropping his head into his hand, he rubs his temple. Whoever you are, he feels sorry for you. No way you know what the hell you are getting into.

******

The first night you're honestly exhausted, and you end up sleeping in your packed-full car behind the twenty-four-hour diner with the really nice waitresses that don't get upset that you need a safe place to park for one night. Telling them that you're moving had done the trick, and the extremely kind pair of women had gotten their line cook to whip you up a sandwich for dinner and one more to take with you when you left town in the morning.

The gps on your phone – thank god the bill is in your name – says that it will take thirteen hours and thirty-seven minutes of driving. Deciding to go, go, go as best you can, you leave town at sunrise and end up crossing the border into Rhode Island at almost eleven that same night. Stopping for bathroom breaks and to gas up the car – plus traffic, of course – has cost some time, but you made it. Now all you had to do was make the last leg of the journey out to Newport. Surprised to find that Newport is actually on an island (didn't you learn at one point that Rhode Island isn't an island?) you pull into a truck stop to finally sleep for the night. You'll do the last forty-five minutes of the drive in the morning.

******

Feeling and probably looking like shit the next morning is the price you pay for getting here quickly, but you call the lawyer at nine in the morning when his office's website says it opens and arrange to meet him at the address he gives you. Bellevue Avenue just sounds fancy, and when you get to the island you realize why. This entire town seems filled to the brim with mansions, expensive shops, and swanky restaurants.

Antonio had been surprised that you had driven through the night, but perhaps he shouldn't have been. He gives you the address to his offices and tells his secretary to make sure that there is a good selection of bagels and muffins out this morning in case you would like something while you go over the paperwork. You are a very important client, and he would like to keep you if possible.

Tired and more than a little ragged, you pull your car up to the office on Thames Street and cut the engine with a sigh. There’s a lot of touristy stuff around, especially on this part of the island, and that means you haven’t seen a single dingy diner or fast food drive-up since you got here. Everything is expensive cafes and fancy restaurants. The thought that you might have to skip breakfast is discouraging until you walk into the lawyer’s office tentatively and smell coffee.

"Good morning." Raquel stands from behind her desk and smooths her pencil skirt down before she walks around the desk. Antonio and his partner prefer that she personally greet each client and she doesn't let her facial expression change from one of welcome when she sees the tired, beaten down appearance of the woman who walked into the door. Her heart clenches at the sight and even if you are not the client that he had been expecting, she will invite you to have some coffee and pastries while she waits for someone to work you into their calendar. "May I help you?" She asks as she offers her manicured hand to shake.

“I—I’m here to see Mr. Colette.” You give her your name along with the handshake she obviously expects, and try to shake the feeling that that smile of hers is probably plastered on. Of course it is. It’s first thing in the morning and she works in a law office.

"Of course." You are the important client, so she immediately waves you to the glass doors. "Please follow me." She tells you. "Mr. Colette is getting all the necessary documents together, but we have tea, coffee, bagels, and some delicious pastries available while you wait?" She wants you to feel comfortable as she walks you down the short hall to the smaller conference room where she had set everything up for the meeting.

“Thank you.” It doesn’t make one single bit of sense to you that they’ve gone through all this trouble, but this long-lost great aunt of yours must have been an important client. Maybe they think you’re important too? Well – they’ll be disabused of that idea pretty soon.

"Please let me know if there is anything I can get you." She senses that you aren't comfortable and she doesn't want to crowd you or do anything to upset you. "I'll let Mr. Colette know you are here."

There are a few minutes to wait, sitting in that conference room surrounded by food that you don’t dare touch, and you end up staring blankly at a photograph on the wall of a yacht on the ocean. It’s almost trance-like, how you sit there and stare, and you end up nearly jumping out of your seat when the heavy wooden doors open again and an elegant looking, well-dressed man walks through flanked by the woman who greeted you.

“Good morning.” Antonio smiles as he assesses the woman who had inherited a fortune and more. He is aware of the details of the will and the history behind it, so he feels like this is personal. “We will have quite a few things to go through, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to make myself a plate.” He chuckles. “No breakfast yet and I’m hungry.”

“Of course.” It’s a little bit like permission, and you feel comfortable enough pouring a cup of black coffee and putting a croissant on a plate for yourself when Mr. Colette motions for you to join him. In a few mere moments the three of you are sitting down at the conference table and Raquel presents her boss with a thick folder of paperwork in a leather sleeve and takes out her own notebook in turn.

“Now.” Antonio looks down at the paperwork and then back up at you. “Thank you for coming so quickly.” He starts off with. “Hopefully this transition will be seamless for you and perhaps after this I can show you around your new home?”

“It still doesn’t feel very real,” you admit, carefully sipping your hot coffee and looking down at the papers in front of him. “And you said there’s two other people…already living there?”

“Yes.” He nods. “Family friends of Ms. Brown.” He tells you vaguely.

“Alright.” Already you’ve made up your mind not to bother them, these people who live in a house that you’re inheriting out of nowhere. Who are you to intrude in their lives? “I assume there’s a lot of paperwork? I’ve never owned a house before so this is all new to me.”

“The taxes and the maintenance for the home are paid out of the trust. So you do not need to worry about that. If anything happens, call and we will take care of getting the bill paid.” He explains. “I’ve already taken the liberty of ordering you debit cards and credit cards.” He pulls out an envelope and slides it over to you. “All of them are active and ready to use.”

So people really live like this, huh? is all you can think to yourself as the lawyer’s secretary also sets a card down in front of you that has a man’s name and phone number with the title of caretaker listed on it. That along with the cards already has your head spinning, but then a set of keys is set down on the table as well. Front door. Kitchen door. Terrace doors. Each antique key is labeled carefully with a tag in elegant handwriting. Closets. Attic storage. Utility closet. It’s so much to take in — too much, arguably — and then a set of car keys is added to the pile. “What’s this?” You ask, already starting to feel your head spin a little.

“This is the car.” Antonio tells you. “The 1963 Chevrolet Corvette Stingray that Ms. Brown also willed to you.” He hums. “I have all the maintenance records for the car here as well. Her other cars were sold or given away before she died, but this one conveyed with her other belongings to you. I believe she said, ‘it goes with the house’.”

“I—um—wow…” Not that you know much about cars, but it sounds impressive and you’re momentarily thankful that you’ve been driving stick for the last few years, since your broken-down third-hand Volvo came into your life. “Are there any more surprises I should be aware of?”

“I’m not exactly sure what you will consider surprises.” The lawyer chuckles and slides a scrap of paper towards you. “The combination to the safe. It’s where the collection of Ms. Brown’s jewelry is.”

A safe full of jewels, a presumably fancy vintage car, a mansion, and a literal fortune? Frankly, it’s all a surprise. “If this house comes with servants I might black out,” you warn jokingly, staring at the slip of paper with the safe combination like it’s a foreign language.

“Well, the staff is paid from the trust.” He tells you seriously. “If you wish to make changes, please let me know. Right now….” He shuffles some papers. “There is the housekeeper and her assistant, the gardener, the pool company, and the window washer.” He looks up. “The pool company and window washer come by once a week. The gardener, the housekeeper and her assistant are all full time employees.”

The dead pan stare you have for the man is completely slack, and it takes far longer than you’re proud of to shake off the embarrassment of staring at him like an imbecile. “You’re serious?” You ask in equal parts confusion and awe. “I was kidding.”

“I assure you, the help is needed.” He tells you seriously. “A house of this size could not possibly be managed by one person alone.”

“Right.” The best you can do is nod vaguely and try not to have a panic attack over the responsibility landing in your lap, and you look between the lawyer and his clerk again. “You said it’s…eight bedrooms?” That place must be a palace…

“That is…the main bedrooms.” Antonio admits. “That doesn’t include the old servants’ quarters, although they are not occupied now.”

“Fuuuuck…” Even mumbling under your breath is obvious, and the paper that is slid in front of you is a clearly labeled blueprint of the house. Four floors, distinctly marked 38,000 square feet, and with more doorways, closets, and stairwells than you can shake a stick at.

“I can understand that it is overwhelming, but the staff is prepared for your arrival.” You look panicked and he doesn’t think that’s a good thing. It’s almost as if you feel…guilty.

“Can I ask…?” Swallowing down the dear at how daunting all of this feels, you abandon your small breakfast and sit back in the uncomfortable padded chair you’re seated in. “Anything about Ms. Brown? What did she do? How did she pass?” Where did all her money come from? The fact is, you had never even heard of her, but she left you an entire life.

“Ms. Brown died at 91.” He’s a little surprised that you are curious, but you don’t seem to be the type of person that is overly greedy. “Complications of old age.”

“I see.” Jittery fingers curl the edge of one page and you bite your lip, trying to see if anything doesn’t fit. But it all seems to knit together properly, in a way that just accidentally benefits you in the craziest way possible. “And she was just…independently wealthy?” It seems unlikely considering your family has so little, but who knows? Anything is possible.

“Some of it was leftover from her wealthy soulmate.” He admits. “They never had children. Some of it was from investments. She was a smart lady.”

“She must have been.” It’s easy to just waste money, you’ve seen that firsthand too many times. “Well…I assume I need to sign things? Make the ownership…official?”

“Absolutely.” He cracks a small smile. “Sign your life away, is the saying.”

Raquel slides a stack of papers over towards you. “All the places for you to sigh are indicated with a tab.”

A dozen different signatures and initials go by like lightning and before you know it, Raquel is excusing herself with the stack of papers to make copies and file things away. “Is there…anything else?” You ask, tentative about what else there could even be.

“Nothing that I can think of.” Mr. Colette hums. “I had the housekeeper stock the pantry and kitchen with basic items.” He tells you.

“That was very kind of you.” Since you aren’t really sure what else to say, you take a determined look at the pile of keys in front of you and muster a smile. “Would you mind showing me the house? The drive was long and it would be nice to settle in.” The further you get from Derek and his reach, the better off you know you will be. Even if you had loved him as best as you could — it had never been enough. Maybe these next people won’t be too disappointed in you. Not the way he was, at least.

“Of course.” He would make sure that you are comfortable before he turns you loose on the house. Or perhaps abandoning you to it would be a more apt phrasing. “Whenever you wish to leave here. I’ve cleared my schedule for the morning.”

“There’s no time like the present, I guess? I can follow you in my car.” You have half a mind to ask if the other occupants will be there, but you can’t see how he would possibly know that so you put the question aside in your mind.

“Of course.” He can’t think of anything else that needs to be address. “We will file all of the paperwork with the probate court and you will be receiving new registration for the car and a title to the house in four to six weeks. Sometimes it does take a few months.” He warns.

“I can’t imagine I’ll need them with any kind of speed.” After all, you have no plans to do anything of importance. In fact, if you never do anything besides sit in your little corner of this town for the rest of your life and remain unnoticed by everyone, you’ll be happier for it.

“Well.” He hands off the papers to the assistant and stands. “Shall we?” He asks, motioning towards the door.

******

Even with the heavy traffic of downtown Newport, the drive from the Law Offices of Colette & Dupree over to Bellevue Avenue takes under ten minutes. You drive by a grocery store and a drug store on the way – both good things to know the location of – as well as numerous high end shops, restaurants, and cafes. There is a bustling town here and it looks like students, too. Young adults with stuffed-full backpacks wearing all manner of paraphernalia that reads Salve Regina University seem to dominate certain areas.

After what seems like dozens of affluent homes, Mr. Colette’s blinker turns on before one of many stone walls and turns left into a driveway. When you follow suit and drive through the front gate, you’re glad to be alone because the gasp you let out is audible. Chateau-sur-Mer rises up and peeks out from behind trees like a monument. More massive than you ever would have dreamed of, the stone-faced house points north with a beautiful, multifaceted landscape surrounding it in every direction. Three stories, with a beautiful back porch, and spires and a tower to boot, the house is offset by a gigantic weeping tree that you don’t recognize and an otherwise reasonably sized house in one corner of the property that seems utterly dwarfed by the mansion it otherwise guards. Caretaker, you remember after a second. There is a caretaker…and presumably that is where he lives? It’s just…you had already had trouble wrapping your head around it. But now that you see it? It’s just…beautiful.

The sleek Jaguar comes to a stop and Antonio steps out and turns towards the older, slightly perilous looking Volvo. He hopes that you will get rid of it, or replace it now that you have the means. He had watched it seemingly buck several times while stopped at traffic lights.

“This is it?” If your question sounds dubious, it isn’t meant to. Honestly you’re almost too flabbergasted to really wrap your head around everything. There are a few cars parked under a structure to the left of the house that you assume used to be stables, from the look of it. Now the small windows that show you inside give a peak at bumpers and break lights instead of manes and carriages. There are a half dozen cars inside that you assume must belong to the other occupants and the staff, with more empty spaces standing open before the gorgeous black and chrome sports car that you now hold the keys to. “I mean it’s…it’s so much room. I’m almost glad there’s other people who will be around a lot.”

“The property is safe.” He assures you. “There’s a surveillance system that you can access and a security system that nothing in the world can rival.” He chuckles at his own joke and motions towards the house. “Shall we go inside?”

“Sure.” Not that you understand why one little old lady would need such a hardcore security system, but you nod anyway and let the lawyer – your lawyer? – lead the way. The house looms, almost daring you to come inside, but you are faced with an ordinary carved wooden door when you actually get close.

"It was built in 1852. Or completed in that year." Mr. Colette tells you as he takes the large keyring from you to unlock the front door and hands the keys back to you with a small grin. "It was once considered a ‘cottage’." He scoffs. "Although I tend to think of something a little smaller as a cottage."

“This is about four cottages all stacked on top of each other.” Walking through the front door cloaks you in near-darkness immediately. When your eyes adjust you stumble up a half-dozen wide marble steps into a front hall that grows up and up and up into an atrium taller than any you’ve ever seen before. The staircase behind you looks like it belongs to the set of a BBC drama and the thick red velvet curtains hanging in the entryway feel more like an old proscenium theater than a house. But the warm carved wood everywhere and colorfully painted forest scenes on the walls are immediately cozy in their own right. “Oh wow…” Your eyes are wide as you look around. It’s…it’s stunning.”

“Any changes you want to make, you are perfectly able to.” The lawyer reminds you, although he couldn’t imagine wanting to change anything about this estate. The mixture of Victorian and Gilded age architecture is a perfect combination to make a gorgeous house.

“I really don’t think that will be necessary.” After all, people already live here. The last thing you want to do is intrude on other people’s lives. “So this is the Great Hall, I guess?” The floor plan that Raquel gave you at the lawyer’s office is going to end up being invaluable, you think, as you pull it out and inspect the drawing of the first floor.

“Yes.” While he’s happy you don’t want to change anything, your tone makes it sound like it would be rude to do so. “The kitchens have been completely remodeled, modern appliances, but they still kept the charm of the rest of the house.”

“And that’s…” You consult the floor plan when there isn’t an obvious appliance anywhere in sight. “In the basement?”

“It is on the lower level.” Guiding you into the house, he explains. “Heat caused by the kitchens was unwanted so after the kitchens being in a different building fell out of fashion, they decided to make sure the kitchen was in the basement to keep the rest of the house cooler during the summer months. There’s the elevator over here, if you wish to use that instead of taking the stairs?”

Mr. Colette motions to the left of the main stairwell, to a portion of the first floor with red and black patterned flooring, and down a hallway. Curious enough to be led around by the suggestion and also noting that the floor plan in your hands says Servants’ Hall for this portion of the house, you follow him tentatively and watch him open what appeared to be a regular closet door. Instead there is a metal grating behind it, which is also opened, and a carved dark wood elevator car stands waiting for you. The kind of thing that would absolutely get you killed in a horror movie, it’s surprisingly sturdy when you step into it and Colette closes the door and gate easily. He presses the ‘B’ button before you can even ask about stairs and the antique elevator jolts to life, headed downstairs.

“Don’t worry,” he sends you a reassuring smile. “The elevator is safe.” He listens to the clanking and feels the carriage start to slow down.

The basement of this house is not like any basement you’ve ever been in before. The enormously long hallway with red and black flooring identical to the hall upstairs seems to stretch and stretch, and there are more doors down here than you could ever fathom needing. But there are voices coming from a room just a few yards away and that is both comforting and nerve-wracking at once. Other people means you won’t be lonely, but it also means new needs, new demands, and potentially new people to disappoint.

“Mr. Colette?” A woman’s voice sounds, loud and clear with a thick Rhode Island accent, from the room and only half a second later a tall, slim woman with gray and silver peppered through her brown hair and glasses attached to a beaded chain appears in the hall. “We weren’t sure when to expect you,” she says with a thin smile. “And this must be the new owner.”

“Yes.” The lawyer who has spent many hours in this house smiles at the housekeeper and waves your forward. Introducing you by your first and last name. “This is Marjorie Taylor and Renee Green. They are the ones who keep the house sparkling and the linens fresh.��� He explains. “Mrs. Taylor would also cook for you if you would like.”

“I insist on it,” Mrs. Taylor informs you, smiling in a sort of polite-but-curious way and she shakes your hand when you offer it. “It’s very nice to meet you, ma’am.” When you falter and repeat your first name, thinking that maybe she had forgotten it or something, she shakes her head and gives you that same amused, thin-lipped smile. “There are a couple of things we stay old fashioned about here,” she tells you. But leaves out that the contract she signed with the rather suave gentleman who hired her specified it. “I’m Mrs. Taylor. This is Renee. The caretaker is Mr. Taylor, and the gardener is Mr. Finchley. The whole staff live in the caretaker’s cottage on the grounds and we are always reachable except for our day off each week. The schedule is written out for you. I left it on the desk in the library along with the necessary phone numbers and other important information.

“You’re very thorough, Mrs. Taylor.” It comes out with a note of surprise and you drop your eyes to the floor, embarrassed. “I mean — thank you. It is very much appreciated.”

“It is my pleasure.” She assures you with a soft smile. “It will be good to have people in the home again.” The others that were here kept to themselves and were often not around.

“I’m just one person,” you assure her, as if to say that you won’t cause trouble or get in the way. Those were things that Derek accused you of far too often. Even if it is the job that these people have taken on — the job not cleaning and cooking and taking care — you would never want to be a burden or a strain on them. “And…I tend to be fairly low key.”

“Well, I hope that you will let us take care of you.” Mrs. Taylor hums. “We have been delighted to hear that you had been located and were coming. I am sure that we will find a way to rub along together.”

“I’m sure.” You say, trying to smile and be reassuring. These people seem to be expecting a boss, not a wallflower, and that isn’t what you are. “I’m very glad to have gotten the call.” That, at least, is true.

“Would you like breakfast after the tour?” She asks. “I can have a tray brought up to whatever room you choose, and Mr. Taylor would be happy to bring up any luggage and boxes you have.”

Renee nods. “I would be happy to help you unpack.” She offers.

“I don’t want to be any trouble.” You protest immediately, but both women give you such placid, polite smiles that you swallow your anxiety about butting into the house and replace it with fear of being rude. “I—I mean…thank you. That actually sounds very nice.”

“Our pleasure.” The elder woman assures you. “Perhaps later on, once you have settled in, we can go over your preferences.” She tilts her head. “For now, do you have any food allergies I should make note of?”

“None.” Just as soon as you shake your head though, something in your gut churns and the smell of Derek’s cheap beer somehow overtakes you out of nowhere. It’s like a sense memory you never needed, and you stammer inelegantly. “But I—I, um…I don’t drink. Alcohol, I mean.” You did before. A long time ago. But seeing what it did to the man you thought you were going to spend your life with has ruined it for you. Soulmate or not, you had really thought Derek was the one. But his one comes in a can.

“Yes ma’am.” If it sounds odd to her, she doesn’t make it visible, just nodding politely. “I will make sure you have a nice tray sent up, I know you will be tired from travel.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Taylor.” “I’ll show our new resident The call buttons after she chooses a bedroom, so you’ll know where to bring her tray.” Colette assures the housekeeper with a smile. “We’ll just head back upstairs.”

“Perfect.” She smiles at the lawyer. “Oh, Max and Eddie aren’t here right now, so if you show her their rooms, just go right in.”

You thank both women again and follow Mr. Colette back upstairs, where he motions to the left of the hallway where the elevator is hidden and you end up in a room that is wall-to-wall cabinets. There are beautiful serving pieces and sets of China in those cases, as well as stunning crystal and glassware. If you ever throw a Victorian themed dinner party, it looks like you’ll be all set for dishes.

“The preservation society on the island has been itching to get their hands on this estate.” Antonio muses as he slows down to let you take in the vastness of the collection. “Ms. Brown always enjoyed thumbing her nose at them.” He chuckles quietly. “I believe that you would have liked her. She was a firecracker.”

“She had great taste.” There is a set of China in the cases that you keep coming back to — the intricate gilding and beautifully painted flowers utterly mesmerizing you for a few moments. There seem to be three different full sets of China here and two full sets of glassware. Every different size dish or glass you can think of is here.

“Now it is yours to keep and use however you wish.” He reminds you as he moves towards the display of real silverware.

“I think it’s actually harder to wrap my head around that now that I’m in the house,” you admit, trying for a laugh and just sort of letting out a huffed breath instead. On the floor plan, the door to the left of you is marked Butler’s Pantry and that seems like someplace you shouldn’t go. To the right, though, the plan says Dining Room. “This way next?” You guess? The door looks innocuous enough — it’s just a dining room. It can’t be that crazy.

“Wherever you would like to go.” Antonio insists as he pushes open the swinging double doors silently. The large dining room table with the massive set of three chandeliers dominates the room.

The gasp from your lips has you pretty sure that you’re going to be saying “Wow” a hell of a lot in this house, and every room just makes the feeling grow. From the forest green walls of the dining room outfitted with ornate carvings in dark wood – to the silver painted walls of the ballroom with its six foot high mirrors and gilt relief work on every wall panel. A parlor room off one end of the ballroom is all decorated in green silk fabric – even the walls – with clean white accents. Beyond that is a hallway with a stained-glass ceiling and a white marble floor that is decked in red leather sofas and contains huge white marble statues and paintings on the walls that are nearly life sized. The library is the most ornate yet, with carvings on every single wooden surface, lush carpeting and sitting space, and even a hidden door built into one bookcase. “Where does that go?” You ask immediately, too tentative to open it yourself.

“This, I believe, goes to the morning room.” He tells you, cocking his head as he thinks. “It has been some time since I have completely gone through the house.” He admits.

“Is it okay to go through? I mean the house is old but it’s not so old that it’s unsafe, right?” The idea of a door in a book axe is too good for anyone to pass up, especially you.

“Absolutely.” Antonio pulls the leaver to open the door. “Ms. Brown and her soulmate would spend quite I bit of time in this room. I believe it was her favorite.”

The middle section of the bookcase pulls toward you smoothly, allowing you and Mr. Colette to pass into a large corner room with enormous picture windows on two sides and built in bookcases on every other wall. Like an extension of the library there are books everywhere, a red leather windows seat that matches the sofas in the marble hall, and even intricate wooden shutters that close over the windows in sections to regulate how much light is let in. One side of the room is dominated by a large fireplace with yet one more large mirror set in the wall above it, and there are small statues all along the mantle. A billiard table takes up most of the space in the middle of the room, but a table and chairs and a desk also fit neatly with plenty of room to move.

“This house goes on forever,” you observe with a laugh of disbelief.

“It is one of the larger cottages.” He agrees. “In fact, it was the largest house until the Vanderbilts built the Breakers.” He imparts that little fact with a smirk as he looks around the room. “But I’ve always been fond of this estate.”

“It’s beautiful.” Having seen it up close and personal, you can imagine that photos don’t do it justice. It must seem crowded or busy in pictures. But in person? It’s like the house is hugging you. After another minute looking around the morning room, you follow Colette back out to the entryway and head upstairs. There is fabric, not wallpaper, hanging on the walls around the master staircase and it is painted with a forest scene that seems reminiscent of folk tales. Like magic could be lurking behind any corner or a satyr just might come out from behind a bush. There is a tree painted on the underside of the enormous staircase, trunk and branches extending upward to sprout leaves and welcome birds, and it crawls all the way up the stairwell to extend out to the ceiling of the second-floor landing and atrium. Dozens of little painted songbirds light on branches everywhere to make you feel like you have climbed into the forest that is painted on the walls.

“Every room has its own theme.” He explains at the top of the stairwell looking down the hallway at the doors. “If you don’t mind. I will step away to make a call.”

"Of course." Far be it from you to stop him from attending to his business, and you follow along the railing in the hallway to make your way into a different hall. This one is just a rectangular room with the now familiar built-in cases along the walls, paintings and intricate light fixtures above the cases, and six doors to choose from. To open them one by one seems like a massive intrusion, but you can't figure out any other way to see what else is up here. The floor plan marks four bedrooms on this floor as well as a sitting room and a nursery, though you can't understand why there is a nursery if there were never any children living here. Maybe your great-aunt and her soulmate wanted children but just could never have them? That's a far sadder thought than you can muster at the moment.

Hoping that you're facing the right direction, you open the door on the opposite wall from where you are standing and – yes, you had it right – the sitting room is full of plush chairs and love seats with a petite fireplace that has a huge flatscreen television over it where you assume a mirror once stood. The fireplace has a small stand inside it that obviously prevents fires from ever being laid, but more importantly seems to be the storage rack for multiple video game systems. Whoever Max and Eddie are, these other occupants of the house seem to thoroughly enjoy video games.

To the right of that room is a beautifully laid bedroom with honey colored furniture and homey gray and white pinstripe wallpaper. A writing desk stands at the ready between a window trimmed in lace curtains and a white marble fireplace, and it feels like exactly the kind of room that you would love to be brought to if you were a guest in someone's house. As much as it is sweet, inviting, and unexpectedly friendly, it feels…spoken for somehow. It’s nothing you can describe fully, but it makes you think that you shouldn’t disturb the room. Like whoever had claimed it originally might still come back one day to curl up in that bed or sit down at that desk.

There are two more bedrooms – one with furniture made of a wood that is somehow remarkably the same shade as roasted butternut squash and the other with a luxurious, if slightly gothic, yellow velvet and dark walnut loveseat and red upholstered chairs in it that all beg to be read in – but both rooms very obviously are occupied. These must be the rooms that Max and Eddie claimed whenever it was that they arrived. The next door to the left of Max's room yields a large, airy bedroom decorated in all sorts of shades and textures of blue with dark wood furniture and soft pink silk and lace curtains over the windows. A painting of a smiling young woman hangs above the fireplace with two lamps in the shapes of cherubs holding the light source aloft. Two cream-colored chairs sit by a small table and two more blue velvet chairs flank another. You could have a whole party in this spick-and-span room without any effort whatsoever.

“This is the one, I see.” Antonio has returned. Lingering in the doorway as he watches you move from Knick knack to knick knack with an almost dreamy expression on your face. “Let me show you the call system.” He gives you an apologetic look. “I’m afraid that I am needed in court.”

A set of buttons by the door to what you very accidentally have apparently selected as your room will summon a member of the house's small staff, Mr. Colette tells you, and there is a similar button on a handle by your bed, almost like the call button for a nurse in the hospital. "Don't let me keep you," you murmur, waving off another apology from the man who has literally swept into your life and changed everything about it. The last thing you want is to stand in the way of anything he has to do. "I'll, um...I guess I'll unpack."

As if on a secret cue, the door to the elevator opens on the other side of the hall and an ornate rolling cart, much like the ones at the posh hotels, rolls out. Your trash bags are all neatly stacked with the few boxes and the one bag you had managed to take from your ex's house. The older, stately looking man pushing it does not judge, his sharp eyes looking for the room where the new owner has decided to take up residence so he can help in any way possible. Renee is behind him, a fully ladened tray on another rolling cart.

You can hear them rolling down the hallway before you see them, and Mr. Colette smiles in satisfaction. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says, looking toward the doorway as the source of the noise comes into view. “If you need anything, you have your staff here, and my number. Please don’t hesitate.”

“Right. Thank you, Mr. Colette.” As soon as you say his name he disappears from view, and you’re left face-to-face with the embarrassing sight of your trash bags in this gorgeous home.

“I took the liberty of moving your car into the carriage house.” Mr. Taylor tells you. In addition to being the caretaker, he also maintains all the vehicles here. Your car is in sore need of some TLC and he is already itching to get to it.

“That’s very kind of you. You really don’t have to go through any extra trouble.” The sight of garbage bags just feels wrong in a house this old and grand, and it just makes you feel like apologizing for that, too. “As you can see it…it really shouldn’t take me too long to get settled in.”

“It just means you can rest.” Renee offers with a smile as she rolls the tray over to the couches and table. “Here, ma’am?” She asks politely.

"Hopefully it won't take too long to find a new job." The offhanded and automatic thought doesn't even phase you, although you don't enjoy the fact that you'll have to explain why your last place let you go. At least you can assure them that it won't happen anymore – since Derek isn't in your life there won't be any erratic or unexpected phone calls to have to respond to immediately. "Thank you, Renee. It...it all looks wonderful." Laden with a steaming silver coffeepot and fresh pastries with butter, jam, and fruit, the delicate China on the tray looks like it has been laid for a queen.

“My pleasure, ma’am.” Mr. Taylor quietly excuses himself, and Renee turns towards the cart with an eagerness to begin. “Do you have some specific organization for your things?” She asks, hoping to know how you would like things. “Or shall I organize them for you?”

Even if you had specific organization, it would no longer apply to this house. The feeling that everything should be in a specific place and that rooms have specific functions is very different from how you were living before. "I'm sure you'll know just where things are supposed to go," you tell her, with a definite air of 'because I don't have any clue'.

“Yes ma’am.” She nods and immediately whirls around to start wheeling the cart into the dressing room just off to the side of the bathroom.

"Renee?" Following her just a few steps and sticking your head into the dressing room, you have to swallow yet another sigh over how beautiful this house is and how grand everything seems at first blush. You shake it away, though, when her head pops up expectantly. "I don't suppose I could ask any of you to call me by my name, could I? Mrs. Taylor seemed rather set on using a title..."

“It— it’s not done.” Renee admits with a bashful smile. “Although Mrs. Taylor did call Ms. Brown by her nickname at Ms. Brown’s insistence.”

"She had a nickname?" For some reason that intrigues you, even though she had an unusual name to begin with. You've never heard of a woman named Etienne before.

“Cookie.” Renee smiles fondly. “She went by Cookie for as long as she could remember.”

"That's very sweet." And actually makes you smile too, though you can't quite figure out why it warms you through the way it does.

“Do you have a nickname, ma’am?” She asks curiously. “I am sure that Mrs. Taylor would have no issue using a nickname for you.”

"I—" About to protest that you really don't, or at least that you can't think of one, a long-lost memory gets dredged up from the bottom of your mind that you haven't given any thought to in a long time. "I used to like being called Dolly. Quite a lot."

“Yes Ms. Dolly.” The nickname is no more unusual than ‘Cookie’ and the smile that thinking of your nickname is soft and real as it makes you light up.

"Thank you, Renee." It actually relaxes you measurably just to have a little bit less formality, and you offer the girl another genuine, if small, smile.

"My pleasure." She turns back to the bag that is opened and starts to carefully remove all of the clothes to sort and organize into piles before she can fold or hang them. "I should have all of this sorted in just an hour or so."

"Please don't feel like you need to rush. It isn't like I have anywhere to go." The fact that someone else is doing your laundry makes you more than a little embarrassed but you try to remember that it's literally her job. "But...again...thank you."

She doesn't bother to remind you that it's her job, just humming quietly as she continues to make note of what you have that needs pressing.

"Renee?" Even after you've walked away, you double back to look into the dressing room where she is sorting through the things you brought from Tennessee. "Was, this...um...was this Ms. Brown's room?"

"It was, Dolly." She stands up and moves towards the door. "Does that upset you?"

"I...don't really know," you admit after a moment of thinking about it. "I think it's more that...I don't want to disturb it? Like if she had a favourite chair, or painting, or lamp or something, then I wouldn't ever want to move it." Saying it out loud makes you sigh, and you huff a laugh at yourself. "That probably sounds silly."

Her own laugh is slightly ironic. "Please don't worry about that." She assures you. "Ms. Brown loved to rearrange her furniture based off of how she was feeling that week." She tells you. "It drove Mrs. Taylor up the wall, but she would almost insist on moving most of it herself. Even up until a few years ago."

"Wasn't she in her 90s?" You ask, surprised to hear anything so active about the old woman who had lived here.

"She was spry." Renee can sense that you are eager for information about the older lady that had lived in this house. "She did love to pull the chaise in front of the windows and read." She tells you. "Especially on rainy days where the storm raged outside. She would sit with a pot of tea or hot chocolate for hours."

"God, that sounds so relaxing." And in a house full of books, who could blame her? You can't even imagine actually having the time to read every book you saw in the house while you were walking around. " I might have to follow suit for a little while. Just...until I find a new job."

Renee frowns slightly and tilts her head. "A job?" She asks. "Are you someone who likes to keep busy?"

"I guess—" It hadn't occurred to you that you could just not have a job, and that makes you frown far deeper than Renee is at the moment. "I guess so? I didn't really think...I've just always had a job. I didn't really think I'd ever be able to not have one..."

"Perhaps you have something you enjoy doing?" She asks. "Forgive me for being so forward, but you have the means to do whatever you wish now, Dolly."

"I guess I haven't really given it a lot of thought." That makes you frown again, this one considerably more confused, and you shrug your shoulders. "I won't bother you anymore. Thank you, Renee." It's a heady thought to chew over while you eat your breakfast, but it's something that you're going to have to think about. What did you dream about when you used to dream of growing up? You can barely remember anymore.

She doesn't want to pry, so she nods again and turns back towards the dressing room again. It's obvious that you are kind of lost and her heart goes out to you. Hopefully being here will make the sadness in your eyes disappear.

______

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[itsalwaysteatimeinwonderland]

Finding Peace Pt.1: Paid in Lies (Spike x Y/N)

Requested: No. Part 1 of the Multific.

Synopsis: This is lore for the character in the other fics. It helps to build up the relationship and the direction. Feel free to get acquainted with it. <3

Word count: 2.5k

TW: None.

Masterlist | Next

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Another droll day with the Scoobies. The Magic Box was their hangout after all. Spike wishes he was anywhere but this place. However, he found himself at the metaphysical store more times than not. After getting the chip implanted and losing his ability to kill, he finds himself being amused by their banter and attempts at saving the world.

Today was different. The normal Scooby chatter was taken up by a voice he didn't recognize. A story he had never heard was being told followed by laughter. He was weary of new people.

"So then I told him that he couldn't tell a newt's eye from a bat's and that's what makes him a horrible wizard." Y/n exclaimed and laughter erupted.

"I can't believe you got into a fight with a kid over the last piece of candy." Willow stated.

"I take Halloween very seriously." You quipped.

"Aren't you like a hundred?" Xander chimed in.

"Rude. I'm 25. I can still trick or treat. They say it’s the only day the big bad doesn’t come out" you got up from your chair and walked to the register when you noticed Spike.

Everyone became nervous about your statement.

"What big bad?" Buffy asked.

"I don't know. It’s just something people say." Spike approached you. "Welcome to the Magic Box how can I h-"

"Don't bother with him, he doesn't buy anything." Giles interrupted, having come from the back room after he heard your comment.

"Oh. In that case, hi I’m y/n." Your voice was inviting, suspiciously so. Spike didn't trust it but didn't back away.

"I’m the big bad" he responded.

"Interesting. Then it means that you don't come out on Halloween."

Willow snickered.

Spike seemed incredulous. You just met him and you're already making fun of him.

"He's Spike, he just exists." Buffy chimed in.

"Rough." You stated.

An awkward silence followed. No one would say it, but they wanted you gone. It was time for the Scoobie’s nightly meeting, and you weren't invited since you were a regular civilian.

Giles finally got the hint. "Y/n it’s gonna be a slow night. Why don't you head home."

You hesitated but nodded. You packed up your things. "Night guys! It was nice meeting you Mr. Spike Big Bad."

As soon as you leave the chatter picks up. Conversations about the latest big bad and how to take them down takes up the space. But not for Spike. His interest is peaked by y/n. He's used to being mocked but never by someone he just met, much less a human. If you knew who he was would you still try that stunt? He was strung out from a previous altercation and was actively looking for trouble. So, he starts asking questions about you.

"She just came in one day and asked for a job. She doesn't talk much about herself but knows a lot about the occult." Willow offered.

"I bet she's a demon" Xander chimes in.

"How about we slow it down on the demon accusations. She might just be a big nerd like Giles." Buffy mentions.

Giles frowns at Buffy's retorts.

Spike mulls it over. He's decided to get more information out of you. He may be off base, but he feels that you're hiding something. No one comes to Sunnydale just because.

The conversation continues in the background as Spike devices a plan to follow you, maybe find out more about you. He exits The magic Box without a word. He’s hot on your trail watching your every movement until you stop. He doubles back into an alley. He hears you snicker. He’s so irritated by your calm demeanor that he breaks his silent stalking.

“You know, pretty girls shouldn’t be walking alone at night.” He walks up behind you.

“You think I’m pretty?” You turn around, a grin on your face.

He’s definitely annoyed now. “I could kill you if I wanted to.”

“Same.” She retorted and started walking off.

He stands there, flabbergasted. Who do you think you are? Don’t you know who you’re dealing with?

He walks up to you again, walking beside you. Eyeing you as you walk silently.

After awhile you speak up, “It’s weird for you to follow me.”

He’s quiet again. You knew he was following you. Most humans are oblivious. “You’re not afraid to be on your own, huh?”

“Nope. I’ve done it my whole life. Being an orphan does give you that hyper independence vibe.”

He stands in front of you, stopping you in your tracks. He thinks over whether he will show you his vamp face. Maybe scare you a bit. He decides against it. “Just be careful, love.” He walks away.

“If it’s so dangerous, why don’t you walk me home, big bad?” You shout out to him.

He stops, smirks and turns around. He smugly walks up to you and you both resume a quiet but steady pace to your house. Upon arrival you turn to him, “I can’t invite you in. I just met you and I can’t risk all that noise. Thank you for walking me home, though.”

He nods nonchalantly. “Goodnight, then.” He walks away feeling a bit awkward. Like, what just happened? He offered to walk a stranger home and you refused to invite him in? Did you know he was a vampire? Were you just being polite? So many questions.

The next day a similar occurrence happened. He saw you at The Magic Box, heard you talking about the occult soliciting laughter with your odd anecdote, and off you were to your home. He debated whether or not to follow you again. As if his feet had a mind of their own, he trailed behind you once more. He caught up to you and started small talk.

Where did you come from. “North Carolina”

Where were you going. “To find freedom.”

How long were you planning on staying. “’Till the money runs out.”

Who were you in love with. You paused at his bold question. He shrugged, “well, answer the question.” He pressed.

You took a pause. You told him of two previous lovers, both in which love was unrequited. You explained that you lived for the moment and not for men.

Before he could start up with questions you interrupted with your own. You asked the same questions. He hesitated to answer your questions honestly.

“Same questions. Go.”

He sighed. “England. Err.. to…” He paused. He realized he didn’t have the answer to where was he going and how long he was planning on staying at Sunnydale. How to explain that he is a vampire with no real vamp-like behavior? How to admit that he was obsessed with Buffy? So, he opted to skip to the last question. “It doesn’t matter. As for love, I had a nice lady. Crazy bird, she was. I loved her until she left me. Now I just go with whatever fancies me.” He flashes you a grin. You laugh.

“You’re harping on me, but you have no real plan or ambitions.”

That hurt his feelings. He had ambitions, in the past he wanted to kill the slayer. Now he wants to date her. Maybe his priorities got skewed.

As he further mulls over what you said, you both arrive at her home.

“Thank you for walking me home, again. It’s nice to have company.

And so, this became a daily occurrence. Spike would walk you home and ask you about your life, your day, and your connection to the Scoobies. It seemed harmless and he enjoyed how normal you made him feel. With you there was no talk of demons or the end of the world, just a normal human doing human things.

A month has passed, and Spike is still walking you home every day you work at The Magic Box. Today Spike felt bolder in his questions while walking you back home.

“What are we?” Spike side eyed you.

“That’s a bit forward. If you need to know, I thought we were friends. I mean, aren’t you and Buffy a thing?”

He was taken aback by your observation. Of course, he had a thing for Buffy, but it wasn’t reciprocated.

“Let’s change the subject…” Spike trailed off. “Friends, huh? Don’t got many o’ those.”

You smiled. “Then consider yourself lucky to have me.”

He looked away, a smile on his face.

You arrive at your house. “So, when are you inviting me in?” Spike spoke up.

You paused. How to tell him you know… “I’m not ready. Give me time.” You made heavy eye contact. He stepped closer to you, sharing your space. You stood there for what seemed an eternity.

“I’m not gon’ hurt you.” He whispered.

You nodded, “I know.” You leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek. You turned around and entered your house.

He stood there, surprised, and giddy. He smiled, a genuine smile as he walked back to his crypt with a pep in his step.

2 months have passed, and you too have spent a lot of time being close. Boundaries are still in place. Like he’s not allowed in your house, but you too linger at your doorway, in each other’s space. He is still after Buffy, but he brushes his hand against yours, whispers into your ear, and plays with your hair, among other affectionate touches.

3 months have passed, and you and Spike have gotten to know each other well. The Scoobies were weary of your inside jokes and playful glances.

“You know, the sun is setting quicker.” Spike mentioned as a hint that it was time for you two to head out.

You sighed. “Let me finish up this order.” You looked up at him feigning annoyance.

“Don’t want the big bad to get you.” Spike gave you a playful look.

You smiled. “Well, what am I keeping you around for?”

Xander groaned. “Kiss already.” He yelled in frustration which made you and Spike laugh.

As you were getting your bag a demon came crashing in through the entrance of The Magic Box. It snarled and tore down shelves and tables that were in his way. “Give me the slayer” He exclaimed.

“I’m right here, tall and ugly.” Buffy jumped in.

“Not slayer.” He swatted her away. “Real slayer.” He pointed at you. Everyone looked at you confused. You debated on whether to feign innocence or help out. Before you had made up your mind the demon started charging at you. At that point you back flipped into his line of fire and kicked him in the jaw. Everyone stood incredulous.

You proceeded to beat the demon punch after punch. Not holding back, you pulled a sword from a sheath you had strapped on your back under your shirt. Without hesitation you went for the demon’s throat, blood splattering everywhere. You stood covered in blood but triumphant.

Silence followed. You turned around, “Ta-da?”

Buffy stood from her spot and marched up to you. “Who are you, really?”

“Yeah, explain yourself.” Spike yelled from the back.

You sighed, defeated. “Everyone sit down. I’ll explain. Please, just listen and then ask questions. It’s a long story.”

You proceeded to explain that you were close to 1,000 years old, 985 to be exact, and that you were then deemed the slayer in your village. You were raised by your grandfather who was also your watcher. On the night of your 25th birthday, you killed a vampire that was the lover of a very powerful witch in your village. The witch, heartbroken and vengeful, put a curse on you that you would not die until you found peace. That doomed you to roam the Earth in the search of true peace.

The gang was quiet. The atmosphere was heavy. You were ashamed and embarrassed.

“Why did you lie?” Spike spoke up first. His voice was heavy with anger.

“I had to. It’s so difficult to be open about why I still exist. It’s shameful.” You lowered your head.

He didn’t seem satisfied with your answer and left. Your eyes trailed after him. You knew you hurt him. You purposefully created a whole life, and he believed it. You both shared moments, connection, vulnerability and yours was all a rouse.

“I’m confused. How can you not die?” Willow asked.

Her question snapped you back to reality. “Um, uh, Well… If I get mortally wounded, it heals faster. Even if it’s a fatal blow, my body regenerates.”

“What happens if you get decapitated, maimed, or burned alive?” Xander asks, curious.

Everyone looks at him. “What?! You were all thinking it.” Everyone nodded.

You chuckled. “Two words. Deadpool powers.”

Everyone nods. “That makes sense and ew.” Xander responded.

You stand there, still covered in blood answering question after question. Have you searched how to break the curse? Do you know what will give you peace? How many slayers have you met? Do you enjoy being eternal? You answered every question until they were satisfied. The conversation shifted to how 3 slayers could exist.

“It makes sense now how you knew so much about the occult.” Giles chimed in.

You grinned. “I dabble.” You say trying to be funny. A joke that landed flat due to the circumstances.

“I know this is weird. Me existing is weird but know that I didn’t mean harm. I’m just trying to figure out how to end this curse. I can’t be running around divulging my existence to every slayer. Having two slayers makes it easier to say that there is a third but still. You must understand where I’m coming from.”

The gang was quiet, pensive. “I think it’s best that you go. We can talk more about this tomorrow.” Giles stated.

“I know this is stupid, but do I still have a job?”

Giles glares at you. You raise your hands in a defensive stance. You decide it’s best to leave.

You walk home, alone. It’s the first time in the last three months that you were walking home alone. You felt tired and sad. Not only did you potentially lose your connection with the Scoobies, but you also lost who you considered to be your closest friend, Spike.  

Loud thrashing and banging can be heard inside the crypt. Spike is enraged and full of energy. Of course, the one person he wanted to lean on was a fake. Another illusion in his path. He felt like he could confide in her, trust her. She was no more than a liar, a con artist. To hell with her sob story. She hurt him. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t been honest himself, he did the best he could while obscuring the truth to protect her. To protect her! She would pay for making a fool of him. Everyone mocks him for his lack of vampire like behaviors. Everyone puts him down for failing at killing Buffy. But to made out to be a rube for trusting, for caring, that’s where he draws the line. He was vulnerable and he got paid in lies.

[am-i-the-one]

Smoking and Vampires Kill (Reader x Spike)

'A sigh escaped your mouth as you remember the feeling of being kissed by Spike and exhaling smoke. You knew if you didn't quit smoking and break up with Spike they would have both killed you in the end.'

Summary: Your vampire ex-boyfriend visits your house when he hears you've quit smoking to try and tempt you into giving in to both.

Word Count: 2048

Ao3 link: Ao3

At midnight on New Year's Eve you walked straight into the bathroom and flushed your last pack of cigarettes. While your heart leapt up into your throat for an instant as the panic started you breathed out a sigh of relief. Trembling, you washed your hands and went to go re-join the party and find your new boyfriend in the crowd.

It's Winter break and you've been back home from studying at UC Sunnydale for two weeks now. Coincidently, that's also the number of days gone without smoking. Counting them off like prison scratches on the wall. You've always wanted to quit smoking and it didn't help when you met Spike who would chain-smoke indefinitely without the death anxiety, for obvious reasons. You first met Spike outside the Bronze one evening when he asked you for a light. Not thinking anything of it, you said he could keep it remembering all the Clippers in your draw at home. It was a novelty Halloween design with a vampire motif and the words 'blood sucker' wrapped around it. You never liked it, vampires were never your favourite monster. He looked at you credulously, with his eyes opened and slightly frowning at the suggestion. His facial expression soon relaxed and he thanked you and said he'd maybe see you inside. You thought he was strange as he blew smoke rings and poked is finger through them while looking up wistfully at the night sky.

You would only ever see him loitering outside the Bronze back alley. Since you spent half the night going inside and outside to smoke you'd end up catching him before he disappeared into the night. Soon enough, he became the sole reason you went to the Bronze. How pathetic, you thought, wanting to shiver in the cold while waiting for a stranger to appear, only to exchange a few words, maybe share a cigarette and then say goodbye.

One night you were warming yourself up with your lighter after crushing out your second cigarette waiting for Spike. You didn't think he was going to show until you turned around to go inside and there he was, brooding over the top of you and grinning manically.

"Hey Y/N! I was just looking for you. What are you doing outside? You must be freezing. Here let's go back inside."

He shuffled you indoors and bought you a hot mulled wine to warm you up. All the time shaking his head and complaining you were going to catch a cold. You moved naturally with him and followed his lead. This was the first time you had ever even seen him inside the Bronze, let alone be in his company with others around. You both sat down at a table in the back where it was away from the main stage.

"I haven't seen you in a while" you said, instantly regretting admitting you noticed.

"Yeah, I've been busy," Spike said raising his eyebrows, obviously surprised. "But I had my lucky lighter with me to remind me of you," showing you the vampire lighter out of his pocket and playing with it on the table. This made you smile that he remembered. You talked all night together until closing and he walked you home, after insisting, saying there's bad people lurking around this time of night.

It would only be a few weeks into the relationship that he would reveal his true identity as a vampire. You immediately ended the relationship in your head when his face turned into that of a beast. You weren't scared at the change in his appearance and demeanour. You only wanted to leave the Bronze and never see him again. This was three months ago and you hadn't seen him since. Not even when you braved to go our to the Bronze a few weeks after the break-up. You slowly forgot, or pretended you had forgotten, about the mystery vampire when you went to UC Sunnydale. What with all the studying, coffee and cigarettes consuming your brain you could hardly think straight let alone remember basic English. But, now you were back home and the memories consumed you. Perhaps, you thought, you had unconsciously quit smoking to forget Spike.

It was midnight, day 15, and you were kept awake by the intense cravings and nausea. You felt dizzy and the whole world was spinning when you rested your head. So, you switched on your bedside light and tried some breathing exercises. In and out. It will all go away soon, you thought. You stared out your bedroom window and remembered all the memories you had with Spike. You both had stood huddled under his leather jacket while it rained with his arm wrapped around your shoulder as you shared a cigarette. With your faces almost touching, all it took was a slight turn and that was the first time you both kissed. The cigarette forgotten about, laid burning half finished on the ground outside the Bronze. A sigh escaped your mouth as you remember the feeling of being kissed by Spike and exhaling smoke. You knew if you didn't quit smoking and break up with Spike they would have both killed you in the end. There's nothing in this world that compares to having something you love which kills you in the process. You feel both weak and strong being defeated because it means you have something to overcome.

These were the thoughts racing through your head as the clock moved between the early hours of the morning. You heard your parents snoring down the hallway and closed your eyes trying to isolate your dad's breathing and snoring. This grounded you in the moment until you heard a sudden sound outside of a lighter spark and an inhale that was followed by a familiar scratchy cough and a curse word. Paralyzed, you sat frozen on your bed while your eyes bursted open like a cat's, hair sticking up on end. You drifted to your windowsill, hiding behind the curtain and peeping outside you saw Spike standing below your window. He was leaning up against a tree in your front yard and looking straight into your bedroom. Flustered you backed away from the window. It's too dark to tell but you don't think he looked angry or upset. Honestly, it looked like he was just minding his own business, loitering in the middle of the night. Except, he was staring into your window so he obviously hasn't forgotten about you. You remember he is unable to enter the house since you never formally invited him inside. But, that didn't make him go away as there he stood waiting outside your house.

Knowing that you would be unable to sleep unless you confronted him about his stalker behaviour you returned to the window. You opened both curtains and sat down on your window sill bench wrapping the blanket around you. Breathing a deep breath, you opened your window and finally looked down at Spike.

"I had nearly given up," he said waving his lit cigarette. "I thought I was going to have to smoke a whole packet before you'd open up."

"What are you doing here Spike?" you ask, grimacing as you see his bleached blonde hair shine in the moonlight. God, how did that ever attract you.

"A little birdy told me that you've quit smoking and I've just come to give my congrats. Nothing wrong with that, is there?" He asks, grinning innocently and putting his hands up in the air. He crushes the cigarette on the ground and proceeds to light another one. "You see, I've tried quitting every turn of the century but nothing's seemed to work and I was thinking, since you're doing so well and all, you'd let me in on the secret".

This is unbelievable, you thought. He's really going to stand there all night, smoking a packet of cigarettes, trying to get inside your head. The wind rustled the leaves above Spike. Maybe if it picks up it would blow out his cigarette or at least drown out his voice. You looked into Spike's eyes as he raised his eyebrows waiting for your response.

"If you really want to know Spike, sometimes to kill one addiction you have to kill another. Like, if you always smoke when you have a drink you might have to quit both. At least for me, breaking up with you has solved all kinds of problems in my life."

"Ouch that hurts, love. But I bet that's what you wanted. Though I know you don't mean a word. I'll throw you up a smoke, if you want. Must be craving one like mad stuck in your room watching me enjoy one." He said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. You hated to admit it but he was right. You would have liked a cigarette but you couldn't bow down and accept one from Spike of all people.

"Sure and while I'm at it I think I want to get back together, don't you?"

"Cool it with the sarcasm pet, I'm just teasing you. Honestly, I want to commend you for giving it up. There's no point ruining your body when it's your only one. But I've been missing you lately. You never come to the Bronze anymore."

Why doesn't he just start crying, you thought. If you would have known he'd be this clingy you would never have spoken to him. Maybe all those times you waited in the back alley for him, he was also waiting for the right time to walk up to you. You had never thought about that before. How long could he have been staring at me, watching me, waiting to come up to me and have a smoke. It creeped you out to think of yourself as prey and Spike the predator. But that's what he was, at the end of the day. He had never raised his hand or drawn your blood, but that doesn't mean he wasn't trying to kill you. He was toying with you, making you believe you were in love with him. You thought you could never love another person except for Spike. But, you had proved that wrong having been in a more than happy relationship for months now.

You no longer needed those things that were silently killing you. Neither Spike or cigarettes were welcome into your life anymore. You stared down at Spike, smoking his third cigarette now catching a glimpse of your old vampire lighter. If only you could have known how ironic it was when you handed it over to him, he must have loved it. Reflecting back on when you first started smoking in your teenage years, you didn't know smoking was going to corrupt your body and become an irrepressible addiction. You were naïve and thought it would lessen the monotony of everyday life and make you more mature. The same was true about going out with Spike, an older guy who happened to be much older than he looks. You know you shouldn't blame yourself for what you know now but it's hard when you're consumed with deep seated regret. Especially because your body desires and craves both Spike and smoking.

"Goodbye, Spike." you whisper, just loud enough to see his face start and mouth open.

You smile sincerely looking down at Spike remembering the times you had together. The nights he'd stay out with you after closing hours and talk with you all night. But, Spike is a double-edged sword and someone who, in the end, would kill you if he had the chance. You close the curtains not turning back and curl up into bed imagining his arm around you as you smoked together in the rain. It felt so real, like he was there in bed beside you, Though you knew it was impossible you curled up next to him in his smoked-stained leather jacket and felt his arms wrap around you.

"I guess that's another addiction I haven't gotten over." you say as you breath a sigh of release. Turning out your lamp, you toss and turn trying to sleep while memories of Spike lighting a cigarette and handing it over to you with a grin churns in your brain.

[misskittyspuffy]

Celia

Takes place post-comics, in a version of the story in which Buffy & Spike never broke up. Buffy just gave birth to their first daughter. (Drabble format)

Archive of our own link

***

Holding her daughter in her arms for the first time, Buffy stared at her precious newborn with tears in her eyes. Never had she considered she would live long enough to have a child. Especially with a now half-human vampire. But apparently, destiny always found its way. She tenderly caressed her baby’s cheek with the back of her finger. She was so small.

The Slayer was exhausted after having been through so much pain, but none of it mattered anymore.

Spike was standing right beside her, caressing her arm, feeling as emotional as she was. He kissed Buffy’s temple. “She’s so beautiful.”

“So. What are you going to name her?” the nurse asked.

A beat.

Buffy’s eyes met Spike’s. “We agreed on Celia.”

“That’s sweet.”

She stared again at her daughter. “Thank you. It’s a tribute to my cousin.”

“Even more sweet, ” the nurse added with a smile.

[evieelyzabethh]

Sugar and Spike

pairing(s): Spike x fem!reader

summary: after a night of patrol goes wrong, Spike starts noticing some changes in himself, mainly that Buffy's sweetest friend won't leave his mind and that she would never look at him the same if she knew what he wanted to do to her.

warnings: smut!!! a smidge of yandereness, kinda a sex or die fic, possessive spike, handjob, unprotected piv sex (wrap it before you tap it), oral (fem receiving), praise kink, biting/marking (mentions of blood), a little bit of spanking, overstimulation, riding, fingering, veryyy little plot, and I think thats about it.

In hindsight, they should've kept a better eye on him. It was an odd night of patrolling, the usual gaggle of vampires being a demon or two this time around. Big tall thing that appeared out of nowhere and left as soon as it came. Spike, always with little regard for the consequences of his actions, ran right in. Ran so hard he went right through the demon as it went into smoke. He breathed it in before going into a coughing fit, as if he could feel it in his nose and lungs, spreading in his chest like a vine that pulled everything impossible tight before releasing him like he was never in its grasp . Red flag one.

It fell on him like rain, some clumping into what looked like pink sparkles in his hair, on his jacket, his worn boots. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair, pulling away expecting to see it gunked together, but there was nothing there. It felt like his hair had been hit by my mist, slightly damp and cool. It seeped into his exposed skin, adhering itself into a pink sheen which also disappeared after only a few minutes. He remembered trying to brush it off, expecting it to feel wet but it was just slick. It was admittedly infuriating, especially since the feeling wouldn't go away. Red flag two.

“Buffy!” He shouted, rubbing his hands on his jeans as if it was going to wipe away the phantom feeling, but his complaints were met with apathy. 

“There’s nothing there, Spike.” A groan bubbled in his chest. 

“Astute observation, Slayer, but it feels like something’s there.” You were there beside him, something that would’ve gone unnoticed had he not been hit with your scent as your fingers brushed against his hand. He pulled away quickly out of instinct, not as subtle as he would’ve liked to because you noticed and scampered off in between Buffy and Giles. The distance between you and him got larger and the two of you talked about a mall trip you had planned and Willow was the only one to stick with him. She humored him, allowing him to shower at her place and taking a sample of skin only to find nothing. No residue, nothing abnormal, nothing had changed at all. Red flag three.

But he was sure it was fine. Nothing had really changed. You had been a bit cautious though.

You were prone to worrying, and he couldn't blame you. There was a lot to worry about when your best friends hunted demons and one of them was a literal creature of the night. You worried about Buffy so much he genuinely feared you would collapse from all the stress you put yourself under. Pursuing a nursing degree so they could avoid hospital visits unless absolutely necessary because none of you had the money. Having him train you in basic self-defense because you hated feeling like dead weight. You took up Latin and all of the other dead languages in those old dusty books just so you could be useful. You tied yourself in knots just to be sweet. God, you were so sweet. Even to your own detriment, like pure sugar that was going to rot his teeth eventually.

The more time you spent together, the more the rot seemed to take his brain than his teeth. His mouth never got anywhere near you; Buffy made sure of that. He wished he could say it was because she was babying you too much, that you were also tired of Buffy making Spike seem like the biggest mistake you could ever make. To be fair, he hardly knew you. He knew of you; he knew of the pink wardrobe and the fluffy socks and the pretty shoes. He knew of you as Buffy's cute neighbor who stopped by so often that you might as well live with them. You weren't being a baby, you were being cautious, even more now. He almost wished you didn't believe him as much as you did, maybe you'd keep visiting him. He hadn't seen you in days and it was really starting to take a toll on him. His leg bounced and he got in the bad habit of biting his nails, which was starting to get annoying with how often he had to repaint them.

If you were here, you would repaint them. You would sit your pretty self on his busted couch, and you'd have a little bag with you with all your pins and charms that jingled like the earrings that dangle from your ears. In your bag would be at least three shades of pink, a range of blacks and greys, and a wild card or two, maybe a blue or a green. You'd let him pick his color, despite knowing he always went for black. You asked anyway, just in case he decided to go with pink just to humor you. Had you walked through right now, he would've obliged. He would've done anything you asked him too. It wasn't even that he was lonely, but it was getting to suffocate in here. It was getting hot, like a fire was spreading. Each breath felt smoke filled, his skin was on fire, his skin was getting damp, like the dust had fallen again. His hand was shaky as he put a cigarette between his lips and lit it, surely the smell would break him out of what had to be a daze.

If you were here, you'd make a joke about him needing to air the place out. He'd probably open the door and call that enough air, but he liked his privacy, and he didn't like the idea of anyone just being able to waltz right in. You would want to make a joke about no one wanting to visit him, but you’d bite your tongue at the fear of being too harsh. You always got that look in your eye when you thought something that could be misconstrued as mean. You took your lip into your teeth and your pretty eyelashes flitted and you looked away. He thought about what it would be like to bite your lips, wanting to see what they looked like, all red and even prettier than they were before. Just a taste, that's all he wanted, a taste.

He got up to open up the door only for that phantom feeling to return. All over his body, it felt like he had stepped out into the sun, like every molecule that made up his body was vibrating and mere seconds from combusting. His breathing got ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly and his brain going into overdrive. He squeezed his eyes shut as if it would make it go away, but even from behind his eyelids, you were there. The idea of you, your smile, your laughter, fuck the very way you said his name. It sounded so nice coming from you. 

The way you said it when he got injured in a fight when you would patch up his wounds and have a bag of blood for him to replace what he lost. “Spike.” you would say. Like he should’ve known better than to just throw himself into danger. Not even bothering to consider the possibility that he did it to look heroic, or maybe in your care with your hands over his chest. There’s no reason for him to be this beaten and bruised from some baby vamp; William the Bloody. Spike? He had pride, but not as much as Angelus. It was easily quenched by the fact that he was in no way losing with your delicate hands tracing over faded scars on his chest and feeding him blood while they were just dust. 

“Spike.” Buffy would say, her tone laced with less concern and more disapproval. She knew something was up. After all they had gone through together, vampires should’ve been nothing for him. He had to space out his “fuck ups” just to get her off his back, just to get her voice out of his head. She didn’t say his name like you did. 

There wasn’t much better than how you said his name when it was just the two of you. Being together in his crypt, sometimes in your own bedroom which you had invited him into much to Buffy’s chagrin. “It’s Spike,” you had said, “how many times have we saved the world with him? I think he’s earned it.” It sent shivers down his spine. He would’ve saved the world so much sooner if it meant being able to be in your space. If it meant getting to hear you say his name through fits of laughter, trying to regain your breath while still finding enough to utter his name. “Spike.” you said, your hand over his while you giggled. He felt that heat now, felt the heat of all your touches culminating right now. All over his skin, tensing his muscles, holding his chest as he fought for breath himself. 

While he had the chance, he should’ve raided your underwear drawer. Now he was left to fist his dick with just the memory of you. You wouldn’t notice a pair or two gone, surely you wouldn’t. It was the type of small thing you would overlook because really what is a pair or two. You wouldn’t want him to be in pain, hearing his situation now, you’d feel like it was all your fault. The least you could spare was a pair of your prettiest panties for him to wrap around his cock while he fisted himself to the thought of you and how you would say his name now. 

The closest he’d gotten would be after a big battle. You had taken a beating, by the time you had gotten to a safe space you had lost a dangerous amount of blood, but the sounds that came out of your mouth were so delicious. And you trusted him to carry you to safety, your bloody hand wrapping itself around his bicep to maintain some tether to consciousness. “Spike.” your voice dripping with pain, but even that wasn’t enough to mask how pretty you sounded. He felt bad then for how hard it got him, but there is such a thin line between   pain and pleasure. The only difference now would be circumstance, and he would never hurt you. This would be good for you, the both of you, you just had to let him. You just had to say his name. 

“Spike?” In that moment, he knew there had to be some high power looking out for him when he heard your voice. Dream-like, and soft, like the wind could have blown it out and away from your lips. “Spike?!” you said again. He couldn’t tell if it was his shred of restraint or his body’s unwillingness to listen to his brain that kept him glued to his couch. 

“Now really isn’t a good time, love.” He tried to keep his voice level, he really did, but it was too much. And you weren’t stupid, he heard the heels of your shoes against the hard floor and smelt you before he even saw you. And fuck you smelt heavenly. 

“Are you okay? What happened-” You looked like you had a halo above your head, or maybe he was much further gone than he had thought. You cut yourself off in shock. When you had walked in, you hadn’t expected to catch Spike with his hands down his pants. 

“You know what, I’m just gonna go a-and come back later.” You tried to smile in an attempt to make the situation less awkward than it needed to be, but he grabbed you by your wrist. 

“Wait-I just need-fuck. I just need you to stay for a bit. I don’t feel good.” Your eyes met and you saw the sheen of what you assumed to be sweat covering his chest and face. His pupils blown out, his hair out of place, his labored breathing, like he couldn’t catch his breath. Oddly enough, the sheen had a pink tinge, and despite the fact that his fangs were protruding, his vampire face hadn’t appeared. You reached out to touch his forehead to surprisingly find a temperature. He groaned at the contact, both wanting to melt into your skin and like it physically pained him. 

“What happened?” He declined the answer, instead pushing his head more into the palm of your hand, tipping his head to sniff the inside of your wrist. “What are you doing?” You tried to pull away and put some distance in between the two of you, but he pulled you back, even closer than before. 

“You smell so good.” He nosed his way past your wrist and up your arm till he made it to your collarbone, trying to find where he could hear your blood pump the loudest. “Stop it!” you pushed against him as soon as you felt the tip of his fangs attempting to break skin. To both of your surprise, he let you. It looked like it pained him to do so, his eyes screwed shut and his hand gripping the arm of his couch until the wood snapped. 

“If this is about the demon thing, I’m gonna go get Willow, okay? You just need to stay right here.” The authority you had laced in your voice was cute. 

“Just stay here with me, yeah? There’s no need to get Willow. We don’t need Willow.” His voice had dropped an octave, his pupils blown and his brain damn near empty. Anything went in one ear then out the other as he held your hands in his, staring through you as if daring you to defy him. 

“Spike, you aren’t well.” You had tried to reason, but all he heard was that you weren’t saying no because you didn’t want this. You were concerned for his well being, even when he had you pinned down and his teeth at your neck, each breath moving you closer to him drawing blood, you were saying no because you were concerned he didn’t want this. You somehow thought he didn’t want you. 

“I’ve never felt better, baby.”, he said-practically fucking growled. Hell if he wanted you, he needed you. He pressed himself into you, his hands grabbing at anything he could to ground himself, his left at the base of your scalp and his right bunching the fabric of your skirt in his hands. He breathed into your neck, nipping and nicking at bare skin then soothing it with his tongue and kisses. He worked himself up over you, taking and taking until he was drunk, his tongue lolled out as he put his head on your chest.“Can I fuck you.” 

You had been caught in a daze yourself, his words had barely registered. You had more sense than he did at this point, finding enough resolve to shake your head. “Please.” he begged, groaning it out through clenched teeth. “I need you to make it feel better, please God just make it feel better.” He had pushed his hips into your hand, his weeping cock leaking onto you, pleading with you to touch it. “I’ll make it good for you, I swear, just be my sweet girl, yeah? Just make it better.”

You experimentally rubbed the tip, and he whimpered. His hand grabbing your wrist so fast a look of shock flashed across his face. You took that as a sign to pull away but he put your hand back around him, pushing your hand up and down his base. “Too much too quick, love.” 

Any hesitancy you had was swallowed as he smashed his lips into yours. It was urgent and quick, almost bruising how hard he kissed and held you as if you were going to disappear at any point. He tugged at a handful of hair, catching you in a moan that he used to force tongue into your mouth, sucking it as you pumped his dick at a painfully slow pace. 

His kisses made you breathless, and it was then you realized that he likely forgot in his haze that you actually needed air. He moaned into your lips, the sound spreading throughout your body and shaking you to your core. It wasn’t lost on him how damp your underwear had gotten, had he had the strength to pull away to touch you he would, but the mere seconds his skin would be off yours was enough of a deterrent to keep him in place. 

You tried to move away, but his hand kept you in place. “Don’t move.”, he rushed it out, a tone that otherwise would’ve been more commanding had he not been weak himself. “Keep going.” His hips bucked and stuttered, his movements becoming erratic the more faint your touches became. Like it was a warning; let me up for air and I’ll keep touching you. He whined at the thought of you pulling away. That wasn’t fair. 

His lips parted from yours, settling for the corner of your mouth before moving to your jawline to your neck, then just under your ear. You gasped for breath, you numb with the ecstasy of air and the feeling of his rushed kisses. He was getting close. Your hand was covered in his sticky pre-cum, his cock even more so as your hand moved alone over him, his own hand now grabbing at your shirt at the feeling. You squeezed at the bass, a motion he clearly enjoyed with how his body tensed up. A series of obscenities flowed from his pretty lips as he came, spurts of his cum getting over your pretty pink skirt, an image Spike would get himself off to later. 

You didn’t get long to sit in what just happened when he was on you again, laying you on your back and ripping your skirt clean off. You moaned something that sounded like “My skirt!”, but neither one of you were really worried about it. 

His lithe fingers were quick, rubbing you through the fabric of your panties, while he kissed up to where you wanted him excruciatingly slow. His hands rubbed and teased at the soft skin of your thighs, marking bruises everywhere he went. 

He moaned into you, sniffing you once again, before finding a place he wanted to dig his fangs into. Maybe it was how delicately he stuck in his teeth, maybe it was the lust blown fervor, but it didn’t hurt as much as you anticipated. In fact, you moaned at the intrusion, unable to know what to do with yourself as he sucked and lapped up the blood he had drawn. Your fingers wove into his hair, as if he could be pulled any closer to you than he already was. “You taste so good. So good.” And he let you know as such. The obscene noises that flew from the both of you, the slurping and whines, the pop of his lips as he traveled from one spot to another. But that’s not how he intended to eat you whole.

You were unbelievably wet, soaking through your panties and even Spikes fingers before he took pity on you and decided to pull them aside and plant his fingers into you. Now, you weren’t a virgin, but you had never had sex that felt as good as this. Never had someone in you that had hundreds of years of practice beforehand. 

“You’re doing so good, Sweet Girl. So good, can’t get enough of you.” What was an attempt to calm your nerves, had you keening and over the moon, the praise bringing tears to your eyes as you ground yourself in his hand. That didn’t move him along any quicker, his tongue still collecting anything you would give him like he hadn’t been fed in years. 

“Spike!” You called out, which finally seemed to get his attention. He saw the glass-like look your eyes had taken and the pout on your face. You looked like you were about to cry. Poor thing, so desperate. He said he’d take care of you, make you feel good. No point in denying the inevitable. 

You whined when he pulled out of you just to choke when he began to devour you. His nose at your clit and his tongue plunging into. “Thank you.” he muttered into you, like this was some divine gift to him. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” The combination of his praise and how good he was giving it to you made that coil in your belly tighten and tighten until it threatened to snap. And he just kept going. Completely in his own world, the only thoughts in his mind being about you, how you smelled, how you tasted, god you were so good to him. Letting him eat you out like this, helping him like this. He shouldn’t have expected any less from his girl. His sweet girl. No one else's, you couldn’t be anyone else's after this. His grip tightened around your thighs at the very thought. “Mine.” he said, the vibrations hitting your core deliciously. “Mine.”

“Yours Spike, all yours.” He hummed in approval, inserting two fingers back into you while he kept up his electric pace. He held your hand as it began to be too much, your back arching off the couch and your thighs closing around his head as he just kept going. You called his name as you came, high and higher until it became too heavy on your mouth and you couldn’t say anything at all. The grip you had on his hand had loosened, but he hadn’t let up. He still rambled into you, “Again. Again. Again. Please.”

You didn’t know if your hips were bucking into him or try to wiggle away from him. Either way, both attempts were unsuccessful. With how hard he pulled on your panties they had snapped and had been thrown to the side for the simple crime of being in his way. His forearm lay on your hip keeping you in place. Your hand still laid in his, him squeezing it as if it was any comfort from the inescapable feeling of his tongue licking your thoroughly soaked pussy. 

Your toes curled in your frilly socks as you came again on his tongue, and you foolishly expected that to be enough. You would’ve asked him to stop if you could pant out anything more than whines. You would’ve pushed him away if you could manage anything more than weak taps on his forearm. “No more.” you whispered out. “Can’t.” His fingers rubbed your hand as some form of encouragement. 

“Yes you can, love.” You shook your head weakly, scooting your hips back only for him to swiftly smack your pussy. You preened on the contact, and he drank in the arousal that gushed out just from that. “My sweet girl isn’t gonna disappoint me, is she? She’s gonna make me all better, isn’t that right?” Your brain was so fogged out you couldn’t even produce a response. You just groaned and squirmed, unable to brace for impact when he smacked you again. 

“Spike!” You cried out, but he didn’t care. Heknew you were feeling good from how much you gushed while he tongue fucked your cunt. It was just a bit too much for you right now. You would feel better, you just needed to let go some more. He tried to relax you, tried rubbing mindless shapes on your skin to calm you down as he worked you through your third orgasm, but you just heaved. Your tits bounced with how heavily you breathed, and yet after all of that, he still didn’t feel better. Why didn’t he feel better?

Despite the relief that came from him pausing his abuse, you still whined as he sat up from behind your legs. With your taste still on his tongue, he kissed you. You sighed into him, the feeling of his large hands moving from your hip to under your shirt to touch your tummy and rip your bra in half. You didn’t even notice him moving you into his lap and setting your thighs on either side of him so you straddled him. He thumbed your nipples, pinching and rubbing over them while he relished in the feeling of you cunt so close to his dick. 

You didn’t seem to catch on either as he slid in between your folds, too lost of him finally kissing you again. You moaned into this kiss as his fingers dipped to toy with your clit before he whispered in your ear. “Just one more.”

In one fluid motion, he slipped his dick into his cunt, catching you as your limbs went weak. He was so big you felt your eyes water with the pressure of him being in you. You could tell he was struggling to stay still, but the haze had worn off enough for him to regain some sense. He still waited eagerly for you to adjust, brushing the fallen tears from your eyes and kissing your checks to make it all better.

“Too big. It’s too big.” You stuttered. It was all you could manage to mutter out. He cooed at you, his dick growing harder than he thought possible at the feeling of it all and the praise. 

“I was made for you, Pretty Girl, you can take it.” You yelped as he jerked his hips into yours, but he just couldn’t help it. You were so pretty like this, all fucked out and dumb. Not a thought behind those eyes of yours and the only thoughts he was capable of was you. How warm you were, how wet you were, how tight you were. You were squeezing him and  milking him dry and as much as he tried he just couldn’t stop him self from fucking into you. 

“I’m sorry.” and he meant it. You weren’t ready and he couldn’t even tell if he was ready, his body had a mind of his own and he felt himself just slipping into the feeling of being enveloped by you. “Just too good. You’re too good. My good girl. You’re gonna take all I give you, aren’t you, love? You gonna be my sweet girl and take it?” His voice was breathy and low and impossibly hot. 

All you could manage was a soft ‘mhm’ as you took him in. It wasn’t like you had any other choice as you bounced on his cock, gripping at his chest and taking in each moan you earned as you drew blood from your scratches. 

You felt every inch of him, felt the tip of his dick hit your cervix and kept pounding at it like it was his job;  like he would die if he didn’t. You can’t do anything but take it as you screw your eyes shut and just try to breathe as everything in your body fights to hold on to some feeling. It was impossible to think, not when Spike’s hands were all over you and his touch was so incredibly hot. Even stranger, a pink glow began to emanate from him, that or you were closer to passing out than you originally thought. . 

He kept you close to his chest as you both chased your impending highs together, your lips meeting in the middle as you moaned and sighed into each other's mouths and he was a goner, rambling like a mad man in your ear, thanking you endlessly for something he couldn’t put his hands on. Maybe it was your release, that you felt coming like a truck. He squeezed at the fat of your hips, pulling you even closer until neither one of you could tell where the other started and ended and you came like that, so close that you were almost suffocating, but a different kind from before. 

He came not long after you, his dick still inside spurting his cum inside you and keeping it in there with little intention of coming out any time soon. That pink glow had faded from before, fading away until there was nothing there and the slight pink tinge from before was gone too. His eyes drooped a bit, his blue irises that you hadn’t realized you had missed finally reappeared, his pupils returning to normal and his fangs retracting. 

He hung his head in your neck and you felt his temperature drop a bit, no longer boiling hot. He refused to move his head from his spot though. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was ashamed of what just happened. 

After the both of you had a moment to catch your breaths, he removed himself from inside you, stalking off to find something to wear now that your outfit was completely ruined. He even had the decency to turn around while you changed, granted he had a hard time looking at you anyway. 

“You’re gonna wanna deep clean that couch.” You said to break the silence. You were surprised you got a chuckle out of him. 

“Yeah. I don’t normally do this sort of thing on there.” Another moment of silence passed between the two of you.

“You know, we can go back to my place and I can fix your nails. I can tell you’ve been biting at them.” He didn’t need to be told twice either. The place still stunk of sex and his head was feeling clearer than it had in days, he couldn’t stand to be there right now.

“About all of this…you won’t tell Buffy, right?” You giggled. 

“Not if you don’t.” And that was more than enough for him.

[thepunkmuppet]

i am once again thinking about a buffy and spike body swap episode.

SOMEONE PLEASE DROP FIC RECS IN THE NOTES HELP A GUY OUT I DON’T READ SMUT BTW I JUST NEED THIS SO BAD

[fandomtherapy44]

Stolen Moments Spike x reader Oneshot!

Paring: Spike x reader

Warnings: SMUT, language, small spoilers for season 5

Summary: Y/n and Spike have some stolen moments on the couch.

Divider from

Firefly Graphics

Reblog Banner and 18+ Banner From

cafekitsune

WC: 2,646

Hey, y'all, I wanted to try something a little different. Plus, I have been obsessed with BTVS and especially Spike, so I created a fic for him. I got the inspo for this from this fic, Movie Night at the Summers Residence, so you should go check it out!

My life has never been… easy to say but it’s not like I didn’t have a support system I had my mother and my two sisters. I remember the day coming home from the orphanage and the feeling of comfort and love came over my body for the first time in my life. From that day I was Y/n Summers. I didn’t know life could be more fulfilling till I got my baby sister Buffy then my mom had Dawn a couple of years later. Even as a four-year-old, I knew I loved being an older sister.

So the day Buffy sacrificed herself to save the world again I had felt like I had failed not just Buffy but also my mom and Dawn. So I threw myself fully into being Dawn’s guardian the one she deserved, because like Dad would lift a finger. Motherfucker didn’t even call to talk to us about Mom’s passing it’s like as soon as the divorce was finalized he forgot he was still a father. Our friends did everything to help Dawn, Giles helped her get on track with her schoolwork, Willow and Tara would teach her a few simple spells, Anya and Xander would take her to do fun things to distract her from the heavy grief that both of us were going through.

But Spike crazily enough has been the hugest supporter of Dawn and me. It’s crazy because if you told me four years ago that Spike is reformed and that you trust him to watch your little sister I would laugh at your funny joke. He stays with her all night when I have to work the night shifts unfortunately I get more money from those. And somehow he and I built a friendship through our grief and just wanting someone to be there.

“Hey, how was it?” I asked quietly seeing Dawn asleep on the floor clearly falling asleep during the movie they were watching.

“Uhh, just a little scared,” Spike responded looking at Dawn. A mini heart attack goes through me and he sees my face.

“Sorry, I mean from the horror movie.”

I drop my bag and sit next to him on the couch. “Lead with that next time would you.” I joked and taped his arm. “And I thought we said no scary movies.” I gave him a knowing annoyed look. I can see him and how he's trying to come up with a good reason.

“Ah you know the little bit she is very convening with those damn puppy dog eyes.” He replied turning his body to me and trying that half-assed excuse on me and I had to admit it was pretty cute. 

“Ok fine you're off the hook but no more Micahel Myers at least till she’s sixteen… in half.”

“Isn’t that a little excessive luv?” He called me out while leaning back on the couch arm.

“I know I know I just want to protect her as much as possible as long as possible with how much she has lost in just the last three months I want to protect her while I still can.” I walked over and stroked her hair. I glanced up at him and in his eyes saw my earnestness and truth. 

“Can you carry her to bed I’ll pop open some beers I think we both could use one.” I ended with a smirk.

“Of course and for me-”

“In a bottle, I know spike.” I giggled and walked to the kitchen while he carried her to bed.

In an hour we were both delightfully buzzed our bodies across from each other on the couch and I got to rant to him.

“So get this I walked over to get this guy his coffee and not even a minute later he demanded it again calling me lazy, like I'm sorry sir if I’m not the flash.” We both laughed at that and almost spilled our beers.

“Bloody Hell Luv I’m sorry you have to deal with that.” He sips his beer looking in it.

And I looked in mine like it was a pond a movie character thinking about a decision but really it was still just beer. “Yeah well it pays the bills so in my book it’s the best job in the world.”

“You know I could still help.” He lifts his head to meet mine and his eyes bored into mine.

“Spike I really appreciate the offer but I just can’t take money from you, you already do so much for Dawn and me if I took the money I would feel like I was taking advantage and I couldn't do that, not to you.” I fiddled with the bottle thinking about it and before I knew he had moved right in front of me.

“Luv listen to me, if I can help you not feel like doom is around the corner then that way I can feel that I’m more than what my title is you make me feel like I’m more than a vampire, a monster you make me feel like a man.” He lifted my chin with his hand and I know he’s telling the truth.

“Plus I wouldn’t mind being taken “advantage” of.” He smirked. Leave it to Spike to flirt when things get a little too real.

“Oh really.” I played-shoved him and he caught my hand. And we were left with a sizzling tension between us that had also been building with the friendship. He slowly leaned in looking to me if it was okay. And I nodded yes.

Our lips met in the middle and it was everything I had been dreaming about. It started out slowly but there was a certain desperation behind it. He gently grabbed the back of my head to cradle it. 

SMUT 18+ ...... Below cut

“So should I go or…” He questioned and I grabbed him back into me.

“Spike I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time I don’t about you.” I breathed heavily.

He flipped us over to where he was on top of me and I was below. “Been dreaming of it, sweetheart.” He then pressed his lips again but this time more intense. Before I know it his tongue met mine.

“Mhhh spike.” I moaned between the tongues.

“Not so loud pet Dawn is right upstairs.” His mouth traveled down my neck slowly too slowly for my liking. I grab his shirt.

“Spike…” He chuckles at that.

“I didn’t know you were this desperate pet but have patience, I want to savor this moment.” He goes to remove my shirt. “This okay?” I just nod. He unbuttons it and just looks down at me.

I get self-conscious and hold my arms over my chest. He gently pulls them away. “Y/n you are beautiful no need to be shy but if you do want to cover up I'm fine with that too.” He whispered.

“It’s okay, it’s just I haven't done this for a… while.” I was a little embarrassed to say.

“Me too Luv, so we’ll go at this at our pace okay? I nod and take off my bra.

“Oh, the wait was definitely worth it.” He scanned down and made me feel… sexy which I haven't felt in a while between the sweat build-up and stress.

“Oh spike-” I get stopped by him sucking on my sweet spot. He goes harder and it starts to pulse with a little pain but soothed by him licking it. His hands go to my strap pulling it down I’m so distracted by the bite that I didn’t even feel him fondling my nipple. And it feels… electrifying. I sit up and fully remove my bra. I then glanced at him and annoyingly he still had his shirt on. 

“I think this is a little unfair don’t you think?” I crossed my arms.

“You're right Pet.” He pulled it off like it was a million degrees and was just waiting to shed his clothes. His chest was pale with a slight pink to it from us being like this his abs were well-defined and went into a sharp v-line. I don’t notice I'm staring.

“See something you like?” He smirked knowing the effect he was having.

“Oh just kiss me, dummy.” I pull him back down and we start to get into a rhythm fast-paced and arousing. Our chests blending turning us both on. His hands then drift down to my pants.

“How about we get these annoying things out of the way huh?” He asks and I just nod. His hands go to my waist and I help him shimmy out of my pants. He continues kissing me and his fingers go to my panties. I gasp into his mouth at the sudden contact. Feeling my wetness seeping through the fabric.

“All this for me huh baby?” He grunted like to me. Then his fingers go up and down my slit.

“Uh-huh.” I tried to get out. Then, his finger slowly goes in. “Spike…” The finger makes circles in my pussy. I am trying not to release just at that, and then suddenly, he adds in another. He starts to pump in and out. His thick fingers were rubbing against my soft walls, looking to my face, seeing my reaction and liking it.

“You like that?” He speeds up.

“Yes, Spike yes.” I moaned out he was going in between slow and fast seeing how I reacted to what he was doing well, studying me. It was heaven, in the past guys would barely warm me up and then pull down their pants thinking that would be enough. Spike was like a fresh breath of air.

He started to go more slow noticing I was getting closer not wanting to overwhelm my nerves. And my body was moving with him becoming one. 

“Spike I’m getting close.” His hand ramps up now pounding my pussy. “Ahh Spike!” 

“Let go just let go.” And I did I came all over his hand.

I breathed in deeply trying to recover from the best finger bang I've ever gotten. “Fuck spike you're… good at that.” I climb on top of him going back to making out.

“Yeah?” I start to grind down on him as an answer.

I gently grabbed his face. “Yes, you are.” I stand up and take down my panties.

“Holy… I think I believe there is a God.” He stood up quickly and pulled down his pants and underwear. His shaft springs forward and it is big and bulging the same color as the rest of him just a little redder. I step up and handled it and start to pump it.

“Would you like me to return the favor?” I whisper in his ear and nip his earlobe.

“Ahh Luv… I would but I don’t think I would last and I’m just dying to get inside of you.” he could barely get out finding it hard to focus with my hand pumping him.

“Okay then sit down.” he backs down on the couch. Watching my body strut over to him I straddle him and our bodies meet fully nude. We start to kiss again and get the familiar rhythm like we were meant to be here tonight. His teeth nip down on my lip and the tongue licks it. The air is thick with lust and emotions like I've never felt before. I hover over his shaft and start to grind on it. Getting us both ready with the slick. I lift up and get his shaft and slowly sink in. 

“Spike”

“Y/n” 

Both of us feel euphoric, I have to stay in this spot because he is so big that my walls have to get used to it the cum from before helping it be more comfortable for me. 

“Let me know when I can start moving kay?” He said trying to hold back, making sure this would be amazing for me too.

“Kay.” I breathed out. I rolled my hips to test the waters and both of us liked it. I lift up and slide down gently. He meets my hips and we go together. Breathing up and down together. He juts up into me and makes me lose my balance for a second but he catches me. His shaft goes faster into me.

He flipped us over again so he had more control and I didn’t mind it. My legs wrap his back and my hands scratch into his back. He starts to pound in faster and faster having the stamina of a fucking stallion. He then hits my G spot and stars. He knew how to use what God had given him. I pull him closer and he licks my bite again.

“So bloody pretty.” He heard my moans. 

“Spike… need… more!” He gets my hint and his fingers go to stroke my clit to really get me there. 

“Getting close Luv?” I nod.

He pulls my head to meet his and our eyes meet. “Ready?” He rubs quicker and quicker.

“Ahh! Ahh!” And obsolete explosion both of us came together. We breathe in together not believing what just transpired. He slips out and pushes himself next to me on the small couch barely keeping both of us on. 

“That was-”

“Amazing.” I finished.

“Yeah bloody amazing.” 

I then slipped off into sleep being the most at peace I have felt in a while.

My eyes blink open it being early morning. I then remembered what happened last night and looked to my side and Spike was sleeping there soundly. It felt almost… surreal like this could be regular. I then hear the shower going on upstairs which is weird because Dawn should be sleeping-. SHIT ITS A SCHOOL DAY! She will be downstairs in five minutes. I then notice the state of the two of us.

“Spike Spike! Wake up!” He woke with alertness and fell off the couch.

“What what is attacking us!?” 

“Nothing, Dawn is going to be downstairs now in three minutes!” He then comes to the same realization. 

“Oh SHIT!” 

“Yeah! So come on get your clothes on I have to make a quick breakfast for her.” I throw my clothes on and run to the kitchen. Spike goes to the backdoor but before he leaves he turns to me.

“I don’t regret what happened last night, do you?” Those damn blue eyes begged for an answer. I didn't but I couldn't get into this right now.

“Uhh We’ll talk later okay.” I responded while flipping the eggs not being able to tell to his face. I can tell he wants to keep going but knows he can’t so he throws on a blanket over his head and run out the backdoor. And not a minute later Dawn is in front of me.

“Hey did Spike sleep here last night?” She questioned innocently. I was pouring orange juice and dropped the glass.

“What what no no why ask?” I quickly picked up the glass and avoided her eyes.

“Just he left his lighter on the couch, you okay?” She saw my behavior.

“Yup just tired you know, well would you look at the time you should be off to school!” I pick her up backpack and lunchpail and practically push her out the door.

“Are you sure you okay Y/n because I can-”

“No! I mean I'm okay now go that brain needs knowledge.” I smiled and waved to her as she walked off super confused about her sister’s erratic behavior. I closed the door finally being able to breathe. I walk to the couch looking at the tangled blankets and remembering what only really happened a couple of hours ago and spot the silver lighter and pick it up.

“What did I do?” Did we ruin a friendship or start something more?

[sapphistically]

cherry lipgloss.

read on ao3 | masterlists

description: buffy and you have a fight while patrolling, you get hurt and she can’t help but realise you were right, she does love you.

relationship/s: buffy summers x fem!reader

a/n: this is me trying to combat my internalised homophobia.

wc: 920

It was a dark night, the wind brushing through your hair as you walked in a calm pace, slightly behind the blonde. The mist reached your knees, you could hear the crickets in the grass and a car driving by on the road next to the cemetery’s gate.

���If you’re going to be pouting you could’ve went alone.” You spoke up, making Buffy stop and turn. Her hair was long, down to her shoulders, she had a dark blue hat on and a beige coat that covered her outfit, except the bottom of her pants and her dark shoes.

“We have nothing to talk about.” She stated coldly, her eyes piercing through you. “God, why did I even agree to this…” You heard her mumbling as she turned her back to you and started walking away.

“What?” You scoffed as you walked faster, catching up to her, your hand grabbing her arm as you turn her, to face you.

“Stop.” She just says her brows frowning, yet she doesn’t move an inch, you don’t either.

“I’m not the one pouting, blondie.”

“Don’t call me that.” She sighs, her eyes still on you.

“Why are you like this?” You frowned your own brows, letting her arm go free as you crossed your arms on your chest. “Are we never going to talk, just because you can’t admit that you love me? That— That you love a girl?”

She shook her head taking a step back.

“I don’t love you.”

It stung, every time she said it, because you knew it wasn’t true, she did too, no matter how much she denied it, there was no denying how her eyes traced you wherever you went, how she looked at you after you two fucked, how she comforted you and you comforted her, how she told you everything, how she kissed you with passion, how she always checked if you were okay before any other of her friends. There was a spark between you two, until she decided it was over, until she pulled away, hiding it was her idea, breaking it off was her idea, all her visits in your bed after that were also her idea.

“What will it take for you to finally admit it!” You yelled out, the anger was burning you from the inside, it was devouring you, alongside the love you had for her.

“We’re on patrol. This isn’t the place or time for this… We’re done. Accept it. Move on.”

She turned her back on you again, she knew you hated it, she still did it. You would continue talking if it weren’t for the vampire that suddenly ran at the two of you, Buffy pushed you away and started to fight the vampire.

You could see the tiny drops of water on your coat as well as on the side of your jeans which were moist in the dew. Buffy was fast, she kicked and was close to losing for a moment, you didn’t get to see the rest as someone grabbed your shoulders pulling you up, their hands clunched on your stomach, trapping your arms as you tried to pull away, their fangs dug in your neck, making you yelp out in pain, you could feel drops of your own hot blood pouring down your neck, it hurt, more then you could imagine, it was so invasive in a way, you could feel the fangs burying deep in your skin, as they drank your blood.

“No!” A familiar voice yelled, with the corner of you eye you catched her moving towards the two of you, she staked the vampire who was feeding on you, as they dusted away you hit the cold, wet ground, she kneeled down by you.

“Oh my—Don’t move!“ Her eyes were wide open as she helped you sit up, your back pressing against a tree.

Her warm hand went up to your neck, gently pressing on the wound, making your eyes shut from the pain the pressure caused.

“I-I’m okay, Buffy.” You whispered, making her eyes meet yours, Buffy’s eyes softened as she looked deeply into yours.

“We need to go back, we need to patch you up. I don’t know how much blood you lost, are you lightheaded?”

“Buffy. I’m okay… He didn’t bite me that long, it felt longer, but you got here fast.” You nodded as you talked in an attempt to reassure her, she was clearly still shaken up as her eyes continued to glance at your wound and her own hand which had some of your blood on it.

“I’m sorry…” Her eyebrows inner corners drew up together, as she spoke in a shaky voice. “I should’ve protected you better… Now you’re all… bitten.” Her eyes traced along your face and stopped at your lips for a second before moving back up to look in your eyes. You noticed that, she always did it right before she kissed you or when she wanted to but couldn’t, your lips curled up in a smile and you nodded lightly. “Just do it.”

She didn’t kiss you right away, her lips parted but she stared at you for a moment, as if she was considering the pros and cons of it all. Eventually she got closer to you and pressed her soft lips against yours, one of Buffy’s hands on your neck and the other one on your cheek gently caressing your skin, you buried your hands in her gold locks as you tasted her cherry lipgloss.

[wardenparker]

Vampire Waltz - ch 11

Max Phillips x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

A mysterious inheritance, sprawling mansion, eccentric roommates, friendly bat, and coven of New England witches are the newest chapter of your life after being unceremoniously dumped and kicked out by your boyfriend. For Max, the biggest change in his life is you, and what exactly he's going to do about the fact that he is stuck living with you as long as his sire continues to punish him for that incident at his last office...

Rating: Mature, but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 9.5k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: deceased parents, cursing, food, blood and blood drinking, depictions and references to abusive relationships. Anxiety and trauma responses. Self-worth issues.* Not many warnings this chapter, just a lot of emotions running high and a fair bit of lying for the sake of keeping secrets. Summary: Your first day in the past with Max is full of emotional moments and surprises, but nothing more surprising than a revelation shared with Eddie and Allison back in your own time. Notes: Hello and welcome to the Gilded Age!! It's been so exciting to see how many of you gleefully jumped into the deep-end with us on this plot twist and I hope you enjoy! This week's Chateau-sur-Mer room on display is Eddie's room 💛

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10

It is Mrs. Taylor who wakes you with a gentle knock on the door the next morning, bearing an arm full of clothing for each of you. Max had been resting with his eyes closed, holding you close while you slept, but his eyes opened immediately at the sound. "Good morning," she greets you both with a nod as she hustles into the room, shutting it behind her. "I brought you some things. To help you to blend in. Mr. Brown has arranged for each of you to be measured and fitted today, if you will be kind enough to go into town just after luncheon. He has sent orders to have wardrobes made that will be fitting for members of his family." It isn't her place to comment on the decision or the certainty with which the word 'family' was used, but she follows her orders to the letter.

Max sits up, shirtless and nods. “Mr. Brown is a gracious host.” He is almost giddy at the prospect of tailored suits, considering it’s so hard to have one made during his time. He’s looking forward to the trip to town. “Would you help my wife dress?” He has no clue how to dress you and he’s not sure if you know either.

"Of course." Mrs. Taylor agrees to the request easily, considering she had already but told to do so, but sets down the clothing on the nearby chaise for a moment while you rise from bed in your odd clothing. "After this morning, Mr. Brown has tasked Miss Annie's maid Renee with seeing to your wife. I hope that is acceptable."

It’s a struggle not to show that he recognizes the name, but he manages. “As long as it does not interfere with her duties to Miss Annie.” He takes the borrowed clothes for him and strides behind the privacy screen. He doesn’t care about you seeing him, but this is a different time and he doesn’t wish to offend Mrs. Taylor.

"Of course not, sir." While this particular morning is outside of her own normal duties, that does not concern her much. The staff of this particular house is far more efficient than any other in the community for their ability to work hard without the need for substantial rest or food. Losing a few minutes to dressing a young lady hardly affects her schedule.

Max dresses quickly, approving of how well his sires' clothes fit him and sets out from around the screen with only his boots left to put on. They are his modern shoes, but no one will notice.

The layers that Mrs. Taylor helps you put on seem endless. Chemise. Corset. Bustle. Petticoats. Corset cover. All these underlayers have to go on before she can even button you into the outer shell of the dress, but once you have the soft green and dark brown dress on in all its complicated glory, it's...oddly comfortable. The corset redistributes the weight of the dress and underlayers so that it isn't too heavy on any part of you, and the layers are all surprisingly thin but so much cotton adds up to a very warm outfit. The chill of the fall weather won't get very far at all, especially not with the wool stockings you have on underneath it all to cushion your feet in the neatly laced leather boots that somehow fit you perfectly. They must be your grandmother's -- that's the only explanation you can come up with, knowing how well some other pieces of her wardrobe fit you in your own time.

“You look….” Max’s eyes are wide, slowly taking in your very prim exterior. He had never expected to have such an attraction to the Victorian style, but he finds that it’s very becoming on you. “Exquisite.” He manages. “It’s as big as a ball gown.”

"Hush." The warmth in your cheeks belies the tone in your voice though, seeing the slow way Max surveys you up and down like some kind of precious gem. "You look very handsome as well." The suit that was brought for him is simple but well-made, and even though you have no idea whether or not it's in fashion, he looks like the romantic lead of a BBC period drama come to life and you are absolutely here for it.

“So you’re allowed to compliment me, but I can’t say how attractive my wife is?” He huffs at you playfully and shakes his head. “That will not be cool at all.”

The term is unfamiliar to Mrs. Taylor but she tactfully does not react at all, simply nodding to you and Max in the doorway. "Breakfast will be served in the dining room in fifteen minutes," she informs you before disappearing again. "You look like Mr. Wickham," you tell Max with a grin, doubtful that he'll get the reference but not really caring. "Dashing and handsome, and a little bit like trouble."

“Mr. Wickham.” He looks at you in utter offense, huffing. “I am no wastrel, I’ll have you know.” He grins back at you to show he’s teasing, and holds out his arm to you. “I’m Darcy, of course.”

"Hmm, maybe you're right." Taking his arm is soothing and grounded, reminding you that no matter how crazy this situation is, he's right here with you. "Alli and Eddie are definitely our Jane and Bingley, after all."

“Yes, they are.” He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Obvious to everyone but them that they were crazy about each other.”

"I think it's sweet." Their enthusiasm for each other has been endearing, and a pang of missing your friends makes your heart ache but you have no choice other than to shake it off. "And it looks like we'll have some very, very interesting stories for them when we get home."

“Yes we will.” The dining room is straight ahead and he reaches over and pats your hand. “Are you ready to get to know her in ways you never imagined?” Max asks, not wanting to say ‘your mother’ in case she has hearing like a vampire.

"I'm nervous," you admit, knowing that this is an enormously big deal for only you. Max has no emotional stakes in this meeting, but you have them in spades. "What...wh-what if she doesn't like me?"

“There’s no way that would ever happen.” Of that, he is confident. You are amazing, even if you don’t see it.

"You're biased." It's bolstering, though. It makes you feel a little bit like you have a champion on your side to help square your shoulders when they start to round down again. "But I hope you're right."

“I know I’m right, babe.” He tells you cockily, sending you an air kiss. “They are both going to love you.”

"I hope so." A soft nod is what you can manage right now, knowing that beyond that doorway are two women who have been completely lost to you for so much of your life. "I really hope so."

“I’m with you.” Max promises. “After this, we will see how you dance in that dress of yours.”

"With really big swishes." That is a welcome thought, though, and you revel in the idea of dancing with him becoming so normal that it can happen pretty much anywhere. It has you smiling again, and visibly relaxing, and you nod to Max before gently squeezing his arm. "Okay. Let's do this." The dining room table has been laid with fine China. There are five places set and five chairs, while the sideboard is filled with piping hot serving pieces full of all manner of breakfast items. Tea and coffee and a third carafe that you have to assume is blood are all set out on the opposite wall where a footman stands at attention waiting to pour.

Max glances at you, wondering if it’s a reprieve that your mother and grandmother aren’t down yet. He hums as he guides you towards the table, deciding that he would set you on the opposite side from the door so you can see them when they come in. “At least there is coffee and tea, right?”

"And more, it looks like." You nod toward the third carafe. "Good morning." The next figure to sweep into the room is your grandfather, and he sets himself down at the head of the table without hesitation. "I trust you had a restful night?"

“She slept through the night.” Max answers with a polite nod. “Thank you for the clothes as well. It will be better to blend in.”

“Indeed.” He nods, not reacting at all when the footman in the room steps forward to fill first his coffee cup and then his drinking glass with blood. “The appointment to make your wardrobes is essential. We are throwing a ball in just a week’s time and you must be properly attired.”

Max winces when the blood is poured into a wine glass and when the footman comes around the table, he covers the glass. “Please pour it into the coffee cup.” He instructs.

The footman says nothing but nods and adjusts the angle of his pour once he is standing beside Max. “Your room is comfortable?” Yayo asks. He knows that his staff works hard but he also knows that humans are particular.

Max looks over at you for the answer. Knowing that you were the one sleeping, although he was comfortable as he laid with you. “My dear?”

“Very comfortable,” you assure him quickly.

“Good.” He nods and gives a pleased smile. “The gold room has a special fondness for me.”

“Oh?” Whatever stories your grandfather is willing to share are wonderfully welcome. Only for a moment do you find yourself distracted by the appearance of the footman, who pours tea for you when you indicate your preference.

“Cookie and I spent nearly a year exploring the far East.” He tells you with a soft sigh as he leans back in the opulent chair. “When she had fallen in love with that bed, we bought it and had it shipped back.”

“It’s very beautiful.” Even before now you had thought so. Even considered asking to have it moved to your bedroom on the second floor. But you had decided that that would be an immense thing to ask for and instead started dreaming of one day having visitors who might use the room.

“Our daughter was conceived in that bed.” He admits with a small smirk and raised brow as he stares at the two of you. As if expecting you to say that you are also expecting a joyous occasion after one night in that bed.

“Is that…so?” It’s a little more than you need to know, considering that’s your mother he’s talking about, but it’s still worth noting. With everything you’ve been finding out about your family and your magic lately, who knows if it means something or not.

Nodding, he’s amused by your reaction. You are not timid, you dress far too boldly for that, but you are slightly embarrassed by the idea. Further cementing the truth that you are his granddaughter in his mind. “My wife and daughter should be downstairs shortly. They are not exactly morning people.”

“No…” A slip of a memory runs through your mind and you smile. Your mother dragging herself downstairs in her robe with a yawn only to find that your father had already made her coffee for her. “No…that seems to be true no matter what the age.”

“Since she was a babe.” He chuckles softly. “A fortuitous arrangement, considering that I do not sleep. So I could be up late into the night with her when she was fussy. My wife and I did not allow a nurse to care for her.”

“A fairly unusual choice, but I can see why.” Not knowing how much can or cannot be said around the house staff in this time, you just smile and politely add, “She must have been a rare child. And very loved.”

Everyone in this house is aware of what his child is and he nods. “We are free to speak of all issues but yours,” he tells you meaningfully. “The staff are all vampires. Easier than explaining to humans.”

“I see.” Well, that certainly explains how things are the way they are in the future. When your staff never ages or dies, there’s no need to change them. “That certainly does simplify things.”

“Quite.” He agrees. “The coven and social circles provide Cookie with human companionship when she so desires.”

“I know the Newport coven to be full of kind and caring women.” Of course, it might not be entirely true now, you don’t know for sure. But in your time? Those women became your friends as easily as breathing.

“Then the reputation of the coven has endured over the years.” He hums. “There were some turbulent years, but Cookie is not one to deal with much foolishness.”

“It is my understanding that she is very much beloved.” Before you have the chance to say more, you spot two women approaching from the great hall and nearly swallow your tongue. Your mother looks nearly identical to how you remember her, with the biggest difference being just her style. You remember a woman with short hair and a fondness for berry-tone lipstick, who wore dresses only on the most special of occasions. This version of her blends perfectly into the time, with none of her natural features tempered by makeup, her long hair swept up into a complicated style, and the gown on her frame affixed perfectly to make her look as elegant as a flower in soft pink. Memories of your grandmother have been coming back — many as dreams — since the spell that kept them from your mind seemed to break apart. And now that you are in a different time it seems as though the veil over your mind has been lifted entirely. Your abuela looks just as you remember her as well, all dressed up as she liked to be, with a twinkle of mischief in her eye and a perpetual smile tucked into the corner of her mouth. As though she were intending to save it for later.

“John, you didn’t mention we had guests when you came downstairs.” Her tone is apologetic as she sails into the room and to the seat that is at her husband’s elbow. “My apologies for seemingly ignoring your arrival.”

“Not at all, my dear.” He softens measurably when he looks at her, and seems to forget everything else in the room for that moment. “Some family arrived late last night. One of my sons, and his young bride. I insisted they stay on with us.”

“Oh?” Her eyes brighten and she glances back at the two of you with a warm smile. “Then welcome. I must assume that your bride is breathing?” She asks curiously as she tilts her head. The footman brings the coffee over and pours her a cup silently.

“Max’s wife is as you and Annie are,” he informs his own wife and daughter politely. Just because they can speak freely in the house does not mean he will be crude.

“Delightful.” She nods and turns towards you with a smirk on her face. “Perhaps you will be willing to take tea with me this afternoon, then?” She asks. “John has some business to attend to and my daughter is expecting a caller.”

“I would be delighted.” Tea time has become a sacred ritual for you because of Mrs. Taylor and your grandmother. To actually sit down to tea with her is a privilege higher than you can articulate.

“Lovely.” She smiles at you and then looks over at Annie. “This is my daughter, Annie. She’s normally more engaging than this, but she’s not had her cup of coffee yet.”

“I fully sympathize.” And having seen your mother before coffee on many, many occasions, you expected nothing less. Even so, it’s the seeing her again that has you struggling to hide emotion. “And I’m…I’m very glad to meet you, Annie.”

Her smile is polite and tired. “Forgive me.” She begs. “I become more social as the meal continues but I mean no offense.” She takes a sip of her coffee and sighs. “I believe I should have been an owl.”

“There is a certain magic in seeing sunrise at its beginning instead of its end. The nighttime can have magic in its own right.” At least, that’s what you’ve always thought. Hopefully it doesn’t sound cheesy.

She perks up slightly and nods. “Yes, you are right.” You seem so familiar but she cannot place where she knows you from.

“You seem to be two peas in a pod,” Cookie observes, seemingly delighted by that revelation.

“Do you only have the one child?” Max asks, hoping to draw out more information for you to soak up about your family while you are here. “Or is she the youngest of the group?”

“We only have our darling Anne.” Cookie beams at her daughter as the two of them pick up their plates to serve their own breakfast at the side table and you follow suit. “She is our entire world, I am happy to say.”

There needs to be a conversation about how he can reproduce and other vampires cannot. Max hums. “That is good. We thought to have one, maybe two.”

“Children are an infinite blessing.” While the three mortal women are serving themselves breakfast, the man known as Mr. Brown smiles at the son he barely knows. “An unpredictable and bewildering blessing.”

“I’m sure that we will discover that blessing for ourselves sometime in the near future.” Max wonders if the child you and he will have will be more vampiric or more like you.

“Most families like ours are not so blessed.” Cookie smiles at her husband. “But we have been lucky. And you will be too, I think.”

“Hopefully so.” It’s a truthful answer. He had always assumed that he couldn’t have kids since he was technically dead. Since learning that it was possible, he’s been imagining a little girl that looks just like you, but her favorite parent is him.

“I think my husband has hopes he has not yet shared with me.” It's impossible to deny how much you like calling Max that, and you break out into a smile when you come back to the table with your plate. “Not that I mind, of course.”

“Dolly, you know that I am your willing servant.” Max hums dramatically. “If you wish to be childless and not go through the pain, we will have our friends and my vampiric offspring to surround ourselves with.”

“Not at all.” In fact, it warms you straight to the bone that he has even thought of a family with you. The fleeting thought is far more than you’ve allowed yourself, but now the fantasy seems to jump fully formed from his mind to your heart. “I think it’s very sweet.”

Mad smirks and takes a sip of his blood in the tea cup. “That’s me, my dear.” He teases. “Sweet.”

“You certainly seem to be.” Cookie offers with a polite smile. “May I ask how long you have been married?”

“Recent.” Max laughs, picking up your hand and kissing it. “Very recent. Yesterday as a matter of fact.”

“Truly?” Annie perks up at that, returning with her plate to the seat on your other side. “How romantic!”

“Yes, we were suddenly overcome with the need to marry.” Max sighs softly. “Her parents do not approve of me - I was reluctant to share my true nature with them and they found me odd.”

“So you eloped?” This seems to appeal to Annie even more, and she sighs dreamily at the sheer romance of it all. “What utter devotion.”

“I would not spend eternity without the other half of my soul.” Max nods and leans over to kiss your hand.

"Soulmates." It is your grandmother who sighs this time, and for the moment your extended family seems utterly besotted with the idea as you and Max share a sweet smile. "Well," Cookie's expression is wholeheartedly maternal. "You must stay with us as long as you need to settle yourselves and begin this next chapter of your lives. Mr. Brown may be able to help you find a new home, or lend you the ear of our architect if you choose to build."

“That is a very gracious offer.” Max didn’t expect much else, but it’s honestly a relief. He doesn’t know anything about this time and to be around his sire and your family will help him relax. He knows that they will help protect you. “We humbly accept with our thanks.”

"It is very kind of you." There was a lot more tension in your shoulders than you realized, and when they drop it's out of full relief rather than anything else. Since you have no idea how to get home, there is a remote possibility that you're going to have to buck up and make a life here in...whatever year it is.

“Think nothing of it.” Your grandfather assures you. “There is nothing like having family while you are starting out and you are now family.”

******

You find out quickly that the planning you have been doing for the Samhain Masquerade at home pales in comparison to the levels of planning that Cookie has been doing for her own. There is a small ball to be held in two days time -- something your grandmother refers to rather affectionately as a dinner dance but sounds to you to be an enormous undertaking, and then the full-blown Halloween masquerade in a few weeks time. From the look of the menus she is sifting through in the green salon and the sound of the dresses that are being made as well as the decor and band being hired? It's very clear that you have been planning a dinner dance for Samhain and not a full-blown ball. Maybe you ought to be taking notes, as you sit near your grandmother with a book and she bustles through her papers, but all you can do is watch in awe.

“Lobster bisque with a curried quail or roasted prawns and lamb with mint cream?” She asks, looking up as she decides between the two menus that appeal the most. “I don’t think that I care for the tomato custard with beef shank.”

“Prawns and lamb, I think?” Not ever having eaten quail before, you don’t feel safe recommending it over something else. “Or…that is what I would choose. Although, if you are fond of curry, it is delicious with lamb as well.”

“We will have to have a tasting menu, I believe.” She decides, finding your idea intriguing. “We will have both menus and your curried lamb. Do you have a recipe for Mrs. Taylor? Or just use a curry like with the quail?”

“I actually do have a recipe…” It might be a little too intense for Gilded Age palettes, or it might go over like gangbusters. There’s no way to tell. “I can write it out for you, if you like.”

“If you would not mind.” She asks with a smile, tilting her head imploringly.

"Of course not." The recipe had been your mother's, in fact, and now you can't help but wonder if this is how it made its way into your family in the first place. "It would be my pleasure."

“Delightful.” Cookie beams at you and offers a pen and paper. “We will have Mrs. Taylor make the menus for dinner tonight.”

"I hope very much that you will all like it." Writing with this pen is going to be a nightmare, but you valiantly dip the nib in the ink pot that she offers you and begin to write out the recipe as you remember it from cooking with your mother.

“I am sure that it will become a family favorite.” She predicts, watching you scribble. “You have such unique technique with the pen.” Cookie offers. “Do you often write letters?”

Unique technique. You almost snort at the way your grandmother politely calls out the fact that you can barely write with such a common instrument. "I did not have many people to write to," you tell her by way of neatly avoiding the question. It's not like you can explain texting.

“I see.” Her heart aches for you, finding you a wonderfully charming young woman. Reminding her so much of her own daughter that she feels very protective of you. “Well, if you and Max decide to settle elsewhere, I insist that we exchange letters.”

"I truly doubt that we will, but if it ever does happen, I hope to share many letters between us." That box of letters from her is at the forefront of your mind, and the smile on your face ends up slightly bittersweet before you remember that you're here. Here with her and with your mother.

Cookie interprets the slightly sad smile as a remembrance of your family. Perhaps you still mourn their lack of acceptance of your life. “Don’t worry, my dear.” She reaches out and pats your hand. “Family has a way of coming back to you.”

"More than anyone could possibly know." And that brings your smile back to a much brighter place instantly. "Perhaps my life with my husband will have many more surprises in store."

“Men, especially vampires, are always full of surprises.” Cookie trills and shakes her head fondly. “Even when he drives me to wail, there’s no one I would rather spend my life with than John.” She admits and reaches out to take your hand. “Max has explained that he can lengthen your life, correct? A mortal existence is just but a blink of an eye to a vampire.”

"It has not been the subject of a long conversation yet, but I do know of the possibility." You can't tell her that you know about it because of her, but it doesn't matter either way. The fact is that you'll eventually have to talk to Max about it. "But he cannot tell me if it hurts. Or if it has any other...effects."

“There is no pain involved.” Cookie assures you, happy to share the information she possesses with the wife of another vampire so close to her soulmate. “Truly, you only need to drink but a drop of his blood every day. Just a drop. I know that partaking of their…habits, sounds unsettling, but it is masked wonderfully by a cup of coffee.”

"Really?" It hadn't seemed like it should be that simple, and you tilt your head at her with a small laugh. "I expected it to be far more...dramatic. They are terribly dramatic men, after all."

“Lord, they are.” She joins in the laughter, her own bright and vivacious. “John has a flare for it and it seems he chooses others with that same inclination to change.” She huffs. “As far as effect….you will feel stronger, be stronger. I have such horrid eyesight but since I’ve been partaking in my soulmate’s blood, my eyes are perfect.”

"The strength that it lends them...we get some of it as well?" Truth be told, you hadn't considered that before. But it makes perfect sense now that you hear it out loud.

“Most of the favorable attributes we would share with them.” She explains. “However, we will never have their full strength.” She sighs. “But it does have one ill effect.”

"That seems only fair." A nod of your head asks her to go on, willing to hear whatever unsavory side effects this otherwise magical situation.

“You…” Cookie leans in, cupping her hands around her mouth as if she were telling a secret. “Have horrible smelling body functions.”

It's so unexpected that you sort of freeze, feeling like time has slowed to a surreal whirl, right before you burst out in the most unladylike laughter of your life. "Is that all?" You manage, gasping for some semblance of control between guffaws. "Why--we deal with that on a monthly basis anyway. That hardly seems to make a difference at all!"

“I suppose so.” She straightens and wrinkles her nose. “John sometimes cannot be around me, the smell is too much for his sensitive nose.”

"That seems almost useful," you joke, still laughing harder than you can control. "It gives some time alone, doesn't it?"

She stares at you for a moment and then gives a very un-ladylike snort. “I suppose you are correct, Dolly.” She muses, finding your way of thinking refreshingly bright.

"There is nothing wrong with a little solitude now and then." While you would never ask for it from Max, there are plenty of times when he's off doing other things and you fill your time on your own. That's just how life works.

“Individuals need to be free to pursue things that fulfill them.” She agrees. “My coven accepts John, but they also know he will not be there every time. Society does not know about his…nature.”

“You have been very lucky, I think.” With your grandmother’s hand still holding yours, it’s hard not to be overly emotional. There is something in your chest just aching to burst out but as long as you’re here you won’t be able to let it. Knowing even a small part of her story makes you feel oddly like the Grim Reaper in ways you dearly hate, but can’t ever show. “I hope the rest of the life you choose continues to be happy.”

“Even if it’s not, it will be my journey.” She hums softly, squeezing your hands gently. “Every journey, good and bad, teaches us. Helps us learn for the next life.”

“Maybe you’re right.” It’s such a bittersweet thing to hear from someone who has already begun their next life journey, but you offer her a smile and nod. “That is a soothing way to think of it.”

“Isn’t it?” She smiles softly. “The only problem is; I don’t know when John would meet up with me in the next life.” She admits. “Even though he is immortal, and very much older than I, we are joined in this life and every life we will have.”

“Then perhaps it is you who will find your way back to him?” You suggest, hoping it sounds as soothing to her ear as it feels to you. “And not the other way around? I know…whatever comes next…I will do everything I can to find my way back to Max.”

“Your paths have been destined to be intertwined.” Cookie sighs lovingly, her own eyes soft and dreamy. “Every person should find their soulmate and their happiness. Although the two are not mutually exclusive to one another.”

“I think that’s very important to remember.” And bittersweet, considering you know that it will be forgotten along the way. When your mother falls in love with a man who isn’t her soulmate. Well after that man is taken from her.

“Are you feeling peckish?” She asks after a moment. “I feel as if we should have some tea.”

“Tea is always welcome.” The morning seems to be that much longer when breakfast is served sharply at 7:30am, and with more than an hour left before luncheon, a cup of tea sounds perfect. Down the hall you can hear the soft sound of laughter and conversation from the library, and you can’t help but smile. Your mother’s laugh sounds so much more polite in this day and age. Which makes perfect sense, considering how young women were supposed to act. “Do you suppose Annie and her caller would join us? Or would that be imposing?”

“We can see.” She agrees with a small smirk on her face. “If she can drag herself away from Emmanuel long enough to take tea.”

It’s impossible not to stare when the name crosses your grandmother’s lips, realizing that the man your mother has been talking to in the library for more than a half hour (well over the societally-correct fifteen minutes) is her soulmate. The most you can manage is a weak “Oh?” Out of the need to make some sound.

“It seems as if he will be a regular caller.” She continues on, not noticing your reaction. “He is from a nice family and my husband is impressed with his business dealings.”

“So, it is a…a good match?” You remember Yayo speaking of it with fondness. Saying that your mother had loved her soulmate and that was why he had taken such drastic action. This seems like it is the very beginning of that attachment and your heart aches knowing what your mother has yet to go through.

“Very much so.” She nods. “My daughter is a very powerful witch and will take a strong man to stand by her side.”

“And a good one, I hope.” Never having met Emmanuel, you can’t say. But you’ve seen what strength looks like in good and bad men all your life. “Strength in a bad man can break even the strongest of women. Not help her.”

“You are right.” Cookie nods seriously. “It has happened before and it will happen again, I am sorry to say.”

“A tale as old as time, some would say.” Even if you hate yourself for the reference just a tiny bit, it’s too good to resist.

“Oftentimes the best of tales are older than time, just as some of the worst.” Cookie muses with a wry smile on her face. “I have seen time pass far more than most and I believe that to be true.”

“I will trust your word,” you tell her honestly. Your grandmother has seen far more of the world and far more of humanity than you have and you both know that even at face value. “My life has been sheltered until now, for better or for worse.”

“Then we will have to make sure that under the protective shield of your husband, you live the life you wish.” She promises.

“Then I suppose I ought to decide what it is that I wish for.” Whatever it is, it will have Max and it will have dancing. Anything else that life decides for you is still very much up in the air.

“Agreed.” She smirks slightly and her toe presses the button that is discreetly placed near the table leg by her chair. Allowing her to summon Mrs. Taylor.

Mere seconds later the vampire housekeeper arrives in the doorway of the drawing room with her hands folded and an expectant smile. “Ma’am?”

“Please ask Annie and her guest if they would join Dolly and myself for tea?” She asks, smiling at the housekeeper. “And we have a new recipe for you to try.”

“Of course, ma’am.” The recipe is a surprise, but Mrs. Taylor accepts the paper from Cookie with only a slight look of disbelief at the handwriting before she curtsies lightly and turns the corner toward the library.

“Shall we adjourn to the morning room?” She asks with a small smile. “Give the lovers a moment alone to discuss having to be around someone else?”

“It’s always a rude awakening. To have to remember that there are other people in the world when you are in your own little bubble.” That expression probably doesn’t exist here, but it’s probably self-explanatory. Hopefully.

“You have the most charming colloquialisms I have ever heard.” Cookie hums in delight. “It has been so refreshing having you here. I feel as if we will be lifelong friends.”

The best you can do is sigh your relief that she doesn’t call you out on being odd, and instead embraces it. So you smile warmly. “And perhaps those lives will be much longer than other friends could ever hope for.”

“The advantage of being with a vampire.” She laughs. “One of many, although I’m sure you are finding out the others when you retire to your rooms at night.”

“Oh, um…” You really have to wonder how odd it is that you claim to be married to Max but haven’t breached that particular nighttime activity yet. Thank the gods your abuela can’t feel the heat rolling off you as it rises in your cheeks. “I—of course…”

“Do not worry, we are not as uptight as some families might be about that sort of thing.” She assures you, standing up and offering you her arm. “If you wish to talk to another woman about those things, you just come to me anytime.” She is assured that your mother never spoke to you about a wife’s relations with her husband behind closed doors, and she doesn’t wish for you to be ignorant.

“That is most generous of you.” And it is, really, except she can’t possibly understand how awkward it is to have that offer made by your grandmother.

She can sense you won’t but she just pats your hand. “Well, we will talk about something else, shall we?”

Like a merciful saving grace, your mother appears in the doorway a moment later followed by a tall man with masses of wavy, dark brown hair and crystal blue eyes. It’s pretty clear your mother’s physical type is tall and strong, though. If the similarities between Emmanuel and your father are anything to go by. “You sent for us, Mother?”

Your grandmother tuts playfully. “You act as if you have been summoned to a hearing, rather than tea.” She teases. “I was hoping you and Emmanuel would join Dolly and I for tea?”

“Of course.” Even though she says it with all manner and politeness, you recognize the tone from your mother as placating and bite back a smile. She called it her ‘PTA voice’ for when she had to deal with the other moms at your schools when you were growing up. Apparently it had existed long before her involvement in any PTA. “Mr. Aubert was just saying how lovely today would be for a walk,” Annie tells the room as if it was some momentous declaration. “Perhaps you could spare me this afternoon, Mother? To accompany him?”

“I think an afternoon walk after tea would be a very delightful undertaking.” She grins because she knows that her daughter would like to be alone with her beau. “Perhaps Dolly and I will join you.” She has no intention of joining, simply meddling to meddle.

“Oh!” Annie’s head whips back to look at Emmanuel and reminds herself to smile before looking back at her mother. “Of course. If you would like to join us, you are both very welcome.” It’s clear that wasn’t her hope, but she isn’t going to say no. Saying no might have her chance at a walk revoked altogether.

“Although….” She tilts her head towards you. “Dolly and I still have so much to plan for the ball. Since she has volunteered her help.” She reconsiders. “It would be best if we stayed and continued to work, wouldn’t it?”

“There is considerable planning to do.” You manage to pick up on it almost right away, the way abuela Cookie is messing with her daughter, and you even manage not to crack a smile or laugh. “Perhaps it would be best. Will you be terribly disappointed if we are forced to stay behind?”

If your mother could look any happier, she would be crying tears of joy. Bobbling her head quickly, she’s not even looking over at Emmanuel. “That seems like a proper plan, I would hate for our outing to put you behind. Perhaps another time?”

“Yes. Another time.” Cookie’s face shows no trace of teasing or amusement until her daughter looks away and shoots you a sly smile. “What a pity. But I am sure you are more than capable of being a charming companion for Mr. Aubert.”

“So, tea?” Your mother looks around for the tea set eagerly. As if beginning it will get it over with quickly. She is eager to be alone with Emmanuel.

“Yes, miss.” The footman that appears with the tray and sets it on the low table in the center of the room. “Thank you, Franklin. We can manage for ourselves.” Cookie smiles when she dismisses the footman, but it is definitely a dismissal.

“Emmanuel, allow me to fix you a cup of tea.” Annie flirts, smiling winsomely at her caller and moving over to the tea quickly.

“Mr. Emmanuel Aubert, may I present Mrs. Dolly Phillips. Her husband is family to Mr. Brown and they will be staying with us for the foreseeable future.” Ever the gracious hostess, your grandmother makes you sound as grand and important in her introduction as royalty and you nod politely as you have now seen several women in this time period do. Shaking hands seems to be considered something quite intimate so you refrain from offering the gesture like you normally would. Seeing your mother act exactly like a teenager with a crush is sort of sweet, but you don’t comment on it at all for now. Hopefully having the other guest in the room get a bit talkative will take some of the focus off of you. “How long are you in Newport for, Mr. Aubert?”

“Business brought me to Newport for the next three months.” He explains, looking towards Annie again with a smile. “But I think I will be staying longer for personal reasons.”

"That's wonderful to hear." And more than a little heartbreaking, considering Yayo told you what happens to them. But right now your mother is happy. And being able to sit next to her again? See her smile like that? It's everything.

“Quite.” Emmanuel’s gaze at Annie is nothing short of adoring and he’s already sent for the heirloom ring that his grandmother had made him promise would rest on his spouse's finger.

“And…what sort of business are you in? If you don’t mind me asking.” So much curiosity overwhelms you at this other possible direction your mother’s life could have taken. It’s a little maddening but fascinating at the same time.

“Railroads.” Emmanuel answers simply. “My family builds railroad cars. My grandfather is George Pullman.”

“Really?” That’s probably too enthusiastic a reaction to be considered ladylike, but you weren’t expecting such a fascinating answer. “I—that is—how remarkable!”

“Then you have heard of our sleeper cars?” He asks with a proud smile. “Have you traveled in one?”

“I have not been so lucky yet.” Pullman cars being a thing of the past — now that you’re in the past maybe you’ll have a chance. “But I saw a photograph of one printed in a newspaper once.” In the archives at Vanderbilt, there had been loads of old newspapers on microfiche. It had been something of a hobby to go through them for little tidbits, and you ended up finding some fun things there.

“Then we will have to rectify that.” He smiles at you with the excitement of a man being able to show off a favorite toy. “My personal car is at the rail station. Perhaps we can take a small trip to showcase the luxurious ride available?” He clears his throat. “Your husband is welcome to join us, of course. As well as you and your husband, Mrs. Brown.” He adds politely.

“Alas, I think perhaps Mr. Brown and I will be too busy to join you.” Cookie smiles a very knowing — scheming — little grin. “But perhaps Mr. and Mrs. Phillips would be entertained by a train journey? There is time yet before the masquerade, if you choose to go sooner rather than later. A few days away does young people a world of good, without interfering with any of your responsibilities.”

“Would I be able to go?” Annie’s eyes are wide and pleading, wanting to spend as much time as possible with Emmanuel.

The knowing smile on your grandmother’s face is everything, and she nods once in polite agreement to her daughter’s plea. “I think it would be lovely for you and Dolly to make friends,” she hums, pleased with the idea. “As long as your father agrees, you may depart on Sunday as long as you return again before the Astor’s ball next Friday.”

“Mama, thank you!” Rushing forward, she kisses her mother’s cheek happily and nearly buzzes with excitement.

“Mind you behave yourself.” Cookie accepts her daughter’s love with glee, though, before going back to demurely sipping her tea. “Mrs. Phillips shall be my spy while you are away.”

“There will be nothing to report.” Annie promises, nearly giddy and she rushes around to hug you as well. “We will become the best of friends during our tour.”

“Wherever you would like to go.” Hugging your mother again — despite the corsets, despite her not knowing you yet, despite every obstacle — nearly has you in tears and you have to blink them away as fast as lightning so no one notices. “Whatever you would like, Annie.” It doesn’t even matter that using her first name is a foreign concept to bend your mind around. You’re getting to hug your mother again.

She beams and nods, happy that you are willing to be a chaperone so she can spend more time with Emmanuel. “Perhaps tomorrow morning, we can walk through the gardens together?” She asks softly.

“That sounds wonderful.” So wonderful you could damn near cry, but you’ll save that for the privacy of your own room tonight, where you know Max will understand.

“Then we have a date.” She had picked up on some of Max’s unusual phrases at breakfast, liking them immensely. Nodding and letting go of you, she rushes back over to her caller’s side.

“Wisely and slow.” Cookie says, in a moment that would seem rather enigmatic if it didn’t immediately trigger a core memory somewhere in your mind that you hadn’t even given a flicker of recognition to in years. “They stumble that run fast.” Both you and Annie finish the line of Shakespeare in unison, exchanging a look of surprise immediately afterward.

Annie is the first to break, giggling and humming playfully. “Did your mother dole out wisdom from Shakespeare as well?”

“Rather constantly.” And now you know exactly where she got it from. “And took me to the plays, as well.”

“How utterly delightful.” Annie nods. “Mother always makes sure Father secures tickets. Experiencing Shakespeare is a requirement of being a cultured lady.”

“My mother thought so as well.” And how you wish you could just dive across the room and hug her and just never let go. Or just say anything. But you promised Yayo it would be a secret.

“Well, I am glad that you are also well versed.” Your grandmother beams at the two of you. “This is like having two daughters, if only for a while.”

“I’m very glad you think so.” For you, the dream of seeing your family again is very real. It only makes sense that they recognize those traits in you, as well.

She smiles softly and nods, aware that your own parting from your family must be bittersweet for you. “Well, I think that we are going to have a marvelous masquerade this year, don’t you?” She asks you.

“It sounds like it will be wonderful.” If you ever get back to your own time to plan another, the second Samhain Masquerade you plan is going to be a hell of a lot fancier, you know that for damn sure.

“Mother enjoys planning events.” Annie offers with a proud little smirk on her face. “No one would dare turn down an invitation, not even the Astors.”

“I know I can speak for my husband when I say we are both honored to be included.” The morning for Max has been time alone with his sire, and you know that this afternoon when you have to venture into town to get fitted for clothes he’ll be talking your ear off about everything that’s been said.

“You will not regret it. The salmon pâté is probably my most favorite bite of all the buffet.” The other woman practically moans at the prospect.

“Then I dearly look forward to it.” It seems like Mrs. Taylor has always been both cook and housekeeper here and you know her cooking is impeccable. She’s made things for you that you had never imagined trying before and they’ve always been wonderful. “You’re very fortunate to have such a talented chef.”

“Mrs. Taylor has a passion for cuisine that I have never seen before.” Cookie answered honestly. “If she were born a man, she would have been accepted to the top culinary schools.”

“Perhaps she should start a school for women cooks. Share her talent with any who wish to learn and let the pool of talented women become talented, trained women.” Just because you know for a fact that it does not happen between this time and yours, doesn’t mean it never could. And it doesn’t mean it shouldn’t either. Mrs. Taylor would be a wonderful teacher.

“That would be something she would adore.” Mrs. Brown admits. “She cannot have children of her own, so the people she cares for become her children in a way. I know students would be no different.”

“Perhaps one day.” Annie chirps with a smile. She knows that something drastic would have to happen to separate her mother from their housekeeper.

“Perhaps.” Your grandmother hums softly with a smile on her face. “For now, we get to sample her delightful creativity. Why Mrs. Phillips had brought her a new recipe to try.”

“It is nothing. Really.” A bit of bashfulness has you not wanting to have your offering pried into. It all happened by accident anyway.

“Nonsense. Mrs. Taylor was floating around the kitchen with glee.” Even if she hadn’t seen the other woman, she knows how she reacts to new challenges.

“Then I hope the dish turns out to be a popular one. So she may enjoy her triumph.” You offer, and just let the facts settle over you privately and silently, that the reality of time travel is very weird.

“We will find out tonight.” She reminds you with a smile before she takes a bite of her finger sandwich.

******

"I guess they aren't up yet." Allison shrugs her giant cardigan a little closer around her body, overcorrecting for the lack of body heat from Eddie even though her vampire boyfriend is wrapped around her like an ivy vine as they slowly descend the stairs to the dining room for breakfast. There's no sign of you or Max being up or around the house, so the logical conclusion is that you've chosen to sleep in and Max is by your side. "More breakfast for us, then," she looks up at Eddie with a smile. "Or just me? Are you eating with me this morning?"

Eddie smiles down at her, amazed that she is here, that she’s in his arms. He hadn’t even heard Max’s car come home, so apparently he had been completely preoccupied. “I’ll eat with you.” He promises. “I love eating with you.”

"There's an entendre there somewhere," she hums, grinning when he leans down to kiss her halfway down the stairs.

“Didn’t think you’d want Mrs. Taylor to hear what else I love eating.” He teases her softly, grinning against her lips.

“Menace.” She’s giggling though, and pinching Eddie’s side before she starts down the second half of the stairwell. “You’re an absolute menace, Edward Cowper.”

“That’s me.” He never thought he would be classified as a menace, that was thoroughly Max’s area of expertise but Allison brings it out of him. “A menace.”

“Something smells like paradise.” The scent wafting up from the kitchen is rich and fruity and cinnamony at the same time, and Allison groans happily. “I’m getting spoiled being in this house all the time. With the Menace and the best cooking in the whole world.”

“That is nice to hear.” Mrs. Taylor bustles through the door, a distracted frown on her face as she looks at the pair. “Did Max and Dolly indicate that they would be lodging elsewhere last night?” Her question is abrupt, showing none of her usual tact.

“They didn’t come home?” Eddie’s frown matches Mrs. Taylor’s instantly. “I figured Dolly was just still asleep.”

“Max’s car is not in the garage and Renee said the bed was undisturbed.” She tells them, her jaw set in a very unhappy stance.

“They only went to Portsmouth.” The younger vampire’s frown deepens and he pulls out his phone to see if he’s missed a text but there’s nothing there. “There’s no reason they shouldn’t have come home.”

“That is what I am afraid of.” Mrs. Taylor frowns even more, her fangs descending in worry.

“If anything had happened to Dolly, Max would have brought her home instantly,” Allison reasons, though her arm around Eddie’s waist tightens with nerves.

Unless he couldn’t is the unspoken fear that passes between the two vampires in the room. Making the normally calm and collective Eddie ruffle slightly with a shudder.

“If you are wondering after his brother and his soulmate, they won’t be returning for some time.” From the darkened doorway, his voice is quiet but firm

Allison’s eyes widen at the sound of the new voice, unaware that anyone else is there and her head swings around to peer at the voice. “Why?”

“They are traveling.” Is the enigmatic answer, as the master of the house enters the room with one long, sure step.

“Where would they have gone?” Eddie asks, but a look of understanding immediately passes over Mrs. Taylor’s face. “I see.”

“Not far.” His sire assures him, seemingly nonplussed by the concern on Eddie’s face. “But I am afraid it will be some weeks before they return.” His eyes slide over to Mrs. Taylor, who nods. “Allison,” he addresses her without shifting his gaze. “You will take up Dolly’s place in finalizing plans for the ball with the coven. Mrs. Taylor will tend to things in the house. She knows what to do.”

“I- me?” She asks, slightly alarmed by the presence of Cookie’s soulmate. She has not seen the vampire since her funeral.

“Yes, my dear.” He regards her with the warmest expression he’s capable of this morning, knowing what has befallen you last night in those woods. “Cookie taught you how, and I know you have been helping Dolly. You will manage it well and have Mrs. Taylor to keep you moving forward.” His cool hand touches her arm and he nods as if to say it will all be well. “My soulmate regarded you as something of a second granddaughter, you know. I know you will make her proud.”

“I- I don’t know what to say.” Allison says, teary eyed at the beautiful words. “I will make sure that everything is perfect for Dolly and Max’s return.”

“Second granddaughter?” Eddie frowns, not quite understanding and looking to his sire curiously. “I didn’t know Cookie had a first granddaughter.”

The elder vampire smiles enigmatically. “The cat is out of the bag.” He hums and shrugs slightly. “Dolly is our granddaughter.” He reveals as simply as if he was stating the weather outside and not some surprising news.

“I knew something didn’t make sense!” Allison nearly leaps out of her seat but anchors herself by grabbing Eddie’s hand in her eager surprise. “Cookie would never have left this house to some far-flung, unknown relative!”

“You are correct.” The smirk on his face is both slightly sad and proud. “In order to break the spell, my darling Cookie decided to give up her immortal time to allow Dolly to know all of you and myself.” He pauses. “Once she is settled, I will end my existence and find her in my next life.”

The shock of that announcement sucks the air out of the room instantly, leaving even the undead breathless as Eddie’s jaw hangs wide open and Mrs. Taylor grasps the nearest piece of furniture in an uncharacteristic moment of uneasiness. She doesn’t question him, knowing how devoted he had been to his soulmate for hundreds of years, but she clasps her hand over her heart as though it were breaking. “You…” Eddie swallows air he has no need for, the harsh sound echoing in his chest. “You have an entire family here,” he protests, knowing it sounds weak — and maybe it is weak. But there are only so much family he will ever be able to have in his afterlife, and they are all because of his sire.

“I do.” His decision was not made lightly, and Cookie had protested against it, as much as he had protested her decision. “And every one of you is special to me, but she is the other half of my soul.” He reminds Eddie. “The Devil made me walk this earth for over a thousand years before my soulmate was ever born. I cannot walk another thousand without her.” He refuses to, is the real answer, but he is more dramatic than that. “I know that my chosen successor will fill my role fantastically and keep our family together.”

“Then you have already chosen.” Mrs. Taylor nods in understanding and recognition, as solemn as it is.

“All will be revealed when it is time.” He intones seriously. “It will be a joyous occasion amongst my vampiric offspring.”

______

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