Occasional Writer

fanfics, spooky aesthetics, and witchcraft

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

Skinnydipping

Faith x Summers! Reader

Warnings: sexual content

Description: When a heat wave hits Sunnydale, Faith suggests a not-so-innocent way to cool off. 

It’s hot. Soles of the feet scorching on the cement, thighs suctioning to leather seats, fry an egg on the sidewalk hot.

To make things worse, your air conditioner is broken. Buffy slammed a demon into it and it choked out. The repair company said they’ll be over when they can, but it’s California in the summer and they have a long list of customers that they have to go through in order.

You’ve taken to lying almost naked on the kitchen tiles. Nothing but your most comfortable sports bra and your tiniest athletic shorts. With all the windows open. And every fan in the house on. And a glass of ice water next to you.

It’s not enough.

You’re spread-eagled on the floor when Faith walks in. She calls out a general greeting that you’re too overheated to respond to. She almost steps on your outstretched arm.

“Everything good here?” she asks. She folds down criss-cross apple sauce next to you, cups her ear. “Existential crisis, maybe?”

You blink open an eye slowly. “Aren’t you—”

She’s dressed in all black. She’s not even sweating. You scramble up, press a hand to her cheek. It’s bone dry.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

She laughs, helps you off the floor. Her skin is refreshingly cool where it meets yours.

“It would take us all day to get through that list, sweetheart. But what you’re referring to?” She shrugs. “I don’t sweat.”

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, I’ve been known to get a little moist during some extra-curriculars, don’t get me wrong,” she says. You flush at the suggestive quirk of her eyebrow. “But I thrive in heat.”

You roll your eyes. It’s so Faith to be this incredibly glib while you’re suffering.

Her eyes sparkle. “Well, I was going to see if you or B wanted to go to the mall, but this is better. Come on.”

She takes your sweaty hand, interlocking her fingers with yours, like she doesn’t even mind how slick your palm is. You’re almost grateful for the heat— it’s not like you can get much sweatier, and this way Faith won’t know how nervous she’s making you.

The motorcycle parked out front was her birthday present to herself and you’re unsurprised when she hands you her only helmet. She never wears it anyway.

“C’mon, let’s go already.”

Your hands are fumbling with the straps. You pause to wipe then down the front of your shorts (not that there’s a lot of fabric to help here), but Faith is impatient as usual. She leans forward, so close that you can smell her fruity gum, and fastens the helmet’s straps securely under your chin. You’re careful not to stare down her shirt, but that means that you’re looking in her eyes for a split second too long. She flashes you a classic Faith smile and climbs onto the bike, scooting forward to give you plenty of room.

“You’re going to want to hold on tight,” she says, and you do.

Then she takes off down the lane, making your stomach jump and your eyelids clench shut. You’ve ridden on her motorcycle before, but you’ve never gotten used to it.

You can’t clock how much time it takes you to reach the secluded section of the beach that Faith has picked out for your weekday trip. Maybe as much as an hour or as short as 15 minutes. The bluff is as secluded as you’ve ever seen it, which is almost unbelievable, considering the killer heat. Then again, the cops picked up two bodies that were found here only last week, so maybe it’s not so surprising. You don’t know if Buffy’s found the vamp who did it yet or not, but as long as the sun’s high in the sky and Faith is at your side, you don’t care.

“Oh, you didn’t tell me to bring a suit.” The words fall out of your mouth without your stamp of approval. Faith knocks her kickstand down and helps you off the bike, grinning wickedly.

“You don’t need one.”

She’s already peeling her black tank top off, revealing the equally dark bra underneath. You turn away before she can strip that off too, trying to hide a sudden flush that has nothing to do with the heat.

“Someone might come by.”

“We don’t have to stay long.”

You’re preparing yourself to be criticized for being a prude when Faith spins you around, setting her palms (still somehow drier than the Sahara) on your shoulders.

“Look, you said you were hot. I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t wanna do, but I’m going to go take a dip. You can join me or not, no pressure.”

For Faith, this is extremely gentle. And true to her word, she strips down entirely, leaving her clothes in a sandy pile, then takes off toward the water.

You have three options, as you see it. You can strip down and go after her (brave, scary, and undeniably what Faith wants to happen). You can keep your clothes on and swim like that (but you’ll drip all over her seat and even if Faith doesn’t say anything about it, it’s the coward’s way out). Or you can wait for her to finish having her fun (you’ll be standing in the sand the whole time, hopping from foot to foot and trying to find something else to occupy your attention while she’s not 50 feet away, swimming completely naked).

It’s not much of a choice at all, when you think about it.

You leave your clothes in a neat pile by the front wheel of the motorcycle, weighed down by a rock. Resisting the urge to cross your arms over your chest, you’re able to slip under the water while Faith’s looking out to sea. She’s mesmerized by a boat that’s sailing past and doesn’t even notice you until you send a hard splash her way.

“Hey!”

She’s grinning as she splashes you back and soon you’re in an all-out war. Some of the salty water makes its way into your mouth while you’re laughing and then you’re sputtering. 

She’s smacking you on the back, her hand on your bare skin, and her fingers are touching your spine. Your eyes are watering because you’re coughing so hard and you’re sure you look so not sexy, but when you finally straighten up she kisses you.

You’ve kissed before. Faith likes to toe the line at parties, give the boys something to look at. You’ve always been able to dismiss it as a joke or a drunken expression of friendliness. 

But this—

The water has cooled you off, but the sun is still so hot on your exposed skin. Faith’s mouth is the same. 

She catches your earlobe between her teeth, tugging gently, licking off the droplets that landed there. 

It’s the salt and the sea and her, the beach and the sand, a public spot with no public around. 

You’ve been here hundreds of times over the years, but never like this. 

“Faith.”

Her name is a prayer on your lips. You’ve called it out late at night in your room when you were sure no one would hear you. It was your secret. This is better. You want to say it until it doesn’t make sense anymore. 

When she makes her way back to your mouth, she tastes like California. All the sunny days and none of the monster hunting. You could be any two people without a history of supernatural trauma. 

“Faith— Oh!” 

“More where that came from,” she murmurs, but you’re pulling away. 

“Something touched my leg.” 

“We’re in the open ocean. Probably just a fish.” 

She’s undeterred, moving back into your space, but you’re hauling ass out of the water and yanking her along with you.

“Not in Sunnyd—” 

There’s a splash and a sucking sound as a giant fish man, complete with abs and fins, emerges from where you were just standing. It seems to smirk at you, then opens its mouth and shoots a jet of foul-smelling slime only inches from where you stand in the sand. 

“That’s homophobic.” 

Resigned, Faith jogs over to her motorcycle and unsheathes a knife from the side bag. 

“The work of a Slayer is never done,” she sighs. 

Watching her gut the fish man while naked is maybe the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. 

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

Attempted Breakup (Spike x Reader, BTVS)

Warnings: none

“So what, you just decide the time we shared together doesn’t mean anything? That’s not how it works, love.”

“You don’t get to decide how it works,” you say through gritted teeth. You yank your arm out of his grasp and dart for the street, but he ducks in front of you. 

“As half of this relationship, I think I have some say.” 

“There is no relationship!” You almost scream it, and a couple who had been window shopping cross to the other side of the street. You take a deep breath, square your shoulders, and try again. “Look, Spike, I’m not trying to be the bad guy here.” 

“Damn right.” He leans against the wall and lights a match for his cigarette. “That’s my job.” 

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and push past him. “Spike, I—we—I made a mistake. That’s all.” 

“So now you’re going to pull a Buffy on me? Get all insecure and frigid?” 

“That’s my sister!” 

You shove him hard into the street and then pull him back just as quickly as a truck blazes past, honking angrily. Spike wiggles his eyebrows when he sees how tightly your fingers are gripping the lapels of his jacket, but despite your irritation you have to force yourself to release him. 

“Can’t keep your hands off me, hmm?” 

“If anyone gets to kill you after all this time, it should be Buffy.” 

The walk light switches on and you jog across the street, hoping he’ll get the message and give you some space to sort yourself out. But Spike is nothing if not persistent.

“I was jealous, okay? Everyone else is paired up. Buffy and Riley, Xander and Anya, Willow and Tara. Even Giles has some—” you wrinkle your nose and try not to gag “—special lady friends who come by sometimes. But I should’ve known better than to get involved with a vampire. That’s my sister’s M.O., not mine.” 

“If you wanted to get back at them, all you had to do was ask.” 

“I don’t. It was stupid. I shouldn’t... I need to start hanging out with other people. More normal people. Without boyfriends or girlfriends or... vampires.” You turn to him. “I don’t want to play the part of the broken girl who pushes everyone away, okay? But I’m not myself right now.” 

“Are you going to give me the I-hope-we-can-still-be-friends talk next?” He rolls his eyes. “Get over yourself. I may be dirt, but you’re the one who likes to roll in it.” 

He can think whatever he wants, you tell yourself. It doesn’t matter. This time, it’s over. And it’s for the best! You don’t need some undead asshole hanging around, trying to bring you over to the dark side. Just because your sister is the Slayer doesn’t mean that you’re not special too. You just need some extra support. But you can get it from someone living. Maybe a therapist. 

Yes, you think, a therapist. I’ll just explain how my sister’s destiny as a vampire killing machine makes me feel isolated from others. Then they’ll lock me up in a psych hospital. 

You take a deep breath. Remind yourself that making bad decisions doesn’t make you a bad person. Being with Spike is not indicative of a larger character flaw, or some internal darkness that will be with you for the rest of your life. It was a mistake, but you can atone for it. 

You start by going to church. You’ve never been religious, but hey. Spike (probably) won’t dare to follow you here, and maybe it’ll be good for you to spend some time thinking about a divine power that isn’t evil and doesn’t have the intention of ruining your life. 

Things are going to be different from now on. 

You’re already missing him though, as if that isn’t evidence enough that you’ve become codependent. You glance over your shoulder for him, but he’s gone. Or at least he appears to be. Probably he’s up on the rooftops somewhere, relishing your hesitation in walking away. Why can’t anything be easy with him?

You take the first step forward, then the next. But the next time you turn back, in the middle of the crosswalk, he’s there. He crushes you against him, burying his lips in your hair. 

“It’s a mistake,” you whisper. Your mouth is pressed up against his shirt, the words disappearing in the fabric. Your eyes water. Is this your weakness, as it is Buffy’s? 

If you thought he was going to continue arguing with you, you were wrong. 

“Maybe so,” he says. “But as you well know, I’ve no shame.” 

You kiss the space where his eyebrow splits in two, meticulously sliced to look more punk. You once asked what the running rate was for a singular cut like that; he pretended like he didn’t find it funny. He dances you out of the crosswalk as another car speeds down the street. It’s awkward and graceless. 

“I’m glad.” You stroke his eyebrow like a caterpillar, lightly and with one finger. The skin jumps as he raises them both devilishly. 

“So... Do we get to kiss and make up now?”

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

Financially Secure (Spike x Reader, BTVS)

Warnings: sexual content below the cut

You didn’t come to bed until late. Spike was up reading, but when you slid into bed he set the book on the nightstand. He had adapted his schedule so that he could be there when you fell asleep, which worked out because most of the time your shift didn’t finish until it was near dawn anyway.

You knew he didn’t approve of you working yourself to the bone, but it was hard for you to accept any money that he offered. You had been able to come to terms with most of the things he did, justify it in your own mind by comparing his behavior now to before, trying to reason that he was getting better every day. But the money— He had no way to get money without engaging in some seriously unethical activity.

You had tried to explain this to him before. But tonight, he was pushing it.

“Baby, you don’t need to take all these extra shifts,” he said, rolling into his side and wrapping an arm around you. “I’ll get you the money.”

“I don’t want to be dependent on anyone,” you yawned. “I like working.”

It was true, partly. The diner was normal. It gave you a break from all of the end-of-the-world plots that seemed to be going on at all times. But you’d be lying if you said you didn’t dream of something better.

Spike knew this. He buried his face in your neck, kissing up to your ear and biting down lightly on the cartilage. “It’s beneath you.”

You rolled over to face him. “It’s predictable. Comforting.”

“You know I’d do anything for you,” Spike murmured. He cupped the side of your face, kissed along your jaw. “This is a small thing for me. Let me help you.”

You swallowed, knowing he could feel the way your body had tensed. You wanted to say yes, but what if this led to other favors? Next thing you knew, he’d be threatening anyone who so much as stepped on your foot.

“It’s a big thing for me.” You tried to keep your voice light, but it wavered. “I don’t want to be your hooker.”

“Don’t say it like—”

You pressed your lips against his, running a hand through his hair the way he liked, but he pulled away. His eyes were almost concerned. You didn’t know he was capable of it when it wasn’t touched with fear or anger.

“I’m okay, I promise,” you reassured him.

“Love—”

You didn’t want to bicker about this. Not tonight. Not when you were so tired you could hardly keep your eyes open. 

“Look, if you want to help so badly, why don’t you start paying rent?” you asked. You wouldn’t really let him contribute, not knowing where the money would be coming from, but it was nice to pretend. And it would ease his mind, at least for awhile. 

“Paying rent?”

“Well, you’re over here all the time anyway. And you know I don’t like to sleep alone.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You want me to move in full-time?”

You shifted, tucking an arm beneath your head so you wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “I mean, it has to be more comfortable than the crypt.”

“Summers, are you trying to lock me down?” he asked in mock surprise. “You didn’t even start calling me your boyfriend until a month ago.” 

“It’s almost winter!” you protested. “It’s going to be miserable out there.” 

“We live in California,” he said slowly. He laid down flat so he was level with you, tugging your arm out from under you so he could wrap the tips of his fingers around your own. “And I can’t feel the cold anyway.”

“I don’t want to want to visit you in the graveyard when it gets dark at 5 pm.” You were almost pouting now, nearly out of excuses and he knew it. 

“Do I get a drawer?” he asked. “That’s what they do in all those movies you like, right? First you get a drawer.”

You scoffed, causing him to tug on a loose strand of hair. “You have about three outfits.” You trailed your hand up his chest to the neckline of his t-shirt, snapping it against his skin. All of his clothes were so tight. “But yes, you can have your own drawer. You can have a whole dresser if you want.” 

“How much is rent in California, anyway? $10,000 a month? $20,000?” Spike wove his hand through your roots, pulling you down to his mouth. It was soft. A few weeks ago, you’d introduced him to beeswax lip balm instead of the gas station chapstick he usually stole. It was paying off.

“Tell me how financially secure we’re going to be,” you whispered against his cheek. The stubble scratched your chin deliciously. 

“We’re going to pay all our bills on time.” 

He licked a strip of skin on your neck. His hands traveled down, down. You exhaled as he pinched the skin at your hip, rolling it between his index and thumb. 

“I’m going to get you a new car.”

Spike slid down you like a pole as your eyes fluttered shut. Your nails dug into the skin of his shoulder. Now his stubble was scratching your stomach, then––

“Dawn’s college fund is going up.”

This time you moaned. Your cheeks flushed as you forgot how to close your mouth. Spike smiled against you. You could feel his teeth pressing lightly into your thigh, biting down. 

“You’re never going to want for anything again.” 

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

Angel willingly burning himself on Kate’s cross in S1E11 is kind of a parallel to him allowing Buffy to embrace him, knowing her cross is going to burn into his chest.

He wants to be close to people, but he can’t unless he knows they accept them, and part of that is knowing that religion physically appalls him. There’s nothing of God in him, but there is humanity, and if they can accept that then he’ll go to the ends of the earth for them

[deerjuices]

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

Coffee Shop (BTVS, Spike x Reader)

Warnings: none

Description: Blurb about running into an oblivious Spike in a local coffeeshop

A shock of platinum blonde catches your attention as you walk into the all night coffee shop, and you consider turning around right there. It’s so rare that you see Spike when he’s not intent on pissing someone off that you’re actually taken aback that he’s being polite to the cashier.

He’s dressed in his typical leather jacket and dark t-shirt. You’ve noticed his style before, if only because you were a little concerned about how few outfits he seemed to have, but you’ve never had time to really look at him.

His hair isn’t gelled up like usual, just swept back over his skull. It’s cropping up in little curls that could almost be described as sweet. His cheekbones are severe as ever, cut from ice and marble. The light is low in here and shadows dance over what you can see of his face, shading his jaw.

He takes over a table in the back, thankfully facing the opposite direction, and spreads out. He props his feet up on a chair and leans back, smiling charmingly at the barista when she takes the time to bring his drink over. No doubt her number is written on the napkin she slips under his mug.

You’ve never seen him at peace before. You wonder if you should go over and say hi, if he’s lonely. It’s not like you’re friends, only he hasn’t tried to kill you lately. That counts for something, right? Besides, Drusilla is gone and he had a falling out with his former gang of brutes. He’s probably craving company.

You make up your mind to at least ask him how he is when a pretty blonde girl claims the seat across from him. He’s laughing—actually laughing, not scoffing mockingly—at her jokes and she’s twirling a strand of hair around her finger. You’d step in, if you thought she was in any danger. If you didn’t think he’d accuse you of jealousy. 

“I can help who’s next,” the barista says pointedly, making eye contact.

“Uh.” You glance down at your watch like it matters. “I’m late, actually. Sorry, I thought I had more time.”

You can’t resist a backward glance at the happy couple. 

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

Batshit (Spike x Reader, BTVS)

Warnings: Season 7 Spoilers

He’s gone insane. Completely and totally batshit.

He’s losing it, down here in this stupid basement, and Buffy didn’t even tell you. You don’t allow yourself to wonder why, only cautiously approach his huddled form. He’s got his hands over his head like he’s protecting himself from a blow, rocking back and forth, muttering to himself. It’s painful to watch.

“Spike?” 

“Leave me alone,” he says. “You have to leave. You don’t have your permission slip.” 

You reach out to touch him before you can think better of it, but he’s like a wild animal. His face changes in an instant and he snaps at your fingers, almost grazing the tips with his teeth. Then he’s melancholy again, lost in his own thoughts. He starts singing some kind of ballad you’re not familiar with. It makes your heart ache.

“Spike,” you say again. “I’m going to get help, all right? I’ll be back for you.”

“It’s dangerous down here,” he warns you, but he won’t meet your eyes. “Lots of wild things running loose. Awful dark down here in the basement.”

“I’m coming back for you.” There’s a heaviness in your throat now, like something’s caught there. “I promise.”

He doesn’t notice when you leave, but you can’t stop hearing the song that he was singing. It’s knocking around in your head, so loud that you want to clap your hands over your ears. There’s something wrong here. Something evil. And it’s got its claws in your ex-boyfriend.

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

Movie Night at the Summers Residence

Spike x Summers!Reader

Warnings: spoilers, some sexual content

Description: Fluff about the attempt to adjust to life after Buffy’s death at the end of Season 5. The Summers + Spike have a movie night to try to honor old family traditions in the wake of another tragedy.

“This movie is stupid,” Spike said for the fifth time. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What part about this doesn’t make sense?” Dawn asked, shoveling popcorn into her mouth. “Baby is at a resort for the summer, she meets a dance instructor, and they fall in love. Seems pretty straightforward to me.”

“It just wouldn’t happen, that’s all. He wouldn’t give up all those women for one little girl—”

“Baby is not—”

“Shut up! This is the best part!” you said, shoving them both.

The truth was, for you every part was the best part. You, Buffy, and your mom had watched this movie together over and over. When Buffy was on the cheer team, you had convinced her that practicing the lift from the movie would sharpen her skills. Really, you had just wanted to feel for a moment like you were flying. 

“She almost got hypothermia there,” you whispered, pointing to the screen. “They filmed in the autumn and it was freezing. They practiced until their lips were blue.”

“Shut up,” Spike whispered back. He sounded almost angry and you looked up at him in alarm, but he was smiling. Teasing. “This is the best part.”

Your heart beat a little faster as you looked away, not forgetting the last time you had found yourself tangled up in him all this weeks ago. But it was hard not to squirm when he was running his fingers up and down your arm, tracing swirling patterns onto your skin.

Dawn was sitting on the other side of Spike, unaware of the tension between the two of you, real or imagined.

Tension, you tried to convince yourself, was good. It gave you something to feed off without risking the balance you were trying to find or the rhythm you had recently gotten into.

“Fight harder, huh?” Johnny was saying on screen. “I don’t see you fightin’ so hard, Baby. I don’t see you runnin’ up to your daddy, tellin’ him I’m your guy.”

You watched Spike’s hand still on your arm. Was that what he saw in you? Someone who was never going to own up to the relationships they were in?

“What are you thinking about, baby?” Spike asked, his voice low in your ear. To make the most out of space on the couch you were sharing between the three of you, he had put his arm around each of “his girls” early on, but Dawn had shifted him off some time ago in favor of a blanket pulled up to her ears. Now it was only you drawn close to him, smelling the cologne he had on and the blood from the mug he kept on the coffee table. Somehow, you didn’t find the two scents sickening together.

“Jennifer Grey was so pretty,” you breathed, keeping your eyes trained studiously on the TV. “I used to want to be just like Baby. Go into the Peace Corps and everything. But that was before.”

“You still could.”

But you both knew that was a lie. He had been on you lately about going back to school next semester, but how could you? There was too much going on. You had to fill the space of not one person, but three.

“Maybe,” you said noncommittally, watching the dancers swirl across the screen.

When the movie was over, Dawn selected “When Harry Met Sally” as the next pick, to Spike’s open disgust. But she fell asleep less than halfway in.

“Help me take her upstairs?” you asked Spike, rising to move the popcorn bowl out of her lap. He obliged, lifting her with a superhuman strength you would never get used to.

You tucked her into bed like she was a child, smoothing her hair back and kissing her on the forehead. You left her lamp on in case of nightmares, made sure all the windows were locked, and closed her door with a soft click.

“Did you want to finish the movie?” Spike asked when you met him in the hallway, ducking his head to rub the back of his neck sheepishly.

“I thought you didn’t like it.”

“I’m man enough to admit I’m warming up to it.”

He followed you down the steps and the two of you settled back in to where you had paused.

“This is the best part,” you said, not for the first time. So far, you had pointed out the diner, museum, and wedding gift shopping scenes as the best, but this time you grabbed onto Spike’s arm as you watched. It was a little firmer than you remembered. Had he been working out?

“It was Buffy’s favorite, too,” you said, recalling how in awe you both had been of Meg Ryan’s ability to mimic life as she sobbed about her former boyfriend getting married. This made your eyes prick with tears, but for the first time, you felt more grateful to have known her than devastated over her death.

“What are they doing?” Spike asked. He was less mocking than usual. Leaning forward with his hands on his knees, absorbed in the drama.

“It’s meant to be funny, you know, true to life.” Sally’s tears melted into tender kisses amongst the used tissues and her runny makeup.

“Has that ever happened to you?”

“Well, not exactly, but—” Eyebrows furrowed, searching, rifling through memories, then victory. “It almost happened to us. So, see, it’s realistic. Just like real life.”

“Just like?”

You could feel his eyes on you. You didn’t want to face him, to go over this embarrassment again. Your face heated as you met his stare.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to do this.”

“I said I didn’t want to do it when you weren’t ready.” He cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, a warm look from a cold body. “Are you? Ready?”

You couldn’t answer that, only close the gap between the two of you and curl your fingers over the hem of his cotton t-shirt. He was slow with you, tender, toying with the elastic inside your skirt but going no further.

He tasted like cigarettes. You had imagined it before. Never thought you would like it. Always thought it was a stupid, unhealthy habit. But it couldn’t hurt him, could it? And he wouldn’t hurt you.

“Calm down, baby,” he said when you whimpered. Actually whimpered, like some kind of kicked puppy! God, you had never felt this needy before. You had never needed healing like this before. “We’ve got time. Sun won’t be up for hours.”

He massaged as he kissed, trying to get you to release the tension in your shoulders, your back, your thighs. He cupped the back of your neck and bit your lip, just a little, just enough to show off his hard-won self control.

In the end, you didn’t have sex. You couldn’t, not yet, not when you were still so delicate. But after, when he was holding you, you were able to say what you needed to without choking on the words.

“I miss her.”

“I know you do.”

“I would do anything to get her back.”

He squeezed you gently, kissed the place where your neck meets your jaw. “I know you would.”

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

Ultimatum (Spike x Reader, BTVS)

Warnings: Slight sexual references.

Description: Just a short scene I wrote about Anya noticing some Spike / Reader interaction. 

“You’re sleeping with Spike.”

The words take you by surprise, making you smear the nail polish you had been meticulously applying. You try to arrange your expression into something halfway normal before you look up at her.

“Excuse me?”

Anya moves away from The Magic Box’s register, sliding the drawer shut with the little ding! she loves so much. She takes a seat at the table across from you and props her chin up with one hand.

“Well, it’s not like it’s a secret or anything, right? You two spend a lot of time together.”

“Yeah, as friends.”

“Oh. So you haven’t slept together yet?”

You bite your lip without thinking, a simple nervous reaction, and she smiles knowingly. You rush to explain yourself.

“It only happened once!”

You had been exhausted from work and lonely and he had been understanding. Sweet, even. It wasn’t like you had planned it or anything—

“But you want it to happen again.”

She’s matter-of-fact, as usual. A practical businesswoman in an impractical world. You set the nail polish down and nod.

“It was... nice.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I bet he’s hu—”

“Anya!”

“Secrets don’t make friends,” she sing-songs.

You groan, but it feels good to have some basic girl talk when everything else in your life is anything but simple. You want to share your lipgloss with her and gossip all night and giggle over her boyfriend and your maybe-something if he doesn’t go all murder-y again. This little pocket of normal feels right. But you have to be careful. Just because the two of you have shared a few sleepovers doesn’t mean that you can leave this lie without a guarantee of something.

“Anya, please don’t tell anyone,” you plead. “I swear, I’m going to fill everyone in.”

“When?”

Her eyes are huge and seemingly all-knowing. Anya might not be up-to-date on human customs, cultures, or manners, but no one can say she’s not observant.

“Soon,” you promise.

Without another word, Anya goes back behind the register. She’s humming. After a few moments, you begin painting your nails again, but it’s no longer a relaxing activity. There’s now a timer ticking down your relationship. You have an ultimatum. Tell everyone about you and Spike, or break up with him.

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

I'm glad to see you back! Loved the new story 💖💖 - 🏜

thank you so much! I'm glad you liked it. It's been awhile since I've written anything, but it felt so good to get back in the rhythm

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

Reckoning (Spike x Reader, BTVS)

Warnings: mild spoilers

Description: During one of Spike’s latest get-rich-quick schemes, you try to stage an intervention. It doesn’t go so well.

“What the hell do you expect? I’m a vampire!”

“But you said—”

“I said I loved you,” he says. “And that’s all. I never said I’d change. If it weren’t for this chip, I’d be out there right now, hunting.”

He’s telling the truth, too. He’s wild, always has been. Even when he was William, there was a part of him that wanted to be powerful and free and dangerous. He got exactly what he wanted, only for it to be taken away by the chip. And now by you.

You don’t have many cards to play in this fight, because you’ve known all along what he is. You might have let yourself believe that his helping the Scoobies was a mark of a good heart instead of just a horny one, but there’s no denying it now. You clench your fists, letting your nails dig into the soft flesh of your palms, hoping that the pain will steady you.

“Then you don’t really love me. Because if you did, you’d know that I can’t be with someone who works against me. Against Buffy.”

It’s your last resort. Words that you know are cruel, considering how many times he’s saved your life. But you can’t just let him sink back into the evil scumbag he was before. The chip has given him a chance to picture a different life. One with you.

Maybe you should’ve led with that instead. Because Spike is clearly pissed beyond belief when he abandons the eggs and closes the gap between the two of you, pointing his finger at you like it’s as damning as a stake would be to him.

“You’re unbelievable. Would you ever drink a warm glass of blood with me at the end of the night?” His breath is hot, near. It makes your heart stutter. “Would you ever hang around in one of my haunts to humor me? I tolerate the people I hate most in the world for you, I keep my darker nature in check, but what you’re asking is impossible. I don’t have a soul. I may be whipped, but I’ll never be your pet vampire.”

“I—”

There’s nothing else you can say. It’s almost a relief when one of the eggs starts to crack open, until the tiny murderous creature turns its midnight-dark eyes on you. You grip the back of Spike’s shoulder automatically, seeking comfort, but he’s turned from you and approaches it cautiously.

“Hey there, little one. Daddy’s got a nice snack in store for you if you just behave yourself until my buyer gets here. How ‘bout that?”

It gnashes its pearly, knife-like teeth in response. You don’t trust it.

“Spike, don’t get so close to it!” you call out, but he’s giving you the silent treatment. You might as well be dead. No, not dead. If you were dead, he might mourn you. Or at least bury you so Buffy wouldn’t find out.

“I’m just going to help you out of the rest of that shell,” he murmurs to the creature, reaching out one hand.

Instead of biting him, the thing rolls over like it expects its belly to be rubbed. It crushes the shell beneath it.

“That’s one way to do it, I suppose.”

“Spike—“

It’s as if you’re not even there. The only thing that’s real to him now is the money and maybe the possibility of getting the hell out of Sunnydale. You wrap your arms around yourself, bite your lip, waste a few more minutes waiting for him to turn around and acknowledge you while he’s busy cooing to the little monsters. Then you turn around and climb back upstairs.

Maybe he just needs a little time to cool off, you reason. Or maybe he’s right and whatever this thing is between the two of you should die right here, and good riddance. It’s not like it ever really would have worked anyway, you and the vampire. Really, it was silly to even try it—

Your internal monologue runs with you all the way back to the house, where you quickly shower and then fall into a restless sleep. You hate feeling like the bad guy, especially when your relationship is one-half of an actual bad guy. It leaves you feeling confused, exhausted, beat-down. You spend the night tossing and turning, woken up at some indeterminable point by the squeaking of your window as the glass is pushed inward.

Immediately, your hand is the stake you keep under your pillow. The only two living (well, sort of) vampires with an open invite into the house are Spike and Angel and it’s not like you really have to be scared of either of them. Unless Angel has become Angelus and Spike is as mad as he was tonight. So, upon further reflection, maybe it is a good thing you have the stake.

“Spike?”

“I need a hot shower and it’s the least you can do,” he says gruffly. It’s dark, but you can see some kind of goo clinging to him. You flick the lamp light on.

He cringes away, but not before you see that he’s absolutely covered in a sticky, ectoplasm-y substance that smells faintly like scrambled eggs. You flip up your covers and crawl out of bed toward him, your eyes wide.

“What happened?”

“None of your bleeding business, that’s what.” But he doesn’t sound so angry now. He sounds… sort of embarrassed. A rare emotion for a vampire who borders on narcissism.

“You’re dripping on my carpet.” The words leave your mouth, dismayed, before you can stop them. You’re worried he’ll turn around and leave right then, that his pride can’t take any more wounding than it’s already experienced today. But instead, he gets a mad twinkle in his eye and opens his arms wide.

“No.” You move backwards, falling over the bedpost and releasing a soft oof as the wind is knocked out of you, but Spike doesn’t let up. He moves toward you. You fumble through your bedside table’s drawer and pull out your cross necklace, a birthday gift from Buffy, to ward him off. “No. You’re disgusting.”

Spike doesn’t say a word, only bats the necklace right out of your hand. It lands on the bedspread next to you, but before you can reach for it he launches himself onto the bed, encasing you in his slimy arms.

You open your mouth to shriek, but remember that the rest of your family is sleeping soundly and that this will cause them to come running to witness a questionable scene. Clamping your lips shut, you try to shove Spike off of you, but his grip is too tight. He buried his face in your neck, enjoying your squirms and angry whispers.

“Payback’s a bitch,” he says when he finally loosens up. You glare at him for a moment, but you can’t keep a small smile from your lips. Then, more soberly, he adds, “You were right. The eggs didn’t work out. Your sister was not pleased.”

You try to arrange your face in an expression of semi-surprise, but fail. All of Spike’s get-rich-quick schemes end the same way. It’s more work for everyone all around, but he still can’t help himself from thinking that one of them will turn out different.

You brush his hair from his forehead tenderly. You still don’t know how to resolve your fight from earlier. Nothing has changed. Despite his goofy exploits, you know that Spike is still a villain in touch with his darker nature. You can’t cure him. He doesn’t want to be fixed. He doesn’t even think there’s anything wrong.

“Let’s go get cleaned off.”

He helps you up and you glance back at your ruined sheets, pretending for a moment that you can bundle them up and throw them out with everything else that has gone wrong tonight. At some point, you and Spike will have to have a reckoning. But for now, you’ll let it lie.

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

I always enjoy reading your take on particular scenes or characters on the show. The one about Willow was something I hadn't even noticed before. Of course this doesn't make me view her character in a different light, I don't necessarily blame her for those actions but rather the writers. When you think about it; this show was a huge turning point for feminism but yet was still full of LOUD misogyny. Ain't that an oxymoron?

Thank you! And yeah, I think about that a lot. The characters did so much for so many kids / teenagers / young adults trying to figure themselves out, but the writing also had some harmful underlying messages. You have to take all of it with a grain of salt and be really critical of what you’re consuming, but it’s still a really powerful and entertaining narrative

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

While I agree with your point about Willow's attitude toward Faith, I do think that, when we're talking about her attitude toward Harmony, we need to remember that Harmony bullied her for most of her childhood and all of her teenage years. I think the fandom is quick to forget how Harmony (and Cordelia for that matters) were bullies and how it could have affected Willow. Willow wasn't just an unpopular nerd, she was actively bullied for years.

you’re right! I totally understand why Willow hates Harmony and Cordelia, but I also pay a lot of attention to the language that she uses when describing them. for me, it’s very much about how she decides to focus on how these popular mean girls are slutty and stupid. so many of Willow’s criticisms of Cordelia and Harmony are that they sleep around, that they wear tight/low cut clothes, that they get bad grades and they’ll have no future... and that’s similar to how she continues to talk about Faith (or really any girl that she doesn’t like) for the rest of the series

there are so many valid critiques that Willow could’ve made about Harmony and Cordelia, but instead she focused on surface level things that stem from some clearly internalized misogyny. and yes, that’s realistic for high school girls! and yes, I understand why she felt like that! bullying is shitty and she didn’t deserve it. but as Willow grows up, we don’t really see that part of her disappear or change. she continues to think of Faith and other girls she dislikes as slutty and dumb, which is a huge disservice to her otherwise awesome character.

Cordelia grows a lot and I love who she becomes, but I never expected Willow to forgive her. I just wanted to see Willow gain a better understanding of how other women can be awful in ways that don’t reflect on their success in traditional education or their body count

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

Ok but the way that Willow has always hated Faith is like... the worst part of her character to me.

I can forgive her for being an addict because it’s a sickness and she needed help, but so many of Willow’s criticisms of Faith are that she’s slutty and damaged. In “This Year’s Girl,” even as Buffy is pushing for Faith’s rehabilitation or really anything except just beating the shit out of her, Willow is actively advocating for a smack down. She wants to see Faith hurt, and her resentment first appears because Buffy and Faith got so close so fast, and I don’t think she ever really gets over that.

We always talk about Faith as a mirror of Buffy’s darker traits, but Faith and Willow have the same problems! They both have addictive personalities, they’re both territorial when it comes to Buffy especially, and they’re both endlessly seeking love and approval. Faith had the mayor, Willow had Giles. Faith fixated on Buffy, and Willow (for years) fixated on Xander. But they both come in second to Buffy in nearly everything. Neither one of them can be straightforward about how that makes them feel, but in certain episodes you can see how the frustration mounts when their personal lives, friendships, and safety is put after Buffy’s duties as the Slayer.

We never see Willow and Faith reconcile, even when they’re forced to work together for the greater good in the final season. Faith does apologize for her behavior and, more importantly, she puts in the work to become a better person. We see this with Willow too after she comes back from her witchy rehab in Season 7. But Willow and Faith’s relationship is grounded in resentment and anger. We never see them work past that.

Willow gets much more screen time than the quirky best friend normally does. Her character development across the span of the show is amazing. But sometimes it also comes through that she hates other women just a little bit. Not in general, but enough that her main criticism of Faith is consistently that Faith is an evil slut. Some of this comes through with Harmony too. Sometimes the writing of the show makes it so apparent that who Willow initially was (a quiet, nerdy girl who was in love with her male best friend and was jealous of the popular girls) is still a part of her. I would even go as far to say that part of the reason why Willow hates Faith so much is that Faith took Xander’s virginity. Willow loved Xander, even if it was in a superficial childlike way, and it must hurt to know that Faith swept right in and got what she had wanted for years. Willow has to work for things, but it appears to her that Faith is able to just take whatever she wants whenever she wants it. I mostly chalk this up to Joss Whedon’s sexism, but after rewatching Buffy it’s hard to ignore this inherent part of Willow’s character.

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

hello you are my favorite btvs writer (esp your spike fics- never seen someone write him so in character as well as you do)

that’s sweet of you! I consider fanfic writing to be really good practice and so it’s nice to hear that I’m in-character. that’s probably the most important thing for me when I’m writing, next to having a strong voice. I haven’t been able to write in awhile because I’ve been busy, but I do have a few things in the drafts that you might be seeing soon 👀

[prose-for-hire]

hey, do u happen to know of other btvs writers around here? still looking to follow as many of them as i can find

Other than you of course, the btvs writers I read from/interact with most on here are:

@council-of-readers (great characterisation no matter who they’re writing and some brilliant poly stuff!!)

@winifredsandersonsbitch (basically the reason I began posting my work I wanted to be as good and some great Faith and Spike fics !!)

[I encourage anyone to contribute their fave btvs writers and for any writers to plug ur own work if you like 💖]

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

aw thank you! that means so much coming from u

[prose-for-hire]

This or That

I wasn’t tagged but found this and decided I wanted to do it lol

indoor plants or gardens // cloud-watching or star-gazing // water or fire // paperback or hardcover // running or hiking // sleeping with socks or without socks // fruit or vegetables // hanging plants or succulents // dark wood or light wood // handwritten or typed // instagram or pinterest // braids or pigtails // dc or marvel // books or movies // oceans or meadows // forests or fields // sweet or salty // ice cream or chocolate // hoodies or sweaters // long hair or short hair // piercings or tattoos // summer or winter // boots or sneakers // cars or motorcycles // curls or straight hair // castles or cottages // sunny days or storms // reptiles or birds // disney or nickelodeon // strawberries or watermelon // essays or posters // phones or laptops // glass or stone // dark or light // photos or paintings // circuses or theatres // reading or writing // dogs or cats // poetry or novels // monsters or ghosts // thrift shops or libraries // fiction or non-fiction

Tagging: @kind-wolf @shy-ginger-in-the-graveyard @council-of-readers @everlastingartist @stardust-strange @therapieliteratur @winifredsandersonsbitch @sunflower-stan @idjitdestiel and the 🏜 anon (only if you want to !!) 💖🖤

[winifredsandersonsbitch]

indoor plants or gardens // cloud-watching or star-gazing // water or fire // paperback or hardcover // running or hiking // sleeping with socks or without socks // fruit or vegetables // hanging plants or succulents // dark wood or light wood // handwritten or typed // instagram or pinterest // braids or pigtails // dc or marvel // books or movies // oceans or meadows // forests or fields // sweet or salty // ice cream or chocolate // hoodies or sweaters // long hair or short hair // piercings or tattoos // summer or winter // boots or sneakers // cars or motorcycles // curls or straight hair // castles or cottages // sunny days or storms // reptiles or birds // disney or nickelodeon // strawberries or watermelon // essays or posters // phones or laptops // glass or stone // dark or light // photos or paintings // circuses or theatres // reading or writing // dogs or cats // poetry or novels // monsters or ghosts // thrift shops or libraries // fiction or non-fiction

cute! thanks for tagging me :^)