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BtVS: Change the Addiction (1/9) - Willow/Spike - Will Be FRAO/NC-17
Title: Change the Addiction (1/9)
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Co. own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I don’t.
Pairing: Willow/Spike
Word Count: 1051
Rating: will be FRAO/NC-17. This part FRT-13/PG-13 for drug references
Setting: Season 6 – “Wrecked"
Summary: The best way to get over an addiction is to change it...
Beta: Many, many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
spikesredqueen and velvetwhip
Willow feels the fingernails on her flesh.
They prick at her legs, her arms, and her stomach like tiny needles.
Pricking, pricking…
They’re digging holes in places where they don’t belong and it hurts, hurts worse than any burn, any cut, any wound. It hurts worse than Tara’s disappointed eyes and Giles’s scathing comments about her magical prowess.
Rank, arrogant amateur…
Hadn’t she shown him? Hadn’t she proven what she was capable of? She had made Tara forget her pain, had made Buffy forget her pain, had made them all forget the hell world that they lived in. And while her plans had backfired, she still felt like she’d been passed over and ignored. It took some seriously bad-ass Wicca juice to pull that stuff off and that she had even gotten it mostly right should have been enough to prove that she knew her stuff.
Rank, arrogant amateur…
Hadn’t that been enough to make them see that she was more than what they all expected her to be?
Her jaw stretches open and the pain blossoms so intensely she can feel the scream bottle up inside her throat. But when she opens her mouth, she hears nothing, feels no release from the pain, from her thoughts.
Instead, she feels a rush of dark power explode over her tongue.
Raw and demanding.
Black cherries and dark magic.
It courses down her throat, burning a path to her stomach like a hard whiskey, shooting a buzz of adrenaline to every vein. It transforms the pain into something that’s not anything she’s ever felt before. She knows it can’t be pleasure, or bliss, because she doesn’t feel happy in its embrace. It’s more like she’s standing on the edge of the cliff and feeling the deep thrill of knowing her toes could give out at any second, knowing that the dirt could disintegrate underneath her.
Like she’s cheating Death.
Like she’s finding rebirth in the newness of this world.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? What you craved from me, my little strawberry?”
The warlock…Rack…chuckles deeply and she can see the tip of his finger, the harsh, jagged edge of his fingernail pointing at her, accusing her.
“I can stuff you full of it, girl. Can make your cup overflow with the power. And I know you want it. I know you’re willing to submit to me so that I can give you what I have.”
Goddess, she wants it. She wants to ride this addiction hard and fast, wants to ride into the path of destruction and see if the train will come to a screeching halt on its tracks fast enough.
It’s a far cry from good, old reliable Willow. In this world, that Willow is nothing but a shadow, a distant memory. This place that Amy has taken her to has nearly swept all of who Willow thought she was under the soft, red Oriental rug that also hid the cobwebs and six-inch layer of dust that no one was supposed to see.
Amy…
Amy brought her here but Amy was nowhere to be seen. Hadn’t it really been Amy that had wanted her to feel this rush of power? Hadn’t it been Amy who wanted to make Willow feel like more than she was?
But on the same vein, hadn’t Amy been a rat all of twelve hours ago? Hadn’t she been trapped in a little rat cage for the last three years munching on seeds and running on her awesome plastic wheel? It didn’t seem to add up that Amy could possibly be this connected to the demon world unless there’s something that Amy’s not telling her?
Suddenly, her body droops, wilting like a flower as his finger moves. He’s controlling her, tugging at her like a puppeteer controlling his marionette. He can make her twist, make her writhe, make her spin.
Because this is what she wants, isn’t it? To feel something. To be acknowledged for being something better, something bigger.
It’s something that none of her friends can give her, not Buffy, not Xander, not Giles… not even Tara.
They all want her safely tucked away in a box somewhere with the dolls and the toys, tucked safely away with the last vestiges of the innocence that she’s certain she lost a long time ago.
Her body shifts to the rhythm of Rack’s motions and she feels something inside her stomach coil, twisting tightly inside her stomach like a serpent. The snake’s tongue flicks against her insides and her hips thrust forward, pressing against the air, and everything feels primal, animalistic. It tastes like sex. The kind of sex that’s rough and gritty, the kind of sex that someone has in the back alley behind the Bronze when they think no one’s going to walk in on them. The kind of sex that makes a person feel shame and guilt for chasing something so depraved and so debauched.
She can hear a low, feral growl in the distance, penetrating the deep fuzziness of her trance, and it makes her think of vampires. The predators that go out of their way to acknowledge their prey. Who spend time simply focusing every inch of their attention on the people they seek to destroy. Who lock their meals inside velvet eyes and devour them fully and wholly.
Not that she wants to go get herself bit. She knows better than that. Her fight or flight response system is fairly well trained when it comes to vampires and demons. But she can’t help but wonder if the people who don’t run from it are feeling that same sort of thrill she is right now.
That thrill that maybe…just maybe…they’ll let you walk away with your breath still intact.
Maybe she’ll ask Spike about that sometime.
Sometime, when she’s not feeling drugged and heavy.
Sometime, when she’s not sinking into gravity’s clutches and feeling the floor rise up to meet her. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block out the reality that her high is dissipating. Trying to block out the fact that she’ll have to stumble home and put on the mask that her friends expect to see.
Sometime, when she’s not being told to pretend and she can be accepted and acknowledged for what she really is.
Chapter 2
Author: snogged
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and Co. own the characters of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I don’t.
Pairing: Willow/Spike
Word Count: 1051
Rating: will be FRAO/NC-17. This part FRT-13/PG-13 for drug references
Setting: Season 6 – “Wrecked"
Summary: The best way to get over an addiction is to change it...
Beta: Many, many thanks to
spikesredqueen and velvetwhipWillow feels the fingernails on her flesh.
They prick at her legs, her arms, and her stomach like tiny needles.
Pricking, pricking…
They’re digging holes in places where they don’t belong and it hurts, hurts worse than any burn, any cut, any wound. It hurts worse than Tara’s disappointed eyes and Giles’s scathing comments about her magical prowess.
Rank, arrogant amateur…
Hadn’t she shown him? Hadn’t she proven what she was capable of? She had made Tara forget her pain, had made Buffy forget her pain, had made them all forget the hell world that they lived in. And while her plans had backfired, she still felt like she’d been passed over and ignored. It took some seriously bad-ass Wicca juice to pull that stuff off and that she had even gotten it mostly right should have been enough to prove that she knew her stuff.
Rank, arrogant amateur…
Hadn’t that been enough to make them see that she was more than what they all expected her to be?
Her jaw stretches open and the pain blossoms so intensely she can feel the scream bottle up inside her throat. But when she opens her mouth, she hears nothing, feels no release from the pain, from her thoughts.
Instead, she feels a rush of dark power explode over her tongue.
Raw and demanding.
Black cherries and dark magic.
It courses down her throat, burning a path to her stomach like a hard whiskey, shooting a buzz of adrenaline to every vein. It transforms the pain into something that’s not anything she’s ever felt before. She knows it can’t be pleasure, or bliss, because she doesn’t feel happy in its embrace. It’s more like she’s standing on the edge of the cliff and feeling the deep thrill of knowing her toes could give out at any second, knowing that the dirt could disintegrate underneath her.
Like she’s cheating Death.
Like she’s finding rebirth in the newness of this world.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? What you craved from me, my little strawberry?”
The warlock…Rack…chuckles deeply and she can see the tip of his finger, the harsh, jagged edge of his fingernail pointing at her, accusing her.
“I can stuff you full of it, girl. Can make your cup overflow with the power. And I know you want it. I know you’re willing to submit to me so that I can give you what I have.”
Goddess, she wants it. She wants to ride this addiction hard and fast, wants to ride into the path of destruction and see if the train will come to a screeching halt on its tracks fast enough.
It’s a far cry from good, old reliable Willow. In this world, that Willow is nothing but a shadow, a distant memory. This place that Amy has taken her to has nearly swept all of who Willow thought she was under the soft, red Oriental rug that also hid the cobwebs and six-inch layer of dust that no one was supposed to see.
Amy…
Amy brought her here but Amy was nowhere to be seen. Hadn’t it really been Amy that had wanted her to feel this rush of power? Hadn’t it been Amy who wanted to make Willow feel like more than she was?
But on the same vein, hadn’t Amy been a rat all of twelve hours ago? Hadn’t she been trapped in a little rat cage for the last three years munching on seeds and running on her awesome plastic wheel? It didn’t seem to add up that Amy could possibly be this connected to the demon world unless there’s something that Amy’s not telling her?
Suddenly, her body droops, wilting like a flower as his finger moves. He’s controlling her, tugging at her like a puppeteer controlling his marionette. He can make her twist, make her writhe, make her spin.
Because this is what she wants, isn’t it? To feel something. To be acknowledged for being something better, something bigger.
It’s something that none of her friends can give her, not Buffy, not Xander, not Giles… not even Tara.
They all want her safely tucked away in a box somewhere with the dolls and the toys, tucked safely away with the last vestiges of the innocence that she’s certain she lost a long time ago.
Her body shifts to the rhythm of Rack’s motions and she feels something inside her stomach coil, twisting tightly inside her stomach like a serpent. The snake’s tongue flicks against her insides and her hips thrust forward, pressing against the air, and everything feels primal, animalistic. It tastes like sex. The kind of sex that’s rough and gritty, the kind of sex that someone has in the back alley behind the Bronze when they think no one’s going to walk in on them. The kind of sex that makes a person feel shame and guilt for chasing something so depraved and so debauched.
She can hear a low, feral growl in the distance, penetrating the deep fuzziness of her trance, and it makes her think of vampires. The predators that go out of their way to acknowledge their prey. Who spend time simply focusing every inch of their attention on the people they seek to destroy. Who lock their meals inside velvet eyes and devour them fully and wholly.
Not that she wants to go get herself bit. She knows better than that. Her fight or flight response system is fairly well trained when it comes to vampires and demons. But she can’t help but wonder if the people who don’t run from it are feeling that same sort of thrill she is right now.
That thrill that maybe…just maybe…they’ll let you walk away with your breath still intact.
Maybe she’ll ask Spike about that sometime.
Sometime, when she’s not feeling drugged and heavy.
Sometime, when she’s not sinking into gravity’s clutches and feeling the floor rise up to meet her. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to block out the reality that her high is dissipating. Trying to block out the fact that she’ll have to stumble home and put on the mask that her friends expect to see.
Sometime, when she’s not being told to pretend and she can be accepted and acknowledged for what she really is.
Chapter 2
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Great start!
no subject
Thanks so much for your kind words.
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no subject