Buffy the Vampire Slayer Preferences + imagines/one shots

Spike Imagine - Blood Bags

Imagine: you're a new vampire and need to have your first meal. You and Spike go out for your first kill, but you don't want to kill anyone... (season 5)

"What if you came up with some sort of... moral code?"

"A moral code?" I ask, intrigued for the first time since this depressing conversation started.

"Yeah. Like... only kill arseholes. Maybe that'll make the feeding easier for you."

"Well, how am I supposed to figure out who's one and who isn't?" I counter, staring down at my shoes that are swinging from the barstool in the dimly lit nightclub. The Bronze is as lively as ever, but I feel nauseous and nervous - also, Spike's stare boring into me isn't making anything easier.

Spike sighs like I'm being intentionally difficult. "Well... Come on, this place is full of frat boys that are way too handsy, and -"

"Okay, fair point." I'm so very, very hungry and I don't have the energy to come up with a better option. Spike, of all people, is the only one I can talk to about vampire stuff. Against all odds, he seems to understand how difficult it is for me to... actually take a life and feed. I know I have to, but there's a constant whisper in the back of my mind, warning me, berating me.  

I suck my teeth, wondering how it'll feel when my fangs sink into flesh for the first time. Anything must feel better than the hollowness in my chest: it feels like it's caving in and will collapse any second.

"Y/N?" 

"Huh?" I snap out of my thoughts, and Spike is still staring at me, head tilted to the side, as if analysing me. A shiver runs up my spine and I excuse myself from the table, "I'm gonna get a drink."

He murmurs something as I take a seat at the bar. I can't help glancing back at him nervously, our eyes locking. He gives me a small, encouraging smile.

I press my lips together. Maybe it won't be so bad, but also, it probably will be so bad. I order two beers (one's for Spike). 

I stare at the wooden bar, tracing the swirls and carved graffitied initials with a painted nail. X + C  , F + B... 

"Spike," I start when I feel someone take the seat next to me, "I know what you're gonna say..."

"You do?" asks an unfamiliar voice. I whip my head around to find a tall brunette, dressed in a half buttoned blue shirt. He'd be handsome if it wasn't for the leering smile ruining his pink lips. "Do share, sweetheart."

My face crumples into a frown, "Sorry, thought you were someone else."

I turn to the bartender as she slides two bottles over to me and I hand her the cash. She gives me a warm smile, which I reciprocate, until I feel a hand slide over my bottom.

"Would you like to dance?" he asks right into my ear, his breath reeking of booze. He presses into me from behind, and my back goes rigid against his front. 

I can imagine Spike telling me that this is it, this is my chance, kill this asshole without a second thought. And I kind of want to, but my body's not co-operating, like it's in survival mode. Why do I feel so scared ?

He's so close that I hear him swallow thickly, "Or I could buy you a beer? I'm Troy, by the way."

"I've already got one, thanks." I say through gritted teeth, not daring to move in case he grabs me again. 

I wasn't ready. I'm not ready. I can't feed, I can't kill, I can't even fend off one creep in a bar.

I twist my body, facing Troy although I can't meet his eyes. His eyes are piecing into me - and not in the good way - but my attention focuses on the man behind him, who is sitting silently with a knuckle in his mouth. He looks fit to explode, but is trying to let me handle the situation. I'm so stupid - why can't I? I flash my eyes wide for half a second, pleading with all my might that he'll know what it means, and then I turn back to Troy.