Sunnydale, 1999.
Absolutely — here's a roleplay-style fanfic featuring Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer and you, an original character who is a fellow vampire slayer and close friend of Buffy. It will be emotional, character-driven, and develop into a slow-burn relationship.
🩸 "Cigarettes and Sympathy"
Pairing: Spike x Reader (you) Setting: Post-Season 6, early Season 7 (Buffy is rebuilding the Slayer network) Content: Angst, comfort, slow-burn romance
The night your boyfriend died, it rained.
It wasn’t dramatic rain, either. No thunder cracking open the sky. Just that slow, creeping kind of drizzle that soaked into your jacket and made everything colder.
You’d fought alongside him—Ben—a newer Watcher, not really trained for the front lines. But he insisted on coming. Said he wanted to be there, right beside you.
And he was. Right up until the fangs met his throat.
Buffy had offered to stay with you. Willow too. Even Dawn made awkward, sweet gestures like offering you snacks you couldn’t stomach.
But the one who ended up on your porch that night?
Was Spike.
You heard the flick of his lighter before you saw him. The familiar scent of leather and smoke drifted through the air, and there he was—leaning against the post like he belonged there.
“Didn’t think you were the casserole type,” you said quietly, not looking up.
He huffed. “Didn’t bring food. Just figured… grief doesn’t like being left alone.”
You finally looked at him.
His platinum hair was slightly damp, curls forming near the roots. He had that same leather duster, worn at the edges, like it’d been through more fights than you'd had birthdays.
“I don’t need comforting,” you muttered.
He stepped closer. “Didn’t say you did. Just… sitting.”
You shrugged, and he sat beside you on the porch steps. Silence stretched. It wasn’t awkward. It was heavy.
“Wasn’t your fault,” he said eventually.
“Doesn’t feel that way.”
“I know.”
You glanced at him then. His eyes were distant—haunted. Spike didn’t usually talk about his guilt. You wondered what ghosts sat behind those blue eyes.
“He wanted to be brave,” you whispered. “He didn’t deserve to die like that.”
“No one does,” Spike said. “But this world? It doesn’t hand out fairness like party favors.”
You gave a sad smile. “Thanks, that’s… not comforting at all.”
He looked at you, really looked at you. “Didn’t come to make it better. Just came ‘cause I know what it’s like. To lose someone. To lose yourself after.”
You blinked at him. He didn’t smile. Didn’t touch you. Just sat there—with you, not for you.
It was the first time you didn’t feel alone.