Buffy the Vampire Slayer Preferences + imagines/one shots

Spike Imagine - Rival

set in s5

I don't know when this rivalry between us started. It's been going on as long as I can remember. 

Although, I suppose it was only natural that Spike and I clashed when he smuggled his way into our group. I was the only one of Buffy's friends that was of the dead persuasion and then suddenly, I wasn't. 

I think it's about strength. I was always used to being the strongest, second to Buffy, so when Spike swaggered along, with all his (I hate to admit it) skill and muscle, he was a threat. An annoying threat. I've come to realise he's really not anything to worry about, but the bitterness between us still lingers, like the smell of smoke that follows him wherever he goes. 

The bell tinkles, making me jump, and a man slips into The Magic Box just as I'm about to close up. I have half a mind to tell him to get lost - it's been a long day - but I put on my best customer-service smile and look up. My smile flattens. 

"Oh, it's you. For a second, I was scared." 

"Sod off." he puts two fingers up at me as he approaches the counter that I'm wiping. The door clicks behind him, shutting out the darkened streets and faint noises of sirens and engines. "Did you do something with your hair?"

I stare at him blankly.

"It looks bad." he clarifies.

My eyes almost roll out of my head as I throw the wipe into the bin and get to sweeping the floor. He's creative with the insults, as always. 

"You know we close at five thirty."

"Yeah, and I know it's five twenty five. I need some Belladonna."

I pause. Why the hell does he need deadly nightshade? Does Spike even know how to brew a potion without blowing something up? "For what?"

"None of your business," he sniffs. He points to the rows of shelves stacked full of crystals, jars and herbs. "You're the one who chose to be in a consumer service profession. I'm a consumer. Service me."

I want to punch that cocky smile off his face at that, but instead I sigh dramatically and return to behind the counter. I pluck a paper bag from beside the till and shovel two spoonfuls of crushed Belladonna into it. "Twenty bucks." I tell him.

"You're bloody joking."

I shrug. 

He mutters something that sounds awfully like a curse as he fishes out the money. He smacks it down on the table. 

"Why do you have this job?"

"Why do you need Belladonna?" I fire back the question instantly, but he ignores me like he didn't hear. 

He tucks the bag into his pocket and leans forward on the counter, fingers splayed across the glass. I raise an eyebrow as he goes on, "You're a vamp - you can get money. Why keep this shitty, minimum wage job?" 

I pick the broom back up and slide past him, my arm brushes against his back. I don't get why he always wear that stupid, bulky leather jacket. Vampires don't get hot or cold - I'm wearing leggings and a tank top even though it's winter. He's so set on keeping up this bad boy persona even though we all know it's a facade. I mentally note that another thing to dislike about Spike is his insecurity. 

I start to sweep the floor.

"I don't want to earn money through blackmail, threats and cheating at kitten poker," I tell him, and I can feel him tense indignantly, "And I care about Giles. I know you've probably forgotten what that feels like, but I want to help him run the shop because he's a good person who deserves it."