ficpost: "Motherhood and Apple Pie" Edna Mae Wilkins/Faith
Title: "Motherhood and Apple Pie"
Fandom: Buffy: the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Mrs. Edna Mae Wilkins/Faith
Other pairings mentioned: Richard Wilkins III/Edna Mae Wilkins (as per canon)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Age-difference. Adultery. Mommy-kink.
Spoilers/Timeline: S3, post "Consequences"
Notes: For thelastgoodname in the Bad Girls Have More Fun round of femslash_minis. She asked for Edna Mae Wilkins doing anything I wanted, so long as one of the things she was doing was a girl.
Summary: Children never think their parents understand.
Words: 1452
Motherhood and Apple Pie
Faith doesn't like undead surprises sitting in her apartment. No way. Sure the pad's bought and paid for by the Mayor, so she shouldn't really complain when his friends and relations crash the place, but it gives her a bad case of the wiggins regardless.
Mrs. Wilkins is knitting. "Hello, dear."
Faith blinks slowly, trying not to let her face register surprise. "Aren't you dead?"
She's seen pictures of course - sat through the endless damn slide show - Edna Mae and I feeding the hungry... Edna Mae and I attending church on Christmas Eve... christening Sunnydale High School when it was brand-new... feeding the ducks in Sunnydale Park... - so she recognizes her, but she's pretty sure Edna Mae's been dead for - "Yes dear." Her voice is a soft little whine, a little wheezy. Faith's never been good with ages, but she's guessing mid-fifties. Her hair's gray but a good dye job could disguise that.
"Okay...." She tosses herself onto her bed and doesn't care that it makes Mrs. Wilkins's brow furrow with disapproval. "So what are you doing alive?"
"Do you really think death could come between Richard Wilkins and anything he loved?"
Faith's gotta admit the girl has a point. Which doesn't make her any happier about having Mrs. Zombie Mayor crashing in her place. Which begs another question - "Why are you here?"
"Dick thought you were feeling a bit down and could use a woman's touch."
"Yeah, I could use some touch. But from you?" Faith deliberately sidesteps the point.
"I know you think we don't understand what you're going through, Faith. Children always do. But we've been there."
"Yeah." Faith curls her knees to her chin and stares at the ceiling. "So what d'you want me to talk about?"
"What's on your mind, dear? Are you feeling lonely?"
"Nah." Mrs. Wilkins clicks her tongue; Faith rolls her eyes but amends it to, "Not really."
"I'm sure that's not true. It's perfectly okay to be lonely. Evil can be a lonely business. Dick and I were lucky to find each other when we did."
"Yeah. That's real lucky for you. Listen, I've got things to do tonight for your husband, so maybe you want to speed things up?"
"I've got all the time in the world, Faith. Are you hungry? I made you pie."
"It in the kitchen?" Faith springs to her feet. "I could do with some apples-and-ice-cream."
Mrs. Wilkins beams. "I knew pie would bring you around. Why don't you cut us both a slice and then we can chat."
The pie's one of those perfect Gourmet Magazine concoctions with curly edges and a winking sun in the middle, and when Faith slides a knife through it there's a little hiss of steam. "Hey, you really baked it!"
"Store-bought pies are nasty things, full of preservatives." Mrs. Wilkins sniffs gently and puts aside her knitting to accept the plate of pie Faith holds out. "Now, tell me about yourself."
"What's to tell? Daddy dearest has the 411 - sixteen, Slayer, bad-ass killer, she who walks alone, blah-dee-blah."
"You know you're more than that to him - to us. We care about you. We worry. What happens to you when you're young will determine your character for the rest of your life, and we want you to grow up to be a good, honest, hard-working murderer-for-hire."
"Yeah." No use pointing out no one cared about her character before, not so long as she had Slayer speed or money for dope. "Good pie."
"Thank you. One of these days I should teach you how to bake; it's a skill every girl needs if she's going to succeed."
"I can set vampires on fire. That's like baking, huh?"
Mrs. Wilkins finishes her pie and rests a hand on Faith's shoulder. "You don't need to hold the world off with a joke, darling. There are people who care about you."
"You keep saying that, but I don't think you get it - I don't need people who care. I don't need people to tell me I'm special or spectacular. I don't need any of that, 'cos nothing's going to..." She wishes she hadn't started that sentence. "Nothing's going to change the fact that my mother didn't love me, okay? Nothing's going to make her not a fall-down drunk, and nothing's going to bring my Watcher back, and you and the boss can give me all the killer knives and apple pie in the world and nothing'll make it feel any different, okay?"
Mrs. Wilkins dabs at her eyes - she's fuckin' crying. "How does it feel?"
"It feels empty, okay? There, I said it. I'm not happy. Lots of anger, lots of rage. Feel better? Do you know me? Can you fix it?"
"It's important that we all feel loved," Mrs. Wilkins tells her, and stands so she can put both hands on Faith's shoulders. "Let me rub your neck. You're so tense..."
"Damn straight." But she lets the neckrub happen, and it feels good to close her eyes. She's got the sweet spiciness of pie still in her mouth and if she lets herself, she could think this was all real. She swallows a moan when Mrs. Wilkins rubs a particularly nasty knot of tension into nothingness; her shoulders roll easily. She feels loose like she's just done one of Wes's crappy-ass obstacle courses. "Mmm." Then Mrs. Wilkins's hands slide downwards, and Faith shrugs off her coat without even thinking, and Mrs. Wilkins's hands dangle onto her breasts. Um. Or more to the point, "Um?"
"Shhh."
She quiets. No point in arguing when someone's got her hand on your tit and is trying to make you forget why you gave up girls. Mrs. Wilkins moves so slow, though; it's like she doesn't know what to do. Faith wraps her hand around Mrs. Wilkins's, moves it downwards till it touches her nipple. "Rub it," she whispers, sex like she's used to.
"Don't be pushy. No one likes a toppy girl," Mrs. Wilkins says. "Why don't you get undressed? It would be so much easier."
Faith unbuttons the sides of her jeans and is about to slide them off when she catches the warning look in Mrs. Wilkins's eyes and knows she's gotta do it slowly, like a striptease. Well, sure. Whatever the lady wants. Usually when she's stripping she's going to have the guy flat on his back in three seconds, soon as he's hard, but there's no way she's doing that to the Mayor's wife, so she's gotta be patient. One button at a time. She sticks her leg out at an angle so Mrs. Wilkins can see every inch of skin revealed when she slides it out of its denim sheath. Then the other leg. Muscled from slaying, smooth from shaving, sexy just from being hers. Dammit, she's hot already and no one's even touched below her waist. She brings her hand close to her thong but Mrs. Wilkins doesn't even need to tsk for Faith to know that's not allowed.
"Just let me take care of you." She pats Faith's bed. "Come here." Faith slinks over, feeling suddenly ashamed to be naked.
"Shouldn't you, you know, be undressed?"
"Shh," Mrs. Wilkins says again, and pats Faith's thighs gently. "Just let me make you feel good."
Faith doesn't really have the heart to tell her she already knows all about that kind of feeling good; she thinks maybe old Edna Mae has a thing about virgins or whatever, and she's glad she didn't say anything when Mrs. Wilkins starts to, well, touch isn't really right; her hands never seem to touch Faith for more than an instant, and her kisses are so soft Faith can hardly feel them, but there's some kind of heat that's making it hard to keep still except that she has to, for Mrs. Wilkins. Because she was asked to, because she doesn't want to disappoint, because this wouldn't feel half as good if she weren't spread-eagled for someone who loved her.
Mrs. Wilkins loves her. Loves her enough to take her time, loves her enough to make sure she covers every curve and corner of Faith with that heat that's halfway between magic and Slaying. When she finally feels a mouth on her cunt, she's dripping so much she doesn't know how Mrs. Wilkins can find her clit, but she does, again, and again, and again. Oh.
"Jesus fuck!" She comes.
Mrs. Wilkins wipes the sweat from Faith's forehead with her hand and sighs. "Watch your language, dear."
Fandom: Buffy: the Vampire Slayer
Pairing: Mrs. Edna Mae Wilkins/Faith
Other pairings mentioned: Richard Wilkins III/Edna Mae Wilkins (as per canon)
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Age-difference. Adultery. Mommy-kink.
Spoilers/Timeline: S3, post "Consequences"
Notes: For thelastgoodname in the Bad Girls Have More Fun round of femslash_minis. She asked for Edna Mae Wilkins doing anything I wanted, so long as one of the things she was doing was a girl.
Summary: Children never think their parents understand.
Words: 1452
Motherhood and Apple Pie
Faith doesn't like undead surprises sitting in her apartment. No way. Sure the pad's bought and paid for by the Mayor, so she shouldn't really complain when his friends and relations crash the place, but it gives her a bad case of the wiggins regardless.
Mrs. Wilkins is knitting. "Hello, dear."
Faith blinks slowly, trying not to let her face register surprise. "Aren't you dead?"
She's seen pictures of course - sat through the endless damn slide show - Edna Mae and I feeding the hungry... Edna Mae and I attending church on Christmas Eve... christening Sunnydale High School when it was brand-new... feeding the ducks in Sunnydale Park... - so she recognizes her, but she's pretty sure Edna Mae's been dead for - "Yes dear." Her voice is a soft little whine, a little wheezy. Faith's never been good with ages, but she's guessing mid-fifties. Her hair's gray but a good dye job could disguise that.
"Okay...." She tosses herself onto her bed and doesn't care that it makes Mrs. Wilkins's brow furrow with disapproval. "So what are you doing alive?"
"Do you really think death could come between Richard Wilkins and anything he loved?"
Faith's gotta admit the girl has a point. Which doesn't make her any happier about having Mrs. Zombie Mayor crashing in her place. Which begs another question - "Why are you here?"
"Dick thought you were feeling a bit down and could use a woman's touch."
"Yeah, I could use some touch. But from you?" Faith deliberately sidesteps the point.
"I know you think we don't understand what you're going through, Faith. Children always do. But we've been there."
"Yeah." Faith curls her knees to her chin and stares at the ceiling. "So what d'you want me to talk about?"
"What's on your mind, dear? Are you feeling lonely?"
"Nah." Mrs. Wilkins clicks her tongue; Faith rolls her eyes but amends it to, "Not really."
"I'm sure that's not true. It's perfectly okay to be lonely. Evil can be a lonely business. Dick and I were lucky to find each other when we did."
"Yeah. That's real lucky for you. Listen, I've got things to do tonight for your husband, so maybe you want to speed things up?"
"I've got all the time in the world, Faith. Are you hungry? I made you pie."
"It in the kitchen?" Faith springs to her feet. "I could do with some apples-and-ice-cream."
Mrs. Wilkins beams. "I knew pie would bring you around. Why don't you cut us both a slice and then we can chat."
The pie's one of those perfect Gourmet Magazine concoctions with curly edges and a winking sun in the middle, and when Faith slides a knife through it there's a little hiss of steam. "Hey, you really baked it!"
"Store-bought pies are nasty things, full of preservatives." Mrs. Wilkins sniffs gently and puts aside her knitting to accept the plate of pie Faith holds out. "Now, tell me about yourself."
"What's to tell? Daddy dearest has the 411 - sixteen, Slayer, bad-ass killer, she who walks alone, blah-dee-blah."
"You know you're more than that to him - to us. We care about you. We worry. What happens to you when you're young will determine your character for the rest of your life, and we want you to grow up to be a good, honest, hard-working murderer-for-hire."
"Yeah." No use pointing out no one cared about her character before, not so long as she had Slayer speed or money for dope. "Good pie."
"Thank you. One of these days I should teach you how to bake; it's a skill every girl needs if she's going to succeed."
"I can set vampires on fire. That's like baking, huh?"
Mrs. Wilkins finishes her pie and rests a hand on Faith's shoulder. "You don't need to hold the world off with a joke, darling. There are people who care about you."
"You keep saying that, but I don't think you get it - I don't need people who care. I don't need people to tell me I'm special or spectacular. I don't need any of that, 'cos nothing's going to..." She wishes she hadn't started that sentence. "Nothing's going to change the fact that my mother didn't love me, okay? Nothing's going to make her not a fall-down drunk, and nothing's going to bring my Watcher back, and you and the boss can give me all the killer knives and apple pie in the world and nothing'll make it feel any different, okay?"
Mrs. Wilkins dabs at her eyes - she's fuckin' crying. "How does it feel?"
"It feels empty, okay? There, I said it. I'm not happy. Lots of anger, lots of rage. Feel better? Do you know me? Can you fix it?"
"It's important that we all feel loved," Mrs. Wilkins tells her, and stands so she can put both hands on Faith's shoulders. "Let me rub your neck. You're so tense..."
"Damn straight." But she lets the neckrub happen, and it feels good to close her eyes. She's got the sweet spiciness of pie still in her mouth and if she lets herself, she could think this was all real. She swallows a moan when Mrs. Wilkins rubs a particularly nasty knot of tension into nothingness; her shoulders roll easily. She feels loose like she's just done one of Wes's crappy-ass obstacle courses. "Mmm." Then Mrs. Wilkins's hands slide downwards, and Faith shrugs off her coat without even thinking, and Mrs. Wilkins's hands dangle onto her breasts. Um. Or more to the point, "Um?"
"Shhh."
She quiets. No point in arguing when someone's got her hand on your tit and is trying to make you forget why you gave up girls. Mrs. Wilkins moves so slow, though; it's like she doesn't know what to do. Faith wraps her hand around Mrs. Wilkins's, moves it downwards till it touches her nipple. "Rub it," she whispers, sex like she's used to.
"Don't be pushy. No one likes a toppy girl," Mrs. Wilkins says. "Why don't you get undressed? It would be so much easier."
Faith unbuttons the sides of her jeans and is about to slide them off when she catches the warning look in Mrs. Wilkins's eyes and knows she's gotta do it slowly, like a striptease. Well, sure. Whatever the lady wants. Usually when she's stripping she's going to have the guy flat on his back in three seconds, soon as he's hard, but there's no way she's doing that to the Mayor's wife, so she's gotta be patient. One button at a time. She sticks her leg out at an angle so Mrs. Wilkins can see every inch of skin revealed when she slides it out of its denim sheath. Then the other leg. Muscled from slaying, smooth from shaving, sexy just from being hers. Dammit, she's hot already and no one's even touched below her waist. She brings her hand close to her thong but Mrs. Wilkins doesn't even need to tsk for Faith to know that's not allowed.
"Just let me take care of you." She pats Faith's bed. "Come here." Faith slinks over, feeling suddenly ashamed to be naked.
"Shouldn't you, you know, be undressed?"
"Shh," Mrs. Wilkins says again, and pats Faith's thighs gently. "Just let me make you feel good."
Faith doesn't really have the heart to tell her she already knows all about that kind of feeling good; she thinks maybe old Edna Mae has a thing about virgins or whatever, and she's glad she didn't say anything when Mrs. Wilkins starts to, well, touch isn't really right; her hands never seem to touch Faith for more than an instant, and her kisses are so soft Faith can hardly feel them, but there's some kind of heat that's making it hard to keep still except that she has to, for Mrs. Wilkins. Because she was asked to, because she doesn't want to disappoint, because this wouldn't feel half as good if she weren't spread-eagled for someone who loved her.
Mrs. Wilkins loves her. Loves her enough to take her time, loves her enough to make sure she covers every curve and corner of Faith with that heat that's halfway between magic and Slaying. When she finally feels a mouth on her cunt, she's dripping so much she doesn't know how Mrs. Wilkins can find her clit, but she does, again, and again, and again. Oh.
"Jesus fuck!" She comes.
Mrs. Wilkins wipes the sweat from Faith's forehead with her hand and sighs. "Watch your language, dear."