Home ~ Fiction ~ Contact




Damsel in Distress





Author: Dark Star


Summary: Sometimes a girl wants the fairytale…

Disclaimer: Joss Whedon's playground. The crappy story is mine!

Rating: Anyone over the age of two. Actually, two might be better…


Written for the birthday at the Angel Elders Mansion


 I apologise in advance for this silly piece of nonsense. Read at your own risk!




Buffy padded softly over the cold stone floor. Her feet were getting chilly, and she made her way to the only splash of colour on the grey floor. The rich red of the rug contrasted strikingly with the pale blue of her silk dress as it rustled round her toes, and she sat down on the rug to pull on her deerskin slippers. 


She crossed over to the window and peered outside. Her view from the tower stretched for miles; the river was clear and still, the rolling green fields lush and inviting, and there wasn't a cloud in the perfect blue sky.


Buffy sighed, turning away from the window and made her way down the stone spiral stairway to the lower floor. Passing through the great hall and down a side corridor, she stopped outside an open oak door, afraid to venture inside.


The scene that met her was horrific. So much chaos! Slowly, she backed out of the room, and her wail of anguish could be heard for miles.


"Please! Can nobody help me?"


As if in answer to her plea, the sound of hoof-beats could be heard coming down from the fields. She crossed to the window and peered out, just as she heard the horse clip-clop across the cobbled courtyard.


A gorgeous white stallion had arrived outside her window, and she saw a suit of armour dismounting from it. The armour clanked across the yard, paused just outside the door to remove its helmet, and Buffy's breath caught at the sight of the angel standing outside her door.


"May I be of service?" he asked politely.


Buffy grabbed his hand and pulled him through the door and back to the room she had left. "In here," she cried. "It's in here."


The angel entered the room bravely, and saw what had so alarmed her. "Fear not!" he cried valiantly. "For I will save you!"


"Oh thank you, sir!" Buffy said, before adding doubtfully, "But there is rather a lot of it."


The angel surveyed the remnants' of last night's banquet, and declared, "It is nothing I cannot handle, fair one." He began to clank across the kitchen, and added, "But first, I need to slip into something more comfortable."


Buffy looked away modestly, and when she looked back, the angel had removed the cumbersome suit of armour and hung it neatly upon a hook. He stood before her, clad only in a little white apron. With a frill around its hem. 


The angel turned and crossed courageously to the sink. Buffys' eyes were drawn to the tight muscles of his but… shoulders, and was mesmerised by the way the little apron bounced up and down as he walked.  Miraculously, it stayed in place, and Buffy wondered if it would be impolite to open a window…


The angel became a whirlwind in her kitchen. He was everywhere, fighting grime, and mucky saucepans, until finally, he was done. He stood before her triumphantly, his dishcloth dripping puddles on the kitchen floor.


The kitchen shone. There was no mess anywhere, except the puddle on the floor, and everything glistened in the sunray that streamed through the sparkly kitchen window.


"Oh!" Buffy cried, clasping her hands together in delight. "My hero!"


The angel started toward her, first putting his wet cloth on the drainer, and hugged her tightly to his manly body, hoping he was going to get a decent reward.


Buffy reached up on tiptoe, her arms circling his neck, her lips joining with his in a fairytale kiss that made her want to die. The world spun, and it was all so perfect, and her fingers reached down for the hem of the apron…




The buzz of the alarm pulled Buffy reluctantly from her dream.


Figures, Buffy grumbled, slamming the alarm off and staggering out of bed to pull on her robe. She needed a drink, and she padded across the room toward the kitchen, smiling as she remembered the way Angel's tight bottom had moved beneath the starched white apron.


Just as she reached halfway, the telephone rang.




"Buffy?" He sounded out of breath.


"Are you okay?"


"Yeah… but I've just had this really weird dream."


She couldn't help herself. "Do you want to come over and tell me about it?"


Silence. Then he said tentatively, "I'd like that. Shall I bring an apron?"










Return to Fiction Index