#spike drabble

[itsalwaysteatimeinwonderland]

Finding Peace Pt.2: Smooth Operator (Spike x y/n)

Request: no. Part 2 of the Multi fic

Warning: None.

Summary: Spike finds out about your secret. He is enraged and hurt. He is seeking within himself what to do.

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In the back a figure appears. Darkness consumes their silhouette. He picks a table in the back, away from the multitude of people. He spots her at a distance.

He scowls at her. Watching her dance in the crowd of the Bronze enraged him.  So carefree and distant. He felt like a fool for trusting her. Y/n if that was even your real name. 

He remembered the past with disdain. He was attentive to your words. Watchful of your needs. He listened when you spoke of past loves. He imagined what your life had been when you mentioned you were an orphan. He was there with you. He drank every word as if it were the only sustenance he needed. When you came into his world, found you working for Giles at the Magic Box he became enthralled with your voice. Attentive of your clumsy movements that contrasted your sharp knowledge of demons and the metaphysical. All a rouse. 

How naive he has gotten to have believed that you simply waltzed into his life. What a rube. No one that delightful, funny, and focused could exist without their own secret. 

He was disgusted by her flippant attitude after being discovered. He was even more disgusted that The Scoobies had welcomed her in so readily. However, he did note that Buffy was weary of y/n. How could she not? Another slayer. I’m sorry, a cursed slayer. 

A nearly 1,000 year old slayer cursed by a powerful witch for killing her vampire lover. Who could make this up? Now there is 3 slayers, all varying degrees of fucked up. 

He couldn’t figure out if he was more upset that she lied to him or that she believed he couldn't be trusted. Granted, they had just met. However, they spent 3 months of pure friendly bliss. The banter, laughter, teasing, the knowing glances... all for nothing. 

He was evil, yes, and he wasn't all too honest but she crossed a line. She blatantly became someone else. He understood why. Explaining her past did sound like an acid trip and she did need to keep a low profile to permit slayers step into their power without depending on her. Nevertheless, she hurt him. He thought they were friends! He thought she understood him! No. She pretended. She played him. 

He is cognizant that he omitted his true nature. Downplayed his vampy-ness, but that's neither here nor there. He was mad at her. She damaged him, just like all the rest. 

He watched her move her body with the music. Hips moving steady like a trance. The crowd molded with her permitting her to disappear and become one with the throng of sweaty bodies. He hated it. How could she have so much fun with these mortals? More pretending he guessed. 

He is caught off guard as he watches her walk up to him. 

"Wanna dance?" Y/n's breath is rushed. She is out of air from dancing.

Spike scoffs. "With you? Pass."

She tilts her head; a small smile plays on her lips. "Still mad, huh?"

His lips purse. Anger bubbling in his stomach. He wants to swear at her, grab her by the neck, whisper a threat or two. But he recollects himself, slightly. "This ain't my scene and neither are you."

"Just one song. A slow dance. Give me a chance to explain." She leans in hoping to persuade him. 

"Buzz off." He turns and walks away. 

Y/n is left alone at the table. Smile on her face, tears in her eyes. She decides to go back to the dance floor. 

She understands how she hurt Spike, but she had no choice. Being a cursed slayer was taboo. It brings so much baggage to have to be acknowledged and seen by others. 2 slayers was a problem, now 3 is chaos. Her role is to watch from a distance. Only offer guidance when there is no watcher, or the slayer has gone rogue. Y/n is good at hiding and pretending. Sometimes, like this time, she gets caught and that opens a can of worms. 

In the past her existence has been a source of shock and contention but never of a broken heart. Spike, her dear friend whom she became close to in the last 3months was now battling his own demons in regards to her. She hurt him by lying. She swore by her story, demonstrated genuineness and transparency. All for it to be a charade. 

She pondered how to make it up to him when he wouldn’t give her the time of day... err night. She missed him. His cheeky comments, his smile, the underlying big bad persona, everything. 

The lights dim, the tempo lowers. A slow song. Smooth operator by Sade. She looks back, hoping to make eye contact with Spike. A last invitation. He was nowhere to be seen. 

He's loved in seven languages

Defeated, she walks back to her table with the Scobie’s only to be grabbed by the arm. She's being pulled towards the dance floor. Ready for a fight she whips back only to see Spike. Before she can say anything he guides her hands to the back of his neck, and he places his hands on her hips. They start to sway to the song. 

Diamond life, lover boy

"Well, explain..." Spike says. 

She's taken aback by his words, "um, well... first off, I’m sorry I lied but I had to." A minute passes. They are locking eyes but no words are being exchanged. 

No place for beginners or sensitive hearts

Y/n feels self-conscious. Something that has rarely happened in the almost 1,000 year she has lived. She looks down.

"I was protecting you guys" she starts up again. "I have never met a slayer with friends. It has a different dynamic. More people to account for. I was afraid my reputation would damage what Buffy had, and by proxy, it would hurt you." She looked up again. His eyes never leaving her face. 

"You lied to protect me?" He mocked. "Love, you knew I was the big bad and still you toyed with me."

He's a smooth operator

"Don't start. You did not tell me what you really were. And I was not toying with you. I was trying to keep distance between us."

"Distance, eh? "

She sighed. It seemed hopeless to get him to see her side. She pulled away, hoping to leave things as they were but his hold was strong. She stayed put.

His eyes are like angels but his heart is cold

"What did you think of me, of us?" He questioned her. 

The question threw her off. She stammered. He became irritated. She knew that the only way to get his trust back was to be honest. To do that, she would have to sacrifice her pride. 

"I like you. You're a solid friend. I do not care that others think you're no good, I can see the light in you. And us? I thought we made a decent team, much to everyones dismay."

Smooth operator

He felt giddy. He never had a friend. Someone that valued him. Someone that saw him as he is. 

He mulled her words over, carefully. He assented and pulled her closer. She stilled in his arms for a moment before returning to their sway. 

"I'll allow it. Lie to me again and you'll regret it."

She chuckled knowing his threat was pointless and fake. 

Smooth operator

[maxlarens]

lando + 18 😛

18) squishing the other’s cheek

You can feel the beat of the music in your veins like another heartbeat as Lando drags you through the packed crowd. He's got a grip on your hand like someone's about to tear you away from him, or the crowd is going to swallow you whole. Which doesn't seem likely to happen, given the force with which you're also holding his hand.

He looks back at you, teeth worrying away at his lip, like you might have been replaced by someone else without letting go of him.

"What's wrong?", you shout, getting closer to him so he can hear you over the ditz ditz of the music and the cacophony of voices in the club.

He shakes his head, keeps dragging you, heading in the direction of the bar. He's moving fast and you're stumbling along a bit, spilling the drink you've got in your other hand. You're four or so drinks deep so your balance and coordination isn't as good as you'd like it to be.

"Lando," you shout again, "Slow down. I'm spilling my drink everywhere."

He stops, so suddenly and with so little warning that you thump right into the back of him. Your face hits his spine, you feel cartilage crunching as your nose goes numb and tears involuntarily spring to your eyes.

Fucking ow.

"What the fuck," you're saying as he blurts out,

"You still have that drink?", frantic, panicked in a way you don't hear from him often, "Have you drank any? Tell me if you've had any?"

You've got your hand on the bridge of your nose, trying to quell the tingling feeling spreading through it and hoping it doesn't start bleeding. You frown, meeting your friend's concerned, almost angry expression with an equally as confused one.

"Lando. What are you talking about?"

"Have you had any?"

You shake your head adamantly, something a little sick, a little worried starting to creep into the pit of your stomach, "No. No, I haven't. Why?"

He releases a ragged breath that has his shoulders sagging in relief, but sets your heart rate spiking. You shake your head less in frustration, more because you're not quite sure what he's trying to tell you. You put your drink down on a nearby table, throw a napkin in it for good measure.

"Lando," you press, grabbing his bicep to keep his attention on you as it keeps drifting off into the crowd while he searches for something, "What's going on?'

He opens his mouth, closes it, then guides you into an out of the way corner, tucked behind a booth. Then he says, "I– there was some weird guy before. Like, leering at you, or whatever. I just thought—”

“—you think he spiked my drink?”, you ask, your heart beating a skittering, nervous rhythm in your chest.

Lando nods, lips pursed into a thin line.

“He’s gone now,” he reassures you, “I think. I can’t see him anywhere.”

Your chest feels tight with something— with many somethings. Fear, relief, panic, gratitude. You’ve been introduced to a problem and then had it resolved all in a very quick span of time. Your brain is still playing catch up. There’s music thudding in your ears, Lando’s looking at you like you might turn to dust right in front of him, your nose hurts, your head is spinning from the alcohol, your skin is prickling from the stare of a man who you hope isn’t there anymore.

It’s too much. So you gather it all up in a ball and you throw it away. You take a half step forward and squeeze Lando into the biggest hug you can manage. A little overwhelmed by your affection for him, but unable to throw that away so readily.

You’ve pinned the tops of his arms to his side with the force of the hug and you can feel his hands grappling for you, grabbing at your waist as he tries to hug you back. You press your temple into his cheek, your still tender nose into a groove at his collarbone.

“You’re sweet,” you mutter.

Affection for Lando, unbridled and made worse by alcohol, rises into your throat. You groan into his shoulder, squeeze him even tighter.

“Christ,” he squeaks out a nervous laugh.

You reel back, letting him loose of the crushing hug and sliding your hands to grip his shoulders. You shake your head, biting down on your bottom lip. A strangled noise slips from your mouth, eliciting a raise of Lando’s eyebrows while you reach up to squish his cheeks in between your hands.

“Oh, fuck off,” he groans, but it comes out muffled and incomprehensible as he swats at your hands— not making any real attempt at trying to push them away.

He’s trying not to smile at you, but his toothy little grin punches through chubby cheeks regardless.

“So cute,” you laugh.

His cheeks grow warm under your hands. He wraps his fingers around your wrists, tugging you away.

“I was worried,” he sighs, “And don’t call me cute.”

“I know,” you bite down on a grin, “Thank you Lan, really.”

His tongue moves to worry at his incisor, he’s fighting the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. Intentionally not looking at you.

“Don’t call me cute,” he says again, tipping his head back and exposing the line of his neck so he doesn’t have to look you in the eye.

You snort indelicately, then coo, reaching out to pinch his face, “Aw, is that too much for little Lando Norris?”

“God,” he groans loudly, trying hard to pretend he’s not enjoying whatever this is, “You’re so annoying.”

“You love it, Lando.”

“Fuck off,” but there’s no heat in it, only affection.

[tr45hy45h]

HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT!!IMAGINE SPIKE COMING HOME FROM A MESSIVE FIGHT WITH A BUNCH OF DEMONS AND HES SO ANGRY WITH HIMSELF AND HE JUST TAKES IT OUT ON YOU

Ok so hear me out!!

Spike comes home from after fighting a bunch of demons with angel and he's just so mad for some reason and when he comes home you ask him what's wrong.and he replys "just had a long day..not in the mood to talk right now m' love" (IN HIS BRITISH ACCENT HOLY MOTHER OF GOD 🧎🏻‍♀️🧎🏻‍♀️) and you tell him to take the anger out on you.

And he does,he fucks you over and over again going for the rest of the night..and he finishes you off by eating you out because you've been such a good girl for him <3

Just was just a random smut drabble I just really love spike 🥹🫶🏻

IF THERES ANYONE THAT WANTS TO REQUEST ANYTHING PLEASE DO 🫶🏻🫶🏻(I think this fandoms dead 😰😰)

[spuffyarchive]

Hourglass by smellslikecorruption [PG]

That special gift (hint: the gift is humanity). Buffy POV Shanshu fluffishness.

[inkpot909]

I loved your one shot with Spike! He was soo pure with his feelings 😭Do you have any HC’s for when Spike realizes got a crush and he’s fallen in love with them?

A/n: Thank you so much for the lovely message; I’m glad you liked the one-shot! Spike Spiegel is one of my absolute favorite characters of all time, so I was more than happy to write this request for you. I hope you enjoy!

Warning(s): Swearing.

Falling in love overall brings out the best in Spike Spiegel. 

Having a special someone in his life gives him the extra kick in the ass he often needs to keep motivated. Not long after realizing his feelings, many aspects of his life become something done ‘for you.’

He works hard as a bounty hunter, earning money in order to have the ability to support the both of you and show off his successes (you’re just about the only member on the Bebop he willingly financially assists). Taking a more active role in caring for Ein was born purely from wanting to share the weight with you.

Now, don’t be mistaken, he’s still your lazy yet loveable Spike. But there’s added pride in what he does that wouldn’t be quite the same without you in the picture.

Spike does not shy away from flirting. It comes to him naturally, meaning he’ll flirt with you a good amount even before learning the extent of his feelings. He’s confident, has his fair share of romantic experiences, and is aware he’s the type to turn heads.

What mainly separates his treatment of you and his short-term relationships/hookups, is that he’s very reactionary. Spike deeply cares about you, so he’s going to take his time in studying your body language and responses to his flirts. He’s patient enough to put in the time, and persistent enough to put in the work.

He’ll adjust his actions according to your responses, especially if you’re shy and don’t favor getting teased in front of other people. His usual approach is quite forward, regardless of location or the people around. But if that makes you nervous, he’ll start off much more discrete. Discomforts such as those matter a lot to him, as what’s important to you is important to him. And ultimately, he hopes that you’ll return his interest. 

Not only that, but he’s a total showoff. From smoothly beating up a group of assholes, to lying about the amount of times he wins at card games with Jet. Even if you merely blush or smile, that’s good enough incentive for him. Jet once even felt the need to inform you it’s best to take what Spike tells you about his own skills with a grain of salt.

However, humor him and play along with the joke- he thinks it’s adorable. It boosts his ego, sure, but deep down he longs to know your opinion of him. Even if it’s tongue and cheek, it warms his heart to believe that you think so highly of him.

Before long, it’ll turn into a common conversation shared only between the two of you; especially when alone. It’s one of many inside jokes he’ll be sure to form with you.

Spike is also very protective. He wouldn’t ever describe himself as possessive, but he certainly likes keeping you within arms reach.

If you’re not a bounty hunter, he’s going to want to know where you are and how you’re doing quite often. Partially, he loves being your knight in shining armor, but it goes a bit deeper than that. The thought of not being able to keep you safe from his past or present… it eats away at his brain. 

But if you're a bounty hunter as well, or generally engage in a dangerous lifestyle like him, he’ll hold back just a bit. He knows you can hold your own in tough situations (undoubtedly a huge reason as to why he fell for you in the first place). He does have his moments, though, where letting you run off towards peril is done begrudgingly. It’s hypocritical of him, but he cannot stand whenever you leave the Bebop without telling him beforehand. Spike could care less if Faye or Jet know about where you rush off to; just be sure to let him know. He’ll grow sick with worry if you’re gone for days on end, and isn’t above lecturing you on your recklessness.  

Initially, it will admittedly take some time for him to realize how he feels about you. Especially if you meet after Julia’s unfortunate end, he’ll be closed off from his own emotions.

Regardless of that, he’s going to need a bit of a push. The life of a bounty hunter isn’t exactly a glamorous one, and he finds it difficult to deny his own hesitance over long-term relationships.

Luckily, the step he needs to take isn’t a large one. Just a moment of clarity; a skip of his heart beat. Full understanding of the warmth that builds within his chest every time you’re together practically comes at him with a steel chair. It was on an average afternoon, after having caught a decently-sized bounty:

With his chin held up, a cheeky whistle plays on Spike’s lips. Passers by give him a variety of strange looks, turned off by the tied-up man he’s practically dragging behind him. John Pilgrim was the name; a rowdy criminal with a shiny price tag attached to his person.

He tugs at his binds, letting out an obnoxious curse towards the bounty hunter. A mother walking by gives both him and Spike a disgusted look, covering her small child’s ears. Smiling casually, Spike gives her a nod and a pleasant “Howdy.”

Turning a corner, the Bebop is sitting just yards away. Ein’s excited barks quickly reach his ears; running circles around the ship's landing site. Ed is dancing around the chipper dog, cartwheeling and mimicking Ein’s yips. Jet is tinkering with Faye’s personal ship, a large frown on his face. You’re standing beside him, holding a bright red toolbox and observing his work in silent awe. 

Glancing at Ein, Jet raises a brow. Searching for the source of the dog’s glee, Jet is the first to notice Spike’s return. “Oi, Spike!” Jet calls out, immediately removing himself from Faye’s trashed ship. Ed stops cartwheeling, and your head perks up. 

“Spike!” you squeak. Your hands both clasp over your heart, dropping the toolbox on top of Jet’s foot.

“Yowch! Fuck!” the older man shouts, inhaling a sharp breath. His knee bends upward, hopping on one foot as he mumbles more curses and profanities underneath his breath. Ed erupts in laughter, pointing at Jet. As always, any mocking tone in Ed’s voice is totally unintentional. “Jet Black! Jet Black! Give him some slack!”

Spike stops walking towards the Bebop, sighing. Home sweet home. 

“Spike!” you call again. His eyes search for you, having lost track of you on top of the Bebop. He’s taken aback upon spotting you running towards him on ground-level. “You’re okay!” you pant, slowing to a stop in front of him before long. You clutch your stomach, having rushed yourself off the Bebop in mere seconds. 

“Whoa, whoa, of course I’m alright,” he chuckled, nodding towards his annoyed captive. “Got the job all done and everything.” 

“Well-...” you pause in order to take a breath, “You’d stopped responding to us. I figure that’s also why you don’t have your racer?” 

He nods, “Yeah; I’m sure Jet will be happy to repair it when he’s done cleaning up Faye’s mess.” 

You giggle, covering a hand over your mouth. Tilting your head to the side, you tell him earnestly, “I’m really so glad you’re safe… I was damn near ready to head out and look for you myself. Next time, tell us you’re abandoning your vehicle. Don’t get me so concerned! I worry about you, you know.” 

Spike’s eyebrows rise in unison, and both his hands release any tension. Now… that’s real interesting. ‘I worry about you…’ your words echo in his mind. Briefly, he recalls past missions. You always are the first to greet him whenever he returns. A bright smile is spread on your lips regardless of whether or not the bounty was caught. Even if the others are annoyed, it never halts your expressed happiness. You’ve even engulfed him in tight hugs before, so thankful that in your joy, you’ve damn near thrown yourself at him.

‘I worry about you…’ 

Heat rushes to Spike’s cheeks. In slow motion, he watches you race back towards the Bebop. You’re going off about how you’re going to “tell Faye you’re back safe and sound!” but the majority of what you say flies over his head. Your arms spread wide and chin tilts upwards. Inspecting your body language, Spike swallows a gulp of spit.

Why hadn’t you hugged him this time if you were so concerned? He wouldn’t oppose it. No, he wouldn’t. In fact, his heart pounds desperately against his ribcage just imagining you taking the opportunity. Your arms wrapped around him, head buried in the crook of his neck, and the both of you sharing each others’ warmth. Even if it lasts for a moment…

Turning back to him, your smile falls. “Spike!” you exclaim, frantically tripping over your own feet as you stumble into another run.

Chuckling, Spike closes his eyes. In dramatic fashion, he opens his arms for you to rush into. He ignores his flushing cheeks, and pushing through the possibility of Jet or Ed watching him act like some romantic gush. Instead, he braces himself for impact.

Running footsteps blitz right past him, leaving his arms empty, and a tiny gust of wind fanning his face. “Huh?” Spike blurts, turning. 

You’re running after John Pilgrim, wiggling away as discreetly as he can muster. He’s still bound up, but while Spike got lost in his thoughts, he’d slipped from the bounty hunter’s grasp with ease. You barely manage to keep up but with a single lunge forward, you tackle the man to the ground. He struggles against your grip, but you keep him pinned down, a feat made easier due to his restraints. “Spike!” you yell, “Why the hell did you let him go!?” 

“Shit!” Spike exclaims, jerking his body forward and chasing after you. 

After that day, Spike Spiegel no longer can define his feelings for you as anything other than affectionate and loving. It’s so clear to him at that point he’s nearly ashamed to have not understood before.

But being in such a state of mind allows hope to flood his heart, so he doesn’t get hung up on the fact. Instead, he immediately starts making up for lost time.

[reddragon-cowboy]

@humanitysong asked: xxx but how about a hc those two share in their relationship?

Send me XXX and I will share a nsfw headcanon about my muse. Notes: Biting. Pining. Height difference. Pred x Prey dynamic. They got a primal/breeding kink :'> It's a bit vague under read more but still. This somehow got turned into a quick little oneshot/drabble. . . More here

Now, Spike wouldn't accept just any ole bounty available that Big Shot provides on their television segment. For one, his crew knew by firsthand experience how fickle he can be, exhibiting an indifferent attitude when a bounty doesn't suit his interests enough to get involved in the chase. In his mind, it's not worth it to put in the effort for someone that lacks value. Typical small fry. But other than that, he loves the chase of running after a high-paid bounty, ever prepared with his handgun pulled out its holster and lowered as he draws close to his target on quick, silent feet you could barely hear approaching. There’s a specific thrill in the chase of hunting down anyone seen as prey.

And in his eyes, Niah was a rare beauty to behold, a priceless gem scavenged from the caves of old earth, someone worthy of the chase who could fulfill his utmost desires carnal in design. And, well, he also liked to play games. . . games like cat and mouse. He'd play as the cowboy while she's the bounty. Or he'd take on the role of the predator in the wild while she's the prey who dashes through the thicket he must catch in the bushes, which actually falls in line to their opposing natures: wolf & rabbit. It's one of his favorite games to play. . . in fact. . . Niah was his ( only) favorite person to play it with since she plays her part so well.

For starters, he'd give her a head start, allowing her to slip of out his grasp, maybe even let her disappear out of sight to let her think she can get away, set the belief in her mind that she can run away. And she might act innocent and naive during these games they play, but Niah was certainly no fool and knows her place. She well knows she couldn't escape the smell of a bloodhound, knows how capture was inevitable as his nose trails after her, following her sweet fragrance that lingers in the wind like a beast who prowls within the underbrush, lurking beneath the surface of day in search of its next meal.

In one way or another, Spike would eventually have her cornered or pinned down beneath him, trapped between his jaws as teeth sink into her skin, nipping at her soft flesh with fervor and intense want. It'd feel humid as his hot breath wash over her cheeks with a fierce warmth, sultry whimpers sneaking in-between her curvaceous lips as he plants bite marks upon her neck with a low growl. Wet tongue buried deep in her mouth till air escapes her lungs, his heavy weight pressing down against her, and she'd squirm beneath his strength that keeps her still where he wants her. And. . . oh ? Where does she think she's going ? Don't tell me she's trying to escape again ? Well, that's kind of silly to think a little prey like her can slip through his claws so easily.

This is something she wanted, after all, to be owned by him as she lets him do what he pleases, let his primal instincts take over as he devours and breeds her.

[bg-sparrow]

mcfly july 2024 || 🌲🌲 || day 6 Lite Beer

It was a night of firsts for Junior. A night of lessons.

He’d never snuck out before, never gone to a party.

Never drank.

Then again, he’d never been invited before, either, and he didn’t want to blow it, even if it was Griff’s crowd. 

“What’s your poison, McFly?” 

“Uh, Lite’s good. Don’t wanna get too far gone.” He swallowed a nervous laugh. “Math test tomorrow.”

Spike stared at him.

“Lite beer doesn’t have less alcohol.”

“Yeah, it does.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Spike laughed.

“It’s light beer! Light alcohol.”

Spike flashed her eyebrows. She handed him the beer.

“Suit yourself.”

[scratchandplaster]

Aftermath of Drugging

CW: discussions of non-con drugging, spiking food, medical whump, overdosing, drug abuse, addiction, death, brief BBU-mention

Using drugs as a whump method is pretty common, and rightly so! As one of my favorite tropes, it was interesting to think about how they could affect the Whumpee after the act itself, be it physical or mental.

That's why I made a little compilation (for me and you), if you feel like agonizing your Whumpee even further. There are also some examples in between, for your entertainment!

The research is mostly relating to any downers, meaning any drug that makes you calm or fall asleep, so anesthetics, hypnotics or sedatives. Examples include ketamine, Rohypnol, GBL, propofol and heroin.

Uppers on the other hand have the opposite effect in stimulating the human nervous system. Some of the effects that are noted below are applicable to both kinds of drugs, but keep in mind that stimulants are more of an afterthought in this list. I'm going to recap the effects of both at the end.

I'm not a pharmacist by any means, but as far as reliable research for creative writing goes, this should suffice. No one is going to fact-check your whump fic, bestie 🤍

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

By method:

Ingestion (forcing them to take pills, spiking their food)

→ General indigestion, nausea, dry mouth

Injections via syringe or continuous administration through an IV drip (e.g. in medical settings)

-> Swelling/tenderness/infection/bruising of the injection side

-> High fever (even days after the injection)

→ Anaphylaxis: skin rash, chest tightness, dizziness, nausea, facial swelling

Anaphylaxis is an all-body allergic reaction that can cause mild to severe and even deadly symptoms (shock or coma). It can escalate and should be immediately treated with a shot of adrenaline. This kind of reaction could be detrimental to Whumper's plans, especially if they intend to keep Whumpee alive for the foreseeable future. So it would be helpful for them to always carry an EpiPen, just in case...

Inhalation (gas or liquid)

→ High risk of choking and (sleep) apnea

-> Irritation of throat, nose and eyes

-> Throat spasms (Laryngospasm)

Includes coughing, difficulty breathing/speaking and the feeling of suffocation. Even though this kind of spasm fades away pretty quickly, they cause severe stress and panic to the aggrieved party, even leading up to lose consciousness again.

Physical side effects:

-> Drowsiness/tiredness, headaches/migraines, tinnitus

-> Dry mouth/throat or excessive drooling

-> Dilated pupils (causing Whumpee to be light-sensitive)

-> Slurred speech

-> Skin rash, itching, hives

-> decreased/increased appetite (give them a little snack...or not)

Motor skills:

-> Muscle relaxation, ataxia (lack of movement control), general weakness

-> Poor coordination

-> Tremors, cramps, spasms

-> Numbness, paralysis of the body or extremities (a local anesthetic would also do that trick)

Vegetative effects:

-> PONV: nausea, vomiting, retching

-> Cold shivers or hot flashes, acute sweating

-> Arrhythmia, low blood pressure and heart rate

-> Labored breathing

-> Vertigo

The physical consequences alone can make the wake-up process a living nightmare for Whumpee. Any after-effects that inhibit them from just getting up and escape are probably the worst in such a situation, making them weak and useless even if no restraints are involved. Imagine Whumpee just breathing heavily and quivering with cold shivers on a basement floor, unable to shake this uncomfortable feeling off. Their whole system is just trying to get the drugs out, but doing more damage than intended. Numb to the world around them, not even feeling if they are hurt or wounded. Or imagine the complete opposite: Them being able to get up and stumble to the exit, only to be overwhelmed by intense dizziness and collapsing back onto their knees. All the while Whumper watches, of course 👀

Did Whumpee eat beforehand?

Prior to any anesthesia, the person has to fast for at least six hours beforehand. Because Whumpees rarely plan their own kidnapping or non-con high, Whumper should wait for the right moment to get it done. Otherwise, they're risking aspiration or choking and therefore dangerous lung damage up to death; surely the most undesired outcome. Who would have thought that drug abuse can be dangerous...

Impure compounds? In my illegal drugs!?!

If your Whumper's stash really was cut with popular diluents e.g. other medication or lactose, the risks are surprisingly low. The threat of overdosing still comes from the main drug agent. However, mixing downers and uppers to cancel each other out can lead to a dangerous cycle, which amplifies the side effects and increases the risk to OD.

Mental side effects:

-> Nightmares, paranoia around food/drinks

-> Depression, anxiety, self-loathing (e.g. for not being careful enough)

-> Psychosis, hallucinations (optic, acoustic, in terms of taste etc.)

-> Dissociation, confusion, disorientation

-> Insomnia

-> Reduced anxiety or inhibitions

Now instead of being afraid, Whumpee could go batshit crazy and make fun of Whumper; spitting, biting and insulting their aggressor. An outburst they will probably regret later, when they're calm again and sober enough to understand the damage they have caused themself.

-> Memory loss/amnesia

Cue intimate Whumper, who just plays the part of a worried friend while keeping their love safe and controlled. Vague recollections of past abuse? No, just take another sip from your tea, it's alright... One could use drugs as a mean of removing memories altogether, I think in the BBU the "drip" is used to erase the whole personality of the Whumpee, making them a blank slate to train however one would like.

Withdrawal:

-> minutes or even days after the initial drugging

-> extreme anxiety up to paranoia

-> nausea, vomiting, indigestion

-> muscle aches

-> flu symptoms like a runny nose, sweating and fever

Depending on the kind of drug and how often it is used, withdrawal can start after just one dosage. "Not even once"-drugs include meth, heroin and crack cocaine. Also, barbiturates have a high risk of dependence. Speaking of it...⬇

Addiction as a long term effect:

-> Organ damage especially of the brain, liver, kidneys and the diseases that follow (including cancer, short weight, heart failure)

-> Loss of interests, behavior/personality change

-> Selling all valuables and ending up in poverty

-> Aggression/violent behavior

-> Shame and guilt

Isolated, financially and mentally unstable, Whumpee's life had been ruined with just a single act. Even Caretaker turned their back on their former friend. But Whumper would love to help Whumpee become sober again, under just a few conditions. On the other side of the spectrum: a Whumpee who finally managed to escape and take revenge on their abuser, they slowly but surely make Whumper ruin themself through their newly developed little habit...

To sum up:

Downers (decrease bodily functions and calm you down)

→ Unconsciousness, weakness, distortion of perception, failure of motor functions, coma

-> Common examples: Xanax, ketamine, propofol

Vs.

Uppers (stimulate bodily functions and mood)

-> reduced inhibitions, more prone to hallucinations, psychosis, seizures, serotonin syndrome (high heart rate, sweating, twitching, mania)

-> Common examples: meth, ecstasy, cocaine

Bonus: How to store your Whumpee!

The immediate consequence of drugging someone is to figure out how to keep them. Get them secluded and ready for whumping:

-> In the backseat, foot space or trunk of a car (use an ambulance, it's inconspicuous)

-> You know these roof boxes people strap on top of their car? Stuff ´em in there!

-> Put them in a box and ship them overseas

-> Basements are classics, but try the attic for a change

-> Just use a coffin, combined with an old hearse nobody is going to notice

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterpost]

[somekindofadeviant]

The series is now complete!!! I've had so much fun writing these 31 drabbles featuring my favourite vampires.

New ones added since my last post :

Interwoven

Pairing: Spike/Angel Prompt: Pale A companion to Intertwined. More angst in the early hours.

Making Home

Pairing: Spike/Angel Prompt: Hotel Hell Dialogue Only domestic fun

Homecoming

Pairing: Spike/Drusilla Prompt: Marrow A lover's quarrel in World War 2, with a lil Sam Lawson

Girls' Night

Pairing: Darla/Drusilla + Spike/Angel Prompt: Tonight We Feast The girls have their own fun.

Indulgence

Pairing: Angel & Spike Prompt: Blood & Gore Post-Series boys' nights hunting

Purge

Pairing: Spike/Drusilla Prompt: Uprising A moment of dancing in the Boxer Rebellion

Interrupting

Pairing: Spike/Angel Prompt: Got My Stones Back Follows Intertwined and Interwoven. In which alcohol is thrown at these two idiots.

Intersecting

Pairing: Spike/Angel Prompt: Panic Follows Interrupting. Actions and reactions.

Come Home To Roost

Pairing: Spike & Angel Prompt: You Reap What You Sow A little crack!fic. In which a manpire is put into a Situation he brought upon himself.

Diásosi

Pairing: Spike/Drusilla Prompt: Caged Animals Hurt/Comfort. Discovery of a capture.

Agrypnia

Pairing: Spike/Drusilla Prompt: Sunrise Going back to a beginning, to end the list. Drusilla keeps vigil.

[philipjohnclapp]

Could you write a Spike Jonze fic? Not a x-reader. I would love a fic of him jerking off somewhere. Intense and aggressive. Maybe with someone in the room without them knowing. Or even onto someone of your choice. I love your writing btw. It's good to see less x-readers

Car Jacking

Featuring Spike Jonze, nsfw, smut, and a good time.

Word Count: 1775

A/N: Okay, so, I haven’t written in a longgg while, cut me some slack. I put some effort in and I kinda sorta rushed the end! My bad! But I hope y’all enjoy some Spike, I swear there’s no fanfiction of him. This won’t be the last!!

He liked sex, well everyone liked sex. Unlike his peers he wasn’t fucking every groupie he met, or really at all. Guess he was the only one with complete sense. Though, if anyone else had the opportunity to fuck hot shit babes who don’t care about size just your title, they’d take it in a heartbeat. He wasn’t the star or anything. Just a director, producer. Whatever the fuck you’d wanna call it. His job consists of watching everyone ruin his shit, have sex with everything that walks, being a personal driver, drug testing everyone, covering up their mistakes so Jeff isn’t ripping em a new one. The list goes on, it always does.

He can’t catch a break, and that’s that. Groupies though, they don’t really give what he is, all they know is he’s in the beginning credits for Jackass, yet he wasn’t as significant as Tremaine, but he really didn’t care for all that glory. He was less significant, and outside of filming he could just be a shadow, cause he really didn’t stick out like a sore thumb. Pretty average otherwise, but average wasn’t trying to coax Steve-O to shove a car up his ass. Or getting Bam to hold a snake for .5 seconds, just hold one! A damn garden snake.

And he’d just get a fuck you, and maybe when he’s sleeping they’d dump a huge jug of horse semen on him as payback. For doing his job, so, yeah. Maybe he was a bit pissed off, and maybe he shouldn’t bother, but it was his job. His job to fucking find areas to film, and deny groupies who slither around his arm at the end of the night at the bar. And he’d be sober, cause he’s the designated driver.

He’s not Tremaine. Tremaine doesn’t have to spend four hours begging Bam to hold a snake, Bam just does it. He also doesn’t have to wake up at four am to get Steve-O cause the fucker is stranded somewhere. Tremaine also has sex with groupies, and if he doesn’t? He has a wife. Tremaine also makes more money than him, not that Spike really cared. He wasn’t ever in this for the money, and as more and more time goes on he wonders what he’s truly in all of this for.

Maybe he wanted groupie sex.

There was two issues right about now, one being he was working. In a damn car, and for once he wasn’t the one behind the wheel, but what was worse is he was stuck in the back. At least when he’s driving he’s left alone for the most part, but now he’s stuck in the third row, wedged between Knoxville and Pontius. And he wasn’t sure how he ever got in that situation. Guess it was his fault he didn’t wanna drive for once, or couldn’t. He didn’t know why he couldn’t, could be the throbbing cut going down from the web of his middle finger down to palm. Or maybe because it’s been 48 hours without sleeping. He hasn’t slept well all week, but right now he was so mentally exhausted that he just might explode. Maybe thats why he was let loose from driving.

Dunn, or maybe it was Weeman who said he’d rather have a dog drive than Spike right about now. And if he could recall he might’ve even laughed about it. Muttering how good of a joke it was with a very agitated look on his face. He might’ve been cooler any other time, but he was absolutely exhausted. Taking a break. Cause remember?Spike wasn’t gonna drive today. instead he was wedged between two dead asleep assholes, both seemingly had a bad snoring problem.

He wondered if they knew that.

Oh! But a charmer, a doll like Johnny Knoxville could never snore. He’d bat his lashes maybe, or look at Spike deadpanned thinking he’s joking, and Spike would say sure. Chris would laugh, and giggle. Cause it’s funny. The whole world could die and Chris could find something funny outta that, that’s admirable. Something Spike was really starting to consider he lacked.

Perhaps one day he’d be unironically funny, or have a charm that even works on guys. Even if it meant he had a two incher, people other than groupies would still like it. Who knows, but instead he’d be thinking about having sex with one, maybe that would fix whatever crunch he’s stuck in. Instead of another beer. Did he mention he wasn’t much a fan of beer?

He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to sit and think about having a groupie, because the more he thought, the more worked up he felt and shifted around between Knoxville and Chris. Fucking Chris kept sleep kicking him, and had one arm wrapped around him like he was some chick ‘cause Chris was a weirdo, and Chris was a cuddler. Knoxville was just about in that exact same situation too. He had no room to himself. Part of him wished he was driving instead, listening to some old country music or something, cause even when Knoxville's sleeping he has to be in control of the music. He’s the star, and once again; Spike Jones is not, and that’s okay. He didn’t wanna fuck groupies and be worth zillions anyways. He had a hand, and that should be enough. Who cares if Chris is trying to cuddle him; and Knoxville could very well be drooling on his shoulder. It didn’t matter. Not right now anyways with his head so cloudy.

Somehow with that stick lodged up his ass he found a way, or that way sorta found him. In this moment he decided fuck it all, fuck the groupies, the car, and everything else for that matter. He was stressed, agitated, and pent the fuck up.

So, he ignored the dudes pressed against his sides and he tried to sit up straight. Once he somehow managed through that he went fidgeting with his belt. Should’ve worn some sweats, but instead he was rocking dress pants. Not very comfortable.

Agitated with his belt after some trial and error he pulled it through the loops and yanked down his fly, which arguably was tough to do. It got stuck halfway down, but he prevailed. Letting out a sigh of relief as he was only a few steps closer. Somehow managing not to wake a soul, and everyone else? They weren’t paying attention. Probably all knocked out up front. Still, he knew he had to be quick, so he continued on.

Not like right now he cared all that much about getting caught, but the thrill of actually doing so made him slow down his movements. He didn’t have that much patience though, shoving his hand straight into his slacks as he groped himself fully through his boxers, before fishing his dick out through his boxers fly. He was about average, he didn’t really know his size. Good enough though, and certainly bigger than Steve-O. Though he wasn’t staring at his dick or nothing, and no he wasn’t comparing dick sizes either. Half the world was bigger than Steve-O.

Still, he didn’t wanna think about Steve-O jerking off. That was like a boner killer, and he didn’t even have one yet! Somehow he managed to wrap his hand around his length, and he was unbearably dry. Cringing with the friction of his hand meeting his dick. Fucking sucked, but once again he prevailed. His anger would carry him through this.

Going back to thinking about what turned him on he thought of brown haired chicks, totally his type, chicks with lipstick. After sucking him off and getting it all smeared all over their face, big teary eyes, and moaning his name, and boy was it working. As he thought he slowly started to pump his length. Still, he was all tense with anxiety of getting caught.

Thinking deeper about this so-called brown haired girl he imagined her nude, and started to quicken his pace, stopping briefly as he rubbed his thumb against his beading tip. Breathing hitching, and squeezing his eyes shut. And then he thought of Tremaine and what it be like to fuck him, or right about now. He imagined Tremaine sitting next to him and Tremaine’s hand wrapped around his hard on instead.

Tremaine whispering dirty things into his ears, edging him on, and Spike glancing into his pretty blue eyes. Ones he could get lost in, an ocean that could swallow him whole, and that was enough for his pace to get faster.

Spike then heard some shuffling in the row of seats in front of him, Dunn asking Bam for some warm beer, and that spooked Spike, yet he couldn’t seem to care much as his strokes got rougher, eager. His stomach was coiling, yet Tremaine just wasn’t enough, not for him anyways.

He imagined instead, Tremaine getting down on his knees and sucking him off, keeping eye contact with him, and maybe even using a little teeth. That made him let out a low groan as he bucked his hips into his hand. He thought of his fingers intertwining with Jeff’s hair and tugging on it, and Jeff wouldn’t mind. He’d prevail and bob his head even faster. Like clockwork he moved his hand up and down if he could get even faster, using his glistening pre-cum as lube. Letting out a rather staggered moan.

And as he did Chris shuffled, his grip on him tightening, and he opened his eyes. Tightening his fist around his dick as he squeezed ever so lightly, before biting onto his bottom lip. It was almost enough to draw blood, and he might’ve. Aiming his dick at Knoxville's thighs as best as he could, giving himself one last farewell thrust as he climaxed, and he swore he might’ve even caught a glimpse of a few stars as he came. With the help of that imaginary Tremaine. His sweet release splattering onto Knoxville's rather pricey slacks. He almost let out a low laugh, his teeth releasing the grasp he had on his lip as he soon let go of his dick as well.

Once he did he looked at Knoxville's chest that rose and fell with each breath he took, and then went a little higher as he looked at his face. Spike's face went ghostly white, Knoxville's eyes wide open, even though he was wearing those too darkly tinted shades. Something about him he could just tell, he was awake. Well, shit.

Johnny Knoxville was staring straight at him, and then he opened his mouth.

[veronyxk84]

Written for the 2024 “Short & Spuffy” Drabble Event.  Crack Fic! 

Spike is a terrible house guest, and some of the Scoobies are learning that truth the hard way. What happens when Joyce eventually agrees to take him in and let him crash in the basement at Revello Drive?  I wish I knew the answer to that, but the prompts will decide everything. 

Ready, Set, Drabble!

[elysianholly]

Thanks

“Slayer…”

“Shut up.”

“No, don’t think I’ll be doing that.” He was staring, fixated at the place where the arrow had pierced her skin. Couldn’t help but stare. The second that delicious fragrance had bloomed in the air, his stomach had given a terrible lurch—the sort he felt all the way in his fangs.

“Just sayin’ a nip of that’ll do me fine, thanks,” Spike replied.

“I’ll take Things That Will Never Happen for eight hundred, Alex,” she shot back, righting a fallen lamp.

“Come on. Damage is already done, right? No sense lettin’ that go to waste.”

Buffy favored him with her famous if-looks-could-stake glower that made his jeans feel a bit too tight for reasons he was better off ignoring, then sauntered over. Fully sauntered, for the Slayer was one thing above all others, and that thing was a tease. “You’re disgusting,” she said.

“And you’re so bloody fixed on havin’ a perfect holiday you’ve forgotten the spirit of the thing.”

“The spirit?”

“Yeah, comin’ together, and all that rot.”

“That is the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Oi, I didn’t come up with it, did I?” Spike eyed the wound again, knowing his window was running out. Her slayer healing would soon make the whole point moot. “Just a couple sips’ll do the job. Won’t need anyone to go fetch me blood until tomorrow.”

That much surprised her, he could tell. Her eyes went all wide, her lips parted in a way that might give a man ideas if that man hadn’t known better. Then that pink little tongue poked out to drive the image home.

It was by virtue of the fact that he managed to keep his mouth shut that she closed the last bit of space between them, he wagered. The others were setting the table and clearing away the last of the debris from the siege. And Buffy was studying him, one-part fascination and one-part revulsion, but the decision was already made. He didn’t know which appeal had swayed her—maybe the rot about the true spirit of the holiday or what-all, maybe knowing it would shut him up for the rest of dinner, maybe a combination thereof. Spike just watched as she worked through it, given a quick glance around to make sure everyone was otherwise occupied, then started to tug up her sleeve.

“Not a word to anyone,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. He would have also strained a bit against the ropes binding him in place, but worried that the slightest twitch might have her running scared, deciding it was better to just let a man starve, and he’d never bloody forgive himself. Slayer blood was something no vamp turned down, and even if it weren’t the hard-won sort he fancied, Spike was absolutely not going to say no to a nip of Buffy Summers.

“I mean it, Spike,” she said. “Not a word. The butcher shops aren’t going to be open anyway and you’ll take that without complaint when I bring it up later. You’ll also be on best behavior through dinner, understand?”

He straightened, preening a bit. “Would cross my heart but my arms are a bit—”

“Shut up,” Buffy snapped again, and held her arm to his mouth. “And be quick, before someone sees.”

That fragrance hit his nose again and he had to swallow back a moan.

Before today, Spike would have argued that Dru had jinxed him or what all after their last parting. Nothing had gone his way since… Well, he couldn’t remember how long anymore, but the last stretch had been the true insult. There was the buggering pain in his head, Harm tossing him out on his arse, being forced to tuck his tail between his legs and make nice with the enemy. But all of that had happened and he was here, on the other side of a siege that had gotten him the only blood he truly cared to get on his tongue.

Maybe his luck was changing.

When her blood hit his lips, he knew it had.

It didn’t last, of course. Nothing good ever did. He got a pull, two, three before she jerked back and stumbled away from him, tugging her sleeve back down. And he wanted to complain. Wanted to throw a right little stink, but it wasn’t like he had any leverage here. Buffy might be the sentimental sort, but she wasn’t above shoving a bloke out on his arse if given reason.

“Not a word,” she said again, then hurried back to the kitchen to check on the state of dinner.

Leaving Spike to stare after her, this wonderful taste in his mouth.

“Thanks.”

[prattsbratt]

"I'm the same man! I'm just... slightly more corpse-like and significantly more intereated in blood!"

Spangel AU where Spike was turned first. (Timelines and geography be damned)

Liam being one of William’s only true friends as a human. The two being completely inseparable together, one not going anywhere without the other.

William being the sensible one out of the two and immediately shutting down any stupid ideas Liam would come up with. While Liam would be the one to push Will out of his comfort zone and do things he normally wouldn’t do if his life depended on it. Both too stubborn to admit their feelings to the other one. And when Liam finally finds the courage to confess, it ends up being too late. The William he knew, the William he loved was dead.

Spike, with his soft spot for the other man still intact, tries to talk him into joining him. To spend eternity by his side. “I'm the same man! I'm just... slightly more corpse-like and significantly more intereated in blood!"

It takes a while but Spike inevitably convinces Liam to turn. Admittedly, Liam was pretty much swayed immediately but he just wanted to see how far the other man would go to try and convince him. The two end up spending eternity annoying the shit out of each other.

[inkpot909]

Can I get a Spike x raeder

The reader was kind with Spike and all but he didn't need a kid adult like in his team so he was always treating them like..idk "whatever" "ok." "Just leave me alone" and so on

But one day the reader gets in the way of a criminal taking the bullet for Spike and they say "thanks goodness you're ok" while bleeding out and Spike regrets it,he doesn't want them to go away,so he apologizes,saying that he needed them taht he would stop teasing them or treating them bad

They get together in the end :)

U can add as much angst as u want

A/n: Thank you thank you so much for the fun request! I feel awful for not being able to finish it for a while; getting caught up in personal matters. I appreciate the support and truly hope it was worth the wait. Have a lovely day; as well as all others reading. <3

Warning(s): Swearing; brief mentions of blood/canon-typical violence; light angst.

This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. 

It’s a dreadful thought lingering in the back of Spike Spiegel’s mind. Instead of pulling him away from them, fully in the present where he should be, a ricocheting gunshot nearly grazing across his shoulder only hammers the point home. 

It seems that’s the route most bounties have gone down as of late. Realistically, he knows he shouldn’t even pretend to be surprised anymore. And usually, high-stakes entice him. But tonight was supposed to- no, it had to be different for safety’s sake. That much so was made very apparent.

What was originally meant to be a sneaky, difficult yet rewarding job, has mutated into a public gunfight taking place within a famously high-class bar. Having tracked the bounty to this location, things quickly went array upon the realization that most of the security in the building is in the palm of their hand. The bounty himself has presumably slipped away in the commotion, letting others take care of the dirty work for him.

The messiness of the situation has forced Spike and you both into a corner, desperately having to duck for cover. If it weren’t so tense- bullets flying in the air seemingly at every turn -Spike would almost laugh. It’s delightful (if not, a tad bit macabre) to see the place be wrecked to hell in a contextless vaccum. A handful of bodies are scattered across marble flooring along with broken tables and seats. By now, most innocent bystanders are either in hiding or found a way to flee the scene. Blood pouring onto the floor from bodies or light droplets from those still standing contrast heavily with a monochrome color scheme. It’s the kind of joint Spiegel usually wouldn’t ever think to step foot in; mingling with rich types isn’t exactly his cup of tea. On the flip side, maybe the owner at least has hope of being able to repair the mess themselves (a vain hope; as both him and you will most likely have to pay for property damage regardless of the owners funds).

Finding an opening to do so, Spike whirls his body around while swiftly reloading his revolver. Sticking his head up from behind the bar, he barely has enough time to understand the positions of those firing.

Just a few yards away from him on his left, you keep yourself hidden behind a table turned onto its side. Spike ducks below the bar once more, cursing underneath his breath. Blood is trickling down your right leg, clear signs of an injury. From what, exactly, eludes him for the time being.

The dark look on your face is unwavering, however. In fact, you’ve maintained a serious exterior for almost the entire night. It’s enough to put a hindrance on Spike’s breathing, albeit briefly. Such an intense presence doesn’t suit you at all. 

You momentarily pull your attention from the action across the room, sensing someone’s eyes on you. Sure enough, you meet Spike’s gaze immediately. Nodding to one another, a beat comes and goes before the two of you move in tandem. Raising your guns, you both rise up quick enough to fire a shot or two. 

This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. 

Crouching down, Spike stares at his feet. Despite holding his head low, his eyes give the impression that he’s looking at something far away. His lips press together in a thin line, letting out a long sigh. Jet’s going to have our heads for this, he expects.

Despite your cool front, you’d been as reckless and clumsy as ever (Spike’s words not yours). He had half a mind to blame you for the shootout, but even he has to admit he knows better than that. Although you fired the first shot, he might as well have done so himself via his own thick headedness. Just as Spike predicted would happen earlier the same day, you ended up hurt. However, he’d done just about everything his older companion told him not to, and here you are suffering the consequences along with him.

...

“Isn’t the whole point of this bounty to be discreet?” Spike muses, arms crossed. His expression is soured, and shoulders stiffened in defense. Sprawled out against the Bebop’s couch, he’s sat himself opposite of Jet. Well aware of how uncomfortably upright the yellow furniture is, his vegged out form is working to drive home a point more than anything else. 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” Jet replies, voice gruff and short. 

The younger man scoffs, raising his arms and gesturing to his right wildly. “Then why the hell-...” Spike pauses, rubbing his temple, “Then why… do you think I need to bring along Y/n? Surely it’d be better if I-”

“Because they work swiftly and are the most likely to keep you from inflicting your usual brand of collateral damage. I’d say they’ll do well to keep you from messing this up well enough.” Jet cuts him off casually. 

“What? So they’re my babysitter? You know how they are- they’ll just get in the way.”

Jet bites back, “Spike, I swear this’ll go smoothly if you just accept their help. Don’t you dare think of going off on your own. The bounty’s got connections and has reportedly been on high alert since the price on his head increased. We don’t have all the details, but there’s enough to know it could get ugly. You’ll be kicking the bucket if you don’t get your head screwed on straight.”

“We both know the chance of that happening,” Spike huffs.

“Yeah, right… less likely than you admitting to yourself the real reason you get so high-strung about Y/n.” 

The fluffy-haired man raises an eyebrow.

“It’s because you like them, but saying so must not be in vogue nowadays, so you tell yourself it’s just because they’re childish- or whatever made up reason it is this week.”

“They are childish.” 

“And you aren’t?” Jet questions, “I’d think refusing to follow a well-informed decision just to avoid who you’re going to be working with is pretty immature.” 

Silence follows, the moment thick with thought. 

Making a face, Spike abruptly kicks his leg forward and smacks his foot against the side of Jet’s cute coffee table. He doesn’t even open his eyes at the booming, metallic sound. “As if a bright green racer with a goddamn flower plastered on the side of it won’t make us stick out everywhere we go!” Spike exclaims, clearly still hung up on Jet’s previous statement or sending him an implicit warning to shut his mouth.

“I’m sorry, but how many repairs have you needed on that obnoxiously red racer of yours in the past month!?” Jet snapped, finally looking his crewmate in the eye. “Y/n and you are the best choice for this sort of job. You’re going with them; end of story. The sooner you get the bounty the sooner you can come home sulking about it.”

Not twenty minutes later, Spike found himself begrudgingly walking next to you heading towards the Bebop’s garage. You maintain a youthful spring to your step, while he practically drags his feet on the floor following you. 

“Hurry up, slow poke!” you jest, stopping in front of the garage door. Turning towards him, you tap your foot repeatedly as if you’re being forced to wait for him. 

“Maybe you should start practicing blending into the shadows for when we land,” he suggests, moving past you, “You know… being unnoticeable.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you giggle, “You’d miss out on what you like the most about me!” 

Sneering, he responds non-committedly, “Yeah… sure.”

“Oh, don’t deny it, Spiegel.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

You huff, a playful edge to your tone, “C’mon… at least admit I’m more fun than Faye; that can’t possibly be difficult to voice out loud.”

“I’m not admitting shit,” he suddenly snaps, “I just want to get this done; I could really use that reward- so let’s go.”

Frowning, your gaze hesitates on his person as he turns on his heel and shuffles away. He moves with hasty steps towards his precious racer for extra measure.

Your shoulders fall, but his back is turned to you. And even if it wasn't, you are certain by now that it wouldn’t make a difference. The wall he’s built between the two of you is sturdy and unmoving, but hell if you haven’t tried your hand time and time again at tearing it down.

But unknown to you, his thoughts haven’t moved his attention away.

Select bounty missions notwithstanding, nothing ever seemed to truly wipe the smile from your face. Even then, most times you can keep a playful edge to your actions and attitude. Spike Spiegel hates that. It’s hypocritical, considering his own behavior at times, but logic is (apparently) irrelevant. Nothing ever seems to get to you either, and that’s the most frustrating. Nothing he ever says or does gets to you. From the tiniest comment to the very reasons behind Jet's latest stream of lectures- he hardly has witnessed you bat an eyelid at it all.

It’s not that he necessarily dislikes you as a whole, but something angry inside him bubbles over around you. Still fresh in the bounty hunter world, your attitude just appears… too naïve. The feeling you fill him with is foreign, and why someone ‘so simple’ can get his mind racing is beyond him. Within the dim lighting the Bebop offers, barely reaching the inside of his racer, Spike has long been so sure you’d never find common footing he doesn’t even consider it an assumption anymore. 

...

Amidst his thoughts, the two of you manage to shave the number of shooters down by a considerable amount. 

Still eager to be done with the case (even if it means coming back empty handed at this rate), Spike takes the opportunity to fully rush away from behind the bar completely. Taking a dive, he shoots another individual just before tumbling to the floor. As he rolls himself over to find complete cover once more, he loudly lets out a curse after a loud gunshot fires in the air. 

“Spike!?” you squeak, whipping around to see the man on the floor cradling his foot. Both his hands are clasped around his shoe, knuckles turning ghost white from applied pressure. Your eyes widen, dropping your adopted expression. “Are you alright!?” you shout. 

“Less worry; more shooting!” he barks, wincing at a shot of pain trailing violently up his leg. 

Not needing to be told twice, you focus your efforts back on the task at hand. He hears three distinct gunshots from your side of the room. Two thuds come from the far end his back is facing, a sound he recognizes as clothed bodies hitting the floor. To Spike’s relief, deafening sounds of guns firing comes to a complete halt. 

You drop to the floor as well, buttocks making harsh contact with marble. Turning just your head this time, you meet Spike’s gaze once more. Not a second passes before the two of you share an exhausted laugh. Your tone is light and thankful, his is booming and pushing through fierceness beginning to fade. 

“As best as we can… we’re keeping this from getting back to Jet or Faye,” Spike mumbles, leaning his head back after calming himself down. 

Smiling warmly, you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear and move your attention. Your eyes scan the back of the bar, squinting slightly. The walls are littered with bullet holes, and you’ve no doubt the amount of which are near impossible for one person to count alone. A shady figure lingers in a bathrooms door frame, and at least two tables in the back are snapped in half-

Wait… 

Realistically, the figure in the distance moves fast. To you, the gut reaction is so quick hindsight allows you to fool yourself into believing you had even a moment to think about your actions. To understand what exactly it was you’re doing. To process all that transpires within the next couple of seconds. 

But that isn’t really the case. You merely registered the shadowed individual’s frame, and the reflective light bouncing off the pistol in their hand. It was all you needed to act, diving to the side so quickly that ‘desperate’ wouldn’t be enough to describe the action. 

A shout erupts from behind you, frantic and unfathomably angry. More sounds of gunshots fill the air; curse words and other profanities fill any available space. You can distinctly make out Spike’s voice, and one more that’s unknown to you. It’s very deep and masculine, though, from what you can understand.

You attempt to roll your body over, but a sharp pain just below your collarbone and near your shoulder keeps you from doing so. Vision blurs at random, and you can scarcely make out your companion (roommate?) standing in front of you. When exactly did he get there? 

Your eyes flutter open and shut. 

You feel someone kneeing you in the side, and your eyes snap open to observe Spike bending down beside you. Slowly but surely, your vision stabilizes. When did he…? Is the mysterious shooter still around? You attempt to move again, but this time the pain you feel is so prominent you cry out and screw your eyelids shut. 

“Oi oi oi…” you hear Spike’s voice call. “Don’t strain yourself, dummy,” he tells you, having absolutely no bite behind his words. At least, none you could make out. Still, you're inclined to wonder if it’s still just your own shock over getting shot making you misunderstand. 

“Bounty got away…” he huffed, gently sitting you up against a fallen table. Giving you an apologetic look, he rips the side of your top open. You put up no fight, watching him wrap your bullet wound with whatever makeshift materials he’s found lying around. 

“Was that who was standing in the back?” you ask, voice kept low. 

“Yeah,” he replies, “ I thought the coward hightailed it and ran… but I guess he wanted the last laugh. Erm- tried to at least. He ended up running anyway.” 

“Him and this ‘team’ if his will probably persue us, then,” you sigh, “Now we have to hunt him down before he gets us…” Pausing, you take a minute to mull over your words. “I’m really sorry. This is all my-“

“Don’t,” he cuts you off calmly, gesturing to your injuries. “Not when you’re like this.”

Smiling despite yourself, he stops his movements at the display. Ignoring the shock on his face, you ask, “What? You worried about me?” 

Spike hesitates, physically moving his chest away from you. “Don’t be absurd,” he scoffs, speaking unconvincingly. He continues, wrapping around the wound once more before stopping himself yet again. His frown deepens, adding, “And stop smiling like that.” 

“Why?”

“Because you were just shot!” he snaps, “And nearly slipped out of consciousness!” 

“Ah…” heat rushes to your face, “So you were worried…” 

“I-… yes, fine, okay?” his head falls, giving in.

You snort, “That sounded painful.” 

“Tonight’s been stressful; you haven't been acting like yourself all night. Even on a job… it’s not like you to get so serious. What was with you?”

You shrug sheepishly, avoiding his gaze. “Thought you’d like it better that way.”

“It freaked me out, why would-“

Spike halted his words. He knew exactly why, but the night has been a long string of his own mistakes so it’s been tough keeping up. And here’s the biggest one yet, coming straight towards him holding a steel chair: How he treats you. More specifically, how he spoke to you earlier. How indifferent, borderline annoyed, he always acts. It’s true, he’s long been trying to figure out how to press your buttons. But all at once it’s clear that it does get to you. Now that it’s showing, even just a small bit, his wall between you two starts to crumble.

“Couldn’t let anything happen to you either…” you mumble when he doesn’t continue, “Jet was telling me how easily the job could be slipped up. I was a bit intimidated… and when you spoke to me earlier I guess I just accepted that it would be a little out of my league. This was my first real ‘big gig’ after all… and I couldn’t accept the idea of disappointing you.”

Nodding, he finished up the last of tending to the wound for the time being. Regardless, his hand lingers on your shoulder supportively. “I’m… sorry I’ve been hard on you. This lifestyle’s really roughened me out; guess I should be glad it hasn’t gotten to you yet,” he mutters, adding a quick, “You did good.”

The moment it slips from his mouth, he is taken aback. He means that too, but that’s the part that surprises him. Then again, you’d surprised him yourself.

A grin flashes across your face. Sweet and genuine, without a sting of pain. Spike’s heart feels heavy with just a simple glance. It’s like the first time he ever saw you, back when he was keen to notice a glowing aura you possessed. He’d describe it as a pure beauty, if he could have swallowed his pride. However, it’s the added context of knowing who you really are that keeps his attention on you this time around.

“You think I have hope of becoming a ‘real’ bounty hunter like you someday?” you ask, referencing a conversation you’ve shared once before. 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, sweetheart,” he replies, a tiny smile appearing on his face. 

Sharing a breathily laugh, the two of you soon sit and stare at one another in silence. Outside, people are shouting and police sirens are flaring. Yet his diligent ogling isn’t hindered in the slightest. 

“What about respect…?” you test the waters, voice quiet and careful, “You think I’ve at least earned that?”

Smirking, Spike’s head slowly moves from your shoulder to the back of your head. His own leaning down crookedly in correlation, speaking now in a low whisper, “Don’t be modest… you’ve earned more than that.” 

In one swift motion, his lips press against yours in a surprisingly soft kiss. Even as people began to pile into the building, police enforcements leading the way, the two of you stayed glued to one another. A news crew even caught a glimpse of the display of affection, only adding to outside confusion. 

Breaking away from the kiss, you giggle against his lips, “We’re on TV.”

“Give ‘em a show, then, yeah?” he smirks, leaning closer and planting another kiss on your lips. 

At home, within the Bebop’s common area, Jet plops down in his favorite seat with Ein at his side. The man nearly falls out of his chair upon turning on his television.

[reddragon-cowboy]

Earth Girl: an individual who deeply cares about the welfare and sustainability of the Earth.

Notes: A small poetic summary about Niah's life story on Mars, and snippets of her entanglement with Spike that features his own sentiments towards her.

.Niah’s most obvious quality would be her tendency to maintain a cordial, thoughtful demeanor when she interacts with others, whether their strangers or ones special enough to be called friends. But despite this, she’s also fairly reserved, quiet, and observant of people in general that some might misinterpret such traits as being standoffish, but it doesn’t quite dissuade her from offering them a small warm smile.

.A resident born on old earth at a different era, all she’s ever known was giving and showing love generously, for her heart brims with streams of life that it feels too full to just hold it all in, but the worlds hostile features repeatedly threaten to encapsulate her essence in a jar that would withhold all that she is.

.sometimes, she barely accepts her reality, rather thinking of it as a dream. What if she was still asleep in the freezer? Playing things inside her head, or what if she wakes up back at home in her bed? Underneath starry skies. sleepy eyes. That’s how her dreams at night appear, but she’s always preferred dreams to escape reality, likes to imagine the prospect of someone who could ( just ) only sincerely understand and cradle the weight of her heart in their lovingly hand.

.She does find some pleasure surrounded by nature, such as gardening and feeding the local birds, many of the things she used to do in the past before being reawakened. And poetry became her closest friend, giving her a voice on sheets of paper where she scribble down her deepest thoughts, desires heartfelt as they came into existence by mere scribbles of lead, fingertips often tainted by kisses of black ink, even smeared in watery tears that drip off the canopy of moist cheeks.

.in silence he sees her dabbling in ink, traces of it ensnared under her fingernails, and one time believed the filth that clings to him would also defile her light. Yet, it reminds him of the way those same fingers managed to taint his heart with touches of love, where the softest of roses began to bud - long ago, had taken root by seeds she planted unknown and watered with tears up above. But the warmth that her smile radiates simmers in pensive sadness, whispers something sweet to his soul, a foreign language he’s never known, dialect earthy and raw as fruitful soil where she swears all life begins.

.Niah’s not a fighter, not a soldier, far from it, can barely imagine the thought of inflicting pain onto another, even if well-deserved. She’s nothing like him, whose own skin has become worn and torn from the aftermath of fantastic battles miserable in their destruction – the glint of katana strikes and rounds of bullet holes, black feathers flutter where ravens dwell. And he’s grateful that she’s nothing like him, so, he makes sure that her heart isn’t led astray, yanked, or pulled by the claws of this world that hunger to strip her naked.

.Heat floods his cheeks. air hitches in throat between quiet breaths. His skin erupts in tingles at the ointment she smears along its ravaged surface, bandages up his wounds, applied by words she speaks gentle in comfort and breathes light as wind that drifts through the crack of an open window. He studies her from beneath messy hair, observes her face then with heavy-hooded eyes, again silent and mesmerized by the whiskey swimming in her lovely eyes, and he accepts how just one single drop, one measly drop of her taste, would be enough to get him drunk.

And he wonders if a ( ravenous) beast like him could ever understand the depth of her love, should he ever lay a foot into her secret garden.

[bg-sparrow]

mcfly july 2023 || day 22 Jam Session

xxii.

“Thanks for stopping by, Doc,” Marty said as his bandmates shook the scientist’s hand. “I’d catch lunch, but we’ve gotta do this.”

“Not at all,” Doc said genially. “I’m the one that flew in two days early. This is for that contest, yes?”

Marty nodded, gesturing to the crew putting the finishing touches on the set. 

“Yeah, some lucky kid won a jam session with The Pinheads,” he laughed, picking up his guitar.

“What’s the kid’s name?”

Marty picked up the Mountain Dew sitting on his itinerary. He squinted at the name obscured by the lime green ring. 

“Gerard something?”