#spikeblackwolf

[beckstriad]

Chapter 1: Don’t Quit Your Day Job

CW: Kidnapping, swearing Spike Masterlist ���Silver Nerves” Masterlist --- Standing in line with mostly college students and runaways, Spike was bored. Form in hand with his fake I.D, he waited to see what sort of drugs they had on offer today. Werewolves weren’t immune to substances, but their rapid healing and fast metabolism meant they weren’t as affected or for as long as humans. This probably skewed the results in the medical study, but Spike didn’t care, he just needed the money. The difficult part was sticking around for the time period required, and so few were less than two weeks. This time he’d lucked out, finding a week-long trial starting the day after he rolled into town. All he had to do was lay low, maybe pick up a day job once or twice, and he could bust out of town before the local pack caught on with some extra cash in his pocket. The first day was the same as the times before: blood and urine tests, questions on paper, questions in person, liability forms, liability lectures… Finally free, he roamed the street looking for a place to shelter overnight and getting the feel of the neighbourhood. A ‘bedroom community’ of larger New York, Spike gambled that there was little pack or gang activity out here. By the time he slunk underneath the quiet side street bridge he'd found, he hadn't seen or smelt any signs of werewolves. He dozed lightly through the night, waking constantly but no one bothered to look under the bridge. The creek’s noises were soothing, but they dampened the air and he shivered in his hoodie.

"Spencer? Ah, yea this way please." The man in scrubs, barely older than Spike, led him down the corridor of the old community center to a back room. It didn't smell like anyone had recently been in it except for one or two other people, maybe yesterday. "What's this?" Spike resisted a growl, stop that shit he chided himself. The guy in scrubs had already turned to leave, "they want to talk to you about your test results. Either you tested positive for something or maybe you fit with another trial." He shrugged his shoulders, "it's confidential so I don't know." After ten minutes of waiting on the folding chair in the dusty room, Spike's head kept bobbing to his chest. Bored and running on minimal sleep, he was almost falling out of his chair. "Fuck this, I'll just go get another job if they don't want me." Even his words felt slow, almost like he was drunk as he muttered to himself in the room. Maybe a nap first. Pushing off the chair, it clattered behind him as he collapsed forward, barely managing to brace his arms so he didn't hit his head. FUCK. The sudden change in elevation left him feeling dizzy, limbs heavy and thoughts muddled. Resting a cheek against the cool floor for a moment, he considered if food poisoning from the sketchy gas station taco could have done this. From this unique vantage point he saw a hose stuck under the door and if he listened closely, which was hard to do past the blood whirring in his ears, he could hear a slight hissing noise. Gas. Fuck. Shit shit shit. His arms were like noodles and with the smooth floor he didn’t get far as he tried to drag himself to the door. Instead, the door opened to him, and several boots came in and around. He tried rolling over but a stomp between his shoulder blades was enough to over power Spike in his current state. A prick in his thigh woke him enough to struggle in a panicked reaction, but he got nowhere except out of breath. Good luck when the drug wears off faster than you expect, fuckers. Vision tunnelling, Spike chuckled to himself in consolation as he was picked up and dragged out the back door, picturing how he was going to tear into them before he ever got to his final destination. Just a nap first. [Next]

[beckstriad]

Silver Nerves

Spike gets caught in a ‘research’ facility and has nothing but time to sit with his inner demon. (9,500 words total)

If you don’t know Spike see his main Masterlist for summary

CW: Swearing, kidnapping, medical setting

TW: non-con/dub-con medical whump including IV lines and drug infusions, restraints, experimentation, referring to whumpee by a number, hospital setting.

I do not draw any allusion to any mental diagnosis or physical impairments nor was my intent to, but if you are sensitive to general themes of hating self with mental/physical difference please approach with caution?

Chapter 1: Don’t Quit Your Day Job

Chapter 2: Ruff Day

Chapter 3: Clean Break

Chapter 4: No Rest for the Wicked

Chapter 5: Despite All Your Rage

Chapter 6: How Do We Sleep While....

Chapter 7: Live and Breathe in 46 Degrees

Chapter 8: Still Just a Dog in a Cage

Chapter 9: Sinking to New Depths

Chapter 10: I of the Storm

Chapter 11: Kill his Spirit

Chapter 12: What’s the Deal With Dogfood?

Chapter 13: Dragging his Feet

Chapter 14: Break the Chain

[beckstriad]

Chapter 2: Ruff Day

Spike Masterlist “Silver Nerves” Masterlist CW: Swearing TW: Captivity, medical setting, medical drugs/sedation, non-consensual medical procedures --- The plush bed was warm and soft, a luxury Spike so rarely enjoyed unless…”baby?” Creaking one eye open, his vision wasn’t quite caught up yet as he tried to find the woman who took him home last night. Can’t remember...party? That was odd; Spike never spent much on alcohol since it took him twice as much to get drunk and half as long to sober up. The faster metabolism also meant it was near impossible to get blackout drunk, Did I do drugs? Trying to sit up, his hands caught on restraints around his wrists and sharp pain cut through his muddled senses. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he muttered “oh kinky shit eh? Must have been rough last night.” Blinking his eyes and focusing on his wrists, he tried to sort out what was wrong. The bed was a single, those were bedrails, it was too bright and there was an IV running into his arm. The gouges in his wrists weren’t from rough play with handcuffs, they’d have healed quickly, but because the cuffs were made with silver. Spike’s stomach clenched at the revelation. He wasn’t just captured, he was caught by someone who knew he was a werewolf.

Staring up at the ceiling and blinking to focus his vision and stop the tears, he kept his breathing calm against the rising panic. The handcuffs were painful, wounds made from silver healed poorly and hurt a lot more, but they weren’t what was stopping him. Sitting up, he tried to give the bedrails a jerk, hoping they weren’t reinforced. It should have worked, but his vision faded from the effort and he felt himself hit the pillow as his arms fell limp at his sides. Still drugged, fuck. Once his vision came back and he stopped feeling like throwing up, he saw IV tubing and tried reaching for it with his teeth. 

Rough hands from nowhere shoved him back down, straps looping under his arms and over his chest so he couldn’t sit up. It was like he could only focus on one thing at a time, distorting his other senses so that the grabs and shouts of those around him were just noise. 

He couldn’t focus on the noise over the loud instincts of the wolf, the part of himself that he tried to deny. It was howling, driving his muscles and urging him to struggle at all costs until it consumed him. He hated it, like it was some outside force taking him over. It gouged his wrists to the bone and pressed him into the straps so that it was either his shoulders or the fabric that would tear apart. Spike’s face was twisted in a snarl and spittle flung from his mouth as he lost himself to the fear and instinct.  A syringe twisted into the tubing and the plunger depressed quickly before another syringe immediately took its place. Pushed slower this time, Spike’s body sunk and eyelids closed in time to the dose.     “I can’t push any more,” a voice said above the still body, slow and shallow chest movements the only sign he was still alive, “we can increase the titration speed though, to maintain this state.”     “That won’t be necessary” a voice over a speaker said, the person safely behind the glass “let’s get the chains set up, no silver this time. We need a baseline before we start the solution.” [Next]

[beckstriad]

Chapter 7: Live and Breathe in 46 Degrees

Spike Masterlist

“Silver Nerves” Masterlist

CW: Swearing

TW: Captivity, medical setting, medical drugs/sedation, non-consensual medical procedures

Tag List: @moose-teeth @whatwasmyprevioususername @simplygrimly. @pretty-thoughts-and-a-pen

---

"Blanket," his voice was hoarse for some reason, his throat parched and dry with the metallic taste of blood. "Cold." He didn't know who was there, just that someone was, and that his skin was burnt to touch but he was so, so cold.

    Fire. Hadn't he been on fire? Trying to sit up, nothing happened. Opening an eye was a struggle, as if it were tied to weights. Blurred surroundings, blended with far away beeping and muttering, confirmed he was still stuck on that bed.

So, no fire then. Nightmare? He heard the wolf whine in a pathetic tone, ugh, shut up.

The voices stopped then, had they heard it too? Or had he said it out loud?

Flinching back from the hand that reached out to him, it pressed itself to his forehead anyway and ignored his hiss of pain. They brushed his bangs out of his face and then seemed to be checking screens and IV lines, though Spike found it hard to follow their actions. Soft words warbled around him, into him, but he understood nothing.

Another shiver chattered his teeth and spasmed his limbs, rattling the bed rails. Somehow his body had the strength to do that, but not let him lift his own head. He couldn’t fight the invasive probe under his tongue as they pried his jaw open, realizing only in the absence of touch that they had been gentle.

A blanket was put on top of him a moment after, the weight and warmth lulling him to sink down into the soft darkness. [Next]

[beckstriad]

Spike Masterlist

“Spike” (not his real name) is in his early twenties, 6’8” / 203.2cm Werewolf. Common outfit is skinny black jeans with holes in the knees, black converse high tops (helps make up for the shorter inseam) and a black T-shirt that’s a little bagged out from being over-washed. Built slim and lean with sharp lines to his face, Spike’s light brown eyes can seem golden in the bright sun. His hair ranges from short to almost shoulder length when he’s overdue for a cut, and he does his best to keep it dyed black but his blonde roots are too obvious to go unnoticed for long. When shifted, his wolf form is a lanky, golden furred beast that looks like a wolf-dog hybrid. Lighter than average, his longer legs and light weight mean he’s faster than average. Spike refuses to join a pack and be told how to behave and live his life, so he wanders from city to city and stays only as long as he can avoid detection. Broke, homeless and vagabond, he trusts no one and sleeps light. CW: Spike has a terrible cussing problem

The Huntress

One shot - 1,500 words Spike manages to get a date for the night but it doesn’t go as planned. I guess a decent intro to Spike as a character

Silver Nerves [Masterlist]

14 Chapters - 9,500 Words Spike gets kidnapped to a research facility and has nothing but time to sit with his inner demon.

[beckstriad]

Huntress

Spike [Masterlist] CW: Swearing, as always Keep it cool man, keep it cool.

Bouncing slightly from one foot to another, Spike tried to not look as revved up as he felt. It’d been almost half a year since he’d last slept with someone - only a handful of times in all -  and too many false starts since. His mind was torturing him with images of what the girl who was coyly holding onto his waistband would look like when they… Gotta get to the place first man, keep it together...Shit! An angry looking girl wearing a plastic dress was giving him hell but he hardly heard, “Sorry!” He kept going, one thing on his mind gotta get out of here quick… 

Weaving through the crowd would seem easy for someone as ridiculously tall as him, but towering over the crowd meant it was easy to knee someone short if you weren’t paying attention.  It did provide a convenient excuse for the girl he was leading through the crowd to follow behind him  and play with his waist band as she clung to him so they wouldn’t be separated. 

Finally out in the cool air after collecting his backpack from coat-check he leaned against the signpost as they waited for a taxi to hail, mimicking being more drunk than he was. Spike missed the way alcohol let him relax more, but it also made him do stupid shit and he’d lost some tail because of it before. Plus he couldn’t afford it right now, so his rounds had been water shots for him, and Becky was fortunately a cheap drunk and willing to 50/50 the rounds. Speaking of, the cropped-black haired girl before him running her hands up under his shirt was driving him wild, “I’m cold” she giggled, and then attempted to jump up on his hips. Easily scooping her up he grinned stupidly, sloshed on the promise of what was to come and her plush skin under his hands, “I know how to warm you up…”  “Oh you’re strong!” She sounded surprised, then almost spit in his face as she giggled and tried to fix the hurt expression on his face “you’re just so scrawny...I mean! Lean! Or some shit I dunno.” It was true, and Spike had wanted to fix it but he’d always been the skinny kid, it only exaggerated his height further and gave him a beanpole look; he didn’t take kindly to Groot references no matter how well meaning they were. Now he struggled to eat two square meals a day so bulking up and fueling workouts was a pipe dream. “Runner’s build, baby.” Easy lies to cover up the werewolf strength, she couldn’t know about that. “Us tall guys, yea you know short guys bulk easy but we got these long limbs right? So the muscle spreads out, hides it you know?” The taxi pulled up shortly and they piled in, getting to the hotel without leaving too many marks on each other’s necks. Reaching into his back pocket, Spike’s face fell “mother fucker! Someone fucking jacked my wallet! Fuck!” He looked over at the girl who watched him with an unimpressed expression, “look uh...spot the cab and the room and I’ll just transfer you the cash once we got the total, yea?” She sighed but went for it and Spike prayed to every god he could name, though he believed in none of them, a prayer of thanks.  The light in the cab was dim as she pulled out the card and tried to quickly hand it to the driver, but as she tapped it down on the machine her surname was enough for Spike’s low-light vision to read. Cabrillo.  Benefits of being a werewolf in human form include, but are not limited to; increased strength, increased speed, low light vision and increased smell and hearing. Spike drew on the other supernatural feats as he burst from the cab and took off down the street. Fuck me fuck me fuuuuuuuuck me of course she’s a FUCKING hunter can’t I catch a break for fuck’s sake. How lucky had he been before? What if her last name hadn’t been that of the famous multinational hunting family that was well known for their ruthless and efficient extermination attempts on the supernatural community? What a stupid bitch though, haha! Dumbass. The roar of an engine cut his thoughts off as he pumped his legs faster, leaning hard as he careened into an alley but they didn’t stop. His eyes searched the alley in the bouncing headlights that were catching up behind him, and he spotted his chance in the form of a big green dumpster just up ahead. Jumping high and scrambling as his shoes slipped on the metal lid, he managed to stand just as the car squealed to a stop beside him. He heard the window rolling down as he jumped off and ran full speed back down the alley that was too narrow for them to turn around in. “SHIT!” His voice, high pitched with desperation and fear, was lost to the echo of gunshots as they fired a few shots in the hope of getting lucky at the retreating figure.  The world brightened as he ran back out onto the street, only to flinch hard as the bullet ricocheted off the bricks beside him. “FUCK, lady!” Becky stood strong, chest heaving but legs braced and arms steady as she aimed again. Taking his chances and knowing that running was what he did best, Spike took off into the street as a large dump truck came rumbling towards him. Grabbing the handles he cursed as a foot slipped and his heart stopped, but he managed to hold on and get his feet back under him. Standing on the bumper and ignoring his aching, twisted shoulder, he flipped a middle fingered salute to the cursing woman.  As the truck rounded the corner he saw the car backing out of the alley, fuck fuck shit! Climbing up the ladder, he cursed the fates that decided to mock him at every turn of his life one fucking joke eh? You all think this is fucking funny huh? Maybe he did believe in those gods afterall, and was going to do everything he could to spite them. The truck passed close to a fire escape and he jumped, heart in his throat as he flew with nothing under his paws, feet you fucking furry! FEET! Hands and feet landed with a clang and he made no attempt to quiet them as he scrambled up to the roof as quickly as possible.  Rolling over the edge and collapsing onto the tarred gravel, he tried to listen for the car through the rush of blood in his ears and wheezing of his breath. It came racing around the corner and was attempting to catch up to the dump truck, which was taking advantage of the lack of traffic to make good time. They’d clue in he wasn’t there a few blocks away, if they stopped the truck; he hoped they would just follow it to its destination instead. Peering over the edge he saw them fall in line behind it, assuming that he was hiding in its box. Fucking. Finally. It was a small break, but he needed anything he could get.  Pulling his hood over his head and taking his backpack off, Spike hugged himself and brought his knees up to his chest to try to ward off the wind that came suddenly cold and lonely, pressing his back against the lip of the roof. He hated how something inside kept thinking like a wolf, how he wanted to shift so he could tuck his nose under his tail and his fur could keep him warm. It colored his thoughts and actions if he dropped his guard, like thinking of paws instead of feet or trying to growl at a stranger standing too close. Gritting his teeth instead, he focused on the gravel digging into his bony hips and shoulders as he lay down, the fire in his gut that threatened to rise up and burn his throat and the hot tears he tried to not let fall. Fucking. Human. I’m not a monster I just...wanted to get laid for once. A warm bed, soft body and a few moments of bliss to brighten his otherwise bleak existence was what he craved, but then this wasn’t anything new. He’d always been like this, even before the change; forgotten, unseen, alone.  Trying not to think about the money lost, money he’d chosen to spend on a pretty smile instead of food, he focused on the next move. Fuck this town. No good work here anyway. He’d leave in the morning, head for the next city over before the local wolfpack caught wind of him and tried something unsavory. Like he always did. Like he always will.  No one’s fucking being the boss of me. Fuck that shit. Independence didn’t stop the shivering but it helped cool the fire in his gut as he fought for sleep. It was better to shiver in the cold than be fed by someone’s hand. 

[beckstriad]

Tumblrrrrrrrrrr

Seriously messed up the formatting of my latest chapter.  I guess tomorrow I’ll have to go through and check all my other chapters.  If whoever is reading it notices it’s all jumbled I apologize and I swear every time I posted it I really did go back and double check paragraph order and italics placement between the Tumblr post and my doc.  I probably just forgot to do it with this one, but with Tumblr who knows