A/N: This piece is part of the Sexy September Scribbles challenge, hosted by myself and @soelstress Sep 30th: Don’t you dare close those legs
The stone slab was rough under your palms, candles throwing mad shadows across the crypt as Spike buried his face between your thighs. His tongue was ruthless on your clit, sucking, lapping, groaning like you were his last meal. Slick dripped down the backs of your thighs, the sounds obscene in the silence.
“Spike- fuck- ” you gasped, hips jerking. The pleasure was too much, too raw. You tried to snap your thighs closed, to shield yourself from how wrecked you already were, but he caught you instantly.
A sharp slap landed on your inner thigh, making your palm smack down on the stone with a sharp crack. He pulled back just enough for you to see his grin, his mouth glistening, teeth flashing. “None of that,” he rasped, accent filthy in your ear. His hands shoved your knees wider, pinning you open. “Don’t you dare close those legs. You’re gonna let me eat you proper, even if the whole soddin’ world hears.”
“God- please- ” You squirmed, back arching as he dove back in, tongue thrusting deep before circling up to lash your clit. He growled into you, the vibration tearing another curse from your throat.
“Yeah, that’s it.” His voice was muffled against your cunt, then sharp again when he surfaced for air, lips shiny. “Love you drippin’ down my chin, pet. Can taste how bloody close you are.”
You fisted his hair, dragging him harder against you, swearing brokenly as the heat coiled, unbearable. Your thighs trembled but his grip was iron, keeping you spread wide as his tongue flicked mercilessly.
Your orgasm hit like a shockwave, tearing a scream from your chest. You slammed your palm against the stone again, body shaking, while Spike licked you through it, chuckling darkly into your cunt like he owned every sound you made.
summary: it wasn't unusual for Spike to 'break' into your apartment, but it was unusual for him to want to spend the night.
warnings: very long (4.4k words), spike being a simp, one bed trope, dry humping, thigh fucking, masturbation, some fingering, slight praise, Spike being Spike, a smidge of possessiveness, and thats about it
It was no secret to anyone your favorite time of day was long after the sun went down. A full-time college student who worked a part time job on top of that was no easy feat. Your time during the day was never your time, it was your shitty professors time who assigned reading after reading that needed to be read for the never-ending stream of papers and theses, it belonged to your shitty boss who piled on tons of paperwork and demanded you be at his beck and call even after you clocked out. As much as you loved them, your time off belonged to your friends; patrolling, looking through dusty-old books, trying not to die every time you stepped out of your apartment.
When you got home (if there was no patrolling to be done), it was your time and while you were tired, you made time for your nightly routine. You'd slip off your shoes and walk in the dark to make it to your room to turn on your lamp, because you'd be damned if you were turning on one of the big lights this late.
You would usually strip down and dig a pair of pajamas out of your drawers before taking a scalding shower. You'd brush your teeth and wash your face, maybe if you had the energy, you'd do a face mask and paint your nails. You'd turn on your stereo or switch on your TV to fall asleep to the fuzzy sound and soft light. This, of course, is what you'd be doing right now had you not walked into your house with company.
You could see him lounging on your bed, the darkness of his attire somehow darker than your unlit room. His duster slung on the back of your desk chair, only clothed in some tight navy shirt and jeans.
"What are you doing here, Spike?" You crossed your arms over your chest, annoyed when you realized he had his dirty ass boots on your bed.
"M' paying my favorite Scooby a visit." You walked over to turn on your lamp, giving you enough light to see how smug he was. His arms sat behind his head, his eyes glittering with amusement. He was doing this to annoy you. He did most things just to annoy you.
"Pay another Scooby a visit." You were dead tired, practically forcing your eyes open. You had just gotten back from work, your bag still in your hand which you used to knock his legs off your bed. He could've been stubborn, but he let you.
You stripped off your hoodie, flashing him your stomach as your undershirt rose with the movement. He whistled, "Scandalous."
"Get out of my apartment." You tossed your hoodie at him while rolling your eyes. He caught it midair, bringing it to his nose to sniff it.
"Smells different. You using a different bodywash?" You hummed as you walked around your room to find something suitable to wear to bed. It was dreadfully hot out, even worse than what you'd expect from a California summer. You had at least 3 fans going anytime you were here, especially since your landlord could never seem to find a permanent solution to the junky A.C unit.
"Midnight Rose. Real fancy stuff." You hadn't even noticed a difference, but of course Spike would. Vampire senses had a way of being intrusive in a way that was only helpful when it came to your cycle and saving you bed sheets.
"I like the other one better: the cocoa butter one. It was fainter. You smelt more like you." You scoffed.
"Duly noted." Your hands roamed over the old t-shirts from high school and camisole tops so old the straps had snapped on a couple of them.
Spike sat up on your bed, untying the laces on his shoes haphazardly before setting them by your bedroom door. He roamed around like you had been, picking up bottles of nail polish and flipping through one of the books on your shelf.
"You could spare me a bit of your attention, love. I mean I did go through the trouble of-"
"Breaking into my apartment?" You interrupted.
"On second thought, it was a bit easy. I pushed it a bit and the window came right out. Are you leaving it open for somebody?" His tone was supposed to sound much more teasing than it did. There was a pang in his chest, probably of jealousy. Much to his chagrin, he was jealous a lot these days and he couldn't quite tell if his frequent visits were enabling that or the very cause of it. Either way, it was hard not to just crawl through your window anytime he pleased.
You acted like you were annoyed and if he had a dollar for every time you threatened to call Buffy on him, he wouldn't need to dumpster dive for furniture. If he had another dollar for every time, you never followed through, he'd be even richer. You said it's because you could handle yourself without her help, but, admittedly, you didn't hate his company that much.
As far as house guests go, it could be worse. It's not like he eats all your food, talks your ears off, or is unfunny. He was just there. A pain in your ass sometimes, like when he insists on being half a step behind you during patrols and never fails to tell you how great your ass looks from behind. Never a malevolent presence, just annoyingly noticeable.
His boots were clunky, and he smelled of faint cigarettes and alcohol. He also hated silence. He was fidgety and anxious, even if his intentions were stealth, he couldn't help but break the tension and open his mouth. At times against his will, he just wanted to be noticed that bad. He just needed to be around you that bad.
"I keep telling the landlord to fix it, but he insists it's just fine. 'Nothin' some glue won't fix'." But you had tried gluing it. Had it not been for the clear shit jammed in the lock, the window would've just come right open with the flick of a finger.
"I could fix it for you." He went ignored while you had made your way to your bathroom, taking your hair down from the claw clip it had been stuck in for the past few hours. A slight moan of relief slipped through your lips as your fingers carded through it to massage your scalp.
"You know how to fix windows?"
"Well...no. But it can't be that hard. I've been around a few hundred years, surely I can figure out how to fix a bloody window." What he meant to say (if he had the balls) was that he would be more than happy to learn how to fix a window for you. It would give him an excuse to hang around, it would keep him in your good graces for a solid month, and he wouldn't have to break an entering anymore. Granted, his preferred place of entry had long been broken and he could always come through the front door, but it was a matter of principle.
You looked him up and down, trying to decipher if this was a set up for a joke or if he was actually serious, but he kept his head down. He hadn't been able to blush since he was a human, but the habit had a way of rearing its head for you.
He was so pretty too. With his high cheekbones and the way the warm light made his complexion look less ghastly. As ironic and cliche as it would be to say, he looked slightly angelic. Like one who fell from Heaven and donned the dark and mysterious charade to make it hurt less. He would burn away under a cross just to make it back to Heaven. Nearly break his spine falling out of windows and bleed out taking stabs if it meant he was closer to your doors. If there was one thing Spike did well, it was devotion.
"You wouldn't even know where to start. I'll just call Xander or something."
"What're you gonna do that for!"
"Because, Spike," you laughed incredulously, confused as to if this was going to become an argument or form a chip on his shoulder. "If I want something fixed, I'm going to call someone who does it for a living."
"But would Xander do it for free?"
"Would you?"
"I wouldn't charge anything of monetary value." You snorted, not surprised at all with his answer.
"You are such a whore, you know that?"
"What can I say, baby?" He leaned against the door frame of your bathroom, where you stood staring at your reflection in the mirror. He was happy that his nonexistent reflection could betray him. He was grateful to be a part of this routine - your routine- in a way that didn't disrupt your peace. It was soft. Almost domestic.
You were so meticulous about the way you scrubbed your face and brushed your teeth. He liked how when you took off your makeup the glitter remained. You sparkled at the right angles, really fucking sparkled. Of course, he was going to sit and stare at you; mascara still not completely wiped away, hair tied back with a fuzzy headband, lips agitated from being bit throughout the day. It was poetic. Second nature to him. He didn't need to breath, but it came to him then, overwhelming and filling his lungs like water until he was full as he stared at you in the mirror with not even his own reflection to judge him.
"I'm gonna hop in the shower."
"How rude, without me?" Damn, he sounded like a bloody idiot. You only looked him up and down, trying to appear deeply disgusted but stopped just shy of mildly annoyed.
"Get out of my apartment before I stake you." You slammed the bathroom door in his face, hiding your blush behind the wood.
"That's not a no." His voice is muffled behind the door, and as much as you'd like to believe he didn't hear it, you did laugh.
Spike had to have been a cat in a previous life, is what you decided when you found him still on your bed, nose in some magazine he found pretending to care about the newest Natasha Denona palette.
"That crypt must be uncomfortable as hell for you to still be here." You skated around your room to sink beside him. He reaches across his side to pull out a bottle of water and hands it to you.
"Your showers are hot as hell; I'm surprised you didn't pass out in there." He flips through the pages nonchalantly, pretending not to be incredibly fixated at the water dripping from the nape of your neck and disappearing into your shirt.
"You would've loved that, wouldn't you? Getting to play 'knight and shining armor' while I'm conveniently naked." The sound waxy pages being torn was a surprise. So much of you and his banter was contingent on the assumption that neither of you meant anything serious so nothing would become anything.
Spike, who spent most of his mortal adult life swallowing his feelings until his stomach became an endless chasm where his feelings went to fester rather than die, was more than okay with this unspoken arrangement. Sarcasm was a second language to you. You were used to your words not mattering, especially since in your group of friends, your existence seemed to matter far less than everyone else's. You wondered if that was why you and Spike got along so well.
He just got you. Maybe a side effect of him being around you whenever he could. He just got you. In a stupid way. In an annoying way. The kind of way that made you worried that reading minds was also one of his vampiric powers. He wormed his stupid way into your brain, slithering around in his own sort of Spike way til you didn't know where his influence began.
He did sort of have this hypnotic way of speech. Maybe because he was a poet. Poets have to have some sort of hypnotic power, right? Surely, there was some connection between rhythms and brain waves that made the effect of Spike's voice so persuasive. Maybe it's not the rhythm and it's just the honesty. Ironic, since the basis of your "relationship" was built on never assuming that the other meant what they said, but who cares. It gave you guys flavor. Something to keep things interesting.
"I'll have you know; I am a very old-fashioned guy with manners." You snorted as his response. He talked about his "old-fashioned" ways a lot. Maybe to convince you that he was a gentleman. Gentleman your ass, you'd seen what he kept in his crypt.
"My deepest apologies for assuming that a guy that used railroad spikes as a murder weapon of choice wouldn't be above jumping at the opportunity to see me naked."
"Am I that transparent?"
"When it comes to mirrors, yeah." His scoff was lost in the sound of a car horn going off across the street. Damn, you needed a new place. He had complained to you about the noise before. If you didn't leave near a busy street, he would try his luck spending the night far more than he already did. Each blare deepened the scowl on his face as he flinched at the sound, even louder from where he sat in front of it.
"Those death buggies have to be the worst thing to come out of the 20th century. So obnoxious, and for what?"
"I imagine they are more convenient than horse drawn carriages."
"Yeah, more convenient and not even half the charm." He turned his head to gaze out the window. "It's not even a nice car! I'd rather ride around in the fucking Angel Mobile than drive around in that thing."
"You are so dramatic. Usually I just," you swing your leg over his waist, straddling and reaching over to close the window. He swallowed hard at the feeling of your chest pressing against the magazine, the only boundary between him and you, and the nonchalance of the action. "Shut the window." You felt him tense beneath you, his right hand awkwardly meeting your hip, blue eyes staring up at you through dark eyelashes. "Then again, I'm not a pansy who needs complete silence to sleep."
He cleared his throat before he spoke. "I sleep in a cemetery, love, ain't much noise around those parts." His eyes wandered everywhere they could but the worst part about beautiful people is that there is no unsightly place to avert your gaze. He couldn't stare at your gorgeous eyes, or your stunning nose, or your lips to distract himself from the steadily growing boner that you were sitting right on top of. You were no better than he was.
Within the context of the unspoken agreement, this meant absolutely nothing. The boner was just a normal reaction, that didn't have to mean anything. The way he was looking at you was a bit hard to ignore, but that was the way he always looked at you. He was a lot closer right now, sure, but that stupid lovesick look that you have spent years trying to ignore, totally just a joke. Not real at all. A trick of the light, in fact. The hard-on was very real though.
After sitting there for a few seconds too long, you shift your weight to move back to your side of the bed, but his hands keep you in your place. " 'm cold", he mutters, his thumb rubbing circles between where your shorts meet your bare skin.
"Yeah?" You feel him pressing up against your core. "I didn't think you could get cold."
" Me either but-", you lowered yourself completely on his clothed dick and the groan he let out was salacious. "Here we are." The frigid way he moved made his lie believable. Incredibly cautious, hesitant. No idea what to do with himself. He ran his hands along your thighs, up and down your side, one cold hand sliding underneath your shirt, rubbing the hem of it between his pointer finger and his thumb.
You leaned forward, warm breath fanning against his nose. It smelled like mint. You smelled like some sort of cocoa butter. Smooth and soft on top of him and he didn't know if you were going to roll right off or melt into his skin. Your hands come to the sides of his face, and you stare intently at him. He felt like he was under a microscope with the way you looked at him like you were committing each detail of him to memory so that even when you closed his eyes, it was still him burning in the forefront of your mind.
"You gonna kiss me?" You whispered, pressing yourself further into him. He let out a breathy laugh.
"What, a guy's always gotta make the first move?" With that, you leaned down to give him what was meant to be a quick peck. A tester. A tease. But when you give Spike an inch, he takes a mile, and he took the opportunity to devour you. Mouth open, sloppy, wet kisses while his hands worked as eagerly as his tongue did. You were a calming presence, slow and sane as you grabbed fistfuls of his shirt to try and ground the both of you.
Breathing through your nose, you inhaled him. The faint smell of smoke, the fresh smell of whatever he washed the gel from his hair with, the distinctly Spike musk. Your thighs wrapped him more closely, subtly grinding into his lap, ignoring the slight burn on your knees from the friction between them and your sheets. His large hands covered swathes of skin, cooling you where you grew too hot from his touch. When he had his fill, he broke away from you, still nose to nose, a string of saliva still between the two of you.
"Do you wanna spend the night?" Your voice was somehow meek as if there was any way in hell he would say no to you. He breathed out, turning his head into the crook of your neck, leaving searing kisses on your silky skin, worshipping at his altar, and thanking who or whatever got him here tonight. He kisses you from your neck, along your jawline, to the corner of your lips.
"Yes", he whispers against your skin. He bucks his hips into you, the imprint of his cock and the rough material of his jeans kissing your pussy through the thin layers of material. You nearly choke on his tongue at the feeling. Fuck.
Your eyes are closed, hips moving furiously against his, too blissed out to even care about the steadily growing wet patch in your underwear. You're lost in kisses, kisses that overwhelm and confuse and steal your breath until you wonder how much you need to breathe anyway. Along with not needing to breathe, you learned they must have incredible resolve. He chases you. Not like how a wolf chases a lamb but how the sun chases the moon.
He pulls and you push for breath, some sort of reprieve, some time for your mind to catch up with your body because right now everything but the way the seams of his jeans catch your clit is one of the only things on your mind. He pulls you, still, his hands squeezing at your waist, moving up to cup your breasts, thumbing at your nipples, and flicking the already hard peaks. And you push, still, not in protest but in harmony. Your hips pressing down, his jerking up. Your hands tugging his hair, his squeezing your waist. It was good. It was so good.
"What is the point", he starts breathlessly, "of these damn shorts if they're so thin. You're leaking right through, love." He smiles against you, sharp teeth grazing against your cheek as he smirks.
"Take 'em off me then." For once in his life, he takes his time. The desperation of his prior movements forgotten as he looks at you as he trails a finger from your chest down between the valley of your breasts, to your navel. He draws invisible shapes along your stomach, diamonds, hearts, and letters spelling m-i-n-e. And he stalls there. Looking from beneath you, smug as you ground yourself onto his dick in an attempt to move him along.
He was amused. Fascinated. You in your own world, mewling, moaning, putting on a show just for him. Choosing to ignore how sticky your panties had gotten, how much they stuck to your cunt as you wiggled your hips as if you could get any closer. Your tits moving with you, the way your mouth was slightly agape, the way you keened when you rubbed against him just right. It was no motivation for him to move his hands at all, not when it was much more rewarding to angle his hips up and make you see stars. "You gonna cum like this?" He crooned, full of fake sympathy.
"You're really gonna make me get myself off." You rolled your eyes, maybe out of pleasure, maybe out of faux annoyance. Either way, his hand slithered to the waistband of your shorts and dipped even deeper. He left feather-light touches on your clit which sent jolts of electricity up your spine. Overcome with the tightening feeling in your belly, your hands grabbed at his shoulders as your hips worked and worked you snapped. Impossibly wet and dazed, you rocked into him until the high had passed and the stars had left from behind your eyelids leaving only Spike.
His fingers still, in your panties, he moves to slide them and your shorts off your body. You hover slightly, still too sensitive to rub your bare pussy against him. You fidget with the button of his jeans and zipper, Spike's hands coming to cover yours to ease the shakiness. Maybe to give the appearance that he was much calmer than he was. He was painfully hard, and you felt it when you palmed him through his boxers after getting his pants down enough. Where his tip sat was a wet spot. You smirked.
"Did I get your dick that wet?" A shiver went down his spine. The heat from your palm was felt through his boxers. Your hand was barely big enough to cover it. Before either of you was prepared for it, he flipped you on your back. His hands sat on either side of your head while yours removed him from his boxers. He was so big.
You tore your gaze away from his cock to meet his gaze. He still looked at you the same. Pupils widened from lust, cheeks with a slightly pink tinge, lips puffy, eyes looking down at you with the same look they always had. It's then he leans down to kiss you for the millionth time. No urgency, less messy, a kiss like he was trying to wake you from a thousand-year slumber.
Your hand still on his cock, you pumped it a few times, swiping your thumb against his tip to lubricate his dick. He groaned into your mouth, humming in pleasure. You try to line him up to sink in your hole, but he slaps you on the wrist. "Don't want your cunt tonight," he mumbled in between kisses, "Jus' let me feel you."
He pumped his cock a few times before slotting it in between the meat of your thighs. The veins and ridges of his dick would occasionally slide between your folds, but that wasn't the focus. No matter how much you wiggled for him to plant his cock so far deep it kissed your cervix, you were ignored as he squeezed your thighs together, panting as he fucked them.
The juxtaposition made your head dizzy. The softness with which he kissed you and the fervor of his dick between your thighs, them getting wetter with the accumulation of precum leaking from his dick. It only forced him to press harder, leaving handprints from how hard he gripped. "Such a pretty thing, aren't you." He sighed out, his pace still even but his breaths far from it. "Go ahead and touch that pretty cunt f' me."
As much as your brain wasn't working, it wasn't needed to do what you were told. Bleary-headed, your hand traveled from the outside of your leg to between your folds. Still wet from your previous orgasm, it didn't take much to just slip a couple fingers in, moaning as you did. One hand toyed with your tit as the other toyed with your clit, your hips wanting to buck into your hand had it not been for Spike's palm on your stomach.
Had he had the composure, he would have made some sarcastic comment. Slow down, love, what's the rush, is what he would've said had his thrusts not been as sloppy as they were. He pulled away from your lips to see the mess he was making. White beads pooled on the skin of your stomach, dripping down your thighs like liquid pearls. And you. Low warm light bouncing off your skin, lip tucked in your teeth, staring right up at him. It took all of him not to cum at the sight.
Not before you did, he decided, which by the way your moans pitched up wasn't that far away. Each "accidental" slide into you was met with a jerk of your hips. "Stop it", you squealed, the bucking of your hips screaming otherwise.
"Feels too good, doesn't it." Then he did it again. His large hand drifts around before grabbing your abandoned tit, groping it until you hit your limit again. Your chest heaved unevenly as you tried to catch your breath as Spike's hips sped up, stuttered, then stopped as his cum splashed on your stomach and breasts.
Spent and not knowing what to do, he kisses you again. He smiles into it, and to his surprise, you do too. Like it was the only thing that made sense to do. The fuzz gradually fades from your mind, the noise from the multiple fans running and the faint humming of electricity apparent again. There's a breeze coming in from your window and you giggle.
Your sweetheart season event is so incredibly cute, I love it!
And I can't believe you write for Spike! I just gotta send a request in.
I was hoping I could request something with Spike x fem or gn reader, no preference, for the Valentine's Date Planner event? I was thinking of stargazing and the prompt "I can't stop thinking about you" from the lots and lots of flirting list. I was hoping it could have a soft and sweet undertone if that's okay?
If you write this, thank you so much!
Have a great rest of your day/night and I really hope you enjoy writing these events as much as I know I, and countless others, will enjoy reading them!
title; all I see is you
pairing; spike x fem!reader
prompt/s; "I can't stop thinking about you" — lots and lots of flirting prompt list
The night air carried a faint chill, the kind that made you grateful for someone to lean against. You'd driven out past the edge of town, where the streetlights gave up, and the sky opened wide—like someone had punched holes in black velvet just to let the light spill through.
Spike had insisted on the spot. "None of that poncy observatory rubbish," he'd grumbled earlier, cigarette dangling from his lips as he leaned against the hood of his DeSoto. "Real stars need real dark. Trust me, pet. Been lookin' at 'em longer than your great-great-grannies were in nappies."
Now the two of you were stretched out on a thick blanket he'd somehow produced from the trunk—black, of course, because Spike. A half-empty bottle of cheap red wine sat between you. He'd called it "plonk," but he'd still poured you the first glass with surprising care. The grass was cool beneath the fabric, and every so often a breeze rustled the leaves overhead.
You tilted your head back, tracing constellations you half-remembered from school. Orion. The Big Dipper. Nothing fancy, but beautiful in their quiet way.
Spike was quiet beside you, unusually so. No quips about how humans romanticized twinkling gas balls, no mocking poetry references. Just the soft rhythm of his unnecessary breathing, slow and steady, like he was trying to match yours.
You turned your face toward him. The moonlight caught the sharp lines of his cheekbones, turned his bleached hair almost silver. His eyes—those piercing blue eyes—were fixed on the sky, but you could tell his thoughts were somewhere else.
"Penny for 'em?" you asked softly.
He huffed a small laugh, the sound low and fond. "Dangerous currency, love. Might bankrupt you." But he rolled onto his side, propping his head on one hand so he could look at you properly. The motion brought him closer; you could smell the faint leather of his duster mixed with smoke and something uniquely him.
"Been thinkin'," he said after a moment, voice quieter than usual. "About you."
Your heart gave a little skip. "Yeah?"
"Can't seem to help it." He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with the backs of his fingers—gentle, almost hesitant, like he was afraid he'd break something fragile. "Day or night. Awake or… whatever passes for sleep with me. You're there. In my head. Under my skin. I can't stop thinking about you."
The words hung between you, simple and unguarded. No grand declarations, no dramatic flourishes—just the truth, raw and quiet, the way only Spike could deliver it when the walls were down.
You felt warmth bloom in your chest, soft and steady. "Spike…"
He gave a crooked half-smile, the kind that didn't quite hide the vulnerability underneath. "Soppy, yeah? Big bad vampire gone all soft over a girl and a few stars. Dru'd laugh herself sick. Or stake me. One or the other."
You shifted closer until your shoulder pressed against his. "I like it. The soft part."
His gaze dropped to your lips for a second, then back up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." You reached for his hand, threading your fingers through his. His skin was cool, but the contact sent warmth racing up your arm anyway. "I think about you, too. All the time."
He exhaled, a sound that was half-laugh, half-relief, and tugged you gently until you were curled against his side, your head resting on his chest. No heartbeat, but the rise and fall was there if you listened close enough, like he was breathing just for this moment.
"Look," he murmured, pointing upward with his free hand. "Right there. That bright one? Venus. Evenin' star. Bloody poetic, innit? All glow and mystery. Reminds me of you."
You smiled into the leather of his coat. "Flatterer."
"Truth, pet." His arm tightened around you, thumb tracing lazy circles on your shoulder. "Whole bloody sky full of stars, and all I see is you."
The night stretched on—quiet, endless, perfect. No apocalypses, no demons, no pasts clawing at the edges. Just the two of you, a blanket, and a universe that for once felt kind enough to let you have this.
You tilted your chin up, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I can't stop thinking about you either."
Spike's eyes softened, the smirk melting into something real and tender. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss that tasted like wine and starlight and forever possibilities.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. "Good," he whispered. "Means I'm doin' somethin' right."
description: spike begins to regret buying the games console currently residing in your room when you develop a slight obsession with baldur’s gate 3 and one character in particular. now, he’s finding himself jealous of a pixelated blonde british vampire.
warnings: this is a bit silly but i couldn’t get the idea out of my head lol, bit of swearing, bg3 spoilers maybe for astarion, suggestive themes at the end, it’s also pretty short n sweet
author’s note: I’M BACK BABY! was plagued with this idea so had to write it. please let me know what you think and if you want more spike fics (or some astarion hehe). not sure how i feel about this bc it’s been unfinished for so long but hopefully you like it!!!
———
“Oh bloody hell, again?”
You turned to peer at your boyfriend who had just climbed into your window, watching him lean against the sill with a pout on his face.
You paused briefly to shoot him a smile, before turning back to pause the game and engage in full conversation with him.
“Listen babe, you bought me the Xbox,” you hummed teasingly, “You basically encouraged this. And you got back just in time for the next Astarion romance scene!”
He scoffed, “Oh gee golly, lucky me.”
You laughed, shaking your head with a roll of your eyes, “C’mon sourpuss, come sit down.”
Reluctantly, he made his way over the couch and sat himself down beside you, momentarily softening as you leaned into him before huffing again when you resumed play.
“Can barely remember the time when I used to climb in through your bedroom window and be met with kisses ‘n’ love,” he tutted, “Now I’m competing for your attention with a bloody cluster of pixels on a screen.”
“Hey, no competition,” you shook your head, pressing a kiss to his temple before sticking out your tongue teasingly, “Not much, anyway.”
He scoffed, “What d’you even see in the bloke? He’s all silver hair and melodrama.”
It was your turn to scoff now, looking across at him with eyes that practically screamed ‘are you kidding?’ as he rolled his.
“My hair is blonde,” he folded his arms over with a grunt, “And I am so not melodramatic.”
You reached out to rub his forearm, “And yet here you are in a strop because I fancy a cluster of pixels on a screen.”
In that moment, your screen showed a small exclamation mark atop Astarion’s head at camp.
You giggled as you folded your legs so they were crossed and sat up straight to start the dialogue with your favourite character.
“Bloody shameless,” Spike narrowed his eyes, “Gettin’ all hot for him when I’m right here!”
Nudging him slightly, you let out a small laugh, “I am not getting hot for him! I’m just enjoying my game and happen to have a type.”
“Oi!”
Throughout the game conversation, and the romantic cutscene that followed, Spike spent the whole time continuing to grumble and making fun of things Astarion would say.
“Who’s this evil fella he’s whining about,” he gestured towards the screen after Astarion mentioned his desire to defeat his master Cazador, “and why don’t you fancy him instead if he’s so big and bad?”
“I’m assuming you’re saying that because you still consider yourself a big bad, babe,” you chuckled, “So can I remind you that pre-soul evil you… I was so not interested in.”
He gasped, “Hey! I could still be a big bad if I wanted to. And you so were interested in me. I saw you always giving me googly eyes and all that.”
“Googly eyes?”
“Lookin’ at me all like you wanted to either marry me or rip my clothes off,” he smirked, running his tongue over his teeth, “Not that I’d have minded either way, love.”
You’d paused your game now, eyes fixated on your boyfriend, who was matching your gaze intently.
“Well I’m not blind,” you discarded your controller and crawled into his lap, the game music quietly ongoing in the background as his arms curled around you and he pressed a kiss to your forehead.
“Well you fancy this silly video game bloke so your taste ain’t all that good, love.”
You peered up at him, “He’s a blonde — fine, silver haired—British vampire, with a satisfying redemption arc, a good heart deep down and a pretty face to top all that off.”
Spike seemed thoughtful for a moment, his eyes narrowed as he pulled you tighter to his chest, “He’s not even a proper vampire!”
“For someone who hates him so much, you’ve paid a lot of attention to his storyline, baby,” you teased.
He grunted, “Gotta size up the competition, duh.”
You giggled as you leaned up to nip at his jawline with soft kisses, showering him with the affection his silly jealousy seemed to have left him craving, “Like I said, he’s not real and not competition.”
Spike hummed in appreciation, hand curling tighter around your waist as he tilted his head down to capture your lips with his.
You matched the feverish passion immediately, hands curling around his neck as you shifted to straddle him now.
He pulled back for just a second, pouring like a petulant child, “See, I’m the one you should be gettin’ all flustered for. It’s only me who gets to actually make you feel like this.”
Your cheeks stained crimson at his words, lashes fluttering up at him as his warm breath fanned over your face and his hands moved down to cup your thighs close to him.
“You are, you idiot,” you whispered, kissing the corner of his lips, “It is.”
“Mhm, you can forget about Asterix or whatever his bloody name is,” the skirt you were wearing was completely ridden up now, his hand underneath it and palming the soft flesh of your thigh, “Wastin’ your time playing that game when you’ve got me here to take care of you.”
You laughed, “Need I remind you that I was playing it ‘cause you weren’t here. And it’s Astarion.”
“Ah so you’re replacing me with the pixel bloke, huh,” the teasing in his tone was still tinged with with a little tint of jealousy, “Go do good for five minutes and you need to get your rocks off watching animated you getting it on with an animated vampire.”
You shook your head, “Stop making this weird you jealous idiot,” another chuckle escaped your parted lips as you leaned over to turn the Xbox off.
“Jealous? Pfft.”
“It’s a game,” you hummed against his jawline, now pressing kisses along it again and down the length of his throat, “But this isn’t.”
Your hands brushed down the expanse of Spike’s back, gripping his t-shirt and removing it in one swift motion as he raised his arms and smirked at you.
Returning his hands to your thighs, it was his turn to laugh, “Oh I know that, sweet thing.”
Your lips met again, eyes fluttering shut as he kissed you like he really did need to show you he was better and more important than the silly crush you had on your favourite character.
He scooped you up, carrying you over to your bed quickly and gently placing you down on the bed beneath him, climbing over you immediately.
Your hands flew up to his bare chest, hooking round his neck to pull him back in for a kiss.
He smirked into the kiss, withdrawing his head for just one second as he began to unbutton your blouse, “That’s my girl.”
You loved how possessive Spike could be. How obsessed he was with showing you how he felt about you and just how much he’d do to make it known you were his.
“I love you, Spike,” you smiled, breathlessly mumbling the words as his hands kept you close to him.
“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replied between kisses, pausing for a moment to shake his head as he remembered the previous conversation that had led you here.
“And I still don’t know what you see in him!”
“Would you just shut up and kiss me?”
———
this has been in my drafts unfinished for SOOO long and i’m still not happy with it. but i hope you enjoyed — PLEASE request some more spike fics, i love writing spike so much !!! in the meantime, here is my masterlist <3
Warning: reader drinks, difficult relationship with parents, especially dad!Giles, reader loses their home.
You had moved to Sunnydale a few years prior with your father, he had tried desperately to train you up as a watcher but you never listened, you hated following orders and ultimately, you failed your observation when the watcher’s council came into town to check on your progress.
It bored you and for the 48 hours that you had been in charge of Buffy, you had all gone to the Bronze and let an apocalyptic rift open in the heart of the town when you failed to investigate or do any meaningful research. In your defence, it was a very minor and basically harmless apocalypse. Well, it was after Angel contacted your father when he couldn’t get hold of you or Buffy and he came back into town.
You hated dusty research and telling people what they ought to be doing. You hated the weird pressure your father put on you to become a watcher just like him and sometimes, you even hated Buffy because of the way your father doted on her so. She could do no wrong, even when he was mad at her or telling her what to do he gave her a much easier time than he ever had with you.
You were a disappointment. You could see that clearly enough.
You stayed in Sunnydale though, for reasons unknown to yourself. You just didn’t have anywhere else to go. Nothing excited you, it seemed.
You had moved back in with your father after you couldn’t make rent. You had let another crappy job throw you out the door. You just couldn’t stick to their stupid pointless rules. They made no sense and they paid you next to nothing at that.
You were sitting on the lid of the toilet as Buffy fed your newest houseguest blood from a novelty mug.
“Willow may have had a very helpful idea. She seems to be coping better with Oz’s departure, don’t you think?” Giles asked walking back into the bathroom, directing his words at Buffy rather than the rest of the room as he walked in. It was like you didn’t exist most of the time.
“Well, she still has a way to go but, yeah, I think she’s dealing”
“What, are you people blind? She’s hanging on by a thread” Spike stated, muttering to himself after and rolling his eyes. Buffy just scoffed and left the room, taking the blood he had been drinking away with her as your Dad followed her out.
You had just been about to say something similar, but in a perhaps more conversational format rather than accusatory.
“You’re quite astute really, aren’t you” You said, scanning Spike’s face. He used to creep you out a bit back when he was trying to kill you and all that. Not that you would admit it.
You had never really studied him this closely before. But looking at him now, he just looked so normal. Apart from the shackles and the almost painfully pale complexion… and the fact he had blood crusting at the corners of his mouth.
“It’s no talent, pet, a man walkin’ in from the street could read the lot of you like a book”
“I like to think I’m not that predictable”
“Don’t you all. Humans, you’re always thinking you’re so original, but you’re all a copy of the last”
“I guess when you’ve been around a thousand years everything gets sort of old… apart from the, uh, obvious” you sort of gestured vaguely at his face, a little glint in your eye as you teased him.
“Watch it” He warned, his shackles clinking against the tub as he pointed to accentuate his words. You waited for a moment in silence, watching the tap slowly drip beads of water into the cool porcelain. You waited about seven drips before you spoke again.
“Don’t you get bored? I get bored of the days here sometimes, it’s always a demon or a spell or some dumb melodrama with Dad’s little protegees”
You were surprised at the way this admittance casually tumbled from your own mouth. You weren’t sure why you were speaking to him like this, perhaps you were seeking some kind of connection. It was very you to try in such a stupid place.
“No” he shrugged turning away from you and staring up at the ceiling.
“Come on, I’m trying to open up here”
“Well close back up again” He shrugged, his eyes still fixed upwards. You shrugged, standing and leaving him in his bathtub. You hoped boredom consumed him for the rest of the day.
You left for a bar and returned late at night, having missed another eventful Sunnydale evening. By the morning when it had all calmed down, Willow had showed up to apologise again to Giles and caught you brewing your morning beverage.
She explained animatedly about your father going blind, Buffy and Spike getting engaged and Xander being a demon magnet. You tried very hard to focus on her words and gasp in the correct places whilst your head spun and you gripped the handle of your mug.
Willow was your favourite out of the Scoobies, she was a sweet kid and you made the most effort with her as you got the sense she knew what not being listened to felt like. You were glad you had missed the evening’s events, not that sitting alone at a bar and nursing a drink was much more interesting.
A few weeks later, Spike had been allowed to roam more freely by this point and he was lying on the sofa in your living room. You had a snack in your mouth and had carried a steaming mug of blood in one hand and a box of Weetabix in the other.
You gestured with your head for him to move his legs and he just stared at you for a moment before moving and snatching the mug and the box from your hands. You settled in beside him in front of an episode of Passions, trying, once again to speak to him but he was cold with you. Not even a thank you for the blood. I mean, he was evil, but did he have to keep it up all of the time?
You had tried talking to him, asking him questions about his past but he only really gave short sentences in reply. Today you were unceremoniously told to shut up so that he could watch Passions in peace.
You huffed but stayed beside him, weirdly drawn in by the stupid show. You missed his eyes lingering on you briefly as you glued your eyes to the set.
Truth was, Spike had a little soft spot for you. One that had grown even slightly since he had become a hostage in the same house you lived in. He tried to keep a distance from you, not directly look you in the eye as if you were some kind of love-inducing gorgon that would turn his resolve into a stone that could so easily crumble.
But he wouldn’t give anything away.
By the time Spike left, you were relieved that you could use your bathroom in peace. You knew trying to talk to him had been a waste of time but he interested you and, more to the point, you had found yourself being incredibly lonely.
You had been distracted lately, trapped inside your mind. You felt like you were missing something. So much so you had maybe accidentally skipped a couple of shifts at your new job. You had been sneaking back into your house when Giles caught you. You winced at his voice, knowing you would have to fess up.
“Shouldn’t you be at the Magic Box?”
“Oh, right, about that…” You began, unsure how to explain what had happened the day before. You had been avoiding your Dad ever since. You didn’t have to say anything, he already knew.
“You really are a bloody-”
“A what? Go on, say it!”
“A liability” He stormed over and poured himself a whiskey.
“It’s not exactly surprising is it, being told I couldn’t even visit my mother, left only with a man like you as a father, hey Ripper?” You don’t know why you said it. Truly, he wasn’t a terrible father. He was just bad at hiding his disappointment which made you feel, in a word, terrible about yourself.
He went very quiet for a moment. The temperature seemed to drop before he finally spoke again.
“I suggest you leave”
“What-?”
“Pack up your things and leave” he repeated, pronouncing each word crisply.
“You can’t mean that!”
“You can’t support yourself, Y/n, and I certainly shouldn’t have to”
“Where am I supposed to go?!”
“I suppose you will have to begin by figuring that out for yourself” He stared through you, downing the rest of his scotch before thundering up the stairs to his room and slamming the door.
You were ashamed to admit that as soon as he slammed the door, you broke down into tears. You knew you had been fucking everything up. You just wanted something more, you couldn’t describe it.
You packed a bag, slung it over your shoulder and walked out of the door, not once looking back. To this day you still don’t know how long you walked for, but by the time that you could see the sun threatening the dark skies through your blurred vision you had found yourself in a graveyard.
You had nowhere else to go and you weren’t above sleeping in a graveyard, you soon discovered You were so exhausted you could barely move another step. You ducked into some old mausoleum, kicking away some dust from the corner and laying out your jacket as a sort of mattress and you bag as a pillow.
You curled into the corner and screwed your eyes up. You had finally began to drift into a fitful sleep when heavy footprints came towards you.
“This ain’t a bloody hotel, bugger off would you-!” He stormed, reaching down to grab your shoulder before he recognised you, “Y/n?”
You bolted up, relaxing only for a moment when you noted you weren’t in any immediate danger before descending straight into embarrassment. You would really rather he hadn’t caught you sleep-crying on the floor of a crypt. Then again, it didn’t really matter what he thought, you reminded yourself quickly. He scanned your face, finding pain written there and seemingly making a decision before he turned away.
You stood up, noting an old couch had been pushed into the far corner of the tomb. You sat on it, bringing your bag with you and noting that it was only marginally more comfortable than the floor.
“Here” Spike returned, offering you a half empty bottle of liquor. You took it, nodding your thanks and taking two large gulps. His eyes bulged for a moment before pulling a face of slight approval, until you looked back at him and he hid any evidence of expression from his face.
“Why are you being nice?”
“You take that back. I’m not bloody nice”
“No, I know, you’re evil and all that. I’ll admit, I felt a little shiver when I saw you first until, I uh, remembered you couldn’t…” You tailed off, “Not helping my case am I?”
“Liquor’s the cheap stuff so you’re doin’ me a favour by getting rid of it” he shrugged. Spike was secretly pleased for the company. He had felt so alone of late.
You watched his lips, eyes scanning down to his neck and over his leather-clad torso. The way the dim light accentuated his features, the curve of his jaw, that sparkle in his eye, that smirk that was never far from his lips.
A Summer breeze refreshed their skin. The crickets chimed in a frenzy. Another night of hunting, another night of scars and beatings. Your body can't keep up. The cemetery was finally quiet and in peace. You make sure the Scobies are okay before you head out of the cemetery to your house. You eye Spike on your way out, forcing yourself to not limp. You swore that he looked back at you, reading your intent. You didn't want to draw attention to yourself, especially not from Spike. You'd be mortified if he took care of you. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if he was that caring and vulnerable. Your brain would explode with serotonin and dopamine. You make sure to announce you're leaving before making a quick getaway.
You barely make it to your house. After a long shower you survey the damage to your body. Carefully, you dab, clean and patch up all your bruises and cuts. You're sore and tired. As you walk over to your room you keep replaying the events that occurred tonight. You worried about everyone's safety but when it came to Spike you worried the most. He could hold up his own, but still... You reminded yourself that he was a vampire with more years of experience than you. You were thankful for his presence and his decision to intervene when you almost got pummeled. Very chivalrous of him. It made you blush.
Feet tired and dragging, you make it to your bed. It’s not long before you fall asleep and disappear into the dreamscape.
Outside cigarette smoke litters the air. Spike stands by a tree close to your window. He is worried for your safety and wellbeing. He made sure that you made it home safe. Obviously, he was careful to not be seen. He longed to take care of you, to make you feel safe. However, this was as far as he dared go. A monster like him didn’t deserve to be happy.
Inside, you tossed and turned in fear. In your dream you were in the woods, running, You didn’t know why, only that you were in danger. You had the vague feeling that you weren’t alone. Spike, he was with you. You searched for him, seeking refuge. If you reached him, everything would be alright. You reach a clearing with no one present. Your heartbeat in your ears. You wait as if destined to be there. In the distance you can hear grunting and fighting but you can’t move. Your feet glued to the floor. Eventually you see Spike being tossed in the air, he lands hard into the clearing. You fear for his life. A demon appears, mangled and mean. Spike scrambles to get away from him, fear in his eyes. You have never seen Spike so afraid. The demon is holding a long wooden stake like a stick. You scream for Spike to watch out but no sound escapes your lips. You are mute and stuck. Your breath is labored and panicked. Spike is unable to get away and before he can get up he is staked and turned into dust. Your eyes widen, tears stream down your face. You’re at a loss and afraid of what will happen to you. You try to force yourself to move as the demon approaches you, a long sword now in his hand. As he swings you wake up, drenched in sweat. Your heartbeat fast and your breath caught in your throat.
You panic. What about Spike? Is he gone? Did this really happen tonight? Your mind is foggy and in disarray. You couldn’t remember if this happened. You jolt out of bed and get dressed. You run out of your house and straight to Spike’s crypt. You needed to make sure he was okay. You needed to be sure that he still lived.
You bust into Spike’s crypt, eyes wild and searching. There he is, sitting in his armchair watching TV. You rush to him and place your hands on either side of his face, making sure it wasn’t a dream. Tears roll down your face as you repeat ‘you’re safe.”
Spike looks at you bewildered and confused. He slowly places his hands on top of yours.
“What’s happenin’, love?’ Spike gets up, still holding your hands to his face.
You rapidly explain your dream between sobs and tears. Spike’s eyes soften, his heart melts. He wishes every moment with you could be like this.
“Mighty worried for an old vampire.” Spike deflects.
You breathe hard, not knowing your next move. Without thinking your mouth moves.
“Spike, I love you too much to lose you.”
You swear that you heard him gasp. He is stunned and stuck. His brain is a mess, and no words will come out. He chooses to do the next logical thing, he kisses you. He pours his desire and feelings in one kiss, hoping that you hear what he is trying to say.
You melt into the kiss and let go of your inhibitions. Your arms wrap around him, and you let yourself be guided by him. You eventually come out for air, making sure to make eye contact as you break the kiss.
Spike is left in awe of his own actions but doesn’t back down. He wraps his arms around you tightly and bring you closer to his body. You take a chance to memorize the feeling of his body.
“Love, I’ve been dying to hear you say those words.”
You smile, appreciative that your feelings are reciprocated.
“Let me stay the night.” You state more than ask.
Spike leans down for another kiss, slower and more passionate. He memorizes your taste, your feel. He wishes that all his years alive were this moving and strong. He forgets himself as he kisses you. He forgets that you need air. You gently pull away, dazed and happy.
“You can stay any night, pet.”
Spike gladly leads you to his bed where you both lie in bliss. No more fear. No more disarray. Only comfort and safety. He may be a monster, but in your eyes he was a man. Not just any man, your man.
Coming back for a short moment after hiatus because I’m having a new hyperfixation on Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and of course I stan Spuffy so hard. (Fuffy is second, Bangel is never, and Ruffy is in hell)
Quick drabble/ imagine
Warnings! Mention of sex, slightly toxic relationship (it’s Spuffy, consume at your own discretion) slight spoilers of S6 (1-16)
I can’t stop imagining jealous!Buffy. Like, we know Spike is jealous over even the idea of another guy romantically involved in Buffy’s life. But imagine s6 Buffy getting silently jealous over Spike getting attention from a fangirl or someone who finds him attractive, and she is too proud and in denial to admit that it pisses her off even in the slightest. Not even denial, she just straight up refuses to allow herself to be jealous or think about it. But Spike knows because he can read her like a book (soulmate stuff, and also I believe he has some empathy towards the Scoobies and can tell everything about them as a middle ground/ bystander.)
Some girl comes into the Magic Shop at night for some reason and interupts the Scoobies and Spike. She knows a lot about vampires, especially Spike, Angel and Dracula and is one of those girls who has the total hots for them and has a vampire bite fetish/ kink. Realizing it’s Spike after conversing with the Scoobies on some strange demon that chased her into the Magic Shop (which coincidentally will be the episode’s main antagonist or something) she totally freaks out and is coming onto him like crazy. She’s not super touchy and isn’t throwing herself on him, but she flirts with him very obviously in front of everyone and gushes about how much she’s read on them and other vampires. Spike, of course, is totally enjoying the attention and is hoping that it’s working as pay back for Buffy making him jealous at the party and other small moments (even if it’s not actually her idea or intention to make him jealous).
Immediately he notices her microreactions to the situation because as soon as the girl starts gushing about him his eyes are immediately on her to gage her reaction. Furrowing her brow a little, chewing her lip, talking fast or interjecting quickly, avoiding conversation topics or eye contact, staring them down when she thinks he isn’t noticing, crossing her arms or frantically finding tasks to distract her. He reads her like a book and to his pleasant surprise he knows how jealous she is and plays into it. He has no real intentions with the fangirl, he is already starting to find her a pest and secretly wishes he could snack on her instead, but the change of pace is fun and he’s enjoying seeing Buffy seethe over him (also the chip in his head). He does it just to prove to himself (and to her) that she does love him. Just a little.
Spike makes sure to catch Buffy’s eyes whenever the girl makes advances at him or is in his vicinity. It gets to a boiling point where Buffy will interupt the girl saying something to gush about her knowledge of Spike’s legend just so that she can one-up her, but has to quickly back down because the things she is about to say will reveal their relationship to her friends, and she’s still too worried to explain to any of them what she and Spike have been doing all season.
The girl continues essentially begging Spike to bite her and how she wants to be bitten by a vampire so bad, and he intentionally doesn’t tell her that he can’t bite her, just dragging it out with empty promises or pretending he’s too bashful to do it (even though he would, but not for her pleasure). Buffy almost slips up and brags that Spike can only bite her because of a chip in his head, but she’s only told Tara about that (and their relationship) so she just has to bite her lip and keep quiet.
Spike finds it extra amusing when she’s about to reveal herself to everyone and seeing her get frozen in place and nervous when she has to steer the topic again to keep from exposing their ‘little secret’. Everyone gets a little suspicious as it goes on, but no one really believes that Buffy would get with Spike still so they just drop it or rationalize it.
This goes on for a day or two before Buffy gets fed up and totally chews the girl up in private, scaring her off for a while. She tried to blow the steam off by going on extra patrols, really she did. (At least that’s what she’ll tell you). But, in a fit of pent-up rage and jealousy she barges into Spike’s crypt when he’s unsuspecting and of course they destroy the house again with their angry hate sex now mixed with the strength and determination of jealous!Buffy. Needless to say, it wasn’t just Buffy who had a trouble walking afterwards this time. (And it was definitely longer than 5 hours).
Naturally after releasing all of the tension, Buffy feels bad for going off on the poor girl and apologizes to her, but she goes back off to her own life regardless after defeating big-bad of the day. Spike then teases Buffy about it all the time, making subtle hints and remarks to it when they fight, and it makes her a little more aggravated every time because she knows he has her right where he wants her and she can’t have that—because she can’t have him. (Or so she believes).
Holy fuck im so feral for them. Me when the hyperfixation go so brrrr i cant help but come back a little while just to rant and be in fandom discussion. Guys..i might have to switch gears/ fandoms rn bc i cant bro AUGSJFNFKSKFN i could go on forever abt this show bro..and Spuffy. Sighhhh…Spuffy….
