[This piece is a mere abstract interpretation of a conversation between Spike and Niah while the ‘sun’ slowly sets on Mars, which is where the surrounding theme of twilight in their story takes place. Originally in my mind, I would have drawn Niah in a gown with a pink sheer kimono falling off her shoulders, but I decided to go with something casual such as high-waist pants, tank, and a button-down shirt for this variation. ]

It’s a languid, moony scene where Spike walks into her yard to find her lounging on a lawn chair, sipping on some red wine and enjoying the scenery of her garden. She doesn’t appear to realize his presence quite yet, as her mind was lost in the enchantment of a daydream for a while now, making her lose partial focus on reality. But for just a moment, Spike stands still to bask in the quiet scene, eyes half-lidded beneath the shadow of his curly fringes as he watches her swallowed up in touches of red and green, smoke from his cigarette swirling across his vision. Spike can only admire from afar. At a distance. With a heart that aches at the sight of her. A heart full of yearning, tastes bittersweet upon his tongue, like forbidden fruit he desires to take a bite out of for just a measly taste. A simple drop of sweet wine that taints her lips a blushing red.

Tight Fit (Spike Spiegel)

Kinktober 2023 Day Nine: Riding

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

Spike usually doesn’t let anyone in the Swordfish II.

  The cockpit isn’t very big. And flying this ship isn’t quite for amateurs since it’s a repurposed MONO racer. Not to mention, Spike doesn’t any just about anyone to mess with his stuff. Even when he’s there to watch over things with a keen eye.

  But all you had to do was let him get you all wined and dined up one night on Ganymede. And then bat your pretty eyes at him a couple of times while letting that pout of yours settle on your lip. And suddenly, he’s pulling you into the Swordfish- still tucked away nice and safe on the Bebop- and reclining the seat as far back as he can while pulling you onto his lap.

  “It’s a snug fit,” He murmurs at you. Eyes half-lidded and voice a little heavy as he peers up at you from the pilot’s chair that has him nearly lying down beneath you. You can smell his drink on him. Just a little bit. But he’s had one less glass than you and you’re walking and talking and feeling just fine. And you’d like to think that he’s feeling fine too. Given the fact that you’re feeling something hard and stiff and thick poking at your thigh while you’re straddling in “I might need to take these panties off of you. It could make things a little more comfortable, you know?

  And you know for a fact that’s not his gun.

  You do know that something as simple as taking off your panties would make you a lot more comfortable. A lot more happy. You do know, so you have no qualms with lifting and shifting your hips to let him slide the lacy pair of panties you chose for him tonight. And when they’re all the way down your thigh and starting to hang off of just one leg, he used one hand to reach down at his pants and another to cup the back of your head and push you into letting his lips touch yours. You don’t need any coaxing. Because you’re already running your fingers through his hair and gripping at his suit jacket, humming as he kisses you deeper and deeper and deeper.

  It’s starting to get hot in the Swordfish. It’s starting to get hot in his arms. But when you stop running your hands through his hair to reach for the ends of your dress to tug it off you, he stops you. He breaks the kiss for a moment, and you’re already missing the feeling of making out with him a little too much to be embarrassed about it. But then his eyes trail downwards. Looking past your face, and traveling down your neck. Moving a little further to take in your chest and the swell of that pretty little dress you find yourself and how it sits upon your waist and your hips and your everything else- just hidden and out of his view. 

  And then he reaches down. Not for your dress, but to go underneath.

  Your chest heaves. Up and down and up and down as your breathing grows more labored. More needy. But you don’t say anything- not even as he takes two of his fingers and swipes at the wet mess growing from your pussy. It makes a lewd sound. One that makes your cheeks warm and your gaze grow a little more bashful, despite the alcohol in your system. And that feeling only grows as his eyes trail upwards once more as he locks onto your gaze. Those same two fingers reach down, and stretch out wide to spread your lower lips for him. He doesn’t have to tell you what he needs. He doesn’t have to tell you what to do.

  Because before he can even open his mouth, you’re already reaching out to help him. One hand grabbing at your backside, spreading your cheeks to help him. Another hand wrapping itself around his dick. Giving it a few strokes. Working it with a few pumps. Letting the pre-cum leak all over your hand. And lining it up to your soaking-wet slit.

  Your knees ache in this position. This isn’t like fucking on the bed. Or fucking on the couch. Or even fucking on the ground. This is a space built for one. Trying to fit two. But you want it. You need it. So you let your thighs burn in favor of letting the bright red tip of his long, hard cock brush against your clit, sending little sparks of pleasure throughout your body. You let your gaze fall onto him- to the man you’re about to fuck- and you let out a little smile.

  There’s a whole lot of foreplay the two of you missed. Most guys wouldn’t have been able to get you this worked up with a couple of minutes of making out and a couple of sensual touches over your clothes. Most guys would have to buy you a bigger meal or the whole entire bottle just for you to consider saying yes. But him? But Spike? He’s different. He got you so easy. He got you so good. He got you so wound up and rolled tight that somehow, someway…

  …you’re able to sink his cock into your nice and warm insides like he was meant to be there all along.

  And because you’re needy. And because you’re whiny. And because you want nothing more than for his breath to become your breath as you fog up the glass of the Swordfish, you’re instantly lifting up your hips and lowering yourself on his dick with a giddy sense of eagerness. He comes in easily. He slips out just as easily. Though there are a couple of feelings. A couple of feelings that have you gasping. A couple of feelings that have him groaning. The way you would tighten up around him. The way you feel him dragging himself against your inner walls. The way you would take so much of him only to pull all the way out and shove him inside you again. And the way that he managed to let his dick kiss that spot inside of you that has you stutter out a name. His name.

  “Spike…” You say it so softly. You say it like a prayer. It gets lost in the sound of Swordfish creaking and groaning with all the movements. But somehow he can hear it. He can hear it so loud and so clear. Because he’s the one keeping you warm tonight. He’s the one who showed you a good time. He’s the one taking care of you. Showing you his beautiful ship. Filling you up with his long, hard dick. “...fuck…”

  And so his hands come up and grab at your hips from beneath your dress. They hike up the fabric so he can see all of you as he stuffs you nice and full. And they guide your hips a little more to move in the way that he wants them to move. To let you grind against him. To let you roll against him. Or to keep you still as he pressed his feet flat against the nearest surface and bucks into you a man gone mad with lust. A man gone mad for you.

  And you’ll spend the rest of tonight moaning. Propped up on your knees and leaning over his figure as you continue the same routine. Up and down and up and down and up and down and up and down. Climbing and climbing and climbing your way to the top. Looking for the summit as your moans grow louder and your hands grip at his hair and his suit once more for a little more leverage. A little more of a chance of you reaching that peak faster. A little more of a chance of your moans getting louder. A little more of a chance of making this snug fit even more snug. Even more tight. Not that you’re complaining of course. 

  Because the glass is already getting a little harder to see through. And the air is now noticeably warmer than before. You’re having a blast like this. And he’s doing a good job taking care of you. Like he always had. Like you knew he would. After all, Spike doesn’t let anyone just anyone inside the Swordfish. It’s too important of a ship. He’s too grumpy of a person. And it’s too snug of a cockpit. But you’re lucky. You’re so, so, so lucky. Because you’re not just anyone to Spike. You’re someone special. Someone important.

  Someone worth getting this close to.

[This piece is a mere abstract interpretation of a conversation between Spike and Niah while the 'sun' slowly sets on Mars, which is where the surrounding theme of twilight in their story takes place. Originally in my mind, I would have drawn Niah in a gown with a pink sheer kimono falling off her shoulders, but I decided to go with something casual such as high-waisted pants, tank, and a button-down shirt for this variation. ]

It's a languid, moony scene where Spike walks into her yard to find her lounging on a lawn chair, sipping on some red wine and enjoying the scenery of her garden. She doesn't appear to realize his presence quite yet, as her mind was lost in the enchantment of a daydream for a while now, making her lose partial focus on reality. But for just a moment, Spike stands still to bask in the quiet scene, eyes half-lidded beneath the shadow of his curly fringes as he watches her swallowed up in touches of red and green, smoke from his cigarette swirling across his vision. Spike can only admire from afar. At a distance. With a heart that aches at the sight of her. A heart full of yearning, tastes bittersweet upon his tongue, like forbidden fruit he desires to take a bite out of for just a measly taste. A simple drop of sweet wine that taints her lips a blushing red.

/it's okay to reblog btw

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Futile

character: spike spiegel

reader: implied afab

content warnings: forced birth control, forced surgical procedures.

notes: also on ao3. 400 word count. remastered version of sterile

You heard him echo throughout the ship, humming under his breath; a simplistic rhythm escaping past his lips, days, weeks after the fact.

“…They can fix me proper with a bit of luck.”

---

He had gotten a vasectomy, years before you met.

That was fine with you. Plenty of people got them, for various reasons; health, or lack of interest. Convenience. At that point in both of your lives, having—and, not to mention, potentially raising—a child wouldn’t be the smartest decision that either of you could make. And besides—ultimately, it was his body, in the end. It was his choice. And that was fine with you.

What got to you, however, was the way he worded it when you had asked him about it.

“Oh, yeah,” he drew out, in that casual, uninvested way he got, sometimes. “I had gotten it done years ago—kind of forgot about it, actually.” He avoided your eyes, in a way that made you think he hadn’t forgotten. Not after a decision like that. “I had to get it done,” he said, with his lips pursed. But the side closest to you curved upwards when he turned away. “I couldn’t—you know.”

You didn’t. And he wouldn’t elaborate.

“I would have gotten it done, anyways,” he shrugged, noncommittal. After a beat, after you sat there and began to process his words—“And then,” he gestured. “My eye.”

You didn’t know why he brought it up—it was fake, you knew. He’s told you. He lost it in an accident, years ago, and had it replaced. It was something that he never really brought up, and you didn’t want to pry, not after what must have been such a traumatic experience; but now, as he left you sitting with more questions, you couldn’t help but wonder: how was a vasectomy and an artificial eye related? You felt like you were missing something.

Something important, perhaps.

He made a noise, one you couldn’t quite decipher. And then—“Protection! It’s all about protection.” He wagged a finger, like he did when he was quoting Jet; but this time, the voice he used wasn’t his impression of the man at all. It sounded different. Distinct. Older. Slower.

Spike shrugged, again, and looked at you. But he evaded your eyes once more, something, somewhere, drawing his gaze. “I would have gotten it done, anyways,” he repeated, quieter, and scratched at his cheek. His third shrug lingered, leaving his lips lowering, his gaze far and off. “You know.”

And you wondered, then, if he would ever look at you again.

smoke and the mirrored soul

spike spiegel/faye valentine || hurt/comfort, established relationship, domestic fluff, vulnerability

two lovers bring out the most vivid of hues from each other in the midst of the weary dark.

(or: spike helps faye recover from her wounds after an explosive run-in with a bounty.)

read on ao3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"With her eyes closed she can visualize vivid hues spilling against the canvas of the room – cerise and carmine and the crush of soft velvet against her fingers, the tangy spin of saffron and cinnamon blending between the two of them, an elaborate angled brush sifting between colors and spurring light into the shadowed room. It's a brush he's placed into her hands, steadily guiding her arms to the canvas as she takes in the invigorating blur of life before her."

Under the cool tailspin of her ceiling fan, Faye sits with her knees drawn to her chest in the middle of the mattress. The dimmed lamp on her bedside table glows starkly against the pitch dark of the room, streaking light across the metal floor. Twelve hours ago, she had been ammo-to-ammo with a highly-sought group of explosives dealers with better aim than she'd expect. The subsequent bruised shoulder and strained calf weren't severe enough to entail a hospital trip, yet painful enough to keep her confined to the bed. Over the past few months, though, she's found she has someone to keep her company when she falls, willing to lull her into a dull-ache sleep with the curve of his fingers alone.

The creaking of the mattress beneath her indicates that Spike's moving her way. The subtle warmth makes her hair stand on end and unties the knots in her stomach, and the tread of two worn hands up the course of her back soothes her into a comforting drowsiness.

"See anything you like?" she drawls sarcastically, her voice hitching as his fingers reach her spine.

"Nothing that amuses me," he mutters, the warmth of his breathing tickling her neck.

The tip of the Jericho's trigger finger ghosts over a worn scar on her shoulder blade, and it takes everything in her soul to not sigh.

"Where's this one from?" he asks.

"Fight with a casino customer. She got violent after a few losing rounds. Doesn’t help that I’m not a fan of being challenged."

"If by that you mean a hair-trigger temper, then sure.”

She snaps her head around to glare at him, and he raises his hands in mock-surrender.

“And here?" He traces over the recovering bruise on her shoulder.

"Run-in with that explosives dealer. He was throwing punches like it was all he had in him. Should have bothered putting that effort in to cover up the evidence," she snidely remarks.

She can tell by the sharp inhale he takes that something's filling his mind like thick, unruly fog.

“It’ll clear up in a few days.” she reassuringly adds. "And you’ve had your share of fights too, you know. Can’t imagine the injuries you’ve built up.”

"S’pose you’re right." He pulls off his navy blue t-shirt and crumples it into a pile on the sheets.

As she uneasily shifts towards him, her eyes run a maze across him to reveal his body littered with scars that she fears the origin of. Meeting her gaze as his mahogany eyes drill into her, he silently allows her to draw closer.

Drawing her attention to every inch of him, her heart nearly shatters as she eyes the remnants of a slice of a blade against the curve of his ribs. Running the tips of her fingers over his shoulder blades, she gently presses into his skin to work out the tension wrought in his muscles. She trails her hands down to his lower waist, noting his slowed, calm breathing.

She examines the bandages wrapped around his waist, and notices the edges fraying and thinning. "You want me to replace them?"

He nods. "Only after I finish with yours." Using her arm to push down her weight, she turns her back to him. The pressure wears out her shoulder and she winces, seething at the pain coiling throughout her upper back.

Spike recoils at the sound, eyes stiffening with concern. He immediately stretches out his hands and grasps her upper arms to stabilize her as she sinks into the mattress.

"Thought I told you to take it easy."

"Can it,” she half-laughs and swallows, trying not to seethe as the pain radiates. “I’m trying to take care of you, too."

His voice slinks to her like the crawl of molasses, wrapped in a sorrow that sears into her. "I know, Faye. I know."

She melts under the mellow tone of his voice – he makes her name sound celestial drifting off his lips.

“Give me a minute. I’ll get you some ice,” he offers.

The mattress creaks as he shifts his weight across, stepping off to saunter to the kitchen as he closes the door behind him. The hallway light narrowly filters onto the floor.

How sickeningly tender was this scene – battered and bruised under the heat of the fight, only to stumble into each other’s arms, caving in with their spirits diluted. Even in this warm array their jabs and jolts at each other never did end – if anything, they were exacerbated by each other’s impatience at their recovery time.

She wouldn’t trade it for the world, she muses, as she watches Spike’s lanky shadow hinged in the doorway, treading a path back to the bed. He sits down with one leg curving into the sheets and the other hanging off the bed, foot pressed staunch against the floor.

With a tender, circular motion, he presses the ice into her right shoulder, easing the tension out of her left as he does so. The sensation is jarring, melting into her skin against the warmth of his hand. The blood in her shoulder flows again, and the pain dims to a slow throb as he wraps an elastic bandage around the bruise.

He shifts her leg so that her calf rests on his knee and moves the ice down, compressing the muscle. She closes her eyes, taking in the caution in his touch. The pull in her leg gnaws at her, but she takes a shaky breath in and tries to keep still.

When he finishes his round, she shifts back to face him, his hands clutching her waist to prevent her from straining herself.

She grasps the edge of the bandage from around his waist and unwraps it like she's weaving fabric between her fingers, taking the new roll of bandages from the bedside table as she inspects the old wound.

"Looks like it's recovering nicely," she notes as she watches the healed skin.

"Thanks for helping me handle it."

"I'm going to start giving you my hourly rate if you keep making me your personal nurse," Faye chides as she tries to keep him from fidgeting. He dryly laughs in response, but there's an undercurrent of tension. The steady tap of his fingers against the headboard stirs a steady rhythm.

Unwrapping the old bandages, she tosses them to the side and cleans off the skin with an antiseptic. She unscrews the lid to the antibiotic ointment and slathers it on the tips of her fingers, easing it over his wound, and lays down a thin layer of gauze.

Pulling out a long strand of the new bandage, she carefully wraps it around his waist, eyes dancing from his skin to his eyes to make sure he's comfortable and she hasn't pulled it too tight.

"About your shoul- shit! Would it kill you to take it slow?"

"You keep moving! You're like a broken motor, sputtering all over the place."

He lets out an irritated whine, and sits as still as he can as she finishes sealing off the wound. When she's draped a few layers of it, she seals it and runs her hands over his shoulders reassuringly.

"There you go. That wasn't so bad, now, was it?"

"Aren’t nurses known for being gentle?"

"Consider it payback for every time you’ve gotten on my nerves." She gives him a mischievous grin, feeling the ache in her shoulder diminish for a while.

He doesn't fight the smile creeping onto his lips, affectionate or otherwise. Burying his face in her violet hair, tendrils of her saffron perfume swirl around him. The warmth of his body collides into hers, and she bathes in the mellow vulnerability.

His eyes are soft, half-lidded and adoring – she’s begun to bring out the tender romantic in him. Returning his gaze, she traces her fingers back and forth over his cheekbones, soaking in the sharp contour of his face.

"Through sickness and through health," she sardonically laughs, but it's evident Spike isn't taking kindly to any jokes. As he lifts his head, she caresses his cheeks with her fingers, the tips of her meticulous nails treading along his skin. "Living on the borderline is how we've always done things. It's the only way you and I ever do things. You know that."

"Doesn't make me worry any less." Noting how his face contorts, she notices that he's begun to develop a sense of anxiety around losing any one of them, flashing before his eyes like sirens anytime they endured a serious injury.

Eyes flickering over her, he drapes an arm around her neck, pulling her in.

"I used to live life after life. Never really thought about the next day.” He muses, apprehension strung across his words. “But you can’t live a million lives, will you?" A trace of despair begins to fill his eyes, and she knows he's playing through his memories like a videotape.

In the months after Spike returned to the Bebop, he had first drowned in grief, leaped head-first into his pain with his left eye seething. Faye and Jet did everything in their power to be there for him. Consoling him through his guilt, staying with him through his nightmares, assuring and helping him work through his pain, just as they had done for each other.

But that innate terror of losing those they had grown to love was a permanent fixture in all of them, one that no stretch of time could dissolve. Though he had long forgone his past, coming to terms with the fates he had witnessed, it rooted invasively in him, entwining its branches over the scarred furrows of his mind.

She presses her forehead against his. In a hushed, honey-coated voice, she mumbles, "We've done this day in and day out. You, me, Jet – we're in this grind together. I trust that you’ll back me up. And you know I'll follow you to the ends of the earth, no question.”

The despair dissolves from his eyes. Starlight filters through the curtains and illuminates the tightly pressed curve of his lips. "I trust you. It just…” he trails off.

“Comes over you. I know.” she finishes as she combs her fingers through his hair, easing out the tangles.

“What, you reading my mind or something?” He cocks an eyebrow playfully.

“You’re proving my point here.”

“I’ll handle myself, Spike." She breathes in the scent of diluted sandalwood cologne and nicotine, soaking in the sight of him. “I’m just as agile as any cat," she adds.

A steady flame flickers through his eyes as he leans in, chastely brushing his lips against her forehead. “I can’t stand cats, you know that,” he mumbles.

“You can’t stand me, and look where we ended up.”

He chuckles as he pulls away, grabs her hand and presses it to his cheek.

With his vigorously tousled hair and deepening dark circles, his weariness concerns her about how long he's spent watching over her. It's quickly contrasted by his boyish grin and gleam in his eyes, one that's grown brighter as he's returned to the Bebop.

The sight is like the rapid friction of flint against steel, stirring the softly-burning embers in her heart.

"Spike…" she playfully laments as she lets out a sigh, "what am I gonna do with you?"

"That’s up to you to solve. Think you can keep up?" He grins with an air of amusement – back to his old self, drawling with sarcasm.

"Don't take me for granted, Spiegel."

"I wouldn't dare."

He leans back onto the mattress, cushioning her shoulders as he wraps an arm around her, and fumbles for a cigarette from the worn carton on the bedside table. Unveiling a lighter from his pocket, he lights it and inhales deeply, letting the smoke swirl from the curve of his lips until it dissipates mid-air.

She shifts around and leans over as he motions toward her and breathes in her share, leaving the stain of her lipstick on the edge of the cigarette. Taking a shaky breath, she closes her eyes and sinks into his arms, loosely pulling a blanket over the two of them. A tightness sears through her abdomen as she ponders just how much more she’d get of this.

Spike was right, to a degree. There was no guarantee that they’d always make it out by the skin of their teeth. With reward came a growing risk, one that took root in the pit of her stomach and encroached in her.

For what it was worth, though, she would savor it: every minute spent collapsing onto the worn canary leather of the living room couch, every sizzle of the peppers against the heat of the stove, every mechanical churn of the Bebop’s engine. Every spin of Jet’s jazz records as he’d muse about his youth, every verse of Ed’s nursery rhymes as they’d twirl around the kitchen, every nudge Ein would give her as he’d curl up on the sofa next to her. Every game of chess with Spike as the tension pulled itself taut, quipping at each other with a playful bitterness, was worth savoring.

The air is stirred thick like sugar syrup, melting on their fingertips, fixed and ever-so-slightly bitter with the undercurrent of their fears. She can feel his steady breathing, the almost-click of his mechanical eye. He can hear the pounding of her heart and the gentle clinking of her earrings.

With every exchange of the cigarette they swear a silent loyalty that’s been there all along, to take in the top notes of each day and commit the aftertaste to memory, to sketch the winding path to a future they’ll bet their everything on.

Spike puts out the cigarette, crushing it against the dense headboard. She moves ever-so-close, leaving only a fingertip's width of space between them. Leaning in as his eyes flicker and close, he tilts her chin up and meets her lips, bending carefully to avoid pulling at her wound.

He kisses her over and over, chaste and deep and enigmatic and all too familiar, pouring his soul into hers. She intertwines her fingers with thick strands of curls, beguiled by the way he lights a flame of warmth that brings out a calm in her.

She's bewitched him just the same – he would course after the trail of her snow-toned heels under harsh sunrays and flickering moonlight, drawn in by the blur of evergreen that entrapped itself in him before he could raise a finger to object. She toys with his heartstrings like a cat's cradle – mischievous and two-toned, her bounding charm keeps him alight with devotion.

With her eyes closed she can visualize vivid hues spilling against the canvas of the room – cerise and carmine and the crush of soft velvet against her fingers, the tangy spin of saffron and cinnamon blending between the two of them, an elaborate angled brush sifting between colors and spurring light into the shadowed room. It's a brush he's placed into her hands, steadily guiding her arms to the canvas as she takes in the invigorating blur of life before her.

Thick, aureate strokes paint the image of two lovers and set the atmosphere alight with bliss – the weary fog above them dissipates until there’s nothing but the remnants of woody tobacco and saffron sinking into their sheets.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"lovers find secret places inside this violent world

where they make transactions with beauty."

– rumi

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Cowboy Bebop (Anime) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jet Black/Spike Spiegel Characters: Jet Black, Spike Spiegel, Faye Valentine, Ed (Cowboy Bebop) Additional Tags: Drunken Shenanigans, Domestic Fluff, Will I ever write a fic about these two where they aren’t drunk?, the world may never know Summary:

“Whatever. It’s not like we’re married or something.” Jet muttered bitterly. He was halfway through taking a sip of whiskey when Spike’s failed attempt to stifle a chuckle caught his attention. “What’s so funny?”

Spike grinned brightly at him. “I mean, we’re a little married.”

Written for @bebopcrew‘s Relationship Week.

Still tinkering with the chapter and stuff

It's a Bittersweet Utopia

warnings: religious themes, referenced/implied suicide, injury.

notes: also on ao3. 650 word count. post-canon. jetspike.

His not-so-portable keyboard was dented and old, scratches littering every inch. Jet had told him he bought it cheap, found in the very back of a secondhand store. Spike didn’t need to be told to know that. And besides, the sentiment was sweet—he had been only half-joking when he told his partner he missed the piano.

Tapping at a few keys, Spike idly watched his own hands. They were still wrapped in bandages.

---

The pain came in waves, after the darkness. The light shone in from above, and Spike thought—What the hell? He didn’t deserve that kindness. And he never believed in gods, but the arms that carried him were strong and steady; and then they were in the air.

When he next opened his eyes, he half-expected to see his mother. He was hoping for it, at least in part. But the image of her suspended form flashed across his mind the second the figure in front of him came into focus, and he felt a bit foolish at thinking she had earned her place in heaven. Not after her ending. Even if that’s what he wanted for her.

It was Jet, peering down at him. The overhead lights cast a shadow across his face, and the light shone in from above, and Spike thought—Angel.

“...What did you say?”

Oh. He had said that aloud. He swallowed, the action bringing attention to just how dry his mouth was, and his throat caught the edges of itself. “Water,” he croaked instead.

It was the tallest glass he had ever seen before in his life, but he only managed to wet his lips—chapped—before he had to lay his head flat again.

He was laying on the couch, he knew—the position of the ceiling fan anchoring him home. And home had always felt wrong. Temporary. But as the memories came back to him, slowly, with each rotation of the gently spinning blades, Spike found that he had lost just about every other piece of home that he could ever cling on to. Julia, and Annie, and Vicious, and his mother. And Mao.

“You’re going to go live your life,” Doohan had once told him, over the rattling of a dying engine, the blazing sun beating down so hard Spike was starting to feel delirious. “It’s okay to start over, ain’t no one here telling you you can’t. Wherever your feet take you, they’ll remember where you’ve been.” And Spike had little time to ponder that statement, twenty-four and desperate to rest his feet. Blistering sand burning holes through the soles of his shoes, and blood still staining them.

“The most important thing to keep in mind is to just keep going. That chapter of your life is over now, Spike,” he said, and Spike hoped that was true; the heart in his chest decaying in the broiling heat, and the rain that had decided to keep on falling. “Flip the page and start writing your own story.”

Jet made a face then, and Spike wasn’t sure how much of that he had quoted.

He was supposed to die—he knew that for sure. Like his father. Like his mother. Tragically. Through the mess he created, he had written it himself; he was supposed to wake up. That's all he had wanted.

He thought of Faye. He thought of Ed, and he thought of Ein. There were no sounds of nails being filed, or laughter, or the pattering of paws; just the mechanical sounds of Bebop, faint clinks and the fan above, swirling. Her words echoed throughout his head, after every other turn, slowly increasing in volume until he had to squeeze his eyes shut to block it out.

It was quiet. He wondered what it would take to get that constant noise back.

Blinking heavy eyes up at his partner, he watched as the lines in his face draw together, concerned, and Spike felt himself start to smile.

“Water,” he repeated, and let Jet help him with that.

He was alive. And for the first time in nearly two decades, he was glad about it. He hoped the rest of them felt the same. He wanted to see them. He hoped he could see them. For now though, with his head in Jet’s lap, aching, the light shone in from above; and despite it all, Spike thought—I’ve never felt so warm.

At Last ( Spike Spiegel x reader)

□This was not proofread you have been warned. This was compleatly for fun I might write more if people request with songs or jsut prompts i can do angst lol □

At last, my love has come along

He watched them dance with the bounty, a clenching feeling seizing his heart. Spike knew it was necessary for the sake of putting food on the table and tule in the tank. Even when to him you were worth more than all the woolong in the galaxy.

My lonely days are over

He recalled every little feature about you as you albeit less than gracefully danced but he didn’t care. To him you were perfection, when you danced he never cared when his toes got stepped on or you almost slipped it’s what made it all the more special. Made it all the more you.

And life is like a song

All the more infuriating he wasn’t the one out in the middle of those uptight wealthy people twirling you around. The bounty was the son of some sort of business owner who’s name he didn't care to remember. All that mattered was you… until a gunshot snapped him out of his trance. Other bounty hunters. Younger and dumber ones too. 

Jet groaned over the earpiece. “So much for a clean capture.”

Ooh yeah, yeah

At last, the skies above are blue

He didn’t even complain as they walked home to the bebop his arm securely around your waist. Even Faye’s whining didn’t bother him. All he could focus on was how your face was turned into a small frown. All he wanted to do was fix that, bring a smile to your face. Be the one who put it there yeah he was in deep. 

My heart was wrapped up in clover

The night I looked at you

Back on the rust bucket they called a ship in the coat closet you called a bedroom he held you close. Promising things he’d never be able to provide but so desperately wanted to for you. Only for you.

I found a dream, that I could speak to

A dream that I can call my own

He remembers when he got out of the hospital after the cops scooped what was left of him off the front steps of the red dragon building. He was surprised he’d lived yet the ghosts of his pasts no longer hanging over his shoulder unsettled him. He’d awoken from that dream and found he was a husk of a man truly. The look on Jet's face when he was first able to wake up in the hospital would forever be burned into his head. A look of genuine worry. Upon returning he’d found the bebop had a new member. They didn’t put up with his shit, while a little to careing or outspoken sometimes he found himself falling right back into that void they called feelings.

I found a thrill to rest my cheek to

A thrill that I have never known

Ocasional conversations turned into card games and attempting to make meals out of the barebones ingredients the fridge had together(albeit not always the best tasting it was fun to banter while you cooked or attempted to) that turned into small touches, a brush of a hand a resting of a head on a shoulder. That turned into hugs and snuggling on that uncomfortable yellow couch in the living room.

Ohh yeah yeah

You smile

You smile

Oh and then the spell was cast

You snapped him out of his memory and affectionate mumblings with that smile of yours. It was more valuable to him than any rare earth gem or amount of woolong. That smile had broken the chains around his heart, that smile motivated him to get up. you motivated him to get up. He wanted you to be happy and he would try his darn best to make you so.

And here we are in heaven

For you are mine

At last

Western Nights (Part 1) | Spike Spiegel x Reader

Genre : Angst, Romance, Runaway

Warning(s) : Swearing, Violence, Stalking, Blood, Kidnapping.

Summary : You’re on the run from your small town. Freeing yourself of your religious cult, or so you thought as you caught news they were hunting after you. As you’re on your escape, you run into Spike Spiegel, and once push led to shove you knew you’d never be the same.

Note : This is somewhat inspired by Ethel Cain’s album, Preacher’s Daughter. However it won’t follow that story, just the religious aspects of it. I suggest giving it a listen! It’s a masterpiece.

You had been on the run for what seemed like forever. Long enough to have made it from Nebraska to Texas. Gas stations were your best friend. Only the ones with showers for travelers. You had been saving up money for over a year now to make this bold move, and paying for a stay in a hotel would’ve zapped it all in 3 days.

You found a train station that had tickets straight to California. That’s where you always wanted to go, but the ticket would cost half of your money. Being left with $100 to survive on after getting there didn’t sound very…appealing or manageable. Then again after phoning your friend Nathanial and finding out that people from that cult were hunting you down and planned on hanging you upon bringing you back there, sounded a lot less appealing.

You bit the bullet. “One ticket to California please.” You asked the lady in the booth. You coughed up the money. “The next train won’t be here until 10:30 tonight toots.” The lady spoke, her voice was raspy probably due to all the cigarettes she smoked.

You looked up at the clock…it was only 12:00 in the afternoon. You groaned as you sat down in the lobby with the few belongings you brought with you. You sat back on the wooden bench seating, staring at the grey, cracked ceiling. The place had dim florescent lighting, in reality the sun beaming through the windows did more than the lights themselves.

You couldn’t help but find a strange sense of serenity in it, and sighed. The feeling of being alone was scary yet satisfying at the same time. Nobody to tell you who you should be, but nobody to tell you everything is going to be ok either. Except yourself. You learned a lot about yourself on this journey so far. After everything you’d been through, finally felt content with yourself despite being totally alone. Sure there were people hunting you down, but they always thought you wanted to go to Florida. If anything they’d just lead themselves on the complete opposite end of the country and give up. You realized you could be a lot smarter than what you gave yourself credit for.

Your thoughts eventually blurred together leading you to feel drowsy, passing out on your bag next to you. You weren’t sure how much time went by before getting woken up by a poke on the shoulder. A man with messy black, green tinted hair stood in front of you. As you looked around, you noticed the place had suddenly filled up. Your eyes got a glimpse of the clock…2:00, dammit. You sat up and grabbed your bag, yawning. “Good nap?” The man asked with a slight smile on his face. “Decent.” You responded through another yawn. The man chuckled and spoke once again. “Mind if I take this seat next to you?” You sat your bag on the floor beside you, allowing him to sit. “Not like you had any other options.” You replied, giggling a bit yourself. He shrugged and sat down next to you. “There were some other options, but you seemed like the most pleasant person to sit next to.” He smiled and looked over at you. “So where are you headed?” He inquired. “Somewhere.” You responded dully. You weren’t sure why he’d come be so friendly with you, but your paranoia spiked in this moment. You didn’t want to risk anything at all.

He raised an eyebrow at your response. “Well…I’m headed to California. On my journey to the west! My name’s Spike, by the way. Spike Spiegel.” He shot you a big smile. You smiled back at him. “Y/N. I’m headed to California too.” You weren’t sure why you told him that. Your paranoid mind told you no, but something in your gut spoke for you. He seemed trustworthy. He’d find out you were going to the same place when you boarded the train anyway, so it really didn’t matter if you’d told him or not. Might as well be friendly.

“You know…our train doesn’t get here for another 7 hours.” He said with the hint of an idea in his voice. You hadn’t even realized you both had been talking for an hour straight. “Why don’t we go to the café downtown? It’s only about a 10 minute walk there.” Spike suggested. “Why not. It’s better than sitting and staring at the wall.” You sighed and stood up. As you both walked for the door, Spike sped up and opened it for you. “After you.” He said with cheesy grin on his face. “What a gentleman.” You weren’t as amused as he was, and all he did was laugh. “So, what set your sights on California?” Spike asked you as you both were walking down the brick sidewalk of the small down. Small business to window shop in littered the path to the Cafe, and it was times like these you wish you had more money. “To get away from my small town back in Nebraska.” Spike raised his eyebrow at your response. “Too small of a town for your liking or what?” He inquired. “To get away from the religion I was brought up in. It was cultish and there really wasn’t any other way out then to get shunned out of town, or get murdered before you got shunned. I’d been planning this for years.” You take a deep breath before letting out a deep sigh. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you all of this. I just met you.” You stared at the ground, a feeling of guilt washing over you for suddenly dumping all this on the stranger who was starting to feel like less of one. A look of concern washed over Spike’s face. “Don’t apologize, really! If everyone in your town is like that I doubt you’ve really had the chance to get any of this off your chest to anyone without the fear of it coming back to bite you in the ass later.” He paused for a second, then suddenly his concern turned into shock. “Okay so wait. You ran all the way here to Texas from Nebraska?” All you did was nod, gesturing towards your backpack. “Wow...you’re a really strong willed person. I admire that.” He grinned. For the first time in your life, you felt like someone actually meant what they said about you. For you, and not some fake persona you put up to survive. “I really appreciate that.” Your voice seeped of a deep feeling of gratitude. You smiled back at him, and right after that you were walking up a small set of steps. You had made it to the Cafe. “After you.” Spike held the door open for you again. “Thanks.” You smiled at him again as you walked in. “Spike! It’s great to see you again!” The girl standing in front of the cash register shouted. It made you feel a lot more at ease about Spike considering people in the community liked him. Normally that would be a bad thing. Preacher’s usually were held to high esteem back in your town but were the most evil people in the town, but Spike was obviously a free spirited person. Free spirits that are well-liked are typically amazing people, or whatever that book you read back at home said. “Tabitha!” Spike called out. “Always a pleasure to see you too.” He smiled. “I’ll just get my usual. And whatever my new friend here wants.” He motioned to you and pointed at the menu. “I’ll just get the plain black coffee. It’s cheaper.” You spoke to the bubbly girl taking your order. “Don’t worry about the price, it’s on me.” Spike spoke up. “No. I appreciate it but I’ll pay for my own.” You attempted to convince him, but it really wasn’t any use. “You worked so hard to get here. At the very least you deserve whatever coffee you want. I’ve got plenty of money right now. I insist” He wasn’t going to give this up. “Fine I’ll get the cinnamon latte.” You quietly spoke. “Now that’s more like it.” He gave his signature cheesy grin and a thumbs up. You’d known him for what...4 hours now? Yet you already were familiar with one of his expressions. You’ve always loved cinnamon. It was a flavor that brought a strange sense of comfort to you, and you really needed comfort more than ever. As you both sat down at a table to wait on your coffee, your paranoia was rising for some reason at this moment, and it was written all over your face. “Everything okay?” Spike questioned. He read you like a book. “One thing I didn’t mention is I got word that people from my town were looking for me. I’m just nervous they’ll somehow follow my trail and find me. Apparently they want me dead.” You whispered. He nodded in understanding, and nothing could’ve prepared you for his next words. “Even if they do find you, I won’t let them take you. Trust me.” He looked serious about this. “I might not know you that well yet, but I’ll be damned if I miss the chance to get to know you better. Not only that, but I won’t allow you to go back there to die when you’ve only just started living.” You felt a weird sense of relief somewhat wash over you. You were still on alert, but his words made you feel safe. “I...wow. Thank you, if you really do mean that I’ll make sure I pay you back for this someday.” He chuckled at your response. “You wanna know how you can pay me back, yeah? Live and enjoy your life once you’re free from all this. That’s the only payment I need.”  As Tabitha brought your coffee and you sipped on it, the mixture of the taste of cinnamon and Spike’s words made your eyes sting with tears. Your parents always warned you about strangers, claiming anyone not in the religion was trouble. If Spike was trouble, then trouble you’d get yourself into. The bell ringing from the door of the cafe interrupted your thoughts. A woman in all white, wearing a golden cross necklace walked in. Standing next to a man in a white suit, wearing the same necklace. You felt yourself get nauseous. You stared into Spike’s eyes with panic. “What’s u-” You cut him off by shushing him. “They’re looking for me. I know them.” You whispered in a panic. Luckily where you were both sat, you weren’t immediately visible upon walking in. “What do we do?” You were clearly shaken up, not really able to think. “Do you trust me?“ Spike whispered. You didn’t totally trust him yet, but it was either trust him or risk using your own thinking, which wasn’t really rational right now. “Yes.” You responded, and he nodded. He stood up, throwing his coat over him and motioning you to stand in next to him. He untied a string and it dropped the rest of the jacket. Was this guy a spy or something? It covered your legs, and he pulled you in close to him. You were hidden by just a piece of fabric in a dream. You prayed this would go well, but quickly realized how ironic that thought was. “Hey Tabitha! I’m ready for my shift. Where should I hang my coat up?“ You saw Spike wink, and Tabitha got the hint. “Just take it in the back!” She responded, as she then greeted the two people you desperately were trying to avoid. Spike walked into the back and left you back there as he put an apron on, making sure he blended into the role until they left. He gave you a brief hug and whispered, “It’ll be okay,” before walking back up into the front. You awkwardly sat in the back as you eavesdropped. “Have either of you seen this person on the side of this milk carton? This is my cousin.” The posh lady spoke up. You knew she was talking about you. “I haven’t. I’m so sorry.” Tabitha spoke up. “Well, someone saw them come in here today...” The posh man spoke up. “We asked someone, and they swore up and down...” He was gritting his teeth. “Well I hate to break it to you, but even if this person was here today, they’re gone by now.” Spike had a stern tone in his voice. “And you won’t speak to us like that.” You heard the two looking for you gasp. “Who are you to speak to us in such a fashion?” The woman spoke. “The same person who’s kicking you out of this cafe for talking to us the same way. Scram.” Spike demanded. You heard Tabitha gasp. You hated not being able to see what was going on up there. “You’ll learn not to speak to us like that again boy.” The man spat. “Go ahead and pull the trigger. We’ll see what God thinks of that.” Spike retorted. You felt sick to your stomach hearing a gun got pulled. “Let’s see who meets him first.” You peeked and saw Spike holding a gun to the man now. It was a stand off. “What’s the sour face for?” Spike taunted. “Do it. I fucking dare you.” Right before the man fired his gun, Spike ducked and popped back up, putting a bullet between the man’s eyes. The woman with him screamed. Luckily for them, nobody else was in the cafe. She bolted out of the cafe and a car screeched down the road. “The coast is clear.” Spike called out to you. Tabitha was locking up the cafe doors. “We’ll need to clean this up somehow.” Her breathing was all over the place. It was as intriguing to you as it was odd that Spike was calm. Blood was all over the floor. After what felt like hours of cleaning, there was no sight blood had even been here. Tabitha said she “knew a guy” who could take care of the body for them, and so you and Spike made your way back to the train station. “How were you so calm during all of that?” You blurted out. “Inside I was a nervous wreck, I just know how to not show it.” Spike sighed. “In reality I’m still shaken up too, but hey. Better him than you, right?” He patted you on the back. One hour was left until the train would be arriving. You had fallen asleep again, Spike allowing you to use his shoulder as a pillow. The nap was short-lived however, Spike was waking you up. “Hey, it’s time to board the train. Sit next to me, yeah?” He smiled. You weren’t going to leave his side now. He just killed for you. It would be downright cruel to tell him no. He let you sit on the inside next to the window. It was dark out, but you still stared out of the window at all the dimly lit sights. “Hey...I’ve got a question for you.” Spike broke the silence. “What is it?” You turned around and looked at him. “Wanna go see the west with me?” He smiled at you as he asked. “I’m not exactly sure what you mean.” You responded awkwardly. “What I mean is why not come travel with me? Stick by each other’s side, you know? After everything that happened today, something doesn’t feel right making this train ride the last time we see each other.” He looked down at the floor for a minute before looking back up at you, staring into your eyes. Your shaken up mind was screaming no, but your heart and gut were telling you to accept his offer. After a life of listening to your mind, it was time to start listening to your gut and your heart. Those were the things that gave you the nerve to run away in the first place. If you listened to your mind, you’d still be in Nebraska. You nodded as you spoke, not breaking eye contact with the man who had proven himself to you as someone you could trust. I mean, come on. He did just kill someone for you. “I agree. I can’t imagine this just being some one off moment with a stranger after everything that just...happened.” He smiled, not one of his cheesy ones, but a soft one. “I’m glad to hear that. I’m looking forward to getting to know you even more.” You both stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds longer before chuckling awkwardly, turning to look back out of the window. You felt yourself getting sleepy, and as your head fell back to your seat, Spike caught you with his arm, gently moving you to lean against his shoulder instead. Eventually he let out a yawn, his head resting on top of yours as you both fell asleep on the train ride to California. After two days of travel, Spike was once again waking you up. You’d finally arrived in California. You sprung awake in excitement and held onto Spike’s arm. You didn’t really seem to realize you’d been doing it, and he didn’t really seem to mind, so you both walked off the train like this. “We’re actually here I can’t believe it!” You squealed. Spike led you both to a place to rent a car, then soon after pulled up to a hotel. After checking in, you both went up to your room. Two queen sized beds and finally some good air conditioning. You hadn’t slept on a bed in weeks, but you were too excited to sleep right now. “Can we go and explore?” You asked him. He happily nodded and you both ran out into the town, admiring all the city lights. However the part of you that explored back home kicked in and managed to find a quiet spot on a trail. You sat down, and Spike sat next to you. Staring up at the stars. “Look at those starts, it’s like they make a rose.” You were in awe at how pretty the sky was here too, just like back at home. “That one looks like a lion.” Spike chuckled. You both sat and admired the stars for hours, talking about whatever came to mind. Neither of you knew when it happened, but Spike’s arm was around you and you were leaning into him. “I finally feel like I’m living.” You sighed out in a relived and content way. “That’s what I like to hear.” He pulled you into him a little closer and you both kept soaking in the beautiful night sky above you.

headcanons for when you ask them if they'd love you as a worm? 👉👈 for spike (cowboy bebop), edward (fmab), daichi (haikyuu!), & howl (howl's moving castle) if you don't mind? sending you all my love for providing us with the content that you do, I hope school is going well for you 💖

“Would You Love Me as a Worm?” HCs (Spike Spiegel, Edward Elric, Daichi  Sawamura, Howl Jenkins Pendragon)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸 𝘆𝗼𝘂!! :)) 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝗶 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆 !!!!!! 

𝘀𝗽𝗶𝗸𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝗳𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗹𝘂𝗯 𝘁𝗮𝗴𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: @dogsandrocketsocks @pittbull-enthusiast @asuperconfusedgirl      

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

Spike Spiegel

“What’s a worm?”

100% just looks at you with a frown and asks that

Of course, he starts smiling and chuckles a bit when you get to fussing at him for playing dumb

Though it’s his first instinct to shrug and to ask what worms look like because chances are?

He hasn’t seen one since before he was a part of the Red Dragon syndicate

There you two are- cuddling on the couch and scrolling through a screen that shows nothing but worms ( much to the dismay of Faye who walks in and immediately walks out)

After a while, Spike puts his hand over yours to stop you from scrolling down any further 

Then he looks at you, deep into your eyes as he leans in close, and tells you-

“No. They’re kind of gross looking.”

This time your reaction really gets him laughing- and promising that he’s “just joking, calm down!” and he’ll “keep you in his pocket, he swears!”

Edward Elric

“...is this a riddle?”

That’s all he says after 30 seconds of silence between the two of you

He still doesn’t know what to think or say when you insist that it’s NOT a riddle or a trick and you just want to know

“Okay…how did you turn into a worm though?”

He starts to get flustered as you tell him that the how and why of it all doesn’t matter and that your question still stands

Of course, that only serves to make him more nervous

“But…would I know you before you turned into a worm? Or is this a world where you were always a worm- HEY WAIT DON’T WALK AWAY FROM ME”

You, not wanting to listen to him ramble on and on about a situation he’s overcomplicating all by himself, leave the room

Because he’s Edward Elric (read: overdramatic and loud) ends up throwing his book to the ground and chasing after you, afraid he made you upset

But hey- the image of him shouting apologies and saying “OF COURSE I’D LOVE AS A WORM, WHO WOULDN’T” at the top of his lungs was a nice break for all the other staff at Central Command

Daichi Sawamura

“Aww, of course, I would! I’d keep you in my pocket and take you everywhere with me!”

See this guy gets it

Daichi had seen this trend online a couple of times when messing around on his phone

And while he thought it was a little weird…

…it reminded him a lot about you

Now would he actually love you as a worm?

Nobody knows (yes, ofc he would he’s Daichi)

But of course, he’s gonna do anything to keep you happy! 

You’re his world!

Even if that means talking about how he’s going to build you a big worm terrarium where you can live a life of worm luxury for longer than what should be possible

Howl Jenkins Pendragon

“As a worm? Now, that’s a peculiar question…”

See this guy doesn’t get it

But he’s the great wizard Howl and he’s gonna find a way to be the most charming individual in the world 

Even while he’s completely clueless

“My dear, I’d love you in any form that you took”

He’ll tell you as he pulls you close and cradles your face in his hands

And when you ask him “Any form?” for reassurance, he’s there to give it to you- ten-fold

“Absolutely any form, my love”

Cue you throwing your arms around him and cuddling up to him in pure happiness

While Howl just gives a fake-retching Calcifer a sly wink as he returns your embrace

honeysuckle kisses | spike spiegel x oc [ poc ]

Genre: Pure Fluff. Romance. Warnings: Partial nudity. Highly Suggestive ?

Notes: I wanted to write Domestic Spike, and then my hand slipped, and it got longer than I expected...um yea. A oneshot that falls in line with the story of my fanfic: Concrete Roses. My oc, Niah, is a person of color. This scene happens three years after the events of RFB. It's just a lot of kissing and teasing and slight dom Spike. Again, hope you enjoy poetic imagery ! More here

a few small breaths hitch in the back of her throat, full lips parted slightly in quiet anticipation as she observes with brown eyes that rests low and slowly blink, long lashes fluttering gently as a drowsy sigh escape, muscles relaxed where she comfortably lays upon the bed. The red curtains ruffle as the wind slips through the crack of the window, invading this moment as it spreads airy outdoor aromas into the interiors space of the bedroom, smells like sunlight that breathes life into one's dead eyes. It travels on the breeze where honeysuckle tastes sweet and reigns supreme, fueling humble desires which smolders between entanglements of lovers who bask in the hearts of one another.

Then a slip of his finger and her body shivers, skin tingling with warmth where his lips softly rove over sun-kissed skin, applying kisses ( one here or there ) lightly upon her belly that felt soft to mere touch as his eyelids fall shut. The length of his body lays partially on top of her, his ribs resting in between her thighs while he playfully nuzzles his face into her stomach. And it quivers when he breathes a sigh against her belly, which she rewards him with light giggles while he sucks kisses close to her navel, knowing very well this spot was easily susceptible to being tickled. He discovers how he loves submerging himself in these acts of affection, so simple and easy, he thinks, drowning all five of his senses into her luscious warmth she bathes him in at the core of her bud.

Spike can't seem to remember why he delayed this for so long. On several occasions, as months ran through different seasons of years that passed, he'd conjure the rationalization that a Bounty Hunter of his caliber couldn't accept this life he considered to be a blessing, couldn't partake in this type of life that held the potential to tame bloodthirsty urges, denying himself luxuriation of this indulgence due to past sins that smeared black within the patterned ridges of his fingerprints. And yet, for a man riddled in bloodguilt, who once upon a time occasionally dipped his hands in a bowl of bloodshed under a higher authority's command, his hands move languidly with such gentle haste, fingertips gliding across smooth skin left bare to his caress as they drum along both sides of her waist.

The room remained quiet for the most part since their awakening to this calm morning, except for audible expressions of hushed sighs mixed with whispered utterances, and again he murmurs something she still could barely hear, between movements of his lips where he whispers poetic sayings that tickles near her womb. If he was to look up at her for a split second, he'd see how she tries to hold back the smile that hovers over her mouth in a futile attempt to conceal more giggles that threatens to break free, which results in quiet laughter that rumbles in her chest.

A hum creeps up his throat when he feels her fingers finding their way into his hair, entangles them within his curly strands that coils and lovingly twist over her hand. She holds her breath as his name teases on her tongue. And she knows very well the nature of his name implied something sharp -- something that can swiftly pierce through layers of flesh no matter the depth, deep enough to reach and stab the core of a fragile heart. That is. . . if he wasn't given lessons on understanding and extending mercy for ones viewed by the world as weak, lesser and unseen by societies standards. Teachings on tenderness inspires love to blossom from the seed she planted. For whom would have ever known he was ever capable of it. A snake. A wolf. A dragon. He was three all in one. A grotesque beast.

❝ Spike ? ❞ she uttered lightly.

❝ Mmmm. . . yeeeaah ? ❞ His voice breathes huskily into her skin, full and heavy that drenched with remnants of sleep. She could hear the fatigue that saturates his words. Always have. It was obvious how tiredness weighed him down in most aspects of his life in how he carried himself--all in the way he talked, walked, and even smoked a cig or handled a pole when he fished. But with her, and for her, he manages to gain just a little energy, a little more than what he usually would offer to anyone else .

She seals her mouth closed, not quick to respond, however, only stare from beneath long lashes that rests ever lower as a similar weariness hangs over her eyelids. Spike lifts his head to look at her, clearly waiting for some sort of response in which his name that fell out her maw beckon his attentions, beckons his gaze which ( also ) take their sweet time roving over the lush hills of her breasts that were adorned modestly in the comfort of a black lace bra - an exquisite sight to behold that his fingers ache to unwrap. But in regard to Niah, there's still nothing, not even a peep from those gorgeous lips that only further tempts him once he locks in on them, and he realizes a sudden thirst for the feel of them against his own.

❝ You call my name and don't have anything to say, huh ? ❞ He couldn't help the chuckle that deeply erupts within his chest, mainly because she then ( almost shyly ) touches the back of her hand to her mouth, a nonverbal act to keep her mouth sealed as if there was a secret she couldn't tell. Oh, so coy with a sweetness he's addicted to. Niah didn't have to do much of anything to tug his attention away from most things - say his name for no reason other than to hear his voice, and he's hooked on the string that reels him in to attend to her cares. Especially now that his forearms prop on the mattress that settles on either side of her as he starts to inch forward, dragging his bare torso as he crawls up over her smaller frame.

She trembles out a small whimper as his body presses down onto her, the linen wrinkling underneath her. She feels herself sink into the mattress, lets loose a low moan while his hips burrow between the warm space of her thighs as he comfortably rests a large portion of his weight on top of her. Niah was short in comparison to his taller stature, but Spike knew she could handle it, or at the very least tolerate most of what he lays on her. Besides, there was a type of pleasure he obtained in it, derived in the way her body squirms beneath him as she adjusts to his new position, struggles against his strength as if she were prey caught in the jaws of a predator. Only in this instance, the little dove had no such desire to fly away or be saved.

An elbow props him up as his face hovers above her, and thick strands of curly hair tickle her forehead lightly where his messy bangs droop languid, lax, and intimate. She swallows thickly, lips parting as warmth rushes to her cheeks that spreads down her neck. He smirks, half-lid mismatched eyes locked on hers, close enough she could see his pupils were dilated. ❝ I kinda like the way you say my name anyhow - can't never get enough of it. Y'know what I mean ? ❞ He decides to bring his other hand closer, positions his thumb sideways so he may brush it over the hill of her cheek, down till it stops at her jaw and repeats . ❝ --nothing else has to be said other than that. ❞ within his eyes brews a cup of desire, and her heart palpitates with a twisted ache, knew what his words implied: a teeny tiny dictation he speaks gentle disguised as a suggestion, subtle sayings full of lustful connotations.

Quickly his gaze then flickers to her mouth, pupils full blown wide as they trace the voluptuous shape of her lips. They looked so soft and kissable. Nicely round and full that almost makes him salivate at the thought of her dulcet flavor, lips he's itching to roughly bruise with his teeth in a hot searing kiss, leave his mark as one of her reminders that he greedily owns her. Yet, he clears his throat, absolute willpower holds back the beast by an iron collar clamped around his neck. Patience tells him such feverish urgency could wait for just a few minutes longer. There was no rush. The birds were still singing, and the morning was still young as the world slowly arises awake to a new day. He will drink the delicious fill of her cup quite soon.

And it absolutely amazes him how he developed self-discipline to begin with. Spike don't recall how he did it, how he survived all those months with these feelings that slowly nibbled away at the stone defenses that encircled his heart, left him weak and vulnerable to her dreamy enchantment she casted in every passing second he spent in her presence . Her every touch ( no matter how small ), every look that may linger a second longer, stimulating something buried deep within his psyche to flower from the land of the dead. He couldn't believe how it beat all odds. How a rose could rise from a crack in solid concrete.

Niah watches in silence beneath his stare, still no utterance escapes her as his face drew an inch closer, notices the way desire resembles hunger that simmers in the amber liquid of his eyes that grew dark, obvious his mind had wandered into a different territory, somewhere not as clean nor wholesome as white purity. That was good for her. And again, she doesn't have to do much at all. A little effort : she only pulls her bottom lip in for a quick nip, a single canine pinches the supple flesh there before her tongue swipes over with a fresh sheen of saliva. His adams apple bobs accordingly, a noise that befits more of a deep moan rumbles his throat as he blinked, licking his lips. His eyes flit back to hers immediately where he sees an ounce of mischief swirling within, hinders on innocent in her doe brown eyes that were laid low and sleepily alluring, never fails to make him melt. And her finger lifts that merely brushes under the tip his chin, like a soft petals caress.

a subtle tease. ohhh, she could be just as mean of a tease as he when she wanted to be. Man, he was so weak, oh how far he has fallen from the image of a stoic man who at one time preferred a cigarette's toxic kiss to his lips, and smoke where warm vapors brush venomous whispers over cold cheeks.

He gulps thick, throat feeling dry and in need of her water she supplies. ❝ You mind if I kiss you ? ❞ Even for Spike when he actually heard the words tumble out his mouth, he realized it was stupidest question he could've ever ask her. Of course, he can steal a kiss from her whenever he so pleased. Any time. Any day, under the sun and moon of earth he knows she adores so much. But he at least earns a small laugh out of her in a burst of mirth, which is all that matters in the world he built with her.

She finally shakes her head in response. No. And she smiles just a bit. It drives him wild how she chooses to tease him. So demure and ever tempting, like the little prey she is, typically common in slow mornings such as this one that bathes the room in a hazy golden glow. And he's grateful he's actually alive to witness such beauty that gave birth to the image of her.

This is where patience comes to its end.

His head dips low, tilting it to the side, and lightly does his lips skims over the surface of hers. The sensation surprised her for a second that her heart rate spiked, not expecting him to start at such a slow, steady pace, but it made her heart flutter all the same, the way his lips ( teasingly ) ghosts over the shape of her own that imitates the touch of a feather. His nose bumps against hers softly, peers down at her visage with those lazy, half-lid eyes that bore into hers, taking a dip into her earthy brown hues. The tip of his tongue licks her bottom lip as he pulls slightly away, and with his free hand he touches his palm to her cheek, tenderly strokes the length of her eyebrow with his thumb.

Spike could be sweet if he feels someone merits his fond regards, but all throughout these gesticulations he bestows upon her only leaves her senses a tad overwhelmed, prompts her mouth to part where Niah releases a breath she didn't realize she was holding. His capability and utter willingness to demonstrate this side of himself always left her mind in a daze and gripped a tight hold on her heart. This was the flip of a coin where he exudes a rare, raw fondness that he reveals only for her to experience in these special moments alone.

❝ Mind if I kiss you again ? ❞ His lips quirk up in a half-smirk with a peek of his teeth, but there in his eyes she sees a star faintly glimmer in their cosmic depths.

A small utterance in a low breath. ❝ Was that a real kiss ? ❞

Moments like these, he makes her feels special. Moments like these, he wonders why she chose him. And yet, he can't worry about that, for he takes the love she offers as it is.

❝ Yea, but this one is even better . ❞

red curtains flutter as the wind blows. It fills her lungs as she sucks in a sharp breath right before his lips are pressed against hers, and her eyes are fluttering close, hands moving as one arm wrap across his shoulder-blades, the other where small fingers weave in the tangles of his hair as her hand lovingly holds the back of his head. It ignites a spark of tingles to swarm the area her fingertips graze his scalp, and he exhales through his nostrils with a hum of pleasure as a wave of goosebumps pour down his back like water at the feeling of her hand in his hair. Somewhat breathless, she fails to suppress a groan as he applies more of his weight atop her body, breasts squish against his broad chest that expands with every intake of breath, finds difficulty in moving as she slightly squirms underneath. Spike, nonetheless, relishes in her feeble attempts, something gratifying in the notion of keeping her still in place beneath him right where he wants her, under his control that bespoke a dominate nature.

Her head sinks into the plush crevice of the pillow as he pushes his face onto hers. The temperature of his body starts to rise at a quick pace. Her hand drifts from his head to allow her finger to lightly trace a circle between his shoulder blades, the other, ever so gingerly slides the tip of her middle finger down the length of his spine ever so slowly. And it couldn't be contained nor suppressed in the way his eyes are forced shut as his body shudders at her touch, prying his mouth away to let loose a deep moan as he bathes her cheeks with the warmth of his breath. Oh, such a sexy noise she drew out of him. Niah was keenly aware of how his body reacts to certain stimuli in different zones where pleasure was easily achieved- his sensitivity to sensual touches, incredibly so vulnerable to her sultry caress.

Spike takes a moment to clear his throat, nerves jumbled as the shock of pleasure steadily dissipates with a small shake of his head, but not another second passes before he's greedily claiming her lips once more with a grunt, sharp eyebrows furrowed and pressed against her forehead. The softness of her lips never once loses form as they continue to mold and delectably squish against his own in their shared kiss. His mouth had accumulated with enough saliva that it slicks in-between as his lip's glides over her supple flesh that bends with ease to his sway, feels moist and warm as he feels her tongue offer gentle swipes over his bottom lip. Honestly, it was all too much for the bounty hunter, his biceps bulging as his hands grip the pillow on either side of her head. And a moment arrives where she parts to catch her breath, but it's stolen as he dips his tongue deep into the cavern of her mouth, angling his head to prod further as the wet muscle hungrily slither within to explore the sweetness of her flavor. The mere thickness of his tongue that protrudes into her mouth elicits a whine which delicately crawls up her throat, a noise that sounded so pretty, so small, fragile as a porcelain vase, an absolute exquisite mewl that tastes like red wine in which he swallows in haste.

Covetousness slither like a snake that wrap about his psyche where the beast takes hold and drinks his fill from her cup, indulging in the special concoction of her taste where a potent sweetness ripples with water as rose petals floats within the basin. He moans deeply into her mouth, flicking and swirling his tongue around her smaller one, his salvia shared generously where a little dribble on the side of her mouth. Spike's hand comes to rest on her hip, gently slide down her thigh before shifting her leg up and over his pelvis. He cracks a single eye open to observe her face, discovers her eyes were lulled closed, and he could've sworn he was dreaming when he saw stars dust off her lashes, as she was too immersed in the moment, her heart pounding heavy with fervor against her chest as their tongues dance in motion through their slow, sultry kiss, and her hands once more become lost in the thick forest of his hair.

Their souls entwined during the kiss that flowered with honeysuckle, blossoming summer yellow along vines that interwove through the wounds of one heart bleeding red, one she nurtured, bringing ultimate relief to his pain where a flame once flared bright crimson, extinguished with the aid of water that trickled from her gentle, loving hand. The wild beast drinks from her cup from the bucket he pulled from her water-well, once more being made alive in the promise that bloomed out of hope when he believed he was dead.

They partake in a loveful symphony as sighs breathe hushed and insatiable moans stir their bellies with the crackling of a fire. The mattress creaks under their combined weight, dust particles drifting within misty beams of sunlight that caress their figures that became entrapped within white sheets, limbs entangled while riveted in passion that brews coals of ice that melt against their heat. Niah's mouth separates from him and his tongue withdraws, his lips feeling a brush of coolness when she peels the warmth of hers away to draw in a lungful of air in a breathy gasp, her profile meeting the pillow with a turn of her head. He burrows his nose into her warm skin, the spot where her neck and shoulder meet, her scent reminiscent of faint rainfall and strawberry oil that buzzes his senses, balmily drifts up his nostrils as he takes a long inhale. Struggling to level her breath, her eyes shut with a small shiver, feeling something wet there, realizing his tongue was slowly running up the curve of her neck for another quick taste.

Spike could never quite get enough. ❝ You're sweet, y'know that ? ❞

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In Comfort; Let Me Rest My Eyes Closed

character: spike spiegel

reader: gender neutral

content warnings: angst

notes: also on ao3. 500+ word count. angst/comfort. some fluff.

Take a shower with him. Wash his back. Take the bottle of shampoo from his hands and apply them to yours; run your fingers through his hair and gently scratch at his scalp. Watch as he closes his eyes. Watch how the stress leaves his body in waves and his muscles relax. He’ll lean into your touch, unconsciously, as a little smile spreads across his lips; content with the perfect combination of your hands on him and the warm water raining down around him.

Take the shower head and wash the suds away. Let the water dance around him, kiss his forehead and tell him you love him, you love him, you love him so. Watch how he ducks his head and scratch at his cheek. He’ll lower his voice—as if there was anyone around to hear. Almost drowned out by the shower, he’d mumble, “I love you, too.”

It’ll be quiet, and private, and wrapped up in an uncharacteristic timorous display, but it’d be true. Bird wings fluttering like the beat of his heart, he loves you. Everything you do for him, mean to him, do to him.

Regardless, despite everything, it repeated like a mantra in the back of his mind: he doesn’t deserve you. This simple kindness, your undivided attention, it was all too much. Almost. No, deep inside, he’s beyond happy you chose him. Out of everyone in the solar system, anyone at all, you were there kissing praises against his skin and devotion into his marrow.

He doesn’t think he deserves you. Stubborn to a fault, he denies himself the good things in life; simple or grandiose, the sky on the horizon line. Lost and pathetic stray he was, straight out of the gutters, he doesn’t think he deserves you. Built from nothing but blood and grime, he tells himself—he’s destined to fall, and fall, and fall; clipped wings, down to the lowest layer of the wastes.

And fell he did. His heart beating through his chest, he looked at you. You, who cupped his face so softly, feather-light, he thought he could break. And he was. Cracking at the seams, fat tears welled up in his eyes, mixing with the shower as they rolled down his cheeks; he cried.

He cried and you held him. He cried and you didn’t think any less of him. Falling to his knees in the tub, you went down with him—arms surrounding him with his face tucked into the crook of your neck. There was no one around to see, no one but you to witness this moment of rare vulnerability, but you didn’t want to take any chances.

Let him know he’s safe with you. Let him take his time. He loves you, and he loves you, and he loves you so. He deserves nice things. Happiness, and love, and companionship. You. Tell him this but understand, more than anything, that he needs time. Let him know you’ll always be there. Understand why he holds you ever closer at this. Swimming in his cycle, hold him tight; tight enough to let him know that he’s falling in the opposite direction—towards the sky, that horizon that pulled itself nearer by the day.

Reach for him. He’s already roosted a nest inside your heart. Reach for him. When dawn breaks, you’ll see him reaching back for you.

Masterlist

This is the one that i have done until now but continue to check it,because i will edit it whenever i make a new writing.

Spike

||Depression reliever|| Plot: you feel depressed and Spike helps you out ;)