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bleedingichorhearts · 4 months ago

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𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

“A Headcannon for the Slayer as his new game comes out.” - Ichor

Summary - “Smut & Normal headcanons for the Scourge of Hell.”

“DOOM: The Dark Ages came out! :D So, these are HeadCannons for Doom Eternal.” - Edit

TW // Smut.

|°𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥°|

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝐃𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐠𝐮��

"The mark of the Doom Slayer was burned upon his crypt, a warning to all of Hell that the terror within must never be freed. There he lies still, and ever more, in silent suffering." - Slayer's Testament

𝐑𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐜/𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜:

Alright, as we all know, he doesn’t really speak. Not even a peep of pain leaving him as he gets wounded from minor or severe injuries. He is like a brick wall, and it’s almost like talking to one too, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t listening in on you. You are at least humane enough that you just… ramble to him at points whenever he is around, and it rather makes him feel more… included in life than he was.

He was unsure of you at first, like any other soldier or person that has found another survivor of an apocalypse, but he eventually gets used to your presence. Sometimes he even turns a bit, expecting you to be next to him when he was out slashing demons. He gets a bit… saddened each time when he sees you are not there. Though, I believe he would have some voice recording of you in his helmet to put him at ease.

Eventually, he likes to be around you more and more. Always finding himself coming to your house/base and watching you doing something mundane. Something this is something else rather than killing and hacking demons. He… he enjoys the simplicity of life. It’s very much different from his usual order: slash, kill demons, rip and tear until nothing is left, repeat. He likes watching you, and in return? You watch him as well.

Either he follows you around like a big protective puppy or you follow him around like a mewling kitten. This is no in-between. You going out to rob some abandoned joint? He’s coming with you if he is there with you, no matter the time, dusk to dawn. You following him? He grows to enjoy it, but just because he lets you follow him when he’s out slaying doesn’t mean he’ll let you every single time. It’s very possible he will stick you somewhere if you’re adamant enough to follow him. He’ll come back for you, don’t worry.

Big ol protector, is one of the things he’s being great at in a gore-like way. Don’t expect him to be all pristine after tearing all those demons apart either. That is his job, don’t disintegrate it for he is really good at it, and well… I don’t think he would appreciate you bad mouthing him. Despite that, he would protect you to the fullest. Being your leader once he learns of your pathing between abandoned cities and factories, and demons know full well to not get in the way. At least, not without a powerful hoard. (That will still fail, but there are possibilities…)

Speaking of the possibilities, he is brutal when something happens to you. The slayer has lost so much already, he is not going to be kind on whatever hurt you or is perceived a threat by you. It’s x10 worse when he finds you gone and he finds out about it himself. His livid, but again, silently. That is until he gets his hands on the demons or even humans that have captured you or perhaps even killed you. If they have put you 6 feet under, expect the aura of this silent behemoth to go up.

Honestly doesn't like seeing you gone from his sights for too long. It gives him a weird feeling of dread after a while. Sure, he’s focused on his task, but who’s to say that a brain doesn’t multitask? This slayer can think of you all day long, and many days he has. I mean, what if there is a demon hoard around your base/home? Getting through you to get to him? He wouldn’t put it below a demon to do so…

Likes helping you out quite a bit with most of the mundane chores of the world. You going to wash the dishes, including his plate? No, let him do it. You made the food, it’s only right for him to help you clean up. You need to travel to get more supplies? Expect a hefty amount in your pantry/storage the next day, maybe a few hours. He just likes providing like he human again.

He definitely likes to jam out with you. Sharing each others music tastes. He even listening to your music while he fights off demons. Mercilessly tearing down his enemies as a rather cute song plays. The blood of the his opposers staining his armor while he just continues on his way. Somehow even sending you recommendations when he out slaying. You encourage him to focus on his set task and he just sends you another song in response, despite your worry.

Encourages you to defeat your enemies when you to battle together. He helps you to know your weapons, slowly teaching you how to weld what you hold. Doing some combos and tactics: thrust, dodge, slash, thrust. A simple combo, but it sure is amusing to see you trying to use what he’s teaching you of. It never fails to have you a bit… dazed in your training, and perhaps… underneath him.

𝐒𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥/𝐒𝐦𝐮𝐭:

For those who veiw the Doomslayer in a religious light. I would say he would like wait until you are both married to have sexual intercourse, and at that certain point I believe he would take it slow at first. You are both testing your boundaries. It’s usually not good to rush unless experienced with your partners body. Also, he’s definitely huge and would not like to ruin you the first time. No matter if he had tempting thoughts of you.

Worship can both ways in this one. With him? He likes to caress and massage you. His tongue and teeth gently giving kitten licks and nips to test your skin and nerves before starting the main course. Do it on him? Best believe he would be a bottom for a bit. His hands squeezing your thighs gently while you focus your attention on doing your treatment on his own battle hardened skin. You can hear him sigh out a couple of times to your affections.

In my opinion, I think he would like biting more than praise. He’s more hands on than all talkative, but he won’t object your praise to him if that is your subconscious duty. He will grow to love it. Though, back to biting. He loves to mark his partner. Sinking his teeth into their skin just hard enough to leave a mark, and he absolutely doesn’t mind if you do the same. It will surprise him at first, but he’s not against it with how his member twitches.

Definite size kink. That man is what? 7ft? Almost? Ones has to have a size kink of being such a powerful size. So, with a smaller partner he would absolutely thrive on how tight you feel around him. Your body unable to take any more that what you have already inside of you. Bigger partner? He loves just how much you can take him. To see his cock disappear within you as you take him greedily.

Belly budge kink, if he liked watching himself going inside of you, he’s going to like watching that bit of skin the creates a budge inside of you. Telling him of how much you are taking him, and it’s impressive. His hands usually wandering over that bit of skin and gently thumbing it. Watching you closely as you wither and whine at the sudden touch.

I see him having a lingerie kink. So, it would become a great surprise to him if he sees you in nothing but lingerie. He wouldn’t expect that of you, but he certainly isn’t declining your clear invitation of your body sitting so pretty upon the bed with sighs of his name falling from your lips while you pleasure yourself with your fingers. He is quick to not leave you unsatisfied.

Ough, chastity. This one can last a while as he would not have a high limbo. This can be torture for you and more like a walk in the park for him. So, I would advise you to plan this one carefully. Perhaps even challenge him (and well yourself) that you two can’t fuck each other, but you two can tease one another. It’s mostly you teasing, but once he does it? It’s hard to keep your hands to yourself because he knows you like it when he gets back to you and takes his armor off to show the hidden muscle underneath. Bastard.

You could ask him to be bottom for a night, but he would be a power bottom. His hands grasping at your thighs and thrusting up into you with impeccable timing. Your mind going a bit frazzled at his actions as you thought you were going to have him withering but it seems he keeps you in your place in either position. He also likes it when you look exhausted above him. Your hands splayed out on his chest with your heated breathes coating his skin.

There are times where this man gets needy after having you has a partner. The chastity maybe a hard one to get him on, but it honestly takes a lot of time for him to become needy. He is more of a war machine than a sexual one, so it makes sense he isn’t, but when he is? Expect him to be curled around you with his cock deep inside of you. His own, hot breaths breathing into your ear as he stuffs you slowly with him. Taking you deep and slow, savoring you.

It takes a long time for him to do chastity, needy sex, and so does rough sex. He really isn’t that much keen on that one as he doesn’t like to imagine on hurting his partner, but he does obey your cries for more. For him to go “r-rougher!” And by god does he deliver, drilling into you with huffs and growls. His hands squeezing tightly at your waist just enough to create a bruise later. No doubt leaving you bedridden for the next days to come. You’re lucky however, that he cares for you afterwards with love.

#personalized headcanons #headcannons #smut headcanons #doomslayer #doomslayer x reader #doomguy #Doomguy x reader #doom #doom x reader #doom eternal #tw: smut

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lemonthesh4rk · 3 months ago

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Have you noticed who's NOT in the Misadventures crypts?

Okay so I know we've all been crying and mourning the canonized deaths of all the emperors in empires smp, but have you noticed that like, not everyone is there??

Here's a list of all the ppl in the crypts (as far as I've seen there could be more and i could be forgetting a few)

Pearl s1 - "The Goddess"

Fwhip s1 - "The Tinkerer"

Fwhip s2 - "The Goblin"

Gem s1 - "The Wizard"

Gem s2 - "The Dawn Princess"

Jimmy s1 - "The Codfish Boy"

Jimmy s2 - "The Sheriff"

Shubble s1 - "The Gnome"

Shubble s2 - "The Witch of Evermore"

Katherine s1 - "The Sheep Queen"

Ren for some reason??? - "The Red King"

Katherine s1 - "The Sheep Queen"

Joey s1 - "Ruler of the Lost Empire"

Joey s2 - "The Pirate King"

Pix s1 - "The King of Copper"

Pix s2 - "The Archeologist"

Joel s1 - "The Mezalean King"

Joel s2 - "The God of Thunder"

Lizzie s1 - "The Queen of the Ocean"

Lizzie s2 - "The Mayor of Animailia"

Scott s1 - "The Elvish Emperor"

Oli s2 - "The Bard"

Now this is probably just because Sausage (since he made it) had limited space or he was just picking emperors that were played by people participating in Misadventures as a fun little easter egg for them

BUT IN THE LORE-

Okay before I start to ramble I want to clarify some more things, the list above is just a list of people who had names on their crypts/were named in their "boss" battle (those being Shubble s1, Katherine s1, and Joey s2, as ppl who became individual bosses/enemies for the person running the crypt to fight). That being said, there is also a phase in the crypt where you have to kill several skeleton sheep, and in his episode Sausage refers the them as Blood Sheep, there is also a larger tomb labeled "The King", where the players can bring raw gold to get more dungeon loot. I'm going to infer through these two references that Sausage s1 aka the Mythland King is also in the Crypt.

Also Pearl s1, Gem s1, and Fwhip s1 all had their tombs in the same room as the "The King"'s crypt, so that is probably a room dedicated to the Wither Rose Alliance, further proving that Mythland Sausage is probably "The King".

Although she does not have a labeled tomb, False from s2 is also likely buried in the crypt, as by looking at Lizzie's mc skin history she has several recent skins with skull heads, likely used as decoration for the dungeon, one of which has False's goggles on it. (in case you're curious the other skull skins were Oli s2 (had his hat), Pix s1 (had his crown), Joey s2 (had his hat), and a 4th one that has some sort of markings on the side which i'm choosing to interpret as axolotl gills for Lizzie s1 although it's not quite clear)

Okay future me here she does have a labeled tomb it's called "Emperor of Cogsmeade" it just hadn't been shown in any of the youtube povs I watched

There is also another few crypts, those being "The Withered Man", "The Vampire", "The Protector" (which might be katherine s2?), and "The Warrior" (and the Warrior's Companion so I don't think that's Katherine as she didn't really have a dog)

So here's the list of emperors who were NOT in the crypts based on everything we've gathered;

Katherine s2

Scott s2

Sausage s2

The majority of this list is s2, which makes some sense

But I think that raises another question

How are Pearl and Sausage from s1 in the Misadventures crypts?

Pix in s2 discovered their tombs in the catacombs in empires s2

It's very possible that they were moved, but STILL

so uh yeah

just something i noticed

This post has been edited as I did leave out some ppl mb

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itsalwaysteatimeinwonderland · 1 year ago

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Dream of You (Spike x Y/N)

Requested: YES! Requested by @wtv-my-current-hyperfixation

TW: Smut. so much smut.

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist

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Giggles and breathy laughter fills the room. Shared glances and touches of desire. You laid in Spike's arms satiated and content. Your body marked and sore. Nights like this were things if novellas and steamy dreams. Spike caressed your hair as he whispered how proud he was of how well you took him. You blushed and smiled. You wanted this to be forever. You wanted it to be real. You reach for his skin, but it's gone. You're left alone, again in your own bed.

You wake up aroused and moist, again. These dreams are a nightly recurrence, something of routine. Your desire for your dear friend Spike was getting out of hand. You wanted him not just on but inside you. However, you would be mortified if he found out.

You get out of bed and go straight for a shower. On a lazier day you would play with yourself to meet some of those needs. Today you were in a hurry. It was your nightly date-ish with Spike. You would sit around his crypt and watch tv. You wanted to make sure you ran all your errands before nightfall.

Most of the day is spent running around town, getting things for tonight. You were sure to get all of Spike's favorites, including a couple of blood bags from the butcher. Before heading to the cemetery you decide to pop into The Magic Shop.

"I just need bone powder and it'll be done" Willow commented to Buffy.

"I'd rather not grind out demon bones." Buffy responded.

"No, silly. It's on the top shelf to your left."

Willow continued making her spell. She worked diligently to make sure all the ingredients and words were correct.

"Hello, peeps. What it do?" Y/n walks into the store.

The scoobies greet y/n as she walks up to Willow.

"What are you up to?" Y/n asks Willow directly.

"Oh, a truth spell!"

"Who are we truthing?"

"Spike."

"Spike!" Your voice gets a pitch higher.

"Yep. Buffy thinks he's being dishonest, and she needs information from him."

"Don't you need his hair for that?"

Willow pulls out a small vial with blondish hair. "Got it." She grins.

You look nervous but say nothing. You feel out of place, but you stay. You make sure to be helpful and calm. You didn't know why Spike being under a truth spell made you uncomfortable. You mulled over the ethics of what your friends were doing but instead you came up with an idea. If Willow casts the spell while you were with Spike you could ask him how he feels about you. You're quick to gather yourself and head out with a quick goodbye.

You basically skip all the way to Spike's crypt.

As you enter the crypt you hear Spike running around downstairs. He hears the door and runs up to the main floor.

"Don't close that door!" He yells

It was too late; you had shut the door. Spike looks frustrated. He sighs in exasperation.

"What?" You ask.

"I've been trapped in here for 2 days the bloody door is stuck and only opens from the outside."

"Oh... uh oh." It dawns on you that you're now trapped with Spike. You feel giddy but scared. How long will it take for someone to bust in through that door. Worst, now you can't question Spike while he's under the truth spell. If he says he feels the same shenanigans can ensue, but if he says no than you're trapped here with your shame.

You wring your hands nervously. Spike walks up to you unsure if to shake you or hug you. He notices the care basket you made for them.

"What's this?" He points to the basket.

"Well, the plan was for us to watch trash tv and eat junk food. I even brought baggies of blood for you. But I guess our plan is to survive." You take a long look at the door.

Spike palms his face in frustration. Of course, his planned "date" night with you would be ruined. Suddenly he perks up. If the door is shut for now that means you would have to stay with him, share his space... share his bed.

He takes you by the hand and leads you to the couch he found in the dumpster.

"Let's make the most of it." He grins.

You nod and sit back. You spent the night watching tv and eating. It was 2am and your eyes were drooping. Spike noticed and turned off the tv.

"You can take the bed." He mumbled as he walked you down to his room.

You're suddenly awake. His bed. You can share it. Wait... are you even ready for that intimacy. You risk it.

"We can share. I trust you" you say cheeks burning red.

Spike is chipper but downplays it. He assents and lets you lay down.

"I'll be down in a bit." Spike tucks you in and scurries back to the couch.

You find it hard to fall asleep. Your heartbeat in your ears. You were sharing your crush's bed, and you were stuck with him. What is this a Wattpad story? Eventually, your eyes close and you're off to dreamland.

Soft touches and passionate gazes. Bodies intertwined in lust and love. You breathe hard finding your sanity as Spike thrusts into you at a steady pace. Your eyes are rolled back into your head. Chest down, ass up, you were at his mercy. He grabs your hair keeping you in place. Your moans are lewd and loud. You feel yourself closer to the edge, closer to release. His hand finds your swollen bud and plays with it in circles. It makes you see stars. You're climbing, soaring, so close to your release.

"Y/n"

You can’t speak.

"Y/n!"

You awake in a startle. Your eyes adjust to see Spike over you. You pull the covers up to your chest as your brain adjusts and remembers where you're at.

"Are you okay?" Spike asks

"Y- yes... why?"

"You were mumblin' in your sleep. At some point you were yellin'. "

You blush ferociously. "Did I say anything?"

"Nah, love. I couldn’t make it out.

You sigh in relief. He looks at you confused.

"It was probably a bad dream" you mumble. You turn around and pretend to go back to sleep to avoid further questions.

It's 4pm and you and Spike are wide awake and bored. You try to open the door to no luck.

"Stop, pet. I already tried."

You sigh and turn to him. "What now?"

Spike walks to the couch and turns on the tv again. You give up, not knowing what to do, and sit by him.

"Do you have any friends?" You ask

"No. Partners in crime, yes. Friends, no."

"Do you get bored of being a vampire?"

"No. I kill, I shag, and I sleep."

"Do you -" you're cut off

"Wha is this, 20 questions?" He turns to you annoyed.

"I’m bored. Let's play a card game."

Spike obliges. He finds a deck of cards and you spent the next several hours playing cards in silence.

"I’m bored again." It was 8pm.

"Let me ask you questions then." Spike grinned.

You nodded, nervously.

"Who was your first kiss?"

"Robert in third grade. Sloppy kisser."

"Cheeky."

"Who was your first love?"

"Jason in college. A real gentleman. Before you ask, we broke up because he developed a coke addiction."

"A real gentleman, indeed."

"Who's your last love?" Spike leaned in expectantly.

You chuckled, nervous. "What? No question on who I lost my virginity to?" You tried to change the subject.

"It ain' Xander, is it?"

"I’m tired. More questions tomorrow, okay?"

Before he could respond you book it to Spike’s room. You lay down and close your eyes real tight in the hopes that Spike didn't trail after you.

Dim lights and rustling. The scent of sex in the air. You're laid out, open and exposed. Spike is nowhere in sight. You feel slight pressure on your clit. You gasp as it increases. You look down to see a head of blonde hair. Your eyes widen as you notice what was happening. Spike's tongue played with your folds. He lavished your insides with his mouth. Your breath labored as you grabbed the sheets of the bed for dear life. He made sure to take his time. To memorize every crevice and nook you had to offer. He became drunk with your scent, your taste. You moaned his name like a Gregorian chant while he worshipped you. You felt your lower abdomen tighten as he lapped at your slit, rolling circles around it. You knew he would give you the best orgasm of your life and you were ready for it. You begged him for release. He prayed your juices would wash over his mouth so he could memorize your taste. You feel unstable, as if someone is shaking the bed. The movements becomes more prominent.

You wake up, groggy, disoriented. Spike, again staring down at you.

"Love, are you okay? You were repeating my name over and over again."

"Um... I had a nightmare... about you...?"

"What about me?"

"Uhhh... You were being attacked... by a uh... demon! And I was scared for you."

Spike is confused but takes your explanation as true.

"What time is it?" You try to change the subject.

"5pm."

You jump out of bed. "We gotta get out of here." You say for your sanity.

Back at the Magic Shop Willow was ready to do her truth spell. All her ingredients in place and determination in her mind. Sadly, she had taken an extra ingredient in with all the others, a strand of your hair. As Willow works on the, unbeknownst to her, ruined spell Buffy beelined it to Spike's crypt.

Back at the crypt only arguing can be heard.

"You're acting weird." Spike accused.

"I’m just tired of being here!"

"So, you're tired o' me?"

"I didn't say that." You turn to him, exhausted and embarrassed.

Pounding comes from the outside of the crypt. Buffy kicks down the door and goes straight for Spike. You're left standing there.

"Where's the next big bad?" Buffy questioned Spike.

"I already told you; I don't know." Spike looks helpless.

"You're lying. Why is the spell not working" Buffy shakes Spike.

"What spell?" Spike asks.

"A truth spell for you." You chime in without your consent.

Both Spike and Buffy look at you. Spike was surprised and Buffy annoyed. You were confused at your own statement. You didn't intend to tell the truth.

Buffy punches Spike a couple of times before questioning him again. When she didn't get an answer, she dropped him and walked away furious.

You just stand there until you remember your fight with Spike. You had to get out of there.

"Oh, no you don't" Spike grabs your forearms. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I've been having sexual dreams about you." You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Your free hand flies to your mouth. You mentally reprimand yourself.

Spike takes in what you said. A grin painted on his face.

"You don't say, love. Out of curiosity, what are we doing in these sexual dreams" He leans in.

Your eyes widen and your mouth starts moving. You tell him about the lewd and lustful acts you have dreamed about. You confess to waking up wet and pent up. You put yourself out there in display for him to ravage the carnage of your secrets.

Spike's face hurts from smiling so wide.

"Now tell me, why would you have these dreams about us?"

You try to bite your tongue but it's too late, "Cause I’m in love with you."

Spike wastes no time claiming your mouth. He memorizes how you taste, how soft your lips are, the way you closed your eyes to kiss him.

"Ler me show you what I can really do." He whispers against your lips.

He picks you up bridal style and walks you down to his bedroom. With care he places you on his bed. He climbs on top of you, kissing you as he settles between your legs.

Impatient, you start tugging at his clothes trying to get them off.

"Easy. All in its due time." He says.

He trails kisses down you jaw to your neck, nipping on his way down. Carefully, he removes your shirt and your bra. You resist the urge to cover yourself from his prying eyes. His gaze is lustful, like a predator eyeing his prey.

His mouth makes a path between you neck all the way to your breast. With great care he places his mouth on your left nipple, giving it the attention it deserved. With his right hand he massaged your right breast. All synchronous so as to stimulate you and prepare you for what’s coming next. He alternated between breasts, sending little jolts of pleasure through your body.

With little haste he made his way to your abdomen and found his way to his prize. He nestled himself between your legs inhaling your scent. Without much wait he dived in, lapping at your folds, twisting his tongue on your clit, memorizing your taste.

You gripped the bed sheets as hard as you could. Your back arching, reaching for him. Your body was alive and electric. He didn't slow down his assault, giving you no space for a deep breath. You moan and beg. You're at odds with yourself. You need release but want to savor the moment.

Spike is observant of the rise and fall of your chest. He tracks your moans and whimpers as he plays with speed and pressure. He has never been this hungry. He decided that he wants to have you wash over him. He wants your release. He inserts two fingers in you while still lapping at your clit. He chases your orgasm with his nimble hands and expert tongue. You swear that your soul is being exorcised out of your body as you crash and spill all over with your release. You're a whimpering, shaking mess. You gasp for air as you slowly land back in your body.

As you look down you see Spike, still between your legs, grinning. Pleased but not satisfied, yet. You make a move to stand up, but he's on you faster than you can speak. He claims your mouth, inviting you to taste yourself on his lips. You're drunk on your own taste on his tongue.

As you passionately make out, Spike makes quick work of his clothes. He's ready to claim you. You're giddy and pliant.

"Are you gonna be a good girl for me?" He asks.

You nod, unable to form a single word.

When he finally releases his erection from his pants you're surprised. How are you going to take all of him? He's so big and hard. Spike can read the uncertainty in your face. He cups your cheek gently and places his forehead against yours.

"It'll be alright. If it's too much just tap me on the arm and I'll stop."

You nod again, determined.

He teases your entrance and clit by rubbing the head of his cock back and forth. Slowly entering you every now and then but then retreating from your entrance, so as to prepare you for his size. Your whimpers fill the room. You want him so much. He can tell you're getting impatient, so he aligns himself and slowly enters you. He stays still, letting you acclimate to his size. Your breath is labored, you're almost delirious with pleasure. You can't believe this is happening.

He slowly moves, rocking back and forth, giving you a rhythm to hold on to. You moan in tandem. Your eyes brimming in tears from the pleasure.

"Look at you, taking me so well." Spike praises you.

You give a lustful smile, too lost to register his words.

He picks up the pace. Thrusting in and out, in and out. Giving you what you asked for. Giving you heaven on earth. You beg for him to go deeper. You needed him completely. Spike chuckles and thrusts harder. His movements are rough and long, giving you a chance to feel every vein and curvature on his cock. You push up against him with your hips, meeting his every thrust. He looks down at you, drunk on sex, admiring how beautiful you look out of breath and disheveled.

He feels your legs shaking. He can tell you're close.

"Are you gonna come for me, love? I want to hear you say my name. Remember who’s taking you.”

You can barely nod as you chase your orgasm, focusing on his movements. Taking him all into you. Memorizing how he feels and how he makes you feel.

Your body ceases and you gasp as your orgasm crashes over you, like a tidal wave. Your veins are full of electricity. You’re seeing stars. You hold onto him while you repeat his name, over ad over again. Music to his ears. Spike holds you, never stopping his fierce thrusts. He wants you to remember who is claiming you.

"Good girl" he litters your face with kisses as you work to regain your breath.

Spike never slows down, chasing his own high. Seeing you spent and tired knowing that he caused it makes him inch closer. He continues to thrust in you, sending aftershock ripples into you as he finds his own release. He fills you to the brim with his seed. He makes you his.

You both stay connected. Breathing heavy. Satiated and in awe. He eventually pulls out of you with a little shiver. He lays down by your side pulling you close to him. You're both silly with pleasure, spent and happy.

"Wow." Was all you could say.

"There's more where that came from. Rest up, because we have a lot of catching up to do."

You giggle, giddy for what your future with Spike holds. To think, all of these restless nights craving him and all you had to do was confess your love. You knew once the sun rises you’ll be tired and sore. Something that you’re looking forward to.

#buffy the vampire slayer #william the bloody #btvs #spike btvs #spike #buffy x spike #spike x you #spike x y/n #spike x yn #spike the bloody #spike imagine #buffyverse #spike x reader

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the-griffons-saddlebag · 4 months ago

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💎 𝗡𝗲𝘄 𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗺! Amulet of the Crypt Keeper Wondrous item, very rare (requires attunement by a spellcaster) ___ This silver amulet is in the shape of a mausoleum. An eerie fog seeps from its interior. While wearing it, you have resistance to necrotic damage. The amulet can have up to 20 charges at a time. When found, it has 1d10 + 10 charges. You can use an action while wearing it to touch a creature’s corpse and speak the amulet’s command word. If the corpse isn’t that of a construct or undead, the corpse is magically reduced to ash, and the amulet gains a number of charges equal to the creature’s Challenge Rating or level (rounded up; maximum of 10). 𝙎𝙥𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙨. While wearing this amulet, you can use an action to expend 5 of its charges to cast one of the following spells from it as a 5th-level spell, using your spell save DC or spell attack bonus: “false life”, “fear”, “inflict wounds”, or “speak with dead”. 𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙤𝙣 𝙁𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙝 𝙂𝙤𝙡𝙚𝙢. While wearing the amulet, you can expend 20 of its charges to magically summon a flesh golem. The golem appears in an unoccupied space within 10 feet of you. This golem has resistance to necrotic damage, is undead, and has features reminiscent of the corpses used to generate the charges used for this property. The golem is friendly to you and your companions, and takes its turn immediately after you. It obeys your verbal commands (no action required). If you don’t issue it any commands, it defends itself from hostile creatures, but otherwise takes no actions. This golem can’t be calmed down once it goes berserk. The golem turns to ash and is destroyed when it drops to 0 hit points, when this property is used again, or once it’s gone berserk for 1 hour; the golem immediately goes berserk if you are no longer attuned to or wearing the amulet. Once this property has been used, it can’t be used again until the next dawn. ___ ✨ Patrons get huge perks! Access this and hundreds of other item cards, art files, and compendium entries when you support The Griffon's Saddlebag on Patreon for as little as $3 a month!

#illustration #digital art #dungeons and dragons #dnd #5e

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eliseliedl · 5 months ago

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Your murder should have been exquisite. A crypt-born effigy to greet Bhaal's bleeding dawn. And now it will be nothing. Baldur's Gate 3 71 / ?

#baldur's gate #gamingedit #baldur's gate 3 #bg3edit #orin #orin the red #videogamewomen #bg3 #larian studios #medeasgifs

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cowboygenesis · 10 months ago

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1/2 fatum invenit | gale x reader

part 1 of the "fatum" mini-series. | buy me a coffee?

summary: you've loathed each other since the dawn of his first arrival. it never should've worked, but somehow, as you find yourself chest-to-chest within a sunken crypt with no way out, your feelings finally surface— and Gods, do they cut deep.

pairing: gale dekarios x sorceress!durge!reader tags: fluff, angst, tons of cursing, mutual pining, forced proximity, enemies/rivals to lovers. word count: 5.3k notes: whew, here we are at last. if you've read "knuckle up" you might find the ending a little similar but... what can i say, im a softie. also, the durge aspect of the reader is truly very minimal, i just added it for the sake of flavor, whatevah... oh, and reader is super cheeky and generally curses a lot, im case that's something that bothers you. i want this to be a two-parter eventually, so expect some smut in the future chapter. as always, let me know what you think! enjoy! masterlist.

You… you fucking knew it. The one time in your life you decide to give a wizard the benefit of the doubt he… he screws you the fuck over.

It was supposed to be an easy job: infiltrate Kereska’s chapel, retrieve the relic Raphael demanded, and slip away unnoticed. Hey, no big deal— you’ve handled worse without breaking a sweat.

Most of your companions weren’t so eager to take on the devil’s dirty work after a night of drinking, so, you figured you’d tackle it solo. No problem. After all, you’d just returned home to Baldur’s Gate. The evening was warm, the streets thrummed with energy, and after a night of revelry, you were in a damn good mood.

So when Gale, with his calm, holier-than-thou attitude, offered to “assist,” you’d thought sure, why the Hells not?

And what a mistake that would turn out to be for you. Just as your gut had warned you, things ended up going sideways. All because of him.

You both had made it past the wards, the traps, and even those fucked up, undead necromancers that you hated dealing with—no thanks to Gale’s constant commentary on your spellcasting techniques. It was always some remark about how your magic was “undisciplined,” how you were “too reckless to be at your best.” Fuck, like you hadn’t been doing this shit for years, now.

Warranted, you weren’t exactly the nicest person, either. Meals at your camp were a battlefield of their own, filled with biting comments and passive-aggressive stares, often over trivial matters that had nothing to do with magic.

Plus, combat was no different. It rarely took more than a few minutes before you and Gale were mired in a heated debate over the “best course of action for the situation”. Naturally, these debates only added to the tension, making every encounter feel like a personal clash as opposed to a friendly discussion over technique.

You two were polar opposites, discordant, incompatible.

But you were an idiot, then. A dumb, tender-hearted idiot in a great mood who had hoped you two could eventually get along if the stars aligned just right. But that’s all hindsight.

After all the hard work, you had almost had it— your hand was just within reach of that damned necklace, caution thrown to the wind, when Gale decided to get fancy. A small “adjustment” to the magical aura surrounding the relic, he’d explained— something about minimizing risk and stabilizing the flow of the Weave so you could extract it safely.

You discarded the idea, of course; “fuck your tricks,” you had said (your actual words), rolled your eyes at him, and said goodbye to the remnants of your good mood as he reprimanded you like a teacher would a novice— and that, naturally, you weren’t.

Unlike him, you didn’t need a stack of tomes to inspectthis kind of arcane energy. It felt powerful and intricate, yes— but beneath it all, it was just a trick of the eye. The glowing, golden-tinged sphere wasn’t malevolent whatsoever, and instead served as a cheap ploy to repel those tempted by the artifact.

So, knowing what you knew, you reached for the relic despite his suggestion.

But, just as you were to lay a finger on it, he… he cast his fucking “safety” spell. And everything went to hell.

The forcefield around the necklace reacted— wildly. The air rippled in waves, the ground shifting beneath you, and suddenly, you were trapped in some kind of collapsed chamber beneath the chapel— cut off from the rest of the world, with no way out.

Worst of all, you were in heartbreaking proximity. The dugout was deep, but narrow, allowing you maybe a centimeter of privacy before your chest collided with his. And Gods, did that happen often. Any movement you made, your bodies would collide in one way or another, be it feeling his thigh rub against yours, grazing fingers, or smacking his chin— the last one being a complete accident on your part, of course.

And yes, as two magic-wielders would, you tried your luck. As it turned out, the stone binding your bodies together seemed to have a sort of Weave-repellent property that rendered your only functional skills worthless.

So, here you were, stuck with your arch-rival, and with every passing second, your frustration grew. It must have been half an hour since the disaster struck when you finally felt your head pound with frustration.

“Gale,” you sigh for the millionth time, “Are you even listening?”

He’s been doing a great job ignoring your commentary by seemingly occupying himself with analyzing your surroundings. Smart, sure, if it wasn’t for the simple fact he refused to collaborate with you whatsoever. After your initial scream-off, he seemed reluctant to give you the time of day again.

He finally clears his throat to speak, and you shoot him a glare in the dim light.

"You just had to do your thing, didn’t you?" he sighs.

“And you just had to show off,” you retort through a bitter snark.

Gale glances at you with narrowed eyes, yet his expression remains infuriatingly contained. “I was trying to prevent a catastrophe. If I hadn’t intervened, the entire chapel may have collapsed.”

“Well, congratulations,” you snap, “It collapsed on us instead. I’m so glad we avoided a disaster, Gale.”

He exhales slowly, then gives you a haphazard eye-roll. “Perhaps if you hadn’t rushed things—”

“Rushed things?” Your chest flares, making it collide with his. “I didn’t touch a damned thing. You’re the one who decided the Weave needed tuning or whatever other bullshit.”

Gale’s eyes narrow, a flash of frustration crossing his face. “You think I did this on purpose? I made the right choice. But you—”

“Oh, so it’s my fault now?” You cut him off, “Honestly, fuck you, man. If you were half as concerned with doing a good job as you are with peacocking we wouldn’t even be here in the first place.”

He looks away, his jaw tightening. “Peacocking?”

“Yeah. Peacocking, showing off—Are you okay? I thought you were supposed to be the clever one.” You shrug in mock nonchalance, rolling your eyes as if the circumstances weren’t already driving you up the wall.

You feel Gale’s chest rise and fall with a steadying breath, the sort one might take when trying to stop themselves from saying something they’ll inevitably regret. When it came to containing his bubbling rage, he beat you to it every time.

His casual lilt, when it comes, makes your teeth grit. “Obviously.”

You groan loudly, letting the back of your head thud against the stone wall behind you. A tense silence falls between you, broken only by the steady rhythm of his breathing, a sound that seems to grow louder in the small space whenever conversation dies down.

“You would’ve been buried stone-cold dead under the rubble if I hadn’t cast that spell,” he mutters, and just like that, your patience snaps.

“I— I can’t believe you’re saying this to me,” Your words are sharp as daggers, eyes burning into his as you twist your body just enough to face him head-on. “The barrier was a ruse, Gale. A fake. I told you not to cast that damn spell—”

“And I suppose explanations are beneath someone of your obvious talents,” he snaps back, his words dripping with venom.

You glare at him, feeling your pulse quicken. “You’re a scholar— Gods, don’t you know this kind of illusory magic is Kereska’s whole thing?” you spit, watching his face aptly in hopes of catching a glimpse of something; remorse, sympathy, fuck, even just a bit of pity would satiate you.

But it never comes. His eyes bore into you with practiced reprimanding, and because he must see you on the precipice of breaking down, he continues to poke the metaphorical bear. “You should’ve waited.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must’ve missed the part where you became the authority on everything. In case you somehow overlooked it, I’ve been doing this for years without your lectures.”

“And look how well that’s worked out for you,” he retorts, his voice low, treacherous. There’s a mocking smile imbued on his face, and you quickly realize it makes you want to tackle him to the ground and claw it out yourself. If it wasn’t for the minimal space, you probably would’ve even attempted it. “This wasn’t some petty street magic. That relic was infused with layers of defense—complex protections you clearly didn’t even account for—”

“I knew what I was dealing with!” you hiss, pushing against the wall for leverage. You brush against his chest again, sending an electric jolt of tension through the confined space. “I didn’t need your over-calculated, pompous meddling. I had it under control until you—”

“Under control?” Gale’s voice rises, his frustration finally splintering through his quiet facade as he emits a burst of scornful laughter. “Do you even hear yourself? Your recklessness nearly got us killed!”

You scoff, pushing back even harder. “You’re so damn smug— acting like the world will end if you don’t micromanage every little detail, but guess what? You don’t always have the answer. And right now, we’re stuck— all because of your fucking arrogance.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but then closes it, jaw tight, eyes blazing as he holds your gaze. For a second, you think he’s about to let loose another lecture, but instead, there’s silence—a strange, electricity-charged stillness that envelops you like a cold breeze.

You can’t speak. It crackles between you with a strain, thick enough to feel suffocating. Every breath you take only draws you closer to him, and somehow, it almost feels like the walls enveloping you have only grown thicker throughout your argument.

The closeness, the heat, the sheer intensity of the argument—it’s all too much, and yet, neither of you looks away once your gazes inevitably connect.

The wizard licks his bottom lip languidly, lips smacking as he seems to be taking you all in. His eyes scan over you, and somehow the fact makes you feel vulnerable.

Finally, he breaks the peace.

“If I’m so arrogant, why did you let me join you?”

His eyes are dark, but not just with frustration; they’re searching, questioning, as though he’s daring you to give an honest answer, knowing it’s something you can’t afford yourself right now.

“You asked me to let you come,” you bark out, pushing his chest with the heel of your hand, the contact sending a spark of heat through your outstretched arm. “I didn’t want you here. I figured we’d get through this, grab the necklace, and go our separate ways again. But no—you wanted to come. Play the hero, do all the dirty work, whatever your reasoning was.”

Gale doesn’t flinch at your words, but his eyes narrow slightly— they flicker to the space your bodies connect at, then back to your tautened face.

His gaze lingers on where your hand presses against his chest, and for a fleeting moment, you think he might back down. But instead, his jaw clenches, and when his eyes snap back to yours, there’s a fire behind them that ignites something deep in your gut.

“And you agreed,” he counters mockingly, the smile adorning his face making your head spin. “Why?”

The question hangs between you for a beat. You falter, mouth opening and closing without a reply.

He’s right. He’s fucking correct, and you hate it.

Why did you agree? You could’ve said no, barked back at him, insulted his stupid wizard frock— pushed him away with one of the countless options you had at your disposal.

But you didn’t. You let him come with you, willingly.

You clench your fists, pushing against the surge of discomfort bubbling in your belly. “Well, forgive me for being an optimist,” you mutter, voice tight. “I thought, for once, that maybe— Fuck. Maybe we could get through one fucking mission without trying to jump at each others’ throats.”

He exhales at your explanation, tilting his head to glance through the top of the crevasse and toward the chapel ceiling. You follow suit, albeit subtly, noticing the intricate engravings lining the skylight; in the dim light of the afternoon sun, they look elegant, beautiful, even. How didn’t you notice that when you first walked in?

“And how’s that going for us?” he asks suddenly, the smile curling at the edges of his mouth turning bitter.

You huff, running a hand through your hair. The condensation sticks to your fingers, and you can’t help the joyless chuckle that escapes your lips when you look at him again.

“Well, I don’t know,” you sigh, shrugging your shoulders lazily. Your cynical laughter shifts into the shadow of a smile. Somehow, as he glances down at you, you find yourself with a pang in your chest that overshadows the frustration you’ve been drowning in— it’s deep, and resonant, and feels like it’s swallowing your heart whole when his dark eyes meet yours. “We still hate each other.”

The wizard exhales sharply through his nose, and strangely, you can’t seem to read his expression even as your eyes squint.

His gaze is fixed on yours with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken; you feel it best when his hot breath hits the sweat-slicked skin of your face as he leans in. It’s a slight, almost imperceptible gesture, yet just enough to make your breath hitch with… rage, aversion— or perhaps, most frighteningly, something else you’ve been pushing down for months since your first quarrel.

You’re forcefully dragged out of your stupor when the pad of his thumb grazes your palm— the touch sends a sharp, almost uncomfortable jolt of electricity down your spine, leaving you speechless as you chalk it up to an unfortunate accident. Nothing more, it couldn’t be.

“I don’t hate you,” he says, and though his tone is stiff, the words cut through your pause like a skilled blade.

It couldn’t be.

Your breath catches in your parched throat, heart pounding with a force that would surely reverberate through his body hadn’t his robe been so thick.

You can feel the heat radiating off him, each shallow breath you take only drawing you closer— or, at least, that’s exactly how it feels in the tiny space you’re being forced to share.

His thumb is still brushing your palm, slowly, gently, and deliberately enough that you cannot ascribe it to a simple accident anymore. For a second, your eyebrows arch and there’s this urge to pull away, something thrumming in your head and telling you to hold to principle.

But you don’t… you— you physically can’t. Not when he’s gazing down at you with… with patience. Understanding, maybe. But why?

A beat passes, then another. The tension coils so tight you almost want to scream to break it, and his gaze remains locked on yours, his palm grazing yours.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your scattered thoughts, but your voice betrays you when you finally manage to speak, trembling, barely above a whisper.

“You—” Your throat feels tight, words failing you as his face remains inches from yours. "You’re fucking with me. I… you hate me, Gale, I can’t—"

He glances down at you with a strange glint in his eyes, then exhales loudly again. Did you strike a nerve?

“Why do you always do this?” he questions with exasperation tugging at his tone. You feel his touch momentarily drop from yours, and in the heat of the moment, you find yourself missing it.

“What?” you blink, eyebrows furrowed.

“This,” He gestures between the two of you with a frustrated sigh. “You’re— you’re always picking fights with me. Always pushing, always assuming the worst—”

“I’m picking fights?” Your eyes narrow, the sneer coming back to your lips like armor. “You’ve been criticizing every godsdamn thing I’ve done since day one, making me feel inferior, questioning my skill— and now I’m the one picking fights?”

He shakes his head sharply, then sighs in frustration. When you look up, his eyes are locked on yours—deep brown with flecks of gold, catching the fractured sunlight streaming through the cracked skylight. You could drown in them, given the chance.

“No, that’s not— That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” He stops himself, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. “You don’t— you just refuse to listen to me. When we fight, in camp— even now. The relic, that barrier, you— Gods, you always act instead of—”

“Don’t you dare paint me as the villain now,” you snap, bumping his chest with the pad of your palm again.

“You almost got us killed!” he bites back, “I don’t care for your talents if it means you don’t utilize them properly. Have you ever stopped to think that maybe, just maybe, raw talent doesn’t equal capability?”

Right.

Your lips purse, the pit in your stomach suddenly overpowering your ability to retort. It was a mistake— you should have known the niceties were a convenient gimmick to ascertain his position over you, and not an actual instance of humanity, for once.

But somehow, your false hopes only drive the wrath within you. You let the nausea overcome you and have it fuel your bitter tone as you finally find the power to speak up again.

“All you care about is being right— about having the last word against anyone who dares question your abilities,” you mutter, challenging his stern gaze with your own, “And the rest of us? We’re just supposed to sit by and watch, grateful to be in the presence of Gale Dekarios, the great, tragic wizard who thought his tricks could satiate a fucking Goddess!”

You’re fuming. The words that come out of your throat are only half-baked as you shrill at him, but… but at the moment, it feels right— warranted, somehow.

So when you catch him give you the space to continue, you take it.

“…But the truth is, you need to feel superior. You need everyone to see you as the sleekest in the room because deep down, you’re still clinging to the ghost of a woman who abandoned you. And that’s why you’ve been picking me apart since day one—because I’m not afraid to tell you how full of shit you are.”

Suddenly, you feel his hand catch your wrist, his grip firm as he holds you still. His thumb presses lightly against your pulse, sending a sharp, unwanted jolt of awareness through your body as your arm tries to jerk away.

“You don’t know the first godsdamn thing about me,” Gale growls, his breath fanning your face as the words spill out, thick with venom. “You’re so wrapped up in your own insolence, so blinded by your stubborn pride, that all you can see in others is a reflection of yourself. And trust me when I say that it’s an ugly one.”

You laugh, a bitter, angry sound, but your heart is hammering now. “Oh, so you think you’ve got me all figured out?”

His jaw clenches, but his grip doesn’t waver. “I know enough. I know that your actions speak louder than words. I know that you’re reckless, impulsive, and too damned proud to admit when you need help—”

Your heart pounds in your chest, the heat between you scorching as your breaths mingle. “You’re such a fucking hypocrite. You’re the one who’s blinded by your own self-importance— always thinking you’re the wisest, savviest person in the room, like the rest of us are just pawns in your little fucking game.”

Gale’s eyes flash with something wild and uninhibited, and you watch his sneer shift into a bitter smile again.

“You— You really think that?” he questions through a chuckle, voice gravelly and low. “Do you really think I’m just using you for some game?”

For a heartbeat, neither of you moves. You sneer at him, and the outrage bubbles out again.

“Oh, don’t make me laugh. You’ve only ever looked out for yourself. This was never about helping me—it was… it was about proving something. To me, to yourself, to fucking Mystra,” you trail.

The moment the words leave your lips, the air shifts between you like a storm about to unravel. His grip on your wrist tightens, not painfully, but with a deliberate firmness that forces you to stop and feel the tension between you. His face is suddenly too close, and for the most succinct moment, you catch something flickering in his eyes—something dim, and dark—but not the rage you were expecting.

He should be angry with you— Hells, he should be furious. You just tore into every insecurity you knew he had, ripped open wounds that never quite healed, and worst of all, dragged his old lover into it all.

And yet… his gaze isn’t burning with the fever you’ve grown used to seeing from him in every argument, every fight.

Why the fuck isn’t he furious?

“Gods, I actually— I used to admire you. You know that? Before all this, I thought you were someone I could… I don’t know, respect. You were this brilliant, woeful man who carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, and I thought, ‘Maybe there’s something more underneath all that.’ I thought we could, I don’t know, actually be something—friends, allies, whatever the fuck. I wanted us to trust each other. But… but you…" your voice lowers to a near whisper, and somehow, unbeknownst to you, your eyes go glassy with hot tears.

You’re left reeling, heart hammering in your chest as your mind races along with your bitter confession. The air around you feels viscous, mucous-like, but when your throat goes dry with impending tears you look up to see something that makes your breath hitch.

He’s listening.

Not just waiting for his turn to speak as he usually does around you, not calculating his next clever retort, but listening— really, truly listening.

His gaze, once so sharp with ire, has softened. His dark eyes are fixed on yours with a vigor that nearly undoes you, and there’s no anger in them now, no resentment.

Your breath catches.

“You never gave me a chance, Gale. Not once. It was always about you, your guilt, your past, your Mystra— Fuck!” you cough out and rub your eyes with the pads of your palms, massaging your vulnerability away. “I tried. I really, really tried. But none of this seemed to reach you, not through that… that mental barrier you’ve created around yourself. I think that since the very beginning, everything else was just noise to you. I was just noise to you,” your voice dies down to a mutter, and you inhale sharply to fight the sorrow back into your grieving heart.

You withdraw your hands and finally feel brazen enough to face him.

You can feel the heat in your cheeks, aware that your nose is red from the tears you tried so hard to hold back, that your eyelids are probably puffy and swollen, and you’re a fucking mess.

But it doesn’t matter now. You’ve come undone, and now, nothing mattered to you anymore; not the anger, not the sorrow, and especially not the way his kind, gentle touch seemed to soothe your aching heart when his palm met yours.

You scan his face, but there’s nothing— or at least, you can’t seem to read it through the coating of tears obscuring your eyes. The light above has shifted to cast his face in a warm, velvety light. You catch the subtle lines etched into his forehead, the faint silver threads streaking through his hair, and his lips curling into… a smile.

Despite your desperation, despite your pain, he was smiling.

Your chest tightens, fists clenching at your sides, and before you can stop them, a stream of hot tears finally spills down your cheeks.

This was it. You braced for impact.

“��So do whatever the fuck you need to fill that void in your heart, but don’t involve me in any of it. And— for fuck’s sake, Gale, don’t act like you give a shit about me because you—”

But you never get to finish.

Before you can witness the gentle glint in his eyes as he leans into you, before you can even register it, his lips crash onto yours.

Your gasp is muted against the softness of his mouth. When he moves, it’s not gentle, not soft, but raw in its intensity and so, so desperate.

His grip on your wrist tightens briefly before finally releasing, his free hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck. The warmth of his hand is a pleasant change to the cold, hard stone you’ve been leaning against, and suddenly, just as your mind threatens to flood you with dopamine, it all dawns on you.

You’ve been here before—no, not here, but in moments that feel eerily alike.

You recall the edge in his voice during arguments, the way he’d insist on ‘rectifying’ you at every turn, the blunt critiques you assumed were borne from pure vanity. But now… now there’s a clarity to it all. Worry. Fear. A softness, a hesitation. Like when he would offer his hand to you after a fight, his fingers lingering just a moment too long as they brushed over yours.

You loathed him… Hells, you detested him.

But how deep were you willing to draw the line between hate and devotion?

Against all your instincts, against the sharp, burning ache in your chest—you drink him in. His warmth, his touch, the power behind it all.

You know you should push him away, shove him off, scream, but instead, you find yourself frozen— trapped in the certainty of this moment. And despite every ounce of fury burning inside you, you can’t deny the spark it ignites in your indigent heart as he caresses you so tenderly.

And with that, you seal your fate with his.

Your lips press against his, head tilting until you feel you’re melting into him. He groans softly against your mouth, and the sound makes your chest thrum with a melody you’re afraid to place.

Your hands, trembling, inch towards his chest, but this time they aren’t formed into spiteful fists or an accusatory point— your palms lay lax against him, resting at the junction of his ribs and pushing, pushing… just in hopes of catching the steady thrum of his heart against your fingertips. The anger, the pain, the confusion—it’s all still there, but in this moment, none of it matters.

Just him. Just this.

For all the times you’ve misread him, all the moments you thought his criticisms were barbs, meant to wound—now you wonder. You had mistaken his care for contempt, his frustration for hatred. But now, as his lips part slightly against yours, the world narrows down to just the two of you. No damned relic, no mission, no war; only the benign sensation of his hand cradling the back of your neck, the warmth of his mouth on yours, and the undeniable truth of it all:

You’ve never hated him. Not once in your rotten life.

And when his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, you want to come undone. You’re tired, hot, melting into this fiery, passionate kiss that has slowly turned languid and gentle.

So despite the zeal enveloping your body, you’re finally forced to part.

When your eyes open, you find him already watching you. A shiver runs down your spine as you drink him in; tousled hair, half-lidded eyes, and the ghost of a smile on his plush lips as the both of you pant in tandem with each other.

He looks wrecked. But then again, you’re certain you do too.

Your face feels flushed, still burning with aftershock and when you bite your bottom lip, you find it swollen. Raw. The taste of him lingers there too, sweet like bourbon and sharp like anise.

You stare at each other. It’s like you’re seeing him for the first time again, really seeing him, and it softens your heart as much as it terrifies your lust-addled mind.

The silence stretches between you, so thick you can feel it pressing against your skin. It pulls taut with every second, coiling tighter, and you can’t stand how fragile it makes your heart feel.

You swallow hard, trying to gather your scattered thoughts, but your voice betrays you when you finally manage to speak, trembling, barely above a whisper. “You—” Your throat feels tight, words failing you as his face remains inches from yours.

"Yeah?" His voice is husky— you’ve never found that aspect of it attractive until now.

You open your mouth, but the words—whatever they are—die in your throat. Instead, all you can do is look at him and fall deeper into his embrace.

There are questions that swirl in the back of your mind, ones you know you should ask, but they slip away the moment his thumb brushes your cheek again. Why did he kiss you? Why did you let him? And why, despite the chaos and pain that’s passed through your mind, did this—he—feel like the only thing that has made sense since you forgot all else?

“I never hated you,” he murmurs and shifts slightly, lifting his hand to cup your cheek. You nuzzle into his touch.

“I didn’t want to hate you,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I thought it’s what we were meant to be. Enemies.”

“We aren’t,” The corner of his mouth twitches. “We never were.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, and just like that, the fragile walls around your heart crumble. Gale Dekarios, the man you had sworn to hate, has somehow intertwined himself into your very existence in a way you suddenly think might last centuries.

—

As it turns out, the solution to your predicament was surprisingly, nearly embarrassingly straightforward. The anti-magic barrier encircling the sunken crypt could be dispelled by reciting the incantation inscribed on the rock walls— and with Gale’s surprising proficiency in Draconic, it proved quite an easy feat.

After that, it was just a matter of a few rudimentary spells. Naturally, the task took longer than anticipated, thanks to the lingering, newfound tension between you and the wizard— fleeting glances, soft touches, and even an occasional, stolen kiss as you recited your magic; things you surprisingly found yourself quite fond of.

As you step out into the cool evening air, you inhale deeply, savoring the crisp, refreshing breeze. The sunset paints the world in a warm, golden hue, casting long, soft shadows across the cobbled streets as you pass by groups of chattering townsfolk.

“I’ve been thinking,” you hear your companion muse through a playful smile. “After all of this, do you think we could avoid arguments for a little while?”

You meet his gaze with a puckish eye roll, a smile tugging at your still-swollen lips. The warm glow of the streetlights casts his face in a soft, intimate glow, and your smile widens into a grin when you catch his lips bearing that same sign of your carnal affection.

“It depends,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug, pushing against him playfully.

“Mhm, and on what exactly?” he hums, his hand squeezing tighter around yours. When his thumb caresses your palm, you feel your heart thrum with something you can’t quite describe.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you reply, glancing up at him with a grin. He returns it within a beat, and now it’s your turn to knit your fingers tighter. “How much longer are you planning on nagging me?”

He chuckles from the belly, and the coil in your chest that you’ve long expected to be spite emerges as something much larger, softer, and most unexpected. You fear to name it out loud.

You smile when your gaze meets his, the warmth in his eyes mirrored by the softness of your own. He leans in, and the world narrows to the touch of his lips against yours—a brief, gentle kiss that seems to linger in the evening light. In that fleeting moment, all the doubts and anxieties are swept away with his voice calling your name.

“For as long as I live,” he retorts softly, his voice laced with tenderness as the air between you, once again, fills with his laughter.

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ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral · 1 year ago

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Ok, since you guys liked my last silly Merlin au idea, here's another one! :D

I think that the Knights of Medhir should have come back in some way. They're so versatile as villains, and supposedly any sorcerer powerful enough to awaken them could control them.

Combine their versatility in the story with my saltiness that Merlin never really got any minions despite Morgana getting, like, four whole armies, and I think there's a fun little au in there!

So, I'm imagining around season 4 the knights of the round table plus Merlin and Arthur are on a quest, but there's some sudden bad weather, so they need to seek shelter. However, the only shelter around is the ruins of Idirsholas, much to Arthur and Merlin’s discomfort. However, they’re reassured by the fact that the knights of Medhir are long gone after Morgause's failed invasion.

Let's say that Merlin was injured by a bandit’s blade, giving him a shallow but bleeding cut on his arm. They were able to bandage it with some cloth, but it was still bleeding a bit. As the knights and Merlin prepare their camp for the night, Merlin lights a campfire for them in the courtyard, put as he leans over the firepit, his bandage comes loose a bit, causing some of his blood to spill onto the fire. He thinks nothing of it as he rebandages his arm and starts cooking dinner.

Meanwhile, in the crypt underneath the ruins, the Knights of Medhir have been awakened by a powerful sorcerer lighting a fire in the castle, and then got a massive power-up thanks to being awakened by a blood sacrifice by Emrys himself!

So, the Camelot knights settle in and sleep, while the knight of Medhir are waking up more powerful than ever before. However, their new master hasn't given them any commands yet, so they're just... standing around. For now.

The next day, the knights of the round table pack up and leave, heading back to Camelot. The knights of Medhir can sense their new master getting further away, but they still don't have any orders, so they stay put.

After a couple days, the knights return to Camelot, just in time for a big tournament! Of course, with a big tournament, there's a bunch of rude and downright awful noble knights that show up and make Merlin's life miserable by treating him like dirt behind Arthur's back. One in particular throws a goblet at Merlin's head, and not playfully like Arthur does, and it strikes Merlin's head, giving him a small cut and making him bleed.

The knights of Medhir, sensing that their new master is hurt and hopping onto their demonic horses: We ride at dawn bitches!

So, a couple days into the tournament, the knights of Medhir crash the party! But strangely enough, they only attack a group of non-Camelot knights, even killing a few before they suddenly stop their attack. Then, the knights of Medhir make their way into the castle's courtyard and await their master's next commands, as still as statues.

Arthur, Merlin, and the knights of the round table are scrambling to find out what sorcerer summoned these knights, for what purpose, and why were those foreign knights targeted? Merlin in particular is pulling his hair out over this because the last thing he needs right now is another power-hungry sorcerer trying to take over Camelot!

What's the most confusing is why the knights are just... standing in the middle of the courtyard, unmoving. The Camelot knights try to take this opportunity to destroy the knights of Medhir, but nothing works. They try stabbing them, beheading them, drowning them, even setting them on fire, but nothing could destroy the undead knights. The knights of Medhir just stand there, unmoving.

The Camelot knights, after trying and failing to destroy the knights of Medhir for the twentieth time: They're just standing there... menacingly!

Merlin's also tried a bunch of spells to get rid of them, but nothing's working. It's like his magic refuses to destroy the knights! (Because his magic is now connected to the knights, but he doesn't know that.)

After a while, everyone just sorta accepts that the knights of Medhir are apparently just going to be creepy permanent statues in the courtyard, and life goes on. That is, until another assassin sneaks into Camelot trying to kill the king and Merlin's trying to secretly catch them, but is out in public, so he can't rely on his magic.

All of a sudden, and to everyone's horror, the knights are moving again! The knights of Medhir tear through the castle, thankfully not hurting anyone, but not letting anyone get in their way. They eventually make their way into the throne room, where the assassin is about to strike at Arthur. They brutally murder the assassin (whom only Merlin knew about) in front of the entire court and then march back out into the courtyard, going still once again.

And that's when Merlin realizes it: he's the sorcerer who summoned the knights! And now he apparently has them under his command.

Cue Merlin's life getting a hell of a lot easier.

I feel like this could go in a pretty humorous direction, with Merlin trying desperately to hide the fact that the knights are under his control, but he keeps needing to them save his friends (and himself).

But then Arthur sees Merlin and Gwen being constantly protected by the knights of Medhir, and comes to his own horrifying (and incorrect) conclusion that he himself may be the one commanding them, as they seem to be prioritizing their safety (since Arthur doesn't see them saving his life), which is what Arthur does himself. So Arthur thinks that the knights tearing apart people who hurt Merlin or Gwen is the knights acting on his own darkest impulses, and which makes him very uncomfortable.

I think that there's lots of potential here!

Thanks for reading through my rambling! :D

#merlin #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #arthur pendragon #knights of the round table #knights of medhir #protective merlin #protective arthur #merlin prompts

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tigerf00d · 7 months ago

Text

Got a Photograph, Picture of

Pairing: Spike x Reader

Other Characters: the Scoobies (mentioned)

Tags: explicit NSFW/smut, blood drinking, photography/nude photos, no use of y/n, gender neutral pronouns (afab body, sorry y'all, working with what I know.)

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary:

“Spike?” You centred him in the frame made out of your thumb and forefingers, pretending to line up the camera.

“Can vampires take pictures?”

Your vampire counterpart paused from where he was leafing through a book, looking up at you curiously.

“Well, yes. But often not very well.”

A/N: Title from the Def Leppard song. This is a second part but can be read as standalone! Also available on my Ao3. As this is explicit, you are (as always) responsible for your own consumption of media. That said, if you stay, please enjoy!

Read the first part here.

You were both sitting in Spike's room below the crypt, bedroom painted gold with warm rays that faded as the sun set. His ‘bed’, which really was just a bedframe and collection of fabrics as he claimed a mattress was “too soft” after a century of sleeping wherever was convenient (see also; the floor), was propped up in the corner.

It was strange. Ever since your mutual confession a month ago, you had been around his place, around him, much more. You’d seen his bed before, but now that you’d slept in it? (And that was ALL… I swear on Giles, Buffy.) There was a familiarity you hadn’t expected.

“Spike?” You centred him in the frame made out of your thumb and forefingers, pretending to line up the camera.

“Can vampires take pictures?”

Your vampire counterpart paused from where he was leafing through a book, looking up at you curiously.

“Well, yes. But often not very well.”

“You know that’s not what I meant. Can you have your photograph taken?”

“Depends on the camera. Why do you ask?”

“...No reason.”

He looked at you flatly, faux unamusement painting his face, but you knew the truth.

“Sure, I’ll just take your word for it then, shall I, poppet?”

You nodded, and he just kept staring at you.

Had there always been that many bricks in the wall? It was obvious that you couldn’t hold his gaze, but it was difficult to resist him. One more look can’t hurt, can it? It’s not like he was still looking, surely. He was. pale eyes and that scar that sat so effortlessly over his brow. peering up at you.

“Pet.” Spike said lowly, “What’s the reason?”

“Ok, you're right. There is a reason.” You pause at his smug smile. “Don’t let it get to your head. We were reading this magazine and-”

“We?”

“The Scoobies, well, Willow and Xander mostly.”

“Mhmm, go on.”

“Well, they had this, er, column. On… intimate things, I saw one of the ideas and thought I could adapt it for us to do.”

“So instead of just askin’ me if we could get it on, you decided to ask if I could have my picture taken?”

He was trying not to laugh, lips twitching as he tried to keep a straight face.

“No! I just, one of them was talking about giving boudoir photos to your partner or whatever and I thought it would be nice to just have a clean and wholesome picture of you.”

“What for? It’s not like we do anything without each other, except when I go out to eat.”

“And during the day.” You murmured, watching the dawning realisation in his expression.

“Oh, so is that what this is? Hm? Already so attached to me, is that it, love?”

You frowned, rubbing your palm apprehensively, “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“No, no, we’ll take your pictures. Did you bring the camera?” He looks at you knowingly.

“Well, I only have a digital one, and it’s not the best—”

He cut you off,

“Digital is better, at least I look normal on the screen. It’s the silver in the developer that’s the issue.” You nodded and went to find your bag, which you had left near the worn-down entrance to the crypt.

As you returned, the bleached-blond vamp was nowhere to be seen. It was still light out, and you had just been in the crypt itself, which left either the entrance to the town’s underground system, or… you spun around and saw the vamp leaning against the wall near the door with a bemused smirk on his face.

“You're not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I didn't think so.” You huffed a laugh before raising the camera. “I’ve got it. Where do you wanna sit?”

Spike frowned, looking around his bedroom before laying down on his bed.

“Here? Are you sure?”

“You kneel over me to take it, an’ that way, we both get to enjoy the view.”

You rolled your eyes, “Uh huh, anything else?”

“Yes,” Spike drawled before he quickly sat up, removed his shirt, and lay back down. “Now it’s gonna be memorable.”

“Everything you do is memorable.” You grumbled, moving to straddle his hips.

“What was that?” he had excellent hearing, and you both knew it.

“Nothing, Spike,” unable to wipe the smile plastered on your face. You saw him struggle not to smile below you.

Spike liked to tease. That much was obvious to anyone who saw the pair of you together, but even more so he liked for the other to join in, to acknowledge the teasing and throw the ball back to his court. He was ever the brat that way.

You sat down slightly, trying to frame the image better through the tiny window.

One of his arms moved to cushion his head, tilting his face closer to the camera, and the other wrapped around your leg, and you felt him palm your thigh.

“Spike.”

“Yes?” he responded, feigning obliviousness.

“Your hand, it’s distracting.”

“Oh.” the vamp responded all too suddenly, eyes glittering with mirth.

You took the picture.

“A little warning, love?” Spike blinked, the bright light leaving green remnants in his vision. You smiled at the pixelated version of him on the screen.

“Sorry. You just looked so…”

“So?”

“So… you. I couldn’t help myself.”

He looked at you softly before slipping back into his comfortable persona.

“Do I get one of you, then?”

You shrugged, “If you want.”

Rolling off of him and pushing the camera into his hands in one swift motion, you asked, “Where do you want me?”

“Same as me.”

You moved to lay on your back so he could reverse the positions, but he grabbed your shoulder and looked at you expectantly.

“What?”

“Take your top off.”

“Spike. I’m not wearing anything underneath.”

“What? It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“That was different, I was injured.”

Spike conceded, tilting his head before continuing, “Still. For me? It'll be collarbones up, cross my undead heart.”

You thumbed the hem of your shirt and rolled your eyes, “Only for you. Got that?”

“Wouldn't dare to dream of having it any other way.” He assuaged.

Top now removed, you lay back down as Spike eyed you appreciatively through the viewfinder.

“It's the same for you, y'know.”

“What's that, love?”

“I'm not going to show anyone your picture. That is unless you want me to.”

“Appreciate that, pet. Now, hold still. Or better yet, as you so wonderfully put it, do something you-ish.”

You looked at him begrudgingly,

“I did not say ‘you-ish’, William.”

“My first name, you wound me.” He muttered, trying to focus.

“You're a vampire. It’ll heal.”

Spike lowered the camera minutely to level you with a frown, which you couldn't help but laugh at. Eyes stinging with the same green remnants he had experienced moments ago as Spike captured the moment. You sat up, moving one leg over the other as he waited momentarily to inspect the screen before looking at it fondly and putting the camera to the side, picking up your shirt, and just holding it.

“Well, now. What to do?”

“Now I put my shirt back on, and we get you something to eat.”

“Ah, not so fast love. I ate earlier. So we'll have to think of something else.”

“It would help if you gave me my shirt. Then we could actually go places, Spike.”

“Why don't we stay in tonight? It's perfectly nice in here.”

You look around the barren room, cobwebs lining the ceiling.

“In your… crypt?”

“Well, where else do you propose?”

“I did say ‘out’, didn’t I? But… You have a point. You’re certain that you’re not hungry?”

“Positive, love. Though I could be tempted if a certain someone was offering.”

You gasped, squinting at Spike suspiciously. He had drunk from you once before, but it was (unfortunately) in the least sexy way possible, involving a certain mystical terror stalking vampires for their undead energy and subsequently placing Spike on house arrest, but seeing as he didn’t actually have a house, he had boarded with Giles at the time, much to the pair’s mutual enjoyment. To put it simply, it was a whole ordeal that had whisked Giles away for longer than desired, and Spike had to feed somehow: enter you. Could you have bought pig’s blood? Most definitely. Was the idea of asking for pig’s blood and it being sold out due to Hellmouth shenanigans somehow more embarrassing than anxiously offering your arm to the man? Jury’s still out on that one. Perhaps the answer lies in the way you have thought about it on and off at least twice a week since the event had occurred, say, two years ago. But let’s not examine that too closely.

“I see.” You responded finally.

Spike tilted his head in a way that let you know he was observing you. Or, more accurately, confirming a suspicion.

“Why so quiet all of a sudden?”

You scoffed, “I’m always quiet, Spike.”

“Maybe so, love, but not like this. Something on your mind? I didn’t bother you with the blood talk, did I?” He was choosing his words carefully, no doubt leading you somewhere.

“No, Spike. You know I don’t mind that.”

“So what is it?”

“Have you been reading my diary?” you blurted.

“Why? Is there something in there I should be reading?”

Hook, line, and sinker. Damn it, you really had to get better at figuring out exactly what he was trying to confirm before trying to evade it.

“...No.”

“No? Nothing to do with me drinking your blood?”

You blinked up at him, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Why would I write about that?”

“I don’t know, pet, but you’re awful nervous for someone who has nothing to hide right now.”

“Well, I’m not. Hiding anything, I mean.” Spike’s eyes tracked the movement as crossed your arms over your chest, protecting yourself from the cool air from below the crypt.

“That’s good.”

You both stared at each other for another beat, before he rolled his eyes dramatically.

“I may have seen you writing your diary.” Spike admitted,

“WHAT?” You yelped at the same time that he continued, “Did you know you mouth words when you write? Adorable, really.”

“YOU’VE BEEN WATCHING ME??”

“Vampire, love, get with the program.”

Taking a moment to catch a breath and re-centre yourself, you nod slightly in understanding. Altogether unsurprising that he did that, still a little creepy, but also weirdly heartwarming now that you had your ten seconds.

“Cool. Cool, so… so what, was this a set-up to get me to admit that maybe I might have a slight thing for vampirism or…?”

“Slight?”

“Spike, you know that’s not why I’m here.”

“Only teasing, pet. No, for once, this hasn’t been some elaborate ruse. But when opportunities arise.”

“Ok, so… so, what? You want to drink my blood?”

“Among other things.” He murmured.

“Spike?” You hesitated, watching his expression closely. “What if I said yes?”

He shrugged, “Then I would drink your blood.”

“Is that all?”

“If that's all you wanted it to be.” Spike moved closer, causing you to lay back onto the soft blankets below you, arms falling to your sides. His arms were either side of your body, crowding you in.

Spike smirked as he heard your heartbeat pick up and your sharp inhale at his closeness.

“But we both know…” He said lowly, eyes focused on your lips, “That it's not all you want.”

He surged forward, capturing your mouth in a passionate kiss. Breaking apart after only a moment to watch your lips chase his own. Spike lifted himself up slightly to gesture for you to move further up the bed, to which you complied.

Now able to blanket you with his own body he began to plant soft, teasing kisses along your neck, caressing the soft flesh with the sharp tips of his teeth, but never puncturing.

An open-mouthed kiss at your collarbone,

“Something the matter, love?”

You whimpered, “Why aren’t you doing it?”

Two more kisses, a nip at the base of your throat, still not hard enough to break skin.

“You have to ask. I want you to ask for it, pet, to really mean it.” His tongue laved a path along the smooth column of skin up to your jaw, followed soon by more kisses.

“Please, Spike. I want you to. I want your bite. For…” You hesitated and to your dismay his motions stopped alongside this. “For you to feed on me.”

Spike smiled conspiratorially, “Naughty naughty, pet.” The tantalising drag of his teeth stopped at the junction between your neck and shoulder, he moaned as he finally pierces your skin, your blood trickling into his mouth as your eyes flutter closed.

“Spike,” You whisper, tilting your head so that he can get a better angle. Feeling his smile against your skin is so different from seeing it. Spike's hands moved down your sides, the fingertips of his right hand skating across your ribcage, pressing his palm to the warm skin, feeling your heart's erratic beating beneath it. He's careful not to jostle you when he raises himself off of you.

“Always so eager to please.”

Softly, he kisses the tender spot, lapping up the sluggish drops of blood leaving the wound. You moan softly, craning your head to the side further still.

The tell-tale click of the shutter and bright flash startle you into squinting up at him, or rather, into the camera.

“Sorry pet, you just look so beautiful like this.”

You look at him properly, smiling from the compliment but still blinking off the light-headedness and adrenaline. His lips are tinted red, cheeks flushed and a sparkle in his eye from the experience, and though he always does to you, in this moment especially he looks alive. Gently you take the camera from him and snap a picture in return.

“So it's like that, hm?”

“Yes.” Had your voice always been that breathy? You disposed of the camera to the side once more.

Spike huffed an amused laugh, dipping down to mouth at the other side of your neck, moving next to kiss your collarbones, then the top of your chest.

“This alright, love?”

“More than alright.”

He enclosed one of your nipples into his mouth, rubbing the other teasingly with his hand. Swapping when he was sufficiently satisfied with your reactions, and then kissing down your rib cage.

“And this? This alright too, pet?” There was an addictive playfulness in his tone.

“Spike.”

“Use your words.”

“You could do just about anything to me right now and it would be alright.”

“I'll keep that in mind.” He promised, tugging at the elastic of your bottoms with his free hand.

In a sudden burst of confidence you removed them, leaving only your underwear remaining.

“Someone's eager.”

“You're bullying me.” You protested.

“You're the one that likes it, love. I can tell.”

His hand smoothed over your hip, “Though I am partial to it, myself.” He admitted, pushing your underwear to one side and running two fingers between your folds. “See? Proof. You like it even more than I do.”

You lifted your hips and he took your bottoms off, listening to your silent pleasure.

Wrist turned to the ceiling, he pushed one finger in slowly, allowing you to adjust to the bizarre feeling.

“Would you please just touch me?”

“As you wish.” He murmured, inserting another finger and beginning to pump them in and out of you rhythmically.

Spike may not have ever been particularly religious, but he certainly understood worship. The circular motions of his thumb against your clit was ritualistic, a practised demonstration of devotion; the soft spoken encouragement as he pressed hot kisses around the bite mark a prayer. Perhaps in another life his moniker would have been ‘the Devoted’.

“Oh God.” You moaned, fruitlessly trying to close your legs and white-knuckle clutching at the sheets in an attempt to warn him.

“Just Spike will do, love.”

You could feel his erection rubbing against the soft meat of your thigh as he began to rut into the bedding right beside you, pants still on. His desperation despite being dedicated to your pleasure at this moment was so palpable you couldn't help but succumb to his wishes, orgasm bleeding new life into your body.

You breathed deeply, boneless, and reached your arm down to palm at him through his pants.

Spike grunted, lifting his body away from your hand and standing to remove the remainder of his clothes.

You reached for him, pulling him down to kiss. The motion was as easy as though you had stolen kisses from Spike hundreds of times.

“Feel good, did you love?”

“Something like that.” You smiled up at him.

He laughed softly before pressing himself between your legs.

“Beautiful.”

“You say that to all your lovers?”

“I've only got one, so yes.”

You didn't know what to say to that, but judging from his quietly (for once) pleased expression you could tell he had sensed the way your cheeks had heated.

You readjusted to lean back against the makeshift headboard, from this angle you could see him better.

Spike's dick was surprisingly pretty. Slightly curved, larger than average, but longer than it was wide.

“Seen something you like, pet?”

“Definitely.” You made a grabbing motion to him and he slotted himself between your legs. The tops of his thighs touching your own.

Spike bent over and kissed your chest affectionately as he used his hand to run the head of his erection through your folds. Gathering wetness at the same time as teasing your clit.

He lined himself up, free hand beside your head to support himself as he entered you slowly, once again giving you time to adjust, all the while shallowly rutting in and out of you.

Once you had adjusted enough for him to bottom out he began to thrust deeper Into you.

“Such pretty noises, love.” Spike's eyes roved your face, listening to your whine in response and the soft moans that followed it as he began to increase his pace.

The hand not supporting him held your chin as he dipped down to kiss you and swallow those sounds for himself.

“Could you– fuck–” You cut off with a whimper.

“What love, what is it?”

“Could you bite me again, please?”

He hung his head and groaned in response.

“Please, Spike, would you?”

“Yes, I think I can manage that.” Came his strangled reply. He drove into you harder, muttering about good manners and sweet little desperate things, peppering kisses down the opposite side of your throat to where he had fed before.

You tilted your head and moaned, the sound spurring him on as he slowed to better control his thrusts. You could barely think, trying to fuck yourself down onto him further.

As he ran his teeth down the side of your neck teasingly, Spike's hand moved from your chin and snaked down to in between your bodies to rub your clit, while imprecise due to your combined wetness, the motions pushed you closer to completion.

“Please Spike. Please now, I need it. Need you to feed on me.” You slurred angling your neck to better present it even further.

He hummed, placing an open mouthed kiss just below your pulse point in warning, and then broke your skin with his teeth once more. Both Spike and yourself moaned, his rhythm faltering as he worked to push you over the edge and drank your blood simultaneously.

You moved your hips in circles slowly, aiming to even the score before you came for a second time but trying not to move him too much and risk his control over his feeding.

When he unlatched himself from your neck this time, Spike had a feral look in his eye, allowing the thinning blood trail to simply trickle out rather than cleaning it like last time as he leant down to kiss you. His pace sped up once more as he created love bites around your collarbones, connecting the two puncture wounds. You were unravelling quickly, but so was he.

“Spike, cum in me.”

“Are you sure, love?”

“Certain.”

He paused quickly, amusement showing when you whined, as he readjusted the arm that had been supporting him to thread his fingers through your own. Spike’s thrusting then resumed, though now his rhythm over your clit was more controlled and deliberate as he tried to time your releases. He leaned more fully into you, allowing his weight to push him into you deeper. Your body seized, feeling weightless and alight all at once, pulling his head down to kiss at his jaw and around his mouth as you orgasmed for a second time.

Desperately, he used his whole weight to push him as far into you as he could on his final thrust as you clenched around him wildly. Spike came inside of you with a groan, holding himself up long enough to kiss the corner of your mouth and roll slightly to the side before becoming boneless on top of you.

After allowing you both a moment of reprieve, Spike pulled out, sitting back on his knees and began to push the cum back into you.

You were panting slightly, a combined sheen of sweat misting over the pair of you.

“You alright?”

“Mm.” You blinked slowly, stretching and then pulling yourself up to be eye level with him.

You kissed him again, this time with less urgency behind it. When you leant back you inspected his face. The kiss-swollen lips, the little remnants of eyeliner he had had on smudged slightly and his hair was sex mussed. Smiling somewhat sleepily now, you reached for the forgotten camera, pushing your head into the crook of his shoulder, to which he rested his cheek on top of your head, taking the camera from you to get a better angle with his longer arm, and took a photo of you both.

“You're a dream, pet.”

You hummed amicably before blurting “I need a shower.”

He chuckled at you, “I think that can be arranged. If:” he said, adding the condition, “If I can join you.”

“Deal.” You angled your head to kiss him once more and smiled when you heard the shutter sound off just before your lips connected.

#buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #spike x reader #spike btvs x reader #spike x you #spike btvs x you #general vampire shenanigans

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