#i thought about breaking it up but i think it works better together

[monstersflashlight]

Commission for @silverslutsposts

Request: Sooo I'm thinking possessive demon.. submissive fem reader.... but the demon is confused why he feels these unknown emotions for reader (love obvi 🤪) the smuttier the better imo Maybe he tries to do some hate fucking with reader to rid himself of the odd fluffy feelings? But it doesn't work 🤭🫠 I'd like to think reader is a plump, thicccc thing with a love for Monster romances

A/N: Hi there! This turned out to be a lot more love-love than hate-love for some reason, hope you like it, tho!

Bring it

Demon x chubby fem!reader || dom/sub, dirty talk, praise kink, tail play, impact play (light)

You starting hanging out with demons was almost a surprise.

You worked at the monster bar as a bartender, so it made sense you started to know some of the clientele that was there every other day. Some of them were really friendly, and some of them were jackasses. Especially the demons.

The demons were usually stupid as fuck to everyone… everyone but you. You didn’t know why, but the demons treated you so nicely you became their waitress even thought it wasn’t your job. But none of the other’s would take their orders because they were mean, and after watching the third person crying because of it, you had enough. You marched to their table and called them out, which made them laugh, but somehow, you became their favorite human.

Later, you would discover it was because of the leader, the big red demon that always stared at you across the bar as you talked with everyone. His eyes never left you as you moved around, and it felt nice… You felt seen and desired in a way that should have been creepy, but it wasn’t. So little by little you became friends with them, and developed some kind of tension with the big red leader that had you pressing your thighs together more than once. He was hot as hell (pun intended) and you were a bit thirsty for demon cock. But who could blame you? But apparently he didn’t feel the same. (Or so you thought.)

The bar is closing and you are cleaning the tables absently as he talks about something. Everyone already left, but he insisted on hanging around to accompany you home, which you find as charming as his smile full of pointy teeth.

You turn around to look at him, nodding along and laughing at him when you see his scrunched up nose and the look of disgust when you pick up a half eaten sandwich. He stares at your mouth, and then he quiets down and glares, not saying anything.

You stop laughing, worried you offended him in some way. “What?” You ask, confused by the sudden tension in the air.

“Why do I feel like this?” He asks you, rubbing his chest as if it’s your fault he has some kind of ache.

You are even more confused after his response. “Like what?”

“Like my insides are going to be ripped apart if I don’t get closer to you soon,” he explains, making your heart skip a beat. You know he realizes it skips a beat, because his eyes fixate on your chest when he keeps talking: “Like every breath I take is thanks to you. Like every twitch of my body is a response of you being alive,” his words make your heart beat skyrocket. There’s no way he means what you think he means. But then he breaks the bubble of blooming happiness. “It’s infuriating, I need to get it out of my system. Now.”

“Wha- what does that mean?” You question as he approaches you fast, like you are his prey about to be devoured. You can feel your pussy tingling with that idea.

You walk backwards as he takes step after step getting closer to you. When the back of your thighs hits the edge of a table, you know you can’t run anymore. His eyes are burning with something unknown and you can feel your juices soaking through your panties.

You round the table, getting away from him just in time. “Come here,” he orders, an edge of danger in his voice. You shake your head, playing with him. “Come here little morsel, you wouldn’t like what would happen if I have to go to you.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me,” you tell him trusting totally on your words. He would never.

And you are enjoying way too much driving him a little bit insane, giving him one taste of the way you’ve felt since you started to know him, since you realized he might be a demon but he was the best monster you’ve ever known. You aren’t ready to use the L word, but maybe… maybe you already felt it.

He sighs, and agrees. “I wouldn’t. But pain is not the only way to make you submit to me,” he teases. You whine low in your throat, making him stop in his tracks as he stares at you like you just grew a second head.

“Bring it.” You smirk at him, your brain going a thousand miles per minute was your brain pictures all the monster romance stories you’ve read over the years. You are so ready to be devoured by a demon… so, so ready.

Suddenly, he’s moving faster than your eyes can process. He grabs you by the hair, your neck pulled back almost uncomfortably as he launches to suck a mark on your neck. You squirm against him, your hands grabbing his hair with equal force as you whimper. He’s biting and licking the soft spot under your ear that makes you see stars and your knees start to feel like jelly. Fuck. He drives you crazy.

“Are you going to be good for me, honey?” He whispers against your ear, his tail wrapping around your middle and making you shiver. His hands are everywhere, your body is pliant under his traveling fingers as you whine at him, unable to form words to answer. “Of course you are, you are so good to me,” he purrs and you blush. You don’t know why, but hearing his praises is doing it for you big time.

He grabs your ass with both hands and sits you over a table, squeezing your soft hips as he does so. He’s groping you everywhere he can and it’s driving you slowly insane. You’ve never felt arousal like that, it’s like burning inside of you and you know he’s the only one who can put out that fire.

“I need you, please,” you beg.

“You beg so beautifully, such a good human for me.” His words are making your head fuzzy, the desire so high you can only think about his dick inside of you. ASAP.

He rips your clothes off your body, leaving you naked in the middle of the bar. That shouldn’t make you as hot as it does, but you are desperate for him. His hands are frantically touching every centimeter exposed until you are screaming his name and begging for him to keep going, to touch you where you want him most, but he does nothing like that.

He opens your legs wide and stares at your pussy. You try to close your legs, embarrassed, but he only chuckles, his tail coming around him and landing a slap against your open center. You scream his name again, this time full of fire and pent up sexual frustration. He laughs and does it again. And again. And again. You’ve never been so turned on.

“Are you going to take my tail like a good human fleshlight?” You whine. “Is that a yes, my little morsel?” He teases and you groan, unable to form words. “I will let you act like this just once because it’s our first time. But next time I’ll make you say it out loud, are we clear?” You nod vehemently, making grabby hands at him and making him laugh.

You feel the tip of his pointy tail at the same time you feel a gush of juices coming out of you. You are almost embarrassed of the sounds your pussy makes when he starts to enter you slowly. You are so wet you can feel it traveling down your ass, forming a pool under you as he fucks you shallowly. His tail is entering you enough to touch your G-spot but not enough to stimulate it. You don’t know who you are anymore, you can only focus on that pointy appendage playing with your aching core.

“Please, please, please…” You chant as he chuckles, his face buried in your neck as he kisses your throat softly.

“What do you need? Do you want my cock?” You nod, grabbing his hair and pulling him back so he’s looking at your eyes. His pupils are blown wide and he’s mirroring your desperation. “Okay, I’ve tortured you enough… for now.”

The last words send a shiver running down your spine and you moan his name softly, making him smile at you openly, his fangs on full display. He’s so fucking handsome you can’t control yourself from moving your hips and fucking you against his tail still in you. He pulls back his tail and you cry out, begging over and over for more, and he gives it to you.

You feel the tip of his cock against your entrance, your pussy quivering at the first intrusion. He’s so big and wide you can barely fit him inside, but when he passes the first tight muscle you both groan in unison. You wrap your legs around his middle and press your heels on his ass, urging him to go deeper, faster, harder. And he complies, his whole body surrendering to the pleasure as he tells you how tight you are, how warm and wet and perfect.

It’s exhilarating to have a demon so desperate for you that he can’t stop telling you how good you are, and it’s driving you completely insane. And when your orgasm hits and you start convulsing against him, he growls and fucks you harder. The frantic pace drives you higher and higher, a train of orgasms hitting your body until you are exhausted and can’t hold your legs or arms around him anymore. But he keeps going, fucking you like a flashlight.

By the time he comes inside of you and his hot seed fills your insides, you are nothing more but a limp body against him, his hands around you as he thrusts a couple more times and a big smile on your lips. You’ve never felt so satisfied in your life, and you have enough energy to tell him that. He chuckles.

And then you pass out.

[magical-reid]

A Little Something Extra

Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader (No use of Y/N)

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: none

Word count: 1.1K

Prompt 22: “You brought me breakfast?” “Well you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I’d make sure you ate something.”

______________________________________________________________

It was another early morning in the BAU office, and the quiet buzz of activity filled the room. The coffee machine was working overtime, and the low hum of computers was accompanied by the soft shuffle of paperwork being passed around. In you usual spot near the windows, you were hunched over a stack of files, trying to make sense of the case that had been keeping you up for the last few days. There were too many details to sift through, and your brain felt like it was running on fumes.

You had told yourself that today would be different. You promised you'd take better care of yourself. You'd eat breakfast, take breaks, and not let the case consume you. But here you were, the morning slipping by, and you hadn’t had more than a few sips of cold coffee.

The sudden, unexpected sound of footsteps brought you back to the present. Looking up from your paperwork, you were met with a familiar face—Spencer Reid, looking more put-together than usual. He was carrying a tray with a bagel, fresh fruit, and a coffee cup with your name on it, balancing everything with an almost comical level of concentration.

You blinked, slightly confused. “You brought me breakfast?”

Spencer smiled sheepishly as he set the tray down on the corner of your desk. He’d already taken the time to carefully arrange everything as if he knew exactly what you liked. “Well, you said you always forget to eat before you go to work, so I thought I’d make sure you ate something.”

You leaned back in your chair, surprised at the thoughtful gesture. Spencer wasn’t exactly known for being overtly expressive with his feelings, but every now and then, he'd do something that made you realize just how much he paid attention to the little things.

“Really?” You raised an eyebrow. “You remembered that?”

Spencer's smile widened a little, but there was a trace of that characteristic nervousness in his eyes. “Of course. You’ve mentioned it a few times. And, well, I know how important it is to stay fueled, especially when we're dealing with, you know... all this.” He gestured to the mountain of case files on your desk.

You stared at him for a moment, your heart doing an unexpected flip. How did he always manage to do this? The little things, the quiet ways he showed that he cared—they added up. They meant more than you could say. You took a deep breath and smiled, your voice softening. “That’s really sweet of you, Spencer. Thank you.”

He looked slightly embarrassed now, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the tray as he cleared his throat. “I just thought... maybe you’d be able to concentrate better if you ate something. You know, breakfast helps with focus and energy levels, and I—”

You cut him off with a quiet laugh, reaching for the bagel and pulling off a piece. “Spencer, I’m sure you know all the scientific reasons why breakfast is important, but honestly, you didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I’m just... kind of terrible about remembering to eat.”

He shrugged, but his expression was still warm. “It’s no trouble. I know how intense these cases can get, and sometimes you forget to take care of yourself when you’re too focused on the work. I thought this might help.”

You felt a warmth spread through you, a mixture of appreciation and affection. “It definitely helps,” you said, taking another bite of the bagel. “And I think this is exactly what I needed.”

Spencer smiled, looking slightly less nervous now as if relieved that you weren’t going to make it awkward. He adjusted his glasses and stood back, a little uncomfortable but trying his best not to show it. “Well, I’ll leave you to your paperwork. I just wanted to make sure you were eating.”

Before he could turn to go, you quickly reached for the coffee cup he’d brought and held it out toward him. “Hey, would you like to sit for a second?” you asked, your voice soft, the invitation clear. “I don’t mind the company.”

Spencer’s eyes flickered to the seat across from you, then back to you, surprised. “Oh... I mean, I’d love to, but I don’t want to keep you from your work.”

You waved him off, smiling. “I’m already behind, but a break wouldn’t hurt. Besides, you brought me breakfast. The least I can do is share a few minutes with you.”

Spencer seemed a little flustered but pleased. He pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, taking a moment to adjust his posture, as though he were preparing for some deep conversation. When he spoke again, it was in his usual, thoughtful tone.

“So... how’s the paperwork going?”

You gave a small sigh, rubbing your eyes. “It’s slow going. We have a lot of details to connect, but I’m still trying to make sense of the pattern.”

He nodded, immediately falling into his element, discussing the finer details of the case with ease. His deep knowledge and sharp mind were always a comfort, and you couldn’t help but appreciate the quiet way he always made you feel heard, understood.

As you listened, nibbling on your breakfast and sipping the coffee he’d thoughtfully brought, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. Spencer was always a little awkward in his own way, but the way he cared—it was something you couldn’t ignore. The small gestures, the careful consideration, the fact that he’d remembered something as simple as your bad habit of skipping meals... It meant more than you could express.

“So, you know,” you said, breaking into his focused chatter, “I’m actually really glad you brought me breakfast. It’s like... the perfect little reminder to take care of myself.”

Spencer blinked, then paused mid-sentence, his cheeks flushing a little. “Well, you should... you deserve to be taken care of,” he said, his voice a little quieter now, but there was a sincerity in it that made your heart flutter.

You looked at him, your gaze softening. “Thank you, Spencer. You always know just what I need.”

He gave a small, almost shy smile in response, but there was something in the way he looked at you—a flicker of something more, something deeper.

You knew that, for all his brilliance, Spencer had always been a bit of a mystery when it came to feelings. But in this moment, as you shared breakfast together, you didn’t need any more words to understand. He cared. And that meant everything.

[13hoax]

‧₊’tis the damn season ༄

fem!reader x ex!matt sturniolo ౨ৎ 13hoax

— after you and matt broke up about a year ago, he ended up moving to LA, while you stayed in massachusetts. to escape your heartbreak and the town you both once shared, you found yourself a new home near cape cod. you recently were hired at a local cafe that also acts as a bookstore. just as you start moving on from your break up, a familiar face shows up unannounced at your work.

inspired by this song by taylor swift - notes: swearing, angst, fluff

— [10:13am] the air brewed of coffee beans and cool autumn air. you boringly peered over the cash register, studying the few people quietly sat in scarves and boots, sipping coffee and flipping through crisp book pages. your focus shifted to the door when you heard the loud and unforgiving bell, hung above the wooden frame. the heavy door began to swing open due to the harsh breeze outside.

approaching you slowly through the doorway was a brunette haired boy. you began watching attentively as his eyes darted across the cafe, making himself familiar with the layout he'd clearly just discovered. he adjusted the buttons on his coat while he walked up to the counter. his head finally lifted up enough to meet yours, then you got a glimpse of those familiar blue eyes.

standing in shock on a painfully slow monday afternoon, was far from expected. it was matt, your ex-boyfriend matt, who you haven’t seen for almost a year. even though you haven’t spoke to matt in what felt like forever, you still thought about him every single day since he moved out to LA. he also realized who was standing right in front of him at the same time as you. after what felt like ages of you both standing aimlessly, acting stunned by each other's presence in a random cafe in cape cod, you gain the courage to confront him first.  

“what are you doing here?” you interrogate with annoyance.

matt: “that’s a weird way to say hello,” he says smirking

“seriously matt why are you here?”

completely avoiding your question, matt continues his dialogue while peering down, toying with some wrapped baked goods displayed on the counter top.

matt: “sooo... since when did you work in cape cod?”

“since when were you back in mass?” you sass back while acknowledging his ignorance.

matt: “hm.. since maybe the holiday season? and i'm staying at my parents house.." he paused then continues, "i'm actually shocked you chose to move here out of all places.. it's a bit touristy, don't you think?” he says, tilting only his eyes upward to find yours.

“it’s actually the farthest i was able to go from our hometown, the tourists don’t annoy me as much as you’d think they would.”

matt: “so you enjoy it here..?”

confused by his questions and the fact he appeared out of nowhere. your temper starts to rise due to the feeling of humiliation on why your ex, matt sturniolo, would show up at your small coffee shop, an hour away from both of your hometowns. your eyebrows tighten together when you decide to interrogate him once more. 

“seriously matt, i'm not here to play games. out of all places you could go to in massachusetts, why are you here??”

matt whines with a pouting frown, “is it a crime to want to order a coffee and support a small business-” “oh don't give me that shit, seriously you need to leave, now,” you quickly interrupt him as you turn around to hand one of your co-workers an empty coffee cup. matt holds his head up higher to get a better look at you, who is now standing next to the sink, drying coffee cups with a clean towel.

matt: “you aren't curious what i've been up to?.. not even a little bit?”

turning your head only slightly to hear him better, you scoff at his egotistical question while replying, “if i wanted to know who you were hanging with while you were gone, i would've asked you.”

while standing your ground to hopefully show matt you won’t come running back to him any time he shows you attention, you continued to keep your eyes locked on the delicate cups in front of you.

you hear matt sigh as he seemingly gives up hope and guides himself out of the shop. once again you hear that painful brass bell ring, but this time you’re relieved because it means you’re safe to return back to the cash register. 

— [3:03pm] after your shift ends you collect your things from the rusty lockers. the whole interaction with matt is still haunting your thoughts and is inescapable at this point. with your leather shoulder bag and water bottle in hand, you clock out and make your way to the back door to start your walk to your newest apartment.

as you reach into your bag to grab your cinnamon flavored lip gloss, you pass the brick corner and instead of seeing the cement sidewalk like usual, your eyes draw you to see matt. once again he's standing right in front of you. you stop like a deer in headlights as he reaches out to touch your forearm and starts to speak,

matt: “ok seriously.. i come all the way over here to see you, and you shoot me down like that?”

in disbelief of his words, since he was the one who left you heartbroken last fall due to his job on social media and traveling back and forth, you become curious of his intentions.

“so you couldn't just call? you just showed up at my minimum wage job instead?”

matt: “i didn't want to upset you, i just wanted to check up on you. no matter what happened between us.. you know i still care about you.”

“yeah you really cared when you made me leave the warmest bed i’ve ever known, that shit fucked me up matt.” you say unsteady. 

matt: “i know there’s an ache in you, put there by the ache in me. and i'm forever sorry for that. but please.. i just wanted to see how you were doing.. truly,” he says sincerely.

he notices your longing stare with watered eyes and tries to change the topic in a quick attempt of redemption from his unannounced appearance. he rubs the side of your arm with his thumb, desperate to comfort you and find a distraction, “is that a new lip gloss?” your eyes shift to him as he wipes the corner of your eye. you nod shakily, trying to suppress the emotions from not only seeing matt when you finally thought you were over him, but also the feeling of his touch that was deeply missed. you slowly start to walk past him as he follows closely behind.

“you’d be surprised how much lip gloss a girl can collect in a year,” you say, trying to forget the subtle breakdown that just occurred.

he smiles at your words while he catches up to you, removing his keys from his jean loop. pointing the key, he unlocks his muddy truck tired vehicle on the street, and grabs the door handle to open the passenger door only slightly. “spend one weekend with me, we can call it even,” he says, locking his eyes on yours. he knows if he holds the contact long enough it’ll be harder for you to deny him.

breaking eye contact, you brush between him and the truck, signaling him to let go of the handle. you open the door facing away from him, trying your best to hide the end of your teary eyes and the new pink flush gathering in your cheeks. you swiftly jump into the passenger seat, turning back to him while nodding ever so slightly, “i’ll be yours for the weekend.”

— hi! this is my first time writing here, so i hope anyone who reads this likes it!! and i’m sorry if i got any grammar or punctuation wrong!! i have part two in the making so lmk if anyone is interested :) 

© 13hoax — nov. 2024

this fic is being added to my evermore collection! i plan on writing a fic for each of my fav songs off there since it’s one of my fav albums!

[torturedlexdepartment]

Sorry

Rafe Cameron x reader

Author's note: again, I apologize 💀

Warnings: ANGST, breaking up

Summary: after a year of trying to force feelings, you decide to finally break it off with Rafe

I stared down at my phone as I sat at the foot of my bed. Seven missed calls and an unfeasible amount of text messages from Rafe. I knew it was a bad idea to have the “this isn’t working anymore” conversation through text, but I was a coward. I didn’t want to have to look him in the face and explain myself. And now that he was blowing me up, I just wanted to run and hide.

I was just about to shut my phone off when I heard the sound of a truck pulling up outside. My worst damn nightmare. I should have figured Rafe would show up at my house the second I started ignoring him. I had known the man my entire life, how did I not think of this? I watched him out my window as he climbed up my steps and pounded on my front door. My car was outside so there was no denying that I was home. I sighed deeply before meeting him at my door.

“What the fuck Y/N? You can’t send that text then ghost me.” He pushed past me and I closed the door. I stayed turned away from him, not wanting to see his eyes beaming on me but I could still feel them. “Are you going to explain to me what you meant?” Tears started to well in my eyes and he spun me around to face him. His whole demeanor softened and he brought his hands up to rest on my cheeks.

“I just don’t think we should be together anymore.”

“Why?” I could tell he was trying to stay calm and collected and it just made this whole situation more impossible for me to bare..

“I just think we are better as friends.” He huffed as he stared down at me.

“All of a sudden? Out of nowhere Y/N?” What he didn’t realize is that these feelings of mine were not all of a sudden. I had always kind of felt this way. We have been friends for years and when he confessed his feelings for me, I thought I owed this a real shot. I thought I could fall for him and lord knows I tried. But how could I love him when I couldn’t love myself?

“I’ve always felt this way, Rafe.” He took a step back from me. I knew my words stung.

“Y/N, we’ve been together for over a year.” I closed my eyes, not wanting to let the tears start trailing down my face.

“I know and I’m sorry, okay. I tried.”

“You tried? What does that even mean? You could have said something after a month or two Y/N.” He started pacing around my living room with his hands up in the air, sometimes running them through his hair. I hated that I was making him feel this way. I could feel his fear and anxiety and it made me feel one hundred times worse.

“I tried to give us a real shot. I’m so sorry, okay.” He barely let me finish before he questioned me.

“You don’t love me?” I felt frozen in place. I didn’t want to lie but there was no way to answer this question without hurting us both more.

“I care about you and you mean the world to me, Rafe.” I tried to walk up to him, to comfort him. I reached for him but he pushed my hands away.

“Answer the question Y/N, because you know I love you more than fucking anything.” I took a deep breath. I didn’t want this conversation to have to go down this path but it was the only way he was going to get it.

“Rafe, you don’t even know me.” He stopped pacing and snapped his head to look right at me. He looked at me like I was a crazy person and I’d be lying if I tried to say I didn’t start feeling like one.

“I’ve known you since we were kids so how exactly does that make sense?”

“You know what I want you to know.” I was running out of ways to try and explain myself. I wished he could have just accepted what I wanted and left me alone.

“What does that even mean Y/N?”

“You know the parts that I’ve allowed you to see, gotten as close as I’ve allowed you to. You don’t know everything okay. I’ve barely allowed you to scratch the surface. And if we keep going with this, I’m going to let you dig deeper and then you’ll see the real me, and I can’t let it happen.” I finally allowed myself to be vulnerable with someone and I hated the feeling.

“Y/N, you’re crazy if you think that after all this time that anything you say is going to scare me off. I already see you regardless of what lies you’re trying to tell yourself.” I was getting unbelievably frustrated. He wasn’t going to stop.

“Look, you deserve someone that doesn’t have to question how they feel, someone who knows what they want.” I didn’t realize that he was walking over to me until I stopped talking and looked up. He leaned down to kiss me and I pushed him away angrily. “Don’t do that!” He was trying to convince me and I refused to let him change my mind. It didn’t matter how much I cared about him or how much I wished this could work.

“Y/N will you just stop?” He pleaded.

“I don’t love you, Rafe. Not the same way. And I don’t think I ever can.” As I said the words, I could literally see the light leave his eyes. He looked down at the floor and held his tongue. He was fighting back tears that he didn’t want me to see. We both stood there silently for a few moments before he walked past me, right out the door. I found myself aching to say something, but there was nothing left to say.

I walked over to my window and watched him speed off out of my driveway and out of my life. The only relief I had was knowing that he was now free for someone else to love. And one day I’ll stop wishing that it could have been me.

[jinxposting]

Jason Todd x Jinx! reader Chapter 6

Rough Housing

A lot has changed over the years.

Joker had kicked Harley out. She tried to defeat Batman. She would have succeeded too. Joker didn't like that.

You missed her.

You still saw her from time to time. You'd get drinks together now that you're old enough. Odd she enforced such a rule when she didn't bat an eye at breaking any other laws.

It was strange going home with her not there.

You were mad at Joker for a while after that.

But he's still your dad. You did eventually forgive him. Even though it didn't feel right.

You and Joker's legacy continued to grow. The Clown Prince and his little Princess. You certainly let it go to your head. It was kind of hard not to.

When everyone fears you it's hard not to take advantage of that. You could have virtually anything you wanted. Money? It's your's. Just please put down the gun. Information? Anything. Just don't call Joker. Hell, you even had connections at Arkham now. You never spent more then a single night in there.

Life was good.

There were rumors going around recently about a new vigilante. This one, however, was less than moral. He left a trail of death in his wake. He'd taken over the drug rings previously belonging to Black Mask. Not an easy task. This guy had to be strong to pull that off. Or crazy.

You smiled at the thought. It'd be nice to break in a new toy. But alas, your paths have yet to cross. You didn't even know his name.

"Jinx!"

"That's me!"

"I have a favor to ask."

"Oh?"

"I have a shipment coming in and I need you to make sure the numb skulls don't flub it. Think you can do that, my dear?"

"Easy peasy."

Or at least it should have been.

The good news is you know that new guy's name now! Red Hood. Bad news? He was attacking your men. You were transporting run of the mill weapons. You thought this guy was all about drugs? It made no sense.

"You work for Joker, right?"

You peaked over the side of a crate you'd been using for cover. He had an AK-47 pointed at one of your unnarmed henchmen.

"Y-Yes!"

"You're going to tell me where he's hiding."

"I don't know!"

"Five seconds."

"Do you know what he'll do to me if I talk?!"

"Do you know what I'll do to you if you don't?"

Oh this guy was a tough cookie. You liked it.

"Do you know what I'll do to you regardless?"

You stepped out, pistol raised at the assailant. He didn't budge. You couldn't read him with that helmet on, but if posture meant anything he seemed unphased.

"Jinx!"

"You."

"Me."

With a swift hit to the back of the head you knocked the henchman unconscious.

"Whoops! There goes your source."

The man pointed his gun at you. "You do realize you're also a source? A better one at that?"

"Oh, please. Have you met me? I may be a chatter box but there ain't nothin' I have to say. Threaten all ya want."

"Do you ever take anything seriously? I have a loaded gun pointed at you."

"As do I." You waved your fingers around the grip of your pistol. "And as if this is the first gun I've had waved in my face. You're not exactly special, pal."

Red Hood sighed. "You're not gonna talk, are you?"

"Talk? Sure! Tell you what you wanna hear? No."

"You haven't changed a bit."

You cocked an eyebrow. Changed? Have you met this guy before? Obviously he was someone Joker knew if he wanted to see him so bad. You'd have to dig into this later.

The masked man jabbed the butt of his gun at you. You ducked, raising your own up to his chin. Which he then kicked out of your grasp. He grabbed you by one of your long braids, yanking you back up to your feet.

"You should seriously cut this."

You flung the second braid over his shoulder before pulling it taught. He gasped at the sudden lack of oxygen.

"But it's so useful!"

Red Hood threw his head back, slamming into your face with a headbutt. That mask of his packed a punch. You struggled to stay upright, the world around you blurring in a dizzy smear of color.

He grabbed you by the face, staring at you. Before he could speak you bit into his hand.

"Son of a- are you fucking serious?!"

"Deadly."

"This is getting nowhere."

The man decked you in the face. You fell to the ground with a loud thud. He clambered on top of you, fist raised and ready for another punch. Your nose was bleeding, you could feel it running down your chin. You stared up at him in shock. But he didn't move. Just stared down at you. Again, unreadable with the helmet on.

In an instant smoke enveloped you. This guy had tricks too it seems. By the time it cleared you were left alone on the ground, the henchmen around you either dead or unconscious. You breathed out slowly.

"Joker's not gonna like this."

You scanned the nearby buildings in hopes of catching sight of the vigilante. Only to be met with disappointment.

Red Hood.

You finally found a new playmate.

[grlsbstshot]

Join us for the next chapter of NEON LIGHTS premiering sat.

Catch up on the previous chapters here. Chapter I // Chapter II // Special Edition // Chapter III

James Lucas sits down with Reese Lane of RHYTHM Magazine! Hear all about life, love, and his upcoming third album -- promisingly titled Painted -- during this exclusive interview!

When he won a Grammy before the age of twenty, James Lucas – born Jameson Lucas to music legend, Anaïs Lucas – knew he was in trouble. He says his ego has always been an issue and didn’t improve.

“I caught myself thinking shit that should have never crossed my mind. That I didn’t need to keep improving. That I was already the greatest. I immediately started chasing gold. It was a high. But I wasn't ready for it...and deep down, I knew that."

He would choose to continue at Howard University, graduating at 21. Instead of returning to Los Angeles, Lucas moved to New York and in four short years, built a stage career -- a departure from his music dreams. 

He led a few off-broadway shows before hearing about one particular musical: Alexander H. He would be cast in the role of Aaron Burr but according to Lucas, he had a much more fortuitous thing happen to him – meeting his music collaborator, producer and songwriter, Ellington Dupree.

“He’s my best friend. I don’t know of anybody who understands music better than he does. He makes me better. And he’s the reason I found my sound. I stopped cosplaying as Ginuwine and Joe. I found me because I wanted to be as good as EJ.”

You know the story from here…Tony award. Grammy award. Moving back to LA to work on his second album with Dupree and then? Massive success with his second album -- titled 2506. Named for his age and month of birth, Lucas found himself exploring different kinds of r&b with an all new production -- provided by Ellington Dupree.

“Everything blew up. It was all a blur when we released 2506. Six Grammy noms, two wins. I didn’t even take the time to soak the moment in. My life had changed and I was just trying to keep up.”

His life changed in other ways on Grammy night. It was the first time he met his on-off partner, singer Imani St. Cirie. The two would go on to embark on a very public relationship for the next two and a half years before abruptly breaking up in early 2023.

The mention of her makes Lucas lapse into silence for the first time in almost an hour of conversation. Despite the rumblings of reuniting, neither star has spoken about the other. Even the reasons for their breakup are closely held secrets – unless you listen between the lyrics.

Reese Lane: Do you not like talking about her? James Lucas: I could talk about Mani all day. But I mean – we were together but now we're not. Reese Lane: And the Instagram situation? James Lucas: ...Do you listen to my music? RL: Yes. Often. JL: Then you understand me and Imani. You get that we're...complicated. RL: Is that what you want? JL: I want her. So...if she calls, I go running. If I call, she comes running. That’s what it means to be complicated as f*ck. It'll always be that way. I don't care who she moves on to – it'll always be me for her. And that's not ego. It's the truth.

And just as he says, there's an understanding of their relationship in the lines of almost every track. Lucas has never confirmed which songs are inspired by his personal life. But songs filled with lost love, longing, and frenzied sex paint the picture of a chaotic romantic life. I tell him so and Lucas laughs...long and loud before agreeing. He relaxes somewhat before escorting me back inside the suite, his new home while he films several films in New York.

Jameson and I enjoy a drink (or several), order pizza, and settle in for another round of questions. He's even more open than before. I ask him to tell me about his next album and he does one better -- he pulls out his phone and plays three tracks. Back to back. Without explanation or asking my thoughts. He says the album isn't done but from what i heard, it's pretty damn close to being that.

The first track he played was a smooth yet assertively playful croon about his love for someone who seems to not be paying him much attention in return. The next is a beautiful ode to a woman he seems to be encouraging to be happy. The last was completed recently he says -- two days ago, in fact -- and it's a moody deconstruction of...himself, his ego, and the way he treated another nameless woman.

I playfully ask if those tracks about his life and Lucas surprises me by answering with a nod. I push my luck and ask again if they were all about one woman. Lucas grins and shakes his head that time, confirming what i've long suspected -- chaotic.

RL: Why is your love life like...that? JL: I don't know. I mean...I kind of do it to myself. I love hard. I love foolishly. RL: So you've been in love a lot? JL: No. RL: Do you believe in having a soulmate? JL: I do. I suspect I have one. RL: Is at least one of those about her? JL: ...Yes. RL: Imani? JL: You keep asking me about her. RL: You two intrigue me. JL: Why? (laughs) We do what everyone else does. We fuck, we fight, we love each other, we hate each other. We get it right and we get it wrong. It's just love. RL: So why be apart? JL: Ask her. She may tell you. RL: I will. Tell me which one is about her. JL: The first. And the last. RL: Which one was the second one about? JL: A friend. I'm actually supposed to meet her at the MOMA in an hour. (smiles) I like you. You don't let me get away with shit. You remind me of another friend. RL: The same one you're meeting today? JL: No. Genie. She's practically my sister. RL: Genie Adesanya? Well, thank you. I'm flattered. You two are still close after the breakup of your parents? JL: I still annoy her just as much. She's my sister. Whether or parents got married or not. She probably wouldn't agree though.

Once again, I'm surprised that he answers so openly. If his publicist was sitting in the room, they might tackle me and throw me out...but Lucas breezes through each question, more honest than anyone would expect him to be. 

"I don't have any shame." he says when I ask why he tells me so much. "I put everything in my music. Why lie? It's all in the music." He's nonchalant as he brushes his hand over his head -- the trademark cornrows he's sported since he burst onto the scene at the age of 19 gone. I ask him about his hair and he gives me a sheepish grin before saying it was for a project but I doubt it.

RL: When do you think the new album will be ready? JL: Soon. I usually finish music way before it's released. I'm just...all over the place right now. RL: Rumors about you appearing in your first film are circling. Plus this upcoming album. How are you juggling it all? Jameson Lucas: Actor & Singer. JL: With a whole lot of prayer. (laughs) I don't know. I will always think of myself as a musician before anything else. I went to school for it, I worked my ass off for that title. I'll never just be a singer. I'm a musician. Everything else is secondary.

By the time we wrap up our conversation, I understand why Jameson Lucas has so many admirers. It isn't just the fact that he's handsome or the fact that he's incredibly charming. Not even the fact that he's tall, can sing like a prince, or that flash of gold you see covering his teeth when he speaks -- it's that he's an open book. Even when you know you shouldn't fall under his spell, you do. And he makes it very appealing to be there.

When he gives you that lazy grin with those blue-green-hazel color eyes while laying across a couch -- the image of virile relaxation -- you can only think of one thing. There's a cockiness about Jameson but isn't overbearing or unappealing. It's the right amount of (in his words) essence. Even when he's crooning about how to teach you 'correction', you can't find it in yourself to hate him. He makes you want it.

Jameson walked me to the door of his suite, holding it open for me as I left -- and insisted on walking down to the lobby with me. He's dressed casually but draws looks all the way down, his long legged stride tempered by the fact that I'm wearing heels and he doesn't want to leave me behind. We part ways outside his hotel -- with an offer to interview him again once the album is out. I take up on it, we exchange contact information, and then he's off. He doesn't slide into a black car and roll the window up. He simply heads off down the street, towards the subway. On his way to a dreamy museum date with some very lucky friend.

[scrumptiouskoalahottub]

☁️Cindy Lou, Who? | George Clarke

Inspired by Sabrina Carpenters "Cindy Lou Who"

Summary: You and George broke up, whilst you ended on good terms your heart ached for him with it being Christmas, both of your favourite season you decided to go to his flat and talk to him about your feelings, however the person behind the door isn't who you expect.

You and George cut ties after your lives got too busy to prioritise each other, so you thought it would be better to break up. A dumb decision when you look back at it because all you wanted, was him. Your favourite time of year was Christmas, the decorations, the planning just everything about it warmed you up like a toasty winter fire. You knew it was George's favourite too, you would walk around winter wonderland in your fuzzy earmuffs as George braved the cold to not bruise his masculinity of wearing a woolly hat.

You giggle at the thoughts of him with whipped cream stuck to his nose as he acts oblivious whilst sipping his hot chocolate, his tousled brown hair poking out as strands run loose, you used to wipe the cream off his nose as you giggled at him, he made sure to do it more purposefully as he knew it made you laugh. Tears form in your eyes at the memories that once were, at the time you thought it was a good idea, your schedules packed and no time for each other, but right now you'd take even an inch of a minute just to see his blue eyes look at you with adoration. You wipe your eyes in a sniffle, you pick up your phone and type his name into the contacts "I'll look stupid" you mutter under your breath "I can't do this, it was for the best" you toss you phone aside trying to convince yourself not to call him; your heart shattering with every moment without him. You huff, picking your phone up as you grab your winter coat and your earmuffs, wrapping up warm you decide to head to his flat.

The walk over was like a marathon, your nerves bubbling as you reach his block of flats, you sigh as you walk inside to the elevator, selecting his floor number. Your palms become sweaty, wondering if he felt the same and you'd be able to work it out, or if he thought you were clingy and it was a good idea to leave. The elevator rings as your mouth dries up, walking out his door is an inch away. For a second you think of turning back, forgetting the whole idea. But your heart doesn't let you. You take a big gulp as you knock on the door, taking a step back preparing yourself for the sight of him again. A few seconds go by and the door clicks, your heart pumps like it's about to rip through your chest. The door swings open and the figure before you makes you feel nauseous.

"Hi, can I help you?" A blonde, blued eyed girl asks "erm, no, I think I have the wrong address" you stutter, just then you hear "who is it?" A familiar voice beckons as he emerges from the back of the door, his eyes widen "y/n?" His voice trembling, a wave of guilt in his voice as if he didn't want you to see. "You know her?" The girl says, dressed in his t-shirt and nothing else "yeah, she's a friend of mine" he says as he ushers the girl inside as she nods "I'll be two seconds" he says to her as she brushes her hands over his waist, insulating either they're together or they're hooking up. "You okay?" He asks with a caring tone "erm, yeah I'm fine, I was stupid to come over, it's okay, bye George" you say going to turn as he grabs your hand "what's wrong?" He says, his tone producing a wave of calm towards you, instant ease "it's fine, you're busy and you don't need me" you say with a smile, rubbing the back of your arm "y/n, please don't" he says with a frown "we said it would be better to split" he says "I know what I said George, but I miss you, is that so wrong?" You say with a white face, holding back the tears you're forming, he sighs, his blue eyes that you know and love glisten in the hallway light "I've moved on, but you know I still care" he says in a sincere tone, knowing that if she wasn't there, he would immediately scoop you up "guess she makes you happy, like I couldn't do" you say as you turn away, walking out the hallway. A cascade of tears fall from your eyes as you click the elevator door, George stands there watching you walk away, unable to say a word to you. You heart shatters, as you admit defeat; he was gone and wasn't coming back, he was with Cindy Lou, who?

-

🫶🏻

[theskee]

here's a small preview

of a fic i've been working on. i'm thinking a 5 +1 as I've never actually done one before. I had that noodle about Lucanis sleepwalking into Emmrich's room a bunch and it wouldn't leave me alone. SO! Here, have a rough-draft taste. --

The first thing Lucanis takes note of, is the cold and earthy scent in the air, faintly spiced with incense, like the sort of thing one might light in remembrance of a happier time. Faint notes of tea-leaves and old paper. Rich vellum, a lingering hint of dust. The air is warm. He feels the heat of sunlight across his body. Sunlight that he shouldn’t be feeling at all if he were still safely tucked away in the pantry. His back is stiff and one of his hands has gone numb for how he’s laid upon it. His face is buried in feather-down pillows. The mattress beneath him is firm but not the hard and unforgiving sling of a threadbare pad on a cot. Even without opening his eyes, Lucanis knows he’s not where he’s supposed to be.

Thus, the panic that grips him sees him shooting up from the bedding with a sharp inhale, from barely conscious to fully alert in the span of a heartbeat. He’s upright, on his knees on the bed, hands held up to defend himself while he wobbles to maintain his balance, eyes wildly darting to take in his surroundings. Shelves upon shelves of books, a spiral staircase beyond the view of a gauzy canopy hanging around a four-poster bed. A balcony that spills bright, forever sunset (or is it sunrise?) across the floor, through the gaps, lighting his surroundings.

Most notably, the face of a very startled necromancer at the landing.

Emmrich?

He’s… In Emmrich’s room?

There is a beat of silence in which they merely look at one another, Emmrich’s hands clasped around a book and a bottle. He’s undone. Vulnerable. Vest left somewhere else, collar pin put away, shirt unbuttoned enough to expose throat and clavicle, decorated with further grave gold that drapes against his skin and catches the light from outside. And Lucanis is here to witness it.

Recognition slowly dawns on him as Emmrich recovers and takes a cautious final step up off the staircase and strides closer to the bed, though Lucanis notes the semi-circular path he takes that allows Lucanis a wide birth.

“Welcome back,” Emmrich says, with his usual, jovial pleasantness, as if nothing is amiss, when something clearly is. Lucanis’ muscles burn with the rigidity of readiness as he takes stock of himself. Spite. He’s been sleep walking again. But here? His bewilderment must read on his face, plain for Emmrich to see. The necromancer makes his way toward the small bedside table and sets down both bottle and book, drawing himself up to his full height while pressing his palms together in front of him.

His poise is strangely settling. Lucanis lowers his hands and sinks to sit on his heels, looking around once more. As strange as it all is, the strangest thing yet, is realizing Emmrich has a bed. He’s been in these rooms before and never seen it. Where… Does he keep it? Lucanis winces, rubbing a hand against his brow, working at the gathering headache there that pulls nerves and blood vessels taut. Caffeine will help. He must have been out for… a while.

“I’m sure you have questions, but it feels most pertinent to say, everything is perfectly fine. Spite sought me out to ask after Manfred and I thought it better to keep you both here under some manner of supervision. I… assumed you’d rather be contained than left to wander around without your knowledge.” Sensitive subject matter. Emmrich is making an effort not to be offensive or upsetting, and Lucanis can tell. It’s—mostly appreciated.

“He didn’t… Hurt you? Break anything?” Lucanis asks slowly, carefully, eyes darting over the length of Emmrich’s long frame before him, looking for any signs of damage.

“Not at all. He was quite content to sit in on one of Manfred’s reading lessons and have a cup of tea. Which he wasn’t very fond of, I might add. I had wondered if that was your own preferences bleeding through, given the nature of—” Emmrich stops himself, a wince, glancing away toward the balcony, hands wringing together as he lets out a breath of a nervous laugh, bowing his head in contrition. “Apologies.”

No fear. No irritation. Lucanis doesn’t understand it. Not really. Emmrich should be more cautious around the demon, yet as ever, he treats Spite with a similar, if not identical regard to how he treats Manfred. Lucanis’ skin prickles with goosebumps. It’s unnerving. He slowly rises from the bed, eyes briefly sliding to the bottle and book. A vintage port and an Antivan Tragedy. He feels the dent of a furrow form between his own brows and it stabs at his skull like an ice pick. He cards his fingers back through his hair, squeezing a handful at the base of his own skull, tugging the roots, trying to lesson the tension he feels.

“No need, Emmrich. I’m the one who should apologize. I’ll try to be… more. Careful. About Spite.” He can’t bring himself to look the necromancer in the eye, but in his periphery he sees what looks like a deflation. Emmrich’s spine sags, one hip cocking to the side as he relaxes his posture. His voice carries a tone of concerned disappointment.

“I’m here to help, if ever you need, Lucanis.”

Lucanis inhales deeply and lets it out slow through pursed lips.

“I know.”

And then he takes a swift exit, shame nipping at his heels for such a blatant loss of control that could have cost the team dearly. He locks himself up in the pantry and tries to stay awake.

[trekscribbles]

The Bushwhack Job: Chapter Five

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

(Disclaimer: This is a relatively rough draft and subject to change when I post to AO3. I'm just overly excited and want to share what I have.)

That night, Spencer dreamed of faces he didn’t know.

Golden hair and the smell of jasmine and graphite; large, warm hands gripping bottles of orange soda, stretching out to grasp his palm, pulling him close until their shoulders bumped together. A soft voice, speaking in a lilting accent that soothed his anxieties, made him smile. Sharp blue eyes watching him, seeing him, and not looking away.

It felt comfortable, at first. Familiar in a way that made him ache with loneliness, but left him feeling content. But then the dreams shifted, filled his mouth with the taste of blood and sweat and fear, and he laid still on his bed/bunk/ledge/grave—the location kept changing—and tried to breathe as silently as possible while feverish shivers wracked his body. He wanted to get up, to cry out, to go back to his undeserved home, but he couldn’t move.

And then the images pulled together, refocusing on the memory of the woman with golden hair. A photograph. She was looking over her shoulder, frozen, walking toward—toward something, toward... a plan, something he knew, something he had to stop. She was in danger. God, she was in danger, and he was just lying there—

He thrashed awake, throwing himself upright as his legs tangled in his sheets, panting, sweating, desperately trying to hold the image of her face in his mind.

But it was gone. For a long moment, he sat leaning over his bent knees, breathing through the pain in his head and his back and his hands, his eyes squeezed shut against the unfamiliar room. Training took over, and he worked his way through each part of his body, relaxing tense muscles and slowing his frantic heartbeat until he could open his eyes with the certainty that they would be dry.

Then he threw off his blankets, pulled on pair of jeans from the dresser, and eased down the stairs on silent feet. The clock on the stove read 4:12 AM, but it was better to do this early, while everyone was still asleep.

He had to go back to the building. It was his only clue, and if she was the one he’d left be hind... It didn’t matter if the men after him were still there, if they were waiting for him to return—none of it mattered. If anything happened to her, it would be his fault.

She deserved better. But if he was all she had, he had to try.

He retraced his journey from the night before with little difficulty; he’d checked their backtrail frequently, compulsively, and the route was easy to recognize. He went at a jog despite his pounding head and throbbing ankle, his senses trained on the shadow of the burned-out building ahead. Reflective police tape threw the street light back at him, winking and taunting as he drew closer. Everything was still.

He forced himself to slow then, creeping through the shadows as he circled the building, searching for any sign of the men who’d tried to kill him. The firefighters and police had already gone, leaving the block in eerie silence that did nothing to soothe the anxiety churning his stomach. It appeared to be empty. He moved toward a collapsed wall, searching out a path through the debris.

He didn’t know what he was looking for. A room, maybe, something that had survived the fire—some clue that she’d been there. Some clue that she’d made it out. He cleared the ground level and moved toward the stairs, patting the soot from his clothes. He would have to replace them, but he already planned on leaving Sunny most of his cash when this was over.

A hand touched his shoulder. Faster than he could think, Spencer grabbed it and heaved, dropping his center of gravity to lift and throw the body connected to the hand. There was a grunt as the body landed at Spencer’s feet, and he crouched to put pressure on his assailant’s shoulder to hold him down.

His grip faltered when he took in the man’s face. “J.B.?”

“You got some impressive reflexes,” J.B. coughed. He grinned, and Spencer let him up with a glare.

“You followed me?”

J.B. rubbed his wrist, wincing as he climbed to his feet. “Heard you leave, and I thought you shouldn’t be out on your own. Head injuries don’t always make for the best decisions.”

“I’m fine,” Spencer said. “You can go back.”

“This place doesn’t exactly scream fine,” J.B. said, lifting his eyebrows.

Spencer turned back to the stairs. “I just have to check something.”

“Maybe I can help,” J.B. said. “There was a report on the fire last night. I saw it on the news.”

Hope and fear clenched in Spencer’s stomach. “Were there any—was anyone—” He took a breath, swallowed hard. “Did they find anybody inside?”

J.B. hesitated, and the hope splintered into dread. “They said there were three people inside… they didn’t make it out in time.”

The floor slanted beneath his feet. He staggered, straightened, stepped toward the stairs—and then his knees were on the ground, and his breath was coming in sharp, shallow pants, and his head felt like it was splitting in two. J.B. crouched at his side, his hands on his shoulders, but his words sounded distant.

“Breathe, Spencer. We don’t know for sure—”

“I left her.” The words dragged themselves out of the hollow in his chest, up his raw throat, over and over again as the realization sank into his bones. “I left her. I ran away and left her.”

“Who?” J.B. asked.

Spencer raked his hands through his hair. “I don’t know. I can’t remember—I can’t—” He fought through the jumble of emotions battering his brain, dug for memories of her, of her name, anything—and she smiled at him, her hair tied back, and laughed when he grumbled at her—she took a bite of the donut he wanted, and he let her have it—she jumped out of a window, and he caught her—she’d trusted him to protect her and he left her to burn alone. Had she cried? Had she damned him? He wouldn’t have blamed her—he damned himself.

Her phantom screams echoed in his ears, and he folded in on himself, pressed his forehead against his knees, and wept.

***

J.B stayed with him until his body stopped shaking. He didn’t know how long it was, and he didn’t remember getting up, but when he came back to himself, J.B. had his arm draped over his shoulders and was guiding him out of the building. They managed that way, Spencer leaning more and more heavily as they walked, until they finally stumbled up the stairs to Sunny’s place. Somehow, they went further, all the way up to Spencer’s borrowed room, where J.B. laid him gently on his borrowed bed and told him to get some rest.

He didn’t.

Hours passed, and no one disturbed him. He laid where he’d been put, staring up at the ceiling and trying to hold on to the memory of her face. He couldn’t see her anymore, and that hurt, but at least her screams had faded.

The rest of the house was waking up. He heard their footsteps downstairs, the echoes of their voices, Sunny’s loud laugh. He wanted to stay where he was, but Sunny had opened her home to him, and he would earn his keep. His clothes were blackened, so he changed again and shoved his cash into his pocket. He would buy new clothes, and the rest would go to Sunny.

It was still early—before 8, some instinct told him—but he smelled coffee as he came down the stairs, and the sounds of something frying filled him with a pleasant feeling he didn’t deserve. Sunny looked up from the stove when he came into the kitchen and nodded to the counter. “Coffee’s ready. Help yourself.”

J.B. was at the tiny table with another man, who Spencer assumed to be Miguel. They both had their own mugs already, and J.B. nodded when Spencer looked their way, but Miguel scowled. “¿Este es el chico nuevo?” he said, his voice thick with disapproval. “Duerme hasta tarde.”

“Spencer, Miguel,” J.B. said, shooting a reproachful look at the other man. “Don’t mind Miguel. He takes a while to warm up to newcomers.”

Spencer took an empty cup from the counter and poured himself some coffee. “No es un problema,” he murmured. “Pero no duermo mucho. 90 minutos al día es todo.”

“There you go, Miguel,” J.B. laughed. “No more complaining that no one speaks Spanish.”

Huh. Apparently he spoke Spanish, too. He took a drink to give his hands something to do and studied Miguel over the rim of his mug. He was a small man, compact, built like a wrestler, and he glared at Spencer like he wanted to do more than talk. 

“Settle down,” Sunny said, waving a wooden spatula at them. “Spencer, don’t get smart with him, he doesn’t know how to take it. J.B., quit stirring up trouble. And Miguel, I expect you to be civil, d’you understand? Now get your plates and get some eggs, and go eat them in the other room where you won’t be in my way. I got work to do.”

Miguel held Spencer’s gaze as far as the stove, where he turned to whisper up into Sunny’s ear. She swatted him with spatula. “You don’t make that decision, Miguel,” she snapped. “I say who stays. Now get, or I won’t feed you.”

He accepted a plate full of scrambled eggs, took some toast from a plate beside the coffee pot, and elbowed past Spencer on his way out of the room. J.B. followed, smiling an apology as he accepted his own food, but Spencer hesitated at the counter. “I’d like to help out,” he said awkwardly. “If you have anything that needs cleaning or fixing, I can—”

“Eat first,” Sunny said. She piled eggs on a plate and held it out to him, her eyes dark and sympathetic. “J.B. told me you went out this morning. Said you got some bad news.”

Spencer looked away, his gaze following Miguel out of the room. “You’ve been very kind to me. I don’t want there to be any trouble.”

“Like I told Miguel.” Sunny took his left hand and pushed the plate into it. “I make the decisions in this house.”

He took the plate, but before he could say anything else, a thump in the other room made him turn. J.B. leaned into the kitchen, a frown creasing the skin on his forehead. “Sunny,” he said, his voice grave. “They’re back.”

Sunny turned off the stove, letting out an impressive string of curses as she hurried out the door. Spencer set his plate and mug on the counter and hurried after her, adrenaline spiking through him. “Who is it?”

“Stay inside,” Sunny snapped. “Eat your breakfast. This won’t take long.”

J.B. flattened himself against the wall to let her pass and shot a concerned look at Spencer. “Do as she says,” he muttered. “Maybe get the first aid kit ready.” He ducked through the door after Sunny, trusting Spencer to do the sensible thing and stay out of trouble.

Spencer followed them out.

Miguel was on the top step outside the door, standing with his arms folded and his feet planted wide before a half dozen men in suits. They were tall, their muscles bulging inside their jackets, and they wore boots instead of dress shoes.

Enforcers, said a voice in Spencer’s head. Thugs for hire.

Sunny came up behind Miguel and glared down at the men. “I’ve told you before—I’m not selling. Now get off my property before I call the police.”

“I’m afraid we’re past the point of negotiation,” the man in the middle said. He took a step forward, cracking his knuckles. “I’m going to have to ask you to send your boys inside, ma’am. This is between us.”

Sunny lifted her spatula, but Spencer set a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t call her ‘ma’am’,” he said quietly, guiding her back a step so he could slip between her and Miguel. Miguel’s hands were clenched at his sides, and he glanced at Spencer as he moved beside him.

The man in the middle opened his mouth, and something like fear flickered across his face. 

“Janish,” the man next to him hissed. “Is that Spencer?”

They looked at him—all of them—but it was Sunny’s shocked expression that filled his vision. Spencer cleared his throat and looked back at the man in the middle. “Walk away.”

“You know I can’t do that,” the man—Janish—said.

Behind him, J.B. moved to stand at Spencer’s back. “We’re outnumbered,” he whispered.

“Not a problem,” Spencer said.

“You’re not in the best condition to make that call,” J.B. added.

Miguel shifted his weight, and Spencer glanced at him. “¿Puedes pelear?”

“Yeah,” Miguel snorted. “I can fight. Can you?”

Spencer looked at the men again, analyzing their stances, their positions, their strengths and weaknesses.

Yes. For the first time since waking up in that burning building, he knew exactly what he was capable of.

They came at once, surging forward and rushing up the stairs. Bottlenecking themselves—they were the muscle, not the brains—Spencer moved unhurriedly down a step and dodged the first flying fist. With a jerk, he grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him in, propelling him up a step and leaving him for Miguel. He met the next attack with a block and a cross, knocking his opponent backwards and off balance, pushing him back into his companions. He had the high ground, and they hesitated.

That was all he needed.

He threw one over the railing and knocked the second down with a jab to the throat, and then J.B. was flashing past him to take the third. That left only Janish, who had stayed back to watch the fight unfold.

Spencer stalked down the last few steps, circling to put the other man’s back to the house. “Do I know you?”

“Serbia, ‘06,” Janish growled. “You beat me to the Mestrovic collection and cost me my finder’s fee. I owe you for that.”

Spencer shrugged. “Guess you’re not all that memorable.”

“You’ll remember it before we’re done,” he snapped. “I promise you that.”

He lunged, but Spencer side stepped and caught him in the jaw with a right hook. When he staggered, Spencer followed up with another blow before he could recover. “Walk away,” he said again, his voice low.

Janish flew at him. A punch, a dodge, another—block—counter—Spencer moved without thinking, letting his reflexes do the work. He recognized the technique Janish was using, even if he couldn’t remember the name, and it meant something—something in the back of his mind, something he would have used if he could. If he could only—

A jab got through his guard, catching him on the right cheek and snapping his head back—

And he was in the room again. He’d gotten inside the new LanCast building, and there were three men, not one, not Janish—he’d expected Janish to be there, but he wasn’t, and he didn’t have time to worry about that because he had to find her, but there was no furniture, nothing he could use to put between him and the other men, and he didn’t have time to deal with them. He hit one, pushed him away, turned to face the second, stepped back to avoid a clawing hook that caught his chest instead. The man tried to grab his shirt but got only his necklace, and he felt the chain snap as he pulled away. He’d get it later; she was more important. He took a punch to the face—where had that come from?—and swung at the third, but he missed, so he went back to the first for another block, block, counter, another jab, a hit to the stomach—he tried to come back with a low punch, but hands grabbed his arms and held them behind his back, and then there was the sound of a rumble and a crash, and a blast of heat that knocked him into the window, through the window, and he was falling—

“Stand down,” a voice barked in his ear. “Stand down, soldier!”

Spencer’s body went rigid. His heels snapped together, his spine straight, his breath coming in ragged gasps that he fought to get under control without moving his shoulders. J.B. had both hands on his upper arms, his face so close their foreheads almost touched. His hands were wrenched behind his back, but the pressure on them eased when he stopped moving, and Miguel stepped into view with a wary frown.

“How did you know that would work?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows at J.B. “How did you know he was a soldier?”

“Maybe not a soldier,” J.B. said. He was studying Spencer’s face, his brows furrowed, his eyes sharp and clinical. “But ex-military for sure. You get a feel for that. Spencer? Are you with me?”

“What happened?” Spencer rasped.

J.B. gave a half-hearted smile. “You got into a fight with a concussion, and it didn’t go well. I tried to warn you.”

Moving hurt, but he turned his head to survey the empty yard. “Where are they?”

“They left. After seeing what you did to Janish—”

Spencer paled. “I—I killed…?”

“No.” J.B.’s grip on his arms tightened. “You scared him away. You made Ben Janish hesitate, and that was enough for the others.”

“It was enough for me,” Miguel grumbled, rubbing his jaw. “You went into a trance or something, man. You wouldn’t stop hitting Janish, and when I got close, you hit me, too.”

A wave of nausea hit him like a train, and he pulled free of J.B.’s grasp so he wouldn’t get sick on him. “Sorry,” he choked out, but his vision dimmed, and he had to reach out for J.B. again to keep upright.

“Come on,” J.B. said. “Let’s get you inside before you keel over on the lawn.”

To his surprise, Miguel moved to his other side and slipped Spencer’s arm over his shoulders, and the three of them hobbled back up to the house without speaking. Sunny was still standing on the top step, her face set in a frown, but she moved aside when they approached. 

“Get him up to bed,” Sunny said. “We’ll talk when he’s had some rest.”

Spencer passed out before he could argue.

[kingkatsuki]

Does anyone else think about breaking up with their self-ships? Like scenarios for when, how or why it might happen and for how long. Whether you remain friends or cut each other off completely, and if fate will bring you back together later?

[deadandphilgames]

oversharing in the tags time :)

[twelverriver]

au: buffy and faith are in a pop rock band called The Slayers. buffy is the lead singer, faith plays the bass and does backing vocals. faith keeps fucking every single person in their band and their crew and buffy isn’t jealous. when they Do they together they’re absolutely obnoxious and faith keeps spilling things about their private life on stage with a smirk and a wink and buffy is really embarrassed but also thinks faith’s super hot while she’s doing it, so she doesn’t mind that much. 

[lord-squiggletits]

Pharma/Ambulon is a ship I kinda want to get into because it feels like it's a ship that has a lot of drama potential. It's not enemies to lovers but it's like, ETL lite. I guess there's just something in there that you can pick at to find some angst? Like, Pharma hates Decepticons and so he hates Ambulon because he's a Decepticon, but eventually comes to love him later on? Or you could work in something about Pharma's deal with Tarn/the DJD to save Delphi, in which part of the reason he makes the deal is so that he can protect Ambulon (I've seen many fics take this approach even with platonic/not particularly close Pharma and Ambulon).

I don't think I ship it in a "these guys would make a great long-term/stable couple" way, I think I ship it more in a "this has great angst potential/they have really complicated feelings towards each other" way but I don't really have any ideas for how.

[just-spacetrash]

🦾

[barkingangelbaby]

I feel like such a broken fucking person lol

I talked way too much in the tags don't read them

[omgitsbeewave]

i made a kinda sad post and my Internet went off and tumblr deleted it....

i'm just sad today

edit: i saw and deleted it bc this one is more emotional and stuff. i'm sorry everyone who will read the tags