#if you listen close you can hear latin swearing

[dimensionalspades]

@healingbrews said: "Shit" It's seethed, "I think I broke my ankle..." [For Vittorio]

- unprompted || accepting -

. The structure was some kind of bastardization of the smithy from Portoscuro. Bent and broken and twisted into a shadow of the lively place it had once been.

. And it's upper level had collapsed from under them.

. He had run up the stairs to the upper floor, intending to drop out of the window (already preparing for the sting in his legs). But then he'd seen Hinoka and the entire plan went to pieces. Tarhos rounded the corner and slammed his blade into the ground, narrowly missing the pair by inches. The molding floor gave way with a shrieking groan and all three had tumbled down.

. Along with them came part of the roof, the Knight taking the brunt of the fall with an echoing snarl.

. Vittorio could already hear him getting back up. When Hinoka relayed the injury, Vittorio was quick to slip his arms under her knees and behind her shoulders, holding her close as he quickly jogged out of the wreckage. Behind him, he heard the sound of metal scraping and he set her behind an overturned wagon, looking her over for injuries before he peeked around the edge towards Tarhos.

. "Stay here, carissime, I'll get his attention." He stood and darted out from behind the wagon, whistling shrilly to get his attention. "Tarhos!" The Knight was quick to take the distraction, Vittorio kicking into a sprint away from Hinoka's hiding place.

[fairlyang]

Sol de México 🕷️

in which Miguel doesn't know the sun of Mexico

w/c: 1.4K

pairing: uneducated!miguel x latine!reader

tags: fluff!!! miguel doesn't know luismi, uncultured, sm spanish w somewhat accurate translations (got lazy for the rest of the song oops), you try to convince him to listen, he does, loves his music omg

notes: I incorporated luismi bc miguel is an old man he would fucking LOVE boleros!!! also wrote easy money I before and after I went to his concert💅🏼

I was chilling in the cafeteria jamming out to Luis Miguel's discography when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I take one side of my headphones off and look up to see Miguel. "What's up?"

"I need you for this mission." He says and I nod standing up.

I grab the other end of my headphone and leave it wrapped around my neck as I hear the beautiful tune of Luismi's version of Sabor a Mi. My eyes lit up as I can still slightly hear it considering I had the volume high, who cares if I lose my hearing so young?

Miguel starts walking and I follow suit, mouthing along the lyrics to the romantic bolero. "Tanto tiempo disfrutamos de este amor. Nuestras almas se acercaron, tanto así" (For so long we have enjoyed this love. Our souls have gotten close enough)

Then I start humming the lyrics while we walk to the front of HQ. "Que yo guardo tu sabor. Pero tú llevas también. Sabor a mí" (That I now keep your taste, but you also keep. The taste of me)

Miguel side eyes me making me quickly shut up and he just shakes his head, "who are you listening to?"

I raise an eyebrow then smile, "Luismi!" I answer excitedly.

He just shrugs and I gasp, "No lo conoces?!?" (You don't know him?!?)

He shakes his head making my mouth nearly fall to the floor, "Como es posible- como- no lo conoces porque vives abajo de una roca o nomás no existía en tu universo?" I ask and he stops, giving me a glare making me bite my lip to refrain from laughing. (How is that possible? Do you not know him because you live under a rock or because he doesn't exist in your universe?)

"Nunca he escuchado ese nombre- como dijiste- Luismi? Que tipo de nombre es ese?" He snorts and I smack his shoulder as if he just said the most offensive thing imaginable. (I haven't heard that name- how'd you say- Luismi? What type of name is that?)

"Luis Miguel, guarda tus palabras cabron ese hombre es el sol de Mexico." I say pointing a finger at him as he starts walking again. (Be careful with your words bitch that man is the sun of Mexico)

"Pues no en mi Mexico." He mutters and I roll my eyes. (Well not in my Mexico)

"Voy a cambiar eso." I say and grin, quickly following him as he opens up a portal. (I'll change that)

"Oye Escorpión, tu conoces al sol de México?" I ask as I swing behind Scorpion and quickly web up his long ass tail. (Hey scorpion, do you know the sun of Mexico?)

"Is now really a good time to ask that-" Miguel chimes in webbing up the rest of his body as he raises an eyebrow.

"Luismi?" He asks and I laugh.

"Exacto." I say and look over at Miguel who rolled his eyes. (Exactly)

I created a portal as Miguel dragged Scorpion through it and we walked through the portal for a bit before walking through the other portal that led to where we keep the anomalies. "Almost too easy." I say and grin as Scorpion scoffs from the floor.

"No menti pero no te ofendas hiciste lo más que podías." I say making him groan and mutter swears at me. (I didn't lie, but don't get offended you did the most you could do)

Miguel hands him off to a few of the spiders who put him in a force field like cage and we walk back. "You're something else." He mutters making me grin.

"We already caught his ass and won't ever see him again it'll be fineeee." I say letting out a chuckle while he shakes his head.

"Eres algo más." He repeats and I laugh. (You're something else)

"Now let me put you on with some Luismi songs-"

"No-"

"Como que no-" (what do you mean no-)

"Que no-"

"Porque?!?" (Why?!?)

"Ya me diste lata con todo de tu mentado 'Luismi'-" he says and waves me off. (you've annoyed me with everything about your mentioned)

"No me ofendas O'Hara." I snarl making sure to enunciate his last name in Spanish. (Don't offend me)

"It's O-Hair-a-"

"Me valeee- si se escucha como Guadalajara así lo voy a decir." I snap back realizing I'm sounding like my tias back home, oh god. (I don't care- if it sounds like Guadalajara that's how I'm going to say it)

"Con el pinche nopalote en la frente y quieres que diga O'hara- por favor Miguel." I tease saying his last name like he wants me to and he just sighs. (With the fucking cactus on your forehead and you want me to say O'Hara- please. this only makes sense if you've heard it, it's like being able to tell someone is Mexican bc of your forehead)

"Y tu nombre se escucha súper más mejor completamente en español." I say and shrug as we finally made our way back to the cafeteria. (And your name sounds so much better completely in Spanish)

"Why do I put up with you-"

"Because you can't help but need to speak to another fellow hispanic spider! It's okay Miguel, I know I make you feel like home-"

"No exageres-" (don't exaggerate)

"I wasn't it was simply the truth." I say and fight back a smirk.

He chuckles and takes a seat at a table motioning for me to sit, I do and look up at him. He looks right back at me and we end up doing a little staring competition until he speaks up, "give me two recommendations-"

"La media vuelta y sabor a mi- espera no, hasta que me olvides- no- la bikina- pero la incondicional-" I blurt out then unsure of which ones I wanted him to listen to. (these are song names and I recommend them all<3)

"Nomas dos-" (only two-)

"La media vuelta y hasta que me olvides." I say and nod.

He sighs and pulls out his phone quickly writing something down. "You're gonna love them I promise!" I say and smile.

"Which one was the one you sang earlier?" He asks making my cheeks burn realizing I sang in front of him. Que vergüenza. (how embarrassing.)

"Uh it was sabor a mi. It's technically not his song, it's a Mexican bolero but I just love his version." I explain and he nods.

"Alright I'll report back to you soon and see if I like them-" he says but I had to interrupt.

"You will."

"Yeah yeah- and we'll see if he has good reason to be named 'el sol de México'" he says making me snort.

"Hold on this man isn't even Mexican-" Miguel says making me burst out laughing.

"Do not tell me you googled him-"

"I had to know more- and I did end up liking the songs so I wanted to see what he looked like and where he was from only to learn he was born in Puerto Rico-"

"Listen-"

"He isn't even Mexican-"

"His music is! And he grew up there so he counts as a Mexican!" I say and he just gives me a deadpan look.

"I'm serious- and he literally loves the culture, country, and music. That's where his heart belongs." I say and bite my lip trying hard to not laugh because of the look he was giving me.

"'Sol de México' my ass." He scolds making me clasp my hands over my mouth.

I was sitting on a chair in Miguel's desk, writing up a report while singing along to Sabor a Mi again. It was just so pretty and romantic, the melody was addicting to my ears and I felt a warm fuzzy feeling whenever I listened to it.

"Pasarán más de mil años, muchos más. Yo no sé si tenga amor la eternidad. Pero allá, tal como aquí. En la boca llevarás. Sabor a mí." I sing along and stop writing because I was getting into it.

I breathe in then continue, "No pretendo ser tu dueño. No soy nada yo no tengo vanidad. De mi vida doy lo bueno. Soy tan pobre, ¿qué otra cosa puedo dar?"

Then I hear Miguel walking towards me and singing? "Pasarán más de mil años, muchos más. Yo no sé si tenga amor la eternidad. Pero allá, tal como aquí en la boca llevarás, sabor a mí."

I turn to face him, mouth and eyes wide open making him chuckle, "me gusto mucho esa canción." He says and shrugs. (I really liked that song)

"Esta bonita verdad?" I ask and he nods. (It's pretty right?)

"Tan bonita." He says giving me a warm smile. (So pretty)

"Tal ves si es el sol de México...." He mumbles making me grin.

[ac-fandom]

I was walking peacefully in the middle of the woods, until I heard an angry scream, it was a female voice, it was a voice that I knew well, a voice that conveyed serenity and peace to me but that time it wasn't like that.

It was her...

I approached an oak tree, it was large and beautiful, I hid in the middle of the lower branches, that's where I saw her, she was reading an old book and was holding a stick in her right hand which she handled with care and said in a loud voice "cum magica mea dico tibi surgere!"after having heard this phrase, probably in Latin, I saw a small rock rise into flight...

"Yes, i did it to make it rise!" I was shocked, the girl I had fallen in love with, for whom I would have abandoned everything and everyone, was a witch..., I moved to leave but accidentally stepped on a dry branch which made a noise loud enough to make the girl turn, who stared at me with her deep and beautiful blue eyes intently with a surprised and frightened expression.

"Stig can I-" before she could finish the sentence, I ran away completely scared and i hear her running after me and begging me to listen to her, but I continued running without looking where I was going, and after a few meters away I tripped over a root and twisted my left ankle and fell over in pain but I tried to hold back the groan of pain, "Stig for heaven's sake, are you okay?!" see Marian runs towards me faster when she notices my fall, she still had her wand in her hand and instead she must have put the book in her usual bag I thought,

I took my shaman's staff, to defend myself from the young witch I loved so much, I started waving my staff at her when she approached and I shouted angrily "STAY AWAY FROM ME YOU HORRIBLE WITCH!" I saw her sigh heavily, "Stig please, I don't want to hurt you I swear!" she got down on her knees in front of me, I saw her with slight tears in her eyes "please, Stig I swear..." I hear her voice break mid-sentence, and so I place my stick on the soft, bright green grass, " okay… so what were you doing?” her face lit up and she smiled sweetly at me "if you want to know you have to tell me not to tell anyone, okay?" I nod in silence "thanks Stig, then I can show you, give your leg so i can help you heal" I stretched out my injured leg as the magnificent girl had told me and making a grunt of pain.

She took her book out of her bag and leafed through it for several seconds and then said smiling "this spell should heal your leg" I looked at her with a hint of anticipation, and she put the open book on the grass and she put a hand on my cheek and started to caresses, I blush deeply because of the contact of her hand, she speaks to me in a calm and reassuring tone of voice and with a light blush on her cheeks "trust me, everything will be fine" I smiled at her with a sign of approval, she took the book back and placed it on her blue dress, "then let's begin" she took a deep breath then pronounced with a solemn tone "Sana cito, Stig!" then she pointed her wand towards my leg and a flash of bluish light came out and hit me, I closed my eyes in surprise and shortly after opened them again.

the beautiful lady who sat a few centimeters away from me, smiled lovingly and put her wand and spell book in her bag and then gently caressed my cheek again, "how do you feel?" at her question I tried to stand up and walk normally, 'by all the gods it's incredible...' I thought, then I remembered Marian was still sitting on the floor and I held her hand to get up more easily and she took it to me taken with a smile, even though she is wearing fine silk gloves I felt the warmth of her body through, you feel me like in valhalla but unfortunately her touch left quickly but she whispered to me "thank you Stig" it brings me even closer to her" I'm the one who has to thank you Marian you healed me with your-" i shut me up before continuing to say thank you, she looks at me with confusion then I continue talking "so are you a witch or something similar?" she started to smile and said with a little bittersweet smile "no Stig, I'm not an evil witch, I'm the Sorceress of Sherwood", she stopped for a moment and then she continue talking "and please don't tell anyone, otherwise it will be the end of me..." I continue to look at her in silence and then nod and say "I won't tell anyone I promise on my honor, sorceress Marian" she smiled even more and beamed then, Marian came closer to me and kissed my cheek and whispered softly to me "thank you Stig, I hoped you would understand and you did" then she left and walked quickly and greeted me with her hand and, i with an ebette smile, as Solveig would describe it, I returned the gesture and started walking back home...

POV: 3 person

during the tender scene just completed between the young Viking shaman and the beautiful lady sorceress, a third was looking up the tree, it was Robin hood the prince of thieves, he looked at the whole scene in silence and then jumped out of the shadow and went towards the lady, he jumped in front to the young girl who was scared for a moment and then recognized the boy and greeted him kindly "oh hi Robin!" Marian went and hugged him but the boy moved away "is everything okay?" the boy looked her in the eyes and then lowered his gaze and shouted almost in a whisper in an angry tone "why did you tell him..."she grabbed his chin and started petting him "you're talking about Stig, aren't you?" Robin took the girl's hand and moved it "of course I'm talking about that stupid shaman!" Marian looked at her angrily "listen I had to do it, then i trusts him, he won't tell anyone and then don't call him stupid!" he snorted boredly and left angry and, mabye perhaps slightly jealous, "I'd better let it cool off, but I didn't understand the reason for his anger" and then she too left to return to the castle.

[lovelylogans]

puppy love

roger: do you want another cup of marriage? anita: excuse me? roger: tea? another cup of tea? anita: you said marriage. roger: uh, marriage? anita: yes, that’s what you said. i—i mean, you meant to say tea... but it—it came out marriage. roger: oh, i’m sorry. uh—do you want another cup of... tea?

—101 dalmatians

warnings: misbehaving dog, misunderstanding that might cause secondhand embarrassment, please let me know if i’ve missed any!

pairing: virgil/logan, offscreen patton/janus

word count: 2,732

notes: this is for day four of @analogicalweek! the prompt of the day is “alternate universe” and i have decided to write a "i think my dog likes your dog” au, based off the introduction of anita and roger in 101 dalmatians! please enjoy!

⁂

Logan would have named his dog Tesla if the name had not already become popular due to the brand and if he did not have a deep-seated dislike of Elon Musk, but as it has, and as he does, his dog’s name is Nikola instead. He had finally given in and adopted her after his brother, Patton, had been wheedling him to adopt or foster one of the animals for years from the shelter he serves as veterinarian.

Nikola is a very intelligent dog. In the two-and-a-half years he has had her since she was a puppy, he has taught her a variety of tricks—the usual things, like sit, shake, stay, but also more unusual tricks like fetching him water bottles or tissues or any number of things that she knows the name of and is within her reach. She is a mix of two intelligent breeds—rottweiler and German shepherd—and as such learning and practicing tricks helps keep her from being bored. 

She has a surplus of enrichment toys. She never rips up shoes or furniture. She keeps an obedient trot at his side on hikes and runs ahead if he tells her to. She waits after he throws something for her to fetch until he says to run, and she has learned to sit before they cross the street. She is a very well-trained dog. 

Which is why it is so surprising when, as soon as he crouches to unleash her at the dog park they go to on Sundays, weather permitting, she snatches his baseball cap meant to keep the spring sun out of his eyes, and goes running off as if he has told her to fetch a tennis ball.

“Nikola!” He calls, out of being startled more than anything, before he starts to jog after her.

Nikola runs, just a black-and-brown streak of fur with the navy blue of his cap clamped between her teeth, and Logan is really quite fortunate that he spends most Saturdays, weather permitting, hiking, and weekday mornings on jogs besides. This habit has kept him in shape, however, it has also contributed to keeping Nikola in shape, and as such she is a very fast and athletic dog. He wonders briefly if he’ll catch her before he makes too much a fool of himself.

But just as suddenly as she’d started running, she stops at one of the benches installed around the dog park, dropping his cap on the bench and then immediately moving to the dog sitting beside her owner, Nikola wagging her tail and panting and looking quite pleased with herself, with eyes only for the other dog. The other dog, all black excepting the white splotch on her chest, looks at Nikola curiously, but does not crouch in a playful posture or otherwise react.

“Nikola, really,” he scolds, picking up his cap and jamming it back on his head. Then he looks to the man sitting on the bench with the dog that Nikola now seems enamored with, intent on apologizing for disturbing him or his dog, but his mouth goes dry almost immediately.

The man with the dog sitting calmly at his side is very handsome. 

He’s brown-skinned and black-haired—he’s Latino, Logan thinks—and in the middle of reading a book. Logan isn’t sure what book, based on the way his hands are placed, his long, elegant fingers covering the title. He’s also listening to music, as evidenced by the white wireless earbuds placed in his ears.

It’s likely that Nikola’s tomfoolery hasn’t disturbed him at all. The man only gives Logan a look—his eyes, which are a stunning shade of brown so dark they’re practically black—and returns his attention to his novel.

Logan clears his throat awkwardly, jams his cap back on his head, and turns to Nikola, who is still trotting around them, seeming very pleased with herself, wagging her tail, looking every inch a pompous showdog.

Sometime in the middle of watching Nikola, the exceptionally handsome man has closed his book and stood up, and Logan tries his best not to pay him any mind as he walks away.

“Helena, come,” he says, with a deep, lovely voice that hits Logan somewhere in the sternum. He has an accent—Spanish, maybe? Portuguese? Logan isn’t very familiar with romantic languages outside of English, other than the Latin he took throughout high school and college. Nikola is still looking very excited, but the black dog—Helena—stands and follows after the man.

“Nikola, really,” he repeats weakly, and crouches before her, gathering her leash in hand and preparing to let her loose so they can, perhaps, play a game of fetch, or something that does not involve Logan running after her like a madman.

But of course not. Whatever mood Nikola’s in persists, as she suddenly pulls forward, forcing Logan to get up off the ground lest he be dragged in her wake, and he really does not want to be dragged along the ground at the dog park, so he does, scrambling after her and trying to regain his balance.

He doesn’t notice she’s looping her leash around the man’s knees until it’s too late.

Which brings him to notice that she is also backtracking to loop around his knees.

He cannot help but notice when Nikola pulls tight and it brings Logan and the man colliding forcefully, chest-to-chest.

“Oh!” The man grunts. His chest is warm and broad. Logan would quite like to curl up under a nearby rock and never come out and also, if Nikola understood human terms, she would be so grounded. As it is he is absolutely revoking treats for her behavior today, even if the man is now putting a hand on Logan’s shoulder and it radiates warmth through his shirt.

“I beg your pardon,” Logan splutters, “I’m so sorry, please excuse me, I’ve no idea what’s gotten into her—”

At the same time, the man is saying “What the hell, oh my God, what—” and trying to push them apart, Logan stumbling with it.

Which makes the man stumble, which makes Logan stumble a little more, and very suddenly, they’re overbalancing, and Logan lands on top of him, the man wheezing as his back meets the ground, surely knocking the wind out of him. Even with that, he puts a hand at Logan’s waist to keep him from falling off of him into the dirt.

“I’m so sorry,” Logan gasps, and looks over—Nikola and Helena are side by side, Helena still haughty, Nikola still seeming very self-congratulatory.

“Nikola, bad girl,” he scolds. She doesn’t even have the decency to look chastened. “I swear she’s never like this, I really am so sorry—”

Logan manages to loosen the leash from around their knees and rolls off the man, apologizing all the while.

The man manages to sit up, eyes wide, and promptly Helena comes trotting over to him, leaning heavily into his side. 

“Uh, that’s,” the man coughs, “that’s okay. It—it wasn’t your fault. Um.”

He threads his fingers throughout Helena’s long fur, and Logan whistles sharply. Nikola at least has the good sense to return to his side.

“I am very sorry,” he repeats and stands, offering a hand to the man. The man hesitates before he releases Helena and takes it, allowing Logan to pull him to his feet.

Logan picks up the book—oh, he’s handsome and he has good taste, too, he’s reading On Beauty by Zaydie Smith, of course he had to go and look like an absolute buffoon in front of him—and holding it out for him.

The man takes his book back, eyes wide, before he looks to the dogs.

And then, of all the things to do, he starts to laugh.

Logan looks, too, and he feels his face crack into a grin.

Nikola is wagging her tail eagerly, staring at Helena, and Helena, at last, seems to look back at her. Her tail, almost grudgingly, starts to wag, too.

“I think your dog has a crush on my dog,” the man says, amused.

“I can’t deny that observation,” Logan admits. Sure, Nikola will play with other dogs, but she’s never been so sweet to another dog before. Even if he is irritated with her for running off, he can’t quite hold onto his sense of annoyance as Nikola makes doe-eyes at Helena.

“Like a regular Romeo,” the man says, then makes a face. “No, scratch that. Um—”

“She’d be a Juliet, regardless,” Logan interrupts.

He relaxes his shoulders. “Good. Romeo’s overused.”

He catches Logan’s confused eye, and explains, “My brother’s name is Roman. He crushes on people a lot. It was an easy joke growing up.”

“Ah,” Logan says, waits a beat, before he says, “It’s odd I know your dog’s name and your brother’s name before I know yours?”

“I have another brother named Remus,” he offers. “And, now that you know my family tree except me, I’m Virgil.”

“Well, I have a brother named Patton, and a brother-in-law named Janus,” Logan says. “I’m Logan.”

Virgil’s brow crinkles up. “Not Janus Ophidian?”

“The same,” Logan says.

“Small world,” Virgil says thoughtfully. “He’s a pain in my ass.”

He immediately blushes, as if he did not mean to say that, but Logan laughs before he can stop himself. Virgil blushes deeper.

“Uh, sorry,” Virgil says. “Sorry, he’s your—”

“No, you’re quite right,” Logan says affably. “He is a pain in the ass, he’d be proud to hear you say it. How do you know him?”

“Coworkers, of a sort,” Virgil says.

“So you’re a lawyer?” Logan says curiously.

“No,” Virgil says. “He’s in immigration law, right?”

“Correct.”

“I’m a translator,” Virgil says. “They hire me on retainer, sometimes, for clients who speak Spanish or Portuguese and not as much English. Or Catalan, or Aromanian, or Asturian, but those are way less common.”

“Interesting,” Logan says. “You’re a polyglot?”

“Six languages fluently, and three enough to make conversation,” Virgil says, then, “Aw, look at that.”

Nikola is nosing at Helena, and, after waiting a moment, Helena noses her back, their muzzles pressing together in a facsimile of a kiss.

“Well,” Logan says, unsure of what to really say to that, because it really is quite adorable. Then, “I suppose they’d like to spend time together. Would you like to sit back down on the bench to talk?”

Virgil smiles at him, more a quirk of his mouth than anything, and Logan’s heart flutters in his chest.

Please be single, please be single, he prays to no one in particular as they sit down together.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Virgil asks, ensuring that he has marked the page (his bookmark advertises for a small, local independent bookshop) and closing it, setting it aside.

“Oh,” Logan says, then, because his actual job title is quite long and unwieldy, he says, “I’m an astrochemist.”

“An astrochemist,” Virgil repeats, sounding intrigued. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that. What do you do all day?”

Logan brightens. “Well,” he begins, and off he goes.

He knows he can be something of a rambler, especially when it comes to topics he’s passionate about, and especially when it comes to astrochemistry, a combination of his two most favorite scientific disciplines of study. It only takes someone five minutes of listening to him ramble to discover he’s passionate about his work and the discoveries they make.

But he can’t help it. It’s the best thing in the universe, what he gets to do—use radio telescopes to detect the electromagnetic radiation that’s given off by objects in space, establishing what substances are in space and in what quantities, which can potentially come to tell the story of how the universe was made. 

He gestures frequently with his hands, his voice rising in volume as he talks about the significance of his work, the knowledge he’s helped discover, the theories they have. He sweeps a wide, expansive gesture to the sky, and points in the approximate direction of the various planets and stars of study. All the while, Helena and Nikola move to chase each other in circles, and all the while, Virgil alternates between watching the dogs with a soft look, and then looking back to Logan with genuine interest shining in his eyes, along with something Logan can’t quite name—well, he did just meet this man, he supposes that isn’t unreasonable.

Whatever the look is, though, it increases the excitement of lecturing about something he loves to someone who wants to learn, something in his stomach fluttering, his heart beating loud in his ears.

He’s about to start explaining the use use theoretical models as well as computer visualizations to help them explain their observations in terms of known physical and chemical principles, and how it helps them study the origins of extraterrestrial bodies and the chemical processes that have shaped their present forms when he stops, abruptly aware of how long he has been talking.

“Goodness,” Logan says, suddenly shy, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’m so sorry, I’ve just talked away a good portion of your afternoon. Um. That’s the—that’s the sum of what I do on a daily basis. Which is what you asked.”

Virgil has that same quirk to his mouth as before, and that look in his eyes that had made Logan so eager in the first place.

“I don’t mind,” he says, and scratches at the back of his neck. “Um, I don’t drink coffee, ‘cause I have anxiety—Helena’s my emotional support dog, actually—”

Her stillness and calmness at the start of the whole debacle makes sense, then.

“—but, um. There’s a café nearby with outdoor seating, would you wanna maybe go... get a cup of marriage?”

Logan blinks at him, mouth agape.

“Excuse me?” He manages to squeak out.

Virgil blinks right back.

“Tea?” He clarifies, as if he was unsure if Logan heard him over the sound of other dogs and humans in the park. Goodness, there’s other dogs and people in the park, when did that happen? When did it get so crowded? “Would you want to maybe go get a cup of tea?”

“You,” Logan says, certain that his face is flaming red. “You said marriage.”

Virgil blushes then. He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, and at last he says, “Marriage?”

“Yes,” Logan says. “You—you said marriage. I mean, you meant to say tea, but it—it came out marriage.”

Virgil’s brow furrows. He thinks for a few moments. Then it seems to click, and he buries his face into his hands.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry,” Virgil groans. “It was nice to meet you and you’re very attractive and also you were so excited about your work so I have started liking you in a friendly way but also in a I’d like to date you way but I just proposed marriage barely an hour after we met, so I’m going to go fling myself into the creek so I never have to see you again, I can’t believe I said that.”

Helena has untangled herself from Nikola and is currently butting up against Virgil’s shins, seemingly in an attempt to get him to calm down.

“No! No,” Logan says hastily. “No. Oh, please don’t do that, um. Tea sounds great. Tea sounds lovely. I also think you’re very attractive and like you in both a friendly and romantic sense!”

Virgil peeks out from between his fingers. “Really?”

“Really,” Logan promises. “In fact, would you like to go get a cup of tea with me? Right now? As a date?”

Virgil grins at him weakly. “I guess a date sounds more reasonable than marriage right off the bat, doesn’t it?”

Logan smiles back at him, as encouragingly as he can. “It does. I’d like to go on a date with you.”

Virgil’s grin strengthens. “Great! Okay. Okay. Um—follow me, then?”

They both pause to leash their dogs, sharing a bashful smile with each other, and Logan follows Virgil and Helena to the gate of the dog park.

Nikola’s strange sense of mischief has worn off; she’s trotting obediently at his side again. To think, he’d thought Nikola had just caused all this trouble for nothing, and now he’s going on a date with a handsome, intelligent man. 

He sneaks her a treat as they exit the park, on the way to the café just down the street.

⁂

logan’s dog, nikola virgil’s dog, helena

[ukiyoexo]

HAUNT ME, BABY! — PJS

PAIRINGS — nct, park jisung x reader

GENRES — ghost!jisung, quarantine!au, humour, lots of fluff (+grumpy!cute!jisung), angst (?)

SYNOPSIS — when you see a ghost, you’re supposed to be scared right? yeah, that’s what jisung thought too until he met you.

a night spent in boredom leads you to lighting random candles and attempting to summon a ghost. you never expected it to work — or for the spirit to be so cute.

WARNINGS — ghost summoning, mentions of blood, swearing, pricking your skin for blood, mentions of how jisung died, unedited

WORD COUNT — 5.2k+

TAG LIST — @uwu-yifan @peachjaem00 @heartyyjeno @guccichan

NOTE — i basically took the bloody mary ritual and made some shit up so enjoy :) this is also the fluffiest of all the fics from deviltales so yeah... this is also shorter than i intended but oh well.

DEVILTALES — MASTERLIST

quarantining alone had its perks. like being able to eat whatever you liked whenever, and never having to actually get dressed. as well as the fact that you could spend the day doing what you pleased, without anyone getting in your way.

and maybe that’s why you were going through with the slightly crazy and slightly stupid idea you had come up with whilst spending your fourth hour scrolling on tiktok. there was no one here to stop you from summoning a ghost and you wouldn’t be getting in anyone’s way. plus, you couldn’t help but think it would be nice to have someone other than your cat to talk to — even if that someone was some demon that probably wanted to possess your body.

“red and white candles, check. mirror, yep.” you mumble off the checklist to summon your very own supernatural being. your finger scrolling over the wiki how page on your phone screen one last time before powering it off and chucking it onto your bed.

next stop was the bathroom connected to your bedroom, where you had already lit the two candles, placing them at either corner of the sink. you had already turned off the lights and plugged the sink like instructed, all you had to do now was repeat the chant and prick your finger.

you clear your throat, debating what you would do if your attempts actually worked but deciding to instead remain unbothered. “yolo i guess.” you mutter, only to laugh at yourself when you wonder how many people’s last words were that.

you repeat the chant confidently, despite the fact that it was some random latin that you didn’t understand and most definitely mispronounced. after rerunning it through your head to make sure you had it, you pick up the pin you had placed next to the sink. the cool metal almost numbs the feeling of it piercing your index finger, yet still not enough to completely distract from the unpleasant pinch. a steady drip begins even before you remove the needle, landing against the white ceramic sink bowl and trailing it way down to the plug. one drop, two drops, three drops, you keep count until you hit 16 and a small pool of the metallic liquid has formed at the drain.

nothing happens for a while, and you wonder if it really was just make belief. and then when the red candle blows out, you try to convince yourself that it’s just a draft. you know, because a draft in a closed room with no open windows is so common.

you’re not scared per se, but the feeling of someone’s hot breath against the neck is slightly unsettling, the hairs on your back standing up just that bit straighter with every exhale. you know the next step is to look up and face the mirror, but a part wants to just turn on the lights and pretend nothing ever happened.

then again, you were never one to back down from something once you had begun it.

“fuck it.” you take a deep inhale, holding your breath as you direct your eyes from the bloodied sink towards the mirror.

there it is. the dark outline of a body— a person, you can’t see it’s face at first and wonder if it’s just your shadow. but then the features slowly become more clear, a wicked smile, one white eye, there’s blood dripping from the crown of his head, trailing down to his other, reddened eye, where a thick cut is sliced through. “boo.”

“jesus fucking christ.” you’re pretty sure your soul leaves your body at that very moment. definitely a ghost- definitely a ghost- definitely a ghost. but what fucking ghost says boo?

one hand is clutched to your chest, heart hammering against your ribcage, the other fumbling for the light switch. your widened eyes still trained on the mirror.

“you— you’re like actually a ghost?” you question, the light switch seemingly impossible to find despite your frantic attempts. the boy behind you seems caught off guard by the enquiry. “i mean—” he begins in the most unghostlike manner “yeah, i guess. i prefer haunted spirit of the underworld though.”

you finally hit the switch and the boy comes into full view, your body turning so you can get a better look at him. he’s— he’s surprisingly unthreatening.

sure, he has copious amounts of blood dripping from his being, and yeah, he looks like he could possess you with the snap of his fingers. but, he also has the roundest rosy cheeks, and the most adorably button nose. plus, he talks like most of your friends do — not the spooky victorian vibe you were picturing. “huh.” you lean back against the sink basin, arms folded across your chest, eyes narrowed. “hmph, you’re kind of cute.”

the ‘haunted spirit of the underworld’ looks a mixture of offended and confused at your statement, eyebrows furrowing with a exaggerated pout on his lips. “what?” he mirrors the action of your arms, “you’re not supposed to find me cute— you’re not supposed to.” he stomps his foot and you can’t help but lose it, giggling erupting from your chest.

“not my fault, dude.” you inform him casually once you’ve caught back your breath. sliding past him to get to the bathroom door and promptly opening it. he follows as you enter your bedroom, standing above you with the same expression as before as he watches you slump onto your bed.

“but no one ever finds me cute.” he just looks more confused now. “guess im the exception,” you shrug, “i mean how many people have summoned you anyways?”

“a lot, ok? and that’s not the point. you’re killing the atmosphere by being so chilled out and i’m not here for it.” the boy continues but you’re more focused on examining him. under the thick red liquid is a dishevelled, ink black mop of hair, a slightly tattered black shirt that is loose fitting to his figure and then a pair of ripped black jeans, although you can’t tell whether the rips are intentional or a result of his untimely death. “hello? are you even listening to me.” your eyes flick back up to his face, “yeah, yeah i’m listening— something about atmosphere or some shit.”

he lets out a huff and indicates for you to shuffle over, moving to sit on your bed, “whoa, pause, that blood won’t get on my sheets right? i just washed them.” he pauses in his tracks, looking at the white linen and then back at you. “i’m a ghost.” he states obviously. “good point.”

silence seems to settle in the room once he gets himself comfortable, his eyes examine your room whilst your eyes examine him. the pout on his face had vanished, only to be replaced by this almost saddened look. for some reason, you can’t help but feel like it’s your fault.

“you can try again.” you mutter awkwardly, offering up the best comforting smile you could. “try what?” “you can try scaring me again. we’ll go back to the bathroom, i’ll turn off the lights and you can jump out again.” his head tilts as you explain your suggestion and you swear you can see the apples of his cheeks redden just slightly. “i— i mean it won’t work will it? you already know i’m here.” he reasons back.

“ah, my dearest haunted spirits of the underworld, you clearly haven’t witnessed my superior acting skills before, lemme show you how to be scared.” you stand up confidently, sliding backwards to the bathroom, wiggling your eyebrows as you do so.

he once again follows, watching inquisitively as you relight the candles and turn off the lights, closing the bathroom door behind you, once you’re both fully in. “now, do your thing.” you offer him a quick smile and he nods hesitantly, settling himself in the darkest corner of the bathroom where you can’t even see him. “haunt me, baby!”

as you let out your last, more joking, words, the red candle is blown out once again, the white candle merely flickering and provided little to no light. your breath catches in your throat and any humour you have left to offer seems to dissipate out of your body.

there’s a tapping against the tiles to your right. then a scraping behind you. you can hear an unintelligible whispering echo throughout the small space but can’t make out what’s being said.

a cold draft hits the back of your neck, following the shiver that runs done your spine and leaves goosebumps on your arms.

your eyes are locked on the mirror in front of you. you don’t even have to act scared, you just are. your heart pounding harder and quicker in your chest with each passing second, your breaths unsteady and shallow.

one tap on your shoulder, then two, then what feels like someone tugging on strands of your hair. your body tenses at the touch, limbs stiffening.

and then, in the glow of the weak candle light, a face appears, a familiar face but one that given the circumstances, looks all the more terrifying. your eyes widen just as before, your features hardened in the tense moment.

“boo.” he repeats the same ‘scary’ word as before but in a low whisper. you try your best to remain calm but it’s at that moment that you lose it, your eyes squeezing shit and your hands flying to hit the lights. “nope, nope, nope.” you repeat in a chant, jumping on the spot as if that would make things any better.

“what? was i good?” the ghost sounds surprised, chirpy, and it’s enough to convince you that you can look up again. “were you good?” you respond bewildered, staring at the boy, “you were to fucking, i hated that.” you inform him, pacing to wards your bed. he trails behind, cheering to himself proudly.

“promise to never scare me like that again?” you hold out your pinky once he’s sat back next to you.

he pauses slightly but then nods, extending his pinky as well, hooking it around yours. “promise.”

♡ ♡ ♡

“wait, you never told me your name? and how old are you?” you and ghost boy are lying on your bed, having established that he’ll be ‘haunting’ you until dawn, leaving you with six hours to kill.

“jisung, eighteen.” he hums back, “you?”

“i’m y/n and the same age.” you roll onto your stomach and closer to jisung, giving him a wide, cheesy grin. his eyes narrow, as if to say what are you doing, but then widen when he feels your arm shove him off the bed. of course, it doesn’t work because he’s a ghost and can hover, but you still receive the same amount of entertainment.

“why can i touch you?” you continue your questioning after jisung settles on the chair next to your desk, “and why can you sit on things?”

he huffs out a breath but doesn’t really seemed bothered by the pestering, in fact he rather enjoys having someone to talk to. “you can touch me because you summoned me, and i can sit on things because i control what i go in and out of.” he explains as simply as possible, holding his hand out against your desk. “look, like this.” he rests his hand ontop of the surface as if it’s nothing. then he lifts it back up and lowers it again, however this time, it goes straight through the wood. “whoa.” you gasp, genuinely impressed. “cool, right—”

“can you go through me?” you burst brightly, and jisung looks mildly concerned. “i mean— i’ve never tried but—” “try it on me! try it on me! try it on me, please!” you extend the last your vowels desperately, grasping your hands hands together in a begging motion.

jisung rolls his eyes but agrees nonetheless, rising from seat and walking towards you with his hand extended. “ok, hold out your hand.” he instructs and you comply eagerly. your hand pointed outwards with your fingers spread slightly.

jisung rests his palm against yours, his skin is cold but soft. but then the feeling seems to vanish, and you watch wild eyed as jisung closes his fist, inside your hand. “what does it feel like?” he asks.

“like nothing.” you tilt your head, it wasn’t as exciting as you thought it’d be.

jisung then pulls out of your hand again, places his palm back against yours and threading his fingers with yours, materialising his flesh again. “aw, you’re holding my hand.” you tease sweetly, “cute.”

jisung scoffs, quickly pulling away at the mention of that horrid c-word.

“anyways then, what do you want to do?” you flop back onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. jisung lifts off the ground, hovering above you and looking down to make eye contact. “what do you mean?”

“well, is there anything you didn’t get to do whilst you were alive that you wish you could? are there things you want to experience again?”

jisung smiles, it’s a sweet question. bittersweet though.

he had never really thought about the things he had missed out on, and he’d tried his hardest to not think about the things he actually missed. but something about you asking it, so innocently, so pure hearted and warm, makes him smile. makes him less sad about his untimely death.

“i don’t know.” the ghost drops beside you, fiddling with his fingers. “well let’s make a list then.” you match his smile and jisung swears this is the most he’s felt since becoming a ghost.

♡ ♡ ♡

half an hour passes before you finally have a list you can actually accomplish within the confines of your apartment.

first on the list is learning how to skateboard, your board that had been propped up in the corner of your room since the start of quarantine coming in extremely useful. “ok, put one foot on the deck,” you instruct calmly, hands already being grasped by jisung’s. the icy feeling if then still something you couldn’t entirely get over. “then the other.” he does as he’s told. stepping on carefully but surprisingly soon, he was a ghost though — nothing to lose.

it goes pretty smoothly, your body guiding his around the hard wood floor of your bedroom. there’s a few wobbles but nothing too severe. “fun?” you grin and he nods eagerly back, it was almost like having a puppy.

“now you try on your own.”

he stops smiling at that.

“but what if i fall off?”

“you’re a ghost.”

“oh yeah.”

jisung adjusts the board so that it’s facing down the longest stretch. he confidently settles himself on the deck. with one, slightly too strong of a push, he’s off across your room. he picks up speed quickly as he goes and it’s only near the end of his path when he realised that he’s fucked up.

whilst he jumps off, the board keeps flying, only stopping when it hits the wall — or rather goes through it.

you both stand, frozen in you positions, staring at where your plaster wall had been broken through. “you just put a hole in my wall.”

“that, i did.”

“ok enough skateboarding for you.”

you move on swiftly after that, finding out that jisung can still eat and deciding to order a selection of his favourite dishes: sushi, pizza and even pork belly.

whilst you wait for food, you decide to move onto the next on the list: alcohol.

“so you’re telling me you never drank alcohol, like any at all, before you dies?” jisung nods to your astounded question. “seriously?” you scoff, genuinely shocked. “the most i’ve had is a sip of mum’s wine and it was nasty so i just steered clear of alcohol as a whole.” he informs you and you’re pretty sure your jaw is touching the ground. “what about drinking games?” he shakes his head again. “that’s wild dude.” it seems like the only motion jisung can do is moving his head as nods awkwardly for what feels like the hundredth time.

you don’t pay much mind as you head to your kitchen, choosing a selection of alcohols and mixers and several glasses before making your way back to the bedroom with full arms. 

you settle yourself on the floor of your room, pouring out the various liquids into different glasses. “you don’t have to drink if you don’t want, you know that right?” you asks, swirling a glass of lemonade and lemon vodka in your, wanting to make sure that you weren’t forcing the ghost boy to do something he didn’t want to. “yeah, i know, but i do want to.” “ok, good.”you grin, hoding out the glass in your hand towards him.

he winces at just the smell which makes you giggle, the way his nose srunches being incredibly cute. he takes swig anyways however. its a quick one but you can tell by the range of emotions that spread across the boys face that he definitely got a taste. “good?” “i guess.” he twists his lips and you laugh even more.

“up next is gin.” you inform him, swirling another glass of alcohol and this time tonic.

you hand him the glass and he readily takes it, offering you a concerned look after taking his routine sniff as if to say ‘you really drink this?’. you smile encouragingly, despite thinking the drink you had just handed him was the worst of the lot. 

unfortunately for jisung, he takes you expression as a form of reassurance that the gin will be better than the last and takes a more confident sip than the prior drink. however, just as quickly as he’s sipping it, he’s spitting it back into the glass, this disgusted look on his face as he tries to hold back a gag. you let out a boisterous belly laugh at his reaction, much to jisung’s distaste.

“you like that?” he questions between gulps of water, watching you intently. his eyebrows arching wildly when you respond with a “rarely.” 

“so, wanna taste the next one?” you grin again, but jisung as trusting as before. “not really.” he pouts but you circle the drink around his face and he can’t really say no, he had never really had any self restraint anyways. “fuck it.” he hums before downing the mix of malibu and coke, a pleased look flashing across his face. “you like?” you nudge him into a response, “i do.” he smiles back, surprisingly happy. 

you appreciate his good taste in alcoholic drinks but decide to do only one more round before wrapping the session up. 

the last differs from the rest. the fact that it was dairy based and thicker eing the most obvious differences, as well as the fact that you put no mixer with it. “what’s this?” he holds the brown liquid up to the light as if that would help him decifer what he was about to sip on. “chocolate baileys.” you smile at him fondly, and he tilts his head at you. “don’t worry, you’ll love it.” you offer him some more genuine reassurance this time and his nods timidly, “bottoms up.” he raise his glass to his lips, taking a small swig. “wow.” he has another taste. “good?” “really good.”

food arrives shortly after and you waste no time stuffing yourself with the selection of delicious foods, making that jisung has plenty and enjoys the meal to its full.

♡ ♡ ♡

next on the agenda was catching up with all the music jisung had missed. and god, there was plenty.

you created a playlist of your favourites, a collection of ones he may know, and other new ones, setting it to full volume on your speaker — your neighbours could deal with the noise for a while.

when you begin to twirl around the room, busting out your favourite moves, jisung doesn’t seem too fond of joining in. unfortunately, no one told him how hard it would be to say no to you. the way you grip his hands and spin him on the spot with encouraging cheers make him laugh too much for him to then say no.

“there you go!” you grin ecstatically, watching jisung throw out some peculier but workable dance moves. your questionable singing matched with his much better singing when a song he knew came on.

your dance party goes on for what feels like half an hour but is really half an hour at most.

you spend half the time belly laughing while battling it out on who could dance better and although jisung won, it’s one of the best half an hours of your life. it almost makes you sad that, despite your exhaustion, you can’t continue with the dance party for longer.

you cross it off the list happily, looking for the next doable thing — watch avengers: endgame.

you were never much of an avengers fan but it turns out jisung was a huge one. and one thing he didn’t get to do before he passed was watch the last to the film, something he had been dying to do.

thankfully for him, you had already bought it after one extremely boring day in quarantine, figuring it would help you easily pass three hours of your time. only now, you were hating the length as it just meant less time to spend with jisung.

jisung actually having to agree to play truth or dare with you whilst watching otherwise you refused to turn it on.

it gets only fifteen minutes into the film and your prodding at the ghost’s arm. “psst,” you over exaggerate, “truth or dare?” you grin taking a scoop from the ice cream you had retrieved earlier.

jisung flickers his gaze between the screen and your pleading, hating how cute he finds you. “dare.” he whispers back.

if he hadn’t been so focused on the film, jisung would have seen the almost maniac like smile that spread across your lips. he then, would have been less shocked and disgusted when you dared him to drink a shot of soy sauce.

“you want me to do what?” the boy splutters, looking at you with mild concern. “what happens if i don’t?” one eyebrows quirks upwards. “then i choose a different date, as well as a truth.”

the manic smile returns.

“ok, fine.” you’re almost more shocked that he agrees to the questionable, sodium packed drink. “really?” you gasp. “yep, really.” he only confirms back.

you return to the bedroom a couple moments later with a glass bottle of dark brown liquid in one hand and a pair of shot glasses in the other. “you doing it with me?” jisung wonders once he sees the two small vessels, normally for alcohol.

“might as well.” you nod, questioning your own sanity as soon as you agree, “you only live once right?”

the joke is probably inappropriate given the circumstances, yet jisung chuckles nonetheless.

the humour dies down shortly after when the sodium liquid meets your tongue. your attempt short lived as you wait a whole five seconds to spit the shot back out. grabbing one of the glassses of water you had prepared and swirling it around your mouth.

jisung seems to struggle less than you, the alcohol most likely acting as a good warm up to him. however, you can tell by the expression his face twists into that he still definitely doesn’t enjoy it.

you fire more dares back and fourth after that, resulting in you snacking on a whole lemon and jisung ending up in an outfit of your choice — turns out ghosts can change clothes. and it continues until jisung finally chooses truth.

“so,” you clear your throat awkwardly, “well,” you continue to stall, twiddling with your thumbs. you open your mouth to speak again but jisung cuts you off, “you can ask me anything, like anything at all.” jisung nudges you encouragingly.

you sigh, looking at him with a pout, “ok then,” you don’t sound very enthusiastic but it’s more that you just feel bad, you couldn’t imagine that many people would enjoy reliving their last moments — assuming that’s what he was referencing, “my truth for you mr jisung is, how did you die?”

a silence settles between you and you’re too scared to even look up from where you were playing with the hem of your shirt.

“i— why would you ask me that?”

his words cut through the tension sharply. his tone serious.

“i— you- but you just said—” you’re beginning to panic, wondering if you had just hallucinated th last five minutes, but for all you knew, you could’ve been hallucinating all of this experience. “i’m sorry—”

“i’m fucking with you y/n, it’s fine, i was surprised you didn’t ask me earlier in fact.” jisung is evilly giggling just a bit too much for your liking, enough for you to attempt to wack his stomach. of course that fails though as he lets your arm just fly straight through him. “i hate you.”

“you don’t really,” he teases, reaching over to squish your cheeks as you glare at him. “it wasn’t interesting anyways, i was just hit by a car, boring really.”

“was it on purpose?” you pull the ice cream spoon between your lips.

“huh,” he takes another scoop himself, “i never thought about that.”

“well, did it hurt?”

“kind of,” he hums, looking like he’s genuinely trying to remember, “this bit hurt.” he motions towards his eye and for a second you almost forgot having a thick red gash across your eye wasn’t normal.

“hmph,” you lean towards him inspecting the cut, “that’s wild.”

“well, how do you wanna die?”

the way jisung asks so genuinely has a bubble of giggles brewing in your stomach, but you expression hardens when you realise he’s being serious. “i don’t know, i’ve never thought about it before. i die when i die, you know? i can’t stop it, so i might as well just enjoy what i have now and accept whatever death comes to me in the future, momento mori or some shit.”

you answer nonchalantly and jisung’s surprised by how calm you are about death.

he remembers the first time he experienced death. his grandpa passed away when he was eight and although he didn’t fully understand the concept of dying, he understood enough to be sad. and when his grandma passed away at ten, he was finally able to grasp the concept of it.

if he was being honest, death terrified him.

it was uncertain. and jisung didn’t like uncertainty. the unknown darkness that was death scared him and he even at eighteen, he hadn’t fully accepted it.

but hey, he was a ghost now, not much he could do to change his death anymore.

♡ ♡ ♡

the film ends sooner than you had expected and there’s not long left before jisung will leave. it’s weird, you didn’t think you could get so attached to someone so quickly, but then you summoned jisung and you both just clicked.

you had both decided that for the last moments you’d sit out on the balcony of your apartment, let jisung jisung feel the warmth of the sun as it filtered through the clouds.

“i think you’re my favourite ghost.”

“you’ve met other ghosts?” jisung quirks up his eyebrows, tilting his head towards you.

“nope, but i imagine you’re the best.” you continue confidently, watching as pastel blues and pinks fade into the sky.

he smiles at that.

he thinks you’re the best human he’s ever met, too.

you attempt to pass you the time by talking about life before death and your life after he goes but all conversation simmers down into a silence. it’s not uncomfortable, more just this solemn quiet. jisung didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t really have a choice — being a ghost really sucked sometimes, that was for sure.

“you know, there’s something else i kinda want to do before i go.” jisung hums, drawing your attention to his face. “what?” you question innocently which in itself makes the ghost smile. 

“well,” he begins, suddenly nervous and blushing under your gaze, “when i was alive,” you nod, encouraging him to continue, “i never got to have a proper first kiss.” he quietens at the end slightly but what he’s saying is still clear as day.

“oh.”

you watch him shift in his seat, waving his hand in and out of the arm rest anxiously. “mr haunted spirit of the underworld, are you asking if you can kiss me?” you can’t help but tease the red cheeked boy, swirling your finger on your lap.

“i mean— you don’t—”

“i’d love for you to, jisung.”

your grin is suddenly matched on the boy’s face, a genuine smile that makes your heart pump even faster and this bittersweet feeling to settle in your stomach.

you stand up from your seat and he does the same, intertwining his fingers with yours and shuffling closer towards you. his gaze lingers on your lips for a moment before shifting towards your eyes. the way your irises glow in the morning sunlight something he wishes he could witness everyday. the way your cheek feels against the delicate touch of his fingertips, something he wishes he could experience everyday. “thank you.”

“for what?”

“for making me feel alive for the first time in all my eighteen years, dead and alive.” he confesses barely above a whisper, your hand shifting to cup the back of his neck.

he tilts forward, resting his forehead against yours, letting out a soft breath before closing gap completely.

his lips are plush, a soft velvet against yours. this heavenly feeling that makes you wonder whether he’s more of an angel than a ghost. the feeling has jolts of electricity sparking through every nerve of your body and you wonder if he feels it too. you do your best to savour each second of the kiss, letting yourself indulge in the moment.

hoping to imprint it in your memory for ever.

when you pull back, you’re met with nothing but the rays of sun indicating that dawn had come and jisung had gone.

you’re not sure what comes over you but there’s a gentle trickle of tears that escape your eyes. you were happy to have gotten to know him while you could, but it hurt knowing that you couldn’t do more.

you settle back in your chair after the realisation comes to you, dwelling over the questions you didn’t ask him. the most important being whether he’ll ever be able to come back.

you hoped he would.

and if not, you found comfort at least in knowing that he had still left his mark. from the hole now in your wall to the many memories you had to look back on.

even though you had never been one to believe in soulmates, you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering if that’s what you and jisung were. even if you roamed in different worlds, you couldn’t help but think you were made for each other. only hoping that in your next life you would finally get to be together.

[bqstqnbruin]

I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call

OK so here we are with the penultimate part! BIG MASSIVE THANK YOU to the absolute loves of my life @pucksnsticksnhockeyboys​ and @fratboytj​ for helping me write this because I am a dumpster fire of a human and this would still be unfinished had it not been for them 💛💛💛

Hope you like it!

Read the whole series:  I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair // I hate the way you drive my car // I hate it when you stare // I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind // I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme // I hate the way you’re always right // I hate it when you lie // I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry // I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call // But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you, not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all

---------

“This right here is our issue!” 

“I don’t care. You need to leave.”

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

You and Evelina were leaving for Los Angeles the next day, the presentation not quite done yet as your boss bombarded both of you with texts asking for updates while you were just trying to relax at home after what had been a stressful week of work. The two of you had turned into gremlins as soon as you came home, hair tied back, sweatshirts on, hoods up, facing each other while sitting cross-legged on your living room floor, typing faster than you probably needed to every time your boss sent a new suggestion. 

“Does he really think adding in a transition between these two slides is going to do anything? Like, there are no other animations in the entire presentation, why these two slides?” you huff, pushing the fly-away hair out of your face as you look to Evelina, hunched over her laptop with her computer screen illuminating her face.

Your phones continue buzzing as you try to put the finishing touches on your laptops. “Whatever this man is smoking, I need some to deal with him,” Evelina mutters. You look up from your computer, questioning the statement that just came out of her mouth. “What?” she asks, “Don’t act like you wouldn’t, too.”

“I’m texting him and telling him we’re going to stop for the night and talk with him in person about it tomorrow at the airport and on plane,” you tell her, setting your computer down next to you. You lay down on the floor, stretching your body out with your hands over your head, your toes pointed, groaning so loud you practically scream as your phone lays silently next to you. 

“Have you heard from Matthew?” Evelina asks, breaking the silence that was normally broken by texts from him. 

You shake your head, sitting up again. “Not a word.”

“Have you tried to talk to him?”

You take in a deep breath, closing your eyes as you pick up your laptop again. “Nope. Nothing posted on our stories on Instagram or Snapchat in a week, no texts, no calls, no Facetimes, our streak gone on Snap. We’re both radio silent,” you start, trying to fight back the tears that you knew were coming. This was for the best, maybe. You didn’t need to be preoccupied with the idea of liking someone that was just going to hurt you. He was only meant to be your friend. Your best friend. 

“I’m sorry, babe,” she says, turning her head. A small piece of paper under your couch catches her eye, stretching to see what it was. “What is this? ‘For Ev and Hg’ Who’s Hg?”

“I think that’s me,” you say, reaching for the card, Matthew’s messy writing scrawled across the small paper. It must have fallen off the box that had the jerseys in it, you figure. 

“That’s not right,” she says, pulling a laugh from you.

“Matthew calls me that: Hg is the chemical symbol for mercury, coming from hydrargyrum, the Latinized form of the Greek word hydrargyros, which means water-silver. Mercury stops oxygen from reaching the brain and it drives you crazy. He’s saying that I drive him crazy,” you explain, a sad smile on your face as you play with the card, curling the corners of it slightly just so you had something to do.

“That is surprisingly smart and cute for him,” Evelina gushes, a sudden wave of sadness washing over her. “I think this is my fault,” she admits.

“What?”

“Matthew not talking to you. Matthew knowing about the list.” You stare at her, not sure what to say. What was she talking about? “I told him about it the night you started it.”

“What the fuck?” you scream, “That’s the reason we had this whole fight in the first place. That’s why we aren’t talking right now. Ev, you ruined my friendship with Matthew!” 

“You’ll get through it,” she tries to reassure you, unable to look at you. “Couples fight all the time.” 

“We were not a couple!” you yell, standing up. “And now, because of you, we never will be.” 

“Is that what you wanted?” she yells back, getting up with you as if you were about to start physically fighting. “Do you want to be a couple? Or do you just want him to be your friend? I don’t care anymore, but until you figure out what the fuck you want, you can’t fix this.”

You look down at your feet, wiggling your toes in the socks you had on. “You’re right,” you admit to her, trying to stay as calm as you could. “But why did you have to tell him about that list? What do you think it’s like to find out that someone you care about has been keeping something like this from you?” You stand there quietly for a minute, neither of you sure what to say to the other. “I’m going to go to my room,” you say, finally breaking the silence, “Just, don’t bother me for a little bit, ok?” You don’t let her answer, picking up your computer from the floor and retreating to your room to lock yourself in for the time being. 

Evelina sits down on the floor, trying to figure out what she can do. This was her fault. Or was it yours? She had suggested the list, but you were the one who went along with it. She made the bet, but you wouldn’t drop it. She wanted you to be with Matthew, but you have been fighting it no matter what everyone else tells you. 

She shakes her head, picking up her computer, a reminder from her calendar coming up in the top corner: Flames @ Kings, 7:00 p.m. Friday. Staples Center. With all this bullshit, would you even still want to go to the game? Evelina pulls up her phone, hearing loud music coming from your room, thankful that you wouldn’t be able to hear her conversation. 

“I can see on her Spotify that she’s playing the playlist we entitled “depressed bitch” when she broke up with her last boyfriend and I can’t stand to see her like this. Why did you have to bring up the list?” Evelina barks into her phone.

“Why did you have to have Y/N start the list in the first place?” Matthew’s voice comes through on the other end. “With no list, then we wouldn’t be in this fucked up mess in the first place. You’re the reason I’m not talking to her.” 

She knew he was taking his anger out on her. And he’s right, as much as she hated to admit it. “I know it’s my fault,” she says, begrudgingly, “which is why I’m trying to fix this. She cried for five hours after you left last week. She did not sleep for two days and I think the only reason she did was because our boss is an exhausting jackass. It’s because of you and me, and she’s made her peace with me as far as I can tell. I need you back in the picture.”

“Why?”

“Matthew,” Evelina groans, hating that she had to explain her reasoning to him, “you’re good for her. You’re good to her. You listen to her. You hear her. From the moment you met her, you were absolutely infatuated with her.”

“Yeah.”

“So why haven’t you talked to her in a week?”   

She hears him let out a deep sigh, swearing she could hear him sniffle as if he were crying. “Because I’m in love with her. I love Y/N. And I know that the more I try to pull her back to me, the harder she’s going to push away.” 

“Why do you love her?” Evelina asks, grabbing her computer, an idea popping into her head as she balances her phone between her shoulder and her ear, pulling up a blank document. 

He scoffs, starting, “Her way of relaxing herself is by ranting about obscure facts that no sane person would actually care enough to read, let alone commit to memory. And she absolutely lights up when she tells you this stuff. She has this, this soft smile that still somehow reaches her eyes when she’s talking. At the end of her rant she makes that face where she scrunches her nose because she thinks it’s embarrassing that she just spewed all those facts to you.” 

“Keep going,” Evelina instructs him, her fingers flying over her keyboard as he talks.

“Are you typing?” 

“I’m working on...work. Keep going, I’m listening,” she says fast, hoping that he wouldn’t question her.

“I like how she dresses, and I know you think she doesn’t have good style but hear me out: she dresses how she’s comfortable. She doesn’t dress up often because it’s not something she wants to do so it’s not something she does do. But, fuck, when I see her dressed up in the slightest, she looks beautiful. She looks great in anything she wears.” 

Evelina couldn’t help but smile as she continued to type, not even needing to egg Matthew on to keep spilling his guts to her, his voice getting more confident with everything he listed. “Have you ever noticed how she doesn’t hold a pen correctly? What was it, her grandmother taught her to write outside of school so when she went to school and already knew her teachers saw that so they didn’t focus on her and catch that she was holding it wrong? So now she’s constantly playing with it to distract herself from that fact, which makes no sense, but whatever. And she has ink all over her hands all the time because she keeps twirling it between her fingers and dropping it.”

“She’ll joke that it’s ‘abstract art.’” Evelina cuts in, both of them laughing.

“Come on, even you love that. She’s so stubborn. Once she gets any idea in her head, she won’t give it up because she knows she’s right. It drives me crazy.”

“Mercury,” Evelina mutters. 

“What was that?”

“We found the card that you wrote with the jerseys,” she explains, peeling her shoulder away from her face and holding the phone with her hand for a moment, “You call her Mercury because she drives you crazy.” 

Matthew stays silent for a moment, forgetting that you were supposed to see him in Los Angeles against the Kings that Friday. “Are you still coming to that?” 

“You mean is she still coming with me?” He doesn’t answer again, leaving Evelina to fill the empty space in the conversation. “I’m going to try to get her there. I want her there. And I know she wants to be there, too.” 

“I remember the night we met,” Matthew says, changing subjects, not wanting to think about the possibility of not seeing you at that game, “it was just a normal night out with the guys and then two girls who we hadn’t seen before walked in. And normally we wouldn’t think anything of it, but,” he exhales, “I don’t know. The entire energy of the bar changed. All of us felt it. And then the two of you walked up to us. You were fucking annoying,” he jokes, earning a scoff from Evelina.

“Watch yourself Tkachuk, don’t make me mad right now.”

Rolling his eyes, even though he knew she couldn't see him, he continues, “The guys loved you immediately, it was like you had known them for years the way you fit in. But then there was Y/N. She’s your exact opposite: you were this loud force of nature but she was quiet. There was just something about her that I had to get to know her. I knew she was different around people she’s comfortable with and I just had to be one of those people. Couldn’t even tell you why.”

Matthew keeps talking, Evelina typing as he keeps telling her about his feelings. In a lull in your music, you can hear her laugh from your room, thinking to yourself that you were glad at least one of you was having fun with whatever it was they were doing. You finally sit up, having been sprawled on your back on your bed staring at your ceiling trying to think of something, anything that wasn’t Matthew. You look around your room, trying to ground yourself from the pain you felt from not hearing from him, not wanting to reach out to him to begin with. You see your computer on your dresser, forgetting that you put it there once you got to your room, getting up to put something on from Hulu. 

Out of the corner of your eye, in the reflection of your mirror, you see a black sleeve sticking out from the rest of the clothing that was hanging on the back of your door. You put your computer on your desk, flipping through the clothing to see what it was. You pull it off whatever hanger it was on, a wool winter pea coat, definitely not yours. 

Because it was Matthew’s. When you first met him, you were so comfortable around each other. You could go over his place with ease, not feeling awkward when you fell asleep on his shoulder while watching a movie, feeling completely normal when you woke up the next morning and used his bathroom as if it were your own, eventually keeping some stuff there for when you did stay over, no matter how little use it served you the night after the charity event. 

He was the same at your place. He has stuff around your room everywhere, you never really blinking an eye at the pair of his sweatpants and the tshirt that were somewhere in your drawers for when he slept over. Not even a year ago, he left in the sweatshirt, the coat he wore the night before left on the couch without you realizing it, making its home on the back of your door only to get shuffled right up against the wood as you hung more and more clothing in front of it. 

You walk over to your bed, not taking your eyes off the coat. You sit down on your bed, hearing some sort of jingling sound from somewhere in the coat. Digging through the pockets, you can feel something metal in the front right one, a piece of paper poorly folded around it. Should you be going through the pockets of someone else's coat? 

Who cared at this point? You take out the contents of the pocket: a key and a receipt. Your heart was racing, having a feeling about what both of these things meant. The receipt was dated the night you went out to the bar when you moved to Calgary, the night you met Matthew and the rest of the boys. Matthew’s name was on the bottom signaling that it was his, a few drinks circled by who you assumed was him. 

Those were the drinks he bought for you that night, the drinks he would always ask you if you wanted befor you could get a word in first, ‘vodka sour = lemon,’ and something else you couldn’t quite make out written on the side. The next time you were out with them, a vodka sour was the drink he bought you because you told him you liked lemon but hadn’t found a drink that you liked with it in it. That was the drink he bought you the night of the charity event. 

On the back of the receipt, again in Matthew’s handwriting, ‘my home is your home, Y/N.’ In your hand was a key, with a lemon charm hanging off of it. 

It was a key to his apartment. 

You couldn’t begin to fathom the emotions that washed over you in that moment, knowing that he was going to give you his key, probably before you even thought of giving him one for your place. Fuck, you didn’t even give him one, Evelina did. You didn’t even think about it, and there he was, a key for you, planned out, thoughtful, meaningful. You felt like crying because of sweet it was. 

You pick up your phone, pulling up Matthew’s contact to call him. Your finger hovers over the button. All you had to do was press the button, and you would talk to him for the first time in a week. Before you can tell yourself no, you hit the button, a picture of the two of you coming up on your screen, ‘Matthew, calling,’ rolling over your phone in bold white text.

You didn’t even know what you were going to say, holding the phone to your ear. Actually, you knew what you wanted to say, hearing the phone ring, and ring, and ring. It wouldn’t stop ringing. 

It was a sign. One that you shouldn’t be calling him, hanging up immediately and blocking his number so that he can’t try to call you back. If you were meant to be with him, then he would have answered when you wanted to talk to him most. He would have called you first.

Every emotion you felt turned into anger. You wanted him to call you. You wanted him to be there for you, because if this were happening with another guy, Matthew would be the one sitting there on the bed with you talking you down when this hypothetical man didn’t answer. 

“Mother fucker!” you scream, throwing the key against your door, letting it drop to the ground, wishing it was smashed. 

Evelina hears you, hoping that the conversation with Matthew would end soon so that she can go check on you when he says, “What about how she’s always so quick with her chirps? I have never met someone who’s so fast with a comeback. She’s better than any guy in the NHL. Better than anyone,” Matthew says, still on the phone with Evelina, his voice getting quiet. “Better than anyone,” he repeats himself. 

“I’ve known Y/N’s last two boyfriends and between her and Thomas recounting the high school boyfriend, I feel like I knew the third,” she says, partially regretting bringing up Thomas’s name, “You really love her?” 

“Haven’t I said that already?” he snaps.

“Yes, but I want you to say it again. She is my best friend and has had plenty of people say that they are in love with her. You’re the first one she’s been in love with back, though.”

Matthew’s breath hitches at those words. If Evelina was saying it about you, then it had to be true he figured. “Of course I do.” 

“Ok,” is all Evelina can say, leaving the two of them in silence for a few seconds. 

“Uh, bye, I guess,” Matthew says, hoping the awkward silence that fell between them would end. 

“I’ll text you later about something. Bye,” Evelina hangs up the phone, letting out a long sigh before getting off the floor. Wandering to your room, she knocks on your door, waiting for any sign of life from you to tell her she could come in. “What is this?” she asks after stepping on the key, handing it back to you, plopping herself down on your bed.. 

“Matthew was going to give me a key to his apartment,” you tell her, waving it around in the air. 

“When?” You shrug, honestly not sure how long ago the coat was left there, not sure how long it had been in his pocket in the first place. “I need to ask you something,” she says.

Not really paying attention, that stupid key in your hand, you answer her anyway, “What?”

“Do you like him?”

“Him who?”

Evelina rolls her eyes at you, telling you who even though she really didn’t need to. “Matthew.” 

“Of course I do. He’s my best friend besides you.” 

“Do you love him?” 

“Why hasn’t he called?” you ask, quietly, her instead.

Evelina sighs, “He probably wants to give you space,” she tells you, even though she knows the real answer. “He just wants you to go to him when you’re ready. You know he would never push you to do something you don’t want to.” 

The two of you sit there in silence for a moment, neither of you sure what to say. Would Matthew want you to reach out first? If he did, why didn’t he answer the phone just now?  “Y/N,” Evelina presses, you knowing that she wanted you to respond to the question you intentionally left unanswered. 

You pick up the receipt that was beside you, the key still in your hand, wondering how he could have thought yo give you the key before you even thought about it yourself. And why did he never give it to you? “Ev. I said no. He’s just like Thomas. He loves me and I don’t feel the same way, and I’ve lost him just like I lost Thomas,” you insist. 

“You didn’t lose him,” she tries to reassure you. “This is going to work out.”

“How do you know that, Ev? He means everything to me. You and him are the two people outside of my family that I care the most about. What does it say about our friendship that we get into some stupid fight and now we don’t talk for a week?”

“Y/N,” she lets out a small laugh, “He loves you.”

You shake your head, swallowing hard as you turn the key over in your hand for what felt like the thousandth time. “If he did he would be here right now. He would have called, he would have done something to show me that he cared about me.” 

“Y/N,” she tries.

“No, Ev. Can we just drop it?” you beg, reaching over to your nightstand and throwing the key and receipt in the drawer. “We have to work on our presentation, we leave tomorrow, and we still need to finish packing.” 

The rest of the night was spent by the two of you not saying more than monosyllabic sentences to each other while you worked on the finishing touches of your presentation, packing the last of what you needed for the trip and triing to get your mind off Matthew. You zip your bag up, satisfied that you were finished when you see the jersey Matthew gave you sitting there on your floor, in a pile of other clothing you meant to put away. 

You pick it up, like you did the jacket that was now sitting on the couch, a note laying on top of it for Evelina to give it back to Matthew. Sighing, you fold up the jersey, leaving your room to go put it with the coat. You didn’t want it. You had no need for it. All you could do was let it go. 

You couldn’t sleep the night, any time you closed your eyes and managed to doze off, Matthew’s image flashed through your mind. Every single memory you had with him seemed to be manifesting themselves in your dreams, unable to shake him no matter what you did.The nights you spent together on the couch watching whatever was on TV, teaching him to make your favorite cookies, even though he burned them to a crisp no matter how many times he would check the oven, the two of you going Christmas shopping for your families, buying each other the dumbest gifts you could find to see who you laugh harder. Not a single bad memory came up, besides the last time you saw him. Was everything with Matthew actually that perfect? Or were you blocking things out? 

Your alarm goes off but you were already awake for it, groaning loudly prompting Evelina to come running to your room. “Are you ok?” she asks in a panic. “Babe, did you sleep at all last night?” 

You didn’t even want to know how awful you looked, just hoping that you would be able to cover it up with makeup and get some semblance of sleep while on the plane even if it were only a three hour flight. “Maybe an hour?” you guess, even though you were sure that was an over exaggeration. “Whatever. We have to go get ready.” You get out of your bed and storm to the bathroom, closing the door before Evelina could even say anything. 

You looked like you had been hit by a truck, hating how you came across as you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes were red, the bags underneath them so rich in color they could probably be designer, your skin discolored like you were sick. You would need makeup and a miracle to fix yourself at this point. 

“Y/N?” Evelina says, opening the door without you inviting her in. “I found the coat and jersey.” You make eye contact with her through the mirror, pursing your lips and nodding as you get back to putting on your makeup. “You really don’t want them?” You shake your head, swallowing hard. If you kept them, then they would tempt you to go back to him. Getting rid of them was the only thing you could do. “I put them in my room for now, ok?” You nod again, still not saying a word. 

“I’m worried about you,” Evelina says. “Even with those other guys you’ve broken up with, they have never left you this broken.” 

“I’m over it. I’m just tired.” 

“We both know you’re lying about this. You know how you feel. You know that you’re in love with him, you always have been.”

You put your makeup down on the counter, staring at the powder in it’s container. “I can’t say it.” 

Evelina takes a step back. “What?” she asks, surprised by your response. 

“Thomas said he loved me, and that was it. The friendship was over and we haven’t seen him in years. If I say it to Matthew, if I admit it at all, then it’s going to be done. It already is done and I never said it.” 

Evelina could feel her heart breaking, trying everything she could not to start crying in front of you, worrying that it would set you off as well. “You know that’s not true.” 

“I do in my head, but not in my heart,” you say, letting out a laugh, “That sounds like something from a stupid Hallmark movie.” Evelina lets out a small laugh with you as you continue. “Can we just drop it this weekend? We just have to get through this conference. And get through a weekend with our boss.” 

“Ok. I’m gonna go finish getting ready, then,” Evelina says, backing out of the bathroom. 

By the time both of you are finished getting ready, your boss had texted you that you needed to be outside waiting for him in the next ten minutes when they pulled up with the car that all of you were taking. “Ok, last check. Boarding passes?” you start your list.

“Mine is the front pocket of my bag, yours are in the folder you have with your computer.”

“Passport?”

“Same places as the boarding passes for both of us.”

“Computers?”

“Side pocket of your bag, middle of my bag.”

“Chargers?” 

“Somewhere in my bag I have a phone charger and a computer charger for both of us.” 

You keep going through the long list, both of you knowing where the other kept everything. You freeze when you get to the last thing on the list, written in Evelina’s hand writing instead of your own. “Jerseys.” 

“I have mine. Yours is in my room.” 

“Good,” you say, almost completely forgetting about the game.  You shake your head as if to physically shake the thought of Matthew from your mind. “Got your keys?” you ask Evelina, her waving them in your face as you grab yours, too. “Let’s go then.”

The two of you lug your stuff towards the door, opening it and ready to leave when you see him there. “Matthew?” you say, surprised to see him standing in your doorway, a bouquet of flowers in hand, a guilty expression on his face as he looked like he hadn’t slept for days. “What are you doing here?” you ask in shock, feeling your heart start to race.

“Can we talk?” he asks quietly, debating on stepping into your apartment or not. 

“No. We’re leaving for the airport now, we don’t have time,” you tell him, trying to move past him.

“Come on, we need to talk,” he insists, putting his arm against the frame of your door to stop you from moving past him.

“Why should I listen to you?” you ask, looking up at him. 

“Because I love you.”

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ DID YOU CANCEL YOUR PLANS FOR ME? ❜

❚❙ ANGEL REYES MASTERLIST.

✨ REQUEST by @rocketqueen: hey Aurora! first of all: i love your blog. I guess you know that by that point cause i’m always here, but i’d like to say it again just for you to be sure of the amazing blog you have. And I’d like to do a request from January. The prompt is number 15 “Do you cancel your plans for me?” (it’s the fluff prompt list) with Angel Reyes, please! Thank you 💘

Gif credit: to the awesome @angels-reyes.

WORDS: about 1k.

❚❙ A/N: first of all, thanks for requesting. You don't know how happy you make me every time I see you in my notifications and I'm glad that you enjoy my blog this much, I really appreciate it. I'm sorry it took me so long and I know this should be part of ‘January of Prompts’, but I decided to take it as another request due it has been impossible for me to write this challenge. Concretely, this work is the first I write for Mayans after two months of suffering a writer's block, so I hope with all my heart that you all really enjoy it. As always, thank you for all the support you show me every day.

❚❙ MASTERLIST.

❚❙ JOIN MY TAG LIST.

You haven't ever cared about your friends' opinion. You haven't ever cared about what they used to say about Angel, about his man-reputation, nor about the fearsome Mayans. You know him ever since, you know how he behaves, how he acts, his red flags, his unconscious tics when he is nervous or happy or hurt. You know him better than yourself. That's why you haven't cared either about your friend making you choose between them or he, thinking you would choose them. They were wrong. Unlike your inner circle, Angel has never said a single bad word about them. He has always protected you, taken care of you, given you the best advice, motivated you to continue studying Medicine, and helped you to chase your dreams.

Tonight you were supposed to spend it with your friends and family, but you know you wouldn't have any fun hearing all of them criticize each other under sarcasm and fake laughs. Stabbing their backs and pretending it's okay, it's something normal in society nowadays. And there you are, hands within your pockets, crossing the junkyard alley straight to the clubhouse. Soon, the latin music fills your surroundings starting to sound louder as you reach the epicenter of the party. The night Angel becomes a full member.

He didn't ask you to come, even if there wasn't he desired the most than being with you. He knew about your plans and he didn't have the right to put you into a corner. He said you could celebrate the next day. What Angel didn't know is you had your preferences clear and a decision was taken. With a smile from ear to ear, your gazes find the other. He's sitting close to the bonfire with his brothers and some of Vicki's girls trying to catch his attention, drinking and pretending he is having a good time. But the gesture on his face changes completely at the moment he realizes that you are really there. It's not a vision, it's not a dream, it's not alcohol intake.

Cleaning his mouth with the back of his hand after a sip from his beer, he leaves it on the ground standing up from his chair. Even if the talks continue around the two of you, you have earned every single pair of eyes there, following the new brand member walking towards you.

“Shouldn' yo—”.

“Maybe”. You interrupt him, shrugging your shoulders and stopping your feet some inches away from him.

“Did you… cancel your plans for me?” Angel asks, trying to hide a funny and triumphal smirk while tangling his hands on his abdomen.

“Maybe”. You repeat licking your incisors to gulp a giggle.

“Your family must be… very disappointed”.

“You are my family, Angel”.

The fleeting shine that crosses his black orbs gives you shivers. The way he has to lick and bite his bottom lip lets you know he is somewhat nervous after hearing it. You're more than aware that he has strong feelings for you. Real ones. You aren't a game for him. You aren't a possible one nightstand. Seeing you there, hearing you say those words get his heart racing at the edge of collapsing.

Angel doesn't hesitate to rest a hand on your cheek to place a warm kiss on the other. His lips are trembling, just like his fingers, and you can swear that it's the sweetest thing you have ever experienced. You can't help but close your eyes when you feel his mouth coming a little closer to yours with short and clumsy kisses, feeling the fear on him of you pushing him away in the last second. But you can't move.

When his lips find yours, fireworks explode inside your belly. The Big Bang happens around you. The time stop. His breathing gives you goosebumps and his tongue parting your lips to play with yours gives you shivers. You haven't ever felt this good, as if you had the world in your hands as if nothing were impossible. That's what Angel provokes in you. Sensations and emotions that you can't explain, but the kind of ones that made you and made him addicted to each other.

“Ain't nothing without you”. He whispers too slowly, dragging every syllable through his tongue, not being able to open his eyes yet. “You're the air tha' keeps me afloat”.

“Angel…”

“No, listen… I'd never do anything to hurt you, you know it, right? Despite… wha' people think, I can make it work. You and I. The club, a life together”. His lips brush yours so soft that it's making your legs tremble, having to tangle your fingers in his kutte. “I've always wanted you, I've always loved you even when I couldn't love myself, 'cause you have done it fo' me”.

“It will work, Angel. I know it. We'll make it work”. You cheer him up, feeling how the smile on his lips becomes a little bigger. “I adore you... You're a blessing to my life, mi angelito. I wouldn't rather be in another part of the world than by your side”.

As soon as his strong bare arms wrap your mid back while a purr escapes his throat, you break into giggles putting your hands on his nape. Angel embraces you as much tight as he can, practically melting into one figure for a couple of seconds. He's a true angel from heaven, but his hugs are warm like hell.

“Are you gonna show me your new patches, ah?” You are very curious and interested when he pulls himself away to hold your hands, noticing them on his flaps.

He nods his head with a proud grimace, pointing at them and the absence of the prospect one, before turning around to show you the bigger one. Mayans MC insignia. Colorful and clean. You can't help but trace it with your fingertips.

“You like it?”

“Pretty much. Looks good on you”.

“Everything looks good on me, baby”. Clicking his tongue and raising his eyebrows, Angel faces you again to start to walk backwards to his brothers.

You roll your eyes inevitably, letting him guide you to be greeted by his new family. A family you are now part of.

[siriusheadspace]

august - sirius black x muggle!reader

Warnings: I guess it's a bit angsty? But it's also cute, summer love fluff, so idk

Pairing: Sirius Black x Muggle!Reader

Summary: You meet a cute boy in your summer job. You share secrets and live a beautiful summer love, but will you still see each other once school starts again? Inspired by "august", by Taylor Swift.

A/N: Thank you so so so so much for liking my last fic, illicit affairs! I guess I'll have to create a master list here lol. This one's a bit less gloomy and there's *sequel potential*, so please tell me if that's something you'd be interested in! Also, should I open requests? Do you guys have any? lol. I'm taking too long in this A/N, so lemme shut up. Enjoy the fic!

Words: 3.5k ish

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Salt air And the rust on your door I never needed anything more

You were chewing the pen cap while at an especially tedious English Literature class. A head full of luscious black hair poked through the door, and you jumped in your chair, thinking for a second it could be the person you missed the most. But, of course, it was just a girl asking the teacher to make a class announcement. You tuned out immediately and let the memories flood through your mind. It was just the beginning of summer and your first day at an ice cream parlor in the middle of London. It was a funny neighbourhood - you didn't know why, but it always had a couple of people wearing the weirdest outfits, like weird flowy capes and tunics. But that wasn't really important - you just wanted to make a little money of your own this summer, and the ice cream gig was supposed to be easy. You quickly found out it wasn't as easy as it should be, since the owner decided to leave you to be cashier and server from the start, leaving you alone on your first day after little training. You were stressed, trying to guess if the ice cream machine was supposed to be that noisy or if you already broke it after only a few customers, when someone got in. Sirius regretted everything about spending the summer with his family. He was fifteen going on sixteen and decided to spend most of his days roaming through London, looking for a way to have a halfway decent summer, sending letters to his friends every day. He was about to go spend the day at the Diagon Alley, but he figured he could actually try to see different stuff for the day. Muggle stuff. Perhaps get a couple of new posters for his bedroom? That would piss off his mother. He smiled at the thought. But it was too damn hot for the beginning of summer, and he definitely wore too much black for his comfort under the scolding, rare sunshine. His locks of dark hair were starting to get wet with sweat, and he decided to put his muggle money to good use when he went by an ice cream parlor. He was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever seen, her hair in a lazy, long braid, her skin tanned and glowing, and her brows frowned as if she was bothered to see him. And you'd never forget how pleasantly surprised you were to see the tall guy that just went inside the store. You'd never be able to forget the way that there was something else about him - he was gorgeous, his long strides revealing from far away how tall he was, his hair pulled back in a makeshift bun - but there was just more, an aura that made him magnetic; magic, you first though instinctively, but shook the thought. Charisma, perhaps. But you'd soon found out it was his own particular mix of both. The bell started ringing and pulled you away from your memories.

Whispers Of "Are you sure?" "Never have I ever before"

While you walked through the corridor, you felt the rush of excitement you'd always feel when you remembered you knew a secret, one so special no one would believe you, even if you told them. "You must know something about me, doll", he said, cuddling with you on your bed in the middle of the afternoon, your parents still away at work. You ended up quitting the job pretty quickly after your first day, but you were making good use of your free afternoons. "What, babe?", you said, and you felt his smirk against the top of your head, where his lips were, him breathing in your scent. You liked to use gauche pet names as much as he did. "That you're not the smartest, since it's very stupid for us to cuddle in the middle of a hot afternoon? Or that you're actually really smart, but just enjoy being around me anyway?", you joked. "How very funny of you. I am actually kind of smart, I swear", he said, jokingly, but you felt him tense up as he started talking again. "It's sort of a serious thing, actually", he said. "A… Sirius thing, you mean?", you joked again, but he brushed it off with a quick laugh. "You would know if you'd let me finish speaking", he said, and you waited. He got up and seemed nervous, not sure what to do with his hands. You never saw him like this. "Do you know how you always ask me how do I do a few things? Like, how did I fix the vase I broke the first time I came here so perfectly?" he asked, and you nodded. "You said you got another one", you squinted your eyes, trying to guess where he was going. "On the same day? Y/N, I want to be close to you, to be truthful to you. And I can't do that if you don't know about such a huge part of my life", he said. "I have… certain… habilities. And my family does, too. And my friends, as well. The school I go to… Everyone has these abilities", he completed, and pulled out a stick from his backpack. No, not a stick - not by the way he held it, with purpose. You looked for the right word in your head. A wand. "Can I trust you with the biggest secret humanity has?", he asked, and you nodded. "You can trust me with anything and everything", you said. And nothing was ever the same.

But I can see us Lost in the memory August slipped away into a moment in time

You missed him so much your entire body ached; the feeling of his callous fingertips against your cheeks, the pressure of lips on yours, how his tongue felt against yours, his laughter tickling your skin… You had to stop thinking about him. It was no good and absolutely useless. It was good while it lasted, but it was over. Still, walking home, you couldn't stop thinking about how it was once you were in on the secret, how he'd do magic in front of you, how he would tell you all about Hogwarts, about his friends… And you knew back then that there wasn't a place for you in that world.

'Cause it was never mine And I can see us twisted in bedsheets August sipped away Like a bottle of wine 'Cause you were never mine

You could remember the warm nights you spent together, once your parents decided to spend a weekend away, visiting friends or your grandparents, and how you had to pretend to be sleeping over a friend's house while you had Sirius over. You would meet at a pub, and he'd charm someone into selling you beers, so you would drink together, just enough to feel buzzed. Sirius loved teasing you. He would start by just brushing his knee against yours, but as the alcohol got to the both of you, he would get bolder, running his fingers up and down your thigh under your flimsy summer dress, whispering sweet nothings against your ear, kissing your neck. You felt so much joy, basking in his attention and his carresses. The walk to your house would always take longer than it should. He was the most sociable creature, making quick friends with everyone that grabbed his eye. He would help an old lady carry her groceries to her apartment, completely out of your way back home, while charming her; there was the time where he joined a deep conversation about bikes with a guy that had one, this huge black Harley Davidson, convincing the guy to let the two of you, clearly tipsy teenagers, to have a ride on it. It took Sirius five minutes to figure out the basics of riding that bike and convincing you to join him. "Don't you trust me, baby?", he pouted, and you gave him a quick peck - you couldn't resist his pouts and pleading. "Not with that bike, I don't", you said, watching him already seated at the bike as if it belonged to him. He looked the part, his muggle (the word always bothered you) clothes made him look like the hot, moody guitar player in a rock band, the wind flowing from his side making his hair fly in front of his face. "Then take a little risk", he chuckled, pulling you closer to him. "You can use it as an excuse to feel my abs", he said, and it was your turn to laugh. "Ok, I'm sold", you sighed dramatically, and sat behind him, your hands creeping under his shirt for a moment when you wrapped your arms around him. The speed was more intoxicating than the few beers you had, the wind whipping your exposed skin, the noise violent on your ears, the warmth that came from Sirius' back being the only thing that made you feel safe. Once you gave the bike back to its owner and were back on your foot, you would still take your time on the way there, Sirius listening to stories about your friends, the books you were reading, the movies you were watching - you promised to take him to the movies, shocked to hear that he never set foot on a movie theater. And sometimes, since you would take that long on your way home just to tease each other, he would push a loose strand of hair behind your ear and pull you in for a kiss, your back quickly meeting whatever wall was closer and spending a few minutes against the texture of the tiles while Sirius gave you long, slow kisses, trying to make the most of the night. Once you got home, you would barely have the focus necessary to find the keys and open the door, and Sirius oftenly used magic to make your life easier. "Alohomora", he said, opening the door soon after, and you chuckled. "You sound so hot when you speak fake latin", you said, and he laughed while he followed you inside, quicky going back to kissing you while you tried to guide him to your bedroom. On those nights, after he was fast asleep, his smug expression erased out of his face by sleep, you never thought about how it would be between the two of you once summer was over.

Your back Beneath the sun Wishing I could write my name on it

One week, you decided you would both spend a couple days in Brighton Beach, counting every penny that you had so you could afford two nights in the middle of the week in a cheap bungalow. Sirius had exchanged magical money for muggle money and it wasn't as hard as you thought it would be to get the amount necessary. "Well, my family sucks, but at least my allowance is halfway decent", he smirked, but the smile didn't get to his eyes. "It does help that muggle money is so devalued. Shouldn't you guys complain with your prime minister, or something?", he said, expecting you to go along in the joke as you usually would. But he touched on a subject that you felt it was taboo: he never talked about his family. You knew something was wrong - all the time you spent together was outside or in your house, and he never seemed too keen in having to go back to his parents place. "Is this the moment where you tell me more about your family?", you asked, and he sighed. "It didn't go unnoticed that you felt more comfortable to tell me about actual magic before taking me to meet your mom", you joked, but he knew you meant it. "Oh, Y/N… You could never meet my family. They'd never be able to appreciate you", he told you, and then went on to explain how there's a side of the wizarding world that despises muggles, that values purity of blood before anything else, and it killed you inside, a bit. That you were right in that gut feeling that you tried to ignore. He was too good for you. You didn't belong together. There was a whole part of his society that focused on that. And his family was totally on that side. But you avoided thinking about that in those two blissful nights away. You were close before, but that routine - waking up together, cooking breakfast for each other, seeing him getting letters from his friends delivered by owls that came inside the kitchen of the bungalow as if that was normal. He bought a polaroid in the beggining of summer and tried to adapt it to take magical pictures - according to them, they were supposed to move - but it didn't work. Still, you documented those days in normal polaroids, from candids of him drinking tea in the morning to pictures of you at the beach, and he sent one of you two together to his closest friends, and your heart ached at the thought of part of his world being even the least bit accepting of you. You'd trace random patterns on the skin on his back while he tried to tan, writing your name on him and hoping there would always be a part of him that belonged to you, that would be able to return to you once you were apart, like you did with your favorite toys when you were a kid. A childish desire to keep him with you. You loved your nights out, holding hands while going on rides that were probably unsafe and operated by other teenagers, convincing Sirius to try to win you prizes, and actually getting him a teddy bear - you were a better shot. And he would try to do magic discreetly when you asked him to cook or clean something, and you messed with him for cheating on those chores. It felt like you could absolutely live together forever, making that little bungalow home for those magical hours. You even held his wand, felt the texture of the wood against your fingertips, noticed how it was well used, the parts of it where you could see that his hands touched more oftenly, the worn wood reminding you how he was a part of something that you could only imagine for way longer than he was part of your life and your world. But he soon joked that you were "taking too long playing with his wrong wand", and you'd laugh and kiss him and forget your concerns.

Will you call when you're back at school? I remember thinking I had you

You felt the nervousness as the summer approached its inescapable end. As Sirius went out to buy school supplies one afternoon, you couldn't escape the anxiety caused by the uncertainty surrounding your relationship. You just spent the most amazing few months of your life with this guy you absolutely Loved, with a capital L, and you weren't even sure you'd meet again after a few days. You didn't know his address and you couldn't send letters there anyway. You had no idea how to send a letter to Hogwarts. Once you met him at a park near wherever he would buy supplies for a magic school, with him excited to show you what he got and hear about your day, you were already unable to hide the change in your mood. "What's wrong, sweetheart? I was just talking about you with James and..." he said, and he noticed he chose the wrong words when you winced at him. "So you can't even introduce me to your friends that are supposed to be tolerant that you're dating a muggle?", you asked, trying to sound mean, but he could hear how much you were hurting under the façade of anger. "It's not like that, Y/N. There's too many people from Hogwarts there now, people that don't like me or my friends and despise, hum, people like you, and it would be dangerous for you if they knew they could hurt me by messing with you", he explained, but it didn't soothe the pain in your chest. "What is it gonna be like once you're not here, Sirius? Is there a way for us to even talk? I don't own a magic owl, and I don't think the postman is going to able to find Hogwarts", you said, spiteful. "Do you even want to continue this, us? Or are you going to be with people your friends and family can actually know about and meet, that can defend themselves instead of just being a source of weakness for you?", you asked, your voice trembling, all the thoughts you avoided for months taking space and energy, growing inside of you and blurting out. "Y/N..." Sirius started, but you were done for the day. You got up and went home.

But I can see us Lost in the memory August slipped away into a moment in time 'Cause it was never mine

You liked being with him too much to waste your last few days together, so you accepted his apologies for not taking you to meet his friends or more of his life, but you couldn't help but notice that he didn't have plans to do what he apologized for not doing. Still, you enjoyed your last few days, the picnics under the last few sunny days of the year, taking him to the movies to watch silly horror movies that Sirius fell in love with, making out with him under the soft movie lights that reflected beautifully on his gray eyes.

And I can see us twisted in bedsheets August sipped away Like a bottle of wine 'Cause you were never mine

The last night you had together made you nervous. Sirius had prepared himself to go straight from your house back to the station, hiding his luggage on your parents garage and climbing to your window. You drank wine you stole from your parents cabinet and talked in a low voice the entire night - you thought that was what you'd miss the most, just being near him and listening to his voice, to the varying inflections, to the fancy words thats would slip and denounce him as someone from a rich family, to his excitement at the perspective of being back with his friends, and to the low energy tone that followed once he said how much he would miss you. "Hey, I figured out how to keep in touch", he said, a coy smile creeping on his lips. "But I need to know at what time do you get home from school", he completed, and you quirked up a brow. He explained that his owl would bring you a letter from him and wait for you to answer with one of your own, since you didn't have another way of getting to him. You were happy that he found a solution, but it didn't go unnoticed, again, that it seemed like a simple solution that maybe he though about before, but wasn't sure he wanted to go through with you. Also, you'd always be at his mercy and will, having no way of contacting him besides when he wanted to hear from you. But at least there was a way, a chance…

Back when we were still changing for the better Wanting was enough For me, it was enough To live for the hope…

The next morning, he woke you up at dawn with a quick kiss and said goodbye, promising to contact you again. That was three weeks ago. I mean, you couldn't really blame him. He was beautiful, talented, smart, and everyone knew summer loves weren't forever. He was probably met by a swarm of beautiful witches that would do everything for him. It would be easy to forget about you, your normal, common life. But you felt resentment towards him. He could've just been honest, you thought. He shouldn't have given you hope. He should've been honest about your intentions. He shouldn't have made you act like a fool everytime your classes came to an end, always running home and looking for an owl in the sky, only to be greeted by the emptyness of your silent house. You were getting tired of feeling angry, though. It tarnished your beautiful memories of a perfect summer. You just had to say goodbye to your hopes of getting to see Sirius again, to hear his perfect laughter, always laughing with you and never at you, the ringing in your ear that would send a shiver through your back, or that you'd never feel the silky perfection of his hair tangled between your fingers again… You were trying to come to terms with that, distracted, once you got home. There was an owl on the front window, standing on the window sill. Your heart skipped a beat.

[anotheronechicagobog]

Rangers, Lead the Way

Written by: @anotheronechicagobog

Warnings: Swearing, canon compliant violence, I had to use a lot of material from the actual episode, mention of domestic abuse

tagging: @detectiveinchicago​

A/N: So, this is a new series. Basically, OA Zidan (FBI), Jay Halstead (Chicago PD), and Kenny Crosby (FBI: Most Wanted) all went to Ranger training together and kept in touch, something that was useful when they couldn’t be the one to keep their ‘partner’ safe and need to call one of the others for assistance when their ‘paartners’ are temporarily working with another member of the trio.

OA wasn't a name that he'd heard in a long time. They weren't in the same unit but they were in Rangers training together. Jay was one of the only two people there who didn't have it out for him solely because of his religion, while he was shocked to find a Muslim among the ranks at first, he quickly got over it. Not only did he trust that his superiors wouldn't let a terrorist into the army at all, let alone Ranger training, but OA was a U.S. citizen, and had a very personal hatred for everyone who sullied the name of Islam and used it for violence and their own personal gain. So he and Kenny Crosby befriended OA despite the shock and ignorance from their brothers and sisters in arms. They studied together, trained together, ate together, and bunked together. When they'd all been given different assignments they made sure to stay in touch. And they continued to call, email, and text each other after they'd all been discharged.

When Hailey got temporarily assigned to New York Jay was... Well, it's hard to describe how he felt. It was such a nightmarish combination of devastated, terrified, and heartbroken. It was like an icy hand had enclosed around his throat and was slowly squeezing, painfully closing his throat, all while his heart was being dissected out of his chest by another. Not only was he reliving one of the most traumatic moments of his life all over again, but Hailey was going to be in the field without him. She was going to be in danger without him there to watch her back.

And since Hailey was amazing, she could tell just by looking at him that his mind was dropping down into a dark place faster than Alice tumbled into Wonderland. "It's just temporary. And I'll be okay, Jay."

"Hailey..."

"I'm going to put in my time and come back as quickly as possible. It's okay. It's all going to be okay." Hailey's words didn't reassure him in the slightest. How could they, when they didn't even reassure Hailey?

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

"Special Agent Zidan."

"Hey OA, it's Jay."

"Hey man, how are you?"

"Honestly, not great."

"What's wrong?"

"My- uh my partner..."

"Hailey Upton."

"Yeah. She's getting detailed out to the FBI for a bit. I found out that she's getting assigned to your unit."

"That makes sense, my partner's doing a UC detail right now, we'll probably be partnered together."

"OA... Watch out for her. Please. She is strong and more than capable of defending herself, and you quite frankly, but- she's my- I..."

"Don't worry, Jay. I'll have her back. She'll make it back to you."

"Thank you. Seriously, you have no idea how much this means to me."

OA looked at the now-empty desk that had been causing his heart to ache at the sight of it. His shoulder sagged at the pain that was pulling in his chest, the dark fog that filled his mind whenever he started to think, started to wonder, caused his head to throb. "Actually, I know exactly how you feel."

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"You will be partnered with Agent Zidan."

"Hi, I'm OA."

"Hi. Hailey."

"Nice to meet you."

"You too."

"Listen up, everyone. This is Detective Hailey Upton from Chicago PD. She will be with us for the next few weeks as part of our interagency training program."

"All right, so let's, uh, direct our attention to the screens here. Found the body of a young John Doe in St. Nicholas Park. A hundred yards from Alexander Hamilton's house. Federal land, federal case- and no, it is not where Aaron Burr shot him. The famed duel took place in-- anyone, anyone? Weehawken, New Jersey. Kristen knew. Unfortunately, there's far less clarity in the present homicide case. Evidence of torture and abuse, the victim was brown-skinned, but there was no other evidence of a hate crime. So let's dig in, get to work, start filling in the blanks. Yeah? Go."

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

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"So, Chicago PD? Should I be nervous?"

"Nervous?"

"You guys have been in the news a lot and not for good reasons."

"Uh, yeah, we've had some issues, but they're being addressed. It's a great place. I'm proud to be a part of it. The next time you want to insult me, just come out and say it, you don't need to disguise it as a compliment. This car right here?"

"Yeah, sorry. I didn't mean it like that. It's just my way of saying we do things differently here."

"Mhmm."

"Just trying to keep it real." And keep you from getting hurt so that Halstead doesn't develop a full head of grey hair. "So, you spend much time in New York?"

"Nah, first time here."

"Any early observations?"

"Pizza's too thin. It's like a cracker with sauce on it. Just trying to keep it real."... Okay, so maybe it would've been nice if Jay had warned him that she had an axe to grind, but he could make do.

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

"If I hear you're harassing any more immigrants, I'm gonna come back here, and I'm gonna break your arm. Do you understand?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

"I forwarded Kristen the pictures of Aman. She'll get us a street block number based on the license plates in the background."

"Just like that, huh?"

"The FBI, Upton. Our tech resources are pretty sick. Look, it's not a big deal, but now that you're working with us, just try and be a little bit more careful. If that guy Prichard calls the Bureau complaining that you threatened to use force..."

"Look, man, I don't need a lesson on how to talk to people, all right?"

"Hey, hey, hey. Don't get me wrong. I have no problem with someone breaking that idiot's arm, it's just... It's just that the Bureau is hardcore, and they take that stuff really seriously."

"You're right. I'm sorry. If he files a beef, I'll eat it and make sure you're clear. All right?"

"Appreciate that. But what the hell's a beef?"

"It's an expression."

"I'm kidding. Kristen said Aman's house is around this area."

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

So, Hailey is a badass. That was pretty damn cool to witness. Sidenote; Jay is going to murder him.

Hailey was fine, more than fine, she actually saved his ass. But that didn't matter, Jay had trusted him to protect Hailey and hadn't failed, but he hadn't done the best job either.

They'd been searching a house, and after coming down the stairs he completely missed an assailant in the kitchen. But Hailey hadn't. No, she saw him and got him out of the line of fire. He provided cover fire while she jumped back over to the wall at the end of the stairs. OA tensed, more than usual when he was in a firefight unless Maggie was- nope, not going there, the point is, he didn't miss the way a bullet penetrated the wall a few centimetres from Hailey's head.

"Halstead."

"Don't be mad-"

"Oh god-"

"Hailey's fine. One-hundred percent fine, not even a scratch. We just, uh, we got into a shootout with an assailant. He got a shot off close to her head. She's fine- more than fine! I swear! She actually saved my ass in that altercation! And I was covering her the whole time!"

"... That's it? That's a pretty normal day for us, OA. She's okay, you're okay... So, everything, is... Okay. And seriously, thanks again, man. I can't even begin to tell you how much this means to me. I know that she can take care of herself and the others around her, but it's hard when I'm not the one there to have her six. So I really appreciate that I know and trust the person who is."

"Well, I'm glad that you're not gonna come at me like you did when I stole one of the cookies your mom made from your care package."

"Yeah, we wouldn't want a repeat of that."

"Plus, I know how it feels to... Not know. My partner is under right now and..."

"You're going out of your mind?"

"More than you can believe. I can't eat or sleep, and every time my phone buzzes I think it's a death notification instead of an emergency call from work."

"Sounds like you've got your own Hailey. You'll have to introduce me to Maggie one day."

"Yeah, I will. And Ken's definitely gonna have to introduce Hana. We have heard far too much about her to not even be able to put a face to the name."

"Tell me about it. Sometimes I regret our 'no search' rule, but then I remember how much we embarrass each other."

"By the way, thank you."

"Huh? For what?"

"For saving my ass back there. In the house."

"Oh. Okay. Cool. You're welcome."

"Halstead, how much do get shot at, exactly?"

"Why are you asking?"

"She pushed me out of the path of a bullet and when I thanked her afterwards she treated it like it was nothing."

"... I mean, there's not exactly a whole lot I can do about people trying to kill us..."

"Jay. Dude."

"I can try to stop being 'idiotically reckless' as Hailey calls it, but I'm not trying to be a hero or a dumbass or anything, it's just that... If it's not me getting hurt..."

"...It's her."

"Yeah."

"We're both whipped, aren't we?"

"Oh, ridiculously whipped. The desk Sergeant at my precinct is constantly making fun of me for it."

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

"Just got ballistics back on the slugs fired at OA and Upton. They match the bullets that killed Aman, but get this; they also match the bullets pulled from a drive-by murder victim two months ago."

"Could they ID a suspect yet?"

"Yeah, arrested him too. Name is Santiago Gonzalez, known associate of the Latin Players. He's being held at MDC pending trial."

"Latin Players. That's a Chicago gang."

"Hmm, looks like they're expanding."

"So the Latin Players killed someone, they get arrested, go to jail, and the gun

stays on the street."

"And the new owner uses said gun to kill Aman, a studious Indian engineering student?"

"Right. What are we missing? How are these two murders connected?"

"Have OA and Upton pay a visit to Inmate Gonzalez. Maybe he can help us answer that question."

"Right."

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"So this guy, Gonzalez, is originally from Chicago. Runs with the Latin Players, so maybe you should take the lead on this one. But go hard on him." Hailey and Gonzales were from the same city, same blood, this was her turf, and OA wanted to make sure that he abided by that.

"You want a reaction?" Hailey seemed to get exactly what he meant, what he wanted, but she also seemed hesitant, like she needed more than clarification. It was like she needed permission.

"A big one. Big enough to force him to call his people."

"I think I can do that." And just like that, she had a smirk in her voice and was walking ahead of him. OA could see the wheels turning in her head and a coolness to her features let him know that she'd come up with a game plan. He didn't know if he should be afraid or not.

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

"Where's the gun you used in the drive-by?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." They were less than a minute into the interrogation and he was already annoyed. Why did these guys always have to be so smug? He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and just let Hailey do her thing, only popping in to keep the flow going. "One of your friends used it to kill a civilian last night."

"Used it again this afternoon on us. Fired off ten rounds."

"Like I said, I don't know what you're talking about." OA had to hold in a sigh.

"You're staring 20 to life on the case you're riding. Give us the name of the person you gave the gun to, and maybe I'll be able to get you a reduced sentence."

"Get my ass, blondie." OA quickly debated the pros and cons of stepping in. Honestly, this guy would probably just make him angrier with his smug attitude and sexist remarks, plus Hailey wasn't even phased. She was still in control, and she actually seemed a little... Bored.

"I'm not a fed like him. I'm Chicago police."

"So what?"

"Means I play by different rules. Also means I know the names of all the shot callers in the Latin Players. Tomorrow morning, we're gonna do a warrant sweep. Means a lot of people you know are gonna get arrested."

"That's not my problem."

"But it is. Because I'm gonna make sure that they know you are the snitch who gave them up."

"Now, you know nobody's gonna believe that."

"Really? Because in my experience, pissed-off bangers don't do their homework, and if they think you're a snitch, you're a snitch. In the street, rumours become facts like that."

"I'm done talking."

"Alright."

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

"So you think he believed us?"

"I don't know. What?"

"Nothing, you just reminded me of my partner, Maggie, in there."

"Oh."

"In a good way."

"Then thank you."

"Can you cue up the audio feed?" The prison guard nodded back at OA and did as he asked.

"So where is your partner?"

"Uh, she is on an undercover assignment. That I know absolutely nothing about besides the fact that she is gone and unreachable."

"That's gotta be pretty tough."

"Yeah, but she's really good, so she'll be fine."

"We're up." The guard unmuted the computer and moved out of the way so that he and Hailey could see it clearly.

"Yo, just say the word, man. Chicago about to throw that heat."

"What are you talking about?"

Gonzalez sighed. "Police and FBI here sweating me, man."

"About what?"

"That piece that I left behind. I'm guess it's all connected to what happened on the night at Highbridge Park."

"All right, thanks for looking out."

"No doubt."

"Can you trace the number that he called?" OA was ansty, ready to get moving fast before their lead disappeared and from the honed in look in Hailey's eyes he could see she felt the same.

"Payphone up in Washington Heights." The prison guard was curt and efficient, exactly what they needed and OA was silently grateful.

"Okay. Thank you."

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

"I'm guessing that's his girlfriend."

"Hold on. I talked to her at the park, right before we found Ernesto's body." From the way her body tensed OA could tell Hailey wasn't happy she'd let this girl slip through her fingers. He could tell her that it wasn't her fault, no one was even remotely aware of this connection, but he knew that was pointless. Any passionate law enforcement officer would beat themselves over something like this, himself included.

"Ah, and we have a hit off of social rec. Her name is Harper Quinlan, 23 years old, last known address is 84 Groton Street, Queens, New York."

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

"Why were you at the park?" OA sat across from the young woman, dead set on getting all the information she knew. Arman's murder was quickly dissolving into a larger more horrifying crime and he was worried that the poor man who this had all started with would be forgotten and he didn't want to think about why that enraged him so much.

"I told you before. I was walking."

"Or was it to recover the glove that Lucas dropped after he killed his drug supplier?"

"I don't know anything about that."

"We have video of you in the driver's seat of Lucas' Range Rover at Highbridge Park the night that Lucas killed Ernesto Garcia, so you are now an official suspect in a murder investigation. That means no more lying, no more protecting your boyfriend. You either cooperate with us here and now, or you go to prison."

"I'm not gonna help you ruin Lucas' life. I just won't. He's a good person."

"Harper, good people don't sell drugs or kill people."

"Yeah, you don't know him like I do. He's so nice, and... he's sweet... He really loves me."

"Lucas isn't who you think he is, Harper. Protecting him will only get you and more innocent people hurt. Tell me why you think he was in the park that night."

"I'm not gonna help you."

"Are you listening to what I'm saying to you? You're a suspect in a murder investigation here. Lying to protect him makes this worse. You're putting more lives at risk. Be smart. Tell me why you were there that night. Harper, you don't need to go to prison for him." OA knew he wasn't getting anywhere and was trying to think of some other- any other method- to try and get Harper to talk, when Hailey burst into the room. She looked calculated, like she had a plan or idea that needed to be executed exactly or else the worst might befall those she was trying to protect. Which, if he read her character right, was everyone.

"Unlock it."

"What's going on?" Harper was just as confused as he was, but he knew better than to show it.

"Do it. Pull up your texts."

"Oh, my God."

"What does it say?" Hailey already knew, that much was obvious, but whatever was going on needed to be as brutally real as possible to Harper, and voicing it out loud would drive whatever was going on home for Harper.

"'Return the product, or he's dead. You have four hours. Tell your man to meet us at the place we did our first deal.' Oh, my- oh, my God." Harper's sobs quickly took up the space of the interrogation room, it didn't matter that she hadn't seen her father in so long, losing him would devastate her, and the Latin Players knew that well.

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

"Let me take a run at her. I might have an angle to play." OA watched Hailey carefully, trying to make out was she was thinking, what angle she could possibly have, but he hadn't known her nearly long enough for any of that. There was this... Knowing glint in her eyes, and a sort of dark confidence had taken over her aura. She was confident in whatever plan she had, obviously, he just had no way of predicting what it was. In that moment, OA could really see what made Jay all twisted over her. She didn't look excited to break the accomplice of a drug dealer, or eager to impress the FBI. She looked like she was ready to get elbow deep in someone else's mess just for the sake of protecting as many people as possible with her quick wit and razor-sharp intelligence. So he just inclined his head and got ready to watch her work from the other side of the glass.

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

"You're in a tough place right now, Harper. We have video of you at the scene of a murder, which makes you an accessory. You're looking at 15 to 20 years in prison. But if you cooperate, we can help you. We'll talk to the prosecutor, explain why you were there, help him understand the nature of your relationship with Lucas."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know what's going on. He hurts you, doesn't he?"

"No. That's not true. He's a good guy-"

"No, he's not. What are those bruises on your neck? You tried to cover them up, but I can see them. When you first met, I bet he was great. You guys hit it off, you had fun. He was everything you wanted. But then he started chipping away at your friends and your family. So you pop a pill to numb the pain and tell yourself everything's okay, just hoping that the abuse is gonna stop. Harper. It won't. I talked to your dad. He loves you very much. And he needs you right now. He's in a lot of danger. If these guys don't get their drugs back, they will kill him. The only thing that matters now is you helping us to find Lucas, so we can recover the drugs and find your dad." Watching Hailey in the interrogation room really was something else. From the slight waver of her tone, the palpable understanding in her voice that seemed to wrap a crying Harper in the first hug she's had in a long time, he could tell that she was exposing a pain-filled part of herself to this- this girl, this accomplice in drug dealing and murder. And still, she was able to remain professional and in control, and OA could honestly say that her incredible ability to do her job both made his heart ache for her and impressed him far more than he thought she would.

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

They were in the surveillance van, waiting for Harper and the SWAT team to get in to place. What OA was itching to ask her was highly personal. He did not expect her to feel comfortable talking to him about it, but she'd given Harper some of her strength and after revealing something so heart-wrenching, the protective Egyptian older brother in him needed to make sure that she'd left enough for herself. "So, how do you know so much about abuse? I am sorry, I did not mean anything by that."

"No, it's fine. It's all good. Everyone becomes a cop for a reason. I guess that's mine."

"Uh, yeah."

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

"Don't forget, Harper. He wants the cash to get out of town, but we need the location where he first met his dealer. That's where your dad is." OA nodded along to Hailey's instruction, keeping a critical eye on the emotionally distraught Harper.

"Babe. They took my father."

"What are you talking about?"

"That guy that you deal with, they grabbed my father and texted me that they're gonna kill him unless we return the drugs that you took."

"Oh, no, no. I can't- I can't do that."

"They took my father!"

"Look, I feel bad, but they will kill me. Oh, Jesus, don't-"

"Lucas."

"Don't give me the sad eyes look."

"Lucas."

"I'm screwed. Look, I gotta look out for me- for us, you understand?"

"Look, I need to know where you and Ernesto did your first deal 'cause that's where they wanna meet."

"I just told you, I'm not going-"

"I will go! I'll call my uncle. He has a lot of money. Maybe I can negotiate a deal or something."

"I gotta get moving, all right, so give me the money."

"Where did you meet him?"

"Stay strong." Hailey could see her waver, could see her lose her ground and need someone to keep her steady. "Location first, then give him the money."

"Lucas. Lucas. Lucas!"

"I'll call you later on, all right?" Lucas, being the selfish douchebag that he is, grabs the bag of money and moves to book it, leaving his girlfriend who needs him behind.

"Damn it. Move in now!" OA sounded the call and immediately all agents left their posts and honed in on Lucas.

"Lucas!"

"You lying sack of..." Lucas, in an effort to prove that he really is a stellar guy, pulls out a gun and starts shooting at the agents, causing panic and fear in the civilians around them. Really, Harper? This guy?

"Get down! Get down!" Hailey pulled Harper out of the line of fire and pushed her to the ground before covering her with her own body, amazing OA with her selflessness yet again. You really picked a good one, Jay.

"Move, move!"

"Drop it!" Scola had joined them when Lucas went for the kill, forcing OA to do the same. Only OA was a good shot, though.

"Lucas! Lucas! Lucas! Lucas..." Harper couldn't stop calling for him, and OA was certain that the only reason she hadn't crawled over to his body was that Hailey was holding her in place. "It's okay." Hailey seemed to be stuck on repeat, comforting Harper. OA personally couldn't see how someone who had been abused would mourn their abuser... But then again, he thankfully had never had to suffer through that. Unlike Hailey.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"Sounded like he was ready to hit the road, so I'm guessing his dope is close by. Nothing back here." OA went to the Range Rover with Scola to look for anything- finding the drugs would've been preferable, but as long as it was a tangible clue, they could call it a win.

"Yeah. There's nothing here either."

"Any luck?" Hailey approached them, her I-know-something-that-you-don't-but-don't-worry-I'll-tell-you plastered on her face.

"Nope. Nothing."

"You have the keys on you?"

"Yeah."

"Here, let me try something. Hop in. Shut the trunk." Hailey closed the driver's door, started the engine, pushed a button on the stereo and on the car door. A drawer illuminated by blue light opens, containing the missing drugs.

"I already pushed it. Nothing happened." Scola sounded mildly insulted, but OA just chuckled internally.

"Okay, Chicago." He was impressed, and he wasn't going to hide that. He was also going to give Jay a call later to tell him to ask her out already. There's no way a woman this amazing stays single for long.

"I have a CI who installs these things. Engine has to be on and doors closed in order for it to open."

"Okay, we got the dope. Now we just gotta figure out where to deliver it to."- OA

"Yep."

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

"We have Lucas' texts from the phone he was carrying since Harper said he started doing business with the Latin Players about a month ago-" Kristen was leading their group of field agents and Jubal towards the front desks, explaining what she found, and while normally they would have totally enjoyed her explaining just how smart she is, things were a little time-sensitive.

"Yeah."

"We need to scrub that time period."

"There, on the 28th. There's a text that says, 'Meetings at 2. Let's do 9 instead of 8.'" One of the analysts pulled the info onto the computer screen in front of them, showing them the text records.

"'Let's do 9 instead of 8'? But the meeting's at 2:00. Is that some sort of code?" Jubal's mind was whirring away with Kristen's, figuring out exactly what it meant.

"Well, here's Lucas' GPS data from that day around that time." Kristen worked her magic so that Jubal could work his.

"All right, so from 1:37 to 3:12, he was in Brooklyn down by the river. Kris, can you zoom in? Get a more specific look at this. Yeah, over here. Can you drill down right there?"

"Okay."

"They met at 2:00 at a dock. Pier nine instead of pier eight. That's the meeting place." Scola voiced it out loud, like he was still in thought and hadn't had time to put all of the pieces in place internally first.

"There it is." Jubal's prideful voice made OA smirk.

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

"We've got 67 minutes to get the drugs down to pier nine. Unfortunately, the guy we need to deliver the drugs is at the city morgue." Isobel voiced the dreadful obvious from her office, forcing them all to sigh and start their plan to catch Arman's killer from scratch.

"I'll go under as Lucas' friend. I'll give him the coke in exchange for Harper's dad." Hailey volunteered herself, but not with the same gusto she'd been working the entire case. Something was off and OA's 'spidey senses' were giving him no peace.

"No. These guys have done their homework. They're not gonna buy that." OA knew he made a good point, but he hoped that no one saw the way his shoulders went rigid.

"I get it, but I think I can pull it off."

"No, I agree with OA. It's too risky." Isobel agreed with him and OA felt like he could breathe again, he promised Jay that he'd watch her back, something he couldn't really do if he was watching her not with her. And if he were honest with himself, he'd become a little attached to her in the time they'd been partnered together, hoping that they would become friends.

"So we need a plan C."

"Let me do it. He's my father. I'm the one who got him into this awful situation. So let me do it. Let me do something meaningful. Something that will make me feel good about myself... Please. Gotta let me do it." Harper looked at Hailey, not even acknowledging the rest of the room.

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

"You're gonna do great. Just follow the plan we laid out."

"He doesn't get the second bag until you see your father."

"Right. Got it."

"And if your dad's not at the meeting place, you tell the man to bring him there. He'll say no. You stand your ground." Hailey seemed to be offering more comforting advice.

"You have more leverage than you think. This dope is worth a lot of money, and that's all they really care about." While he seemed to be offering more calculated advice.

"It's okay to be nervous. They'd be suspicious if you weren't. You good?"

"I'm good."

"Okay."

"Okay. Here we go."

"Alpha team in position."

"Where's Lucas?" The gang leader, covered in tattoos was menacing as he approached.

"He sent me instead."

"And my product? There's only one kilo here."

"The other four are close by."

"Close by doesn't do me no good."

"Show me where my father is, and I'll get you the other four."

"Don't get cute with me, mama. I'll cut your throat. Go get my dope."

"Let's get ready to move in."

"No, no. Give her a chance."- Hailey was confident, but OA couldn't help but side-eye her. Wondering just what made her so sure.

"You trying to get your dad killed? 'Cause, that's what's happen if you keep playing."

"I need to see him."

"He's alive. I promise."

"I need proof."

"[whistles] Right over there, chica."

"Okay, we got eyes on the dad. We're good to go."

"Wait, wait, wait. Let's see if we can get him talking about Aman's murder. As soon as we see a weapon, we roll."

"Okay." OA knew that Hailey was smart, and she had been making great calls throughout this case, but he was still hesitant. An innocent man's life was in the balance, but he wanted justice for Arman too.

"Be a good girl, go get my dope. Do that, Big Papa walks. I'll go with you."

"So... So... How do I know you're not gonna kill me and my father once I give you the dope?"

"I don't kill civilians. Bad for business."

"You kill that Indian guy? He was a civilian."

"I try my best, but I'm not perfect, mama." Harper meekly retrieved the second bag from behind construction equipment.

"You did good, Harper." But 'good' wasn't enough for him. Suddenly a large silver gun was pointing at the middle of her forehead.

"FBI! Don't move!" OA lead the charge, coming out of hiding and announcing himself the second that they got confirmation that he murdered Arman they'd burst out of the van and beat SWAT to Harper, the Latin Players, and Harper's father.

"Drop your weapon now! Let me see your hands now! Put the gun on the ground! Step away! Put it down now!"

"Get on the ground! Get on the ground, now!"

"Dad!"

"Let me go! Dad! Dad! Dad!" Honestly, he didn't give the tearful father-daughter reunion much attention or thought, but he noticed that Hailey did, if only for a couple of seconds longer than necessary. He didn't know what to make of that, though.

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

"Hey."

"Hey."

"I just filed my 302. Do you need help with yours?"

"Nah, I just finished."

"So, I have to admit, I wasn't so sure about you."

"Yeah, well, I wasn't sure about you either. But you're all right. For a fed."

"You wanna grab a beer?"

"I'm okay. You don't have to look after the new kid."

"I am pretty sure you don't need looking after. Come on, you saved my life. The least you can do is let me buy you a drink."

"For the tenth time, I didn't save your life. All right, let's grab a beer, but only if you tell me why you became a fed. I told you my reason. It's only fair you tell me yours."

"Deal."

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

They didn't quite 'go out for a beer'. When OA heard Hailey's stomach throw a temper tantrum in the elevator he suggested going out for food that was accompanied by a beer. She'd agreed as long as they didn't go out for "crackers with sauce on them". OA had laughed, not even remotely or phased by Hailey's obsession with Chicago pizza. It's just another thing she shares with Jay. Besides, he wanted to take her somewhere else.

When they sat down Hailey looked around, taking it all in. Omar has been coming to this restaurant all his life. It had been open longer than he'd been alive, he'd even had his tenth birthday here. He hadn't brought Maggie here yet, not because he didn't think they were close enough, he just didn't know how she'd react to realizing that they are that close. "I hope you like Egyptian food."

"I've never had it, but I'm Greek and I know that there are a few shared foods and ingredients."

"Really? I wouldn't have guessed Greek from 'Upton'."

"My parents changed it when they moved here, their name was too difficult for Americans to pronounce, and there was some... Other stuff."

"I'm familiar with 'other stuff'. Do you want any recommendations or need me to explain anything on the menu?"

"You know what? You can choose what I eat tonight. If I like what you pick, I won't tease you for it the rest of the time I'm here."

"Well, for the record-"

"What record?" Hailey laughed.

"For the record, I am completely confident in my knowledge of food so I know I'll find something you'll like. After all, it can't really be bad so long as it's not non-Chicago pizza. Right?"

OA ended up choosing a dish called 'kushari', it wasn't like the Chicago or Mediterranean food Hailey was used to but she'd loved it. OA was smiling at her, proud of his victory, Hailey rolled her eyes, smirking at his impishness. "Tell me about your partner." The question caught him off guard and for a moment he'd felt a significant crack in his walls, leaving him exposed. Suddenly all the feelings he'd been pushing back since Maggie went UC enveloped and starting drowning him. Fear gripped his heart, haunting curiousity stabbed his mind, and loneliness hooked onto his soul. "OA? We don't have to talk about her, I'm sorry I asked, I didn't mean to upset you."

"She's one of the most amazing people I know. She's smart, strong, generous, empathetic, courageous... She's honestly one of the most amazing people in my life and I love having her as my partner." Hailey looked at him the same way his sisters and mother did whenever he spoke about one of the most important people in his life. Like they were able to listen between his words and decipher another meaning to what he'd said. But like his mother, his sisters always gave him hell for it, she said nothing. I couldn't even dispute it if she did say anything.

"She sounds badass."

"She is. What about your partner? Tell me about them?" He'd narrowly averted saying 'him', unsure how she'd react if she knew just how close she and Jay really were, and just how much Jay had told him about her. She got this smitten grin on her face, and OA knew that the roles were reversed from a few moments ago when he had that same smirk and far off look in his eyes. "His name is Jay Halstead, and he's an amazing person, except for when he's getting himself shot, the reckless idiot. He would rather get shot at than get a needle which rattles me to no end, especially because he's so much more kind and intelligent than he gives himself credit for and we need him you know, alive, but still, I admire him so much. He makes me laugh and he just knows how to get to me, you know? I would... I would follow him anywhere. Wow... What is in this food? Truth serum? I'm not usually that open..." It was like he could literally see a forcefield shaping around her. Shrinking in on herself, her face hardening, hastily putting a forkful of food in her mouth. She looked at the wall behind him, pretending to be interested in the decorations, trying to pass off the slight panic in her eyes.

"Maybe it's just my charming demeanour, or that I got personal first, really personal. Or maybe it's because you needed to tell that to someone you don't see every day."

"Yeah. Maybe." She still wouldn't look at him and a tense silence enveloped them until she took a deep breath and shook herself. Light seemingly went off in her head before she gave him an absolutely devilish smirk. "I believe I was promised your origin story."

"Is that what we're calling it? An 'origin story'?"

"It is now."

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

"Halstead."

"Get your head out of your dumb ass and ask Hailey out."

"I- OA-"

"You won't regret it, Jay. I actually think that you will regret it if you don't."

"I just don't know if I'm ready to admit anything to myself, forget Hailey."

"When does life ever wait until you're ready, man? Neither of you work in a stable occupation, and even then the universe isn't exactly known for working on anyone else's timeline. I can literally feel you aching for her from here."

"But what if I'm not good enough."

"Oh, I've only known her for a few days and I already know that no one's good enough for her-"

"Damn have you adopted her as another honourary sibling? How many do you have now? And Hailey actually knows you've adopted her, right?"

"Not important, and don't try and change the subject."

"But if no one's good enough for her, then..."

"You're too hard on yourself Jay. No one's good enough for you either. Why shouldn't two people who are far too good for the world be together? You deserve happiness, Jay. You both do, and I think telling her that you're far gone with her would be a great start."

"Thanks, man. Really."

"No problem."

"... So you think that I'm 'far too good for the world'?"

"And now I'm regretting every word we've spoken." No I don't, but your head really doesn't to get bigger.

"Nope, no take-backs. You think that I'm badass and amazing."

"I never said 'badass' or 'amazing'."

"Jay Halstead- described as 'far too good for the world' by the humble and decorated OA Zidan-"

"I also called you a 'dumbass' but whatever, goodnight Jay. And seriously, ask Hailey out."

[notmrskennedy]

The List

(Spencer Reid x GenderNeutral?Reader)

A/N - In order to curb the crushing weight of being bested by a vacuum cleaner at work and stressing about my calc test, I’m posting this. I hope you all like it as much as the last one. Y’all are just the fuckin sweetest. 

Also, this was inspired by @definitelynotkatesblog and her awesome work Something to Cry About. It’s the cutest freakin thing. 

Summary - A little list on what makes Reader fall asleep at night...

Word Count - 2.2k

Warnings - swearing, but what’s new?

----

1. A Podcast Episode on Epicurus and the Hellenistic Age

“Spencer, christ,” you laugh, fluffing your curls. “I can assure you that I am not touchy and sharing a bed won’t kill us.”

Spencer fidgets in his spot in the doorway, crossing his arms to keep from shaking too much. Is it wrong to be jealous of your casualness surrounding this? Is it wrong to wish away that massive crush he’s got? Just at least for one night—pretty please with a cherry on top.

You wait with a half raised eyebrow at the side of the bed he clearly doesn’t sleep on. Your hand poised above the comforter like it’ll make his decision any quicker. Like you can’t see the turmoil that has to be written across his face.

Because what does this mean? What does it mean to sleep in the same bed with your best friend for the first time? What if you end up snuggled up in the morning? Is that bad? Is that good? Is he totally secretly wishing that’ll happen and spur you in falling in love with him just as much as he’s fallen for you?

He glances one more time between your calm eyes, the made bed, the clock, the giant college t-shirt you’re wearing, finally back to your face. He nods. Adds in a dash of blushing. A teaspoon of agreeing words.

You shake your head, smile at him like he’s an idiot—though he supposes he is with you—and wrench the covers back. Like you belong. He wants you to belong.

There’s still time to back out and sleep on the couch. Does he really want to?

He wills his feet forward. Tries to tell himself that this is just like every night. Sets his watch on the nightstand, plugs his phone in, slips into the covers.

“Hey, bud?”

He hums as he turns his head to look over at you. He’s still sat up in bed, hand poised over his stack of books. Are you going to tell him to turn out the light?

You smile, shifting your weight ever so slightly. You’re the restless sort and he wonders how you work the boring middle management job that you do. Pulling your lips back into a nervous smile, you gently say, “I can’t fall asleep to the quiet, do you mind if—“

“Do you want me to read to you?”

He hopes the excitement goes unnoticed. It seems to as you chuckle. “I wish it would work. You’re too interesting, Spencer Reid. Podcasts on Hellenistic philosophy however—do you mind if I listen? It won’t be too loud.”

He shakes his head. “Not at all.” Never for you.

“Thanks, Spence,” you chirp through a stifled yawn. And as you turn the podcast on and flip over to press tightly onto the pillow, you say, “and don’t worry. I promise I keep to my side of the bed.”

And unlike the liar he wishes you are, he wakes up to find that you are very true to your word.

2. Discovery Chanel, Documentary on Revolving Door Manufacturing

He’s never seen you cry before. You make it a point to keep saying between sobs, “I hate crying in front of other people. I’m so sorry.”

He can’t fathom why it’s you that’s sorry, not after you asked him to pick you up from your mother’s. The same mother who’s apparently found it within her purview to explain just how much she hates you over a nice dinner. He’s buzzing with anger on your behalf—anger that clearly isn’t shared, though he knows it’ll come later.

It takes roughly 20 minutes to get you over the hill, trading tears for tissues. Snot for begrudging smiles at his bad jokes. He’s promised himself that he will listen—for once in his goddamn life—to your whole story without interrupting. You seem to appreciate the sentiment, punctuating the whole experience with asking for one of those hugs that just never ends.

You try to explain it—“like cats, Spencer, you know?”—like he doesn’t already empathise completely.

And weirdly enough, it gets to a point where you two switch positions without breaking the crushing amount of contact you have. It gets to a point where you insist on watching the most boring documentary he’s ever seen on revolving door manufacturing. It gets to a point where you pass out after 15 minutes and turn over into his chest.

He doesn’t dare move. Not until he’s effectively sure you won’t be waking up anytime soon. Spencer falls asleep with your soft breath fanning across his chest and his hands tangled in your hair.

5. A Librivox Recording of ‘The Five Orange Pips’

Now this is ridiculous. And he says as much as you roll your eyes. You’re both sweaty and exhausted and he’s sure he’s never met someone who looked this awake after a romp at one AM. Your eyes are twinkling the same way someone does after they’ve run a mile and feel like they need to run another. You’ve got energy and he can’t fathom it.

“Spencer,” you whine, falling back into the bedsheets. It’s really the first official time you’ve spent at his house as more than a friend—much more. He’s gotten accustomed, understanding even, to the little podcasts you listen to to fall asleep. There’s no sense in understanding your sleeping habits, not yet at least, but he understands the boring, droning voices you let lull you to sleep.

But this! Sherlock Holmes?

“Y/n, I literally have the story on my bookshelf. I could read it to you if you’re so choosy!” he mirrors your position with a huff, already reaching out to drag you over into his side. The feel of your skin is addictive. The safest kind of high he can get. The only one he really wants.

You pout, sticking out your lip. It’s adorable and breaks the tweak of frustration resting hard in his features. “Love-bug, with you talking to me, I’d never fall asleep. It just doesn’t work like that and I don’t make the rules.”

“Fine,” he mutters, effectively pulling you close enough you can share the one pillow. You giggle, kiss his nose, and reach behind you for your phone. It takes five seconds for the Librivox recording to start and he realises that as he listens to the intro, he’s already dropping off. It’s understandable—he guesses—but he hopes that one day you’ll pick a story he hasn’t read already.

9. News in Slow Spanish

Listening to you get ready for bed will never be tiring, Spencer thinks. Not when he’s playing a game with himself. He’s so terrible at guessing what you’ll choose to listen to. There’s never any rhyme or reason. Never a solid thought process that he can decipher. He’s kept to making a list—half because he likes lists, half because he wonders how long it’ll get.

Four months in and he’s at number 9—more or less.

This one shocks him though. Has him poking his head out of the bathroom, toothbrush still stuck in his mouth. You’re pulling your hair out of a pony tail, humming along to the intro music for a newscast in Spanish. Do you speak Spanish?

“Sugar plum—“ he loves every weird nickname you’ve given him over the months— “I can hear the whine of your brain from here.”

It’s then you turn to really look at him. Smirking. Gleaming in the shadows of the bathroom light. Wearing nothing more than a sports bra and shorts. His mouth runs dry as he tries to keep his thoughts present and clean.

He takes the toothbrush from his mouth. You giggle as he speaks through the spit. “Do you speak Spanish?”

“I must not talk about work enough,” you mutter to yourself, slipping into bed. Like you belong. “My entire job is setting up relationships between the hotel company I work for and Latin American, well, anything. Hotels, river cruises, restaurants—I speak Spanish more than I do English some weeks.”

He nods, finishes brushing his teeth to process the thought. No, you don’t talk about work enough, and he’s suddenly worried about what you don’t talk about. It suddenly feels suffocating. Like he doesn’t know a single thing about you. Like he’s never known anything about you.

But as you drag yourself into his side once he’s beside you, as you kiss his cheek and settle in, he’s reminded that he doesn’t need to know everything to care. For you to care back. There’s enough time in the world to figure out all the other stuff. He’s content to learn as it comes. Appreciate every new thing he can get his hands on.

And, hey, if you listen to this podcast enough, he might learn Spanish too.

11. Whose Line is it Anyway? Reruns

“No, absolutely not. I’m putting the kibosh on this. The applause will drive me wild. Please, y/n, anything else.”

15. Spencer

If there hadn’t been a nightmare involved, it wouldn’t have been as terrifying to find you not in bed. To hear the door latch click with someone’s arrival. Or someone’s departure.

He’s out of bed before he can process. Before his brain can calm down enough to remind him that it’s fine. That there’s no way a burglar is going to be as loud as you’re being in the next room over.

He jumps out of the bedroom, ready to strangle the intruder with his bare hands, when you give a startled shout, “Jesus christ!” 

Spencer settles. Realises that it’s just you in a sweatshirt and slippers. You look utterly exhausted in the dim light of the apartment. Fidgeting and restless despite the slump to your shoulders. He vaguely wonders if he should make you a pot of coffee to calm you down.

The world catches up to him and he slumps into the wall. Is it so wrong to be this decidedly tired after a nightmare that he could’ve sworn wasn’t coming back? The two of you stare each other down, both equally apprehensive to the other for decidedly similar reasons.

Spencer’s entire body is beginning to light on fire. He doesn’t want to burn you in the process.

You’re buzzing and tired and angry and there’s no reason to take any of that out on him.

“Can’t sleep?” he finally prompts.

You scrub your hands over your face, fluff your curls, in response. “I walked the stairs four times, bug. I’m so—“

“Frustrated?”

“Yes.”

He nods his head, waves you over. You half heartedly trudge over to him, lean your head into his chest and feel at least a tiny amount of frustration drift away. He pulls you both back to bed—he can’t believe he’s functioning this well, but maybe it’s just because he’s fulfilling the need to think about anything else. There’s a hesitance as you lay back down and he knows that you’ve probably tried everything. That you don’t believe you’ll get any sleep at 2:45 in the morning.

“You’ve worked through the list then?” he asks. Your eyebrows pinch as you settle onto your side, giving him your full attention. “The things that make you fall asleep,” he clarifies, “you know, that list.”

“Do you—do you keep a list?” your voice is almost judgemental, but decidedly too curious. He nods. “I’ve never had anyone care that much.”

“So where are you at?” he says instead. There’s too much to unpack. Too much for his still swimming brain. He needs something concrete. “What’ve you tried?”

You go through your list, letting every inch of agony you’ve faced for the last four hours creep over your face. Spencer watches as you turn over one more time and groan into the pillow. “I think I’d rather just suffocate at this rate.”

He chuckles. “Stop being dramatic. Come here, let me try something.”

“But—“

“Just—please, y/n?” he doesn’t understand your refusal to trust him sometimes—it’s always about such strange things, like how he does the dishes or what brand of milk to buy. You scoot over to him, settle into his chest with an indignant huff. As if you aren’t tightening around him like a vice.

He clears his throat, drags his fingers softly up and down your spine, and picks the most boring thing—for you at least—he can think of to recite: quantum physics. He feels you relax after a minute. Your eyes close and your nose sinks a little deeper into his shirt. It takes nearly two chapters to get you to zonk out. Long enough that he’s worried you were right, that he was just too interesting for you. Even if he was reciting quantum physics literature.

He keeps droning for a little time after he thinks you must be—have to be—asleep. And just as he settles, just as his eyes are closing and he could drift off peacefully, he doesn’t miss the ever quiet, ever gentle words, “You’re too interesting, Spence, too goddamn interesting.”

You roll over, your back pressed against his side. He wants to laugh. He doesn’t, just ends up dreaming of something nearly as peaceful as falling asleep beside you.

[fleabaqs]

TIPS FOR WRITING LATINOS FOR DUMMIES! 

because y’all can’t seem to get anything right.

under the cut you will find a lot of useful (maybe) information when writing latino characters. please consider leaving a like/reblog if you find this useful.

                                                      FIRST OF:

yes, karen, we will call you gringo. that’s not on the table, that’s not a discussion. all latinos use the word gringo, and if you say it’s a racist slur ONE MORE TIME, i swear you will regret it, filha da puta.

                                                                   SECOND:

NOT ALL LATINOS SPEAK SPANISH!! i know, crazy, right??? brazilians speaks PORTUGUESE, yes PORTUGUESE!!! bitch

yes, portuguese and spanish are really similar, but don’t write the “even though i speak only spanish/portuguese i can understand spanish/portuguese” depending on the country/state you’re born, you CAN’T. so just avoid that. 

if you’re character/fc was born in united states, they probably won’t be considered latino in latin america. PERIOD. that’s not up for discussion either. 

if your character/fc was born in latin america, he ISN’T going to be considered a person of colour if they have white skin. take for example the family from one day at a time. in usa they can be talking about racism and everything, but in latin america you only suffer racism if you have clearly black/asian descent. plus: if you’re white and you decided to shit rules into racism in latin america (at least in brazil) you’ll probably get beaten up. not a joke. and as a white latina, i support that.

WHY are you all so lazy? If you wanna write ANY character, from ANY country that is not yours = YOU SEARCH INFO ABOUT THAT COUNTRY!! i swear your hand is not going to fall of! im taking as example my country, if you wanna write a brazilian, search about the states! a cearense and a gaúcho are TOTALLY different!!! a carioca and paulista are totally different even tho rio de janeiro and são paulo are so close. DECIDE the country, the area, the state and city of your character!

moving on from geography: other types of stereotypes!! NOT ALL LATINA MOMS ARE CRAZY AND CONSERVATIVES! some are pretty chill! really… there are moms who won’t go crazy about anything. so don’t be afraid to write a mom that is okay with their child going out at night, being LGBT or being pro choice. okay???

okay, but why aren’t you using the word “latine”? most latino community are against this word. shocking, right? everyone has their reasons why they don’t like it, my case is because my family is really poor/my grandparents didn’t go to school and everything and as much as they would respect and understand non binary people, they would not be able to use it. not even my mom, who is a teacher, is able to use it. she respects their existence, but they gotta respect other people existence too. my family is one of the lucky ones, there are people in worse conditions. when using the word latine, UNDERSTAND the background of the character! 

ASIANS LATINOS EXISTS!! my god, this is a hard one. i never see asian latino representation in unitedstaten midia. like, what’s that about? they don’t have to choose between their ethnicities!! now shut up, karen

we DON’T call unitedstatens americans, or united states america! i don’t know what happened in their education system, but they really gotta understand america is a fucking continent with more than 30 countries. you’re not special, desgraçados parasitas do caralho

if i see one more latino drug dealer and latina sex symbol, IM GONNA KILL A GRINGO!! that’s not all we are!

we will get offended if you say we are from a country we are not, after we already said our country. i know it’s hard for you to memorize more than five countries, but i gonna be cheering for you!

most latinos hate, or at least dislike, our colonizers. in brazil, we make jokes about portuguese people all the time and we will ask for the gold they stole from us at any given opportunity. so when writing a latino character, know who colonized their country.

latinos are clean. i know this may sound a little off for non latinos, but our sense of personal hygiene is really important. again, this variates from country to country, but in brazil we are thought that we should brush our teeths after every meal (at least 4 times a day), and that we should shower EVERY day. no, no, don’t come with that unitedstaten shit about showering only when you exercise, or that during summer going to the pool is showering BECAUSE IT’S NOT, THAT’S FUCKING DISGUSTING HIJA DE PUTA. if your character has access to clear water and personal hygiene products, he will do this kind of things.

just... read abou that country you wanna write. here goes some ideias: *country* traditional food, *country* sports, *country* music (in this one, learn how to say the language of the country in the language of the country. example: don’t search “portuguese songs”, search instead for músicas brasilieiras. don’t search for “mexican songs” search for canciones mexicanas.), *country* books/writers, *language of the country* basic phrases! ]

latin america is part of three americas! america is devided in three. north america = mexico, and the other two; central america = cuba, costa rica, etc; south america = brazil, chile, etc. DON’T go to my ask to say “oH mExIcO iS nOt NoRtH aMeRiCa” because i swear i’ll track you down and shove a atlas down your throat!

latin america is not just tropical vibes, dumb bitch!! we have snow too! this is fucking brazil.  and this is argENTINA! 

just remember these facts when writing brazilians: brazil is the second country with the biggest japanese community, second country out of germany with more germans, and get this!! brazil has more lebaneses than lebanon.

latino accent when is speaking english is not just lydia from odaat. it changes. 

english is second or third or fourth (and so it goes) language for latinos. keep in mind that mistakes are made. and most latinos (myself included) love their accent!! we want you to listen to our voice and ask where we’re from, and that gets to: 

WE ARE COCKY! yes, we are very cocky about our culture, get over it! 

most latinos cried/got really happy when parasite won the oscar. now you ask me, why are you writing this on a guide on how to write fucking latinos??? well, my dudes, latinos are tired of imperialism. just that. don’t write a character that worships usa culture (can we call hamburguers and coke culture, my ladies? I DONT THINK SO), even if they moved to usa. “it’s also important to remember that the american dream is sold to all of us, since forever.”

i guess this is it??? just, talk to a latino and ask “is this correct?” when in doubt. we are indeed very energetic and we talk loud and a lot, but we don’t bite. writing us is difficult, you’ll probably get something wrong. but if we see that you did basic research, we will get really happy about it. bye, gringos!

edit 001: this link and this link are great! use them.

edit 002: any fc can be latino! ANY FC CAN BE LATINO! fun fact: the brazilian passport is one of the most expensive ones, because anyone can pass as brazilian. anyone can be latino! wong yukhei? big brazilian energy! madison beer? can be latina. ester expósito? latina. kim taeyeon? I HEAR THE LATINA DRUMS!! idk, kj apa? can be latino too! 

not all latinos are good dancers and not all latin dances are salsa. check “#latinodancecheck” on tiktok, if you have one. 

there are differences between spanish speaking surnames and brazilian ones. first of: the number of surnames changes with the country. second: spanish speaking countries surnames end in “ez”, while brazilian surnames end in “es”. examples: rodriguez, rodrigues; lópez, lopes; hernandez, fernandes; martinez, martins. but sometimes, we exchange surnames. you can find a brazilian with the surname “gonzalez” instead of gonçalves, if their family comes from a spanish speaking country.

this ask sent by the lovely anon! 

this other ask sent another sweet anon!

this.

[reidetic]

Letters

Summary: Spencer writes reader letters in prison. Loosely based off of Hey There Delilah. 

A/N: The poem in this work belongs to Erin Hanson. Thank you so much to @sunlight-moonrise​ for beta reading this for me. This was a one day brain child and I hope you enjoy it.

She hadn’t written back. That’s all Spencer could think of, the only thought running through his head as his mattress sunk through the bars and pressed into his back. Two letters so far, two weeks between, save the first week. The letters kept her in his memory, the pen dipping into paper the only thing that kept her perfume wound around his soul. When the ink smeared across his too quick fingers, he cursed, closing his unfounded emotions within the confines of the cheap notebook paper. 

She hadn’t written back. It’s not like the letters had been particularly interesting. Spencer had never been an interesting writer, never been the one to capture someone’s attention. That was, until her. Until y/n. He had met her at a writer’s circle, something his mom had suggested. 

“You used to write so often, when you were a little boy.” Diana had mused on one of her infrequent good days.  

“I was young then, Mom, nothing I wrote was well-written.” Spencer had laughed with her, both of them remembering the mother’s day haikus that should’ve never been sent home.

“I’m just saying that the life you’ve lived deserves to be written down.” And so he went, attending a small after hours circle at a local community college. He saw her first. Her hair slung up haphazardly, pens tucked into the tendrils, one shirt sleeve slipping off of her shoulder, and her tongue sticking slightly out her mouth in concentration. She was a girl who could steal your attention from the first glance. One pen slipped out of her hair then, and he had leaned forward, picking it up and extending it to her with a smile. 

“Spencer.” He had offered, his name a gift to the girl who sat before him. He thought they probably looked like a painting, with the lanky boy kneeling in front of the ethereal girl, one hand extended with a pen obscured by his own spindly fingers.

“Y/n.” She gave her name right back, grabbing the pen from his hand. And that had been it. That one moment was all it took for Spencer to know he would follow where she went. They had become inseparable, no longer one without the other. They promised each other they’d come every single week, filled notebooks in hand. They stayed far too long after the circle had been dismissed, reading in hushed whispers and bodies so still the motion lights went dim. 

Spencer had felt himself start to fall on one particular night, when they had slipped out to her car to read, their voices filling the cramped car and breath fogging the windows. She had written a poem, something soft and fiery, and he remembered thinking it felt like an autobiography and a love song all at once as her sweet and lilting voice filled the air. 

I wish that I could hold your heart, 

Cradle it gently in my hands, 

But my arms just are not strong enough, 

To hold what I don 't understand, 

My eyes have seen a lot of 

And I thought I'd seen them all, 

But the way your smile ignites my own, 

Makes me think there's so much more, 

These walls around this heart of mine, 

Have stood dust, 

But it's as though you've found the gate, 

That leads right to my trust, 

I've never really liked my name, 

But on your lips it sounds so sweet, 

And your voice is my new favourite song, 

That's forever on repeat, 

But even though I feel all this, 

I can never let you see, 

Because your heart deserves a whole lot more, 

Than a broken girl like me. 

Her trembling breath paused as she finished on the word ‘me’. He felt as though she saw right through him, he turned to glass in her sight. But she was still as opaque as the day he met her. The car had felt awkward then. The air too still, the streetlights outside too bright. They sat in silence, breath held, before y/n had blurted out a quick, “I should get home.” 

He still remembers the way her face fell in the moonlight as he agreed with her. He still regrets that, still regrets not pulling her in and kissing her right then and never letting her go. He dreams about that now, about the what ifs and what could have beens. He’s always been a coward.

He had written that night, pages upon pages of writings about her. Nothing but her. She filled his mind for weeks, and when he read his poetry on Thursday nights, she looked away. He could still feel the sting in his cheeks he felt that night when she called his work, “fantastical and unrealistic”. He could still feel the betrayal he felt that night as she ripped into him and left no trace. Despite her harshness, he felt her warmth, or so he thought.

She hadn’t written back. The letter he penned took days, but it wasn’t as if prison life was especially exciting. There weren’t enough words he could find to explain how he felt to her. He had never told her how he felt, not before his arrest. He had tried to write the letter in English, in French, in Latin. None of it made any sense, his cell filled with ruined and crumpled pieces of paper. He settled on an old song, the one he remembered playing softly in the car as she read her heart to him, changed to fit only her. 

  Hey there y/n, 

What’s it like in DC? I’m a thousand miles away, but tonight you look so pretty. I know I can’t see you right now, but it doesn’t matter. I know. Forgive me for the song, it keeps me sane. I don’t know quite what to do with myself right now. It’s not often I get arrested for murders I didn’t commit, but when I do, it’s you I miss. Thursday was strange without your words there to comfort the mass in my head. I find that when you’re speaking it’s the only time I hear silence. Silence is something beautiful rarely created that I don’t experience often enough, but with you, it finds its way to my ears regularly. I know if you were here you’d chastise me about the concept of hearing silence, but you’ll just have to read it in this letter. I don’t have many updates, but know that I am not enjoying myself. Suffice to say, it is hard to enjoy one’s predicament when you aren’t sure when it will be over. I don’t know how to say what I want to say to you, so I won’t. Please be safe. You matter to me more than you know.

Regards, 

Spencer Reid

She hadn’t written back. He had sent the letter within his second week behind bars. His life continued, slowly but surely, days passing and hopes of a response every day. And every day, nothing. It kills him,  but he can’t blame her. He doesn’t know that he would write himself back if he was in her shoes. Still, he sent another letter. He put just a bit more of his soul into the second, still not quite ready to confess anything he might have considered confessing that night in her car.

Hey there y/n, 

Don’t you worry about the distance, I’m right here if you get lonely. Not literally, you know that, of course. But you can always give this letter another read. Listen to my voice, it’s my disguise. I’m by your side. I’ll always be by your side, whether or not you need me. If you want me to leave, I’ll go. But until then, I’ll stay by your side. Everyone needs a loyal friend, right? I know I could use one right now. I don’t blame you for not responding. You have no proof that I am not a guilty man. But I will swear to you every day until the day that I die, I am innocent. I am innocent. I am innocent. You don’t have to believe a word I say but I will write it, scream it, sing it until you do. Prison isn’t easy. I just want to hear your voice. The eidetic memory may help, but nothing is as good as the real thing. You don’t have to write back. I wish I could tell you everything I think. I love you.  Be safe.

Sincerely, 

Spencer Reid

She hadn’t written back. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. Y/n, her smile, her voice, her face. Her smell was burned into his psyche like a brand. He couldn’t forget her if he tried. And oh, he tried. Menial tasks and thumbing through books he’d already read, folding the laundry three separate times, and yet she still infiltrated his brain. No matter how fast his fingers moved, her voice lilted in his head, ‘Spencer, Spencer.’ She helped him escape, helped him remain who he is through and through. She still hadn’t responded. A month and a half after his arrest, three weeks after his last letter. He figured he had one last try. He knew his walls were closing in, his mind delving away into itself for protection. He knew he couldn’t be himself much longer, but she was the last thing keeping his feet on the ground. 

Hey there y/n, 

I’ve got so much left to say, if every letter I wrote to you would take your breath away, I’d write them all. I’d write you every letter in the world if it meant I got to hear your voice again. If it meant you didn’t hate me for what I’ve become. Prison life isn’t easy and I’ve had to do things to survive that make me unrecognizable. I don’t know that I am the person you knew. But I know you are. You get me through all of this. I think about us, what we could’ve been if I had been who you needed, who you wanted. I love you, you know. I can see you walking down the aisle, I can see you holding our children. I can see the house we buy, the cars we fight over. I can see the quilts lining our bed in stolen kisses in the morning, and I can see the light in your eyes. I love you. I am yours. If you want me, if you don’t, I am yours. 

Yours truly

Yours, truly

Spencer Reid

Truth be told, Spencer had assumed they’d never prove his innocence. He had grown accustomed to being in prison, protecting himself and others in ways he never thought he’d do. So when JJ showed up, simply stating they were here to take him home, he couldn’t believe it. His disbelief paralyzed him, shock bounding through his body as he froze to the spot he was in. The only thing that got him moving again was her. Y/n. He’d see her. Her. 

His second shock of the day was his greeting as he exited the prison, not bound or confined for the first time in three months. The sun felt better out here, somehow.. Garcia was there, taking him in her arms, and he breathes in the scent of her perfume, of lilies and coffee. That’s not what shocks him though, but what lies behind Garcia. Her. She’s here. Y/n.

“Y/n.” He takes a step towards her, tentative, watching the tears fall from her eyes and feeling his own dash across his cheeks.

“Spencer Reid.” And there is not another word but her arms are thrown around his neck, and for the first time Spencer understands that home is not a place, but a person.

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[justwritethatdown]

The Bella's house is haunted by the ghost of a girl who died there in the 80's . They have a seance. Things go very badly...

Rating: M for vivid description of violence

Words count: 3k

Trigger warning: cruent deaths, mention of blood

(I’ve been meaning to tell you)

I think your house is haunted

Beca had moved in the Bella’s house and had been living there with the other girls for just one week when she started to notice there was something weird going on in that place.

At first, she thought it might have been one of the girls – definitely Amy – who was playing tricks on her; it was just annoying silly things, really, like misplaced objects, doors that opened and closed on their own or songs that mysteriously changed to Cindy Lauper while she was listening to her Spotify playlists. All things Amy could have managed to do with little effort.

What made Beca question her believes were the events of that day she was sick and decided to stay home while all the girls went to class and then to rehearsals. She was home alone, so nobody could be pranking her, but strange things continued to happen – doubled even.

It started with her headphones; Beca could swear she’d left them on the desk, next to her computer, but when she came back from the bathroom they were gone. The brunette looked for them everywhere and finally found them in the fridge

“Mh, weird” she mumbled to herself, making her way back in her room to start working on a new mix.

 Halfway through her mix, her laptop started to flash and then it showed statics

“What the fuck!? Come on you can’t die on me right now” lamented Beca hitting her laptop, she took her brand-new iPhone 5 and saw it was doing the same thing “what the hell is going on?”

She threw the phone asides and stated that she was delirious, probably due to the fever, so she decided to make herself one of Chloe’s infusions. Beca put the boiler on the stove and started looking in the cabinet for the infusion, when the home theater they had in the living room started to blast Time after Time.

“Who’s there?” she called out but didn’t get an answer. If she was honest, she’d admit she was starting to freak out a little bit.

The brunette slowly entered the living room to see that nobody was there

“That’s not funny” she called out, doing her best to hide the shake in her voice “Amy I saw you, you can come out” she tried, but again, no answer. She gulped and went to turn off the stereo, then slowly sat on the sofa to calm down, but the boiler’s whistle made her jump

“Fuck” she spat out marching to the kitchen.

Beca took a deep calming breath pouring the boiling water in her favorite mug, put the boiler away and sat down to enjoy her drink. The warm bitter liquid running down her throat was starting to relax her and free her lungs, she put down the mug and rubbed her face with both hands, when she heard the mug crashing on the floor.

  Chloe opened the door and the first thing she saw was a baseball bat moving in her direction. She dodged it and saw a very startled Beca holding it

“Beca what are you doing?” she squeaked

“I- sorry I thought…” trailed off the brunette letting her weapon fall and tiredly hid her face with her palms

“Hey, what’s going on, how are you feeling?” Chloe asked removing Beca’s hands “Oh my god, Bec, you’re burning up! Let me take you to bed”

 “I broke a mug” mumbled Beca while Chloe was helping her under the covers “and my phone” she added

“Your phone is working…” stated Chloe showing it to her “don’t worry for the mug, now try to get some rest” she whispered tucking a lock of brown hair away from Beca’s forehead.

Beca let out a heavy breath and briefly considered telling Chloe what she went through

“Chlo…”

“Mh?” the redhead asked turning around with a soft smile

“Thank you” mumbled the brunette before rolling on her side. “Ghosts don’t exist you’re just delirious” she told to herself before falling asleep.

 “You’re such a loser”

“You will never be one of us”

“There’s no place for cowards in here”

“Ahahahah”

It was night, the cold air was making Beca shiver. The area of porch she could see from her bedroom’s window looked different than usual and she couldn’t recognize any of the voices laughing at her. She wasn’t looking down from her window, she was standing outside the window. She was barefoot.

“Come on, we don’t have all night!”

Beca swallowed hard, her head was spinning, she slipped.

 Beca woke up in her bed, damp with sweat, her – now working – phone pointed 4AM, she groaned and went back to sleep.

 Weeks passed and then months, objects kept disappearing and appearing in weird places and Beca made sure to never be alone in the house again, but she never talked to anyone about what happened, she was too embarrassed about it – ghosts don’t exist.  

One evening, after helping Jessica find her bracelet that ended up being in a plant near the bathroom, she decided to talk to Chloe about it.

“Hey Chlo, can we talk for a moment?” she mumbled, still uncertain about saying it out loud

“Sure, what’s up?” asked the redhead putting aside her Russian lit book

“I uhm… this might sound weir but…” she trailed off

“You know you can tell me everything, right?” assured her Chloe leaning in to grab her hand

“I – not that I believe in this kind of things, but uhm… I think there’s a ghost in the house”

Chloe’s face fell and she cleared her throat sitting back straight “Yeah, that’s Molly” she said casually, going back to her reading.

“WHAT?” gasped the brunette

“Molly” repeated Chloe “she died here in the 80’s” she explained

“You don’t actually believe she- she’s living with us, right?” stuttered Beca

“Of course, she is-”

“What are we talking about?” interrupted her Stacie

“Apparently we have a ghost” explained Cynthia-Rose who happened to hear the conversation

“Cool, a ghost story!” gasped Stacie excited “wait, I’ll call the others”

 They moved in the living room after Stacie gathered all the girls and Chloe started telling the story

“In the 80’s this house was the sorority house of the θγτ. Those girls were known to be the cruelest sorority Barden had ever seen. They always made their new members prove their worth through impossible dares, like eating worms or doing dangerous things. Most times the new girls run away crying and were thrown out of the sorority, but there was this girl – Molly – who wanted to be part of the sorority more than anything. She was willing to die for it-”

“How did she die?” interrupted Beca, her throat felt tight and her heart was beating incredibly fast

“It was initiation night. They gave her a dare, a test of bravery…”

The crunching of chips coming from Amy destroyed the mood Chloe was skillfully setting with her story

“Amy, would you mind!?” lamented Cynthia-Rose

“What?” asked Amy stopping with her mouth full of chips

“We’re kinda in the middle of something here…” added Ashley

“Go on” spurred her on Stacie

Chloe cleated her throat “they told her that to be a member of the θγτ she had to walk on the ledge from side to side of the house only wearing her nightgown. They knew she was scared of heights, they probably thought she would have given up, but she tried anyway…”

“fuck…” whispered Beca, she had chills thinking about her dream

“She fell” added Chloe in a sad voice

“Do you want to contact her?” offered Lilly in her usual creepy tone

“Yes! Let’s summon a ghost” squealed Stacie

“Dude, no!” gasped Beca horrified

“What? You scared Mitchell?” challenged her the tall brunette

“I’m not scared” retorted Beca

“Come on, it’s Halloween week, it’ll be fun” tried Jessica and the girls agreed. Beca didn’t like it, she didn’t like it at all.

 Lilly seemed to be rather expert on the field. She made them move the furniture and drawn a pentagram on the floor in the middle of the living room, she turned off the lights and placed five candles, one on each point of the circled star. The girls were sitting in circle around the symbol while Lilly placed herself in the center and started saying something Beca assumed to be in Latin.

Suddenly a gust of wind turned off all the candles and the room feel silent

“You girls shouldn’t be playing around with seances” Lilly said in a demoniac voice and someone, probably Jessica or Ashley – Beca wasn’t sure – screamed. Some of the girls turned on the flashlight on their phones and they could see Lilly standing up, with her hair down on her face.

“Shit, she looks just like Samara” said Amy

“You foolish girls, must pay respect to the rituals” Roared Lilly

“Fuck, is she possessed?” gasped Cynthia-Rose

“Lilly that’s the best Halloween prank I’ve ever seen” laughed Stacie “You look disgusting”

At that Lilly howled in rage turning to Stacie and showed her face, her eyes were completely white, and her body was still facing forward while her face was turned to look at the brunette. The girls screamed and moved away but Beca noticed Chloe was still on the pentagram

“Chloe what are you doing?” she shouted to her

“Molly” tried the redhead swallowing hard

The monster turned to face her and Beca grabbed Chloe’s hand to drag her away. Molly grunted and started to walk towards Stacie, in the meantime someone had turned on the lights and Beca could see that Lilly wasn’t wearing her clothes anymore, she recognized the white gown she was wearing in her dream.

Molly reached Stacie and cornered her

“Please, please not my face! Or the boobs, please-” begged the girl, but the spirit reached out to her throat and ripped her trachea out making blood splash everywhere. All the girls screamed in horror crying out Stacie’s name and the lights went out again.

 The Bellas ran away in different places of the house and Beca had no idea where the others went, except for Chloe who had never let go of her hand. She had dragged her in a room and locked the door behind them, everything was dark and Beca could barely make out the silhouette of Chloe’s face.

“I can’t believe Stacie is dead” sniffed Chloe

“Yeah, that’s crazy” murmured Beca letting the redhead hug her

“I’m glad you’re her with me” she breathed out

“Me too, I can’t imagine being alone right now” confessed the brunette and Chloe pulled away from the hug

“No, I mean… I’m glad that it’s you” clarified the redhead looking into her eyes

Beca swallowed hard noticing how close they were and in the dim light she could see Chloe’s eyes looking down at her lips for a moment. It’s funny how you throw all cares to the wind when you think you’re about to die. Beca leaned in and kissed her. Chloe responded instantly pressing her against the door and slipping her tongue into Beca’s mouth. Her hands were desperatcely gripping at Beca and for a moment the brunette thought that maybe this was worth dying for.

Their kiss was interrupted by Cynthia-Rose pointing a flashlight at them

“Finally!” she cheered making them jump “we need to go to the basement, unless you have something better to do…” she added in a judgy tone

“Why to the basement?” asked Beca clearing her throat “of all places…” she added with a shiver

“To fix the lighting maybe?” retorted Cynthia-Rose

“Okay but why can’t you go?” asked Beca hissing when Chloe hit her with her elbow

“Because the black and the queer characters always die first in horror movies, and if you didn’t notice, I am black and a lesbian! So, I’m definitely not going there alone” explained the girl

“Of course we’re coming with you” agreed Chloe.

 “Lock the door” intimated Beca once they entered the basement. They reached the electric cabinet and Beca pointed the light of the phone to it “you know how to do that?” she asked

“Yep”

While Cynthia-Rose was working on the cables Beca let herself get lost in the comfort of Chloe’s body pressed up against her back and the girl’s fingers intertwined with her owns. It caused a weird warm sensation, like if it didn’t matter that there was a murderous demon around the house and that they were all going to be slaughtered by it.

When the lights started working again the girls turned around to find Molly covered in Stacie’s blood standing in the middle of the room. Beca whimpered and pressed herself more into Chloe who had pretty much the same reaction, while Cynthia-Rose threw her flashlight to the monster hitting her in the face and gaining them some important seconds

“Go go go go go!” she shouted, and they started to climb the stairs.

As soon as Beca and Chloe were out of the basement door, it slammed shut behind them trapping the other girl inside. They could hear her scream and hit the door trying to open it, so they started doing the same until Beca couldn’t hear her anymore

“Chlo…” she tried, but the red head wouldn’t stop “Chlo-”

“We need to get her out of there Beca!” she cried

“Chlo, it’s too late… she’s gone” she sobbed “we have to go” she added grabbing Chloe’s hand again, but this time it wasn’t enough to calm her.

They started to run towards the door, when the couch slid between them and their target, they turned around to see Molly slowly approaching them.

“You don’t belong here” thundered Molly tilting her head “you didn’t complete the ritual”

“Yes, yes she does” gasped Chloe placing herself in front of Beca “Bree didn’t want her at first, but then she was okay with it”

“Chlo what are you doing?” whispered Beca, but the monster suddenly turned around and walked away “what the fuck?” breathed out Beca in confusion.

They saw Cynthia-Rose crawl out from the basement and ran to help her

“How are you what did she do to you?” asked Chloe helping the girl up to her feet

“Slowly, slowly, I’m injured” she gasped showing them a bleeding wound on her hip “she pushed me downstairs, I must have caught a nail or something”

“Come on, let’s take you to the bathroom, Chloe has a first aid kit” said Beca pushing the girl’s arm around her neck to help her stand.

 On their way to the bathroom, they found Jessica with a tear-stained face standing next to the staircase that led to the second floor, Chloe moved to hug her and saw Ashley’s lying on the floor with her neck broken and some limbs twisted.

“Fuck” sadly whispered Cynthia-Rose rubbing her face with her palm

“Lilly was following us upstairs, Amy got away” sobbed Jessica “I couldn’t leave her”

“It’s okay, come here, it’s okay" tried to comfort her Chloe.

 The group made it to Chloe’s bathroom and the redhead was trying to medicate Cynthia-Rose as best as she could

“What else did you see in horror movies?” asked Beca

“About ghosts? They’re usually here because they have unfinished business- ouch”

“Sorry" whispered Chloe

“ ‘s alright. But those were movies I don’t know- OUCH!”

“I’m done" promised Chloe getting up

“I don’t know if it applies to real ghosts” added Cynthia-Rose

“It’s all we have" huffed Beca “I need to try, and we still need to find Amy"

“I’m coming with you" said Chloe

“No, it’s too dangerous I don’t want you to get hurt”

“You’re not going alone” argued Chloe and Beca gave up

“Alright. Jessica, you stay here with CR”

 Beca and Chloe started to wander around the house, looking for Molly

“Why did you think the ghost was after me?” whispered Beca

“Her name is Molly” corrected her Chloe “and I don’t know…” she trailed off

“You mentioned Aubrey, did she tell the ghost- Molly, to haunt me or something?” suggested Beca

“What? No" gasped the redhead “I just assumed because she’s been here the whole time I was in this house, but since when you moved in, she seemed to be… more nervous” she explained

“I had a dream about her" confessed Beca “I mean I was her. In the dream. The night she died… I think she just wants to be accepted"

They heard a loud noise and suddenly stopped swallowing hard

“we should check that” said Chloe in a tiny voice

“I hope it’s Amy" huffed Beca nodding

 As it turned out it was Amy, but she’d just been thrown against the wall by Molly.

“Amy” shouted Beca without thinking, letting the ghost know they were there

“Beca, finally! Save me, I’m too important to die" screamed Amy trying to free herself, but the monster shoved a hand in her chest ripping her guts out.

“No!” cried Beca “stop it, what do you want from us?” she shouted at the ghost

Molly let Amy’s body fall to the ground and started to walk towards them again.

“You did not respect the ritual" she kept saying, the lights were flashing like crazy and there was wind coming out of nowere

Beca took a step forward “what ritual? What are you talking about?”

Molly pushed her asides and took Chloe by the throat. The redhead gasped trying to free herself from the bloody hand chocking her, but it was pointless

“You must complete the ritual!”

“I’ll do it! I’ll do your ritual” volunteered Beca

Molly instantly let go of Chloe and turned to the brunette

“Bec no" begged Chloe trying to catch her breath

“You are a Bella now!” she declared, confusing both Chloe and the ghost

“I, as co-captain of the Bellas, declare that you have passed the test and are a Bella. You’re one of us" she gulped, her heart was beating so fast it was hard to breathe, like if she’d run a marathon. Chloe had reached her and was standing beside her

“And I, as the other co-captain, approve that" confirmed the redhead.

“Thank you" whispered Molly.

Suddenly the lights stopped flashing and everything seemed to be back to normal. Lilly’s body fell to the ground with a thud and Chloe immediately moved to go check on her but Beca stopped her

“What if she’s faking it?” questioned the brunette

“Why would she fake it?” pointed out Chloe and went to kneel down besides Lilly.

“Is she…” asked Beca

“She’s breathing” assured Chloe relieved

“We should call the police” suggested Jessica once her and Cynthia-Rose joined them.

 The police was still taking their depositions and Lilly was taken away with an ambulance, it was clear that the girls couldn’t have been killed by a person, but the policeman refused to believe their ghost story and kept asking them if they’d taken any drugs or were drunk. He kept bringing up an animal attack, almost like if he was trying to convince them.

Chloe went to sit on the porch next to Beca, both wrapped in those panic blankets they’d only saw in movies before that night.

“You saved my life" she stated humping her with the shoulder

“Well, you tried that first” answered Beca looking down at her feet “I noticed you stepping in front of me"

“Yes, but it turned out she was never after you… she just wanted the head of the sorority to accept her"

“If I only figured that out earlier Amy would still be alive, maybe Ashley too" sniffed Beca

“Hey, look at me” told her Chloe reaching out to gently tilt Beca’s face towards her “it’s not your fault, okay? If anything you saved the rest of us. If it wasn’t for you I…” she trailed off shivering at the memory of that cold hand around her throat

“I’m glad you’re okay" whispered Beca with teary eyes before leaning in to kiss her.

[pressedinthepages]

Redamancy

Latin. verb. the act of loving the one who loves you; a love returned in full.

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Lambert x Reader

Word Count: 1623

Rating: T

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24937177

Masterlist

a/n: Reader Request: By chance can you do a Lambert oneshot of him trying to court the reader?

Tags: @whitewolfandthefox​ ​ @havenoffandoms​ @mishafaye ( Add yourself to my taglist here! )

Warnings: nothing outside of the ordinary swearing, this is fluff at it’s finest. also, this is my first time writing lambert, so let me know what you do/don’t like!

Lambert tries his best to woo you, relying on old traditions to hold your heart.

    You huffed, trying and failing to blow the stray strand of hair out of your eyes. You’d been bent over the counter for upwards of an hour, mixing and kneading wares for the next week. The sweet dough is soft under your fingers, stretching as you dig and pull at the mixture. The dough sticks to your hands and you know that flour dusts across your cheeks like a bizarre set of freckles. You hum lightly as you work, letting yourself be lulled into a peaceful mindlessness. 

    You look up for a moment, stretching the muscles in your shoulders and down your back. Your workbench is nestled along the back wall of your home, a small window just above overlooking the sprawling valley of flowers in the distance. While your little cottage is your slice of paradise, you can’t help thinking that it feels so empty, especially when he’s gone.

    You shake your head and return to your hunched position as you push and punch into the dough. Your mind has always had a penchant for wandering, but you’re determined to focus and get your breads finished before the night is over. Just as you’re about to slice the large batch into smaller portions for baking, you sense something in the room behind you.

    Before you can turn around, though, a large body leans against your back and a hand cups your arse. “Damn, that bread looks almost as delicious as you,” the man growls into your ear before nipping at your shoulder.

    You feel your heart rate settle as you turn to face the familiar voice. Lambert keeps his hands on you as you spin, glancing along your hips as a smug smile dances across his lips. 

    “Lambert,” you chide teasingly, “you know how I hate surprises.”

    His golden eyes glint in the late afternoon sun, mirthful and full of a joy that he keeps reserved just for you. Lambert had followed the scent of sweet baked goods one afternoon last summer, and ever since he had found you up to your elbows in batter, he hasn’t been able to stay away for long. 

    “Ah, I know, love, but when I saw you bent over that table, I just couldn’t help myself…” he leans and whispers into your ear, capturing some of the soft flesh of your neck lightly between his teeth. You sink into his embrace, careful to rest your elbows on his arms so as to not cover him in dough and flour. 

    “I’m glad you’re back, I miss you so when you leave,” you murmur into his neck as you plant gentle kisses along his skin. 

    “Mhm, there’s truly no place I’d rather be,” he kisses along your jaw before meeting your lips, something sweet and delicate barely suppressing the insatiable hunger in his embrace. 

    Regrettably, you pull back, apologetically meeting his confused gaze. “Let me wash this off, then we can continue.” You place a knuckle under his chin as you turn out of his grasp with a cheeky grin. 

    You step outside, Lambert following behind as you stride towards the well in your yard. Before you can reach for the handle, the Witcher hoists the pail from the depths below. You can’t help but watch appreciatively as his muscles swell under his shirt, flexing and shifting with immeasurable strength. 

    As he bends to place the bucket on the ground you rush behind him, planting your hand on his arse and squeezing, Lambert startling back upright at the sensation.

    “Just returning the favor, dear,” you smirk, pulling your hand back to see a perfect outline of flour in its place on the dark fabric. Lambert chuckles darkly, trying to decide if it was dark enough out to just take you right here in the yard without your neighbors seeing. 

    Deciding otherwise, he moves to your side as you dip your hands into the pail. The cool water is refreshing in the warm afternoon, invigorating waves of energy soaring through your skin. You hurriedly wash away the evidence of your craft, water splashing out of the bucket as you scrub.

    Satisfied, you stand once more and take Lambert’s hand, threading your fingers through his. Both of you have hands calloused from years of work and hardship, but for very different reasons. Under your fingers, you can feel his heart thrumming under the skin. A witcher’s heartbeat is always slow, true, but whenever you touch Lambert, hold him close with tender gestures and low words only for him, you can feel it beat just the slightest amount quicker. 

    You pull him back inside, letting him go once you get past the door so that you may cover the dough. Ah, you think to yourself, so much for getting it all finished tonight. 

    When you turn back around, Lambert is...kneeling?

    “Darling, what the fuck are you doing?” You giggle, reaching out to pull him to stand. He shakes his head, staying where he is on the floor.

    “First of all, watch your fucking language.” You laugh heartily, and Lambert does as well. You relish these moments, when the great supposedly impenetrable walls that encase his heart crack and crumble. His laugh is...unique, more of an aggressive bark than what would normally be considered a sound of joy. You know better though, the sound warming your soul as Lambert clears his throat and composes himself, looking up at you with his striking eyes the color of the richest sunset.

    “Ahem,” he starts, and you raise your eyebrows as you hold back a smirk. “I want to be honest with you; I truly have no idea what the hell I am doing.” 

    Your chest shakes with your laughter, but you hold it in, pursing your lips as you huff through your nose.

    “Now, I had the bard help me with this bit, ‘cause I want to get it right and he’s poncy enough to know the proper method of this.” He reaches into his jerkin, pulling a neatly folded slip of parchment into his hand. He holds it aloft in front of him, his free hand flying out in a grand sweeping motion.

    “‘Dearest beloved, I yearn to dedicate an entire volume of poetry to the enrapturing visage of your beauty, but alas I am no poet. So I shall sing your praises in the form of this letter, of which I will read aloud for the world to hear.’”

    You can’t help but smile a bit at his antics, not sure if Jaskier actually gave him proper advice or was just fucking with him. Either way, you felt tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes at the sweetness of the gesture.

    “‘The moment I first stumbled into your life, the sky had only just opened enough for the great glory of the sun to shine onto the petals of flowers left dewy from the dawn fog.’” Lambert’s eyes never left the page as he read, and a slight blush crept up his neck as he continued along. He never was one for grand declarations, but you’re sure that you’ll remember this moment for the rest of your life.

    “‘...and that is why, dearest of hearts, I desperately plead for you to take my heart as yours, carry it with you wherever you may go, and grant me the honor of holding your heart as mine.’”

    At the final word, Lambert returns his gaze back to you, nervous and vulnerable in a way that you’ve never seen in him. You close the distance between the two of you and sink to your knees, meeting him at eye level. 

    Wordlessly, you snake your hand to the back of his head and pull him to you, placing a gentle kiss to his lips. His hands wrap around your waist as he pulls you flush against him, swiftly deepening the kiss as he licks into your mouth. He steals your breath with every movement, his hands desperately grasping onto any part of you they can. You moan into his mouth and move your hands down his chest, moving to undo the laces keeping his jerkin closed.

    As you begin to untie them, Lambert pulls back with another sharp bark of laughter. “I suppose I can take that as a yes?” 

    You undo the knot and slide the armor from his shoulders, letting it pool on the ground as his hands move to the delicate buttons on your shirt. 

    “Oh, my love, you truly didn’t have to do all of that, my heart has been yours since I caught you smiling at me from across the market, before you really let me see you smile,” you murmur against his neck pulling at any bit of fabric you can reach to try and remove it from his body.

    “Mm, well, you deserve so much more than I can offer, so I figured that I should at least try to court you properly.” Lambert’s voice is low, shame tinging the edges of his words. 

    You move to face him, taking his face in your hands and gently stroking the long scar that runs down his cheek. “You listen here, I don’t give a shit what I do or don’t deserve, what matters is what I want, and what I want is you, only you, my Lambert.”

    You move forward to kiss him sweetly once more, pulling him to stand with you. Suddenly, you feel him bend, and the next thing you know you’re in the air, Lambert carrying you in his arms to your bed. You laugh into his lips, resolving to never let go of the sealed up, hardened heart that has begun to melt and turn soft that you have been given.

[smallestclowninthecircus]

Tma season 2 notes baybeee

I made myself take several breaks so I could give my frie d who is listening to it at the same time as me a chance to catch up. Honestly just posting them so I have them saved somewhere but whatever.

ep 41: real graham wrote keep watching before he was replaced. Jon feels like he's being watched. But they werent replaced by things related to the eye. It's the web that's on the box that replaces them. Endless hallways and doors to nowhere. I bet nicholas will have ideas what entity this relates to. If it even does. They're like the tunnels in the one with the builder guy. Tunnels closing in etc. Also like the cave diving one. He's assuming it's just one

ep 42: so 100 gecs? (IM SORRY I LIKE 100 GECS BUT LMAO) so there's some entity related to music right? There's the piper episode and the 27 w/ the calliope. Ah yes, this season is gonna be the season of Paranoid!Jon

ep 43: section 31? fucking books. god no. smashed lights? cult lady did that. covered the lights too. she mentioned a spooky clown doll. thats not random.

ep 44: is this that same circus that got mentioned before? it is! the pipe organ! pop off organ! pipe off! mouth on the stomach! yes! mouths in unusual places my beloved!

ep 45: antiques! like that one ep!

ep 46: every time books get mentioned i sigh. hhh sus smells. it got brighter. I get the vibes occasionally that the dark and the eye are sorta at odds with eachother. GRRR BARK BARK LEITNER. ayyy ex altiora. entity go brr. which entity do we thing it is? my guess is The Dark. The book buyer's name is Mike. He has scars? Electricity? The childhood friend of the guy who got it later on perhaps? The Vast? its formatted like an entity idk. This happened before the other one. He got trapped in the wood carving. a win for the web lol spiders go brr

ep 47: did i hear spiral? ITS THE NOT THING FROM THE EPISODE WITH NOT GRAHAM "it didnt move, it shifted" is like the exact same sentence as before. ay john's starting to remember. the laughing woah thats weird. is "michael" one of the entities? "you make it seem like theres a war" supports my theory that theres a struggle between a couple of the entities. I said i thought it was the eye and the dark i believe but im not sure. its whatever entity michael is vs the worms? what did nicholas say the worms were again? The Corruption? still dont know which one michael is tho.

Had to take a break after that episode. smth about the quality of michael's voice makes me feel like im gonna slip into one of those states where it feels like nothing is real, so i got a nice cold glass of water.

ep 48: jesus ok this one's kidna corny. you're telling me love made the crowd go away come on now. Ur losing it big J. also shouldnt it be more sus that "sasha" is so unaffected by the worm incident/ finding of gertrude's body

ep 49: haven't we heard hector's name before? oh is he the crime guy? fucking jared... so it's a throat? chompa chompa. (it's just a little bit hot) the good part about these episodes is that we know whoever's telling the story isn't gonna die. even if it's a close call, they're not dead. hotworth? ok not jared keay. it bothers me how theres so many repeated names, can they not come up with other names? "sasha"'s computer is breaking... sus. Elias our favorite weed man! jon ur so paranoid lmao

ep 50: robert smirk, at it again. this is like that one episode with the old dude who locked his door. who said idle beforehand? was it smirk? fingertips. thats so weird lmao. bahahah tim

ep 51: simon fairchild. im sure jon will mention the name at the end i cant remember where we've heard it. this is just like the cavediving episode. a hand? there was a hand in the last one right? the scalpel! and an eye thing. she's trying to throw them off.

ep 52: thats the guy from before! with the hearts! god i hate this guy writing the statement hh. lights blowing, and brackish water. we know how this ends but its still tense. rainer? reigner? rain man. we've seen him before

ep 53: pls not a leitner. oh boy mans scratched out his eyes. rip skelly. why would gertrude have had this statement off the books? jon stabbed himself?? bruh im? big man are you okay

ep 54: cockney boys! ayy its our favorite delivery men. she cut out their eyes. she knew that the eye was a thing?

ep 55: oily residue like the retirement home!

ep 56: worms? no. spiders?? bruhh. aaah yelling :(( aww martin anyways yeah i called it about paranoid!jon he needs to take a nap and drink some hot chocolate and calm down for once please

ep 57: just remembered, i think theres an entity called The Lonely?? This feels pretty lonely idk. fairchild, lukas/ lucas, some spooky place in norway idk. "sasha" knew he was recordinig hmm suspicious cmon jon figure it out. Sasha and tom. hm sus. for records sake i feel liek i should note here that I did have it spoiled to me simply that that's not sasha, but thats really all. i assumed it was like the thing that happened to graham in S1

ep 58: i feel like i recognize the name eustice (?) wick. someone please tell me im not just watching jon's descent into madness over the course of this podcast. im hoping it isnt so but, (and pardon the dsmp reference) im getting real wilbur vibes from this one.

ep 59: oh dear ok account from the fielding house. swirling designs? Spiral time? oh boyy. oh wait! 6 inch hole in the middle! is it not a spiderweb type design on the table? thats what i had assumed but that description sounds more like a spiral thing. cobwebs is a Web thing. ayy nicholas was right! the box goes in the table! the place that she kissed him was burning. Raymond is an avatar of The Web and agnes is the burning one. Lightless Flame! Why did she save him? i guess she was against this guy eating ppl or wtvr but why was she at the halfway house then? I think she's like michael.

ep 60: the eye go brr

ep 61: breacon and hope once again. tom. sasha's boyfriend. vampires sleep in coffins. the guy just walking in seems similar to the mind control of the vampires

ep 62: bones! its that one leitner. is this mother keay? the mom of gerard? this is what happened to her right? her skin was found on hooks? oh yeah thats what i thought the pages are made of skin. yeesh. The End!! sounds like an entity. phrased like one, and i think i remember it. are the people trapped in the pages? or... kept?

ep 63: eaten by the darkness! cavediving episode! (just like eaten by the sky) did my brain make up one called The Vast? it feels like it should be one, and all these episodes have some similar description about their feelings when they do whatever chosen hobby they have. ok now this one kinda feels like the dark. lights going out and all that. ok so not really a The Vast thing, its more of a Dark thing. feckin smirk gah.

ep 64: dice! the death guy! the death game thing! the person tricked somebody else into becoming death and then they were immortal? but if the egyptians wanted to kill him or punish him or whatever couldnt they just kill him? it worked in the end when he had the person giving the statement stab him, that did the job and actually killed him

ep 65: finally jon is actually acknowledging something is wrong.

So we know Mary Keay was revived most likely with the book by gerard.

Gertrude was way more aware of the entities than Jon. mary keay referenced The End openly and she cut the eyes out of her magazines and all that which makes me think she was aware of The Eye

ep 66: please not buried alive pleeaase not buried alive. lukas of the tundra? didnt we hear the name lukas before? she wanted it to be difficult to find important files because that way bad people couldnt find them?

ep 67: agnes... the girl in the hilltop house? agnes poppin off!! he's really not gonna question how she knew where he lived?? oh no D: the tree. were they the ones working on the house? aww they kissi- OH DEAR. why did she kiss him? it seemed like she cared about him? also she could kiss that other dude on the cheek and he was fine, but maybe it was cuz she was younger? lightless flame go brrrrr.

ep 68: oh god books. yup its bitchboy leitner. mans said "this seems supernatural, its a werd book!" bruuh.

ep 69: heh nice. aw cmon jon listen to martin. gahhh spiders. is that the class we heard about in the other doctor one with the teeth apple? some kind of psych class? oh dear. fucking spiders. aaaah. web do be goin brr. it's like the girl in the homeless shelter! who made the guy leave and she took his bed.

ep 70: is this gonna be the book that mary keay had? Most likely a leitner no matter what. Oh boy latin. Why did it start in latin then become old English? I'm guessing people put them in the book? He cant burn it. Phrophecies go brr. He says eh it's a decade in the future it's fine. Its gonna have changed. Ayy called it. Just accept it, it's a magic book. His death is getting closer. Leitner didnt make them but just collected them? Gertrude burned the book! She burned them down there so no one would know.

ep 71: oh boy tunnels. Our favorite thing /s. is The Buried a thing? Idk this seems pretty buried. Oh dear he's trapped here isnt he. "Not enough space to move, never enough to breathe" is that from the computer episode? With the guy who uploaded his consciousness? Somebody living down there. Hmmmm. Guesses: tom, sasha's boyfriend. Gertrude herself? (Though I doubt it)

ep 72: sweeney todd moment. Meat. The slaughter? Idk we'll see what the supernatural part is. Meat is meat. Similar to the slaughterhouse episode. Is it fucking Jared I swear to God it better not be. Hooligan teenagers, you know how it is. Meat is me lmao. Is the kid gonna be in the freezer. Ok that's good. OWW. Oddly textured candles. Made from people? Human fat or smth? Tom from the meat processing plant!

ep 73: outer bay shipping. Bet it's a subset of breacon and hope delivery. The Dark go brrr. Uh oh mans is gonna die. Leo or whatever. Cult ppl go brr. The people's church of the divine host. Who is the divine host? Is it reigner or whatever his name is? I dont think Jon can quit tbh. Probably an anonymous tip but from who?? One of the entities?

ep 74: fucking teeth hhh. I dont know which entity is related to teeth. Spiral. Isnt the spiral an entity. It feels like it could be related to many things idk. Yeah this sounds like the spiral. Heart attack at 29? Jesus... michael! That's kinda what I was thinking. Sasha goin in the tunnels. Hmm sus. They move the floor. Wack. Bet its tom.

ep 75: Man with a lightning scar. Has one of the leitner books. The childhood friend of the one who first introduced us to leitner. Oh my god that sounds terrifying. Michael crew.

ep 76: scalpel? Hmm spooky. NotSasha... think jon think.

ep 77: another double! NotThem, The Stranger. Not related to the table?

ep 78: what was that at the beginning? Question mark?? Oh boy more NotThem. Decker... what is the deal with the table. Does it contain the creature? Fucking Michael. Bitchboi himself.

ep 79: yes pop off martin. Ugh fucking Michael just leave man. I hate that dude. New person. Hmm. No idea who it is.

ep 80: shitener himself! Ok sir tell us the entities. Ayy The Spiral. Ok we know what that one is. The Eye is the beholding! Oooh. The Stranger. Did elias just kill leitner? Popping off honestly.

[pinkykitten]

Live ur Life

Stranger Things

Steve Harrington x latina plus size! female reader

Warning: cursing 

Specifics: plus size reader, mexican reader, latin reader, one-shot, romance, fluff, comedy, angst

People: steve, joyce, jonathan, nancy, will, el 

Words: 2,318

Requested: By @glimmercrest​ I can’t live my life without requesting a masterpiece from you. Steve Harrington x Latina plus size reader? reader is a chola but minus the bad makeup. A badass reader who isn’t insecure but is still aware that they aren’t what guys look for. Reader is grunge rebel mechanic biker type also childhood friends with the Byers family and friends with Nancy. Reader begins 2 like Steve after the chaos.They don’t pursue their feelings even tho their friends know. Maybe Steve starts to notice them too?

Authors Note: so this is after season 3. i know anything about cars, mechanics nothing, nada so forgive me if i sound like a total dumb a*s. also i really got the feels with this one and got a bit philosophical.

“Papa, can you hand me that wrench over there?” You asked, your arm waiting patiently stretched out from under the car of the old lady that worked at a laundry mat across the street named Alondra. You worked for your father at his mechanic shop.

Your father quickly got the wrench for you. “Mira, y/n.”

You smile as you got to work on your passion. You were taught at a young age how to fix cars, motorcycles, anything with an engine and you loved that greasy life style. Your father always wanted boys but instead he got you. Lets just say when it came to cars, you were better than sons. 

“Okay mi amor. Your car looks good and you’ve kept it in great shape. She’s a beauty.” You wiped your hands getting the grease off as you unraveled your hair from the bun it was in.

“Bueno, adios Alondra,” you smiled to the old lady, giving her a huge hug and a kiss on the cheek. 

“Gracias mija, say, my grandson is visiting us for the weekend, how about you two go out for the night and spend time together? You are very beautiful and he is so sweet, and strong.”

You laugh as you kiss her cheek again, “goodbye Ms. Alondra.” You knew she was trying to play matchmaker.

“Y/n, someone in the front of the store is waiting for you.” Your father played with his toothpick between his mouth.

You waved to Alondra and walked to the mystery person.

The front door opened making a chiming sound as you saw that it was Nancy. 

“Hey girl, how’s everything?”

Nancy turned around with tears falling from her eyes. It looked like she was crying a lot. “I can’t believe he’s going to leave.” She ran to you with opened arms and cried into your shoulder. “Why does it have to be him?”

You were so caught up in work and making sure your friends and yourself were okay mentally from all the chaos that happened, especially with Max losing her brother that you forgot about the Byers family moving away and El. It was a shock to all and you were devastated as well. Jonathan was like a brother to you. He was your best friend even before all this and the Byers family was like your second home. 

You comforted Nancy saying, “I know baby, I know. Listen, things are going to be hard and they are going to be sh*t but you are strong, you are a strong woman you hear me. You are going to get through this because you have me. I’m here for you girl.” You rubbed her hair with your acrylic nails, feeling so sorry for your best friend. You know Jonathan meant so much to her. They were so cute together and they belonged to one another. 

After you comforted her and soothed her to relax she sat beside you on a crate as you brought coke for you both to enjoy and talk. 

“Its going to be hard for me to say goodbye. I don’t know if I can do it.” Nancy looked at the oncoming traffic, trying to take her mind off of the sadness.

“Yeah I feel ya,” you took a swig. “They meant a lot to me. Life ain’t gonna be the same without them, you know. They made me feel welcomed in a town where nobody really looked like me. Not only am I fat but I am Mexican, they ain’t nobody like me here. I felt like an outsider and they took me and my family in without a second thought.”

“You’re pretty bad a*s and beautiful.” Nancy chuckled. 

You giggled, “yeah, unfortunately Joyce gotta work some things out. After Hopper’s death she needs time. Time has a way of healing wounds but this just shows me that life is precious and its short and you gotta make the best of it.”

“By making the best of it do you mean with Steve?” Nancy wiggled her eyebrows. 

Nancy knew you’ve had a crush Steve. You were always friends with him and never really liked him but it was after all the chaos that you saw his true colors and how happy he made you feel. You slapped Nancy’s leg, “da*n girl you too much!” You were silent. “You never know though where life can take you.”

Later that day was the moving day. Nancy had told you to come even though you rather had said your goodbyes on the phone so no one could see you cry, but you knew you would have regretted it. You drove over to the Byers house in your motorcycle and everyone was there. They were already crying, holding hands, hugging. It all was too much for you. You stormed quickly in their empty house. Shocked by how vacant it was. You remembered all the memories here. All the good times you all shared. It seemed like yesterday. You stood in the bathroom looking at yourself in the mirror. You tried to not cry so your makeup wouldn’t get ruined but it was tough. You finally let it all out but somebody wrapped you up in their arms. 

“C’mon you can’t be crying. I’ve never seen you cry.” Jonathan held your face in his hands, smirking. 

“I hate you sometimes Byers,” you giggled but then cried again. “Why do you have to go?” You hugged him tightly not wanting him to go.

“I have to breathe you know.” he laughed but as you looked up at his face you could tell he wanted to cry as well.

“Dude, you know I got you. You grown, he*l if you want to stay I got an extra room at my house, he*l you could sleep in my bed if you want just please don’t leave me.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Jonathan wiped your tears away. “I’m not leaving you. I might be a ways away but I’m still going to call you everyday to make sure you didn’t beat someones a*s. Besides, my mom needs me. Especially right now, she really needs me.”

You nodded, “I know. There’s just so much I want to say but there is such little time.”

Jonathan hugs you, “we got time. This is not a goodbye, this is a see you later.”

“You better visit dam*it! And you better call everyday cause if you don’t I swear your a*s is grass.” You pointed your long nailed fingers at him. 

Jonathan laughed but then tears came out of his eyes as he embraced you hard.

“Man, why do I gotta love you so much. I’m really gonna miss you. Tú sabes qué, you, you are my family right? You know life ain’t gonna be the same without you guys.”

“Jonathan we gotta go,” Joyce called. 

You walked Jonathan out and everyone was saying their goodbyes. You embraced Joyce and Will. 

“What do you want for Christmas, son?” You shook Will’s hair. 

“That new bike that just came out. It looks really cool,” Will’s eyes lit up.

“You got it kid.” You hugged him as you helped him in the truck.

“You spoil him too much,” Joyce kissed your cheek as you two said goodbye to each other. 

“Hey, since you’re the strong one of the family, you think you can keep an eye on those two stinkers?” You knelt down to El. 

El cried as she nodded.

“Aye mi linda, I’m gonna miss you. You are so important to all of us and we all love you no matter what.”

They all went in the truck and were driving out of the drive way until Jonathan put his window down and called you over. “This frickin boy, ay dios mio.” You ran to him. “What?”

“Life is waiting for you okay. Gratitude, okay. We all should be gracious for the time we have. You are going to achieve so many great things y/n. You just gotta go live.”

A tear fell down as you kissed his cheek. “See you later mi hermano.”

In a haste you rode your motorcycle. You thought about what Jonathan told you. “You just gotta go live.” It kept echoing in your head. You stopped your bike abruptly and hopped off to bang on the door. 

“Hello?” Steve came out in his pjs after going through many interviews with Robin. “Y/n? What are you doing here?”

“Okay, just shut up for a minute and let me speak. Life is short okay. Its really short and sometimes we have regrets and those eat us inside and potentially kill us-”

“Alright what does that have to do with-”

“Shut up. The thing is, I don’t want to have regrets. I don’t want to live my life thinking what if, what if. I want to live. I want my life to mean something and to spend time with the people I care about. Things could change. Life is full of unexpected events. But I don’t want regrets. I don’t want to regret not taking you out. So Steve Harrington, would you do me the pleasure of going out on a date with this thick, fat, churro of a girl? Cause if you don’t go out with me, I might lose my mind, just saying.” 

Steve was hella excited he thought he might explode. He showed off a huge grin and said, “wait here.” He closed to door leaving you waiting for him on your motorcycle. 

Steve never really was that interested in you. He thought you were gorgeous but he assumed you would never fall for him that’s why you two were always friends but in the past couple of weeks he couldn’t take his mind off of you. All he thought about was you. 

“Ready,” Steve brushed his hair with his fingers as he wore his denim jacket, ready for the date. “How do I look?”

You paused, teasing him as you tilted your head to the side. You were leaning against your motorcycle. Your nail tapped your chin lightly as you made believe to think of an answer. “I think you look delicioso,” you combed through his hair with your nails. 

“God talk Spanish to me,” he bit his lips and humped the air jokingly. “What did you say though?”

You hopped on your bike and raised your thin eyebrows, “pero you don’t know?  A woman my dear Steve doesn’t ever share her secrets.” You winked. “Now hop on.” You hit his butt. 

He climbed behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I think I could get used to it.”

“Here, wear this” You gave him your helmet. “Lets ride!”

You stopped at a comfy Mexican food truck. “My cousin owns this bad boy.” You slapped the truck. “Hey papo, what do I got to do to get some good food up in here?”

Your cousin’s head popped out with a smile and he ushered you to sit stating the food was on the house and saying he was going to get the best of the best for you two. He grinned seeing you with Steve, he left mumbling, “finally ella tiene un novio.”

“Wow this place is really cool.” Steve looked around. 

“I’m glad you like it,” you opened up a soda taking a huge chug. 

“I heard Jonathan moved today. I know you guys were close. How was it?”

You bit your nails as you tried to stay cool. 

Steve grabbed your hands, “its okay not to be okay.”

You faked smiled. “It was tough. He’s been there for me through a lot. He’s a good person.”

“Sorry about how I acted when I was young. I was a huge-”

“D*ck?”

He chuckled, “yeah thanks for that but honestly I was. I was really mean and acted super selfish and like I was entitled and sh*t but I’m so glad I’ve changed. I’m done with that Steve. Do you think I’ve changed?”

“Definitely. 100 percent. I remember you used to make fun of my weight and just make fun of me but now you’re pretty rad.”

“Sh*t I’m sorry. God I hate myself sometimes.” His head fell into his hands. 

“Stop. Sometimes we do things we’re not proud of. We’re not perfect, the important thing is if we change. I’ve changed. I remember I was this insecure little b*tch when I was young. I hated how I let people walk all over me and that I thought I didn’t deserve love or happiness. I changed and I’m never going to think like that again.”

Suddenly, these group of guys started to point and laugh at you. They made fun of your outfit and your weight. You rolled your eyes. “Excuse me.”

“No excuse me,” Steve stood up to those guys. “Why don’t you guys just leave her alone? You think you’re way better than anyone else but you all just need to get the h*ll out of here. Why don’t you go to the mirror and make fun of yourself? That would be super entertaining.”

The guys shut up as Steve smirked at you. “Needed to teach those guys a lesson.”

“Not bad Harrington, not bad.”

You two ate your dinner while your cousin blasted the news to all your family members and they are setting up the wedding date and everything. 

“I’m stuffed,” you hopped on your motorcycle. “Where to now Steve?”

Steve went behind you and rested his hands near your butt. “Why don’t we be like those cheesy movies and ride to a cliff or to a part where it looks over the town. Maybe make out there or talk who knows, wherever the wind takes us and we can just chill.”

You bit your lip as you grinned, “eh, its only 10:15. I got time to spare.” You revved up your bike and set off to your destination, ready to start this new journey called life. 

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