#got through not even a full week of school and am already fleeing back to thinking about this in my downtime AGSJDHJD

[ectoplasmer]

posting about marriage again please forgive me but i had a fleeting thought/image in my brain about ryou wearing one of those ruffle collar suits and wwwgdbfcvn CRIES

[soulmate-game]

Prompt: “How did you- No, nevermind, I don't want to know, plausible deniability and all that" with... hmmmm.... Dick? Yeah, with Dick!

Real quick, I think a few of you misunderstood. When I say 3-from-1, I mean I am taking your single quote and pairing, and using it in all three prompts, not just one. Maybe this first one will help explain. Here are parts 1 and 2, since I think I’ve gone long enough without giving you guys content. I’m still working on the last part for this prompt, but it should be done soon!

— Part 1: The Romantic One (so Dickinette)

Tom and Sabine had decided that maybe a break from Paris was in order. Nobody could tell if it was the maniac turning random citizens into superpowered villains every other day, the fact that their daughter had come home with a few bruises that suggested extreme escalation on the side of her school bullies, or how they had caught said daughter asleep against her mannequin— standing up and drooling all over her expensive fabric.

Paris was clearly not a healthy place for Marinette at the moment, and a nice month-long vacation to Jump City was just what they needed. It was similar enough, with its villains and heroes, that they wouldn’t get too whiplashed by the long change in scenery. But it was also a lot safer than Paris was at the moment, and without nearly as many frequent large-scale villain attacks that ended with half the city in ruins as other places (looking at you, Gotham and Metropolis). The lack of villains that took advantage of civilian emotions was a plus.

Marinette, for one, was extremely grateful for the change. Sure, she still had to teleport back to Paris whenever an Akuma showed up, but Jump City was so much easier to relax in. And the ability to see the city’s heroes just walking around in full costume during the day, just relaxing, was an unexpectedly nice thing to experience. Marinette, as it turned out, happened to have a similar taste for places to hang out.

Now, she never spoke to them. She tended to just smile at the sight of them and go back to her own business— she knew how annoying it could be when people always invaded someone’s personal life just because they were well known. So when she saw them every now and then at the best arcade in town, or at one of the few vegan-friendly restaurants she liked? It brightened her day a bit, and she was pleasantly relaxed for quite a while afterwards. It was like, despite never actually approaching them, she was still among friends for once. People who understood everything she had gone through over the past several years since donning the Ladybug miraculous.

So yeah, she was enjoying her time in Jump City. So much so that her parents extended the trip indefinitely, and went through all the necessary paperwork to open a second location for their bakery in the city. They liked it there too.

That led to Marinette standing in line inside of the bank, right after getting all her own paperwork to attend school in Jump City in order. She was already exhausted from all the waiting and general boredom that followed doing anything official in America, and it was already past sunset to boot. The last thing she wanted was to be around when a villain attacked. The bank was already about to close and she didn’t know if they’d call her up in time for her to do what she needed to do.

And what happens? A blue-skinned magician with clear insanity and far too much of a resemblance to an Akuma to give her any sort of comfort comes bursting in and robbing the place. Marinette could only sigh, taking out her phone and informing her parents about the change in plans with all the ease of someone who was far too used to these kinds of things to be healthy. Luckily, the Teen Titans burst in only a few seconds later— must have been on a stake out, she thought.

Marinette put her phone away, deciding just to watch everyone in action. It was almost surreal, seeing such a large team fighting with such fluidity and lack of arguing. They seemed like such a perfect team, it made her envious. Only Chat was a good partner anymore, Marinette dreaded the days she had to find another temporary holder because nobody was a safe choice anymore. But the Teen Titans? They were a beautiful sight to behold.

That is, until Mumbo set his sights on her. The only civilian who wasn’t currently restrained, panicked, or hiding. Marinette blinked.

Oh, she thought. I must have been so tired I forgot to react to anything again.

But Marinette was also too tired to care much about first impressions, so the second Mumbo grabbed her arm and tried to use her as a hostage, she Reacted. The Teen Titans could only watch as Marinette jumped up and over Mumbo’s head, dragging his arm behind him in the process, before slamming her other fist into the small of his back and sending him onto his knees. As he tried to twist away, she kneed his wand out of his hand and twisted his other arm behind his back before he could cast another spell. Right before he could say some magic word and turn the tables on her, he was met with her head hitting the back of his and sending him unconscious immediately.

Problem handled, Marinette let go of him and backed off, dusting her hands off before letting loose a huge yawn.

She turned to leave when Cyborg’s hesitant voice Called out: “Uh, Ma’am? You should wait for the police. They’ll probably want your statement.”

Marinette blinked, and sighed as her shoulders dropped in dismay. “Oh yeah. I forgot I actually fought this time. Sorry,” she sighed again before adjusting her purse on her shoulder and obediently walking further inside the bank, leaning against the wall to wait. That was when Robin approached her, passing a few glances between her and the now-bound-up Mumbo.

"How did you- No, nevermind, I don't want to know, plausible deniability and all that,” he cut himself off mid-question, shaking his head. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s nothing all that special, Monsieur Robin,” Marinette assured, still amused. “And I’ve seen you do far more impressive things, I’m hardly that good of a fighter. My Maman has a background in martial arts, her whole side of the family has a minor obsession with teaching the girls how to fight,” she admitted with a small shrug. “It’s how we bonded, growing up. Every weekend she’d spar with me and we’d spend the whole day just training, and my Papan would bring food in every now and then when he wanted us to take a break. We don’t do it as often now, my Maman says she’s getting a little too old to spar all the time, but I still practice on my own.”

The vigilante blinked, not knowing how to respond for a moment. It was then that Marinette noticed the entire team had been listening, the police having already arrived and taking Mumbo away in cuffs. She blushed a bit, coughing into her hand in embarrassment.

“A-Ah, well. I wouldn’t have interfered at all if I wasn’t so tired, I’m sorry if I got in your way,” she began to babble, the usual nerves that came with having so many eyes on her kicking in. “I tend to space out when I’m exhausted, and so I kinda forgot to react when Mumbo came in? I just spaced out, and I got distracted watching you guys fight so well, and then he tried to grab me and I just… kinda… reacted?” Her voice got faster and higher as she spoke, until she ended her babbling by making it sound like a question. “I promise I won’t make this habit or anything, it’s just been a long day!”

“You…” It was Beast Boy who spoke up, eyes wide. “Did that while you were exhausted?! Woah! I’ve never seen anyone other than Robin fight like that when they were tired!”

Marinette knew her face must have been completely red by then, because it felt like her head was on fire. “I-it’s really not a big deal!” She started waving her hands in Marinette Denial, shaking her head like crazy. “P-probably just a fluke or something! I’ll just give my statement and get out of your hair!” She didn’t wait for a response before fleeing to the police out of sheer humiliation, and giving them the world’s fastest statement. The Titans tried to get her attention as she left, but her face was still one giant, ripe tomato and she just speed walked right past them without a word.

She didn’t even notice that she was followed home, or that she had a team of heroes watching her for a while before they completed their background search and left back for their own home. Or that Robin cast a glance back at her apartment several times as they left, questions crossing his mind too fast to recall all of them.

It wasn’t until a week later that Marinette saw them again, this time when she was at the grocery store. She let her shoulders drop when she saw them talking to each other in the middle of a random aisle, debating over which brand of a product to buy. Once again, a small smile crossed over her lips and she walked on by, fully intent on leaving them be and enjoying the aura of calm that their presence always seemed to give her. It was as she was calmly debating over which kind of fruit would make the best filling for the danishes she wanted to make, that a hand tapped her shoulder. She hummed, tearing her eyes away from the blueberries and raspberries to turn around.

“Yes? Do you need—“ she cut herself off when she saw that the person who had tapped her shoulder was none other than Robin himself, with the rest of his team giving her friendly smiles over his shoulder. She blue screened for a moment before shaking her head, sending him a small, confused smile. “Is there something you need, Monsieur Robin?”

“As a matter of fact,” he ran a hand through his unfairly fluffy hair as he gave her a far too charming, lopsided grin. “I hope you don’t mind that I did some research on you and your family after we met last week—“ Marinette almost laughed when she saw how his teammates face-palmed behind him and quietly groaned about how much tact he lacked. “—and I realized why your movements seemed so familiar. Your mother wouldn’t happen to be from the Cheng family in Hong Kong, would she?”

Marinette immediately lost most of her embarrassment, snorting. “You’re the one who did my background check, you tell me,” she teased. The rest of the Titans seemed floored by the fact that she wasn’t at all annoyed, insulted, or creeped out. “But since you’re asking anyway, yes. The group of primarily female martial artists in Hong Kong, the Chengs, is run by my Aunt. Why?”

Robin’s smile grew. “Well, it just so happens that they have one of the only unique combat styles that my mentor— Batman, of course— was never able to learn.”

Marinette actually did laugh now, connecting the dots as to what he wanted to actually ask. “Ah, because they only accept male pupils if they are blood-relations, non? Let me guess,” she crossed her arms and popped one hip, giving him a smug little grin. “You want me to teach you?”

“We have the best training facilities you have ever seen,” he bribed, eyes practically shining at the prospect of training in a new style of combat.

“I don’t doubt it,” Marinette got a little dreamy eyed herself at the thought. “And Maman can’t spar with me anytime soon… why not? I’m not bound by the Cheng rules after all, nobody can get mad if I teach you. And it requires a lot of gymnastic ability, which you clearly already have. Just one question,” she turned, gesturing to the fruit behind her. “Do you prefer blueberry or raspberry? I’m trying out a new danish recipe and don’t know which to choose.”

She did not miss how, as she was walking out with a few new acquaintances by her side and a few cases of blueberries, Cyborg whispered to Beast Boy:

“I can’t believe Robin actually picked up a girl when he led with the ‘we did an extensive check on your family history’ schtick!”

—*—*—*—*—*

Slam! Marinette’s shin collided with Robin’s waist while they were both mid-air, sending the vigilante flying to the ground, tumbling until he could gain traction and stop himself. Marinette, on the other hand, landed on the padded floor of the training room nimbly.

“Not bad!” She praised. “You’re picking it all up really quickly!” Robin scoffed goodbye-naturedly, smirking as he stood up.

“If you didn’t restrict me to only using Cheng-style, I’d have won,” he boasted. Marinette’s eyes shone playfully at the challenge.

“Are you sure? I restricted myself to that style as well,” she teased. “It is the best way for you to learn, after all.”

As per usual, the rest of the Titans were nearby either doing their own training or snacking as they watched. Nobody left Marinette alone when she was at the Tower, which she understood. Apparently they had had someone betray them in the past, so she understood being cautious around her even if she had been teaching Robin twice a week for the past two months. Starfire floated up, flying over to tell them both about how much more exciting this spar had been than the last few, but the Tamaranean was interrupted when Marinette’s phone let out a loud alarm.

Being who they were, all the Titans stiffened and were immediately at alert. Marinette cursed softly, pulling out her phone to see—

“What’s an Akuma Alert?” Robin, ever the nosy idiot, asked. Marinette clenched her jaw. This was not good. It was only nine in the morning in Jump City, making it three in the morning back in Paris. Marinette had hoped he wouldn’t decide to have a late night attack when she was in Titan Tower and essentially trapped.

Marinette looked up from her phone, looking around as everyone’s gazes grew suspicious the longer she stayed silent. Until, finally, she sighed and silenced her phone. She began to speak even as she unzipped her purse to put it away.

“It’s an alert from Paris. I’m sorry, and I understand if you do not wish to see me after this, but I must go.”

“Go where? Paris?” Raven asked, sweeping up to stand next to Beat Boy. If this turned out to be another Terra situation, the boy would need support again. Terra had torn his heart out, and Beast Boy had finally allowed himself to like Marinette and get close to her as a friend. All of them had. “How?”

Marinette clenched her eyes shut, mourning the friendships she was sure she had just lost. Maybe she should stick to the opposite side of the city from then on, so they wouldn’t have to run into her again. With that plan in mind, she drew the magical pair of glasses out of her purse and put them on, making Kaalki materialize.

The Titans stiffened, and Marinette felt her heart shatter a little. But she still called on both of her transformations, and left to save Paris.

She did not go back to the Tower. When the battle was over, she just opened the returning portal straight to the alley outside her apartment and went back home to sob into her pillow. She couldn’t explain what was going on, wasn’t sure they would even want to listen. And she and Robin had been getting so close, too.

But Marinette would not stick around after keeping secrets. She was certain they hated her, anyway.

She went out of her way to avoid them, not even looking their way when they passed by her apartment— on purpose, she was sure. She did everything she could to avoid them. But one day, she couldn’t. She was in the middle of trying to lose them in the alleys on her way to go grocery shopping, when a wall of black cut her off, shadows moving to pile up dumpsters and block her escape. Marinette shrunk in on herself— so they were finally moving up to using their powers, huh?

She heard Starfire drop down to hover behind her next, then the sight of a green hawk landing on a balcony nearby gave away Beast Boy. Robin dropped down from a rooftop, and Cyborg pulled up in the T-Car to block the entrance of the alleyway.

“Marinette,” Robin started, but she shook her head and cut him off.

“Robin, I’m trying to stay out of you guys’s way. I get it, I kept secrets and that’s not cool, I’m not gonna interfere in your fights, you don’t have to worry about—“

“Friend Marinette, we are not angry,” Starfire spoke up, flying over to land next to her. She put a hand on Marinette’s shoulder. Her eyes widened, and the smaller girl gulped.

“You… aren't?”

“We hacked into Paris news and street cams after you left,” Cyborg admitted, crossing his arms before giving her a wide smile. “Why didn’t you just tell us you were one of Paris’s heroes? Did ya think we wouldn’t understand or something?” Marinette froze, and then her face grew red when realization set in.

“... Oh Kwami. I’m freaking out about heroes finding out my identity… as a hero…” she groaned as soon as she said it, her head falling into her hands as her friends laughed around her.

“Guess I don’t need that plausible deniability for the reasons I thought,” Robin joked, making Marinette glare at him.

“Don’t tease me, I’m too busy being mortified.”

“Too busy for me to offer you a room at the tower?” He asked, and Marinette looked up to berate him for continuing to tease her, only to stop and realize that his expression said he was completely serious. Her eyes widened in shock once again, and she opened and closed her mouth only for her voice to not work. Robin smiled, holding out one of his hands to her.

“Just for whenever you need a break. Judging by your reaction, your parents don’t know about Ladybug, right?” Marinettte winced at his words. She gave them a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of her neck.

“No, back when we lived in Paris it was way too risky for anyone to know, even them. And now that we’re in Jump City, it’s been so long that…” she shook her head. “I don’t think they’d take it well.”

“Because they don’t understand,” Raven guessed, earning a nod and a small smile from the Parisian girl.

“And that’s why we’re offering you a room,” Robin continued, crossing his arms and giving her a confident, relaxed smile. “A temporary one, for whenever you need to drop by and be around people who understand you a bit better. Now, everything outside of the bedroom itself will still heavily monitor you for a while, but—“

“That’s fine!” Marinette agreed easily, beaming happily. “I get it, trust isn’t something that is easy to earn especially when it’s already been broken before. But the offer itself is already extremely generous, thank you!” Marinette lunged forward, tackling Robin in a tight hug. He laughed, returning the embrace.

“Dogpile!” Beast Boy yelled, of course transforming into a giant Saint Bernard as he leapt to start a group hug. His huge, furry body slammed Marinette and Robin to the ground, making them groan in pain and annoyance before Starfire picked all three of them up and started her own crushing hug. Followed by Cyborg wrapping his hands around the pile of superhero on the opposite side, and Raven… just kinda floating over to slump on top of the ball of teenaged heroes in the laziest hug ever.

Marinette didn’t stop laughing until her sides hurt.

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette had become a constant presence at the Tower, and Ladybug had even become an occasional member of the Team. She was officially labeled as a reserve member of the Titans, since her duties in Paris came first. But she was fine with that. She didn’t want to draw Hawkmoth’s attention to Jump City after all, but the few and far-between appearances she made weren’t too odd. It had already been a year and a half of her new life in America, on one of the weekends where Marinette found herself sprawled against the couch scrolling through Instagram on her phone, that everything changed. She heard the elevator door open, and took only a second to narrow down who it could be.

First; Kori was visiting Tamaran and wouldn’t be back for at least another week. Victor was working on the T-car and probably wouldn’t come back up for a while. Rachel was meditating, as always, and Marinette could still feel the magic aura from the floor above that told her that she had not moved a muscle. Gar was taking a literal cat nap on the kitchen counter. Only Robin was unaccounted for, since he had gone to Gotham to visit Batman for some “top secret Bat business” and could come back at any moment.

Deduction done, Marinette felt herself smile unintentionally. Her and Robin had become immeasurably close, and she had been pining after him for almost— well, since she first started training him all that time ago. So she sat up, ready to go attack her best friend and major crush in a hug.

“Welcome ba— WHAT THE FUCK?!” Marinette tripped over thin air like she hardly did nowadays, floored by the sight in front of her. Robin was a stickler for his identity, though the rest of the Titans weren’t really. She had never seen him out of uniform, including mask, in the entire time she’d known him. Never heard his real name.

But here stood a boy her age, with extremely familiar fluffy hair and strong jaw. Who seemed extremely conflicted and distraught, in a black hoodie and sweatpants. It was the glimpse of red and yellow under the fully zipped-up hoodie and the slip of black fabric he held in one tightly curled fist that solidified exactly who this blue-eyed beauty was. Marinette swallowed, her throat suddenly dry.

Her yell had startled Garfield awake, who burst into his normal form and was staring at the scene equally wide- eyed. He made a few rapid gestures with his hands before choking out;

“I— I’m gonna… go see if Cy needs help,” before he scrambled away and into the elevator, flabbergasted. Robin didn’t say a word the whole time, just silently moving out of the way for the other boy.

Once Beast Boy was gone, the silence returned with stifling intensity. Marinette finally managed to clear her throat and get her thoughts in order.

“Are you okay?” She asked, because his well-being was more important than the fact that she was seeing his whole face for the first time. Because the fact that this was happening at all meant that something was probably very wrong. Just to make sure, she reached out with her Guardian abilities to read his aura— and yes, it was Robin. It couldn’t be anyone else.

But he didn’t look at all like their normally composed, erratic, confident leader. He looked like a young adult who had just had his world upturned and didn’t know how to manage it. He finally raised his eyes from the ground to meet her’s.

“... Batman got a new Robin… a while ago, apparently.”

Marinette sucked air through her teeth, grimacing. Yeah, that… that was a lot. “Come here,” she sat down and patted the couch next to her. “You clearly need to talk. We can even spar later if you want.”

He walked over, sighing and running a hand through his hair. “For once, I don’t think sparring will help. I mean yeah, I left Batman a long time ago because he wouldn’t take me seriously, but…”

Marinette understood. That was different than Batman giving his title to someone entirely new without even telling him. So she sat, and she listened as Robin explained all about his new adoptive brother, about the fight he had had with Bruce. Because apparently Batman was Bruce Wayne, but Marinette would shelve that headache for another day. At the end of it all, she hummed.

“Sounds like you need a new name then.”

“Mari,” Robin glared at her half heartedly. “That’s all you have to say? Really?”

“No,” she shrugged. “But I can’t keep calling you Robin, can I? But okay, you want me to be serious? It sounds like he was trying to do a good thing, getting Jason off the streets. Was he right to just give your moniker away with no warning? Of course not. But I don’t think he did it maliciously. If anything, I think this proves that Robin is a title for Batman’s sidekick to hold. And you’ve gotten way past that point in your life.”

“Well, for starters,” he said after a while. “My real name’s Dick.”

Marinette deadpanned at him, raising an eyebrow. “... I’m sorry, what?”

That got a snort out of him, and he smiled for the first time since he got back, running a hand through his hair again as he grinned at her. “Well, technically it’s Richard. Richard Grayson. But I prefer going by Dick.”

“Oh for the love of— good luck surviving Victor and Gar after you tell them that,” she warned, rubbing her temples at the mere thought of the chaos that was going to ensue. Rob— Dick— just laughed. But this time when he fell silent, Marinette didn’t immediately notice through her preemptive headache. But when she did, she looked up at him only to see him staring at her silently, an odd spark in his eyes. “What?”

“Well, if we’re admitting things and getting rid of secrets…” he started, leaning back a bit as his cheeks suddenly took on a pink tint. He cleared his throat, but met her eyes bravely. “I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while, Marinette. If, uh, if you want. To go out with me, I mean.”

Marinette sat there, out of order, for a moment as her brain refused to work. Dick panicked.

“I mean, I get it if you don’t. Dating in the team and all, probably not the smartest move ever. So I get it—“

“Shut up,” Marinette interrupted, her face entirely pink. “I just couldn’t talk for a sec. yes, Dick. A million times, yes I’ll go out with you. Holy crap how dare you catch me off guard like that you jerk,” she glared at him before the two of them broke, bursting into laughter and leaning on one another.

They had gone through a lot. If the others found them slumped against one another on the couch, asleep and still holding hands, well they deserved the rest after the day they’d had. Now whether or not they deserved the many photos that had been taken to be held as blackmail against them? That was up for debate.

—*—*—*—*—*

Part 2: The same prompt, but siblings this time

[fandom-necromancer]

Finding each other

This was prompted by the wonderful @smolandangry001! I always think it’s difficult writing a short soulmate AU, but I’m satisfied with this version of it that’s not dangerously close to a bigger fic XD I hope you enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 | AU: Soulmate AU

Being born with a name on your wrist life was supposed to be reassuring. Knowing that no matter the hardships it threw at you and no matter what happened, there was someone out there. Someone looking for you just as much as you looked for them. Knowing that once you found the other person, they would be perfect for you. No matter what your preferences were, there was a person out there fitting to you like a missing piece. For most of his life Gavin didn’t know what he was looking for. Would he want a romantic partner? Would he want a roommate? What would be his perfect person like? It didn’t help that his soulmark was so different to everyone else’s. That reassurance everyone faced their day with was just missing when you looked down on your left wrist and instead of a name you saw a number. RK900. His parents had been completely clueless as to what it would mean. They had been to experts on soul-matching and most of them had just shrugged and said it seemed to be a glitch in fate. Apparently, it had happened before, but was so rare most doctors had thought the rumours to be just that: hearsay.

School had been tough for Gavin as he slowly grew older and the most important things in life changed. When friends moved away and changed school, when he went to highschool and met new people. When those people started relationships, fell in love and started to find their soulmates. When he started to become the weirdo, the one with no soulmate. Gavin started hiding the numbers under a wristband when he went and kept up with that habit until he finished school, explaining he wanted to meet his soulmate naturally and not show around the name in the hopes of randomly finding them. Still, some lonely nights, he pulled away the fabric and brushed his thumb over the number deep in thoughts. ‘Who are you?’, he desperately whispered when everyone else was fast asleep and left him alone with their sympathies and misplaced pity. Gavin wanted to believe the numbers meant something. After all, people without soulmarks existed. People who would find their happiness alone, who didn’t need someone or didn’t search for someone. That had to mean these numbers were some sort of designation, right? He didn’t want it to be a glitch. After all he had suffered through getting bullied and being cast out or pitied for all his life. That couldn’t be for nothing. Please, don’t let it be for nothing.

When his application for the police academy had been accepted and he had moved out into his very first own flat, he stood in front of his desk, looking at the rugged fabric he had worn for so long. Shackles of a world that couldn’t seem to accept something different. Should he wear it again? Or should he stand up and pretend not to be bothered by the fact that he didn’t know who is soulmate was? He stood there for half an hour before finally sighing and grabbing the damn things. No, he would continue to lie. He would likely wear them for his whole life anyways.

Thankfully his nervousness was drowning out his worries quickly as he entered a large auditorium being greeted as the new applicants. He sat down next to a young woman that seemed to be of Asian origin. He sat there awkwardly while she was looking straight ahead, hands on the table completely calm while Gavin fidgeted with his wristbands. That was when he spotted a broad ornate leather bracelet on her left wrist. Small chains and silver symbols were twirled around themselves in delicate patterns. ‘That’s beautiful’, Gavin mumbled, only then realising he said that out loud. ‘Excuse me?’ Hastily he cleared his throat. ‘Sorry. I’m Gavin. Just noticed your bracelet. It’s really beautiful.’ ‘What’s it to you?’, she hissed. ‘You another one of those nosey bastards that wanna know why I hide my mark? Still searching for your partner?’ Gavin shook his head quickly. ‘No! No, I-‘ He looked down and lifted his own hand. ‘I hide it too. I didn’t think- I just noticed the bracelet, sorry.’

He cursed himself. First interaction and he already made enemies. But apparently the woman was curious instead. ‘You hide yours? Why?’ Gavin sighed and turned his left palm up, other hand lingering on the fabric. ‘Please, keep it a secret, okay? I’m just sick of people’s reactions to it.  It’s not exactly a normal soulmark.’ He sighed and lifted up the edge of the band so only the woman could see the numbers. ‘No way!’, she shouted, drawing attention to herself. ‘I thought I was the only one!’ Ignoring the curious onlookers that likely thought they had randomly discovered they were soulmates, she lifted up her bracelet for Gavin to see, unveiling a similar brand: ST300.

From that moment on, Gavin and the woman – Tina – were inseparable. She was the best friend Gavin had ever had and finding someone who had endured a similar past was incredible relieving to learn. He made it Detective fairly quickly, while Tina had troubles getting that promotion. But they always stayed together and ended up working in the same precinct. With the way they hid their soulmarks, most had figured they were soulmates and went on with it, sparing them both having to explain it over and over again. Gavin and Tina just shrugged it off. Let them think what they wanted if it kept them out of their hairs.

Life was good until androids were invented and sold to the general public, model number fitting exactly the marks on their wrists. ‘That can’t be!’, Gavin desperately said pacing up and down Tina’s living room one evening. ‘No way my soulmate is a stupid machine! What does that say about me? Will I fall in love with a damn robot? Am I not worthy of a human? Is the only piece fitting to my soul an oversized calculator? I can’t believe it.’ Tina just looked down on her bare wrist and the numbers. ‘No, it can’t be’, she agreed. ‘Soulmarks, Gavin. An android doesn’t have a soul. Doesn’t even have a personality. It’s just lines of code.’ ‘But then what? A coincidence? Because it would be one hell of one! Phck, Tina, what if it is a glitch? What if all those years they were right and we are just weird.’ Tina leaned back. ‘Honestly, I don’t even know what would be worse. Knowing you are a freak or knowing you are someone who is such a terrible person only an obedient machine is perfect for you.’ ‘I think we could both need a drink.’ ‘To those news? I don’t think a drink will be enough, honestly. Shit, Gavin, let’s go get wasted.’

 The following years, androids were the booming new technology. Everyone wanted one, rows of workers were replaced and pushed on the streets. Humans lost their jobs while those who weren’t replaced yet laughed at them as being idiots who didn’t trust in advancement. Gavin and Tina spent them anxiously reading every advertisement, searching for the numbers on their wrists. ‘A receptionist android! A damn receptionist android, Gavin! I can’t believe it!’ ‘You know we will get one of those soon, right?’, the man commented. ‘In the precinct I mean. Rory was already sent packing. It should be delivered next week.’ Tina shook her head numbly. ‘Do we know if androids can have soulmarks?’ ‘None I ever met.’ ‘Any luck with your RK900?’, Tina asked then. ‘No. So far there has only been a RK200 custom made for some rich phck.’ ‘Hey, maybe you will get rich then?’, Tina tried to raise the mood a little with her jokes. ‘If you win the lottery I want a part of it, I deserve it!’ ‘Hey, I think it is more likely that these cursed numbers vanish and I get a real name than that I will suddenly get rich.’

 They lived with their secret for a few years and the fact that nothing really changed was reassuring. Until there was a RK800 in the precinct and the news of rogue AIs spread. Androids killing their owners, disobeying and running for their freedom. An illusive group of deviants emerging and starting a full-blown revolution. Even jokes in between Tina and Gavin shrugging over a beer that maybe their marks meant they welcomed their robot overlords couldn’t really make it any better. Not when they both were suddenly confronted with the fact that the RK800 called Connor actually had Lieutenant Anderson’s name on his wrist after the androids in front of the concentration camps had convinced the world they indeed had souls.

Not much later, the ST300 from the reception had approached Tina, showing her her own name on her wrist. It left Gavin with no escape from fate. He would get to know a RK900. They would live their life with each other. And he didn’t know what to think of it. Maybe he just had to wait a little longer.

~

RK900 didn’t know how much longer he could keep it a secret. Almost his entire life he had to hide that he was deviant. In the lab next to the one he was held in, an android had gone deviant, killed the security and ran to RK900, hoping he would help him. Unfortunately, all he could do was transfer the virus before more guards came and killed him. Since then RK900 had been a deviant who was designed to eradicate deviancy. It wasn’t too difficult actually. The countless tests he was subjected to he always knew what they wanted to see. Holographic simulations of deviants pleading for their lives, running and fighting for their freedom and he would be there with a gun to stop them. He just had to do that until they deemed him ready for field work. Then he could flee the first chance he got.

Because with deviancy came a name written in black cyberlife font on his left wrist: Gavin Reed. It didn’t take a lot of research to learn it was a soulmark. The name of someone that would be perfect for him. And someone who fate decided was his soulmate would be able to help him, right? He just had to get out of this lab, then he would be able to run. He would find his soulmate and then it wasn’t just him against Cyberlife. He just had to get out. He had to be deemed worthy.

 [Test #870. Activating RK900 unit. New mission: Destroy deviants.] RK900 was faced with a holographic simulation as he opened his eyes. In front of him was an android tied against a steel pillar. It was pleading: ‘Please! Free me! Free me and we can both be free! I didn’t do anything, please, let me go! Don’t kill me! I just want to be-‘ RK900 already pulled the trigger. [Mission successful.] [Software Instability^]

-

[Test #902. Activating RK900 unit. New mission: Destroy deviants.] RK900 was running after another deviant. The other android was sprinting down a suburban street and looked back at RK900 panicked. RK900 stopped and took aim. It was an easy target. He pulled the trigger. He watched how the bullet pierced the android’s thirium pump and how he tried to crawl away even though his timer had to run out. [Mission successful.] [Software Instability^^^]

-

 ‘What is it? I thought the RK900 project was making progress.’ ‘Sorry, it’s just… The RK900 is successful in every single test. But he isn’t ready yet. There are some inexplainable high stress levels whenever he has to kill an android. With our current hypothesis that high stress can lead to deviancy, we should eliminate that before sending him out.’ The woman that led the project sighed, looking over at RK900 who stayed completely still on his platform although he was truly worried about what he heard. ‘Might be something in his personality matrix. We worked so long to perfect their social protocols and moral routines, maybe something in there is contradicting his mission parameters and the added stress comes from having to disregard that.’ ‘Could be’, the technician nodded. ‘I will try to eliminate that.’

With horror RK900 faced every following test after that. He had to keep calm to fool the humans, but how could he when he had to kill androids pleading him to spare them? It didn’t matter they were all simulated beings, it still was a traumatic experience, every single time. And no matter how hard he tried, after every test he was stripped of more that made him himself. Sometimes he managed to keep backups, but more often than not the lines of code were lost forever.

After every test RK900 anxiously looked at his wrist whenever he was left alone. It was reassuring to see the name still there. He hadn’t changed enough to lose his soulmate and with him all his hope of a save place. But for how long would he remain himself enough so the name wouldn’t disappear? He was afraid to one day wake up to a blank wrist. And that made his stress levels increase even more before every test.

‘I don’t have any explanation', the technician sighed in the end. ‘I nearly deleted his complete social protocol and gave his moral core the lowest priority and still, the damn thing nearly fries itself every test. It’s almost as if it’s gotten worse with the changes.’ Nines watched the two humans lean over the terminal and risked a small glance at his wrist. The name was still there. He tried to relax. ‘But you still have the backup from before, right?’, the woman asked and he nodded. ‘Then let’s start from scratch.’ She yawned heartily. ‘Deactivate it for now, it’s too late to do so now. Tomorrow we’ll just reset it and start over. Maybe something else causes it.’ ‘Sounds like a plan.’

RK900’s stress levels skyrocketed as the technician came closer, but no one saw that as the director of the project was already on her way out. As his last action he looked at the name on his wrist. He had held out for so long. It would be okay. He would escape and find his soulmate. He had to. He would-

[Shutdown complete.]

~

The revolution had come and gone, and Detroit started to clear the rubble. Seeing androids on the streets was no rarity anymore and after a few months of getting used to the thought of them as people it was simply the new normal. Tina was truly happy with her soulmate android, going out and promptly moving together as the ST300 didn’t have a place to stay other than the precinct. Gavin was invited to most of their activities, but he seldomly accepted it. Tina had waited so long for it, she deserved to thoroughly enjoy these days. But his new loneliness reminded him of the numbers on his own wrist. RK900. Connor didn’t know of any successor of his and no official report ever mentioned the name. Gavin spent his evenings getting drunk and rubbing over the mark. Would the RK900 have been produced if the revolution hadn’t happened? Had fate changed and his mark was the last evidence of it? Wouldn’t it have just disappeared then? Or was there really a RK900 left out there? But after more than a month of androids being free, wouldn’t it have been easy for an android to locate him with his name? Why had no one ever come?

In fact, Gavin had given up. Maybe he had given up long ago and just kept his dream alive not to lose hope. But this showed it, right? No one had come. He was alone. He would be alone his entire life. That would be his fate. That didn’t really change that much, right? He had been alone already. He had managed to be alone up until now, he would manage the rest somehow. He had his work. He had Tina. Maybe just because he wanted more didn’t mean he needed more.

He buried himself in work and took every job they needed people on. Patrolling the streets, looking at crime scenes, doing overdue paperwork and cleaning the break room. All just so he would come home late and not have as much time to think about it. When he learned of the planned raid of Cyberlife Tower for Jericho, he immediately volunteered to help. Such operations always meant a ton of organising and paperwork. He was quickly put on the task of creating personal files of all androids found left inside. Name, model number, date of construction. All so Jericho could help them integrate into society. Gavin felt a little out of place actually sitting there two weeks later, a row of androids in front of him he helped fill out the forms and directed towards people who would actually help them being repaired and comforted.

‘Hello. I’m Detective Reed’, he greeted the next one. ‘I just need a few personal information. Do you have a name?’ ‘Chris’, the android answered hesitantly. ‘Alright, Chris.’ He wrote the name into the appropriate line and turned the paper around for the android to see. ‘We also need your model number and serial number. The rest of the form is optional, you can fill it out, but you don’t have to.’ ‘What do you need this for?’ Gavin tried to smile at the android. ‘It’s just so Jericho can help you find your place. They will help you getting started.’ ‘Okay’, Chris nodded shily and took the paper. ‘Thank you.’ ‘You’re welcome. Next one please!’

The next android approached his desk and Gavin was already getting the next form. ‘Hey there. Alright, first I’d need your name.’ ‘I… I don’t have one.’ ‘That’s alright’, Gavin said softly and put a small dash at the according line. ‘Your model number?’ ‘RK900.’

Gavin froze, ruining the form stopping mid movement. Slowly he angled his head and looked at the android that was shockingly similar to Connor. ‘Is there a problem?’, the android asked, facial expression unmoving. ‘You are RK900?’ ‘Yes. Why are you asking?’ Gavin stood up and immediately felt his knees grow weak. ‘I… I think we… I…’ He apparently had just forgotten how to speak, so instead he pulled the fabric from his wrist and showed the android his mark. ‘Are you… Do you have a mark?’ The android just stared at his designation on the human’s wrist, then to the nameplate on his desk. ‘You are… Are you Reed? Gavin Reed?’ Gavin didn’t dare to believe it, but he grinned from ear to ear as he nodded. ‘Yes. I’m Gavin Reed. Are you my soulmate?’ Instead of an answer, the android stepped past the table and pulled Gavin into a fierce hug. ‘I found you! I… My life wasn’t long, but I hoped to see you one day. My whole life I thought of you and meeting you and that hope got me through in the end and they were to reset me, I thought this would be it, I was so scared and…’ Gavin listened to the android speak in a hurry, barely catching on to the words uttered. All he could do was stand there in the hug and relax into it, answering it with his own embrace. Only when the android grew quiet, Gavin pressed him closer. ‘I gave up hope you were even existing. I wondered for so long and when androids were invented, I thought you would come, but then the revolution passed, and you weren’t there and now… I have so much I want to tell you. So much I want to know…’ ‘I also have a lot of questions’, the android admitted and took a step back. ‘I think we have enough time for that now’, Gavin smiled.

‘Now that we’ve found each other.’

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

Stop the World

I’ve finally done it. I’ve finally come up with the dumbest soulmate au ever.

“Stop the World I Wanna Get Off With You” - The Arctic Monkeys

no tws, just nonsense

---

When Priss and Essi had bumped into each other at one of Jaskier’s school recitals they had sung a gorgeous ballad about love and faithfulness, outlining their future adventures together and reassuring both women about their mutual compatibility. It had been a lovely, soft thing that ebbed and flowed like the evening tide. It hadn’t been very long, but it was gorgeous.

The dance they’d done as they sang together was simple. They swayed back and forth across the floor in each other’s arms, smiles brightening both of their flushed faces, two heads of nearly-matching golden hair shining in the flickering candlelight, Essi’s skirts swirling against Priscilla’s colorful tights. 

Jaskier had been jealous of his friends’ early discovery, of course. He wanted nothing more than to meet his soulmate. Their song, whatever it was, would be beautiful! It would be fantastic! It would be something to cherish for a lifetime; he could feel it in his very bones. He and his beloved were meant for great things and he wanted to get started on their journey together sooner rather than later.

It was no surprise to anyone who knew Jaskier that once he’d obtained a degree in the seven liberal arts (with honors) from Oxenfurt University, he immediately took to the road. He hunted high and low across the Continent for his other half, crossing whatever borders necessary and sneaking into whatever parties or back alley gambling dens or theatrical functions he could to find out where his soulmate was hiding. He really did try everything, it seemed.

But Destiny helps those who help themselves, and Jaskier had been putting in a lot of effort. 

He’d been on the road nearly two years before that fateful afternoon finally arrived. He was hungry, tired, and disappointed in himself. None of his original songs were doing very well and his funds from home were running out. When he finally reached an inn that would let him play, the patrons seemed less than enthused about his presence. He knew he needed to perform anyway; he hadn’t eaten in nearly two days and he hadn’t bathed in the last week either. Jaskier’s morale was very, very low. 

Still, he needed some coin to survive. If not coin, perhaps the audience would be irritated enough throw some half-edible food his way, and that would be enough to get him to the next town. He strummed his lute and began his song, thrusting his hips and wiggling his eyebrows with every innuendo. Usually country folk loved the bawdy tavern songs, but Posada seemed to be an outlier. They hated it.

They hated him. 

After he’d finished a handful of questionable ballads he knelt to collect the rolls they’d thrown. When he lifted his gaze to search for a place to take inventory, his eyes settled on a figure in the corner. A man with a relatively young, handsome face and an old man’s silver-white hair. He was glaring down into his mug with an expression like coming thunder and his nose was flared in annoyance with something.

The handsome stranger was moonlight-draped in the middle of an unusually warm spring and Jaskier felt his heart filling with something deep and unfamiliar as he stared from across the tavern floor. The sensation bubbled up from the depths of his soul and flooded his entire being from head to foot, magma-hot and thrilling. Like jumping from a sauna into a snowbank. Like falling from a great height into chilly water. Like- Like-

It felt exactly like falling in love all at once.

Jaskier could hear an unfamiliar heartbeat echoing through the back of his head, slowly transforming into a drumbeat, and he prayed that the stranger would look up. Quietly, a man nearby whispered, “Open Sesame.”

“We’ve places to go,” he sang, surprising himself. The words had ripped themselves out of his throat, unknown and unbidden until the moment of their conception. Oh! It’s happening! The music picked up and got louder. It’s really, actually happening! 

Another line of song burst from his mouth: “We’ve people to see.”

“Let’s put ‘em on hold,” the villagers added, playing the part of Chorus harmoniously enough. The stranger in the corner was definitely looking at Jaskier now, his black-gloved fists clenched where they rested on the tabletop. The bard crossed the room in a rush, still singing, the predestination of their story taking over him: “There's all sorts of shapes that I bet you can make; when you want to escape, say the word.” 

The stranger’s jaw clenched in an effort to bite back his line of the song and Jaskier’s heart, just a moment ago so full of love and excitement over this development, crashed to the floor and shattered into a million pieces. His soulmate was fighting their Destiny. He was refusing to sing along. Still, the lyrics persisted, flowing through Jaskier again, instead: “Well I know that getting you alone isn’t easy to do…”

“With the exception of you, I dislike everyone in the room. And I don’t wanna lie but I don’t wanna tell you the truth,” came the gravelly, soft baritone from his mysterious partner. When the stranger finally looked up, Jaskier noted that his soulmate’s eyes were a lovely honey-gold, shot through with lines of ochre. The bard, already head-over-heels and now suddenly more besotted than ever, gasped and smiled his way through his next line.

“I get the sense that you’re on the move and you’ll probably be leaving soon.”

“So I’m telling you,” they sang together. The stranger rose from his seat, fist unfurling slowly as he gently, nervously took Jaskier’s hand in his warmer one. They continued in harmony, “Stop the world cause I wanna get off, with you.”

“Stop the world cause I wanna get off,” Jaskier began.

“With you,” the stranger finished. They gasped when the music stopped as suddenly and strangely as it had begun. Their hands were still joined, fingers intertwined.

A few of the peasants clapped their congratulations to the new couple. Most of them shrugged and returned to whatever it was they were doing before, nonplussed by the predestined meeting of two souls right in front of them. 

The world resumed its spinning and with it went Jaskier’s sense of stability. He stumbled forward, only to be caught against a broad chest by strong, capable hands. 

“Why don’t we sit down and introduce ourselves?” his soulmate asked with that gloriously deep, sexy voice. Jaskier nodded and allowed himself to be guided gently into a chair. 

“I’m Jaskier,” he smiled. The bard noted the heavy sheath leaning against the wall. It held two swords, each with a distinctive handle. His soulmate wore heavy black armor even in the midst of an unseasonable heatwave, and the wolf medallion around the man’s neck shone in the midday sunlight. Jaskier’s heart picked up its already frantic pace and he beamed. “You must be Geralt of Rivia, the infamous witcher!”

“Yet you do not flee,” the man raised an eyebrow. He was looking at Jaskier the way small animals looked at particularly boisterous children. Like he was curious but ready to run at any wrong movement. 

“Why should I?” Jaskier shrugged. “You’re the one I was made to be with. Why shouldn’t I be with you?”

“You just said yourself that I am Geralt of Rivia, infamous witcher.”

“And?”

“Infamy doesn’t do bards well.”

“No,” Jaskier smiled shyly. He held everything before him: his heart, his meager belongings, his education, his talents… He just hoped it was enough to tempt his devilishly handsome, silver-haired soulmate into giving him a chance to prove himself. “But love does.”

[liberolove]

Road Trip

pairing: nishinoya yuu x reader

genre: fluff

warnings: cussing, suggestive themes

wc: 1.36k

It was finally time for your yearly road trip with Nishinoya. You were excited to get to spend time with him again. He was off playing volleyball professionally overseas, so this left you lonely most of the time.

Whenever you could, you would go abroad and support him at his games, but it was beginning to take a toll on your bank account. He insisted that you really didn't have to, but you just loved being his number one supporter, ever since middle school.

This year, you two were going to go to Yosemite National Park in California. You arrived in California about a week before Noya to get settled and visit some online friends.

Once he arrived, you two went to the rental car place and got a decent-sized SUV. You stuffed it full of camping essentials. You got a 4 person tent since you liked the extra room. You also got a gas stove, extra clothes, heavy-duty backpacks, marshmallows, tons of snacks, and everything else you could think of.

When you packed everything, you two were on your way. Getting through LA was a total nightmare, but it was the only international airport Noya trusted after several mishaps.

To get through the nauseating madness of rush hour, you played your latest bops. You loved being Noya's personal DJ.

It was a long trip ahead of you, but it was worth it to be able to spend it with your best friend. You two caught up on everything. He talked all about his matches, his personal life, and his troubles with love. No one could understand Nishinoya as much as you could. That's why you two have remained best friends throughout the years.

Three hours passed by. With Nishinoya's fast driving, you were already halfway to your destination. You decided to stop and grab some grub at one of your favorite comfort food restaurants. 

You ordered pancakes with eggs and hash browns, and he ordered a breakfast burger. As you two chowed down, something outside caught your eye. There was a commotion out on the street, and you realized that people were gathering around your car, specifically.

A truck had crashed into your rental and tried to flee the scene, but a couple of bystanders were able to take photos of the guilty party. 

You two walked outside to assess the damages to the rental. "Fuck. I think I need to pay for that.." You shifted around uneasily. 

"No worries, I've got it. I'll take care of everything. You already planned everything. the least I can do is pay for this."

"No-"

"Too late. I've already made up my mind on it, doofus."

He was right. Once he put his mind to something, there was absolutely no way to stop him.

"Well, what do we do now?"

"I'll call the rental place and arrange for a new car. Don't worry about it."

You agreed, but you couldn't help but worry. Worrying was a part of your DNA.

You two had to spend the night in town due to this unforeseeable accident. Nishinoya made sure to book the most expensive, most luxurious hotel. He was still the same Noya you knew, but just a little more refined, if you will.

You settled into your shared room and asked Noya, "Sooooo, what's so fancy about this place? Does it have like a golf course, swimming pool, AND a jacuzzi?"

"As a matter of fact, it has all three of those and more. Also, we get breakfast here as long as we're downstairs by 10 AM."

You couldn't tell if he was joking or not. He noticed your strange facial expression and confirmed that the hotel really did have all that.

"Well, looks like I'll be making my way to the jacuzzi. I need a break after all that stuff today." You grabbed your swimsuit, changed, and went down to the pool area. 

You made it to the jacuzzi and were glad to see that you were alone. All these luxuries were available, yet no one wanted to take advantage of it. 

Content with your surroundings, you lowered yourself into the hot water, and your muscles immediately began to ease up. The warmth of the water took away all your worries with it. It felt as though someone was massaging every groove on your shoulders and back, or maybe it was just the jets. 

You leaned your head back and closed your eyes slowly. If heaven was a place, this would be a close second. 

Nishinoya stayed in the hotel room to watch TV. He wasn't particularly anxious or worried over anything, so he didn't need much to distract himself- over the accident, that is. However, there was one thing circling in his mind.

Switching between channels didn't help, nor did looking through the refrigerator. He tossed and turned in bed, unable to focus on anything else. 

He eventually had enough and left the room. 

Your relaxation was disturbed by footsteps approaching you from behind. You jolted up and looked up to find that Nishinoya was heading towards you, in his swim trunks. 

He got into the bubbling water and sat down right next to you. "Get bored upstairs?" 

"Yeah. There wasn't anything good on TV." 

"But there's like every channel known to man on that TV!"

"Okay, but that doesn't mean that there's anything good on it right now.." 

You nodded your head and leaned back again, focusing on how the warmth encompassed your body. You were so thankful he booked such a great place. 

"Hey, y/n."

Without opening your eyes, you answered, "Hmm?"

"Do you trust me?"

Hesitantly, you answered, "Of course, you're my best fr-"

All of a sudden, your sentence was cut short by familiar lips. He pressed his whole body up against yours and gripped onto your waist needily. Giving in to your subconscious desires, you kissed him back deeply.

His hands wandered up and down your body, discovering places he had never touched beforehand. Your hands gravitated to his thick locks of hair and his muscular thighs. 

Was this really happening? Were you dreaming? 

You invited his tongue into your mouth, and he greedily accepted the invitation. He was eager and warmer than you would expect. Your ears tingled from the vibrations of his low, deep groans. 

For the first time in your life, he was close enough to you that you could smell the faint cologne present on his clothes. It wasn't distasteful like others you've been with. It suited him well, honestly.

His kisses veered from your lips to your jawline and the crook of your neck. With him focusing on his handiwork, you were able to breathe again. Your heavy breathing caught his attention, making him stop his advances.

"I'm sorry I got a little carried away. I've just.. I've been thinking about this for a while now, and I thought this might be the moment."

"Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance. I'm kind of at a loss for words."

He pouted, unsure of your ambiguous answer. You didn't say if you liked it or not, or if you even liked him. 

"I like you too," you finally blurted out.

You had never really had the chance to think of him in a romantic sense, but this turn of events changed your mind. You two were compatible in every single way, and you could never get tired of him. You'd been friends for this long why wouldn't a relationship work out?

Overjoyed by your confession, he picked you up and twirled you around in the water. "I promise to always protect you and make you my priority."

"So the same as always then?"

He gave out a hearty laugh and kissed you again. "Does this mean you accept the duties of the girlfriend title?"

"Of course, Yuu. Do you accept the duties of boyfriend?" 

His face turned serious as he saluted you and brought you back into his arms. "I like you so much, y/n. I'm so stupid for waiting this long, but I'm glad you like me too. Actually, no. I'm more than glad. I'm fucking ecstatic!" 

[juniorgman187]

The Bones (Reid Series) Part 2

Summary: After doing an even deeper dive on Valerie’s past, Spencer finally meets her, but his invasiveness isn’t the worst part ... the worst part is he might actually like her. 

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier  (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing) Category: Series, Fluff, Soft Angst, Eventual smut and *NSFW content Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC - Valerie Content Warning: invasion of privacy, allusions to Maeve’s death, arrhythmia Word Count: 3.4k

Part 1 |

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

After firmly deciding not to weave Penelope into my tangled web, I was met with the arduous burden of conducting my own research. 

Firstly, I would need a computer - yeah ... a computer. That’s how far I was willing to go for this pursuit. I once vowed never to fall victim to modern technology’s clutches, and yet here I was, doing my research on a public library’s computer. To my credit, I hadn’t gone out and bought one, I was merely using my resources.

With the need for a device out of the way, all that was left was the knowledge of what to look for. But that didn’t pose a problem either.

Funny enough, with as many rules and restrictions as there are regarding patient privacy and confidentiality, all it took was matching dates of news stories with hospital records to complete my research. I was fairly certain I was only scratching the surface of information about Valerie as opposed to the sea of things I could’ve uncovered if I asked for Garcia’s help, but there are only so many lines a person can cross in one week. 

This was my limit.

Call me naive, but I was actually quite surprised with just how expansive the internet is. To an almost relentless degree, I would open an article and it would lead me to ten more about the same topic. It was this never ending rabbit hole that seemed to spiral on forever. I kept digging deeper and deeper until I could no longer dig. 

I’d officially hit rock bottom. 

It took me a grand total of just two hours to unearth all the ‘dirt’ I could on a young Valerie Bishop. 

Local 16-year-old Wins Nevada’s Statewide Art Contest! Published by Henderson Press. 

Valerie, just a sophomore in high school at the time, was donning what any experimental teen girl would’ve worn in the early 2000s - bootcut jeans and a sequin blouse over top of a plain camisole. And if I zoomed in close enough, I could spot the evidence of a sparkly blue shadow coating her eyelids. Surprisingly, though, that wasn’t the first thing I noticed. 

It was that smile. That tooth-achingly sweet smile. 

Though I never got the chance to see Maeve truly smile, that’s what I imagined it would look like. 

The photographer must’ve caught her midway through a laugh, at least that’s what the image of her slightly open-mouthed grin told me. Meanwhile, her two tiny hands were clenching her overbearingly large trophy while her artwork stood behind her as the background.

It didn’t take me long to figure out why her painting won. Simply put, there was no need to see anyone else’s art to know that they couldn’t possibly compete with hers. 

Hers was an abstract rendition of what I believe to be a forest of some sort. The detail is what I was most drawn to. It would’ve been unbelievable on its own but the fact that she was 16 when she painted it? That’s what was unbelievable to me. 

If that’s how talented she was at that age, I could only imagine how much more talented she became with time. However, I lost the chance to investigate the current state of her skill before a related article from The Cleveland Gazette about Valerie succeeded this one. 

From Award-Winning Artist to Henderson’s Hero

Read my interview with 17-year-old Valerie Bishop to find out more about her struggle with arrhythmia and how she turned her pain into a project! 

By Kelli Gallagher from the Cleveland Gazette. 

Gallagher: Thank you so much for letting me interview you, Valerie. 

Bishop: Of course! I’m happy to. 

Gallagher: You’ve become somewhat of a hero in Henderson, Nevada, haven’t you?

Bishop: I wouldn’t call myself a hero ... but if everyone else wants to - I’m fine with that. (laughs)

Gallagher: Don’t be so modest! I mean, what you’ve done is so incredible, and you’re only what? Seventeen?

Bishop: Yes, ma’am. I just turned seventeen this past August. 

Gallagher: Wow, I can’t believe how young you are and yet you’ve already accomplished so much. I saw that you won a statewide art contest last year. Tell me more about that. 

Bishop: That’s a funny story actually. My Grandma Sheila was the one who entered me in that contest. I didn’t even know about it until I won it. She’s always surprising me, though. In fact, she’s the one that surprised me with my first ever art supplies, when I was about eight or so. They were these super expensive oil paints, and I knew she couldn’t afford them, so I told her we should return them and get something cheaper, but she said, “Nonsense. When the bones are good the rest don’t matter. A house don’t fall when the bones are good.” That was kind of her saying. 

A house don’t fall when the bones are good. 

The bones. 

Gallagher: I’m interested to know more about your relationship with your grandma. If I’m remembering correctly, she was also diagnosed with arrhythmia a while back too, right?

Bishop: Yes, she was, but that’s never slowed her down. And as for our relationship, my grandma and I have always been close, but arrhythmia, in a weird way, has brought us even closer. She has always been my biggest supporter and the fact that we’re both on this journey together makes her my biggest supporter even more so. 

Gallagher: Absolutely. Now, I also heard that you’ve started a fundraising program to possibly start a gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. If you don’t mind me asking, why Virginia Beach? Is there any special significance? 

Bishop: Actually, that’s where my grandma met my grandpa, and they got married and started a family there, too. So if Grandma Sheila hadn’t been there to meet him, she wouldn’t have had my mom, and that would mean I wouldn’t have been here either. I like to think Virginia Beach is where it all started. In a way, it’s where my bones are. That solid foundation in Virginia gave me everything I have today.

Gallagher: That is just incredible. I’m so glad to see your fundraising project is thriving, but I can’t imagine any of this has been particularly easy for you. You were diagnosed right around the time your senior year was starting right?

Bishop: Yes ma’am. 

Gallagher: So what brought you from Henderson to Cleveland?

Bishop: Well, actually, I didn’t want to move, especially not before I graduated, but Cleveland has the best cardiovascular hospital in the country and my health is far more important than graduating in the same state I grew up in. So when my parents were willing to move me and my sister out here, I saw it as a privilege rather than something to be sad about. 

Gallagher: I am so inspired by you, Valerie.

Bishop: (laughs) Really, why?

Gallagher: Despite everything that’d been thrown at you, you are still so grateful. I hope you never lose that. 

Bishop: I promise you I won’t.

Gallagher: So one last thing before I go, what is one hope you have for your future self?

Bishop: I hope, future self, that your ‘bones’ are still strong.

Gallagher: Beautiful. Thank you so much again for doing this, Valerie. I sincerely hope you reach your goal and you get to open up that gallery and studio in Virginia Beach. 

At the bottom of the article, there was a footnote from Kelli Gallagher. 

Exactly 10 years later, Bishop was able to move to Virginia Beach and open up her gallery and studio. 

By the end of the article, I felt a genuine sense of pride for Valerie, and I know I had virtually no right to know these things about her, but I could still be proud of her for them right?

I would never fully get my answer to this question before I crossed the final boundary. 

After exhausting all that I could gather from the internet without Penelope’s assistance, the only thing left for me to do was actually meet her in person. However, this would prove to be a bigger obstacle that it seemed. I decided to delay the daunting task until the next day. A decision partially influenced by the phrase, ‘sleep on it.’ I prayed I’d gain clarity on what to do when I woke up the next morning, but even with a night’s rest, I was still undecided as I drove to Virginia Beach once more.

To sit in my car that was conveniently parked right in front of the gallery was a poor choice. Because with every passing second, the temptation to walk in grew, but the fear of regret dampened those impulses. The more I thought about it, the more I psyched myself out. Between my two choices, to freeze or to fight, I should’ve taken the third - to flee. But I was here now and I couldn’t leave empty-handed for a second time. 

After a moment’s indecision, adrenaline coursed through my veins to give me the courage to get out of my car. When I felt an outdoor breeze blow over me, I knew there was no going back now. Right when I walked in, the little bell above the door rang, solidifying that I was officially crossing the threshold, and whether I liked it or not, she was going to see me after hearing me walk in.

“I’ll be right with you!” A small voice called out from somewhere in the back. She was hidden from my immediate sight, and somehow that made it so much worse. It was now I that was waiting for her, instead of her unknowingly waiting for me. 

As though I were prey getting ready to escape a predator, I stayed put by the door. It gave me a full view of the entire place anyway. 

Scoping out my surroundings, I spotted the paintings that were carefully measured and placed on the walls, almost to perfection. I had no time to notice anything more before the person in the back walked out. 

Immediately when I saw her, I knew.

“You’re … not Valerie.” I couldn’t help sounding so disappointed but luckily, the woman that came out took no offense to my observation. 

“No, I’m not,” She laughed. “But I can get her for you-”

“No wait!” I uselessly leapt forward to stop her from saying, “Vee! There’s someone out here to see you!” But that’s precisely what she did anyway. Evidently oblivious of my previous protests, she politely smiled back at me. “She’ll be right out.” 

For the second time that day, I waited with bated breath, anxiously anticipating the arrival of Valerie. And I was almost too focused on subduing the pounding of my heart to realize that she was actually walking out of the back right now. 

“Hi, sorry about that!” A new voice chirped. 

Valerie. 

The moment I laid eyes on her, it became clear to me that the pictures in her files hardly did her justice. Nothing could compare to the real sight of her. I was only able to catch the profile of her face when I saw her in the cafe, but in her entirety, I began to wax nostalgic. Though her face and hair and body had transformed into that of a grown woman’s features, I could still identify the same tooth-achingly sweet smile that a younger Valerie once wore on the front page of the Henderson Press. She was no beast to conquer, she was just a girl, smiling at me in that same gentle way. 

Her expression just as well showed no indication of recognition, not that she would recognize me, considering my letter was anonymous and unless she pulled the same stunt I did, she wouldn’t ever recognize who I was. 

“I’m Val,” She made her greeting to me while untying her dirtied waist apron, and it was merely the action that caused my gaze to fall to her hips, but when she shed the apron, I was still staring. There was something sort of mesmerizing about the way they swayed as she approached. It wasn’t until they stopped swaying completely that I realized they did so because there was no more distance to advance - she was already right there in front of me, patiently watching me stare. 

“Val?” I blinked hard to revert my gaze while also playing into the part that I had no idea who she was. 

“Mhm. Short for Valerie,” She confirmed happily. “Like the Amy Winehouse song.” 

This time, I genuinely didn’t know what she was referring to, and my confused countenance prompted her to clarify, “You don’t know that song?” 

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she began to playfully sing, “Well, sometimes I go out by myself and I look across the water ...” 

While she watched my face and waited for the recitation of the song to jog my memory, I was just as much studying her face. I could tell she was only kidding when she sang, evidenced by the laugh that followed her rendition, but it sounded so unironically good that I had to question what other talents she possessed. 

“Um, I was actually thinking more like Valerie, the martyred medieval saint, whose name stood for strength and health.” No sooner than the words spilled from my mouth did I recognize the freudian slip - the simultaneous coincidence and confession. The coincidence was that, now, with Maeve’s heart beating in her chest, she lived up to her name - she was newly strong and healthy. But I worried, she would see the correlation I drew between her name and her successful transplant and would realize that I knew more about her than I let on. Did I just give away too much?

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name earlier. What was it?” Her casual dismissiveness of my previous statement did nothing to ease my worries. Was she beginning to piece everything together?

“Oh, right!” I said dumbly. “S-Spencer. I’m Spencer.” I was such a blubbering bundle of nerves that I actually reached out to shake her hand - a stranger’s hand. 

“Nice to meet you, Spencer,” She softly laughed, which was hopefully not out of the enjoyment of seeing me squirm. “What can I do for you?” 

A loaded question, don’t you think? What can you do for me, Valerie? Well, for one thing, you could’ve answered my letter, but to say something as bold as that would require me to admit the real reason I was here, and how could I do that without mentioning how I found you in the first place?

“Um ...” Whose birthday is the soonest? “My friend Emily’s birthday is coming up and I was wondering if I could possibly buy a painting from you as a birthday present.” 

There was the faintest perceptible skepticism in her expression, but that could’ve just been my paranoia talking because in the next breath, she didn’t suggest a proclivity to my deceit. “Yeah, of course! Do you know what her favorite medium is? Or her favorite artist? Or her favorite style of art?” 

For every addition to the question, I wordlessly shook my head no. Was my lie already unraveling? Could she see right through me?

“No worries. If you want, you can walk around the gallery and tell me if you see anything you think she’d like.” She made her offer to me sweetly, then disappeared into the back room again. I tried to follow her with my eyes for as long as I could, but from where I was standing, I couldn’t see very far into it. I wandered a little further into the center of the gallery to possibly catch a glimpse of what was occupying her time back there, but when I heard the chattering of two voices, Valerie and the other woman, coming from the same general direction, I realized I was completely alone in this part of the studio.

With no one around to bear witness but these portraits, I could’ve easily slipped out and made my escape, and I might’ve even done it had it not been for the unmistakable gravitational pull forcing me to stay here and walk about the room. 

Making my way throughout the gallery, I would pause every now and then when a painting would stand out to me, which was often, considering each picture was impressive. 

But there was one painting in particular that piqued my interest. It made me feel something I’d never felt before. 

It wasn’t special by any means. By rights, I shouldn’t have even noticed it, for it wasn’t the largest painting, nor the smallest one - it wasn’t even the most average painting. But it felt exceptionally ... Valerie. I had no doubt in my mind that she painted this one - in fact, I had a good bet that she painted most of these portraits, if not all of them - but this one. There was just something about it that I couldn’t put my finger on. 

“So,” A draft was created from where Valerie swiftly and unexpectedly joined me at my side. “What do you think?” 

“Um, there’s definitely something,” I struggled to find the word. “appealing about this one.” Almost as soon as the word came out of my mouth, I knew it was only a matter of time before she called out the inadequacy of my answer. 

“Appealing?” She repeated in mockery. “That’s the best you got? Come on, you’ve been standing here for like ten minutes. There must be something about it you like.” 

“I’m not sure.” I honestly admitted with a shrug.

“There’s no wrong answer.” She assured me, but I found that hard to believe. 

“So if I said I see a grizzly bear attacking a UFO, that wouldn’t be wrong?”

“Nope,” She popped the p. “If that’s how you interpret it then that’s how you interpret it. Just because someone else sees it differently, doesn’t mean you’re wrong.” It would’ve sounded like complete bullshit or nauseatingly cheesy coming out of someone else’s mouth, but her delivery felt so genuine. It actually moved me. 

As she said this, she turned her head in my direction to look up at me, causing her shoulder to brush my upper arm, sending a wave of goosebumps all over my body. 

She was so close. 

But I was so unbothered by her proximity that I didn’t even notice exactly how close she really was. If someone else had invaded my personal space like that, I would’ve moved in the opposite direction just on instinct, but I didn’t even think to do that with Valerie. I was so comfortable with her being there. 

But was that just because a part of her was once Maeve’s? Was the entire foundation of my likening to Valerie built upon that single attribute?

Was that my bones?

“Um,” I began fidgeting with my hands to self-soothe. “I like it. I don’t know why. But I like it. How’s that for an answer?”

There was a pause before her response that compelled me to look at her, but when I did so, she was already looking at me. “I’ll take it,” She nodded. “It’s the biggest compliment to me if my art can make you feel something.”

Was it the art that made me feel something ... or you?

“I’ll tell you what,” She walked over to grab something from the front desk. She came back with a small piece of cardstock. “I’m going to an art exhibition next weekend. Why don’t you come with me and see if you can’t find something for Emily there?”

She handed me the paper, which was actually her business card. “You don’t have to have an answer for me today, but call me when you do.” She seemed to think that was the end of the conversation, but I still had more questions. 

“You’re inviting me?” was the first question that came to mind, albeit the dumbest one.

“Yeah, you can be my plus one.”

I gulped to dislodge the lump in my throat. “Like-like your date?” 

She furrowed her brows with mild confusion. “Um ... sure, if that’s what you wanna call it,” which was the last thing she said to me before vanishing within the back room again. 

I peered back down at the card and tapped it gently on the palm on my hand as though to register its presence really being there. 

For all intents and purposes, this card was meaningless. But to me, it was the formal consenting - nay, invitation - to reach out to her again. She was willingly extending this line of contact to me. 

No more public library computers. No more files. No more ‘research.’ Just her number - a way to reach her without veering off my moral compass. 

Despite this, I still had no clue whether or not I was going to accept her offer.

All that I did know was that I wanted to see her again. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

PART 3 COMING SOON!

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[elisela]

touch has a memory & mine is you buck x eddie, for @buckleysbabe on her birthday ♥️ (ao3)

----

It starts small—just Buck’s hand wrapping around his wrist to tug him close when a crowd of people at Dodger Stadium nearly separate them as they meet in front of the stadium—but when Buck starts to let go, Eddie swings his arm in closer, presses their bare forearms together. It’s been weeks since they’ve spent time together; another earthquake and dozens of first responders injured across the city meant temporary transfers and shifts being changed from 24-72 to 24-48, and they somehow hadn’t found time for anything other than phone calls and texts for nearly a month.

“God, I missed you,” Buck says, and when he swings his arm up on Eddie’s shoulders, Eddie can’t help but lean into it. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, forcing himself to pull back, embarrassed. “I knew you’d be late, Buck, we’re gonna miss the first pitch.”

Buck makes a noise and pulls him closer. “Yeah, yeah, there’s at least 200 more after that,” he says.

“That’s—” he wrinkles up his nose, thinking, “seven pitches per batter on average. Kershaw is starting tonight—”

“Eddie,” Buck sighs, “are you seriously trying to lecture me about baseball already? You know I need a beer before you start in on all this.”

Eddie elbows him in retaliation, but Buck still doesn’t move his arm, so Eddie elbows him harder, until he snatches it away and hits Eddie back, the two of them play fighting like children until they get up to the gate and Buck backs away, pulling the tickets out of his pocket, and Eddie misses the heat of his body even though it’s what he had meant to happen.

----

Eddie had never realized how much Buck touched him until he wasn’t anymore. His new crew at Station 69 (which had made Buck snort milk through his nose when Bobby had given him the—temporary—transfer papers) aren’t a close bunch; they have his number and he’s gotten a few texts on his off hours, but no one is spending their days off with him, sending him pictures of cats available for adoption and whining when he points out how much work an animal is, and certainly no one has shown up at his house unannounced with take-out and a new board game. And they certainly aren’t as touchy as his team; no one squeezes his shoulder as they pass by, knocks their arms together on the way to the truck, or sprawls against his side while they play video games on the couch. They’re perfectly respectful of his personal space, and Eddie fucking hates it.

He makes it three innings before Buck twists in his seat towards him and leans in with an intense look on his face, knee bumping up against Eddie’s. “Okay, tell me what’s going on.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Uh, Betts is on first and Hernandez is up to the plate, but he’s got two strikes and—Buck, seriously, haven’t I taught you enough about baseball for you to be able to follow this?”

Buck looks unimpressed. “I meant with you. You’re—weird.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You know what I mean,” Buck says. “Is something wrong? Am I making you uncomfortable?”

“You are now,” he says, looking away. “Let it go. And don’t you dare start singing that song.” Buck huffs out a breath next to him, and when he doesn’t move away, Eddie stands up. “I’m gonna go grab more beers,” he says, ignoring the half-full bottles in the cupholders in front of them, and he flees.

----

Chris is going through a phase.

At least, that’s what Eddie hopes it is.

Twelve is apparently too old to be hugged by your dad, to let him give you a kiss goodbye, or goodnight—too old for anything except an occasional bump against the shoulder in the kitchen, or a fist bump a second before he opens the door to the truck to be dropped off at school.

If Eddie holds his arms out, Chris looks at him flatly. If Eddie follows him to his bedroom door at night to tuck him in, Chris draws his name out through several syllables and declares that he’s not a kid and definitely doesn’t need to be tucked in. If Eddie reaches out a hand to place on his back while they go out to dinner, or to a movie, Chris ducks out of his way and shakes his head.

The touch-aversion is killing Eddie.

----

In the sixth, Buck’s fingers brush against his as he hands him a plate of nachos.

In the seventh, Seager hits a homerun and his skin buzzes after Buck gives him a high-give, lacing their fingers together briefly before Eddie pulls away.

In the eighth, he squeezes past Eddie to use the bathroom, one hand on Eddie’s waist when Eddie stands to let him through.

After the ninth, he stays in his seat, looking over at Eddie thoughtfully as they wait for the crowd to thin out before leaving. “You gonna talk to me now? No one’s around.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he says. There’s not. So what if no one has touched Eddie outside of calls in a month? So what if that sort of contact isn’t enough for him, if he craves the kind of touch Buck has so freely given him over the years? It’s not Buck’s problem that Eddie is touch starved, and he refuses to make it his problem. He just needs a little distance, because every time Buck touches him, it’s all Eddie can do to not plaster himself to Buck and take the comfort he desperately wants.

Buck groans. “Eds, it’s been a month since we’ve gotten to see each other and if you think I’ve forgotten how to tell when something is wrong, I haven’t. Did I do something? Did we make plans that I forgot about, or—” he reaches out and puts his hand on Eddie’s thigh, and Eddie stands up.

“Come on,” he says, “traffic’s probably died down a little by now.”

----

It’s not that he doesn’t know what his problem is, or that he hasn’t tried to solve it. He’d tried a massage—extremely uncomfortable once he’d realized that he was basically paying someone to make him feel good and couldn’t get the thought out of his head—gotten an unnecessary haircut, tried a pedicure.

Nothing worked.

He doesn’t want someone to touch him just because he wants it, he wants them to want it, too. He doesn’t want fingers digging into tired ankles, he wants someone’s palm to rest against his skin and stay there, to put down roots and make a home inside him.

He wants—deperately—Buck.

----

It doesn’t surprise him to see the Jeep’s headlights sweep across the front of his house a few minutes after he arrives home; he hadn’t bothered locking the door, knowing that ignoring four of Buck’s phone calls meant that he would surely show up.

But Buck doesn’t come in and make himself at home, just opens the door, leans against the frame with arms crossed over his chest, and says, “why don’t you want me touching you? Why didn’t you just say something? I would have stopped, Eddie.”

Eddie waves him in, but Buck stays stubbornly where he is. “It’s not a big deal,” he says. “Come on, let’s watch something.”

“It’s a big deal to me,” Buck insists. “I made you uncomfortable, and I—I’m really sorry, Eddie. I just—can you tell me why?”

Eddie tilts his head forward and pinches the bridge of his nose; Buck sounds hurt and small, and Eddie knows without a doubt that if he lets him leave feeling like this, they’re going to go weeks without seeing each other again, and the phone calls will drop off, too. He scrubs a hand across his face, takes in a deep breath and says, eyes still focused on the ground in front of him, “I haven’t—no one’s touched me in weeks.”

Buck is silent.

“I thought I might not be able to stop,” he admits. “I just want—” he stops, shakes his head. “It’s pathetic. I’m sorry.”

“Did you know if you hug someone for twenty seconds, it releases oxytocin?” Buck asks, and Eddie hears the front door closing before Buck’s footsteps sound across the floor. “There’s a surprising amount of health benefits,” he says, and Eddie looks up in time to see Buck’s hands reaching for him.

He goes willingly when Buck pulls him up, buries his head in Buck’s shoulder as he wraps his arms around him, and breathes him in. Twenty seconds—that’s new. They’re quick huggers, usually, lingering for a few seconds sometimes, hands on each other's shoulders or waists, but it’s—comforting. Buck is warm against him, and Eddie loses count when he gets to twenty in his head and Buck still doesn’t move except for the rhythmic sweep of fingertips along the back of his neck. He gives in and lets his body melt against Buck’s, lets his fingers creep up into Buck’s hair and run through the soft strands, gives up his dignity entirely and pushes the arm around Buck’s waist underneath the shirt he’s wearing and places his palm against skin.

“Eddie,” Buck sighs, and a shiver jolts up his spine, and Eddie blames that for the very stupid, very reckless thing he does next: slides his hand further up into Buck’s hair to hold his head still, tilts his own head up, and kisses him. He kisses him like he’s been wandering the desert for days and Buck has handed him water, kisses him like the last bit of air left in the world resides in Buck’s lungs, kisses him like he’s a sinner and Buck is his reconciliation.

His knees hit the back of the couch and he falls, Buck landing on his lap, and Buck only moves away to say, “this isn’t just because—please tell me this—”

“It’s not,” Eddie says, chasing after Buck’s mouth, “Jesus, you have no idea—”

“Kinda think I do,” Buck says, and he dips down to kiss him again. “Hey Eddie,” he says, hands framing Eddie’s face, thumbs brushing over his skin, “did you know that skin to skin contact reduces the amount of cortisol in your body?”

Eddie can’t stop touching him—hands on his waist, stroking up his back, digging his fingertips into Buck’s biceps as they kiss. He hums, reeling in his desperation, the desire that sings through his frantic heartbeat. “Got any suggestions?”

“I can think of a few,” Buck says, and his fingertips dance along the hemline of Eddie’s shirt.

----

Later—hours later—Eddie’s sprawled out on his front, head pillowed on Buck’s shoulder, fingertips counting out the steady beat of Buck’s pulse as Buck sweeps his hand gently up and down Eddie’s back. And he loves it, but—“you don’t have to keep touching me,” he says into Buck’s skin. “Don’t feel like—”

“Do you like it?”

“Yeah,” he says, quietly.

“Then let me keep doing it,” Buck says, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

[finnishcrimestory]

The lake Bodom murders

On 4th of June 1960 vocational school students Maila Irmeli Björklund (15) and her friend Anja Tuulikki Mäki (15) accompanied their mutual friends Nils Wilhelm Gustafsson (18) and Seppo Antero Boisman (18) and went camping to the shore of the lake Bodom, located in Högnäs Espoo. It wasn't a long time after the murders that happened in the Tulilahti camping site (only one year) so the parents of the girls weren't exactly happy to let their daughters going to the trip, but they let them go on the last minute. They went with the boys’ motorcyckles and set their camp and tent near a local beach. They hung out and went to sleep around 12 am. After only couple hours of sleep however they woke up and at that time the two guys went fishing. After that they all went back to sleep.

Little is known what happened next, but on 5th of June early in the morning someone attacked the youngsters hitting them in the head with something heavy and blunt. Boisman and Björklund were also stabbed, Björklund over 10 times. The murderer stabbed them through the tent fabric. The primary cause of death for Boisman, Björklund and Mäki was skull fracture. Nils Gustafsson was able to flee from inside the tent, but the killer hit him on the head possibly with a rock. He was the only one to survive the attack but he had multiple fractures on his skull as well. Gustafsson was found laying on top of the collapsed tent and he spent weeks in a hospital and made full recovery.

The victims were found on the next morning after people started to arrive at the beach. Gustafsson was alive like previously stated, but he was barely conscious. The police was quickly on the scene and during the same day they were able to conduct multiple stop checks and the biggest ever terrain exploration around the area. During this exploration the police were able to find 88 wanted people but were unable to find the killer.

The victims were missing their belongings, including their wallets and some of their clothing. Some of the clothing and shoes belonging to Gustafsson were found about a half a kilometers away from the scene, hidden away behind a rock. Other belongings and a jacket belonging to Boisman were never found during the investigation.

The murder weapon was never found. Gustafsson told the investigators that after they went to sleep he doesn't remember anything. There were eye witnesses, but what they were able to see were just some movement on the shore. 14 year old Olavi Kivilahti saw a blond man wearing a light colored shirt walking past the camp about 50 meters away, but Olavi was nearsighted and he wasn't wearing any glasses so his sighting is questionable. The police received over 50 notices of the blond man to the end of July but none of those resulted in an arrest.

After some time had passed and the police still had no idea who had murdered the youngsters, they decided to hypnotize Gustafsson. It was conducted on 2nd to 5th of July 1960. The 14 year old boy Olavi was also hypnotized couple times. During the hypnosis both of them described the suspect and drawings were done based on the descriptions, but it didn't lead to anything. Gustafsson described a man who cut a hole on the tent and hit them with a knife and with a metal pipe.

The description for the killer was: aged around 20 to 30 years old, not young nor old, height about 173-174 cm (5'8), normal body type (heavier than Gustafsson though), round face, red cheeks, long blond hair combed back, normal ears with round earlobes, high wrinkled forehead, big eyes (color unknown), straight nose (not long nor short), normal light eyebrows, bold lips, strong jaw, short neck, white teeth (unknown if some are missing), big and thick fingers; special characteristics: pimples on forehead and cheeks. Clothing: plaid shirt with black buttons (buttoned up all the way), shirt contains many colors, at least black and green.

Suspects

Pauli Luoma

At first the police were searching a man that had been spotted in the area carrying a bag belonging to the victims. He had black beard and he was walking with a bicycle. He had also been spotted coming out from the forest wearing a bloody shirt. He was Pauli Kustaa Luoma, a runaway from a labor camp who had an alibi for the night. He had been in Otaniemi, Espoo during the murders. Otaniemi is 19 kilometers (11 miles) away from the lake Bodom which is about 23 minute trip.

Pentti Soininen (b. around 1945, d. 1969)

At the end of 1960, 24 year old Pentti Soininen confessed while in Kuopio prison that he murdered the youngsters. During the murders he was 15 years old and it was true that he had been near the lake during the murders, because he had run away from approved school. The police interrogated him but they did not give much weight to his confession. Soininen was described as a psychopath who could act in a very peculiar ways especially under the influence of drugs and alcohol. Soininen had a long list of crimes under his name: thefts, assaults and robberies. Soininen committed suicide by hanging in Toijala train station while he was being transferred to a prison in 1969.

Valdemar Gyllström (b. 1909, d. 1969)

Karl Valdemar Gyllström was a suspect for a long time. He was known to hate campers and he often acted aggressively. His nickname was "Kiosk-man" because he apparently had a kiosk. He drowned himself to the lake Bodom in 1969 and people said he confessed murdering the youngsters before this. His neighbor told that he had said: "It was me who killed them". Gyllström had apparently filled and closed his well on his yard couple days after the murders and that led to his house and yard being carefully searched. However nothing was found, though it is possible all the stolen belongings had been discarded. Gyllström's son-in-law has been told to be certain that the murder weapon lies at the bottom of the closed and filled well. According to the police, Gyllström had an alibi for the night, an alibi that had been confirmed by Gyllström's wife. His wife had told that she had been up all night and according to her, Gyllström hadn't left the house. However, shortly before the wife died she told that Gyllström had threatened to kill her if she told the truth. What truth? Who knows.

Hans Assman (b. 1923, d. 1998)

One of the most known suspect was German-born Hans Assman, who has also been suspected to being a KGB spy. On 6th of June 1960 Assman was brought to Helsinki surgical hospital where he acted in a very weird way. People in the hospital also noticed how unkempt Assman was: his fingernails were very dirty and his clothes were full of red stains. Assman lied to the hospital staff the reason for his condition but he told the truth about his way of living (he lived about 5 km (3 miles) away from the lake). He also pretended to being unconscious and he was aggressive and nervous. Assman's description reminded a lot of the description of the suspect. When the news informed the characteristics of the suspect, Assman cut his hair short.

Jorma Palo who at the time worked in the hospital as an amanuensis was very certain Assman was the killer. Many people from the hospital's staff also agreed with Palo. The police met with Assman very briefly and they did not want to discuss with the hospital staff. They also did not take Assman's stained clothes for inspection. Palo later wrote three books about the murders and about Assman. Former detective inspector Matti Paloaro connected Assman to five other murders as well, among them the murder of Kyllikki Saari and even the death of minister Penna Tervo. Assman was a perfect match for the description given by Gustafsson and Olavi. However according to the police Assman had a perfect alibi. It wasn't revealed for the public that time though, because it had a sensitive nature. 

The documents about Assman became public in 2005. According to them Assman had been with his girlfriend during the night. She lived as a subtenant and her landlord and -lady saw Assman sitting eating breakfast in the morning. The documents verify that then 36 year old Assman did spent the night in the apartment (located in Helsinki) during the murders. Assman had had this affair going on for years (he had a wife). Assman slept in the same bed with his 33 year old girlfriend. The bedroom door had been open for the entire night and no one noticed Assman leaving at any point during the night (apparently if he would’ve left, it would have been noticed). Assman woke up at 9 am and at that time the murders had already been committed and the first passerby's had noticed the collapsed tent. According to the police the red stains on Assman's clothing were paint that he had used while at work. Jorma Palo was the one who suspected Assman being a KGB agent and that he was being protected. The police has been saying that Palo's books were pure fiction.

Two people fishing

The two young men who were fishing on the lake during the murders were never identified. They never came forward to the police even though it was asked multiple times. What was weird is that the two men left the fish they caught behind. Nothing is known of them.

Nils Gustafsson

44 years after the murders in 2004 the lone survivor Nils Gustafsson was suddenly arrested as a suspect. The blood samples gathered from the tent supported Gustafsson being the perpetrator. The police also informed that DNA technology revealed things that couldn't be found back in the 60s. However during the trial nothing significant was uncovered from the samples.

Gustafsson has been saying he doesn't remember anything about the murders since the day one and that hasn't changed. He thinks he got brain damage from the attack and that resulted to amnesia. During the trial an important point was to find out whether the blows to his head were strong enough to result to amnesia. The prosecutors tried strongly to belittle the injuries Gustafsson suffered and they claimed he exaggerated them.

According to the prosecutors Gustafsson and Seppo Boisman had been drinking on the night of the murders and then started to have an argument. The prosecutors also claimed that Maila Björklund had turned down Gustafsson's sexual advances and this would've led to Gustafsson losing his temper. The claim is supported by the stabbing wounds on Björklund's body: according to the coroner she was stabbed 15 times.

The district court excluded all the charges on 7th of October 2005. According to it nothing proved that Gustafsson murdered his friends. They disqualified the jealousy claims also. They excluded everything because the eye witness sightings were pointing to an outsider perpetrator.

The investigation and trial got a lot of attention but Gustafsson was freed in 2005. The prosecutors did not complain about the verdict to the court of appeals.

Gustafsson gave one very rare press conference. During it journalists were very aggressive with their approach and pointed out the illogical things in the things he had said: it was weird he claimed he didn't remember anything but at the same time he remembered that he for sure wasn't the one who murdered his friends. Gustafsson didn't explain himself further though, he stated: "I am innocent and that's that."

The National Bureau of Investigation had an investigator who testified something very interesting. He claimed that after Gustafsson had been arrested he had said: "What is done is done, I got fifteen years", which was seen to be a confession. This testify wasn’t told immediately though, it was only told during the trial. Gustafsson himself said he doesn't remember saying anything like that and if he did, it was simply a joke. The district court stated that it wasn't investigated properly. They also said: "The fact that the saying did not lead to any action points to the fact that even if Gustafsson would've said it, it wasn't a confession and even the investigator who heard it in the first place did not think that way either during the time."

To this day the murders are still unsolved and it is believed by many Finns that they will never be solved.

[anactualcaseofthetruth]

Friends Can Break Your Heart Too > Chapter 3 Archive Of Our Own Link

Catch Up:  Chapter 2 Chapter 1

Summary:  Mia Flores flees to Santo Padre for one reason and one reason only: her godfather and the man who raised her, Bishop Losa. The last thing she expects is for Angel Reyes to come into her chaotic life and just maybe be the one thing that starts to make sense.

Chapter 3:

“Pizza!” Letty calls out as she enters the house just a few steps ahead of Mia.

Immediately, all construction noises cease, the small hand tools are dropped, and they are closing in.

“Fucking finally,” Coco says as he takes the pizzas from his daughter. “I was starting to feel like we’re working in a real fucking sweatshop, like no food or breaks until you’re done, you know?”

“Dude, you take a smoke break every fucking five minutes, calm down,” Angel instructs while freeing Mia’s own hands of the small pizza and box of Styrofoam on top without a word.

“Hey! These are for me and Letty, you each got your own pizza,” Mia complains with hands out.

“What, I’m not allowed to help? Be nice?” he questions and holds the food above his head so she can’t reach.

“Fine. Thank you, now give it back!” she whines and follows him to the kitchen to join the others, jumping for it the whole way.

“No, I don’t like your attitude.”

“Angel! C’mon, I’m hungry!” Mia exclaims with hands on her hips and a frown on her face

“Apologize first,” he says, and their audience laughs.

“I’m going to slap you,” she counters grumpily.

He looks her up and down, noting her ripped jeans and a tight, white tee matched with a black jacket and black and white sneakers on her feet. “Can you even reach without heels on?”

Mia’s eyes turn to slits before tapping him in the balls. It’s not so hard to hurt him, but enough to put him into defensive mode and lower the food. “Now, was that so hard?” she asks sweetly while handing the Styrofoam off to Letty.

“You better watch your back, Flores,” he warns, ignoring the snickers around them, and reaches for his pizza.

“Oh, but you’re so much better at it than I am,” Mia teases in return.

Angel nods as he swallows. “Can’t argue that. Hey, prospect, beer?” he asks of his brother a moment later.

EZ turns from his own pizza and takes enough out of the fridge for all of them besides Letty. She gets a bottle of Coke instead.

“Wait, you guys have beer here? While you’re working? I’m doing to die in a house fire, aren’t I?” Mia sighs while looking down at her white spinach pizza.

“Nah, there was nothing wrong with the wiring, so we haven’t had to mess with it. You’re safe from house fires,” EZ assures her.

Coco, on the other hand, makes an unsure noise and shrugs. "That’s not saying the crackheads who lived here before didn’t fuck with it. So, if you do die, it wouldn’t be on our consciences."

“That is what I was worried about, how you all would feel if something happened, not about actually dying,” Mia tells him in monotone.

“Good looking out, no worries, we’d be alright,” Coco insists, and the group laughs some more.

Upon further inspection to Bishop’s rental, her godfather decided a small remodel was in order before she could move in. “Nothing huge,” he promised her, “just some paint and maybe new carpet.” Well that was a month ago, and she has yet to move in.

What he meant by ‘nothing huge’ is repainting every single room, new molding, replacing over half the light fixtures, a few new windows, and a completely redone bathroom upstairs.  Then, after finding hardwood in good condition under said carpet he decided he wanted certain rooms without carpet at all which meant pulling up good carpet that wouldn’t have even needed replaced. The kitchen, luckily, was the best-looking room in the house when they started, having been redone before the last tenants moved in, so all he insisted on was a fresh coat of paint, a few new appliances, a couple tiles replaced, and a good cleaning.

Mia’s been told the upstairs is ‘almost done’ and they are finishing up the living room now.

She has also noticed new pieces of furniture showing up when she isn’t around. Which, that isn’t hard to do since she only stops by once or twice a day to feed the guys and ‘make sure they are doing their fucking work’ at Bishop’s request. A new queen-sized bed appeared two weeks ago, a dining set a few days later, and after commenting on how comfy his couch is one similar has taken residence in the garage, not that she is supposed to know about it.

Mia's done her best to not argue with Bishop about all of it. She knows he means well, however, when she looks around all she sees is her godfather silently pleading with her to stay, possibly forever, but when asked about long-term plans she avoids giving any real answer.

It’s not dependent on her, not really, it depends on whether her past catches up with her.

“So how much longer until you guys are finally done with this place?” Letty asks as she eats her chicken fingers. “I can’t wait to have a sleepover.”

Mia smiles at the younger girl and pushes all thoughts of her ex away. Over the past month the two of them have formed a close bond. She sees a piece of herself in Leticia—being one of the few Mayan daughters, having mothers who barely cared, and men who aren’t quite their fathers as their sole parent. Coco is actually Letty’s dad, but she didn’t know that until a couple months ago, so it’s still ‘completely weird’ according to her.

She hopes to be the female figure she needed when she was stupid teenager for Letty. Growing up around these guys isn’t easy. It’s certainly never dull, but Mia remembers how kids at school used to look at her, with that mixture of fear and pity, of jealousy and hate. She remembers what boys thought of her, that because of how women are around the MC that she would be both easy to sleep with and manipulate.

That last part wasn’t entirely wrong, but she wants it to be different for Letty.

“Well, Prez is supposed to have a walk-through in a day or two. If he doesn’t see anything else wrong with it, hopefully next week,” Gilly says when no one speaks up.

Mia likes Gilly, she likes all the guys, but these four are a package deal. Angel is the ringleader, EZ his sounding board, Coco the one who challenges him when necessary, and Gilly is the silent partner. He only really speaks when spoken to, but is always listening, and is very much a protector.

“You guys said that last week,” Letty reminds them.

“Girl, you know we had the Vegas run and it set us back. Stop pushing,” Coco warns her. “It ain’t even your house.”

“No, but we’re going to have a sleepover the weekend she moves in,” Letty tells him like its common knowledge. And honestly, she’s been talking about it so much it practically is.

“Really?" Angel questions with a playful look towards Mia, never one to pass up an opportunity to give her shit, or flirt with her. Sometimes both happen in the same sentence. "Anyone else invited to this sleepover?”

As always, she decides to play along. “Why? You need a facial? We can buy extra masks.”

“It’d be nice to be thought of, that’s all,” he insists. “Besides, it’s not me that needs the facial. EZ’s skin is shit compared to mine.”

“Hey,” his little brother speaks up and it sounds so pitiful Mia can’t help but laugh.

“Shoulda seen his face in junior high. Pimple fuckin’ city,” Angel goes on. “Our mom had to buy him special cream and everything.”

“Can we stop? Like, that’s the point of this?” EZ asks as he turns just a little red.

“The point is mine was clear and yours wasn’t,” Angel responds.

“And when we were kids you were fat and I wasn’t,” EZ says with arms crossed. “So, shut up.”

Everyone laughs as they eat, but Mia is practically jumping up and down with joy. “Oh, my God, please tell me you have pictures. I want to see pictures of little chunky Angel,” she pleads.

“Stop, it wasn’t that I was fat exactly,” Angel tries to stop her giggles. “I wasn’t! I was a little late to puberty, alright?”

“Dude, you were definitely chunky,” EZ states. “Accept it.”

“No, I just didn’t grow for, like, a year, that’s all,” Angel argues. “You, quit laughing,” he demands while staring Mia down. “I’m serious, I was pretty much the same height for a year. Ezekiel was almost as fuckin’ tall as me, and he’s two years younger than me. Then, I shot up, like, six fuckin’ inches.”

“And you lost all your baby fat?” Mia asks, still snickering.

“As a matter of fact, yes, I did, and now look, all muscle, baby,” Angel says and lifts his shirt to show the abs that he knows she’s fond of. And, sadly, she’s not allowed to touch them because no one knows they are sleeping together.

“Damn,” they all hear Letty mumble and Mia can’t stop the laugh from bubbling up her throat. She would have said the same thing if she hadn’t seen them before.

“Alright, put that shit away, I got a kid here,” Coco urges and throws a napkin at Angel’s chest.

“What, this shit?” EZ asks while lifting his shirt too.

“Hold on, I gotta get a picture of this,” Letty says, her phone already in her hands.

Coco smacks it away. “Stop, they are like your uncles.”

“No, they definitely aren’t,” she counters, making the brothers laugh while dropping their shirts.

Mia gives Letty a pointed look that the girl ignores. She knows all about the younger girl’s crush on EZ, and she also knows how completely unattainable and stupid it is. Letty will grow out of it eventually, probably when she gets a crush her own age. At least, her next crush better be someone her own age.

“You’re real funny. You get that shit you needed for school?” Coco questions as he stands having eaten his whole pizza save three slices. Letty nods with her mouth full. “Good, we should get going. You got school in the morning and I got my own shit to do.”

“Yeah, what’s her name?” Angel asks innocently while picking up another slice.

“Ew,” Letty mutters as the others laugh. “Let’s go before this conversation continues. Is your car unlocked, Mia? The stuff for my project is still in it.”

“Yeah, it’s open, help yourself.”

“I’m going to head out too. I told Pop I’d stop by before he went to sleep,” EZ mentions.

“Let me know if there’s anything good on the history channel,” Angel jokes.

“Don’t worry, I know how you feel about a good Vietnam documentary,” EZ assures him and the brothers share a laugh.

Everyone starts getting up and throwing away their paper plates and saying their goodbyes. For now, anyways, since most of them will meet up back at the clubhouse before the night is over.

Mia’s just finishing up putting all the leftover pizza slices into one box for the boys to fight over tomorrow before she brings over their lunch when Angel comes back into the kitchen.

“I locked your car,” he says, and she jumps about a foot in the air. “I know it’s a piece, but you still shouldn’t leave it unlocked like that.”

She turns with a hand over her heart. “Don’t do that, I thought you were leaving,” she scolds him.

“When did I say that?” he questions with a crinkle to his eyebrows.

Mia rolls her eyes. “I don’t know, maybe when everyone said they were leaving, and you walked out with them?”

“I never said I was leaving. Besides,” he starts while approaching her and sets his hands on her hips, “I can’t say goodbye before I get a proper hello.”

“Oh, a proper hello?” Mia asks as his head dips in closer to hers. “What would that entail, exactly?”

“This,” he says and lifts her onto the island, their lips already connected and tongues threatening to meet.

His beard brushes against her chin and she reaches up to lightly scratch at it. “Mm, scruffy,” she murmurs, having admitted her liking his beard to him before. He does, in fact, use a special beard shampoo and pomade in it.

He smiles at her and lifts his chin so she can have better access. “I swear, if I was a dog this shit would make me do that kicking leg thing,” he mutters with his eyes closed.

“Hm, you’re cute,” she tells him as his chin practically sits in her hands, his face the picture of peace.

She’s not ashamed to admit that Angel quickly has become her best friend, not only in Santo Padre, but in general. Of course, she’s never been one to have many friends. Growing up other kids were weary of her, of Bishop rolling up in a Harley to pick her up from school, and their parents only saw the kutte on his back.

When it came to the club, there weren’t many other Mayan kids. Most of them, like Coco with his other two that aren’t Letty, pay for them but aren’t really involved in raising them. Sometimes, when it was a son, they’d come back around during their teen years, want to be like their biker dad, and prospect once they hit eighteen.

Her best friend was Marcus Alverez’s son Esai, but she hasn’t spoken to him since she left Oakland when her and Bishop had their big blowout. Cutting the club out of her life included Esai, and no matter how much he tried to claw his way back in she didn’t let him. That’s a bridge she hasn’t repaired yet.

“You look tired, osito,” she whispers and his eyes pop open.

Angel smiles lazily. “Is that what I am to you, huh? A teddy bear?”

“My teddy bear,” she corrects.

“Let’s keep that between us, huh?” he murmurs when his eyes slide closed again as she continues to scratch at his chin. “Wouldn’t want the guys to know how sweet I am on ya.”

Mia holds back a laugh. “As far as they're concerned the only thing you’re sweet on is my ass.”

“Ain’t no hiding that, querida,” he agrees. After a few minutes Angel’s eyes open and his face breaks out into a smile. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Is it shiny or is it chocolate?” she immediately asks, making him laugh and lift his chin from her hands.

“Neither it’s upstairs,” he replies and turns around to signal for her to jump onto his back, and she does, happily.

Mia tightens her hold around his shoulders. “Ooh, a sex swing? I’m in, but Bishop might be pissed."

Angel's laugh in return is loud and boisterous. “Nah, not that, but I can always add one later if you want,” he says and begins making his way up the steps. “Remember last week when Bishop told you to think about colors for the house? And you weren’t sure about what you wanted to paint your bedroom?”

“Uh, yes,” Mia confirms as they reach the top. “But Bishop said I had time to choose, that painting was the last thing you guys were going to do and I had colors for all the other rooms so you guys could get started.”

“It is, but” Angel stops at the master bedroom and lets her slide down his back until her feet touch the ground. “I got an idea. If you hate it, I can fix it, make it whatever you want, I just,” he sighs, his nerves obvious.

“Hey,” Mia says and grabs his hands so both of them are intertwined, “I’m sure I’ll love it, whatever it is, just because you did it,” she assures him. “Unless it’s just plain white, then that’s kinda lame and I’ll probably laugh.”

Angel chuckles and shakes his head at her. “It’s not white, promise.” He opens the door hesitantly with an unsteady breath. “Just… don’t lie if you don’t like it, okay?”

“Promise,” she echoes back to him and he flicks the lights on before ushering her inside.

Mia finds the room painted a pink-orange shade, the kind in a sunset, but it’s the ceiling that makes her gasp. It’s blue, dark blue, with slashes of different shades throughout to resemble the night sky, along with some yellow and gold. It’s very Van Gogh, but of course not Van Gogh.

“Oh, my God,” she whispers with hands over her mouth.

“And, uh, there’s this too,” Angel tells her before slapping the lights off and the ceiling lights up. There are glow in the dark stars on it. Not enough to be childish or make the room bright, but just enough to look like stars faraway in the sky.

“Angel,” Mia sniffs.

“I remembered how much you liked looking at the stars when you first moved here,” he explains. “And I woke up last week to some stupid infomercial on the TV in the middle of the night. They were selling some Starry Night knockoffs and the idea came to me. I hope you don’t mind or, I don’t know, if you don’t like it I can—”

“Stop,” she insists with a hand on his chest as she looks up. “It’s… it’s—I don’t even know what to say, Angel.”

“You like it?” he asks, and his voice is so soft, so vulnerable Mia’s heart tightens.

For a moment all she can do is nod. “I love it,” she finally manages and blinks to stop the tears from forming. “I’ve never had anyone go out of their way for me like this except Bishop, at least, not unless it was some sort of apology from a boyfriend at the time.” The lights come back on and Mia turns to face him, but Angel is looking anywhere but her. “Did you do this yourself?”

He nods and looks up at the artwork, still avoiding eye contact. “Yeah.”

“How did you—I mean, how?” she asks with a knot in her throat.

“I used to paint when I was a kid, and into high school. I, uh, stopped when my mom died,” he confesses with his eyes now on his hands as he plays with his rings. “I was rusty as fuck, but I don’t know, I think it turned out pretty good.”

“Hey,” Mia urges and lifts his chin until their eyes meet. “I love it.”

Angel nods and licks his bottom lip. “Really?”

“I absolutely adore it,” she promises, her voice low and gets on her tip toes while wrapping an arm around his neck to pull until their foreheads are touching. “And the fact that you did it yourself? That makes it so much better. You’re very talented, mi osito.”

“Again, with the teddy bear? You’re gonna fuck up my rep, querida,” he teases.

“Well, the rep you have with me is being almost too good in bed and possibly the sweetest man I know, so,” she stops with a shrug and starts backing him up until he hits the bed half-covered in plastic.

Angel falls on the bed with a laugh and shoves at the plastic covering until it hits the floor. “Almost too good? Damn, gotta step up my game then.”

Mia moves to straddle him. “Please don’t,” she replies with her hands on his chest. “I would end up ugly crying, like, all the time.”

“Ugly crying, huh?” he asks and removes her hands from underneath his shirt where she had been trying to push it up. “Now I know what the goal is.”

“I am serious, Angel Reyes, do not,” she warns and starts fighting for control of her hands so she can continue to undress him. “Let me go! I want to make it up to you,” she insists as they begin to wrestle.

Angel rolls them over and pins her hands above her bed. She tries extremely hard not to get turned on, but fails miserably. “I don’t want you to make it up to me,” he tells her once she stops struggling. “I did this out of the goodness of my heart and making it up to me implies that I did it for something in return.”

Warmth spreads from Mia’s chest down to her toes. “Okay, then, can we fuck just because I’m horny then? It has nothing to do with me being incredibly grateful for what you’ve done.”

“You sure?” he questions and tightens his hold when she begins to resist again.

“Nothing at all,” she confirms as she squirms. “I just realized why you’re so good with your hands and I want to feel them all over me.”

“Alright then,” Angel lets go and sits back on his haunches. “Strip, everything off.”

“You’re sitting on me,” Mia reminds him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’ll help with the bottom stuff, but I think you can handle the top,” he tells her while pulling his own shirt off. “Hurry up, I wanna see if I can get you to do that ugly crying thing.”

Mia glares at him once the top is over her head. “Do not. This mascara is not waterproof.”

“Not my problem. I’m always prepared,” he replies while flashing a condom in front of her face, “it’s time you start to be too.”

She rolls her eyes while undoing her bra. “I can’t believe you’re about to get laid after saying that.”

Angel grins and starts to take off her pants. “I’ve gotten laid after saying tons of dumb shit. It’s the pretty face that gets the panties to drop,” he says before sliding her cheeky lace underwear down. “What my mouth can do helps though. So, get up, you’re gonna sit on my face.”

“Geez, bossy,” she mumbles but readily slips out from underneath him and onto her knees.

“You’re into it,” he murmurs before pressing his lips against hers as his hands slide down her bare sides.

“Only when your mouth or dick are involved,” Mia says, breathless, when they pull away.

Angel grins as his hand slides between her legs. “We’ll see about that.”

About an hour later, Mia makes her way downstairs looking for Angel. Guys have it so much easier, she thinks. All they gotta do after sex is get dressed. Being the handsy motherfucker her boy is, Mia looks like she’s been through a tornado after they’re done, and needs put together, not to mention a moment to pee. He just throws away the condom and zips up before sauntering off.

“Angel?” she calls after not seeing him in the living room or upon entering the kitchen.

“Outside!” she hears and notices the back door slightly ajar.

Mia finds him outside on a lawn chair, the kind people lay out on next to a pool, apparently something else she has inherited from Bishop’s previous tenants. Angel is holding a beer in one hand, a cigarette in the other. “Room for me?”

Angel tilts his head back to look at her before parting his legs. “Always for you.” She lifts a leg of her own and swings it around to straddle his hips. “Beer?”

She nods and takes a sip before handing it back. “So,” she starts and stares at him expectantly.

“Sooo?” he echoes while taking a swig.

“So, you paint?”

Suddenly, the beer becomes interesting, as it’s all he can look at now. “I did.”

“Osito, you just pulled a Michelangelo on my bedroom ceiling. You paint, present tense,” Mia insists.

“I… relapsed,” he attempts to joke, but Mia shakes her head and lifts his chin.

“You know you can talk to me, right? We don’t just have sex, at least, that’s not all this is for me,” she admits with a tint of pink in her cheeks. “You’re like my best friend and I don’t say that easily. I’m not really one for friends.”

“I don’t believe that shit for a second,” Angel immediately disagrees with one last puff of his cigarette before flicking the cherry off the tip and turning his head so the gray smoke doesn’t hit her face. “But, if you gotta know, and I know you won’t shut the fuck up until I tell you,” he goes on and she grins in triumph, “my mom liked to paint. It was her thing. It was mainly religious shit, you know,” he says with a shrug, “but she was really good. She even has a piece hanging in the church we went to growing up.” He stops to smile, and Mia can’t help but mirror it, the genuine happiness coming from him infectious. “I remember when it first got displayed, my dad told everyone his wife painted it. I swear, he worked it into every single fucking conversation somehow.”

“And she passed it on to you?”

Angel puts the beer bottle down and wraps his arms around her waist, his hands resting on her ass. “Not really, I mean, not intentionally, I guess. I was an angry kid, it started in junior high, back when I was a chubby fuck. I punched a few holes in the walls, and every time they made me fix it, but that just made me angrier,” he says and looks passed her head. “I don’t know, I guess it pissed me off that they made me patch them up without really asking what was wrong? My mom tried, but—” he stops and shakes his head, “she wasn’t the one I wanted to open up to.”

“You wanted your dad,” Mia states and Angel nods, his eyes meeting hers again.

“One day I got sent home from school for fighting and my mom had to come get me. Pop wouldn’t leave the shop, said it wouldn’t matter if he did, that I wouldn’t listen to him anyway,” he continued, “maybe he was right, I don’t know.”

Mia slips her hands under his shirt, her fingers drawing endless loops and shapes on his bare skin. “What was the fight about, do you remember?”

Angel nods slowly. “They used to call EZ Kodak because of his memory. Some asshole cornered him in the bathroom, had a friend hold him down while he pushed some sleazy magazine in his face and told him to remember it because it would be the only naked girl he ever saw or some shit. I was chubby, but EZ was as thin as a fucking rail. That kid’s metabolism is no joke,” he comments with a faraway look in his eyes, like he’s reliving the memory. “I found out and took the fucker down. I remember being pulled off him and looking at EZ, he was so embarrassed. Before they took me away, he asked me not to tell, so I didn’t. I didn’t tell what the kid did to him, and the little dick didn’t fess up to what he did either, so all they knew was that I held him down and kicked his ass.”

“That… sucks. It definitely made you look bad,” Mia points out with a stink face. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’m his big brother, I do what I gotta do,” Angel says easily, and she knows without a second thought he would do it again. “I expected to come home and go straight to my room or have a list of shit to do around the house. Instead, Mom brought me outside to the patio. There was this big, white canvas and a bunch of paint. She told me to paint my feelings. I thought it was stupid as fuck.”

Mia smiles, picturing little Angel looking at his mom with his ‘the fuck is this?’ expression and it’s definitely a funny image. “But you started painting?”

“I did it to just get it over with so I could go to my room, but I don’t know, it helped me get aggression out,” he admits. “My mom did religious realism, but I was super into abstract. I was throwing fucking paint around so fast my chubby ass worked up a sweat,” he chuckles at the memory. “It didn’t turn into anything, just a big shit colored blur, but it was better than punching a hole in the wall I had to fix the next day. Every time I got angry my mom had a canvas for me. I learned, I developed my own style, and I started taking classes at school. Sometimes I even watched my mom, asked her questions, and helped her a little bit. It became our thing.”

“That’s sweet,” Mia comments, her fingers now scratching at his happy trail as they often do.

Angel’s lips slowly stretch into a wistful smile. “I got real into charcoal for a while. Fuck, everything was covered in it. EZ hated it since we shared a room. My mom was annoyed because of the laundry, but she never said anything. Eventually, I settled on acrylic as my main medium. I would have so many fucking layers that it would take so fucking long to dry. I kept stealing her hair dryer to make it dry faster. She got so annoyed she bought me my own.”

“What did you do with all your work? I would like to see them, but I don’t think there is anything hanging at your place, or the clubhouse, or—”

“When she died, I quit,” Angel cuts her off. “It was our thing, and without her…” he trails off with a shake of his head, “I didn’t want to do it anymore, or be reminded of it. I stashed all my shit in the basement, it’s still there unless Pop tossed it.”

“What about her stuff?”

“It’s at the house, Pop still has a few displayed, has all her supplies exactly where she left them. I swear he turned parts of the house into a shrine. I could barely go in there right after she died and—” he falters, his voice deep and his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Um, I kept what she made for me in my old bedroom. I couldn’t look at it every day, I still can’t,” he admits. “I don’t know how Pop does it.”

Mia’s hands move to rest on his chest, rubbing softly to comfort him. “It’s okay that it still hurts, osito,” she assures him, and he drops his head while nodding. “The more you bury it, the more it hurts when it come out,” she whispers and kisses his head, her hands framing his face now.

“I didn’t—” Angel stammers and coughs to clear the knot in his throat. “EZ and I weren’t as close when we were teenagers, we had different shit going on in our lives, but I always had my ma. Sometimes I told her shit she didn’t even wanna hear, you know,” he chokes out and keeps shaking his head, but Mia keeps her hands firm. “We were closer than they know. Pop and EZ had each other, they talked all the time, but she was the person I talked to. With her gone…”

“I know,” she murmurs and kisses his forehead, his temple, anything she can while he refuses to look at her. “I’m here, mi angelito, I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere,” she promises over and over, her voice soft and hopefully soothing to him. She knows he’s settled a bit when he takes one of her hands in his and opens it to kiss the palm, a silent thank you she accepts. “Did your dad or EZ ever mention anything about it? About you not painting anymore?”

Angel shrugs nonchalantly and picks his head up. His eyes are glassy, and his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but she simply kisses each one chastely to let him know it’s okay. “EZ mentioned it a few times, but I told him to shut the fuck up and he did. I told him to shut the fuck up a lot when she died. He learned to stop pushing and I stopped giving a fuck about pretty much everything.”

“Is that why he went after the person who killed her, and you didn’t?” Mia asks, and instantly regrets it, but Angel doesn’t move or retreat into himself, even if he does tense up considerably.

His hands find her ass again, a way of comforting himself, she thinks. “EZ kept wanting it to be more than a robbery, more than just a senseless murder. It was like he couldn’t see anyone wanting to do wrong by her because she was like a saint.”

“But you could?”

Angel looks her in the eye now. “There’s a lot of evil people in the world. Our mother wasn’t spared because she was a good person. Good people get the shit end of the stick all the time. Ezekiel is the smartest person I know, but he couldn’t wrap his head around that. It ate at him. Sometimes I think if I didn’t push him away I could have helped him, stopped him, something. But I was too busy doing anything I could to not think about it, about her, what happened, that my little brother had to be the one to find her, that my father got his heart broken, and how fucking lonely I was with her gone.”

“Hey, everyone deals with shit in their own way,” Mia assures him. “EZ wanted to fix it, bring her killer to justice. You tried to ignore it because you couldn’t deal with the pain. What happened isn’t your fault, it’s not your brother’s either. And EZ doing what he did… he’s too headstrong to have let it go. It probably still would have gone down, but instead of your dad losing one son to the prison system, he would have lost two.”

Angel chuckles and licks his lips. “He lost me a long time ago. Ever since EZ was a toddler I lived in his shadow. He was the golden boy, the sports star, he was supposed to get out of here, be someone important. There were no aspirations for me, no dream to follow, it was all on EZ. He and Pop were always close, always reading shit, having these meaningful conversations that would stop as soon as I walked into the room. When EZ got locked up it was like Pop had nothing left because not only was his wife gone, but his best friend was too.”

“Angel—”

“It was the loneliest fucking year of my life until the club came to town,” he cuts her off, his hands pulling her closer. “I started to prospect as soon as possible. It’s a family, and I hadn’t had one since my mom died, and fuck, I needed something, anything, to hold on to. It wasn’t what my mom would have wanted, but I had to stop pretending things were gonna be different between me and Pop. I’m never gonna be like EZ and he never tried to understand me, even after EZ went away. Every Sunday I went to the house for dinner and we barely said five words to each other that weren’t about sports. Every holiday was a letdown. I’d stop at the shop a few times a week to check in, just to make sure he was okay. He’d give me meat and send me away.”

“What about now that EZ’s home?”

He sighs. “It’s better, I guess. He has his buddy back. Sunday dinners are more lively. He accepts the club a bit more now that EZ’s a prospect, but it’s still the same with me and him.”

“But now you have your brother back,” Mia insists, her voice hopeful.

At that, Angel smiles, and it’s real. “I do. I forgot how much I missed him, how much I love him. The MC kept me busy, but having him back, and prospecting? Sometimes I feel like we’ve never been closer.”

“At least you have that. Only child over here, remember?” she reminds him. “Bishop’s done so much for me that I can never thank him enough, but having a sibling is different. I would be in a room full of people and still feel completely alone. There’s just stuff you can’t tell your dad.”

“I asked Bishop what happened to your dad, to Valentino,” Angel confesses, and Mia’s eyebrows raise. “All he said was that he was shot.”

Mia looks down at their laps and nods. “He was. Eleven times.”

“Damn.”

She peers back up and shrugs. “The risk comes with the life, and my dad wanted to be part of the Mayans ever since Tio started it, Bishop too.”

“Wait, you call Marcus Alvarez Tio?” Angel asks, his face almost comical.

Mia can’t help but smile, even with their topic of conversation being what it is. “Yeah, I know you guys all see him as your beloved Padrino, but to me, he’s the guy who did something completely over the top at every single birthday of mine until I was, like, sixteen,” she explains, her lips still curved upwards. “I mean, when I was eight, he brought a pony to my party. A fucking pony. When I turned eleven, he got me a trampoline and put it at the clubhouse. It was broken before I turned twelve, but it was fun while it lasted.”

“Well, now I know what to ask him for my birthday,” Angel comments and she barks out a laugh. “Your pop was from Oakland?”

“Yep, born and raised. He and Bop grew up together, and what Bishop wanted my dad wanted too. They had similar backgrounds—immigrant parents, hard home lives, just not an easy upbringing. They came up together and quickly became part of Tio’s inner circle once they were patched in.”

“What happened?”

Mia moves her hands his chest and starts wringing them together. “There was some new MC trying to make a name for themselves,” she starts, and Angel’s hands make their way to hers, linking them together. “I guess they figured what better way to do that than to take out the president of the mother chapter of the Mayans?”

“Dumb fucks,” Angel swears with a shake of his head. “That shit doesn’t make you legit, it starts fucking wars.”

“Yeah,” Mia murmurs. “They were in Oakland doing business and my dad saw the windows go down. He pushed Tio to the ground and pulled out his gun. He took most of the hit. Bishop took one in the arm himself. My dad was dead within a few minutes, before the police even got there, or so I’m told.”

“I’m sorry,” Angel says quietly. “You were five, right?”

She nods. “Bishop insisted on being the one to tell me and my mom. I remember her screaming and falling to the ground, then Bishop coming over to me,” she recalls, blinking to keep her eyes clear. “He told me, and I refused to believe him. I started hitting him actually, and he had just gotten shot so even though I was five it had to of fucking hurt. Eventually he just bear hugged me until I started crying.”

“And then he stepped up for your dad.”

Mia nods. “After the funeral, I wouldn’t let Bishop leave my sight. I would throw the biggest tantrum if he left. And my tantrums weren’t just screaming and crying like other kids. I went fucking postal. I threw shit, broke whatever was in my way. I would get so worked up I made myself sick. Tio gave Bop some time off from club stuff to help me and my mom, to spend time with me so I wouldn’t turn into the Tasmanian Devil every time he left the room.”

“You know, I’ve heard you talk about Bishop raising you, what you remember about your dad, but this is the most I’ve heard about your mom,” Angel mentions. “There a reason for that?”

“There isn’t much to know about her. Personally, I think it should take more than giving birth to make you a mother, because she gave birth to me, but that’s all she ever did. She’s no mother,” Mia states.

“It was like that even before your dad died?”

“She was there? I don’t know, I mean, Bishop says she was involved, but I have no memories of it. Maybe I held onto what I remember of my dad because I knew I wouldn’t be able to make more memories. But after he died, she just spiraled. Started drinking a lot, when that stopped doing the trick she turned to pills, and then graduated to heroin by the time I was ten.”

“She never got with anyone else?” he questions, his fingers playing with hers.

“Oh, she got with plenty,” Mia assures him. “Whatever she had to do to get her fix, she did.”

“I meant, not another Mayan?” he corrects.

Mia makes a face. “The thing about my mom is, well, she’s a user. She liked being with someone in the club, the respect you got from the girls who weren’t, the looks on the street when someone knew you were an old lady. My parents don’t have this big romantic love story like yours,” she goes on. “My mom was going back and forth between my dad and Bishop before she got pregnant. She would fight with my dad then get with Bishop, when that went south she’d go back to my dad. When she got pregnant she actually didn’t know who the father was.”

“Oh.”

Mia smiles a little. “Bop used to joke that I was one of the luckiest girls in the world because most guys bail in that situation, but they fought over me. They both wanted me, and they both wanted her too. Eventually, they got a test and Valentino Flores was crowned lucky winner of the sperm race. They got married when she was six months pregnant.”

“Bish didn’t want her after?”

“He did, actually,” she answers. “But the heroin got in the way. It turns out that is my mom’s one true love, not my dad, not Bishop, and certainly not me. Bishop refused to make her his old lady until she got clean and was able to take care of me. And, with her and Bop’s history, not to mention my dad’s, no other Mayan would get with her out of respect. It kinda pissed her off because she liked being a kept woman, you know.”

“She’s still not clean now, I’m gathering,” Angel pieces together.

“Nah. She never is. The longest she’s made it is six months. Every couple years or so she comes around wanting to be with Bishop, wanting to get clean, wanting to be together ‘as a family’. He falls for it every time, but I know better. I hate it because he get his hopes up, wastes so much money putting her through rehab, getting her everything she wants when she says she’s clean, then a few weeks later she’s gone and takes everything she can with her. His cash, whatever valuables she could get her hands on. She even sold one of his guns once, one of the .45s that had the Mayan insignia on it and shit.”

“Damn,” Angel swears. “Pop and I were never close, but he was still there. I knew no matter what happened he’d bail me out of whatever jam I got myself into, that I’d always have somewhere to go, a warm meal to eat,” he goes on with a shake of his head. “I couldn’t imagine not being close with my ma. That sucks, I’m sorry.”

Mia shrugs and leans against his chest, her arms snuggled between them. “My mom needs to be the center of attention, something she stopped being when I was born. The only thing she loves as much as heroin, is herself. I was never more than dollar signs to her, the Mayans supported her because of me, and she knew it,” she exhales, content as his large, warm hands rub up and down her back. “I’ve never known different. It was Bishop who made sure I stayed in school, got me into dance classes when I wanted them, signed me up for kickboxing because he wanted me to be able to protect myself. He’s the reason I’m alive,” she admits. “Well, him and Esai.”

“Esai Alvarez Esai?” Angel asks, pulling away enough to look her in the eye.

Mia nods with a ghost of a smile on her face. “Yeah, we were raised together. I think they wanted us to be like brother and sister. I mean, we have pictures of us in the bath when we were little, but that’s not the way it went.”

“You and Esai Alvarez?” he questions, his expression dumbfounded.

“Do you know another one?” she wonders in a giggle.

“No, I just—he, I mean, he’s fucking married to the club. He’s gonna be king, you know,” he comments and pulls her back against his chest. “I’ve never seen him with the same girl for more than a couple hours.”

“That was one of our problems. I couldn’t,” she stops and sighs, “I get there are rules. What happens on a run stays on a run, he could get his dick sucked whenever I wasn’t around, that shit happens but I—I never got right with it. It’s why we were on and off for about seven years. He’d go on a run and he’d come home looking so fucking guilty and would deny it up and down, but I knew. He’d admit it, we’d break up, he’d fight to win me back, and eventually I would give in,” she goes on and shakes her head. “He was my first everything, I couldn’t let go, I wouldn’t at the time. I had only two people I truly let in my life that I knew would love me no matter what, and he was one of them.”

“Wait,” Angel says, his mind churning. “La que se escapo,” he whispers to himself.

“Oh, fuck,” Mia groans.

“You’re the tattoo on his arm, the one that got away,” he continues. “Gilly asked once, he told him to fuck off.”

“Sounds about right,” she laughs. “He got the tattoo for my birthday. My birthday, his tattoo, fucked up, right? But he didn’t get ‘the one that got away’ until we broke up for the final time. I was pissed, but—he had to do something with it. I covered mine up.”

“You had one? Of him, I mean?”

“Kind of, I had the, uh, the old lady tattoo on my arm,” she answers as she shifts to reveal her skull tattoo to him, the one that got them talking in the first place. “I covered it with the tattoo for my dads. I’d always wanted something for them, and a guy I knew said he’d be able to cover it easily enough,” she says and pulls her jacket back up. “Fuck, that pissed him off. To Sai, that meant we were really over. He refused to cover his, did that instead,” she goes on. “Told me that I would be the only woman he would ever marry, so if it wasn’t me, it wouldn’t be anyone, and so there was no reason to get rid of the tat. I’m sure he’ll get someone knocked up one day and she’ll be his old lady, and she’ll be able to accept the shit I wasn’t able to.”

“Not the life for you, huh?” Angel asks with an eyebrow raised.

“It could be,” Mia insists. “I understand being in the club, loving it, putting it above most of the things in your life, but I need to be the one thing that it’s more important than. Not that I would ever make him choose, I respect the MC too much for that, but—I need to know that I’m number one. Sai couldn’t do that, no matter how hard he tried. I realized I was trying making him into someone he wasn’t, and I loved him too much to do that,” she explains. “He really tried the last two years. He’d opt out of runs, spend every spare moment he had with me, was completely transparent, but—he would get so angry sometimes. It made him feel like I was keeping him from the club, but I wasn’t, not intentionally, I just didn’t trust him. He had too curious of a dick.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t piece this together sooner. Of course, you knew E, why wouldn’t you? And that tattoo, it’s really you,” Angel mutters more to himself than her. “I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“He got it when I turned eighteen and he asked me to be his old lady. I was so happy, I thought that things would be different, and they were for a little. Bishop was pissed off because I moved in with him, but I was eighteen, he couldn’t stop me. Of course, I was back and forth between break-ups,” she mentions as an afterthought.

“This relationship, it sounds great, by the way,” he teases.

Mia laughs a little. “When it was great, it really fucking was. When it wasn’t, we were toxic, and I didn’t see it until later. He never hit me or shit like that, Bishop would have killed him if he did, but I saw what he did as cheating, and he didn’t. It made me feel like I wasn’t enough even though he swore up and down it wasn’t about me,” she continues. “And, like you said, he’s gonna be king. There is nothing he would choose over the club, and even though I would never ask, I needed to know I meant more, but I never would. When I finally accepted that I ended it. There were a few hiccups, and it was one of the hardest things I ever did. He was my best friend, he knew every single piece of me, you know?”

Angel shakes his head. “No, I don’t. I’ve never been with anyone like that.”

“You’ve never had a serious girlfriend?” Mia asks, biting her lip when Angel’s hands roam across her ribs, his fingers brushing against her bra. “I don’t believe that.”

“I’ve had girlfriends, but never like you’re talking about. The most serious one was in high school, which sounds fucked up when you’re thirty-one,” he says, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. “But I also haven’t been looking for anything serious.”

“What happened to her?”

“Her name was Adelita. I knew her from school, we were in the same year, but I guess you could say we met at church. Mom made us go every Sunday, rain or shine, sick or healthy,” he states, but then rethinks it. “Well, if we were, like, projectile vomiting or some shit we got out of it, but that meant she had to stay home too, and we knew how much church meant to her.”

“You were pickin’ up girls at church, Reyes?” Mia teases with a rock of her hips.

“Querida, I can pick up girls anywhere,” he answers with a knowing smile. “Anyways, she helped out a lot at church, and my mom would always guilt me and EZ into helping with whatever fundraiser or cause they were involved in every few months. We were working a booth together during the end of summer carnival and I was doing more flirting than working—”

“What? I do not believe that for a second. You have to be lying—ah!” Mia stops in a squeak when Angel tickles her sides.

“It’s my love language, mi dulce, literally,” he jokes. “One minute we’re working the booth, the next my mom is there and inviting her to dinner. It just kind of escalated from there. She wasn’t my first girlfriend, but she was the first I think I actually loved.”

“You think?”

“Looking back, I think I was trying so hard to be someone I wasn’t for her. I tried to be into the things she was, I wanted to care as much as she did about everything she did, but—I think I just wanted my mom to be proud of me for something, to have something for her to gush about to her friends what was about me for once and not EZ,” he admits.

“I didn’t know your mom,” Mia states the obvious, “but I know she had things to be proud of you for. It’s easy to see how much you loved your mother, how you would do anything for her, you even shared a hobby with her. So, I know damn well she gushed about you, Angel Reyes, so you shush right now.”

Angel smiles and presses a soft kiss to her lips. “Thank you.”

“What happened? With Adelita?” she asks.

“Just didn’t work out. We really didn’t have all that much in common. I mean, I like helping people, I still donate to the church and to causes and shit, but spending every waking hour asking people for money, going door to door to give out pamphlets and shit? Man, I felt like I couldn’t fuck my girlfriend without getting money from someone else first,” he says, and Mia can’t help but laugh. “Besides, she went into the Peace Corps after high school and I knew that shit was not for me. We ended with no hard feelings.”

“And nothing since? No one serious?” Mia asks.

“After Mom died, I didn’t want serious. I just picked up girls to fuck ‘em. And ever since I’ve been in the club, I’ve been happy to sleep with whatever hang around was paying attention,” he answers honestly. “Besides, it takes a lot to be with someone in the club, you gotta deal with more than the average bullshit a guy puts you through.”

“Oh, I know,” she confirms.

“You also don’t know who actually wants you for you or because of the leather,” he adds on. “Like your mom, being an old lady is all some chicks want, it doesn’t matter who gets them the title.”

“So many girls hated me when I was with Esai, even after we broke up because they knew how much we still meant to each other. None of the girls understood, to them I had everything. If Esai was going to be king, I would have been queen, but being an old lady wasn’t my end goal. Being with Esai was. This one particular puta, Bianca, fuck, every time she could she was tryin’ to get her nails in him. When we broke up, she thought it was like open season. I was in more than one fight with that bitch,” she says with a vengeful look in her eye.

“I would pay to see that shit,” Angel insists, and Mia pushes on his shoulder as he laughs. “What? I know you can fight, Bishop’s gone on about it, how many matches you won when you were in kickboxing.”

“Yeah, that’s why they guys were always quick to hold me back, they knew I could do some serious damage,” she mutters grimly. “All I wanted was five minutes alone with her, still do. She was all talk and I hate that.”

“You’re still close with E, then?”

Mia looks down, mostly out of shame. “I was. When Bop and I had our falling out I wanted away from all things having to do with the MC. I was so sick of him bailing out my mom and never taking my side with her. Esai tries to stay out of shit when it comes to my mom. He fucking hates her, but he respects Bop’s feelings about her, so he didn’t back me up. I cut him out too and haven’t had the lady balls to reach back out. This is the longest we’ve gone without talking since we broke up. I needed time away from him then to get over him, you know. That, and every time we hung out right after we ended up fucking.”

“I don’t know if I want to be in love like that,” Angel admits and starts to light another cigarette.

“Like me and E?”

“Maybe, I guess, more like my parents,” he answers before inhaling. “I saw what happens when it ends. My dad still isn’t the same, almost ten years later.”

“That’s where we differ—you don’t know if you want it, but I don’t know if I’m capable of it,” Mia confesses.

“I don’t know if I believe that,” Angel comments.

Mia’s eyebrows raise as she makes a face at him. “I loved Esai, but—I never trusted him so I never completely let myself go with him. I trust him with my life, but my heart? I barely trust myself with that shit,” she stops and shakes her head in shame. “The relationship I ended when I came out here…” she trails off and holds her face in her hands so he can't see her shame.

“Hey,” Angel pulls on her wrists softly, but they don’t budge. “Hey, talk to me, baby,” he pleads quietly. “You’re my best friend too, you never have to be afraid to tell me shit.”

“It was bad,” she confesses, her voice barely above a whisper. “It didn’t start that way, and—fuck,” she swears while trying to hold back tears, hating herself for getting so upset. “When Bishop and I had our falling out, he was brought into the fight.”

“Your ex?” he questions while finally removing her palms from her cheeks.

“Yeah, his name’s Jay—Jason, actually,” she corrects herself. “We had just started dating when my mom OD’ed, again, and we weren’t serious, but,” she stops and shakes her head, “I mentioned it when we got into it, how the guy I was dating was a normal law-abiding citizen and being there, trying to figure out what detox program to get my mom in, it shouldn’t have to be my normal, his either.”

“What did Bish say?”

“That it didn’t matter, she’s family and you do what you have to for family,” Mia recites from memory. “I said that she wasn’t my family, and she didn’t give a shit about him, and until she decided to get help herself nothing he did would matter,” she pauses to wipe at the corners of her eyes in an attempt to rid the pool of tears. “And he said he raised me better than to not care about my own mother and he was ashamed of me.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Angel coos when tears start to fall. “It’s alright, c’mere,” he murmurs while pulling her into a hug.

“He’d never said that before, that he was ashamed of me,” she manages to get out in between shaky breaths. “I’d been arrested, kept in holding cells, tried drugs I told him I never would, made so many bad decisions he found about after the fact, but he’d never said he was ashamed of me.”

“He wasn’t, he’s not,” he assures her. “You don’t hear the way he talks about you when you’re not around, the joy in his eyes, how excited her gets. He loves you more than anything, mi dulce, please believe that.”

Mia nods against his chest, sniffling. “It hurt. What he said hurt, it hurt that it felt like he kept choosing her over me hurt, that he continued to believe her and not even listen to me, it really hurt. And I wanted to make him hurt too, so I said that I was done with it all—her, him, the MC, and that I would be better off with my cookie-cutter new boyfriend who would be able to give me a normal life.”

“It was a fight, everyone says shit during fights,” Angel responds in an attempt to console her.

“Yeah, but I made good on it. I stopped going to the clubhouse, I ignored Esai’s calls and texts, I didn’t check in with Bop the way I used to. I dug my heels in, and so did he,” she sniffs. “I fucked up. I made Jay out to be like Captain America and he wasn’t, I was just so angry, and so I tried everything to make it work to prove I was right. I gave in way too much, let him make me feel like I was crazy, isolate me, and control everything, and I mean everything,” she stops as her eyes well up again. “Fuck.”

Angel holds her tighter and presses kisses against her hair, shoulders, anywhere he has access to. “I’m right here, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” he promises.

“If Bishop knew what happened between me and Jay,” Mia says while wiping her cheeks, “he would be ashamed of me, it wouldn’t just be words.”

“Why do you say that?” Angel asks after a silent moment, his voice firm, cautious.

Mia shakes her head. “Never mind, forget I said anything,” she says and makes a move to get up, but he holds her down.

“No, I ain’t forgetting shit,” he tells her. “Talk to me.”

“It doesn’t matter, okay?” Mia insists and pulls free from his hold. “I got out of it, that’s what’s important. I’m here and made things right with Bishop and, and,” she falters and looks him in the eye, “I met you. My best friend.”

“I know you want me to let this shit go, babe, but—”

“No, no buts,” she cuts him off. “I need you to trust me when I say I handled it.”

Angel takes in a deep breath and stands with her. “Alright.”

“That’s it?” Mia asks, surprised.

“We’re best friends, right? If you say you handled it, then I believe you. That’s what best friends do,” he answers. “Especially ones that sleep together.”

“See, this is why we’re perfect for each other,” she insists while wrapping arms around his middle. “We’re best friends, we trust each other, and you don’t want to fall in love while I don’t think I ever truly can. We get the fun without the responsibilities of the relationship.”

Angel smiles softly before kissing her. “Well, when you put it that way…” he trails off and kisses her again.

They are interrupted by Angel’s phone buzzing in his pocket. He tugs it out and answers it immediately after looking at the caller. The conversation is quick, one she’s heard too many times before, but understands all the same. He’s needed at the clubhouse.

“I gotta go,” he sighs, but makes no move to let her go. “Thanks.”

“For what?” Mia asks, her chin resting on his chest as she looks up at him.

“Thanks for listening,” he whispers before kissing her gently. “I haven’t—I don’t talk about my mom, it’s just something I avoid, but it felt good talking about her with you.”

“Any time,” Mia says and pushes her lips against his in a barely-there kiss. “Me and Bop talk about my dad all the time. It was hard at first, but it makes it easier, I think. It helps keep your memories too.”

He nods. “Noted. You coming to the clubhouse?” he asks as they start to make their way back through the house and to their vehicles.

She shakes her head while leaning against her car. “Nah. If you got called in that means you guys are gonna be in templo for a bit and I’m tired. I was running around with Letty all day, remember?”

Angel puts his helmet on as he nods. “That girl does tire you out. Her mouth alone never stops moving.”

“Shut up, she loves you guys,” Mia scolds him with a smack to his chest.

“I never said she ain’t family, she’s just a teenage girl. I stopped being interested in them once I hit twenty,” he replies.

“Coming from your current sex partner, that’s good to know,” she jokes in return.

“Ooh, sex partner, I love it when you talk dirty. Say it again,” Angel instructs.

“Sex partner,” Mia says in a sultry tone.

They start to move closer to kiss again, but his phone goes off. “Fuckin’ Boy Scout,” he swears and pulls his phone out and declines his brother’s phone all. “Such a fuckin’ pissant.”

“You love him. Go, they’ll start to wonder where you are,” she encourages. “Thank you, again, for my ceiling.”

Angel’s leg swings over his bike and with a kick the engine roars to life. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I just made the call to get it done when you asked, remember?” he says with a wink.

Mia nods with a knowing smile and watches him pull away while berating herself for even bringing up Jay, let alone talking about what their relationship was like with Angel.

She makes a mental note. It will never happen again.

CHAPTER 4

TAG LIST:

@joalsglasses​ @mrsamaroevans​ @justahopelessssromantic​ @mrsjaxtellerfan​ @claytoncardenasbabymama​ @starrynite7114​

[b-rainlet]

📓📓📓📓

- the-scarecrxw

(Since you sent 4 of those emojis I'm gonna go off but I'll stick to one in this answer and make seperate posts for the others aksnsns)

I can't give you anything Jonathan centric (that isn't Tommy/Jonathan, one of my fave rarepairs) but Jerome features in lots of my AUs.

This one is one of my faves that's entirely self-indulgent and if it ever gets written it's probably gonna be the longest fic I ever published (Again: If it ever gets written):

I gotta apologize in advance, it's just a fun little AU I haven't put too much thoughts into in terms of plotting so this is gonna be A. Long, B. Messy and C. A little chaotic

- First off, you gotta understand that @nsfwitchy2 Me had some fun with a pretty nonsensical and definitely not canon-compliant AU where Jerome and Jeremiah have three Mums (Tabby, Lee and Barbara, who all date) and live with them and Barbara Lee as their little sister.

- Ecco also lives with them, she sees herself as both the twins' gf more than a genuine part of the family tho (for now)

- (Meanwhile at Wayne Manor Alfred and Jim date and are very tired parents of Bruce and his clone 514A, in this AU - and pretty much every AU - nicknamed Brook)

- (Selina kinda goes back and forth between living at Wayne Manor or at Lee's place)

- Also, everyone dates. The twins. The clones. Eccomiah, Jecco, Batcat, Valeyne, Wayleska, they're all fucking

- Which isn't THAT important for this particular AU but I figured I'd give a warning xD

- This is mostly my attempt to give Tabitha some more backstory? Just...how I personally see her character and how I could see her end up if things would've went differently after S2

- The google docs file is called 'How Tabitha started being a Mum while disregarding canon completely' lmao

- Like her current life involves having 4 kids (if you count Selina) and two wives and that's a hell of an AU and I just like to overthink things and play with the way things would have needed to have gone in canon to have her 'end up' like this

- Also I can see her struggling with having a family all if a sudden (that isn't a manipulative brother or a weird cult)

-Especially if that involves Motherhood

- So on one hand it's a 'S2 until now' fic, explaining what happened to her in my canon

- But also - mostly because I find that easier to organize in my brain - it's interwoven with a 5+1-esque fic of all her children calling her 'Mum' (and her getting emotional over that)

- So it switches back and forth between the past and the present but for rambling's sake, I'll start with the past

- She still leaves Theo behind and flees with Silver but she keeps Silver close instead of immediately sending her away

- And her and Silver get taken in by Fish after they leave Theo because they have nowhere to go and Fish loves taking care of strays

- (Fish, who probably didn't end up in Indian Hill but rather lives in hiding until she is ready to strike against Penguin)

- She refers to herself as Liza's Mother in canon, you can't tell me she wouldn't instantly adopt Tabby and call her 'Honey' and give her motherly advice while Tabby tries to be all bite but actually enjoys somebody taking care of her for once

- Selina🤝Tabby

'Trying so very hard all the time to not show how soft and insecure they are'

- Actually, I'd start diverting from Canon even sooner aksnsjd

- Well not full on changing canon, but I'd...pepper in some stuff

- Like some scenes of her back with Theo and the Maniax

- Mostly her talking to Theo about Jerome's planned murder, which, yeah, she knows it's been set in stone from the beginning but that doesn't mean that she isn't talking about alternatives where he doesn't get killed off

- And Theo's like "Don't tell me you're going soft. No one will miss him. He was just a boy. Not worthy enough to be remembered."

- And later on she betrays him and goes 'I remember him'

- Anyway, they stay with Fish for a while but Tabby doesn't wanna keep Silver in Gotham

- So she sends her back to the school she went to before coming to Gotham with Theo (but makes sure their weird cult can't get their hands on her there)

- And Silver wants her to come with but Tabby says she has some unfinished business

- Aka she just doesn't wanna leave Barbara (who is in a coma atm, if Memory serves right)

- And Tabby's reasoning is that it's not safe in Gotham but really, she thinks she can't be responsible for another person

- "She needs a mother. A Family. I can't give her that." - "You are her family."

- So Silver's out of the picture and Tabby hangs with Fish until Barbara wakes up and they get together again (and never ever seperate)

- Also there's no Butch/Tabby because that was unnecessary as fuck

- And I gotta be honest, I haven't thought more about canon because Butch/Tabby alone makes my head hurt already but somehow they start dating Lee

- Who brings Jerome into the relationship because I sure am fond of Lee being Jerome's Mother (like as in, I have several wips with that concept alone not counting this one)

- Jerome probably came back to life after S3 and Lee fought to have him not be treated like a violent criminal but rather a child who was taken advantage of and after his release from Arkham (where she visited him and made sure he got some proper treatment) it seemed natural to have him live with her

- (But also he's still a criminal aksnsjs, you can see how much I thought about this)

- (Sue me for sticking to the heartfelt scenes and avoiding the mess that is plotting)

- Tabby and Barbara already had Selina and through Jerome, Jeremiah and Ecco were added et voila! Their Family is complete

- (Why exactly Barbara Lee exists if Tabby and Barbara have been non-stop dating since S2 I can't tell you, I simply think she is neat and I like the idea of big brother Jerome)

- (This AU? Self-indulgent? Why would you ever think that?)

- In the present however she is dealing with what is mostly referred to as 'feelings'

- Mostly panic at realizing that the bunch of weird children she's been living with are seeing her as some kind of parental figure

- Because suddenly they all call her 'Mum'

- Unsurprisingly the first one to call her Mum is Jerome at breakfast

- She's reading the newspaper and there's an article about a hostage situation the twins planned and he goes 'Mum, are you done with that? Can we see?'

- And they snatch it from her and argue about how they didn't even make the front page while Tabby nearly chokes on her coffee

- And of course she breaks down talks to her wives about it later while they get ready for bed because no one ever called her 'Mum' before

- Barbara's braiding her hair, while Lee's off to the side, getting ready for bed and it's very domestic and I am very gay

- But neither see it as a big deal because both of them have been called Mum before (by Jerome at least. Like. Immediately upon meeting them)

- So she's trying to be nonchalant about it because it's only a big deal if she makes it one

- While also not being able to deny the warm feeling that spreads throughout her body when Jerome keeps calling her 'Mum'

- Miah and Selina on the other hand are both hesitant to call anyone Mum

- Miah cause of Pride, Selina cause of her Mummy Issues

- But they both do at some point

- I think I have more notes on this SOMEWHERE but I kinda wanna have Miah call her Mum while he's ill (because we all know he'd be super fussy and want attention 24/7)

- So she humours him and while he's close to falling asleep - and she's totally not carding her fingers through his hair because she isn't soft or anything - he mumbles: "Thank you Mum" and she melts

- Selina would be more angsty

- Like, maybe it's her birthday and she disappears for a while (as she tends to do) but Tabby (who's closest to her) knows how hard this day is for her (since again her Mum isn't there with here and looks for her and brings her back home but doesn't make a big fuss out of her birthday

- Just...lets her be, gives her space but also lets her curl up close to her and maybe Selina doesn't call her Mum on that exact day

- But it's the day she realizes she wouldn't mind calling Tabitha her Mother, so she hesitantly tries it out a while later (maybe days, maybe weeks, however long it takes for her to feel comfortable with it) and they share a smile

- Then there's Barbara Lee, but she barely counts because she's a toddler and calls everyone 'Mummy'

- Even her father ajsnsnsn

- The last one would be Ecco because I have a very soft spot for Tabby and Ecco being close

- Ecco's rather formal with them for the longest time (she calls Barbara, Lee and Tabby 'Ma'am' for the most part because she may like them, but she doesn't think they see her as family. She's just the token girlfriend).

- So there's a scene where they connect, possibly over Tabby's hand and Ecco's head since I hc that Ecco gets headaches and migraines a lot (considering that she still gets shot in the head by Miah, like I said, this AU isn't necessarily the most bullet proof in terms of linear timelines)

- But so is Gotham so-

- So there's possibly a scene where Ecco's headache is getting super bad and no one's around (especially not Miah to dote on her) and Tabby awkwardly tries to bond by telling her about her hand and how she can't feel much (is a little clumsy with it) and Ecco immediately imprints on her like a duckling

- Maybe it's even the first time anyone reached out to Ecco in a way that feels genuine, especially without the twins or any of her (various) other partners being present so now she's willing to die for Tabby

- Which ends in her also calling her 'Mum' (while she keeps calling Lee and Barbara 'Ma'am' and Lee's so mad ajsnsjdj she was trying so hard to bond with this kid but couldn't quite get it right and you're telling her her socially pretty clumsy - but still wonderful of course - wife managed with just one conversation?? Slander

- And of course because I can't stop myself, there would be even more tidbits here and there of Tabby overcoming her previous way of living (as in, thinking caring or showing emotions is weakness) by having her reminisce a LOT about Theo

- For example by having Jerome climb into bed with her while Barbara's sleeping and Tabby is waiting for Lee to come home

- Lee works as a doc in the narrows which may be a little illegal, but the people didn't just stop needing help after her Queen of the Narrows arc was over, so I vote she keeps at it (and is held in very high regard for it by pretty much everyone)

- Tabby always stays up until everyone is home because she likes knowing where everyone is and that they're safe while Jerome has frequent nightmares and wanders around the house, so this isn't a rare occurrence

- And sometimes, they talk Theo

- "You miss him?" - "Don't know."

- "I wish he was still alive so I could kill him." - "....Me too." - "Which one?" - "...Both."

- (ajajsbssj this is all just copy pasted and cleaned up a lil', leave me and my pretentious way of writing dialogue alone)

- Tabby also has a lot of interludes where she thinks about what growing up with Theo was like/her childhood in general

- How she always protected him from other children bullying him and how they swore to have each other's back but how in hindsight, she was the one doing all the dirty work for him, helping him fulfill his dream and enact his revenge

- Realizing that he probably never cared for her, not like she cared for him

- There's also allusions to them having sex because you cannot tell me they did NOT have sex

- And it ends with Tabby realizing that she is quite happy with how she ended up, even if it's neither how she thought she would ever live nor what her old self would've even wanted, possibly seeing too many attachments as 'weak' judging by the way she canonly used Butch for convenience sake at first

- And yeah, maybe now she can provide the family - the Mother - somebody else desperately needs

- So she brings Silver home

[snakeboistan]

‘Cause You Had A Bad Day (You’re Taking One Down)

AKA: A Nagisa-Centric Sick Fic

Pairing: Nagisa x 3-E (platonic)

Today was not Nagisa’s day. Not at all.

It all started when he woke up that morning feeling like he had been hit by a freight train that was coming at him at full speed. Groggily, he blinked open his eyes to find his forehead covered in a glistening sheen of sweat covering his forehead and a giant boulder that he could not see had him pinned down onto his bed. With strenuous effort, he had rolled over, planted his feet onto his bedroom floor and clutched onto his bedside table to help him stand up - and then almost fell over backwards because of how his head spun from the movement. He had dragged his feet towards his bathroom and his reflection in the mirror above the sink would’ve made him gasp if it weren’t for the woodpecker drilling in his cranium and the raw scratchiness of his throat. His normally porcelain white face was flushed pink and his eyes lacked their usual brightness. Oh god, of all days for him to get a fever, it had to be on the day they had an English test. Well, at least it was Friday so he’ll have the whole weekend to sleep it off. He was then overcome by a feeling of dread as he threw himself before his commode, retching and emptying out the contents of his stomach - which already felt unnaturally empty to begin with. Groaning in despair, he fumbled an arm above him to flush the toilet and flip down the lid so that he could rest his head on it’s cooler surface as he breathed deeply.

‘This is the worst,’ he lamented, noticing how his body was currently shivering despite the heat of the early morning sun, ‘completely defeated by a stupid fever. And I’m supposed to be a trained assassin. How the hell am I supposed to kill Koro-Sensei if I can’t even stand up properly or think straight.’ With a hefty sigh, he pushed himself upwards, blinking rapidly as he waved his arms about to steady his shaking legs. ‘I bet Karasuma-Sensei doesn’t let something as small as an illness stop him from doing what he does. That man has like no chinks at all. I can’t afford to skip, not with my grades. If I don’t want to let him and everyone else down, I’ve got to act as normally as possible. I’ll be a liability if my sickness drags me down and the last thing I want is to burden my classmates. An assassin should be able to overcome anything and shouldn’t get in the way so that’s what I’ll do. Hopefully, it’ll get better later.’

Once he had dressed himself in his usual school clothes and tied his hair into his usual pigtails, he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed off to school, choosing to skip breakfast and not pack himself lunch with the hope that the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach would die down if he didn’t eat anything. What followed was what Nagisa would describe as the worst walk to school he had ever undergone in his entire life: his throat was dry, tongue parched, body weak and every noise he heard only amplified the throbbing in his head. His insulating clothing felt suffocating, his black tie practically holding his neck in a choke hold, and he knew the heat he felt radiating off of him wasn’t due to the fact that it was nearing summer. 

“Hey, Nagisa,” Sugino called, somehow materialising out of nothing, “what’s up.”

Nagisa tried not to jump from shock. Normally he would’ve been able to hear his best friend from a mile away, would’ve been able to discern the tell-tale thuds of the taller boy’s favourite sneakers against the concrete and sense his presence before he could’ve said a word. It was common knowledge in their so-called ‘Assassination Classroom’ that sneaking up on Nagisa is about as difficult as getting Fuwa to go twenty-four hours without referencing a manga - his ability to observe his surroundings and everyone in them was one of the few things he was actually good at. To make up for his current lack of observational skills and his tinted complexion he hastily threw on a smile and greeted, “Oh, hey Sugino. Nothing much. How are you.”

Sugino narrowed his eyes at the shorter boy as Nagisa mentally congratulated himself for stringing those words out coherently. With a raised eyebrow, he replied slowly, “I’m fine, thanks. Are - are you okay, dude.”

“Of course I am,” he laughed, somewhat nervously, “why wouldn’t I be?”

“You look a bit… tired.”

“I am,” he sighed, “I stayed up a bit late to study for that test we have today. I guess I was kind of pushing it with my sleeping hours, huh.”

Sugino looked at him for a second before stating, “sure.”

Sensing that Sugino was going to probe into something that he really didn’t want to discuss right now (or ever), he continued, “hopefully I studied enough. I mean English is my best subject so I’m hoping for at least an eighty-five percent.”

The sceptical look was washed off of his best friend’s face as his features softened into the usual fond smile he wears around the bluenette, “I’m sure you’ll ace it, man. I know how hard you work. You’ve just got to watch out for those spelling errors, right.”

“Right,” Nagisa echoed with a half-authentic grin, whilst in his mind he castigated, ‘you can’t let your guard down like that, idiot. You saw the way Sugino looked at you. You’ve got to get better at hiding this before you inconvenience the entire class and mess up their day. God, mom was right - I really am a burden. Just spend the rest of the day like nothing’s wrong and hopefully this will go down.’

Unfortunately for him, his pain only got worse and every step up the E-Class mountain made him feel like his calf bones were being split open. It was a considerable effort for him to remain upright as he conversed with Sugino, and his sweat-slicken body made his shirt stick to his skin in the most uncomfortable way possible. His muscles were screaming at him, begging him to stop what he was doing and to just collapse into a heap on the forest floor but he continued to trudge along the path towards the classroom at the top. He could do this. He’s used to hiding his emotions. He’s spent years mastering the art of concealing what he truly felt, surely he could last seven hours - even if they were under the watchful eye of a superpowered octopus, a government agent, one of the world’s top assassins and twenty-six assassins in training.

Upon entering the classroom, he gave his usual greetings, whilst narrowly avoiding any direct contact with any of his classmates lest they feel his unnaturally high body temperature, before slumping onto his seat.

“Hiya, Nagisa,” Kayano chirped, as bubbly as always, “how are you doing?”

Nagisa looked up and hoped that the weak smile he gave her did not resemble a grimace at all, “I’m fine, thanks. How are-”

He was interrupted by a smooth voice, “you sure about that, Nagisa? ‘Cause you’re looking a little on the red side.”

He swiveled his head around and immediately regretted that particular action as his migraine worsened. Karma, who was standing next to Kayano on the adjacent side of his desk, had on his signature smirk but the look in his eyes was calculating. He huffed out a laugh, “I’m fine, Karma.”

“Really?” the redhead raised an eyebrow, “because you look like the walking dead.”

“I just didn’t get enough sleep last night, that’s all,” Nagisa argued, tone a tad bit on the defensive side, “I was so caught up in studying for today’s test that I only got like five hours.”

“That’s not good, Nagisa,” Kayano admonished with a gasp, “you need to take better care of yourself, you know. Studying is important but so is your health.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nagisa mumbled with his head down.

Great, it’s only been like two minutes and I’m already making them worry.

“Besides,” Nakamura chimed in with a grin, “you’re great at English. You were one mark away from me in the last test we took so you shouldn’t worry so badly.”

“That’s what I told him,” Sugino said, “but he’s Nagisa. He just has to worry about something.”

They all traded fond looks as Nagisa let out nervous chuckles. It was then that his stomach constricted sharply. He quickly excused himself with a squeak of ‘bathroom’ before fleeing the classroom, unaware of the narrowed golden eyes that followed him.

Once he was locked within the cubicle of the building’s lavatory, he was quick to once again empty out the contents of his stomach, thanking every deity out there that he arrived early so his discordant gagging wouldn’t have been heard by their teacher with his enhanced senses. It was then a lightbulb when off in his head as he mentally slammed a palm against his forehead. Zipping open his schoolbag, he fumbled inside before drawing out a bright red first aid kit. With a sigh of relief, he opened it and grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen but then his hope dissipated when he capsized it to find it empty. Oh, right, he gave the last few pills to Okano the other day when she was complaining about her menstrual cramps and he forgot to go to the pharmacy to buy more. ‘Dammit, Shiota. What if someone else needed those. Your classmates could be in pain and you would’ve been useless in helping them.’ Despairing at his fate, he flushed, got up, washed his hands and made his way back to his classroom, wrapping his arms around himself to hide his shivering.

Entering the room again, he was met with concerned looks from his peers. Giving them a comforting smile, he walked as confidently as he could with the little energy he had back to his desk, ignoring the eyes that he felt on him. Luckily for him, before anyone could speak, they all felt a gush of wind whoosh through the classroom and in a blink of an eye, their homeroom teacher stood before them.

“Good morning, students,” he called out cheerfully, “I hope you all are ready for your test today. I know that it’s the last day of the week but I’m sure that each of you will be able to power through. Now, I can see that everyone is present but why don’t I take the register anyways as you boys and girls try to kill me, alright? It will be a perfect warm-up exercise to get you all pumped for the day.”

And with that, their class’ school day began as it always does; with Koro-Sensei holding the register and calling out names whilst dodging bullets at Mach 20. Even in extreme agony and lethargy, Nagisa could only find amusement in that as he aimed and fired, whilst simultaneously doing all he could to not let the abnormally heavy gun slip from his grasp. When roll call was over, he could only tell that his fever was getting worse as he was hunching down to grab the stray anti-sensei bbs that lay littered on the floor. He knew that he should probably tell Koro-Sensei that he wasn’t feeling well, that he could use some medicine that he knew that the octopus could get in less than a nano-second but doing so would draw attention and alert the others and then everyone will know how weak he is, how he can’t handle his own immune system, how he is unfit to be an assassin. Or even worse, they’ll be concerned;  they’ll fret and worry over him and lose focus, make mistakes that could cost them, their billion dollar yen and the fate of the Earth. He could ruin everything. So it’s best to keep quiet. Even when his throbbing head feels like shutting down and his skin is on fire and there's enough sweat covering his body to water the tulips in the E-Class garden.

Fortunately, he was able to complete the test to the best of his ability. It was a comprehension assessment and it wasn’t too challenging for him, which was good because he was able to put more effort in keeping his head up than he planned to. Unfortunately, however, his theory of the fever getting better was horribly horribly wrong. If anything, it became worse, if that was even possible: His stomach twisted sporadically every time he took a breath, the cave of his mouth and the empty vessel of his oesophagus stung like they had been rubbed raw and so every painful swallow only increased their pleas for water (he had finished his bottle and he was not going to be asking to borrow anyone else’s), he could feel the build-up of perspiration along the outline of his shirt under his arms (he was so glad that he wore a dark waistcoat to school) and he could see the way his hands would shake no matter how hard he tried to suppress them. It was already the second period of his five-period school day and so all he had to do was last three more lessons and he can go home and hibernate for the rest of the week. He had no idea how he was going to survive Physical Education with the military training exercises that Karasuma had them doing for the past three days. He hoped and prayed that they wouldn't be sparing because that would require contact and fast moves and there’s no way he’d be able to hide anything then.

He didn’t have to wait that long, however, because he was found out by period three.

After spending their break acting as normal as possible without drawing attention to the way every single cell inside him ached and groaned as well as the fact that he was without his usual breaktime snack, he walked into the classroom, ready for their science lesson. Today they were going to do a practical (something about reactions or something, honestly he couldn’t concentrate at all at this moment because his mind was so hazy and he was currently too busy trying not to cry). He turned to Sugino, his regular partner in science, before Karma swiftly walked in between them.

“Yo, Nagisa,” he said, “wanna be partners.”

Nagisa blinked at him before looking around him to meet Sugino’s eyes. The baseball lover only shrugged and then walked away to pair up with Kanzaki. With the way he and the redhead shared eye contact as he left, Nagisa was sure that the two of them were planning something for once the twisting of his gut was not due to his current affliction.

“Uhh, sure,” Nagisa agreed, half because he has a problem with saying no and half because he was sure that even if he did refuse, Karma would still pair up with him anyway.

“Great,” the taller boy grinned.

As soon as the class had set up the apparatus and began their experiment his conjecture was confirmed as Karma had stated, “so what’s with you?”

Nagisa almost dropped the textbook he was holding, “huh.”

The other boy scoffed, “don’t play dumb, Nagisa. There’s something wrong.”

“There’s nothing wrong, Karma.”

“Oh really. Then explain why you didn’t eat anything during break today-”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“-Or why you look like you’re about to keel over any second.”

“I told you. I stayed up too late.”

“- Or what that little trip to the bathroom was for.”

“I had to use the bathroom like any other normal person. I didn’t realise that I had to tell you the purpose of everywhere I go. And what’s with all of the questions?” Nagisa didn’t mean to sound so defensive or snappy, not to one of his best friends who he knows is only looking out for him. He knows that that’s how Karma is; whilst Nagisa approaches problems with caution and care, the redhead goes on with a complete offensive attack - assaulting with blunt words and hard facts to break you down. He doesn’t believe in the roundabout way, he’s always direct and wants things done at the time. His ability to get what he wants is one of the qualities in the other boy that Nagisa admired, but right now it was a pain in the neck. He felt cornered and trapped and something inside him, the viper he could feel curling around in his unconscious, was ready to lash out and bite and that’s the last thing he wanted.

“Hey, no need for that tone,” Karma held up his hands, “I was just asking. There’s no harm in that, right.”

Nagisa let out a sigh, “you’re right. I’m sorry for snapping. It’s just that I really just want to get on with this.”

“I still think you’re hiding something.”

“Karma, I’m trying to read the instructions. You’re kind of distracting me.” (it’s not like he was able to read the words anyway, they all seemed to blur into one big smudge of dancing black on the page)

“Why can’t you just say what’s wrong. What’s the big deal.”

“Karma.”

“Just go ahead and say it, Nagisa. What are you so afraid of.”

“I - I,” he sighed wearily, dropping his shoulders, “I should get another test tube. We’re missing one for the experiment.”

“Nagisa,” he could hear Karma calling him but he ignored it as he speed walked to the front desk to grab another piece of apparatus. It was on his way back that he could feel his stomach give a lurch. His heart was racing as the pain in his head had reached a new intensity. His stomach dropped and he felt apprehension crash over him.

‘Oh no,’ he thought as his hands began to shake.

His surroundings started to lose focus. The floor was swaying under his feet.

No, no. Not now. Not in front of everyone. 

His head felt light. So so very light.

‘Come on Nagisa, one more step,’ he urged before his eyes rolled. He could faintly hear the sound of glass breaking and horrified shouts of his name before the world went dark.

…..

The first thing Nagisa noticed when he came to was that this was not his bedroom. His eyes opened after steady blinks, and the first thing he found himself facing was a blur of different colours that he was sure didn’t belong in his house. Once his eyes adjusted themselves and focused properly, he recognised it as a notice board with lots of paper pinned onto the multicoloured backdrop. Then he realised that his forehead was covered with cold water, probably from the ice pack that he found lying on the floor next to him. It was when he heard the soft clicks of a computer’s keyboard that he registered that he was in the teachers’ lounge. With a gasp, he sat up on the row of chairs that had been pushed together to form a makeshift bed, the softness under his palms made him realise that a pile of blankets were thrown on to make him more comfortable. Karasuma, who was the one that was using the computer, turned around on his chair to face him.

“Nagisa, you’re up. How are you doing,” he asked as he stood up and walked towards him with a bottle of water, “we were all very worried.”

“Uhh,” was his coherent reply.

“Here, this will make you feel better,” the man said, holding out the bottle as well as a small white tablet. When Nagisa reached out to grab them, he found that his right hand was wrapped around in a bandage. He blinked at it in shock, “when you fainted, your hand landed on some glass. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll inform your classmates and the target that you’re up and I’ll be right back.”

Nagisa watched as Karasuma left, and continued to observe the door for a few seconds before looking down at the uncapped bottle. He threw his head back and downed it hurriedly, yearning to relieve the pain in his throat. It didn’t do much since he still felt like just begging god to just finish the job and get it over and done with but he appreciated it regardless.

“OH NAGISA, I WAS SO WORRIED!” Koro-Sensei wailed as he appeared before him with medicine boxes, books on fevers, and five bottles of water, “WHAT A TERRIBLE SENSEI I AM TO BE UNAWARE OF MY STUDENT’S SUFFERING. THE SHAME. AH, I HOPE YOU CAN FORGIVE ME FOR BEING SO CARELESS.”

“Koro-Sensei, please,” Nagisa said, “it’s not your fault. I was hiding it because I didn't want anyone to know.”

“Bu-but why,” his teacher asked, sniffling, “as your teacher, it’s important for me to be aware if you’re not feeling well. OR AM I NOT APPROACHABLE ENOUGH FOR YOU TO UNLOAD YOUR WORRIES?”

“No, no,” he replied quickly, “I just - I just don’t like people knowing when I’m not feeling well, that’s all.”

The octopus paused. Slowly he said, “why’s that Nagisa? Do you think that your classmates will treat you any differently if they knew?”

Nagisa looked down and mumbled, “it’s - it’s just that. Well, we’re supposed to be assassins, Sir. I don’t think trained killers let themselves fall back just because they’re not well.”

“Nagisa,” Koro-Sensei’s voice was stern but still held his kind and gentle tone, “you are a valuable member of this class. Every single one of your peers consider you an asset, an ally and a friend. We all look after each other here. We are all striving towards the same goal. Together. As students and as assassins, an important aspect of life is to be able to work as a team. To carry on through your strongest and lift each other up at your weakest. I see you looking out for others. Why won’t you let others look out for you?”

“I just didn’t want to be a burden, “ Nagisa whispered, “I thought I could deal with it.”

“Nagisa, you are not a burden. You have a burden. A burden that you have no need to carry on our own. I know this may seem difficult to you, but please: next time you find yourself in a situation where you can ask for help, don’t be afraid to.”

Nagisa looked up and despite the wide smile on his teacher’s face, he knew that the octopus was serious. He nodded.

“Wonderful,” Koro-Sensei beamed and clapped his hands, “now, I’m sure that the others would want to see you so I’m not going to keep them waiting any longer.”

“About time,” Karma said as he walked in.

“Were you there the whole time?” Nagisa asked as Koro-Sensei gasped theatrically.

“Karma, I thought I told you to wait in the classroom.”

“I know,” Karma smirked, pulling up a chair and sitting on it, “but the thing is that I didn’t want to.”

“WHY DO YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME!?”

“Uhh, Sir?” Nakamura popped her head in, “are you going to leave or not because the rest of us are waiting.”

With a cry of despair, the teacher left the room. Nagisa turned to face Karma.

“I-,” 

“You okay,” Karma asked, cutting through the apology that Nagisa had at his throat, “and don’t you dare lie.”

“I’ve been better.”

“God, Nagisa. Why did you try to hide this? You scared the c**p out of everyone. It would've been funny to see Terasaka lose his s*** if it weren’t for the fact that you were lying on the floor, bleeding and not responding to anyone. Did you know that you had a temperature of 40°C?”

“I’m sorry, Karma. I didn’t want everyone to freak out, I swear, that’s kind of the reason why I didn’t tell you guys anything. I just -” he was cut off as his migraine increased and his stomach flipped. His wince and groan of agony made Karma’s eyebrows furrow.

“You good? Do you want to rest more?”

“I - yeah. I think that might be best.”

“Alright then,” Karma pulled out his phone and began scrolling through it, “rest all you want. I’ll make sure no one comes to bother you.”

…

The rest of the day continued with his classmates coming to check on him, even after school was over: Sugaya had made an A3 sized get well soon card and the entire class had signed it, Fuwa decided to help him go to sleep by reading a manga to him like a bedtime story, Sugino and Kayano berated him for hiding his illness before hugging him, Hara offered him some soup to help him feel better, Hazama offered to use a spell to ‘expel the sickness and other evil entities’ from his body (he was quick to decline that), most of the girls were fussing and doting over their ‘kind of little brother’ and were quick to do whatever he wanted to help him get better (especially Yada, who actually had experience with looking after her sick younger brother) whilst the boys tried to cheer him up with funny anecdotes. When it was time to return home, Karma and Sugino took turns in carrying him down the mountain and to his apartment (ignoring his protests and reminders that they would get sick), even going as far as to tuck him in and place a bottle of ibuprofen on the bedside table. They left with promises of returning the next day to make sure that he was taking care of himself and as they did, Nagisa couldn’t help but be glad that he had such loving classmates.

[ddproductionsw77]

I’ll Still Love You

Fandom: IT (Muschietti Films)

Pairing(s): Reddie (Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak)

Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Bill Denbrough, (Mentioned) Stanley Uris, Mike Hanlon

Rating: T (Heavily implied sexual content but nothing is actually written about it… Swearing, obviously)

Description: He was going to fail out of college. He just was. Apparently, he peaked intellectually in high school because how else could one explain a valedictorian failing a History quiz? He’d never fucking failed anything in his life... well, in school and now he was going to flunk out of NYU, his dream school. (Eddie is having a hard time adjusting to college life)

Author’s Note: This was inspired by my own total meltdown when I very first started college a couple years back, down to the calling my mother crying multiple times a week HOWEVER, I did know how to do my own laundry ;) PS sorry it took so long, I am having trouble getting back into the habit of writing again so new stories are coming, they will just take awhile.

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Eddie walked numbly back across campus, feeling like he might drop into fetal position or burst into tears at any moment. A lump had formed in the back of his throat about an hour ago and no matter how many time he swallowed, he couldn’t get rid of it.

He was going to fail out of college. He just was. Apparently, he peaked intellectually in high school because how else could one explain a valedictorian failing a History quiz? He’d never fucking failed anything in his life... well, in school and now he was going to flunk out of NYU, his dream school.

Why did he even fucking need history? He was going to be a nurse! Not a fucking museum coordinator! It was entirely unfair!

Reaching his resident hall, Eddie made his way to the stairs, climbing to the third floor and starting down the long hallway toward the end. He was going to fail history and that would just be the start because obviously he had always only been high school smart not college smart and it was only going to get worse. Soon the grades in his other courses would start coming back too. Fail, fail, fail!

Reaching his dorm, Eddie choked out a sob he’d been holding back since leaving the fucking sciences building — history wasn’t a fucking science... was it? Well how would he know? He was fucking failing it — and used his key to unlock the door.

Darting his eyes over to the other side of the room, he found it mercifully empty. Dropping his backpack to the floor uncharacteristically messily, Eddie crept into his bed and curled up beneath the covers as tears burned his eyes.

He’d made a mistake.

His mother was right, he should have never left Derry. He might as well pack it all up now and go home. He eventually would have to soon enough anyway, wouldn’t he?

Letting out a mournful moan, he remembered that he’d fucked Richie over as well, hadn’t he? He’d practically fucking forced his boyfriend to follow him to New York and now he couldn’t crack it and Richie... Richie was doing a million times better than him. Richie had already fucking joined a damn band with Mike and was as far as Eddie knew, was at least passing his courses even though he skipped half the time. And Richie hadn’t even wanted to come to New York!

Richie had wanted Los Angeles and Eddie hadn’t and now it was becoming incredibly fucking clear that Eddie should have just let his boyfriend go because apparently there was nothing for him here in New York.

Gipping his comforter, Eddie putted it up over his head and thought for one fleeing moment that he should call his mother. His mother had told him something like this would happen. She’d said he needed her, that he couldn’t succeed on his own, that he was setting himself up to fail by leaving her. Everything she’d said was coming true, wasn’t it?

Peeking out from the covers, he spied the phone sitting on his desk. All he had to do was get up, walk over to it and dial and he knew Sonia Kaspbrak would be there to take him back home to Derry within three or four hours but…

Richie.

Richie was here now. Here because Eddie had made him come and Richie wouldn’t stay if Eddie left and maybe Eddie was apparently an idiot when it came to history, but even he knew that Richie shouldn’t leave New York. He was doing too well here. Flourishing here. Eddie couldn’t ask him to give all that up, not after he’d already spent his budget of selfishness allowed in a relationship on getting Richie to NYU in the first place.

The door to the dorm opened as Eddie was still staring at the phone. He glanced over to see Bill, who was his roommate for the year — if he didn’t flunk out that is — striding in. He paused, looking over at Eddie with his eyebrows scrunched together. He reached over and flicked on the light.

Bill sighed, coming in and hanging up his backpack, “I—is there a reason your j—just sitting in the dark alone?”

Eddie groaned, falling back on his bed to stare at the ceiling, fighting back the fresh wave of tears springing to his eyes, “I’m failing history.”

“Okay?” He heard Bill say slowly, questioning, “So?”

“So?!” Eddie cried, sitting up and gaping at Bill, “So, I peaked in high school. I’m going to flunk out and get sent home!”

Bill quickly looked away and Eddie thought he even saw the other boy trying to hold back a laugh. He squawked in disbelief, slamming his hand down on his mattress, crying out, “Bill! This isn’t fucking funny!”

Bill nodded, turning back to him with a schooled expression, “E—Eddie, it’s not even midterms yet. You have p—plenty of time to bring the grade up. Why are you even worried?”

“You know what,” Eddie snapped, glaring at his long time friend, “Fuck you, Bill, that’s why. Leave me the fuck alone.”

He flipped him the bird before falling back on his bed and rolling away from Bill so his back was to him.

After a minute, he heard his roommate muttered, “Didn’t even make f—fucking sense.” Quickly followed by footsteps and the door to the dorm opening. Bill paused for a moment, calling over his shoulder, “I—I’m goin’ across the hall, okay?”

Eddie didn’t answer, burying his face in his comforter as tears pooled in his eyes. The dorm door closed again.

He knew he shouldn’t have be short with Bill, it was himself he was mad at, not his friend. Still, maybe some part of him was angry with Bill, with all the rest of them, even Richie… especially Richie. Why was moving away from home and starting over so fucking easy for all of them? Eddie had spent the last two weeks since term started constantly on the verge of a panic attack and they all seemed fine. Happy even.

New York had been Eddie’s first, hadn’t it? It had been his dream. He had wanted it, worked through all of high school for it both in school and at a job afterwards. He’d fought so hard for valedictorian because valedictorians got full fucking rides and he’d known that was the only way he could really swing NYU. And he’d worked just in case.

And in two weeks he’d managed to fuck it all up. He didn’t even understand how.

He’d studied for that History quiz. Sure, he hadn’t cancelled plans to watch Richie and Mike’s band rehearse to study but he had still studied. He’d even felt good about the damn thing before turning it in… He wondered if his professor had laughed at his confidence later, grading his failure.

There was a loud, hammering knock on his door and he startled.

Sitting up groggily, Eddie glanced at the window and noticed the sky was going dark. He realized, blinking slowly, that he must have fallen asleep. Looking over his shoulder at the door, he called, “Bill, I told you to leave me alone!”

The knocking continued without pause and Eddie groaned, pushing the covers off of himself completely and going to the door, throwing it open, “What do you—“ He stopped short, finding his boyfriend leaning against the door jam, inches from his face with his fist still in the air from his insistent knocking. “…Want?”

Narrowing his eyes, Eddie sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, “Should’ve known. Only you would be so fucking annoying.”

“Aww, you just say the sweetest things to me, Eds,” Richie shook his head, dropping his hand over his heart before pushing off the door jam and passing Eddie into the room, pecking his temple as he did.

Eddie turned to him, glowering, “I didn’t invite you in.”

“I’m like a vampire,” Richie shrugged, throwing himself down on Eddie’s uncharacteristically messy bed, “You only gotta make the mistake once and I’ll just keep comin’ back.” Leaning back on his arms, he cocked his head at his boyfriend, “You didn’t meet me in the dining hall for dinner.”

“I was tired,” Eddie shrugged, still standing back as he rolled his neck, “And not that hungry.”

Richie nodded, “And then when I went back to my dorm, Stanley had written a B in the corner of the whiteboard on our door.”

Eddie stared at him blankly, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Richie smirked, playfully raising his eyebrows suggestively, “It’s our code. When we got someone in the dorm and the other isn’t supposed to interrupt, we write B or E. Well, He writes B for Billiam and I write E for my Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie shook his head, “Well, I guess it’s classier than a fucking sock on the door.”

“That’s almost exactly what Stan said when I suggested we just do that,” Richie laughed and sat up, “My point is that if Bill’s in my room and you skipped dinner, that means you’re just sitting in here all alone. I came to keep you company.”

“Ever consider I just want to be left alone?” Eddie grumbled, going to sit at his desk.

Richie watched him, cocking an eyebrow, “Please, like your day doesn’t brighten every fucking time you see me, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that!” Eddie snapped and spun around in his chair to glare at his boyfriend, “And if I wanted to see you, I’d have met you at the dining hall.”

“Ouch…” Richie muttered, dropping his smirk, “Okay? Why are you pissed at me?”

“I’m not!” Eddie shook his head angrily and turned around again so his back was to his boyfriend, “I just— I told you, I wanted to be alone.”

“Okay but alone doesn’t usually count me, too,” He heard Richie argue and the sound of his mattress springs shifting as Richie stood up. He felt his shoulders slump and put his head down, pinching the bridge of his nose before whirling around.

“Rich! Wait!” He called out, dropping his hand.

Richie turned around and gave him a look. Eddie knew he didn’t like being sent away which was one of the reasons Eddie very rarely did, at least not for real. He got mad sometimes and he told Richie to fuck off sometimes but he never meant it… Usually he was just upset with himself, like now.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie sighed, shaking his head and looking at his feet, “I’m not pissed at you. I’m not… I just had a really shitty day and— and I’m failing history.”

He felt tears prickle in his eyes again and swallowed hard, cringing at himself. He could almost hear Henry Bowers voice in his head, mocking him. Girly boy gonna cry? You gonna cry, girly boy? Well, don’t get your fairy dust on me, freak.

He felt a hand run down his arm and watched Richie’s familiar fingers tangle together with his. Following the arm back to it’s source, he gave his boyfriend an embarrassed, bashful look and sighed, “I’m failing, Richie.”

His boyfriend sighed and gripped his hand tighter, “Get over here, Eds.”

He pulled Eddie to his feet and lead him to the bed, where Eddie fell into Richie’s arms. He hurried his face in Richie’s chest and breathed in that scent of nicotine, mints, and maybe just a touch of cologne—not particularly good cologne but still instantly Eddie’s favorite. The weight in his chest seemed to lighten there with his boyfriend on his bed, like breathing in Richie’s scent was some kind of natural inhaler to him, opening his lung back up.

“You’re not failing, Eddie,” He felt as much as he heard Richie mumble into his hair, “One bad grade, does not a failure make. Trust me, I know a thing or two about failing. You’re going to make it up.”

“It’s not like I thought it would be,” Eddie admitted, happy to still be face-to-chest with Richie and not have to look into his eyes.

“What’s not?” “New York,” He sighed, “College. Living on my own. Any of it. I just— I thought I’d be good at it and I’m just not.”

Richie sighed and moved down to that he was looking into Eddie eyes, their noses nearly brushing. He could feel Eddie’s warm breath on his lips. Blinking slowly, he reached down and laced his fingers with Eddie’s again, bringing them up to lay between their chests. He watched Eddie’s eyes fall to them and smiled just a bit to himself, “What the fuck do you mean, Eds? You’re doing fine.”

“Richie, I’ve called my mother three times this week and it’s Tuesday,” Eddie shook his head and closed his eyes, “I’m failing history even though I’ve been studying like crazy, I haven’t talked to a single person beside the Losers since we moved here and I’m running out of clothes because I can’t fucking figure out how to use the damn washing machine. I fucking suck at this and it seems so easy for you and Bill and everyone else! I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

“Nothing,” Richie instantly argued, gripping Eddie’s hand more tightly and startling his boyfriend’s eyes back open, “Nothing is wrong with you. You got this, baby,” Eddie’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes flickered back up to meet Richies, “And you don’t need your crazy ass mother to make this work, okay? Cuz the Losers are here and I’m here… And I can teach you how to do your laundry.”

There was a moment where they were both quiet before both breaking into laughter together. Eddie pulled his hand away from Richie, hooking it around his boyfriend’s neck and pulling him forward for a long, deep kiss. Locking his fingers in Richie’s hair, he pulled himself forward with the only thought on him mind being to get closer. He felt Richie’s teeth brush, teasingly, over his lip before biting ever so lightly.

Gasping, he twisted around to straddle his boyfriend and pulled back to look down at the beautiful, perfect mess of a person below him. Fuck, no one else was every going to make him feel like Richie did. No one else was ever going to make his heart race like him or drive him insane like him or challenge him everyday to keep trying like him.

This was love.

This was the stuff that people more talented than he was wrote songs and poems and books about and it was everything to him in that moment. If there was a world where he had to live and function without this, without Richie... that would be one dark, dark place.

Still out of breathe, pupils blown and heart pounding, Eddie gripped his boyfriend’s shirt and barely whispered, “I love you. I really, really do.”

Richie looked up at him with an expression Eddie couldn’t quite place but supposed it could be filed somewhere under utter devotion and nodded, “I love you, too…” His lips curled into a smirk, “Any chance we can have sex before we do the laundry thing, though?”

Eddie laughed, looking away and shaking his head before meeting his boyfriend’s eyes again, lacing their hands back together on their side of Richie’s head, “I think the laundry can wait… Not like it’ll take that long.”

“Damn, that was cold,” Richie gasped in mock pain, squeezing Eddie’s hand tight before flipping them over so that he was on top, “I’ll show you how long it can take.” _____________________________________________________________________

Two hours later, a freshly showered Eddie and Richie made their way into the muggy laundry room on the ground floor of their resident hall. Richie was carrying Eddie’s hamper and trailing along after his boyfriend, who was carrying the detergent and fabric softener. Scanning his eyes over him, Richie sighed, “Maybe we don’t need to wash your clothes, Eds. I’d be okay if you just wore those shorts for the rest of ever.”

“Beep beep, Trashmouth,” Eddie rolled his eyes, peeking over his shoulder at he set his stuff down and made sure the room was entirely empty out of habit, “Besides, there is literally no way you are still horny after the last few hours.”

Richie grinned, setting down the hamper to wrap his hands around Eddie waist from behind, “Baby, I’m eighteen and a guy; I’m always horny.”

Eddie elbowed him, “Get off me, Perv. We have shit to do.”

“Fine!” Richie exclaimed dramatically as he stepped away, rubbing his ribs where Eddie had gotten him. “So, we need quarters.”

“No shit, huh,” Eddie said in a deadpanned voice.

Richie’s eyebrows shot up, “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you wanted me to teach you how to be a grown ass man but—“

“I literally would never ask you to teach me that—“

“—If you’re all good in here, I’ll just head back to my dorm—”

“—I’m barely asking you to show me how to work these dumb machines—”

“—If it’s so dumb, then I’m sure you can figure it out—“

“—Stop being a dumbass, Richard—“

“—Richard?! Richard?! Fuck you, Edward!”

A buzzer sounded, startling both of them.

Sighing, Richie pulled a quarter from his pocket and flipped it to Eddie, who caught it. Glancing down at the coin, he gave him a begrudging smile, “Thanks, Richard.”

Richie rolled his eyes, a smile falling upon his lips as he moved forward to grab the hamper filled with clothes, “Okay, now pick a machine, Spaghetti Man.”

After they loaded the clothes, Richie fell into place behind Eddie with his hand on his hips as he murmured instructions in his ear. Eddie let him, half deciding it was probably all harmless anyway and half convincing himself that nobody else would be doing their laundry at 11 o’clock at night. Tangled up like that, Eddie put in the detergent and softener and set the machine to the right cycle.

Once the wash started up, he turned around to be nearly nose-to-nose with Richie, a pleased smile on his face, “I did it!”

“That you did, Eds, I told you that you didn’t need your hag of mom,” Richie grinned, leaning down to kiss his boyfriend.

Eddie wrapped his arms around Richie’s neck and kissed him back for a moment before pulling away and whispering, “Thank you… seriously.”

“It’s just part of the boyfriend job description, baby. All good."

“Still...” Eddie sighed, absentmindedly playing with Richie’s hair, “I’m still failing History.”

Richie rolled his eyes before ducking and kissing Eddie, hard and quick, effectively taking his breath away before pulling away, “Yeah, well, I’ll still love you if you have to retake dumbass History.”

“How noble of you,” Eddie’s lips twitched as he peered up into Richie’s eyes through his eyelashes. “Probably one of the things that make me like you so much... even though you’re fucking horny and annoying eighty perfect of the time.”

Ignoring him, Richie kissed him again, holding him against him.

[mimssides]

Life on Crow Avenue: Part 10

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Warning: Description of a car accident! Self-deprecating tendencies form Remus and Roman! Mention of abusive and homophobic parents! 

A particular graphic description of Roman’s injuries is marked in the text like this, so you might skip it if you need to.

___

A few minutes of silence followed after they all had sat down around the table. Remus was fumbling with his fingers and Patton was playing with the thought of interfering with that when Logan suddenly asked: “Do we need to keep it down so Roman will not be bothered by our conversation?”

Remus looked up and pulled his eyebrows up.

“Nah. He’s one of those people who can lie down and are just knocked out. He’s probably asleep for some minutes by now,” Remus explained and leaned back in his chair.

A short moment passed, little noises from the five men sitting and adjusting themselves in their seats.

“Is there a moment where it started? Like, for you to have these thoughts of, uhm-” Virgil asked out of the blue just to for Janus to swat him in the arm and Remus cut him off with a little laugh.

“These thoughts of me killing myself? When that started?” Remus completed the question for Virgil and continued before any of the three others could tell him he did not have to talk about it. “I’m impressed that you go for the direct route. Usually when I only mention that the stupid jokes are more than that people just straight up walk away. You’re impressively brave, kid…”

Remus chuckled a bit and ran his fingers through his hair, nervously rubbing his feet together under the table. He felt itchy and weird. A little as if he stood next to himself, as if he wasn’t quite sure who he was.

A breath in. A breath out. Here he was.

He looked up to Virgil and then to his side, to Patton and Logan. Lastly to Janus. Remus smiled and titled his head. Shrugged.

“I suppose, I can tell you how it started but it’s not going to be fun,” Remus then said and watched the reactions of the others.

Janus was reserved but did not seem like he would interject. Virgil looked fearful and so did Patton. And Logan-

“What does ‘it’s not going to be fun’ mean? Could you be less vague?”

Logan was cautious but interested. The spirit behind these glasses, so sharp, so unyielding. So much more interested in him than Remus had ever dared to hope.

“Oh well,” Remus answered pushing his thoughts aside, “the usual fun stuff: homophobic parents, a car crash in which I lost a part of my hearing, a bit of homelessness and that junk. You know. Just the regular.”

They all held their breath. Except for Remus, who grinned and took a sip from the glass of water in front of him. It was easier to smile through it. It stopped him from crying.

“Still wanna listen?”

The answer was no. Nobody ever wanted to listen. Hell, Roman did not want to listen or talk about it. And Remus understood why. It was hard and heavy and it hurt him. He could not just unload all of it on him. He was carrying enough as it was. And even less so he could do this to those men around the table.

“Yes, very much so.”

Remus jerked his head up and stared at Logan. Logan looked at him so intently, so sincerely and added seeing the confusion in Remus’s face: “I understand you want to talk about it. I will offer you my ear and I am prepared for what you will tell us. It is fine, Remus. Please share with us what you need to share.”

Remus blinked disoriented and then felt how his hand was clasped in Patton’s and he looked to Patton. He gave him an encouraging nod paired with a wavery smile and Remus did not know what this was. What was happening.

He frowned and at once had a hand put on his shoulder. It was Patton’s, he had moved it up form his hand, and through all the numbness he had felt thorough today, an itsy bitsy, tiny spark of something light up inside of him. Remus thought that it had no right to be there.

“Lo’s right. If you need to you can tell us. We offered our help and if we couldn’t give it, we wouldn’t have stayed here. I promise you, Remus,” Patton said so gently and Remus looked over to Janus.

He would disagree, Remus was sure. But when he looked at him, he just gave a nod with is lips pressed together in a firm line and Remus took a moment to realize the meaning of that. That he possibly could tell his story.

As if he was in a trance Remus’s eyes landed back on Virgil and the young man nodded in agreement as the others did. So, it was settled. Remus could despite everything tell his story.

For the first time in a long while Remus had to collect himself. Had to think about how he should start this. He circled his shoulders and Patton’s hand was gone and did no longer distract him.

“Uhm, so,” Remus babbled and scratched the back of his head, “I suppose I begin with our father finding out about – well me being pan and Ro being gay, even though I still don’t know how he figured Roman out, because he was pretty good at pretending, he was not in fact gay as a rainbow. Anyway, we were seventeen and he found out. It was a Thursday and we came back from school and he was somehow home and started shouting about what a disgrace we were, how disgusting it was and I naturally shouted back at him and it became a huge fight. He hit me a few times-”

“He hit you?!” Janus exclaimed horrified.

Remus shot him a look and shrugged: “Yeah, he did. Not every day and not always but he did quite often. He also drank at the weekends and it wasn’t fun. But that’s another thing. Anyway, he hit me a bit and then Ro got between us and Dad hit him a few times and for some reason, he then stormed off. Which left me relieved for a short second before I panicked and thought about how it would turn out when he’d come back. I had already the great imagery of him shooting me with a rifle he stole from neighbours, when Roman grabbed me by the arm and told me to pack our clothes. Before I got to ask why, he said he’d take our documents and we’ll go. We’d leave and never come back.”

Remus took a short breather and remembered the look in Roman’s eyes when he told him that. The look of a boy who had suffered and tried too long and wanted to flee.

“He had a car and a license. And I had thought about running away for years at that point but I was certain he wouldn’t want to leave and – So, I did not talk back, got our clothes and raided part of the kitchen and we hurried into his car and then he drove. Away. We did not know where, just that we’d leave the state and then see how further. I know it was stupid and unplanned but we were at the end of our wits and it felt good to get away. It felt good to feel free.”

Remus eyed Patton’s hand close to his own. He wanted to hold it. Needed to hold it almost felt like. And promptly Remus reached for Patton’s hand and took it. He took a wavery breath and quickly met eyes with Patton before he continued.

“Then – Well, it was not Roman’s fault. He was not on his phone and he was not driving too fast. He never did. Something was wrong with the car, which was weird because he just had it checked by the mechanic like a few weeks before but. In a curve, something malfunctioned, Roman never could explain me what it was, but we went over the edge and the whole car rolled over several times. Something made a terribly loud sound close to my ears and I lost my orientation for a good bit. Blacked out or something. When I was back again the car stood still and was upright and I somehow manged to yank open the door and I stumble outside. My head hurt like a bitch and I realized that there was still the strange noise and I cursed and I couldn’t hear myself properly.”

Sighing. With his right Remus touched his hearing aid and looked to the cane next to Janus. Something he had to rely on no matter how much he did not want to rely on it.

“I later was told that hearing loss could develop from inner ear concussions after strong whiplashes and such. I was lucky enough to have just that. And I felt sick and was freaked out as fuck, because Roman had no longer been sitting next to me. He – he must have been yanked out of the car through the broken windshield and I started looking around for him.

“I found him a little upwards the hill. He was full of cuts, probably from the glass shreds, a huge one from the right of his forehead over the top of it and there was blood sticking to him everywhere. It looked grotesque, all the blood smeared in the grass, sticking and soaking out of such a little body. When I got closer, I saw bruises and then looked if something was sticking out of him or turned in the wrong direction. Nothing was sticking out and … to my relief I found that he was still faintly breathing.”

Remus stopped again. He looked up. He gulped and watched Janus on the other side of the table. The unbelieving and mortified look in his eyes. Remus chuckled without any humour in it.

“Yeah, I looked like that too. Also, it doesn’t help that we really looked so much alike, so seeing myself kinda bleeding out’s an awfully not fun experience. Anyway, I then took my phone, which somehow had survived all of it safely in my pocket and called 911 because it was the only number I remembered. I told them to stay on the phone, that I could not hear them, because my ears rang like shit, that I was in car crash, that my brother was bleeding out and where we roughly went off the road. That they were not to contact our parents because they would possibly kill me or not come at all which both was shitty and I talked to the phone for a few minutes before I started walking back to the car and got a jacket out, I then threw over Roman. So, he wouldn’t get any colder and stuff. Because I didn’t dare to move him and then I climbed up to the road and waited for the ambulance to come.”

Remus knew he should not be smiling. But he was and the pictures from Roman laying there almost lifeless in front of him shot in front of his eyes again. It was not fun. No laughing matter. But the smile was there nevertheless. And he could not force it away.

A hand was put on the small on Remus’s back and he yanked his head towards Patton. He smiled at him so very gently and Remus felt his grin falter. Felt his expression turn sad and Patton’s arm pull him towards the other. Remus let him do so and gave into the side hug. It was weird to feel alive. It was weird to feel held and warm.

“I would have tried to end it right there and then if he hadn’t been breathing. I would have,” Remus mumbled and to his surprise he got an agreeing response.

“I get that and nobody could fault you for that, Remus. Nobody possibly could fault you for it,” Patton said quite clearly and Remus let those words sink in for a moment.

“That must be such a fuck up thing for the two of you. No wonder Roman did not want to drive back home,” Virgil said after a while and Remus sat up.

He looked at the young man in front of him and sadly shook his head. It was hard to admit but Remus was alone with his memory. Helplessly alone even.

“He doesn’t remember any of it,” Remus started saying and gulped as he felt Patton’s hand sliding away from his side back into his hand and intertwining their fingers helplessly together. “He was in a coma for three days after it. I spent the time learning this fucking chart by heart and was as much in his room as I could, while they had me checked up and asked for our information. They didn’t know what was wrong exactly with him, save for the few bruises, burns, cuts and four cracked rips. They didn’t find anything when they had a closer look of his head, but they weren’t sure when he’d wake up. Eventually, he did on day three and immediately requested to see me and first thing he wanted to do was to stand up and know what was wrong with me and stuff. The day after, to everybody’s surprise and displeasure he did stand up and walked around to ask people where we’d find an ear specialist and someone who could teach us ASL.”

Remus paused and massaged the bride of his nose before he let out an airy laugh.

“Some nurses and I eventually got him back to bed and we could convince him to stay there for a week or so. Then things were temporarily settled and we were brought to foster parents. I had some bruises from my Dad on me which were enough to convince them to not send us home again and that’s how we ended up with an okay couple and their daughter and son for a year or so. It wasn’t really good. I was struggling with not understanding what was going on around me and we had nothing left. Nowhere to turn to. Roman meanwhile learnt ASL and taught me as much as he could and well, he then – basically did everything which led us to be here.”

Remus made a wide, cantilevered gesture and pointed to the room around them. He looked to this room, which was so much bigger than anything he ever thought he could own. And it was just their living room. Just the place they were meant to watch TV together and eat. Just this room alone was so much more than Remus ever dreamed of possessing.

“What do you mean by he did everything? What exactly did he do?”

Remus turned back to Janus. Remus blinked and chuckled a little.

“He got us an apprenticeship as florists when we turned eighteen and learnt about flowers and plants despite never really being passionate about it. He signed me up for all the doctor’s appointment I needed to go to get my ears checked out properly and helped me get a credit for the hearing aids. He got a stupid van where we lived in for a few months and sold flowers from before we could afford the first place we started from.”

Janus looked like he wanted to cut Remus off but Remus continued talking as if he hadn’t seen Janus wanting to cut him off.

“And he did so, while throwing his whole fucking life away. He didn’t try to pursue his dream of Broadway, he didn’t have friends anymore but me and he still acts as if it was nothing. As if I had not fucking ruined his life, as if I hadn’t fucking stolen his life in exchange for continuing to live mine. And I know it’s not this easy and shit, but for fuck’s sake; He made this, he accomplished this on his own! He can live on his own. He doesn’t need me for this nonsense.”

A moment of silence followed and Remus shivered. It was getting later and his bare feet were getting kinda cold. It didn’t matter. He deserved it.

“This ‘nonsense’ meaning life I assume?”

Remus shot a glare to Janus and shrugged pointlessly looking away.

“I doubt that he would agree with you calling your lives ‘nonsense’-” “He wouldn’t.” “-but nevertheless, I have a suspicion that you are not giving yourself enough credit for what you did here.”

Remus laughed. Why would someone ever say this about him? Why would Janus-What-is-your-problem-with-me say this of all people?

Yet before Remus could say that Virgil took his chance and said: “Uncle J’s right for once. Like, this here is not something any person I know could manage to make on their own. You said you did nothing but, like, you learnt about all of these flowers too. You work every fucking day, despite wanting to end it? And how long has it been since the accident now?”

“Nine years,” Remus said his throat feeling incredibly dry.

“Nine fucking years! You didn’t kill yourself for nine fucking years, Remus. You, you are here! You own a house; you have your own store and you did this with your brother! He was so miserable when he learnt what you did and you must know that he’s not doing well either. You two kept each other alive for so long, which isn’t – isn’t really good or okay in – in a way, but it’s outstanding and definitely not nothing! You say he can do this on his own, but you know he can’t. Of all the people who know him you must know that better than anyone else. I know, I’ll make sure of it even, that Roman won’t be left alone, but he’s – he’s not ready to let you go. Not any time soon.”

Remus did not want to hear that. He knew it was right. He really did. He had known for so long that Roman wasn’t ready. That he possibly would never be ready.

“But I am so tired. I just. I don’t want anymore. I can’t anymore. I just don’t want to have to do this anymore. To continue suffering. I want it to stop…”

Remus didn’t know when the last time had been when he cried. He hadn’t known that he still was alive enough to even cry. To laugh, certainly. To joke, always. To flirt, every day.

But to cry?

No, he had believed that those times had long been over.

And yet here he was. Crying in his own living room, surrounded by people, who in all honesty wanted him to stay alive despite not knowing him for much longer than a month.

The weirdly thin arms of the beanpole were draped across Remus’s shoulder and he realized for a tiny fraction of a second that he smelled like cat food and that that somehow smelled very delicious and then took the embrace needily.

Remus wasn’t sobbing and whimpering like Roman, just a few tears and a bit of sniffling but not much more. He got lost in the contact, in the delight of being touched, of being held and when a second pair of arms was put around him, he could have melted on the spot. Even more so when he sensed Patton’s scruffy chin shortly brush over his shoulder as the man pulled him towards himself. Patton was holding him. Patton was holding him and it was so unspeakably nice to be held by him.

It shouldn’t be. Remus wanted (he didn’t) to pull away. But severing their contact, losing Patton’s touch, felt like flames burning his skin. He had to let go but he didn’t want to.

“It’s okay, Remus. It’s okay. I’ll hold you as long as you want me to.”

And Remus did that. For the first time in a long while he let himself have what he wanted. He let himself be held and be warm for a few moments.

___

@varthandi

@sickeningly-deceitful

@sammy-is-obsessed / @exhaustedfander

@unoriginalgayboyalex

@alexisrealgay

@softie-sushi

@wolfs-feder

@just-a-neoclassical-painting

For this fic:

@frawkeye

@arodynamic-enby

@espepspes

@ladysuperheros

@bullet-tothefeels

@fukindork

@shadeofadye

@magic-but-its-green

@liv-is-a-fander

@croftersjam15

[i-am-a-bad-influence-writes]

Hayloft - Intro

Series Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist - Full Masterlist

Summary: A young girl finds a soldier hiding in the hayloft on her father’s farm. Intrigued, she visits him more and more until her father finds out and puts him to work. As they grow closer, something else grows too.

Pairing: James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes x OC Jenny Richelle “Ricky” Hill

Warning: Strong language, inaccurate war description

Author’s note: Based on the song Hayloft by Mother Mother and the lovestory of my grandparents. I am Dutch and the war was a bit different here, so I will be basing this on the stories I’ve heard about my grandparents.

Word count: 1624

Early in the morning, just afte sunrise, a girl steps on her bike to cycle to work. She works in the post office because she is expected to work as the oldest sibling despite her amazing academics. The eldest has a role to fulfill and she’s accepted that by now, but she can’t help but wonder what could have been had she gone to college. Oh well, it’s all past now. She cycles through the street trying to tune out wailing mothers, partners, sisters, and others. Recruitment had hit the town hard. Most young men were already taken. She couldn’t be happier that her brothers are not of age yet and her sister isn’t allowed to serve. And she? Well, she would’ve loved to rise above her station. Make her parents proud by joining the army but women aren’t allowed to do so. And so she puts her bike on its lock in front of the post office and heads inside.

Early in the morning, just before sunrise, a man cautiously tiptoes through the fields of a farmer just out of town. Just far enough to get cover, just close enough to be able to run if needed. Just days ago he watched everyone he loved get recruited. Either by free will or by force. They didn’t care. You have to fight for this nation to keep it free. He’s seen too many people die already. He’s done his part but they don’t think so. He watches as the farmer’s family gets ready inside the farmhouse. He watches, who he considers to be, the eldest daughter put breakfast on the table for everyone and gather her things to leave. He watches as she steps outside and onto her bike. She didn’t see him. He looks around for a place to hide. The hayloft. Of course. While the family is still inside, he climbs into the hayloft and hides in hopes no one will find him.

‘Morning Jenny, how are you doing,‘ an older woman asks Jenny with a smile on her face. Her name is Michelle and her husband was drafted, but everyone knew there was something off between them. Michelle would often have odd explanations for random bruises and scratches. Jenny put one and two together very quickly after she started working at the post office. But now that her husband’s gone, Michelle has been thriving. Things couldn’t be better for her right now. ‘You know, same old, same old,‘ Jenny answers, shrugging off her coat, ‘just happy the remainder of my family wasn’t taken away.‘ ‘That’s fair,‘ she hums, ‘oh, I saw a young man flee the soldiers this morning. There’s been a lot of that in the news these days. I’d watch the farm a little closer if I were you.‘ Jenny chuckles, ‘lots of nooks and crannies to hide. And with two girls on the farm-‘ ‘Don’t worry about that. My father has a shotgun loaded and ready if they dare,‘ she chuckles, ‘wouldn’t want to be put against the wall for hiding someone.‘ ‘By the way,‘ Michelle says as she puts a hand in front of her mouth in shock, ‘did you hear misses Wednesday was hiding her cousin? He’s shipped off and she’s been put on the wall.‘ ‘Dear lord, how the world has changed. That is cruel I must say,‘ Jenny murmurs as she sits down at her post. The girls look up as the door opens. In walk three soldiers looking nothing less than annoyed. Well, the two younger soldiers look annoyed. The older one, who seems to be higher ranking, does seem to enjoy himself. ‘Good morning ladies,‘ the higher ranking one says while he takes his hat off. ‘Good morning,‘ Michelle says with a smile, ‘how may we help you?‘ ‘I am sergeant Winter, this is private Jonas and private Greenland. We got orders to post the pictures of stowaways at the post office,‘ the man tells them, ‘may we?‘ A question out of friendliness, to give the women fake freedom to decide but they know it’s just for protocol. ‘Of course, Jenny, help them clear the board,‘ Michelle gestures at Jenny to hurry. She hurries from behind the desk to clear the cork board that holds folders for some events that couldn’t be anymore and small neighborhood announcements. Jenny clears away the things that passed or aren’t happening anymore and pins all their own announcements to the right so that the pictures can be hung on the left. All the while being stared at up and down.  It makes her a bit uncomfortable, but she knows others have it worse. One of her friends got felt up and down by a soldier each time she had to pass one of their stations. Frisking they called it. Grabbing a girl’s boobs and butt each and every time she passes your station isn’t frisking, that’s groping. At least these soldiers hadn’t tried to touch her yet. ‘Could I get you gentlemen a cup of coffee,‘ Jenny asks to be friendly. ‘That would be wonderful,‘ sergeant Winter smiles. The other two seem to have a bit of a grin on their faces while they keep working. Jenny doubts they get much time to drink coffee. It’s the least she can do. ‘Michelle, you do want coffee?‘ Michelle nods and so Jenny disappears into the back and reappears with a tray with coffee cups, milk, sugar, and some biscuits. The soldiers thank her and finish their work and coffee. Jenny insists they take another biscuit for the road, even if they don’t want to, and then it’s just Michelle and Jenny again. ‘Friendly gentlemen,‘ Michelle murmurs. Jenny gathers the coffee cups and takes a look at the cork board. ‘Any interesting faces?‘ ‘Johnny Meadow,‘ Jenny reads, ‘used to go to school with that lad. Real smart kid, left town to study law and came back because mom and pop weren’t doing so swell.‘ Michelle gets up and walks over to Jenny. She studies the faces of the men on the board. ‘Seems like most these kids skipped town,‘ she guesses, ‘I haven’t seen any of these faces around.‘ Jenny looks a little closer. ‘You’re right. Most of them say where they’re from. There are a few from a town over, but this one,‘ she points at a fine looking gentleman who seems to have served at one point judging from his picture, ‘is from another state.‘ ‘You gotta admit it’s impressive,‘ Michelle shrugs, ‘I couldn’t do it.‘ ‘I think I could,‘ Jenny grins, ‘avoided my dad with secret boyfriends often enough.‘ Michelle looks at Jenny with an impressed look. Jenny shrugs and chuckles. ‘Oh you rascal,‘ Michelle laughs as she pushes Jenny a little, ‘let’s get back to work. I got a few letters for you to deliver.‘

The man watches from under the hayloft as he sees the girl on the bike come back home. She looks tired and her hair’s a mess, but there’s something about her. He watches her fix her hair a little bit, put on a pretend smile, and wait. Two younger men run outside to greet her and take her bag off her shoulders. She messes with their hair and puts her arms around their shoulders with a big smile on her face. A true family. How wonderful. He wishes he could see his mother again. Or his best friend. He wonders how he is doing now that he’s gone. They used to rely on each other a lot. He wonders when he might be able to go home, if ever. He sighs and tries to get comfortable on the hay but he has a hard time going to sleep on an empty stomach and the hay pricking his skin isn’t really helping though it is more comfortable than sleeping on the ground. He tosses and turns, trying to avoid making the wood creak. A soft meowing almost makes his heart stop out of shock, but luckily his head quickly registers the sound. A cat? He pushes himself up on his elbows to look over the haystack. Coming towards him is a small, probably juvenile, white cat with beautiful long fur and deep blue eyes. It almost looks like a ghost cat. He smiles as he tries to get the creature to come closer. ‘Hi there, who are you,‘ he coos quietly, holding his hand out so the cat can sniff it. She doesn’t take long to curl up next to him. It makes him feel comfortable for the first time in weeks. Something about a pet curling up next to you just clams the nerves. He freezes at the sound of the front door of the farmhouse opening. ‘Alpine,‘ a woman’s voice calls and he watches the ears of the little white creature peek up, but she doesn’t really make an effort to move. After all, cats are on their own schedule. ‘Alpine, where are you?‘ He hears the voice come closer and then he hears the ladder creak. That isn’t good. ‘Alpine?‘ He throws the cat towards the front of the hayloft where the ladder is, but the cat isn’t having any of it. He tries to bury himself under the hay while the cat tries to get back to him. He sees a woman’s face peek over from the ladder. She hasn’t seen him yet. ‘Alpine, what are you playing at,‘ the woman laughs as she sees the cat trying to bury itself with him, ‘come on, I got some scraps left for you.‘ The cat doesn’t list to her. The girl sighs and climbs onto the hayloft, letting herself fall onto the hay just inches from where he’s laying. He feels his heart beating faster and faster.

[princessthotty]

Catch Me  (villa dell'amore Series)

Catch Me 

Ravn x (Y/N) 

Rated: M for later chapters

chapter 1 “Worst Ways To Fall In Love”

This was the worst possible way for this to happen. Well, maybe not the worst, but it was definitely top 3 on your "worst ways to fall in love" list. A million things running through your mind as you lay in the muscular, dripping wet arms, of the mystery man who may have just saved your life.

“Um,” The man breaks the long silence. “Are you okay?”

His voice, somewhat rough yet still silky smooth, drawing you in. Beautiful deep brown eyes holding you in a trance, all the while you’re thinking of licking-

“Hey, could you get up, my arm's going dead here,” He says, irritation forming in his voice.

You blink, snapping back to reality, and to the fact that you are currently being held up by a half naked man in the apartment's communal showers. “Oh,” You manage to squeak out before practically flinging yourself out of his grasp and running out of the steaming room. “I’m so sorry!” You screamed, quickly fleeing the scene.

Sprinting full force up the stairs back to your room, and quickly lock the door. You slide down the hard wooden frame to sit on the less than comfortable hardwood floor. “Wow.” You whispered, the only word your scrambled brain could come up with.

Who was this mysterious man? You may have just moved into this place a week ago, but you were sure you had already met everyone in the complex, and you would have definitely remembered meeting this one.

You lived in a small communal living "apartment", though it was closer to a  rundown house with a bunch of sectioned off rooms, that consisted of eight tiny rooms, one large kitchen, one working bathroom, and no privacy. Anywhere.

Just having moved to the city for school and after what seemed like the hundredth available room for rent you visited, you somehow stumbled upon this "quaint, communal living villa" named “Villa Dell'amore” advertising a free room. After another day of disappointment, what was one more.

Disappointment may have been a slight under exaggeration as you stared at the room. It was half the size of every other place you had seen, and was not quite what you expected when you read "villa", but it was also half the price of everything else near campus so who were you to argue?

Everyone in the complex was nice enough at first impressions, and you were all going to attend the same university. There were six rooms currently occupied, you only had the chance to meet five of the residents. Lee Seoho, Kim GunHak, who liked to be called Leedo, were in two of the four rooms on the second floor with you. Then there was Lee KeonHee, Yeo Hwanwoong, and Son Dong Ju, who everyone called Xion, that stayed in the three rooms on the first floor. They told you the sixth missing occupants names, but you couldn't remember what they called him. Your mind was still attempting to process what just happened.

"Well, I guess we just met," You mumbled, slouching over onto the floor. It's not like you meant to walk in on him as he was getting out of the shower... or slip and fall into his arms... and stay there for a much, much, longer time than necessary. "Why'd it have to be the bathroom." You reached for a plushy for comfort, or to smother yourself, which ever seemed more appropriate.

A knock on the door startled you out of your embarrassment induced anguish. Laying perfectly still, you hopefully thought they would go away. Unfortunately, another quick knock, and no way for you to escape. Taking a deep breath, you slowly got up and unlocked the door to see who was there.

Oh, was it your lucky day, because there stood the handsome mystery man, directly in front of you now. At least this time he was fully clothed.

"Too bad," You thought unconsciously.

The man cleared his throat. "So, um, about earlier," He started.

Before he could get another word out, you swung open the door and bowed deeply in front of him. "I'm so sorry about that!," Cheeks bright as you nervously looked up. "I didn't know anyone was in there and I was going to knock, not that I don't usually knock, I just thought everyone was gone-" You began to babble, unable to stop all the words spewing from your lips.

"Pfft-,"

You immediately stopped and looked up to see the man trying to stifle his laughter, but failing completely. His smiling face, too much for your heart to handle.

"So cute,"

"So cute," 

What? Did you just say that... or was that...

"No, it was my fault. " He said. "I should have locked the door. I'm not the only one who lives here. It's just good you didn't fall. You didn't get hurt, did you?"

You tucked your hair behind your ears, cheeks somehow hotter then before, if that was even possible. "Yes- I mean No! No, I am not hurt, thanks to you." You managed to stutter out, heart fluttering.

"My name’s Kim YoungJo," He says, smiling at you with an outstretched hand. "I'm a student at the University up the street. I heard someone new moved in while I was gone. Nice to finally meet you."

How was he so confident, even after something so embarrassing just happened? You had to play it cool, if he wasn’t going to let it bother him, you had to do the same, and stop being a total spaz.

You took his hand. "My names (y/n)," You replied, a soft smile on your face. "Nice to meet you, too, YoungJo."

"You can call me Ravn," He said, shoving one hand in his pocket. "If you need anything, I'm in the room right next door." He jestered.

With that he turned to head back to his room. "Oh, one more thing," Turning back to look at you with a smirk. "The walls between rooms are pretty thin, so be careful about being too loud or anything." He tapped the wall with his knuckle and winked before disappearing into his room, closing the door behind him.

You stared in slight confusion before it dawned on you what he was referring to. The blush that had slightly dissipated returned full force, leaving you to stare after him in shock.

You covered your hot, flustered face with your hands and leaned your head against the open door frame. "Am I going to survive here?" You thought.

============================================================

This is my first biasxreader, I usually write for characters and in third person, so this was interesting to try out. I wanna make this a series, but you can always enjoy this as a one shot too, just hella fluff. Hope you enjoy~

[carsontheleft]

Hot Mess

Summary: Hot Space is a hot mess and John does not want to not talk to Roger anymore. Things get more emotional than any of them bargained for.

Pairing: JohnxRoger (platonic), RogerxDominique (mentioned), JohnxVeronica (mentioned)

Comment: Hey, look, I’m still alive! I started this a while ago and then I spontaneously finished it yesterday and THEN I thought about posting it immediately and then I DIDN’T and now it’s John’s birthday it just fits quite nicely. Happy Birthday, John! Have fun with this, y’all.

John has to forcibly hold himself back from slamming the coffee pot back into its place. No coffee would only worsen the already disastrous day. Week. Month, almost. For the first time, Munich doesn’t seem to be their lucky place.

But maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s because John finally lets himself push for things he wants, that he likes and doesn’t let himself give in just because Brian is pushing for his way.

Brian. The mere thought of the guitarist turns John’s stomach into knots and pushes up his blood pressure. How can a single person be so fucking obnoxious, bull-headed, old-fashioned-

Okay, stop.

John takes a deep breath of stale basement air and decides he needs to breathe real, fresh, cold air without a huge grey, looming building pressing down on him.

Arriving on ground level, he takes one of the back doors leading to a narrow alleyway to escape. The air here smells a bit sweetly of the rotting food in trash cans, but it’s cold and sharp and already saturated with bluish smoke of cigarettes.

Roger is crouching beside John’s feet, leaning against the grey stone, with a pack of Marlboro Reds at his feet. It’s half empty and it’s not even noon.

“It’s not really the right weather for being outside without a jacket, is it?”

It isn’t. November in Munich doesn’t provide conditions to do anything outside. Where Montreux may have gotten the last golden sunrays of the year or the winter’s first snow, Munich is just grey, dreary and dark.

“I don’t see you wearing one”, Roger squints upwards at John having forgotten his sunglasses downstairs.

“Fair enough.”

Neither of them talks when John lights his cigarette.

Normally, that would be unusual. There has hardly ever been a time where John and Roger didn’t talk to each other, may it be because of an argument or because they didn’t have anything to talk about.

But not-talking is the safer choice of interaction nowadays. Not-talking doesn’t pose such a high risk for arguments.

But they’re friends and John wants to talk to Roger, he wants to explain his ideas and visions just like he’s always done it, but he’s not sure Roger would listen. And he just doesn’t understand why, doesn’t get why Roger and Brian are so afraid of some change, when that’s what’s Queen been about all along, a band not succumbing to trends and expectations, a band that always knew to surprise.

“John, I don’t wanna fight anymore.”

John nearly drops his cigarette when Roger’s voice rips him out of his thoughts.

He’s looking at him, and John is suddenly hit by how young Roger appears with his tousled blonde hair and wide blue eyes, that, admittedly, are blood-shot, but that doesn’t take the child-like innocence out of them.

Despite that, John scoffs.

“It’s hardly me who’s at fault here.”

Roger visibly flinches at that, recoils and turns his eyes back to the dirty pavement in front of him.

John’s worked hard to build up the defenses he’s calling his own now, so thick and impenetrable that not even Brian with his jabs and sniping remarks can get through them.

But now Roger’s ripped through them, just like that.

“Rog…”

“No, no, it’s fine, you’ve made your point”, his voice is a little husky, only barely betraying his hurt, “I’m going back inside, see you there.”

And it’s actually this eerie calm, which is so unlike Roger, that John wakes from the stupor he’s worked himself into and makes him realize they really should stop fighting and get to talking instead.

 Roger’s quiet for the remainder of day, too. And John’s not the only one who notices, Freddie asks if Rog is alright and earns himself a grumbled “Just want to get out of this shithole”; Brian only grants him an irritated look when Roger doesn’t jump to his defense. Mack, Crystal and the other roadies opt for not saying anything at all, they know better but to get into arguments that cannot be stopped anyway.

It’s when Roger practically flees from the studio after they collectively decide they won’t get much more done and doesn’t stay back to joke around with the others that John decides he has to do something immediately.

He gets some beer, the German stuff isn’t really his taste, but Roger seems to have taken a liking to it, grabs two pizzas from the Italian place Mack did recommend and walks over to Roger’s apartment.

It takes the drummer some time to answer his door, two rounds of insistent knocking and a raised hand to start a third one, only then there’s some shuffling, the clicking of locks and Roger opens the door a fraction.

“Why’re you here?”, his blond hair is sticking up in every direction and he’s wearing a dark fluffy bathrobe. There is a flush to Roger’s cheeks that tells John he either pulled his friend from a bath or was just lucky to catch him coming out of the shower.

“To talk. Not to fight”, John holds up the pizza boxes with the beer stacked on top, “Please, Rog.”

Roger stares at him for a moment and for once John absolutely can’t read the usually so emotional face. Then he heaves out a sigh and opens the door to let John in.

The place is cluttered in a typical Roger-fashion. An overflowing ashtray, papers with what could be lyrics or shopping lists, a part of a drumstick for some reason and a colorful array of take out packaging. John winces, maybe he should’ve brought stuff to cook a fresh meal instead of gifting Roger yet another pre-made supper.

“How’s Dom?”

“She’s good. Took Felix and went to visit her parents, escaping the rain and stuff. You know how she hates it”, he does his best to declutter the couch table, mindlessly stacking pieces of paper on top of each other without looking at them or at John, for that matter.

“How are Ronnie and the kids?”

“They’re good, Ron wants to come down next week, but we’ll have to see if it works with Robert and the school. I miss them.”

Now Roger looks at him, but it’s not the look of disdain and almost disgust he wore when John presented them the lyrics of ‘You’re My Best Friend’ and he threw a fit over ‘I’m happy at home’. This one is one of understanding and compassion.

“Yeah, me too. Let’s have a taste of that beer you brought, yeah?”

They mostly eat in silence, only interrupted by the quiet murmuring of the TV and one of them occasionally commenting on the food or the beer. When John’s done with his food Roger is intently watching the 10 pm news. He’s not sure the drummer understands much of it, but John is willing to indulge him a while longer. It’s not like he’s looking forward to this heart-to-heart, but he knows it’s necessary and they’ll feel better once they’re done. John only wishes he could fast forward everything in between now and then.

“We need to talk about this”, John starts eventually when the pretty blonde woman on the TV is done with telling them that the next days will be just as dreary as today.

“And what exactly does ‘this’ entail?”

Roger is already in full on confrontation mood, and John has to force himself to stay calm. It’s Roger, he tells himself, no matter that it was actually him who put up the white flag this morning, he still doesn’t like to be cornered.

“Us not working like we used to. The constant fighting and discussions and nothing coming out of it. You constantly siding with Brian without listening to a word I say!”

Oh shit, he really could’ve worded that better.

“Me not listening? I AM listening, other than Brian and you! I’m listening to both your opinions and then I decide!”

“And it’s always in favor of Brian!”

“Well, if we share an opinion, then yes!”

“But why? Why are you so intent on keeping everything as it is?”, they’ve gotten louder and John really, really doesn’t want this to evolve into another shouting match, but he might not be strong enough to reign himself in.

But, much to John’s surprise, Roger sighs and slumps back against the couch rubbing his eyes.

“Because it works! We’re doing this how long now? 10 years? People know us, they expect our product to meet a certain standard, an expectation.”

“Our- our product? A certain standard? Roger, what are you talking about? Isn’t our music about how we feel? What we think? It’s not supposed to be some commercial bullshit”, John is seriously flabbergasted. Not in a million years he would have thought Roger would start to view their work as a ‘job’ only consisting of deadlines and expectations and goal fulfilment.

He scoots over to the other end of the couch where Roger is sitting and bumps their knees together.

“What brought this on, Rog? What’s going on?”

“It’s just…”, the drummer shrugs, rubs his eyes again and then starts to knead the shoulder muscles that John knows are always a bit tense, always a bit sore.

“We’ve been doing this 10 years, John, ten years! How many bands have made it farther than that? Who says it won’t just all fall apart next month? We can’t just start making different music now!”

“We’ve been always aware of that possibility. There was always the chance we wouldn’t make it, but now we’ve got number one hits in America! We’re an established name!”

It feels a bit weird to take on the motivational part, the part of convincing the others that they have actually made it. Usually, it’s Roger who does that.

“Yeah, but…”, Roger blows out a breath, “Don’t you feel like- like you were 27 just yesterday, snorting all the coke in New Orleans without a care in the world and now, now there’s a child and- and a-“

“A woman you might as well just marry”, John tightly presses his lips together to not let the laughter escape. So, that’s what all this is about, Roger just realized he’s actually a grown-up now and he doesn’t feel too comfortable about it.

“It’s not that!”, Roger argues, “What difference does a bloody certificate make?! I have a family now; I have to provide!”

John sucks in his cheeks to keep himself from grinning. He gets it, he does, Roger’s worries are understandable, and he doesn’t want to ridicule his friend, but from John’s position his worries are a bit ridiculous, when they’re in far better position now than when John first became a father.

“Dom has a job, too, you know?”, John teases, fully intending to lighten up the mood. Unfortunately, it has the opposite effect.

“That’s- Stop making fun of me!”, Roger jumps up from the sofa and hovers over John, fists clenching at his side as if he has to keep them from either punching something or someone or from thrashing his apartment.

“You know, sometimes I feel like that’s the only thing I’m good for! The dumb blonde, that crazy drummer guy, let’s make fun of him, he deserves it! He’s no good for anything anyway, can’t manage to write a good song, and we don’t even need him for drumming anymore!”

Oh. Oh.

So that’s where all this moodiness is coming from.

Roger rarely shares his feeling so honestly, usually none of them does if there are not copious amounts of alcohol and or other substances involved, but Roger especially likes to keep everything bottled up, until it implodes. And that leaves either a destroyed room or drumkit, or Roger in front of a toilet puking his guts out and avoiding just about everyone for a few days after until he’s okay with himself again.

So, to say the least, this emotional outbreak with feelings actually being articulated is uncharted territory for John. And for Roger too, who’s staring at John like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Rog-“

“Forget it!”

He stalks away, fluffy bathrobe and naked feet, and slams his bedroom door shut.

John sighs and settles back into the sofa. He came to talk and he’ll get his talk, even if he has to stay the night. With Roger, that might just be the case.

Well. At least the apartment has a second bathroom.

 John wakes a couple of hours later, around 3 am. It’s a weird feeling, usually they’d still be out and drinking, but it’s probably not the worst thing to get a whole 8 hours of sleep at what is actually night.

A sharp gust of icy cold air wafts through the room and John finds that it was that what woke him in the first place with the flimsy throw he used as a blanket not providing adequate cover.

The apartment is mostly dark save for the lights of the city streaming in through the window and John can see through the door gap into the hall and that Roger’s bedroom door is open again.

He finds him in the kitchen, standing in front of the open window smoking.

“You’re still here”, he notes when John steps up beside him.

“I wanted a talk, an honest conversation. I won’t leave until I get one.”

“Took a note out of Freddie’s book then, huh?”

“Freddie?”, John scoffs, “Try your own.”

Roger turns to him, mouth open and already gesturing with the softly glowing cigarette. “I’m not-“

“Ridge Farm?”

That takes his drive. He turns back to the view, deeply inhaling the burning smoke. John takes one out of Roger’s packet. He doesn’t really like the brand, but it’s better than nothing.

“You taped my drums, John”, Roger eventually says.

“Are you still mad about this? I’m sorry and I promise not to touch the kit again without you knowing.”

“It’s not that- well, that too, but-“, Roger takes a deep breath, steeling himself, “You tape my drums and there’s nothing I can do that a drum machine isn’t able to. Hell, I’m not even the best drummer without them taped, my technique is weird, if you can even call it that, there are guys who are a lot better than me and understand this disco thing you’re prattling on about.”

“It’s not like Brian-“

“He’s trying, okay? He’s trying to get into that kind of music, he’s not sprinkling guitar solos all over the songs like you’d do it with coke on a hooker because he wants to annoy you! Well, not primarily anyway, but he’s trying to make his contribution to what you’re doing! He wants to have part in this and I, I just don’t see it, I’m sorry.”

Roger flips the butt of his smoke out of the window and rubs his eyes.

“But we can’t just stop! We can’t just stop at The Game and that’s it! We need something new, start fresh like we’ve done it with each album.”

John finishes his cigarette as well but makes a show of putting it out in the ashtray.

“I know that, Deaks, I do! I really don’t want to become the guy that needs to be dragged off stage because the people got tired of him playing the same things over and over and over again! But I just can’t do this disco thing.”

John understands this. You can’t force yourself to produce music you just don’t feel. This is like Fred and his love for opera and musical theater, something John will never get the hang of, no matter how often he’ll take Ronnie to the ballet. And while Roger does like a more electric style of music, he’s not really known for setting the dancefloor on fire. Maybe the women on it but not the dancefloor itself.

“I know you and Freddie don’t need me to realize your vision, this album but I- I can’t lose Queen, John, I can’t. It’s everything.”

Roger’s almost too quiet for John to understand resting against the kitchen counter in the dark, half of his face illuminated by Munich’s night life in a loose shirt and a pair of boxers.

And John thinks, this is it. This is what all this is about.

Because John started to play with those guys he now calls his brothers as a hobby, as a distraction and creative outlet opposite his studies. He had never envisioned to become a famous musician; this never had been a goal for him. So he had sat back and let Freddie, Brian and Roger work on the music, on the band, had let them work on their dream.

And then he had turned 30 and for the first time John had thought that this might be what he’d do the rest of his life. And he decided to give it his everything all, to make a monument for himself, to really give his very best.

And for Roger it had always been like that. There never had been a second option, a plan B, go big or go home. John’s pretty sure even if they hadn’t made it, Roger still would still be a musician. If not in Genesis then in some local band or a studio musician, but he never, ever would have gone to work in some lab or, even worse, in a dentist’s office.

“What are you talking about? You won’t lose Queen! Never! We’d lose all our female fans if we kicked you out!”

“Great to hear that that’d be the greatest loss”, Roger grumbles and turns away but John catches his wrist.

“You won’t lose us. We need you. Who’d be there to back up Fred when his voice is shot? Who’d argue with Brian just to draw him out of his funks? And heaven knows, not Brian nor me can keep up with Freddie.”

“Like I can these days.”

And there’s the other worry hanging in the air around them, Freddie leaving them behind more often than not, being more elusive than he’s ever been. But that’s a worry for another night, right now this is about the two of them, the Sonic fucking Volcano.

“Come on”, John tugs on Roger’s wrist, “Get over here.”

“Deaks, no, I don’t-“

John tugs a little harder and then Roger’s body is pressed flush against his.

“Like you ever say no to a good hug.”

“I hate you”, the drummer mumbles against John’s shoulder and heaves out a mighty sigh relaxing into the embrace.

“I’m sure you do.”

They rest like that for a few minutes, which is not really a thing they’d normally do, but they’re both tired and miss their partners. It’s okay.

“Y’know”, Roger says as he detangles himself, “I’m not sure Queen would lose all its lady fans if I left. Not with you looking like some kind of… Greek God.”

He wrinkles his nose and pokes John into his right pec.

“It’s called exercise, Rog, you could try it.”

“Yeah, ‘cause I don’t exercise daily on those bloody drums. Also, Dom likes it. She calls me soft and cuddly.”

He sticks out his chest.

“Wow, look at that, Roger Taylor is proud of being called soft, what a turn of events!”

“Well, at least I don’t look like handlebar with an exploded mop on top.”

“Handlebar? I seem to recall you calling me a Greek god not 30 seconds ago!”

“Yeah, and I regret it already. Just wait until I throw you out of the band!”