#rhythm: testify

[tsunagite]

Doodle

[tsunagite]

Yes ma’am 🫡

She has something very important to say (eat glass) (no don't)

[luveline]

if it’s at all possible, i’m requesting the fluffiest, giggliest fic with poly!marauders where reader is just sad and teary so they get in a big cuddle pile and tickle her and kiss her until she’s a giggly mess and all cheered up 🥹 thank you lovely jade!! <3

ty for requesting angel! fem, 1.1k

You watch yourself in the mirror. At your vanity, a cotton pad soaked in toner in hand. You wash down your face gently, your eyes hot and heavy and waiting to fill with tears. 

Maybe it’s because it’s Sirius who’s sitting on your bed that you end up crying. It’s hard to explain why it makes a difference, why he’s the one out of everyone who you can’t hide from when you’re sad. It’s not as though James or Remus are any less understanding than he is. James is the most generous person you’ve ever met, he’d let you cry into his arms for days on end without complaint, and Remus understands better than most what it is to be in pain, but Sirius won’t make you talk about it. When you’re feeling better, you’ll realise that it’s the complete lack of pressure to confront your feelings that brings them to the surface. Sirius won’t ask you to explain yourself. 

The tears fall down in discordant waves. One from the left, two from the right. Your nose grows hot, an uncomfortable wetness gathering at the back of your throat. 

You put your cotton pad aside, sniffling. 

“You okay, my angel?” Sirius asks, turning another page of his novel. 

You take a shaky breath. ��Yeah,” you say, voice thick with tears. 

“You don’t sound okay.” You watch in the mirror as he puts his book down. He stands up quickly, and you’re presented with how good looking he is. Even through tears, he looks pretty. “What’s wrong?” 

You bend in on yourself, pressing your fingers to your eyes. “It’s nothing.” 

His hand falls against your shoulder, warm, the other not far behind. He leans on your back. “Come on, sweet girl,” he whispers, “don’t cry by yourself. Come to bed with me.” 

He doesn’t push you. You knew he wouldn’t. 

You let him usher you into the bed, where he sits with crossed legs and you fall into his chest. Your shoulders ache with your crying, shaking as the tears turn to sobs. You think about everything too much. And, despite the best intentions, Sirius’ gentle patting and hugging makes you cry harder. 

It’s a quiet house. The sound of your breakdown attracts another boy. He climbs into bed in front of you both. You know it’s Remus because James’ would’ve exclaimed in fear at the door, his hand tentative on your thigh. “Is everything alright?” he asks softly. 

“She’s okay, just a rough day,” Sirius says. 

It isn’t a lie. You wrap your arms around his waist like a clamp and lay there, face slipping down against his stomach, all bent and hurting as tears soak his dark t-shirt. 

“Really rough, it must’ve been,” Remus says. He rubs your thigh. “It’ll be okay. We’re here.” 

That makes you cry worse, too, but eventually the sentiment is driven home. No matter how bad the day is, or what happens to you, you’ll always have people to come home to who love you, and who want to rub your back for you when you can’t calm down. 

Remus pats your leg in a rhythm. Sirius stays very still. They both, somehow, know what you need. 

A little later, you lay with your face pressed to Sirius’ chest just shy of his armpit, Remus’ patting turned to light tickling, his voice a low constant. “You’re just so beautiful it intimidates people, that’s your problem, dovey, you’re scary because you’re that pretty. You think I’m blowing smoke, but I’m serious, and Sirius agrees with me, and James would get down on his knees right here and now and testify to that same thing.” His hand slides between the soft upper insides of your thighs to squeeze one reverently. “Everyone is jealous of you.” 

“Stop it,” you mumble. 

“She’s smiling,” Sirius says, drawing a loop behind your ear. 

“Stop.” 

“Everyone is jealous of me,” Remus furthers, “at Books and Coco, whenever you come with me, the boy behind the counter always gives me that stupid chauvinistic look like I’ve done some great service to men-kind in landing you.” Remus leans down to kiss your leg. “And it’s silly that he gives me that look, but his sentiment isn’t wrong. I can’t say I landed you, but I am lucky.” 

“Stop,” you say again, laughing as his breath further tickles your leg. 

The door to the bedroom clatters open. You jump, having not heard the front door, but Sirius rubs your arm and you quickly calm. After all, it’s James coming in. He’s far from scary. 

“Hello,” he says, a little breathless, “you guys wouldn’t believe the photo I just took at the pond. The sun was setting and there were all these colours coming through the trees and over the water.” He gives you a funny look. “Have you been crying?” 

“Just a bit,” Sirius says gently, hugging you a half inch closer, “she’s alright now.” 

James frowns. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here.” 

“It’s okay,” Sirius answers for you. To some, his speaking for you might irk them, but right now it’s exactly what you need. It’s less embarrassing to have him talk for you. “Remus has praised her half to death, and he keeps tickling us both.” 

“Oh, you’re tickling him too?” you ask. 

Remus squints at you. “Well, just a little bit.” 

You put upon a forlorn sigh. “I’m not as special as I thought.” 

“Sweetheart, you are the most special,” James says, climbing into the bed, making you the centre of their flower, “you’re gorgeous. Let’s have a kiss.” 

“That’s what I said,” Remus says, laughing as you lean away from James’ kiss, even as big hands find your cheeks to hold your face. 

“Come on, lovely girl, just give me a kiss so I know you’re alright,” James says. 

You evade to tease him. You can’t help laughing as you turn your head one way and then the other, quick to dodge him, his lips pressing half kisses against whatever bit of skin he can as you move. 

“This is harassment!” you laugh. 

“Just one kiss…” He holds your face steady, and he looks at you long and hard. When you move your chin up to kiss him, he moves away. “You’re okay?” he asks softly. 

“I’m fine,” you laugh, kissing him quickly. 

James collapses atop you, all his weight and smells. “Thank god for that.” 

“Well, thank Sirius,” Remus says, “he did all the back-rubbing.” 

Sirius groans and tries to get out from under you. “You’re all very heavy.” 

“James? Can I see your photo?” you ask. 

He squeezes you half to death in answer. 

[abucives]

𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒔 𝑺𝑹𝑻 '𝑺

Connie Springer x Black Reader part 2

Warnings: 18+, slight mentions of drug dealer!connie, black reader, female anatomy, smut, fingering, short, brent my king mentioned 🙏🏾 ( i need feedback!!)

The sun had just begun its descent on this balmy Friday evening in June as Connie pulled up in his sleek black car. You had been waiting for this moment all week, eagerly anticipating another thrilling encounter with the tall, buzz-cut charmer. Known for his prowess with women and his side hustle as a drug dealer, Connie had a reputation that both intrigued and intimidated you.

As you slid into the passenger seat, your heart raced with anticipation. Connie shot you a devilish grin, his deep-set eyes sparkling with mischief. He knew exactly what he wanted, and he intended to take it. Without a word, he started the engine, the smooth bassline of "All Mine" by Brent Faiyaz filling the air as he pulled away.

Connie drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on your thigh. You felt the heat of his palm even through the fabric of your skirt, and a shiver ran down your spine. The song's sensual rhythm seemed to mirror the building tension between you and Connie. As the melody intensified, so did the boldness of his touch.

His hand crept higher, his fingers dancing along the hem of your skirt. With each upward stroke, your breath quickened, and your dark eyes flickered toward him. Connie just smiled, enjoying the power he held over you. His fingers grazed the soft skin of your inner thigh, causing you to squirm slightly in your seat.

With a subtle shift of his body, Connie positioned himself closer to you, his hand now boldly claiming ownership of your thigh. His fingers inched higher, teasing the sensitive skin at the junction of your thighs. You couldn't suppress a soft moan as his touch edged dangerously close to your core. Connie's grip tightened, his fingers pressing firmly into your flesh as if claiming you as his own.

The song's sultry lyrics echoed your growing desire, and you found yourself succumbing to the pleasure of his touch. Your eyes fluttered closed as you focused on the sensations flooding your body. Connie's touch was confident and demanding, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles on your now-throbbing center through the thin fabric of your panties.

Your breath quickened, and your chest rose and fell with increasing speed. Connie's free hand left the steering wheel, reaching over to grasp yours. His thumb stroked your knuckles as he brought your hand up to his mouth, his eyes never leaving the road. He sucked your finger into his mouth, mimicking the actions he longed to perform on other parts of your body.

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to cry out as sparks of pleasure radiated from your core. Connie's touch was expert, his fingers finding every sensitive spot. With each caress, your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more friction against his intrusive digits. The damp fabric of your panties testified to your growing excitement.

Connie chuckled, his breath hot on your ear. "You like that, don't you, baby?" he murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You're so fucking wet for me." His fingers slipped beneath the elastic of your panties, plunging directly into your sopping core.

A strangled moan escaped your lips as his fingers delved into your tightness, stroking your most sensitive spots. Connie's thumb found your swollen clit, circling and applying pressure as he pumped his fingers in and out. Your hips rocked in time with his motions, your body instinctively seeking release.

The car seemed to disappear around you, the only reality existing in the small, confined space between your bodies. The song's fading strains were drowned out by the rushing of blood in your ears as you careened toward the edge of orgasm. Connie sensed your imminent climax, his touch growing firmer, more insistent.

Then, with a final stroke, you tumbled over the precipice, crying out hoarsely as your body convulsed with pleasure. Connie kept his fingers buried deep inside you, milking every last spasm of your orgasm. Finally, he withdrew his hand, raising it to his mouth to taste your essence. "Fucking delicious," he growled, his eyes dark with desire.

You slumped back in your seat, spent and breathless, your heart pounding in your chest. Connie just grinned, clearly pleased with himself as he pulled the car over to the side of the road.

(IDK IF I SHOULD CONTINUE THIS ONE OR NOT)

[1-800-apricot]

imagine being arthur morgan's ex-lover

Thinking about Arthur Morgan reuniting with you. An old flame that never seemed to completely go away. Whose blazes had engulfed the forest of his heart only to dissolve into a root fire.  

And then he saw you. And as he stepped back into that charred oblivion he could see the smoke rising from the ground. Embers and licks of flames begin to rise once more. And perhaps this is when it hits him. The flames of your love had never choked themselves out. Rather they’d moved out of sight. Surviving with what they could find.

And God when he saw you. The way the sun framed your features. The way you styled your hair. Even the way you dressed. After all these years. Arthur Morgan could’ve died a happy man with the sight in front of him. He was sure. He could almost taste the smoke.

You would spot him quick enough. And for that split second his heart raced. But the curve of your lips were quick to dull as shock took over your expression. A tightening in your chest. A feeling far from Arthur with that awestruck expression of his. This was suffocating. 

The look on your face did not get past Arthur. He should’ve just walked away and acted like he never saw you. But he couldn’t. Not when this was his chance to hear you once more. So he made his way toward you. And as he approached perhaps you should’ve fled. There was only ever one ending to this story. You knew it because the two of you had played it over and over again. 

But you didn’t flee. Instead you stood there and watched as he neared. Perhaps you weren’t much better than him. Perhaps moths did still live in your stomach despite the lavender you douse yourself in. The very thought was enough to make you start to move however it was too late. After years, Arthur Morgan stood in front of you. 

He looked different. Time hadn’t been kind on him but that wasn’t to say he looked bad. He didn’t. But it was hard to ignore how tired he looked. The way the sun had aged his skin. Or the way the years of cigarettes seemed to have turned his voice raspier. Through it all though? There were still glimpses of your Arthur.

Maybe that was the most sickening part. That past all that had happened, there was your Arthur. The one you would’ve never left. That thought was shut quickly though. This was not him and the person that was with him all those years ago is no longer you. Perhaps this did not register within his mind though. 

The conversation was slow. Rocky even. His unsure questions and your short, stunned responses. But it seemed within minutes you had found a rhythm and a groove. One that the two of you had so often moved and spoken to. It felt eerie. Like stepping into a haunted house. Except you’d witnessed what exactly caused the haunt. 

You couldn’t testify how long you stood and talked to the man. There were lulls in the conversation where you should’ve and could’ve pulled back. Where he’d led you to a dead end but then he found something else to speak of. It had been something that amused you in the past. But now it was exhausting. That was what it was meant to do though. To wear you down and make you give into whatever was being sold. Even if he didn’t show it Arthur Morgan was raised by a conman. 

And it almost wore you down. It almost made you hand over the last of your coins. Just to feel the heat of his love once more. To rekindle the fireplace flames of your love. But you had to remember. While there had been no man quite like Arthur that also meant there’d been no devastation quite like his. 

So the conversation came to a lull and he searched for more to say. And instead of taking comfort in the growing embers, you cleared your throat. The next words would be the end. You both knew it. The final flag flown in a useless war. You’d thought it would’ve made you more devastated. Like it had all those years ago. However this wasn’t a farewell to love anymore. It was a farewell to all the destruction it's caused. 

So you took a deep breath. Bile might’ve risen but you pushed it down. You declared you needed to go and he nodded albeit a bit numbly. You exchanged goodbyes. And you turned away from him. 

“I missed you.”

Damn you. Damn you. Damn you. It was so unlike him and you hadn’t seen it coming. But no one was around and perhaps it should’ve been expected. Even the mighty could get desperate. This wasn’t a decision though. There wasn’t a choice to be made. So you turned and spoke your final words to him. Words that solidified that this war of love was over.

“You’re the loss of my life, Arthur Morgan.”

a/n: this imagine was based around the song 'loml' by taylor swift. i'm thinking of making a prequel to this where reader originally leaves but i'm not sure. anyways hope y'all enjoyed <3

[on-leatheredwings]

(Yandere?) Batboys discovering your alternative music taste (metal/goth/emo/etc)

Bruce is utterly alienated and out of his depth. Frankly, he doesn't know much about the scene. It also doesn't appeal to him much, besides the slower, moodier songs. But when it's obvious this is your taste, and it's important to you, he's fully supportive and interested. He'll purchase limited edition vinyl of your favorite albums, and have custom record stands made for you by artisans. If you happen to make music, he'll have a soundproof studio built in the manor. Sometimes, you catch familiar songs playing quietly in the Batcave, without provocation.

Dick wants you to teach him how to scream. Now. After you tell him about your music taste, he listens to your playlists and is quickly converted into a fan. Your favorite songs turn into his gym/training playlist, and he finds his leaps through the Blud are higher during a good breakdown. You two start sharing band tees. Dick would get you matching guitars, so you can practice together. Wearing a guitar pick that fits with another yin-yang style is his favorite accessory, to which you have the other half.

Jason wishes he had known earlier. Do you know how many concerts he's gone to alone, vibing out in the back of the crowd? He knows as many bands and as much alternative music history as you do. He also appreciates the more eccentric aesthetics of the scene with you. He'll put on a face of corspe paint with you any day of the week (the irony of the look isn't lost on him). Your favorite songs are fast and gritty, probably groove or thrash metal. Jason will get you both concert tickets, always front-row or in the pit. If it's the latter, he won't hesitate to knock heads together if they get a little too rowdy with you. Your best kisses also tend to happen while your favorite album is in the background, you will testify.

Tim decides to study it. Gamify it. To some extent, it's like he's studying you, which is his favorite subject, of course. Be prepared to know more than you ever imagined about your favorite artists, their writing processes, etc. Tim would be the one you have the most in depth conversations with sonically, his interpretations completely titillating and elevating the lyrics. But even if you aren't as intellectual as him, sometimes, you manage to surprise him back. He especially loves when you show him songs that strike him so poignantly, that he doesn't know how to quantify them. It encourages him to get out his head a bit more. Later on, he may get a matching tattoo of your favorite lyric, though with a symbolic image rather than explicit writing. For now, he makes playlists for you to listen to new bands he thinks you'd like.

Damian... isn't against it -- first, how could he be against anything you love? Second, he's already made his own foray into darker music... yours is just maybe more hardcore than he's ever cared to go. It just takes more exposure for him to Get It. Soon enough, he's intrigued by the artistic expression of it all. Raised with rigid rules and expectations, he certainly finds the liberation and appeal of music so rebellious and visceral. He enjoys more poetic language juxtaposed by gritty rhythms and mournful tempos. He tells you goth love songs remind him of you. Damian prefers to match silver jewelry or piercings with you, the former tend to have both of your initials engraved in spindly, thin fonts.

[obessedwithfictionalmen]

I'll come pick it up after pt.7

John Egan X Female! Reader

Sumarry: Their first night alone in London. Bucky is eager for more than just dancing...

Waring: +18/ smut/ p in v/ oral sex (female reciving)/ unprotected sex (wrap it up kids!)/ Swearing/ alcohol/ historical inaccuracies/ use of sir/ use of y/n/ fingering/

Word count: 2.5k

A/n: First time writing smut, please give me feedback. Love y'all :)

Egan was driving his Jeep; his nurse was beside him. He was driving with one hand; the other was on the nurse’s thigh. ‘’I still can’t believe that you got Buck to testify for me’’ she laughed, looking at her pilot. ‘’My darling needed a break, and I couldn’t resist the opportunity to have you for all alone with me. No mission, no injured soldiers, just the two of us’’ he said, gently tapping her thigh as a sign of excitement. She laughed and kissed his cheek.

When they arrived in London, Egan looked for a hotel to get checked in. Like a gentleman, he took the luggage, they went up to their room and start to unpack. Bucky was excited for this weekend, he was in a room, alone with no possible interruption. When unpacking her things, Y/n took out a piece of lingerie. She didn’t own any, so it’s probably one of the nurses that put it there. She saw a piece of paper with something written on it.

Dear Y/n don’t hate me, I thought it might be a good idea to give you this. Bucky sure will like it. Have fun, Daisy.

‘’Damn you, Daisy’’ she muttered. The lingerie was beautiful, it was a baby blue one piece, it was really short and would clearly show her butt. It had pink lace at the bra piece of it. It was also in satin, it was beautiful, and she was sure Bucky would like it. She put it in one of the drawers before Bucky would see it. She’d had packed dress and all her things except her nurses’ uniforms. ‘’What do you want to do tonight, darling?’’ he asked. ‘’Go out, drink, dance, have fun’’ she said, laying down on the bed. He laid on top of her. ‘’Have fun, uh?’’ he kissed her, they haven’t made love yet. This week, they were both busy, a few stolen kisses here and there, but she was ready, she wanted him.

She finished getting ready for tonight, she was wearing a black blouse, short sleeves and a forest green skirt. She didn’t want to put on a dress, and she definitely didn’t want to put on heels. She put on black flat shoes, they were beautiful, it showed the top of her foot, but not too much, it had a strap at the top, to make sure her the shoe didn’t flew off her foot. Her hair was down, and she had put on the lipstick that Bucky was so crazy about. Her plan was clear, drink, to get confidence, flirt with Bucky and finally, have sex with him. When she got out of the bathroom, Bucky couldn’t believe his eyes, she was beautiful. She was always beautiful. She put on the lipstick to tease him, she knew it, and he knew it. ‘’Beautiful, like always, darling’’ he complimented her. She was blushing, Bucky was in his uniform, that was all he had. But he looked good, like always. She went closer to him and fixed his collar. ‘’You are very handsome’’ she kissed him. When he went to kiss her back, she stopped him with a finger on his lips. ‘’You’ll ruin my lipstick, Bucky’’ she teased. Before he could answer, she added another finger on his lips. ‘’I’ll kiss you later, maybe I’ll even mark you up, like you wanted me too’’ she flirted. ‘’Why not now?’’ he asked trying to kiss her, she pushed him back on the bed. ‘’Later, Bucky, I want to dance with you, and I want a glass a whiskey’’ she laughed. He smiled and got up the bed. ‘’Whiskey, uh?’’ ‘’Told you, Major, I’m full of surprises, and I don’t have to work tomorrow’’ she smiled.

They didn’t know how much they both drank, but it was enough to boost their confidence. They were dancing together, mostly kissing, but still. Y/n was teasing him, her hips were glued to his and she moved them to a slow rhythm in her head. The main objective was to tease him, and it worked. His hands were all over her body, touching her, teasing her. He was breathing in her ear, he discovered this week, that this sport was sensitive for her, so he decided to use it. ‘’Still not convinced to let me ruin that lipstick?’’ he said, with his dark husky voice. ‘’You’re starting to convince me’’ she purred. ‘’Let’s get out of here, darling’’ he said as she nodded. The walk back to the hotel was kind of a blur for the both of them, the important thing was they made it back to their hotel room.

The second the door was closed, Bucky kissed Y/n, it was a passionate kiss, filled with desire and attraction. She was against the door as he was kissing her, he was like a men starved. ‘’C’mon, darling, jump’’ he said, between kissed. She did as she was told, jumping as his hands were on her butt. He walked to the bed, were he gently, laid her on it. He started to take his shirt off, but she sat at the edge of the bed. He was standing in front of her. She started to help him with his buttons, she was faster than him, after all, sometimes she had to open the shirts of men without any scissors. He threw his shirt somewhere in the room. ‘’Let me help you, darling’’ he said, starting to unbutton her shirt. To his big surprise, she wasn’t wearing a bra. ‘’You’re n-not wearing anything underneath, are you?’’ he was flustered, he had been with women, but never one like her. ‘’I’m on vacation, I don’t wear a bra when I’m on vacation’’ she teased him. ‘’Get back, darling’’ she moved back on the bed, to let him have space. He almost crawled to her; he was starved. He had her for himself, and he wasn’t going to let anything ruined the moment. He started to unbutton her skirt and she wiggled her way out of it. ‘’You’re breathtaking’’ he said, admiring her body. She was only in her panties in front of him, normally she would’ve been intimidated, but she trusted him. She looked at him, impatient for him. She needed him. ‘’Come here, Major’’ she said, he kissed her, again, with passion. It was raw, it was what they needed.

To Bucky’s surprise, she took control, she switched the position, so she was on top. On his lap, she felt him getting hard underneath her, it gave her confidence, she was making him hard. She kissed his neck, finding a sweet spot that she sucked a little. Leaving her mark on the men. Her lips felt hot on his skin, but he liked it, he was almost moaning. She started to move her hips, to create friction between the two, friction they desperately needed. ‘’H-hold on, darling, let me get these off’’ he stuttered. Bucky was starstruck, he was usually the one in control, the fact that they were both competitive and want the control was to be certainly interesting. He quickly took his pants off before returning under the nurse. She trailed her hands on his body, his chest and his muscular stomach. She watched as his body was reacting to her touch, when she got close to his boxers, he took her writs in his hands. ‘’Not yet, let me feel good, darling’’ he groaned. He switched the position; she was now on the bed. He went on top of her, to kiss her, he started with her lips, then moved down, kissing each part of her body. He kept placing wet kisses on her body until he reached her lower stomach. Where he placed a gentle kiss, each part of his body was begging him to go faster, to take her right now, but he wanted to take his time. The sleepless night he spent thinking about this moment, he was going to take his time and savour each and every second of it. ‘’Bucky’’ she moaned his name. He looked at her from between her legs, making sure she was okay. ‘’You okay?’’ he breathed out. His hot breath between her thighs makes her buck her hips in impatience. ‘’Yes’’ she breathed out, but it sounded like a moan. ‘’I just want you’’ she admitted. Her honesty turned him on even more. He took her panties off, revealing her fully to him. ’’I haven’t touch you yet, and you’re soaking wet’’ he felt proud, but now, he needed to taste her. The second his tongue was on her, she moaned, she wasn’t a virgin, but it was the first time a man properly took care of her. ‘’Shit, major, you sure know what you doing, ah’’ she moaned as her hands found his curls, pulling them gently. His eyes found hers, she was a goddess, she was beautiful, her legs spread for him. Her hips bucked against his mouth, he decided to enter a finger in her. She was so wet; it was easy for him to enter. Her back arched and another moan was coming from her mouth. ‘’Can you handle it, sweetheart’’ he teased her. She could feel him smirk, he was teasing her, and he was enjoying it. She didn’t answer, he added another finger as he was licking her clit. ‘’I didn’t hear you; can you handle it?’’ The words couldn’t form in her brain. ‘’Use your words, darling’’ she moaned again. He felt her walls clenched around his fingers. ‘’Yes’’ she managed to breath out. ‘’Yes, sir’’ he ordered. Oh, she was going to make him regret being this bossy, but not now, she was enjoying this too much. ‘’Yes, sir’’ she gasped as a not in her stomach was about to burst. Bucky was holding her hips down; they were bucking too much. Then when he moaned against her, she saw stars. The not in her stomach exploded as she moaned his name. ‘’Jesus, Bucky,’’ she moaned.

He took his fingers out and brought them to his lips, he was tasting her. Y/n had never saw anything like that before, she was excited, she was wet, and she needed him. ‘’You taste so fucking good’’ he growled. He looked at her, her face was red, her hair was a mess, she looked perfect. Like an angel coming down form heaven, just for him. ‘’What do you want, darling?’’ he asked as he kissed her again. ‘’I want to touch you, please let me touch you, sir’’ she whimpered. ‘’I’m afraid if you do that, darling, I’m not gonna last long, and I want to be inside of you, is that okay, sweetheart?’’ he said and she nodded, getting rid of his boxers. His length sprung free, Y/n was nervous, he was bigger than the other men she’d been with. When he saw the way she was looking at him, Bucky could’ve faint. She licked her lips, she was nervous, but again, she trusted him. ‘’Lay down, darling.’’ Bucky came on top of her, supporting himself with his arms, his muscles were so big, she’d never seen such a handsome man, he was perfect. She kissed him, she needed to kiss him to help with her impatience. He moaned in her mouth when he felt her grind her hips. She was looking to get some friction. She could taste herself on his tongue. ‘’Are you ready, Y/n’’ her name on his lips sounded so good. ‘’Yes, sir, I’m ready major’’ she said. Her brain couldn’t make a clear sentence, she needed him. He positioned himself at her entrance. ‘’This might hurt.’’ He warned her. ‘’I’ve done it before, it was a while ago, but I’m not a virgin, major’’ she said.

He kissed her as he sunk down into her. He went fully in, not wanting to torture her, but mostly himself. He wasn’t going to last long. He waited a little bit, to let her adjust to his size. ‘’Oh lord, you’re so big’’ she cried. ‘’Darling, you’re too sweet for my ego’’ he joked. She laughed and was able to relax a little bit more. She gave him a nod, indicating him that he could move. When he did, he had to think about something to distract him, he was about to come, already, but he had a reputation to maintain. ‘’Tell me about your grandmother.’’ He grunted. ‘’Right now?’’ she was confused. ‘’Yup, because you feel so fucking good, shit so where did your grandma lived?’’ He stopped his movements, not wanting to risk coming too fast. Y/n chuckled. ‘’You sure you can handle it, major?’’ she teased. Something in Bucky’s eyes changed, she had woken the beast up. She smirked, proud of herself. When he had calmed down a little, Bucky started to move again. He rolled his hips so he could be deeper inside of her. She threw her head back as she moaned something that sounded like his name. She kissed the sweet spot on his neck, making him roll his eyes. He quickened his pace when he felt her clench around him. One of her hands came down to her pussy, she began to touch her clit. ‘’N-no one would b-believe me if I told them h-how dirty you are’’ he breathed out. He kissed her again, they were breathless. Her thigh was shaking. ‘’That’s it, come for me, darling, come on’’ he praised her. That’s what she needed for her orgasm to crash down on her. Her climax triggered his and they came together, saying the other’s name as they did. He collapsed on top of her, her hands finding his hair to play with his curls. ‘’That was- ‘’ ‘’amazing’’ she finished his sentence. He chuckled. They were both catching their breath and recovering from what they just did. He was the fastest to recover, he took his length out of her and put his boxers back on. ‘’Just stay there, I’ll go get a tissue’’ he said, going into the bathroom.

Her brain was slowly starting to work again, her throat was dry, she needed a drink. Before she could move, Bucky came out of the bathroom with a tissue. ‘’I’m gonna clean you up, darling’’ he said before kneeling in front of her. He took the time to clean her, she’d never had this type of intimacy before, she could get used to it. When she was all cleaned, Bucky took a new pair of panties from her drawer, but before closing it, he saw a piece of lingerie. Like a 12-year-old, he was grinning and chuckling. ‘’Darling, what’s this?’’ he held it up while laughing. She put her hands in her face to hide her blush. ‘’That’s Daisy’s idea. I didn’t even know she put it there.’’ She laughed. He put it back in the drawer, still smiling. ‘’You gonna wear it for me?’’ he teased. She clicked her tongue in her teeth and took her new panties from his hands. ‘’Maybe’’ she laughed. They both smiled at each other before she got up, even if she wasn’t sure if her legs were gonna be able to support her. She put her panties on, before almost falling. Bucky held her, grinning. ‘’I got you, darling’’ he said, proud of himself for making her like this. ‘’Do we have anything to drink?’’ she asked. He looked at the bottle of alcohol he had brought with him, and then looked at her again. ‘’Maybe water, my head is going to hurt so much tomorrow’’ she said. He went to get her a glass of water and came back, sitting on the bed. She drank the liquid and laid in the bed. He laid next to her, opening his arm for her to cuddle with him. Her hand was now resting on his chest. ‘’Thank you, for everything’’ she said. ‘’For the orgasms?’’ he teased. She snorted and rolled her eyes. ‘’Yes, but mainly, thank you for getting me that weekend pass, I needed it’’ she said. ‘’That’s why I pleaded with the Corporal’’ he said. He kissed the top of her head as she was slowly falling asleep, him too.

Part 8⬇️

[bitter69uk]

On this day 69 years ago (14 September 1955), a promising still mostly unknown 22-year-old rhythm and blues musician calling himself Little Richard (Richard Wayne Penniman) recorded the outrageous landmark rock’n’roll single “Tutti Frutti” at J & M Studio in New Orleans. In his ambitious 2024 book The Secret Public: How LGBTQ Performers Shaped Popular Culture (1955 - 1979), Jon Savage (author of the 1991 tome England’s Dreaming: The Sex Pistols and Punk Rock – a sacred text for me) argues “Tutti Frutti” represents year zero and forensically deconstructs and analyzes the song. “From the first eruption to the final exclamation, “Tutti Frutti” had a harsh, relentlessly driving sound, with an unrestrained vocalist who punctuated the simple lyrics with gospel shrieks and weird outbursts,” Savage writes. “Honed in the dives and drag bars of the American South and informed by his thorough knowledge of the sexual underground, Richard’s lyrics were a deliberate provocation: “Tutti frutti, good booty / If it don’t fit, don’t force it / You can grease it, make it easy …” In the volatile climate of 1955, they were also a barrier to any kind of wider exposure. [Producer Robert] Blackwell knew that a verse about sodomy would create such a storm as to kill both the record and Richard’s career. Substitute lyrics were needed if the record was ever to get a chance of airplay … Riffing off this basic phrase, Richard pounded the piano, yelled, shrieked and testified over just under two and a half minutes, and in doing so opened up the underground that he had inhabited … By early November, “Tutti Frutti” had sold 200,000 copies, entering the R&B charts in the middle of the month at #12. It was the breakthrough sound of freedom, couched in an extreme androgyny. The game was on.”

[kyoghurts]

THE FALL IN THE MOONLIGHT ༺ ˎˊ-

mashle / rayne ames x gn reader

synopsis. rayne is more than willing to surrender his love to you. only if you’ll let him.

content. suggestive in its finest details. 2k wc. makeout sesh. dirty talk (???) reader is semi-toxic bc of their avoidant attachment tendency (not really further explained). drunk & a tinge of jealous rayne. literally the most shameless thing i’ve ever written.

you’re the epitome of a mantrap, and rayne ames is here to testify.

in the heart of the forest where moonlight weaves through ancient oaks, a mystical feast unfolds; a riot of colors and sounds demand the earth to swallow its boundaries. reality thickens with haze, blurring into a heady and intoxicating dream.

his pulse is in the throbbing bass of the music, pulling bodies in the rush; losing yourself with the rhythm. it vibrates through his bones, as if his body is in a bottle shaking itself, which he’s sure is the root cause of his dizziness. definitely not the butterbeer he’s consumed for the past two hours, his limits in shackles.

and most definitely not because he’s guarding you at a safe distance, ready to pull you away if the situation calls for it.

he’s standing across the field like an outcast, untouched. placing himself in a heavy and uncomfortable setting startled the masses, in any case, he’d shut this public rave party any time. or he’d leave them in their wild abandon for all he cares.

but what’s more alarming is that you’re here, a figure of soon to be in equal standing of his status. a figure of slight-authority—you’re getting there— and he makes sure you’ll get there.

which is why he’s stuck in this predicament, regardless of his principle.

this is not mandatory (he’s had enough of parroting himself every time your laugh annoyingly echoes within the trembling walls of his heart. his ears chasing your voice within the cacophony of sounds.) but his limbs are tied to your feet, wherever you go, he’ll follow without question. (he wonders if you notice this, and he’s not talking about now. you’ve always pulled him in your gaze, at the end of an abrupt sentence with no period of conclusion. he wonders what you think of him, or what magic you truly have lurking beneath your fine smiles and lingering touches and liquid stardust soaked on your tongue.)

(he wonders what sort of face you’ll make if he so bold as to pierce you with “what are we?” in a waking reality. and he can’t save himself for the things his mind conjures up once he seals your lips in his hungry ones. it’s a crime against fairness, then again, when have you ever played fair with him?)

whatever it is that sits between the two of you, it’s crawling beneath skin and muscles and even bones. a parasite gnawing and coiling around his insides, a devil’s ivy somehow caught in his throat; the distance of you and him isn’t helping either, it feels like you’re miles and miles apart. if he calls you out now, will you finally be able to hear his unbearable longing for you?

the music goes louder, his presence more quieter.

that didn’t take long until he finds you shrinking back in disgust when a guy smiles wickedly at you with an all-knowing intention. if he’s asking for trouble, it’s a broken face and teeth he’ll get.

the air is too thick with tension that’s palpable enough to make your breathing so difficult right now. in fact, you can’t even feel your lungs, your breath’s shallow and uneven. you feel rayne’s broad chest flushed against yours, heaving as he pants. and—fuck. your whole body is shaking and your knees are about to give in to the anxiety crashing you in harsh tides.

your mind is hurling at you to shove him off of you. now. you want to scream. you want to cry. blood is going to draw from your lips if you don’t stop biting them real hard. you try to swallow, anything, as he pulls you closer, practically crushing any possible space between you and him. his right arm is pressed against the bark of the tree, atop of your head, and his left is carefully hovered around your waist, just barely enough to drive you mad. his head is craning towards behind, occasionally turning left and right on high alert.

you’re fairly certain he’s keeping himself composed, despite the enclosed space forced upon him. he’s always been like this. so cautious, so careful. he’s everything you’re not. and god knows how many times he’s dealt with such things because of you. you bite the insides of your cheek, the guilt on your mouth is deserving of punishment. you both stay like this for—how many minutes has it been? ridden with hesitance, you try to whisper, “..i think they’re gone-”

“where are they ?!”

howls of skin deep fury travels across the entire forest, causing your trembling hands to cling onto rayne’s neck, squeezing your head in his chest as much as you can, trying to suppress a gasp filled with crippling dread. suddenly you feel hot, warmth envelops your sides, his hand are now around your back. the way he puts pressure while rubbing you is gentle and coaxing—something that’s almost sacred and fleeting.

his lips are on your head, hushing you, “shh, stay quiet.”

you hug him tighter than anything. not wanting to let go anymore.

if it’s his heartbeat or yours that’s drumming resonantly around the shell of your ear, you’re not sure. but you start pouring your focus on his embrace instead. his scent engulfs you, all woody and intoxicating. you take a long and deep breath, unhurried; the asshole’s presence still lingers at the edge of your mind, but his ugly and angry expression is a blur compared to the present. you feel rayne’s fingers stroke your hair, and you can think about nothing except the way his chest slowly comes to its normal pace of breathing each moments that quietly pass.

the sound of the party is distant. cicadas invite you to a place of nature’s refuge. your face is still buried close to his figure, but you get the sense that he doesn’t mind, not when his grip remains the same.

your eyes are shut when he sighs, soft yet reverberating. “you’re insufferable.”

“thank you.” you say, breathy and half-teasing. just trying to make anything light, even if there’s a tremor in the tone of your voice. “you could’ve handled the situation better though.”

“says you. you should’ve left him with me and flipped him off.”

“i thought you hated me. so i didn’t.”

the stroking stopped. hesitant.

he retrieves, and for a second you think you fucked up. really fucked up. you can see his eyes glisten through the dark night with—such messy, incomprehensible emotions. his jaw clammed and taut, as if he’ll never forgive himself if he opens his mouth and let himself free.

“i don’t hate you.” each word is emphasized, each breath is betrayed. “god you’re- are you serious?”

“i’ve been avoiding you, rayne. it’s only valid to hate me-”

“don’t make me repeat myself.”

you could be scared by now. but you’re not. this isn’t some guy who tried to fuck you all over like that ex of yours who showed up unannounced and started harassing you for no apparent reason. this isn’t anyone who’s taken so much of you that on some days, you don’t really know who you’re looking at in the mirror. this isn’t anyone else who you tried to impress for the eye to behold—this isn’t anyone who tolerates that bullshit.

this is rayne ames, one of—or probably the first one to have you bound by whatever laws of the universe has in its power, the one who has your heart wrapped in an unexpected gentleness, one who you truly felt so deeply about you could call it love—you don’t know the feeling well, but you do know this one’s real. because rayne has always told the truth, how there’s nothing to hide even if he doesn’t speak of it.

his golden beautiful eyes hold so much promises. and maybe he’s telling you now that you don’t have to hide any longer, too.

your lips curl into a frown. “i’m sorry.”

his hands pull you by the waist, with slight pressure, intense stare. “you better be.”

you huff a chuckle, “i am, rayne.”

“show me.” it could be the alcohol (even if its in a very small amount, you could guess that rayne is a lightweight and butterbeer is no exception), but you notice the faint pink dappled on his cheeks. you’re tempted to trace your thumb across his double-lined marks, feel his warm skin against your cold palm.

instead, you brush the side of his hair and slightly fiddle his ears, his piercing catches light. you see him visibly wavering, half lidded gaze and quiet but nervous exhales. you fight back a smile, “how do you want me to show it, hm? tell me.”

“please—” he gasps when you lean closer, heat permeates the little space in-between, “i want you to kiss me.”

and you did. caramel-sweet meets your bitter taste heart.

its almost an imperceptible touch of the lips, slow and gentle and careful. as if it’s a whisper of a lover’s affection. the way you kiss is deliberate and measured, allowing him to pause and savor the softness. you find this rather strange—as if you haven’t felt vulnerability in this way, but that you find it’s comforting. each slight movement is intentional, it feels so intimate that you want it to last forever.

a prolonged, low moan escapes him. he explores you, down to your waist then to the hips and—“is this okay?” he parts, voice almost swallowed when you longingly chased his lips back, but you had to notice one of his hands is hovered over your thigh, and you nod as if the answer should’ve been obvious. you feel safe with rayne for him to touch you in places you’re most ruined. in places you’ve never let anyone come close to. he’s all yours.

he gives your thigh a nice squeeze, before he returns your kisses with much, much less measured and more passionately— so raw in his wake. it’s whole and messy and uncharted. you can’t help but let out a faint mewl, the searing sensation of pent up longing courses through his rushed veins.

his tongue slides against yours, permission being granted with your mouth slightly agape. every touch feels electric, wires buzzing and drunken wants flaring.

you want it—the cautious and protective rayne, the arduous desires and the saccharine taste. he gives you one lasting kiss before he moves to your temple, then to your ear with quick nibbles. he says something, a bit muffled, a bit tantalizing as you shiver, “you’re dangerous, you know that?”

even as your mind is in a hazy state, you’re sober enough to give a solid response. “you like the dangerous anyway.”

“i do.” he proceeds with your neck, wet and sloppy for the impatience he has of you. “makes me want to do dangerous things to you.”

it’s warm, so incredibly warm that you can’t breathe but you want that, too.

you tell this to him in the form of roughly grabbing a fistful of his hair as he sucks that specific spot on your neck, near to your collarbone. earning a satisfied hum from you— fuck it, you think, you want everyone to know you’re his. you’re not going to escape what the universe had so thoughtfully granted you and you’re never going to hide the truth.

“let me take care of you tonight.”

you smile, resolute and profound. “i want you, not just tonight, but your everyday’s, rayne. all of it.”

he spent many nights wanting you and your everydays, and he’ll spend the rest finally giving you what no one else can.

you’re truly the epitome of a mantrap, rayne ames is more than willing to surrender to you completely.

tags. @seneon @caelivir hi <3 gn yal honk shoo mimimi

© kyoghurts. ★ reblogs & likes are well appreciated!

[sosa2imagines]

Heaven.

Warnings- Ransom being a jerk, Nick is a warning. Sensual dancing.

You and Ransom are currently in a popular club. The music is loud and there are a lot of people around. It's packed with people dancing and drinking. There are several tables around the dance floor where people are gathered. The atmosphere is fun and lively, but it can also be a bit overwhelming.

Whenever you go out with Ransom, to a party or club, he always ignores you, in favor of flirting with other people. As usual, he's doing it again. You can see him laughing with a group of girls who look like they're having a great time. Meanwhile, you're alone and feel invisible.

Having had enough, as you get up to leave, you purposely step on Ransom's shoes. This causes him to look up, with a look of annoyance. “Watch where you're walking.” He snaps. This makes your blood boil, considering how he's been ignoring you all night. You decide to respond.

“Maybe if you weren't so busy flirting with every girl here, you would have been able to see me and we wouldn't have this problem.”

He rolls his eyes, trying to avoid a scene. “Why don't you just go. I'm not looking to pick a fight. I'm just trying to have fun.” He says dismissively. He then goes back to talking with his friends. This makes your anger rise even higher, as he still doesn't seem to care about you at all.

As you're leaving, someone grabs your arm, stopping you from walking away. You turn to see who it is, and you can see the smile on their face.

The man was, attractive and charming. He looks a bit older than you and has a confident air about him. He was looking deviously handsome in his expensive suit. As he holds your arm, he gives you a warm smile, making it clear that he's interested in you.

The music is loud and he seems to be enjoying himself as he moves along with the music, swaying to the beat. He continues to hold your arm, indicating that he wants to dance with you.

He moves his lips towards your ear, whispering his name to you in a low and seductive tone. “Nick” It's a subtle yet bold move and sends a shiver down your spine.

Nick continues to hold your arm and keeps moving with the music, keeping you close. The physical proximity feels intense and a bit flirtatious. Nick is definitely making his interest clear.

Nick starts to dance with you in a more sensual way. He's not holding back anymore and is moving closely with you, keeping your bodies at a close proximity.

His movements are fluid and coordinated, and he's also matching your rhythm to make the dance more sensual. It's clear that Nick isn't afraid to make moves and he's not holding back. He's not afraid to show you, just how interested he is.

You and Nick dance sensually, moving to every beat of the song. You're both entranced by each other’s movements, lost in the music.

Nick's moves are so powerful, that he can make anyone melt. He pulls you close, swaying with you to the song. You can feel the heat of his breath, can taste his breath on your own.

He's so close now that he's brushing his lips against your neck, a simple light brush that sends shivers down your spine. His breath has a sweet scent to it, like vanilla, making you feel like you're on the brink of melting. His hands move down your neck, and down your back, his fingers grazing you.

‘You bring me to my knees, you make me testify You can make a sinner change his ways (ooh) Open up your gates 'cause I can't wait to see the light (ooh) And right there is where I wanna stay (ooh)’

Nick's hands on your hips get slightly tighter as he moves with the song. You feel the beat of the song in every cell, every pore of your body. You want more, you want everything.

His lips brush your neck once again, sending shivers throughout your body.

'Cause your sex takes me to paradise Yeah, your sex takes me to paradise And it shows Yeah, yeah, yeah’

Nick's grip on you is ever growing, the way his hands knead your body making your mind go hazy. Everything feels so close, so real, but so far away. His grip on you is tight but feels like a hug, comforting and safe. You have completely forgotten about Ransom.

'Cause you make me feel like I've been locked out of heaven’

You lean even closer into Nick, your bodies practically pressed together by now. His breath against your neck still sends shivers through you. You can almost taste his breath as it brushes over your skin. You feel the grip around your waist getting tighter as well, almost constrictive, but still incredibly comforting.

You let your mind wander slightly, enjoying the sensation of Nick's touch. His grip feels like warmth around you, making you feel safe and secure. Your head leans slightly back as he rubs his nose against your neck. One of his hands cups your chin, tilting your head back so he can gently kiss your neck. You can feel his growing bulge, making you wet.

His lips leave a light trail of goose bumps over your skin where he kissed you. You feel all sense of the world vanish, as Nick's presence consumes you. You're locked out of heaven, and you know you don't want to leave Nick's side ever again.

Your mind and body are both in heaven right now.

Nick slowly pulls back from your neck, his lips leaving your neck a little red from all the kisses. He looks at you with those piercing blue eyes of his, looking as if he'd already fallen for you, despite you being total strangers.

The grip around your waist gets tighter too, as if he needs the touch of you as much as you need his.

As the song ends, Nick swallow loudly and clear his throat, the silence slightly deafening. The tension of the moment is so thick you could cut it with a knife. You both are breathing heavily, Nick's hand still holding onto your waist.

“Come with me…” he offers you his hand, to grab it. You smile and give him a nod, accepting his hand.

He leads you outside, both of you breathing heavily. The temperature outside is slightly cooler, but still hot. Nick's grip on you grows tighter, still not letting you leave his side.

You stand under the moonlight, the soft glow illuminating the both of you.

Nick still hasn't let go of his grip on you. You can feel the strength in his hands, just feeling his presence makes your mind spin.

“Can I ask you something?” Nick says into the silence.

“Of course,” you answer, still breathless in his grasp.

Nick stays silent for a moment, seeming lost in thought. “What's your name?”

TAGLIST- @imyourbratzdoll @nekoannie-chan @blackhawkfanatic @ordelixx @sapphirebarnes @differenttyphoonwerewolf @vicmc624 @thezombieprostitute

[tsunagite]

Even from a different time and place, your mistakes always end up right back to me.

[2nd2ndalto]

what if there were two (side by side in orbit)

__

(chapter 2 here)

Chapter 3

Nico’s hit by an unexpected jumble of emotions, watching the other man. Because yes, he’s appealing. There’s no question that he’s attractive. But Nico’s most surprised by the relief that he feels. It softens his shoulders and unclenches his jaw. Relief that Nico doesn’t have to do this all on his own. The nearly-forgotten joy of having someone to share this with. Someone, who, maybe, will hold this work just as close to their heart as Nico does.

November 1998

Will is pleased to find that he and Nico fall into a surprisingly easy rhythm over the next few weeks. Their days alternate between poring over files in the office, pinch-hitting for other departments, and of course, investigating their own possibly-paranormal leads. Nothing much comes of the latter over the next month, but Nico doesn’t seem deterred, simply moving onto the next hunch, scanning the newspapers spread over his desk, more than happy to answer whatever questions and arguments come to Will’s mind.

Will had expected Nico to be far more distrustful of a new partner, especially one ostensibly assigned to keep him in check, but that expectation dims steadily day by day until Will wonders why he thought it in the first place. While Nico can be almost comically close-lipped on personal matters, he’ll happily talk endlessly about case work. Will finds himself greeted at the door by on the daily, a cursory hello and then a run-down of whatever file Nico has pulled or news article he’s found, full of ideas and eager for Will’s input.

In between navigating his way around the stacks of files in the basement office and the endless trails of bureaucracy in the J. Edgar Hoover Building, autumn blurs towards winter almost without Will noticing. At some point, he realizes, he’s stopped the mental countdown to the end of each work week.

::

November 4th, 1998

The early-morning silence in the basement is broken by the slam of the fire door in the hall, and Nico glances at the clock and then the office door. Will’s right on time.

“Hey,” he says as his partner enters the office.

“Hey,” Will grins.

Will looks genuinely pleased to see Nico, despite the fact that they’ve begun most mornings with some variation on this exchange for the past almost-two months. Nico can’t quite make sense of it, and Will’s reaction is still a little jarring, every time. Not unpleasant, though.

Will’s gaze travels over the office. It’s undeniably in more disarray than usual; a messy stack of papers on Nico’s chair and another at his feet, drawers gaping on all four filing cabinets. Nico feels he’s in more disarray than usual as well, sweat beading on his forehead, shirtsleeves rolled, tie and blazer thrown over the top of his desk with his coat and overnight bag.

“This looks serious,” Will says, dropping his bag to perch on the edge of his desk, long legs swinging.

“Yeah,” Nico says, pausing to shove a hand through his hair. “It’s um – there’s a trial I have to testify at, in Richmond. I was involved in a murder investigation there last year. So I have to leave…” he glances at the clock again. “Well. I should have left already, honestly. And I’ll be gone until the end of the week, at least.”

“Oh,” Will says, visibly wilting a little. “I guess you don’t need a partner for that.”

Nico smiles. “No. I don’t think Reyna would go for it. Besides, it’ll be boring.”

Will nods, thoughtful. “Okay. That’s cool.” He’s still swinging his legs, but less energetically now, a quiet thump-thump of his shoes against the wood of the desk.

An unexpected rush of guilt dampens Nico’s momentum. “I should have told you I’d be leaving. I – I guess I’m still getting used to having someone else in here.”

Will shrugs. “That’s okay. Not a problem.”

But it kind of is a problem, isn’t it? Nico’s had partners before, occasionally. Those other partnerships hadn’t ended badly per se... but he can honestly say he never really missed any of those agents when they left.

It feels different, with Will. Like he fits here. He’s more invested than others Nico’s worked with, and Nico’s found himself warming to that without really meaning to. It’s like Will wants to be here.

Will has this knack for assessing a situation, understanding exactly what needs to be done, and just doing it. And that’s awfully nice, honestly. It’s reassuring knowing that someone else is always paying attention, that someone will remember to complete a task if Nico gets distracted, even when it’s something as simple as locking the door, or rescuing Nico’s coffee seconds before he knocks it to the floor.

And despite the differences in their backgrounds, Nico’s never had a partnership that felt so… collaborative. It’s sometimes even more like a mentorship, with Will still as green as he is, but it’s comfortable. Organic. Over the last two months they’ve become… maybe not friends, but friendly.

“Well.” Nico clears his throat. “I really should have told you. I’ll make sure to keep you in the loop next time.” He glances around, distracted. “You haven’t seen a notebook with a blue cover, have you? It was –”

“This one?” Will asks, leaning forward and seemingly plucking the thing from thin air. Nico sags with relief.

“Yes. Thank you.” He accepts the notebook, shoving it into his briefcase and grabbing his jacket from the desk. Nico glances around the chaos of the office. “I’ll uh… clean this up when I get back,” he offers, guilty.

Will’s mouth twitches.

Nico can feel Will’s eyes on him as he collects his things. “You’ll um… I’m sure you’ll be able to find enough to occupy yourself with, while I’m gone,” Nico says.

Will nods. “Yeah. No worries. Actually… I was thinking I’d reorganize the black filing cabinets while you’re gone.”

Nico gazes at the other man for a long moment, pained but trying desperately not to let it show on his face. The black cabinets, the case file cabinets… those are his. And the thought of one single file out of place makes him want to tear his hair out.

Will’s blue eyes are wide and guileless.

“Um,” says Nico, eloquent.

Will’s mouth twitches and he lets out a giggle.

Nico takes in a long breath.

“Sorry,” Will laughs, unable to maintain the facade a second longer. “You should have seen your face, though.”

Nico shakes his head, glancing back at his desk to make sure he hasn’t missed anything.

“I’ll keep myself occupied. Even if I’m not allowed to touch anything while you’re gone,” Will teases.

Nico huffs, embarrassed. “Not anything, just –”

“I know, I know. It’s okay,” Will laughs. “Drive safe, okay?”

::

November 10th, 1998

Nico leans back in his chair, stretching. His eyes flick to the clock on the wall. God. He’s only been here for an hour and already he thinks he’d rather listen to every single one of Will’s boy band CDs back-to-back than ever look at another expense report.

Sadly, he surveys the neat pile of documents he’s already completed – depressingly small – then the monster pile of random papers still awaiting his review.

It’s his own fault for letting it get to this point. Which isn’t consoling in the least. At least Will should be here soon. While that won’t make the work go any faster, at least it’ll be a good distraction.

With that buoying thought lingering, there’s the slam of the fire door, then a voice singing in the hallway. Something Disney. The tune is familiar now. Unfortunately. Will’s been raving over how good the acoustics are in the hall, even going so far as to drag Nico out there and listen. Nico shakes his head.

“Morning – oh.” Will closes the office door behind him, stopping short as he surveys the mess on and around Nico’s desk. And okay, there’s usually a mess on Nico’s desk, but Nico can tell from the way his partner’s face falls that Will recognizes this isn’t anything like a fun mess. Not a pre-road trip mess. Not a mysterious-lights-in-the-sky mess. Not even a Nico-misplaced-his-keys-again mess.

“Yeah,” Nico agrees, glum. “Reyna wants these expense reports by the end of the day.” He gives the papers on his desk a half-hearted shove. “ And –” he waves a hand disconsolately to a box on the floor next to him, “those case reports.”

Will grimaces. He sets down his bag and opens his mouth to speak, but then the phone on his desk rings. Will hurriedly steps over a banker’s box, misjudging the distance and making a somewhat ungainly leap. Nico winces as his partner catches himself on the desk corner, barely managing to remain upright.

Nico returns his attention to the soul-crushing mountain of reports. He realizes his teeth are clenched, and focuses on loosening his jaw. It’s going to be a really fucking long day.

Will replaces the receiver, turning with a sigh. “Apparently I’m going to Fairbrook,” he tells Nico.

“What’s in Fairbrook?”

“Shortage of medical examiners, it seems. Bodies. Possible serial killer,” Will says, tearing off a sheet of notepaper and neatly folding it before shoving it into his pocket.

“Well that sounds a lot more fun than this,” Nico pouts. Now he won’t even have company. He kicks at a banker’s box, stubbing his toe hard enough that tears spring to his eyes. He curses under his breath.

“A serial killer sounds more fun than paperwork?” Will grins, scooping up his overnight bag. His gaze travels over the depressingly bureaucratic landscape of the office. He sighs. “Yeah okay, you’re right. Sorry – I thought maybe I could give you a hand.”

Nico huffs. “It’s really not your problem, Solace. Just my own procrastination catching up with me. Happens about this time every year. I appreciate the thought, though.”

“Well,” Will says, grinning. “I’m not sure how you’ll get through without the pleasure of my company.”

“It won’t be the same without you,” Nico says, dry.

Will beams. “I know.”

Nico rolls his eyes. “See you when you get back,” he says, turning back to his desk. “Call me if you see anything spooky.”

::

Nico’s still at it just after seven pm. He’s hungry, stiff from hunching over his desk, his hand cramping from signing reports. But the stack of papers is shrinking steadily and it seems prudent to get everything over with tonight and make a fresh start tomorrow. Each time he finds himself in this situation, he swears this is the year he’ll stay on top of things, get everything filed the moment a case is done, instead of dropping random papers and receipts into the overflowing in-tray of doom. Once again, he makes this sacred vow to himself.

The office is silent, and Nico’s startled when his phone rings. He jumps up from his desk, sending a neatly stacked pile of reports cascading to the floor, and cursing as he digs in his coat pocket. He answers on the last ring.

“Di Angelo,” he says into the phone.

“Hey, Nico, it’s me.”

Through the speaker, Will’s voice sounds crackly and a bit uncertain. Vaguely, Nico’s surprised at how pleased he is to hear from his partner, whom he hadn’t expected to see until tomorrow at the earliest.

“Do you have a second?” Will says. “I’m sorry to bug you at home, but I wasn’t sure who else to ask.”

Nico makes his way back to his desk, attempting to gather the fallen papers one-handed, then quickly giving up. He drops back into his chair. “Yeah, of course. I’m actually still at the office. But it’s okay, I’m not busy. What’s up?”

“I’m not entirely sure. I performed two autopsies today. Two young women, both with the same cause of death - strangulation. Both deaths match the pattern of the murders they’ve seen here recently. The odd thing is, each victim was missing her pancreas.”

“That is odd,” Nico agrees, flipping over a discarded envelope to scribble notes. “The killer removed the organs?” He’s mostly listening to Will, but already scanning through his mental inventory of any historical case that might be similar.

“No, that’s what’s really odd. There’s no sign of the pancreas being removed,” Will says. “No scar tissue, nothing. It’s possible to be born without a pancreas, but it’s really rare, and there’s nothing about it in either woman’s medical history.”

“Huh.” Nico stares at the bookshelves across the room, trying to make sense of this. “That’s strange. Anything similar in the autopsy reports from the previous victims?”

“That’s actually what’s bothering me the most,” Will says, frustrated. “They won’t release the previous reports. I tried explaining that I can’t provide a comprehensive evaluation without information about the other victims, but they’re just being… I don’t know. Really obstructive. No one seemed the least bit concerned about the missing organs.”

Nico scrubs a hand over his face. “Major Crimes? Those guys can be really proprietary. And it’s always a rush to the finish line with them. But that would raise some red flags for me, too.”

There’s silence on the line for a moment. “Also the pizza here sucks,” Will mutters, defeated, and Nico laughs. They’ve gotten in the habit of trying out the pizza in every small town they’ve visited in the last two months, Will’s reasoning being that pizza may not always be good, but it’s almost always edible.

Nico leans back in his chair, thinking. “You know, I know someone in the PD over there. I’ll make some calls.”

“Yeah?” Will says, sounding brighter.

“Yeah. I’ll ruffle a few feathers, see what I can come up with.”

“I hate ruffling feathers,” Will admits. “I pushed as much as I could, but it was pretty clear that they wanted me to file my report and leave town.”

“I’m fine with ruffling feathers,” Nico says. “Let me take care of it.”

::

It takes several more hours in the office and a promise on his firstborn to file all future paperwork in a timely manner, but Reyna agrees to authorize the trip, sounding only a little irritated when Nico calls her at home.

The next morning, Nico’s on the road just before sunrise. He arrives in Fairbrook a few hours later, heading directly to the Super 8 on the edge of town and rapping on Will’s door, the thrill of a new mystery buzzing in his veins.

Will’s face brightens as he opens the door. His white dress shirt is pristine, his tie a bright blue that makes his eyes seem sharper. “Hey. I didn’t expect you until closer to lunchtime.”

Nico shrugs. “Early bird gets the serial killer.”

Nico closes the door behind him, toeing off his shoes and following Will to the table by the window. He pulls off his coat and blazer and takes a seat, scanning over the papers spread over the table’s surface.

“I’ve got a copy of the autopsy report from yesterday,” Will’s saying, digging first through his bag, then a stack of files on a chair. Finally, he extracts a file and passes it to Nico. “And I managed to talk to one of the other medical examiners this morning, the one who did the second autopsy. She was sympathetic, but not much help. It sounds as if her examination was pretty thorough, and she hadn’t noted any missing organs. I took some notes.” Will crosses to the bedside table, returning with a notepad emblazoned with the hotel logo, several small pages of neat handwritten bullet points.

Will sits back, shoving a hand through his hair. He looks tired in the bright light filtering through the sheer curtains, hair mussed and purple shadows under his eyes.

Nico takes a moment to skim through Will’s notes, quiet in the hotel room.

His partner stands after a moment, stretching. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Danish?”

“Please,” Nico says.

A moment later Will’s passing him a small styrofoam cup, the flimsy plastic lid already thoughtfully peeled back. He offers a cardboard box of pastries and Nico takes one gratefully, trying to keep his now-sticky fingers off Will’s notes. Four female victims, between the ages of 19 and 22. Each had gone missing after nights out with friends. Each one strangled, the bodies later discovered by passersby.

“Killer appears geographically stable,” Nico mutters, his gaze flicking over Will’s careful notes. The guy’s got really nice handwriting. Nico’s a little jealous. Sometimes he has trouble deciphering his own notes, after the fact.

“Murders all took place within a three mile radius. Strangulation…” Nico glances through the pages, trying to slot the pieces together. “Could be just convenience, I suppose. Maybe he didn’t have easy access to a weapon. Strangulation is cleaner than using a gun or a knife. Or the killer could enjoy the process,” Nico muses. “Choking can be used as a torture method – strangling the victim untill they lose consciousness, but deliberately not killing them. The killer likes the degree of control it affords them, straddling that line between life and death.”

There’s no response to this and Nico glances up to see Will looking pale. He shakes his head. “Sorry. Just thinking aloud. Anyway, Major Crimes’ll know all that already.”

“No, don’t be sorry,” Will says. “That’s – important information to have. Isn’t strangulation often used in sexually charged crimes?”

“That’s right. No sign of sexual assault for any of the victims?”

Will shakes his head.

“That doesn’t rule out some kind of sexual motivation, but…” Nico shrugs. “Do you think they’re close to catching this guy at all?”

“No idea. But everyone’s been so tight-lipped. For all I know he’s already been booked and fingerprinted.” Will sighs, frustrated. “So what do you think? Are you seeing a paranormal angle on this one?”

“Well, I took a look through some files last night,” Nico says. “There are some cases of organ-harvesting cults, but this doesn’t really line up. In 1956 there were reports of an Air Force sergeant, reportedly abducted by a flying saucer…”

Will raises an eyebrow, lips twitching.

“He was found later in the desert in New Mexico, body drained of blood. His tongue, eyes and anus had been harvested with surgical precision.”

Will’s eyes go wide, horrified. “Jesus.”

“Yeah,” Nico agrees. “And then there’s the Dyatlov Pass incident –”

“I think I remember hearing about that one,” Will says, nose scrunching. “In the 1950s?”

Nico nods. “Nine Soviet hikers. Found variously missing eyes, tongues and eyebrows.”

Will looks slightly ill. “Eyebrows??”

Nico shrugs. “Not all of them.”

“Not all the hikers or not all the eyebrows?”

“Both. Neither,” Nico says, taking another bite of danish.

WIll watches him, maybe a little disturbed that Nico can appreciate pastry at a time like this. He shakes his head after a moment. “But wait – that was an avalanche, wasn’t it?”

Nico shrugs. “Maybe. Or a Yeti. Government interference.”

Will’s fighting a smile. “Government eyebrow interference?”

Nico waggles his, and Will laughs.

“Well, I don’t think this is related,” Will says. “All the victims had their eyebrows. As far as I know.” He lets out a breath. “So. No obvious connection to historical X-Files cases. Paranormal angle to be determined. No one working the case wants to talk to me. And now I’ve wasted half a day in a bad mood, filling up on caffeine and sugar, and I’m no further ahead than I was last night,” he sighs.

Nico nods, deeply sympathetic. “We’ve all been there.”

“So what do we do now?”

Nico shakes his head, mouth full of too much danish. Will waits as he finishes chewing, his expression drifting towards amused as Nico finally swallows. “Sorry,” Nico wipes his mouth. “Those are actually really good. And I forgot to eat before I left DC.”

Will grins, reaching for the open box and passing it back to Nico. Nico takes another.

“How about you tell me what we do now,” Nico says, sinking his teeth into pastry and icing once more.

Will’s eyebrows twitch upwards. “Me?”

Nico nods. “This is your case. I’m here at your invitation. At your service.” He makes a little bow.

Will breathes out a laugh, meeting Nico’s gaze for a moment before glancing away, a light flush coloring his cheeks. “Um. I don’t know.” The uncertainty in his face combined with the freckles scattered over his nose and cheeks suddenly make him look impossibly young.

“Yeah, you do,” Nico says, patient.

Will’s gaze drifts to the table. He reaches for one of the autopsy reports, the most recent victim. “Can we – I think I want to talk to the family. Of the woman murdered on Thursday. If they’ll talk to us.”

Nico’s chest warms, a small surge of pride. “Only one way to find out.”

::

Half an hour later, they’re making their way towards a squat, red brick bungalow on a quiet, tree-lined street. There’s a misty rain falling, and Nico pulls his coat tighter around his shoulders. Will’s been quiet since they left the hotel, something somber in the set of his mouth.

Nico can never quite shake the twinge of guilt, the feeling that he’s intruding, when he approaches a family who’s recently lost someone. He wonders if Will is having similar misgivings.

“It’s okay,” Nico murmurs. “We’re just doing our job. We’re trying to help.”

Will nods, shoulders relaxing a fraction.

The woman who answers the door is slight and angular, with graying brown hair pulled into a low ponytail and a thick brown cardigan wrapped around narrow shoulders.

“Mrs. Johnson?” Will asks, and she nods. “I’m Special Agent Will Solace and this is Special Agent Nico di Angelo. We’re investigating your daughter’s death, and we wondered if we could ask you a few questions.”

The woman nods immediately. “Yes, of course. Please come in.”

The house is cozy inside, the walls lined with formal family portraits and innumerable candid photos of a brown-haired girl with bright, laughing eyes, her life told in pictures; a toddler riding a bike, a child grinning from her father’s shoulders, a teen standing on the front steps in a prom dress.

The interview goes much as Nico would have expected. Mrs. Johnson has already been interviewed by Major Crimes and her answers to Will’s questions have a practiced, tired cadence to them. Will’s tone is professional, but warm. Nico can easily imagine him at a patient’s bedside.

“And did Angela have any medical conditions?” Will asks.

Mrs. Johnson shakes her head. She dabs at her cheek with a kleenex. “No, she was healthy. She always had so much energy.”

“Was she taking any medications?”

“No, just vitamins.”

Will continues with questions about birth history and medical history, uncovering nothing out of the ordinary. Nico rises after a while, taking in the details of the room, all the trappings of a busy family life. When Will pauses in his questions, Nico asks, “Do you have any other children, Mrs. Johnson?"

“No,” the woman smiles sadly. “Angela was our little miracle. We tried to conceive for years before we had her. I had to have fertility treatments. But she finally came along – we were so happy.” Her face crumples and Will puts a hand on her shoulder, glancing to Nico, who nods.

“I’m very sorry for your loss, Mrs. Johnson. Thank you for your time. We can see ourselves out,” Will adds, when the older woman begins to rise. “Here’s my card,” he adds, placing it on the coffee table. “Please don’t hesitate to call if you think of any other information that might be relevant.”

They let themselves out and Will sags as the door closes behind them, running a hand over his face.

“Okay?” Nico murmurs.

Will nods, beginning to lead the way back to the car. “I couldn’t bring myself to go into specific detail about the autopsy. Do you think I should have?”

“Trust your gut,” Nico reassures him. “You’ve got this.”

::

Despite the fact that Will’s not sure he’s much further ahead than he was when he woke up this morning, it’s undeniably reassuring, having Nico here. Even if it’s only for the reminder that he’s on the right track.

Back in Will’s room, Nico unwraps his sandwich at the little table, making a careful barrier with the foil wrapper to avoid getting crumbs on the file he’s reading. “D’you want my pickle?” Nico asks absently.

“Yes, please.” Will reaches out a hand from where he’s stretched out on the bed surrounded by papers and his own lunch. He takes a bite of the pickle and hums in appreciation before leaning over the side of the bed for his drink.

Will takes a sip and makes a face. “I think I got your Dr Pepper.” Nico automatically reaches for the drink at his elbow and they swap.

The two men are still alternating between speculation and scouring files an hour later when Nico’s phone rings. Will drops his pen on the bed next to him, flopping down and stretching out his arms and legs, half-listening to his partner’s conversation. He yawns widely just as Nico drops the phone back onto the table.

Nico leans toward the bed, holding out a slip of hotel stationary. Will grabs it, blinking at Nico’s scribble.

“My friend from the local PD – he’s acquainted with a friend of Angela Johnson’s. The friend wants to help if she can,” Nico says.

Will pushes himself up, squinting at the paper.

“What do you think?” Nico asks.

“I think you have terrible penmanship,” Will says, solemn.

Nico huffs, snatching the paper back. “Jerk.”

Will grins. “We should go talk to her, though.”

The hotel room has gotten progressively messier over the course of the day, with the two of them working and eating in here; the tiny hotel trash cans overflowing, bags and jackets abandoned everywhere. Will feels a brief pang of annoyance that Nico’s room will still be freshly cleaned when he retires there this evening.

Will ducks into the bathroom, surveying his appearance critically, straightening his tie and doing his best to tame his hair. When he leaves the bathroom it’s to the sight of Nico looking around distractedly, pulling on a blazer that’s clearly too big for him.

Will pauses in the bathroom doorway, smiling to himself as Nico registers the too-long sleeves, shoulders much broader than his own. The sight makes something flutter in Will’s chest, involuntary, and he quickly tamps it down.

“This is yours,” Nico realizes aloud, and Will laughs.

“Yup.”

Nico hands the jacket over with a sigh. Will, spotting Nico’s blazer before he does, holds it up for the other man by the shoulders. Nico rolls his eyes, but allows Will to help him into the jacket.

“Much better,” Will says approvingly, a brief pat to Nico’s shoulder.

“It’s not nice to laugh at short people, Solace.”

“I would never,” Will says gravely.

::

Will’s feeling anxious as Bonnie Fletcher ushers him and Nico into her small apartment, but he relaxes by degrees as the meeting progresses. Bonnie’s tearful, but grateful for their help, and they fall into easy conversation. Nico seems more relaxed here too, Will thinks, and that helps. He finds himself relying more and more on Nico’s presence to smooth the rougher edges of situations such as these. There’s something about his quiet thoughtfulness that’s intrinsically reassuring.

Will lets his attention drift a bit as Nico and Bonnie discuss a concert coming to a nearby town, how both had tried and failed to secure tickets.

“They were Angela’s favorite band,” Bonnie says regretfully. “We’d seen them together a few years ago, in Philadelphia.”

Nico nods, sympathetic.

“How long had you and Angela known each other?” Will asks, taking the break in the conversation in what he hopes is a natural direction. He’s pretty good at interviewing patients for medical histories, he thinks, and this isn’t dissimilar.

In his periphery, he sees Nico settle back a bit. It’s the smallest movement, but Will takes it as a reassurance. That he can do this, that Nico thinks so too. It’s begun to feel like a dance sometimes; the two of them moving through the cluttered office together, through crime scenes and stakeouts. A dance in which the two of them feel more sure of the other all the time, an easy give and take.

Bonnie sighs, pushing dark blonde hair back behind her ears as an orange tabby winds around Nico’s ankles. He reaches down to scratch its head.

“We met in first grade,” Bonnie says. “We were fast friends. My mom had just gotten a new job and she was working nights - I ended up practically living at Angela’s half the time. Have you met her parents? They’re really lovely people. They were like a second family to me.”

Will nods, his heart sinking for this little constellation of humans, none of whom deserve any of this. “We talked to Mrs. Johnson earlier today. She was very kind.”

Bonnie smiles sadly, gazing at Will for a moment. “She really is. She said she’d spoken to some other FBI agents earlier this week. I offered to talk to them too, but I haven’t heard anything else about it.” There’s a sudden beeping issuing from the kitchen, a timer. Bonnie starts. “Excuse me one moment.”

Will glances at Nico. The other man is looking displeased, a twist to his mouth. Will raises an eyebrow, questioning.

Nico shakes his head, a brief glance in the direction Bonnie disappeared. “Seems as if they could have come and talked to her too,” he says quietly.

“Maybe they haven’t had time?”

“Could be.”

Bonnie returns a moment later, dropping something into a yellow medical waste container on a corner table Will hadn’t previously noticed.

“Damn vitamin injections,” she sighs, offering him a half-smile. “You said you were a doctor, right?”

Will nods.

“It’s such a hassle taking them twice a day. Unless I set timers, I forget, and then I feel like shit.”

Will frowns, diverted. “Vitamin injections? Like, B12?”

Bonnie grimaces. “Not sure, to be honest. All I know is the doctor prescribes them and I take them. Ever since I was a kid.”

Will’s mind is suddenly in overdrive, trying to make sense of this bit of information. Nico must notice, because he smoothly takes over the interview while Will sifts through his own thoughts.

“... but Agent Solace would know more about that than I would,” Nico is saying suddenly, and Will blinks, looking up. Both Bonnie and Nico are watching him expectantly.

“I’m so sorry,” Will says, feeling his face warming. “I completely spaced out there for a second.”

“The autopsy?” Nico prompts. “Bonnie was asking what you found.”

Most of the details have already been made public, and Will summarizes his findings, back on familiar ground for a moment, still puzzling over the injections in the back of his mind. It’s hard to sugarcoat the examination of a violent death, but he does his best to be succinct and kind. Bonnie simply nods, accepting, as if it’s nothing more than she expected.

“Again, I’m very sorry for your loss,” Will says into the silence that follows.

“Thank you,” Bonnie says, thickly. “I appreciate you taking the time.”

“Of course.” Will clears his throat. “This… isn’t related to Angela’s death and you’re certainly not obligated to tell me – but I’m curious about the injection you gave yourself earlier.” He can’t quite help himself. Even before he attended medical school, Will’s had a particular grievance with any medical provider whose practices are less than evidence-based, and this is troubling to him.

“Oh,” Bonnie says in surprise. “Actually, I suppose it could be related to Angela, at least somewhat. She took the same injections.”

Will feels a jolt of unease. “She did?”

“Yeah, we’d both been taking them for years. We weren’t the only ones – I have other friends who did as well.”

And then Bonnie’s up and disappearing into the other room again. Will and Nico share a glance, concerned.

“Here,” Bonnie says a moment later, returning and pressing a small vial into Will’s hands. “This is what I take. Angela, too.”

“There’s no label on it,” Will says, discomfort prickling, as he turns the little bottle over in his hands.

“Oh, that’s because Dr. Marcus gets it at a discount,” Bonnie explains.

“And you’ve been taking this twice daily? For years?” Will says, hoping he’s keeping his voice neutral.

“Yes. It’s a vitamin supplement, like I said. Dr. Marcus says it’s something to do with a deficiency particular to this area of the country.” Bonnie frowns. “I guess I never really thought much about it, I’ve been taking it for so long. Do you think I should stop?”

Will shakes his head immediately. “No, no. I’m not a practicing physician, and I’m obviously not your physician. This is…” he holds the vial up to the light. “This isn’t a treatment I’m familiar with, though, and I wouldn’t mind looking into it a bit more.”

Bonnie nods. “Sure, of course. You can take that with you, if you want. I just stocked up. And the doctor – well, he’s everyone’s doctor in town, really. He has an office on Third Street, right next to the Dairy Queen. If you wanted to ask him about it.”

Will nods. “Thank you.” At his shoulder, he sees Nico scribbling all of this down.

“What do you think?” Nico asks, a sidelong glance at Will as they make their way back to the car.

Will chews on his lip. “I’m not sure. Mysterious supplements? Twice daily for years? That seems awfully sketchy. I’ve never heard of any vitamin deficiency that requires daily injections.” He shoots a glance at Nico, who’s watching him, intent. “This might not have anything to do with the murders, but I’d really like to investigate further.”

Nico is quick to agree. “I trust your judgment. Let’s look into it.”

“It’s really odd that they’re not labeled at all,” Will muses as Nico pulls away from the curb. “On one hand, I’m all for making medication more affordable. If this doctor is playing the system somehow and getting all these people discount meds… I don’t want to be the one to mess that up for them.”

Nico hums thoughtfully. “That’s a valid point. And people don’t even always understand what their medication is for, right? I remember reading that it’s some really low percentage of patients who understand everything their doctors tell them. Maybe it’s not a vitamin deficiency at all. Maybe that’s how Bonnie understood it years ago and no one ever bothered to ask any more questions.”

“That’s definitely a possibility,” Will agrees. Maybe this is nothing at all, just random loose ends. He wonders about the utility of wasting their time and resources on a hunch. But he doesn’t think he can let this one go.

“We could go talk to this Dr. Marcus?” Nico glances at the clock on the dash. “It might be too late to catch him at the office, but we could swing by and check.”

Will turns the little vial in his hands, thinking hard. “I don’t think so. Not yet. I think… I think I’d like to find out exactly what’s in here before we go asking any more questions.” He makes a face. “What do you think? Am I being too paranoid?”

Nico shoots him a grin. “You can never be too paranoid, Solace. Nice to see I’m rubbing off on you.”

::

Three hours later Nico’s just finished today’s field report – on time, for once – when there’s a knock at the door.

He opens his door to the sight of his partner, clad in swim trunks and a soft green t-shirt, blond curls ruffled. There must have been a logo on the t-shirt once, but it’s faded beyond recognition, maybe something with palm trees. The shirt hugs the planes of Will’s chest, a pleasant stretch over pleasantly broad shoulders. Will looks glowy and sunkissed, despite the fact that they’ve had nothing but cold rain in DC for weeks. He’s got yellow flip flops on his feet and god, how are his legs so fucking long?

Nico cringes inwardly, feeling short and pale and overdressed, not to mention completely out of line for noticing any of this. Briefly, Nico wonders if Will frequents one of those tanning places that have popped up all over DC, then remembers that he’s been party to Will’s views on melanoma. Must be just good genes, then.

“Hey,” Will grins. “You up for a swim? I just checked the pool, it’s pretty empty. I thought I might do some laps, decompress a bit.”

Nico considers the relative merits of leaving his room and stretching his legs versus staring at the TV for a few hours until he passes out. It’s a tough choice. He was just about to put on his pjs.

“They have a hot tub,” Will says, light wheedling.

Nico huffs. “Fine. I guess. Meet you there?”

It’s almost half an hour before Nico leaves his room, most of that time having been spent trying to talk to anyone from Major Crimes who’ll tell him anything at all. He’s irritable and twitchy, half-considering just hiding out in his room – who knows if Will will even still be at the pool – but he forces himself into trunks and a t-shirt, then out into the corridor, shivering as the too-high air conditioning immediately wicks the all the heat from his exposed skin.

The pool area is visible from the hall as Nico approaches. It’s decent-looking, clean and bright, a red and blue spiral slide descending from near the ceiling. The water’s surface is smooth, untouched, a striped, inflatable tube floating serenely at the surface. Nico feels a brief pang of disappointment that he’s missed out on Will’s company. Kind of silly, considering they’ve just spent all day together. Considering they spend most days together.

But he hears voices raised in laughter as he pushes the door open, and a glance across the room reveals his partner, hair damp and even more tousled now, seated at a table in the corner with two others: a woman in a dark green hijab and a man with a mess of bright blond hair. Nico makes his way towards them, cautious at first, then quicker as he recognizes them both. All three faces turn and smile as he approaches, and Will nudges his chair over, making room.

“Hey, I didn’t know if you were going to make it,” Will grins, eyes bright. “I hear you already know Sam and Magnus?”

The man across the table rises with a grin, wavy blond hair overlong and falling over his forehead. He extends his hand to shake. “Agent di Angelo. Good to see you.”

“Agent Chase,” Nico says, then puts his hand to his chest and nods to Sam. “Agent al-Abbas. Small world.”

Nico takes the chair next to Will. He’d been looking forward to the hot tub, but this is good, too. Nico briefly worked with Magnus during his tenure at Violent Crimes, then grew to know Sam when Magnus was transferred and partnered with her. They’re good agents, thorough and thoughtful, both lacking the ego that seems to trail so many of his colleagues.

“You know I’ve been trying to track down someone from Major Crimes for the last hour,” Nico says, light. “Guess I should have thought to check the pool.”

Magnus rolls his eyes. It’s a conversation they’ve had before, and Magnus knows Nico means present company to be excluded from the complaint. “Yeah, they excel at making themselves unavailable.”

“Did you need anything in particular?” Sam asks, a quick glance around to make sure there’s no one to overhear. “Magnus and I have only been in town since yesterday afternoon, but we can try to help.”

The four agents share their findings with each other, Sam and Magnus managing a concise summary of the case thus far, much more informative than what Will had managed to cobble together from whomever had filled him in.

Sam and Magnus work so well together, Nico thinks as he listens to them. Seamless. One picking up the other’s thread, finishing each other’s sentences, affirming each other’s opinions and building a story, back and forth like a game of tennis. Something to aspire to.

They’re no closer to catching the perpetrator than Will had surmised, but it’s good to have confirmation from a closer source - and both Magnus and Sam agree that the mystery vitamin vials are worth investigating further.

“When I finally managed to talk to someone from the lab here, they said it would be at least three days for processing,” Will is saying, frustrated.

Sam nods thoughtfully. “You know, I might know someone who could get it done faster.” She glances at her watch. “It’s too late tonight, but I’ll make a couple of calls first thing tomorrow, Will. Check with me before you head out in the morning.”

::

Nico’s woken the next morning by a knock at the door. He’d been deep in sleep and it takes him a moment to make sense of the sound, then his surroundings. He flops over and squints at the clock on the nightstand. 5:57. Too early.

There’s another knock.

“Nico?”

Nico groans, throwing off blankets and pushing himself up, scrubbing at his eyes. “One second,” he yells, voice scratchy. He stumbles across the room, not bothering to turn on any lights. He’s pretty sure his breath is terrible, but that’s on Will for waking him at this ungodly hour.

Nico’s not sure why he checks the peephole, since he knows very well who it is, but there’s Will, distorted by the fishbowl lens and looking irritatingly wide awake. He’s fully dressed, tie and white shirt immaculate under his navy blazer.

Nico unlocks the door, opening it just enough to stick his head out, eyes watering in the sterile, too-bright light from the hallway. He squints one-eyed at his partner.

Will smiles, a teasing twinkle to blue eyes. “Hey. I know it’s early. They called me in for another autopsy.”

“Oh. Shit,” Nico croaks. He clears his throat. “They think it’s the same guy?”

Will nods. “Yeah, I got that impression. The examination’ll take me at least a few hours, so I wanted to pass this over to you in case Sam has any luck contacting a lab that can process it.” Will holds up the little vial they collected from Bonnie yesterday.

Nico grunts, accepting the bottle. “‘Kay. Got it.”

Will’s smile broadens, his eyes darting to the darkened room behind Nico. “Not a morning person, then?”

Nico scowls. “It’s not morning for at least another hour, you monster.”

Will laughs, far too pleased.

Nico squints into the over-bright hallway and then at the vial in his hand. “This is supposed to go to Sam, right? Why didn’t you wake her up at the ass crack of dawn?”

Will shrugs, unrepentant. “Dunno. Maybe just because you’re special.” And then his hand darts forwards and he pinches Nico’s cheek, grinning like an idiot.

Nico startles a half-second later, reflexes dulled by the early hour. “Did you just pinch my cheek?” His voice sounds aghast, croaky and incredulous in the mostly-empty hallway, but Will’s already gone, leaving nothing behind but a thread of laughter and the bright scent of the hotel shampoo.

Nico scowls hard, shoving the door shut with more force than necessary and scrubbing at his tingling cheek.

::

If there’s been another murder, that means there’s an active crime scene, and after contemplating this for another half hour in his darkened room, Nico finally gets up and heads for the shower.

The crime scene is flooded with agents. Nico lingers on the periphery, wondering where the fuck all of them were last night when he was desperate to get some information. With Will still mid-autospy, Nico’s caught a ride here with Magnus. They’d dropped Sam and the vitamin vial off at the university on their way.

Magnus gives Nico a half-smile as he lopes back towards him. “Victim was male,” Magnus says, planting himself next to Nico, hands in his pockets. “Twenty-one, murdered on his way home from his shift at the Kroger down the street.”

Nico frowns. “Doesn’t quite fit the profile of the previous victims. Interesting. Was he strangled?”

Magnus nods, his gaze on the mass of agents within the police tape a few yards away. The crisp morning breeze ruffles his shaggy hair. “From what I gathered, yeah. Guess we’ll hear more once Solace is done. How’s that working out, anyway?” Magnus asks, turning to Nico. “Your new partner,” he clarifies.

“Yeah. He’s…” He’s a pre-dawn cheek-pincher. He looks like a hot surfer crossed with a hot camp counselor.

He makes me happier to go to work in the morning.

“He’s a good guy,” Nico says, finally. “A decent agent. He’s still learning, but… so far so good.”

Magnus nods. “That’s good to hear. Last time we talked, it sounded like they were closer to shutting you down than adding a second agent.”

Nico nods. “Yeah. You know, I think they were hoping he’d discredit me. Seems like he missed that memo, though.”

::

Two hours later Nico’s back in his room, still no sign of Will. Magnus and Sam have been corralled into fingerprint processing, Nico having been made to feel superfluous by the onsite special agent in charge. He supposes he can’t really blame them; it’s not as if he was invited, and Will is only still welcome as long as the bodies continue to accumulate.

Feeling a little bored and useless, Nico stares at victim profiles for another twenty minutes until the words start to blur in front of his tired eyes. His eyes drift to the notes he took as they were talking to Bonnie. Dr. Marcus...

Nico’s up in a second, crossing to the desk, yanking open the drawer and flipping through the thin phone book. He finds the listing quickly, a quarter-page ad, black ink on yellow. Dr. Robert Marcus, M.D.

He hesitates. Maybe he should talk to Will first… but then again, time is of the essence. Nico pulls his phone from his pocket, dials the familiar number. The line connects on the second ring.

“Hey, Hazel. Is Frank around?”

::

There’s a knock on his door not fifteen minutes later. Nico scrubs at his eyes, embarrassed to realize that he was close to drifting off, and reluctant to be caught sleeping twice in the same day. A quick glance in the mirror next to the door tells him he’s presentable enough.

“Hey,” Will greets him, not waiting for an invitation before walking into Nico’s room and throwing himself down onto the bed, face up. He stretches long arms above his head, hands clasped. “My feet are killing me,” he announces.

Torn between telling the other man to get the fuck off his bed and dropping down there himself, Nico huffs, opting for the swivel chair by the desk. Will sighs, closing his eyes.

Nico clears his throat after a long moment, and Will’s eyes pop open, a cheeky grin.

“So?” Nico asks, impatient, “did you have any useful information to share, or have you just forgotten that you have your own bed three doors down?”

Will beams. “The second one.” He pulls up his legs, rolling onto his side and making himself comfortable.

Nico aims a pencil at his partner. Eraser first, because he’s feeling magnanimous. It bounces off Will’s shoulder harmlessly, but Will sits up, ruffling his hair. “Sorry,” he yawns. “It really was an early start today.”

Nico huffs. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Did you get the vitamin injection to Sam?” Will asks, suddenly all business.

“Yeah, she’s got a friend at the university. She was hopeful they’d get it tested today.”

“Amazing.”

“How was the autopsy?”

Will sighs. “Long. Interesting, though. So, Mr. Lucas Parsons, age twenty-one – he was in possession of his pancreas, but missing his spleen.”

Nico frowns. “Really?”

Will nods, reclined back on his elbows on Nico’s - Nico’s - bed. “He seemed to be in perfect health otherwise - aside from having been strangled to death.” Will yawns again. “The strangulation pattern was identical to Angela Johnson’s. And again, the spleen – just gone. No sign of it ever having been removed. No scar tissue, no nothing. Bizarre, right?”

“Bizarre,” Nico agrees. His phone rings and he reaches for it, glancing at the call display. “Hey, Sam.”

“Hey. I just got the results from the lab. Okay if I come up?” Sam says.

“Yeah, of course. See you in a minute.”

“Sam’s got the results of the chem analysis,” Nico says, flipping his phone shut and replacing it on the table.

Will’s face brightens, like a fucking meteor.

“And get off my bed, Solace,” Nico adds, nettled. “Housekeeping was just in here and you’re messing it all up.”

::

“It was insulin?” Will says. “Insulin?”

“Pretty decisively, yeah,” Sam agrees, extracting a printout from her bag and pushing it across the table.

Will’s quiet for a long moment, scanning the report. “This dosage – Bonnie’s been taking 40 units, twice a day. She’s – she must be diabetic. And she thinks she’s been taking vitamins. And maybe Angela, too.” Will continues to gaze at the paper in his hand, brow furrowed.

Nico waits as long as he can stand it before speaking. “The pancreas has a role in insulin production, right? That’s about all I remember from my anatomy classes.”

Will nods, slow. “Yeah, the pancreas produces insulin. It regulates blood sugar levels.”

“So it makes sense – however bizarrely – that Angela would need to be taking insulin regularly if she didn’t have a pancreas.”

Will blinks, finally looking up. “Well, yeah. Definitely. If you have your pancreas removed – or, there’s a congenital condition called pancreatic agenesis – either way, the end result is diabetes. But you’d need regular, ongoing medical care. She’d need to be testing her blood sugar. It just doesn’t make sense that these women could be diabetic and not know about it.”

Sam takes the lab report from Will’s limp grasp, eyes scanning the page. “And what would happen if you regularly took this dose of insulin and you weren’t diabetic?”

Will shakes his head. “You couldn’t. It would make you very, very sick. Like, death-by-hypoglycemic-coma-sick.” His gaze flicks to Nico. “Bonnie – she said she’d been on these injections since she was a kid, right?”

“Yeah. And Angela had, too. And other friends, she said. Does that – could they all be missing a pancreas?”

Sam frowns. “That would be awfully strange, wouldn’t it? I mean, even just assuming all these folks were diabetic. How common is that?”

“Somewhat common in kids, I guess.” Will shrugs. “One in four hundred, I think?”

“Not common enough for half a dozen diabetic kids of the same age to all know each other in a small town though, right?” Nico asks. There’s a knot beginning in his stomach. “If these kids – what if the others are at risk, too?”

Sam raises her eyebrows. “At risk of what? Being strangled? You think someone’s going around murdering diabetics?”

Will looks uncertain. “The victim today had a pancreas. I double-checked. Although I suppose he could have been diabetic. I did a blood draw, but the results won’t be back yet.”

“Maybe there’s something weird in the town water supply?” Nico suggests.

“Causing diabetes? Or birth defects? I guess it’s possible,” Will says. “Though it seems like it would be more widespread.”

Nico wrinkles his nose. “I’m trying to think of something that would affect a portion of the population like that. It makes me of lead paint…”

“Or thalidomide,” Sam supplies.

“Yeah, right,” Will nods. “That’s…” he pauses, staring towards the window. “I want to talk to Bonnie again. And Angela’s mother. The doctor must have known. And… can we –” he turns to Nico. “Can we subpoena Dr. Marcus’ records? Is that going to take three days as well?”

Nico grimaces. “Yeah, it might. But I had another idea.”

::

Frank has come through as he always does, and when Will and Nico return to the hotel after dinner a few hours later, Nico opens his email to find pages upon pages of scanned documents.

Will leans over his shoulder, watching. Will smells like the fresh, misty air outside, with the accompanying lingering scent of the taco place they found for dinner. And as if that wasn’t appealing enough already, there’s this heat radiating off of Will like he’s some kind of freckly, portable furnace.

“How did you - this is incredible.” Will breathes. He leans even closer, his chest brushing Nico’s shoulder, and Nico gives up, having abruptly reached the limits of his personal space bubble. He lifts the laptop and hands it to Will.

“Are you sure?” Will asks.

“Yeah, of course. You can probably make sense of it quicker than I can anyway.”

Will takes the laptop carefully, perching on the edge of the bed and gazing at the screen. He abandoned his jacket and tie a couple of hours ago, the top two buttons of his shirt open, sleeves rolled. He’s focused, intent, and Nico can almost hear the gears turning as his gaze flicks over the computer screen. It’s a good look on him, honestly.

Not that that’s relevant in any way.

Nico’s hit by an unexpected jumble of emotions, watching the other man. Because yes, he’s appealing. There’s no question that he’s attractive. But Nico’s most surprised by the relief that he feels. It softens his shoulders and unclenches his jaw. Relief that Nico doesn’t have to do this all on his own. The nearly-forgotten joy of having someone to share this with. Someone, who, maybe, will hold this work just as close to their heart as Nico does.

“So we’ve got admission and graduation records from every college Robert Marcus attended,” Will murmurs, half to himself. “There’s… this is a listing of all the doctors licensed in Maryland, and the District of Columbia…” Will pauses, then his intense focus falters and he grins. “Hey, there I am.” He flips the laptop towards Nico, who leans forward to peer at the screen. He smiles when his gaze catches on Will’s name.

“William Andrew. Nice. Classy.”

Will laughs. “I think you mean boring. My dad thought it sounded neutral enough that I could be a doctor or a musician.” He turns the laptop back around, greenish light cast on his freckled face.

“Those were your options?” Nico asks.

A quick smile. “Yeah. I suppose so.”

There’s a story there, Nico thinks. It catches him off-guard to realize how much he’d like to hear it.

It can be a struggle, keeping people at arm’s length. Nico’s a bit of an expert, though. He can joke around, divert, enjoy people’s company. The trick is to know when to pull back. It’s a little lonely, sure. But it’s safe. Two months in, he can already see it’s going to be harder with Will. Will, with all his proximity and cheek pinching and open smiles. For fuck’s sake, they’d barely known each other 48 hours when Nico brought up Bianca. But he’s being more careful now. Nico can do this. He’s had years of practice.

“Criminal records, vital statistics, court proceedings, state malpractice registry… wow.” Will blinks up at Nico. “Do I want to know how you got all this?”

Nico shrugs, pleased. “Well. It’s all publicly available information. It just wasn’t obtained through official channels, in this instance. I happen to have a friend who’s… very skilled at finding those kinds of things very quickly.” Frank’s been a godsend for Nico’s cases on more than one occasion. He really needs to take the guy out for dinner again soon.

Silence falls, and Nico decides it’s as good a time as any to complete his field report for the day. Twenty minutes later he’s scanning over what he’s written, making sure he hasn’t omitted any important details.

“Nico?”

“Hmm?”

Will finally looks up from the laptop screen, a crease between his brows. “I can’t find any record of a Robert Marcus having graduated from the University of Central Florida.”

“Really? Could he have changed his name?”

“Maybe, but he’d have to have his current name listed in the physicians’ registry, and it’s not in there either. I thought maybe I’d just missed it, but I’ve been over it three times. Can you take a look? I feel like my eyes are crossing trying to read through all this tiny print.”

Will hands Nico the laptop back and crosses the room to drape himself across the loveseat, long legs dangling over the armrest. Nico takes note of the fact that Will does not collapse onto the bed this time, and feels the tiniest twinge of guilt for scolding him earlier.

Will’s got an arm thrown over his eyes, and after about fifteen minutes of silence, Nico wonders whether he’s fallen asleep. He clears his throat and Will immediately looks up. “Find anything?” he asks.

“No…” Nico frowns at the screen.

“And he definitely graduated in 1970?” Will asks, pushing himself up.

“Yeah. Hold on.” Nico reaches across the table for his legal pad, flipping through ink-smeared pages. “Yes, 1970,” Nico confirms. He holds out the notebook and Will crosses the room to accept it.

“University of Central Florida, class of 1970, license number 243209, M.D., Ph.D…” Will reads aloud. “Wait. We haven’t – has Major Crimes already spoken to Dr. Marcus? Where did you get this information?”

Nico blinks. “Um. Magnus gave it to me.” He and Will gaze at each other for a moment. “I can’t actually remember if he told me where he got it from. We were at the crime scene this morning talking to some of the other agents, and then Sam called for a ride… I guess I got distracted.” Nico checks his watch. “It’s not too late to call, is it?” But he’s already reaching for his phone.

“Hey, Magnus?” Nico says. “Yeah. Is it okay if I put you on speaker? It’s just me and Will.”

Over the speaker, Magnus sounds keyed-up, wide awake, and Nico and Will are treated to about ten minutes of crime scene recap and a side-rant about fingerprint processing policy before they can get a word in.

“Magnus, you gave Nico some contact information for Dr. Robert Marcus earlier,” Will says finally, when Magnus pauses for breath. “We were wondering – has Dr. Marcus been interviewed yet?”

“Oh.” There’s a moment’s pause, and then Magnus’ voice crackles over the line. “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

Nico and Will trade a glance. “Where did the information about his credentials originate?”

“Oh! It was on the first autopsy report.”

Will frowns. “It was? Why?”

“Did I not mention? Dr. Marcus conducted the first autopsy.”

::

Will feels absolutely wide awake, a dozen possibilities racing through his mind, but after an hour of shared speculation, Nico practically pushes him out the door, telling him firmly that it’s too late to do anything more tonight and they’ll pick up their investigation again in the morning.

Will forces himself into bed, but he’s buzzing with questions, staring wide-eyed at the dim ceiling, gaze tracing over the sprinkler head, the line of light seeping between the curtains. Magnus had made some calls after they spoke, finally able to discover that Dr. Marcus wasn’t asked to perform subsequent autopsies in this case because his initial report was “lacking in detail.” What does it all mean? Will eventually sleeps, but it’s in fits and starts, and at six am he decides he’s done for the night.

Half an hour later, showered and dressed, he’s burning to take another look at the documents he and Nico had been sifting through last night. Nico had forwarded the emails, but unfortunately Nico’s room is the only one with an ethernet port. Will grabs his laptop and heads downstairs to the business center.

He stops in at the continental breakfast on the way, stomach gnawing at itself. It’s a disappointing selection - the muffins and danishes look as if they’ve been there for a few days. But the doughnuts are tantalizingly fresh, plump and shining with glaze. Will grabs two in a paper napkin and heads across the lobby to the narrow room housing a few desktop computers and a tired-looking printer. He plugs his laptop in and waits for the machine to boot up, gazing idly across the lobby out the front door of the hotel, the sun just starting to cast the parking lot in pinkish orange light.

Finally logging in, Will sees the documents Nico forwarded and several new emails, too. He smiles to himself as he scrolls down to read the thread from the beginning. Nico, apparently unable to follow his own advice, had begun trading messages with his mysterious information-gathering friend nearly an hour after Will left his room. He scans through a few messages from a Frank Zhang, who promises to send Nico whatever he can find, and then – two new messages arrive as Will’s reading the previous ones, both from Frank, addressed to Nico and carbon copied to Will.

Found this, the message body reads. Wanted to call and get your reaction, but it’s early. Talk later, F..

Will waits anxiously for the painfully slow download, then opens the documents. He blinks, hardly able to process. He reads through them twice more before he’s made sense of what he’s looking at.

Three rejection letters from the University of Central Florida, each dated a year apart. An acceptance letter from the New Eden School of Natural Health and Herbal Studies the following year, then a record of Robert Marcus’ expulsion from the New Eden School only a few months later, for reasons of academic integrity violations, plagiarism, and inappropriate behavior. Then one final document, city records showing that Robert Marcus purchased the building on Third Street and set up his practice in Fairbrook a few months later.

When Will meets Nico in the hallway of the fifth floor, the dark-haired man is already dressed and looking frantic.

“Did you see Frank’s –” Nico begins.

“Yeah, I just saw –”

“So we get a warrant, right? Charge him, bring him in for questioning and –”

But Will’s already shaking his head, grim. “No, we can’t do that, not yet.”

“What? Why not? He’s committing a felony. He’s been committing a felony for decades!” Nico’s wide-eyed and frazzled-looking.

“It’s not a felony in the state of Maryland.”

“It’s not?” Nico asks, incredulous.

Will grimaces. “He’ll get a fine, but they can’t necessarily hold him on anything. And I’m not –” he glances up and down the hall. “Come on, let’s go to your room.”

Will barely waits for the door to close before he’s continuing the conversation, tension buzzing across his skin. “We need to talk to the families again, first,” he says in a rush. “What if –”

A look of understanding passes over Nico’s face, his eyes intent. “You suspect he’s got something to do with the murders.”

“Yeah,” Will admits. “I don’t know what, and I could be wrong, but –”

“No, I’m with you,” Nico says, immediately on board. “Something’s not adding up.”

“Or adding up too much.”

“Exactly.” And the tension in Nico’s face relaxes into a smile for the first time that morning. “Trust your gut, Will,” he says, his voice warm.

Will lets out a breath, anxious and caught out. Nico watches him for a moment longer, something pleased and proud that makes Will’s heart throb.

“Come on. Let’s go wake Sam and Magnus.”

::

There’s the sound of raised voices in the hall outside Nico’s room, and Nico trades a glance with Magnus where they're seated together at the table. Seconds later, Will and Sam crowd into the room.

“She had no idea she was taking insulin,” Will announces, disbelieving, before he’s even completely through the doorway. Sam shoos him the rest of the way into the room, casting a glance down the hallway before pulling the door shut behind them.

“Bonnie, I mean,” Will adds. He’s flushed, looking a little nauseous, Nico thinks. “None, no idea,” he says, his voice rising, incredulous. “For years, twice a day. Living her whole life with a serious medical condition and she had no idea. Fuck.” Will spares a glance for Sam. “Sorry,” he says, a half-laugh. “Sam’s been very patiently listening to me rant for half an hour already.”

“It’s all right, you’re entitled,” Sam says.

Will drops onto the edge of Nico’s bed, elbows on his knees. “I just can’t believe it. How did he hide this from his own patients? It’s just so incredibly irresponsible, so fucking unethical…”

Sam perches on the bed next to Will, glancing over to Nico and Magnus. “So that was our morning,” she says, dry. “What did you two uncover?”

Will’s eyes widen as he turns towards the two other men. “Shit, sorry. How did it go with Angela’s mother?”

“Well,” Magnus glances at Nico, who nods. “Much the same, I think. Angela had been taking… supplements,” Magnus grimaces, “for her whole life. Mrs. Johnson said they did some blood tests when she was born, and Dr. Marcus told her it was a vitamin deficiency – no big deal, but she’d have to take the injections indefinitely. The word diabetes was never mentioned. The doctor – Marcus, whatever – never said anything about Angela missing her pancreas. No relevant family history. Mrs. Johnson said she knew a few friends of Angela’s who were taking the supplements as well, never thought anything of it.”

“Jesus.” Will shakes his head. “Did you get the names of the friends?”

“Yup.” Nico rises, fishing in his pocket. “And we got these, too.” He holds up two little bottles of clear liquid. “This is what Angela was injecting. I guess we’d have to have it tested, but –”

“Can I –” Will rises too, plucking one of the vials from Nico’s hand. He pries off the little metal cap, then holds it to his nose and inhales. He grimaces.

“It’s insulin. Obviously it’ll have to be tested to be sure, but – see? Smells like bandaids.” He holds out the open bottle to Nico, who leans towards it, sniffs. Sure enough, it does.

Will closes the vial, looking unhappy. He drops back down beside Sam.

Sam clears her throat. “We advised Bonnie to keep taking the insulin,” she glances at Will. “And we told her we’d be in touch about next steps.”

“And we asked her not to mention the details to anyone for the moment. We don’t want Dr. Marcus getting wind of it yet,” Will finishes. “Sorry – Robert Marcus.”

“Oh!” Sam says, glancing to Will again. “And Bonnie said –”

“Right!” Will interrupts eyes widening. “I almost forgot. About –”

Sam’s nodding. “Right, about Amber.”

Nico frowns. “Amber Collins? The first victim?”

“She contacted Bonnie the week before she was killed,” Sam explains. “Bonnie said she hadn’t spoken to Amber since high school, she thought it was odd to get a call out of the blue – especially considering Amber was murdered a week later.”

“Shit,” Magnus says. “That’s… certainly a coincidence. What did Amber want from Bonnie?”

“No idea,” Sam says, frustrated. “They made a date to meet for coffee, but by the time that date came around, Amber was dead.”

“That’ll put a damper on coffee plans,” Magnus observes. “Wait – had she told the local PD about that? Or someone from the Bureau?”

Will lets out a sharp breath, annoyed. “Well she would have, but apparently no one ever came to talk to her.”

“Yikes,” Magnus says. “And oops.”

There’s a moment of silence in the room.

“Well, we’ve definitely got enough on Marcus now to get the big guns involved,” Magnus says.

“Will?” Nico prompts.

“Yeah,” Will says slowly. “I think we’ve done as much as we can from this angle. We should definitely be able to get a warrant to search his home and his clinic… probably make some charges stick, too.” He glances at Nico. “Yeah?”

Nico smiles. “Yeah.”

“Okay if I make some calls then?” Magnus asks.

Will nods, and Sam and Magnus rise as one. “We’ll let you know as soon as we know anything,” Sam tells the other two agents just before the door closes.

Will flops backwards onto the bed, then immediately sits up again, looking guilty. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to desecrate your freshly-made bed.”

Nico watches him for a long moment, then sighs, defeated. “You know what? Go ahead. Desecrate away.”

Will’s lips twitch. “Yeah?”

Nico rolls his eyes, hard-done-by. “Yeah. I suppose you’ve earned it.”

Will beams.

“Good work today,” Nico says, only a little grudgingly, and Will beams wider, dropping back on the bed again and rubbing his shoulders against the horrible bedspread like a cat on hot cement.

Nico watches, half amused, half horrified. “Gross,” he supplies after a long moment. “I’m sleeping on the loveseat tonight.

Will laughs.

::

As much as Nico likes ruffling feathers when he has the opportunity, he’d hate to do anything that might reflect poorly on Magnus or Sam, and thus all he and Will can do now is wait – either until they’re summoned by Major Crimes or told to go home.

Nico’s fully prepared for the next few hours to be excruciating – there’s almost nothing he hates more than just waiting around. But it’s tolerable, in the end. After leaving the hotel to grab lunch, he and Will return to his room together, both too twitchy to bear the silence and solitude of their individual rooms. Will paces, chattering and radiating nervous energy until Nico’s ready to make him into the sixth strangulation victim. But then they unearth a pack of playing cards in the drawer of the desk and they settle themselves at the coffee table, Will cross-legged on the carpet, Nico on the loveseat.

“Okay, what are we playing?” Nico asks as he shuffles the deck – okay, maybe showing off a little, using all the tricks Bianca taught him when they were kids. Will’s gazing silently at his hands, head tilted. It makes Nico feel off-kilter, and he fumbles the cards.

“Well.” Will clears his throat. “I know Go Fish. And Crazy Eights.”

“Are you serious?”

Will shrugs. “Pig?”

“What the fuck is that?”

Will grins. “When you get four of a kind, you put your finger on your nose…” Will taps an index finger to his freckled nose, then leaves it there, falling silent, blue eyes drifting out of focus. “Actually, I think we need at least one more person to play Pig.”

Nico rolls his eyes. “We’re playing poker.”

Will’s eyebrows rise. “I don’t know how to play poker.”

Nico grins. “Lucky day for me, then.”

Will grasps the basics pretty quickly, but Nico beats him again and again. “You have no poker face, Solace,” Nico groans as he wins yet another hand.

Will giggles.

Nico shakes his head. “I rest my case.” He drops his cards onto the table.

“No offense, but it’s kind of… a boring game? Don’t you think?” Will asks, hesitant, as he watches Nico re-shuffle the deck. “Maybe it’s more fun if you’re playing for cash,” he muses.

Nico pauses in his shuffling, quirking an eyebrow at Will.

Will grins. “Absolutely not. Hey, teach me how to shuffle, instead,” he suggests suddenly, seemingly unreasonably excited by the prospect.

It’s as good an idea as any, although it turns out Will’s hand-eye coordination isn’t any better than his aptitude for inscrutability, and half an hour later Will’s punch-drunk and giggly over his repeated failures to have the cards behave the way he wants them to. He masters himself enough for another attempt, looking exceedingly intent, tie thrown over his shoulder, lip bitten and brow furrowed. He splits the deck, lines up the halves. Nico realizes he’s holding his breath.

Will glances up, a long look at Nico. There’s a blond curl sticking up at an odd angle at the crown of his head. “You’re making me nervous,” Will says, finally. “Close your eyes.”

Nico huffs. Just as he’s about to comply anyway, the cards fly in an unlikely, spectacular explosion, landing on the floor, the loveseat and all over the coffee table.

Nico shakes his head, bewildered. “You’re a doctor”, he says, disbelieving. “I can’t believe they let you use a scalpel.”

“Well, usually only on people who are already dead,” Will grins, unabashed.

Will collects the cards from the floor, Nico grabbing the others within reach. Nico knocks the cards into a neat pile and reaches across the coffee table for the little box they came in.

“Wait, no, show me again,” Will protests, laughing. “I almost got it that time.”

“Absolutely not, You’re cut off,” Nico says, biting down on the inside of his cheek in an effort to maintain his own poker face. They’ve been shut up in this room for too long and everything is starting to seem unreasonably funny.

Will drops onto the carpet, dramatic, throwing an arm over his eyes. ‘When are they going to call us?” he groans. Then he drops his arm, looking up at Nico. “Hey, you wanna go to the pool while we wait? I can swim some laps and you can… soak moodily in the hot tub,” he finishes, trying and completely failing to maintain a straight face.

Nico’s just opened his mouth to splutter at Will, who’s fully beaming at him from the floor, curls spilling onto the probably-really-unsanitary carpet, when Nico’s phone rings.

“You should get that,” Will says, suddenly completely serious, wide-eyed and innocent.

Nico huffs, quickly rising and crossing the room to retrieve his phone.

“Di Angelo.” Nico raises his eyebrows at Will as he takes in what Magnus is telling them, and Will pushes himself up with a questioning look.

::

816 Third St. is a modestly-sized blue house with white trim, long since converted into a medical office, with a residence in the back. Will and Nico are very much not in the forefront of its ensuing raid, which suits Will just fine.

By five pm the agents from Major Crimes have surrounded the building with the intent of formally detaining Robert Marcus for questioning and serving a warrant to search the premises. Marcus puts up a bit of a fight – Will’s not sure if he hasn’t noticed the two dozen agents fanned out across the street or if he’s just that desperate – but he foolishly attempts to make a break for it, shoving aside one of the agents at his front door. Magnus, waiting at the bottom of the steps, is quick on the uptake, immediately giving chase and expertly tackling Marcus to the ground before the man reaches the end of his property.

Will shares a quick glance with Nico, impressed. “Nice moves,” Will comments under his breath.

Nico nods. “First in his class in defensive tactics. I sure wouldn’t want to jump him in a dark alley.”

With agents from Major Crimes assigned to execute the search warrant and conduct the interrogation, Will and Nico linger in the police station in the aftermath, eager for updates.

Will can’t decide if he’s hopelessly keyed up, exhausted, or a worrying combination of both. He and Nico have spent over an hour on speculation and terrible vending machine coffee when Sam appears from a hallway to their right, spotting the two and making a beeline towards them.

“He confessed,” she says quietly.

“Really? To what?” Will asks.

“To the murders.”

Will feels his eyes go wide. “Really? All of them?”

Sam nods.

“But why?”

Sam shrugs. “It’s not clear at this point. He’s refusing to say anything else until his lawyer gets here. I’m getting the feeling we won’t find out much else tonight.”

“And he confessed, just like that?” Nico asks.

“Pretty much. He folded pretty easily under questioning. He won’t give us any information about his medical background – or lack thereof – or the unauthorized treatments he was providing. But they’ve got enough to hold him now.” Sam shrugs. “So. Go team. Well done. Hit the showers.”

Will laughs.

“Actually a bunch of us are going out to celebrate in a couple of hours,” Sam adds. “That sports bar across from the Super 8?”

Nico nods. “Yeah, definitely. We’ll see you there.”

::

Nico’s feeling much more refreshed after a shower and an hour in his room during which he talked to absolutely no one. Will, on the other hand, is looking uncharacteristically unrefreshed when Nico knocks on his door, bleary-eyed and rumpled.

“Hey, you ready to go?” Nico says.

Will pulls a face. “I don’t know. I’m actually kind of wiped. I was thinking of just heading to bed.”

“What? No, we caught the bad guy. This is the good part, Will. You have to enjoy it.” Nico focuses on the truth of this, rather than his own reflexive disappointment at the thought of celebrating without Will.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Will says, still sounding uncertain.

“I’m always right. Come on. Sam said she’d save us seats.”

Will disappears into his room, returning a moment later with his jacket, then kneeling to tie his shoes. They’re both still dressed for work, but it’s likely half the bar will be celebrating FBI agents, so no one really has any hope of blending in with the locals anyway.

“I don’t drink much,” Will says as they wait for the elevator, a glance over to Nico.

“That’s not a problem,” Nico says immediately. “Sam doesn’t drink at all. Magnus will stay dry to keep her company. We can too, if you want.”

::

That’s not quite what happens, as it turns out.

Magnus, Sam and Nico stick to soda, but at some point Sam decides it’ll be funny to buy Will shots. By midnight, Will’s flushed and even more giggly than he was during his ill-fated card shuffling lesson, and he and Sam are singing along to some of the most abominably poppy boy-band music Nico’s ever had the misfortune to experience.

Nico props himself up against the bar beside Magnus, a wry smile as he watches Sam and Will at their table singing heartfeltly into each other’s faces, Will with a salt shaker as an improvised microphone. They collapse into laughter as the song ends, Sam nearly as giddy as Will despite having consumed nothing but Diet Coke all evening.

“Your partner’s a lightweight,” Magnus comments.

“Yours is a bad influence,” Nico shoots back.

Magnus grins. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

::

They make their wobbly (on Will’s part) way back to the hotel after the bar closes. Will’s walking on his own, but he makes a random grab for Nico’s arm several times to steady himself.

“Ow, fuck,” Nico protests when Will grabs him for the third time, a bruising grip to his bicep.

“Sorry,” Will says, immediately chastened, eyes wide.

Nico sighs. “It’s okay, Solace.”

They bid farewell to the other agents on the second floor, Will hugging Magnus and blowing kisses to Sam as Nico rolls his eyes, propped against the open elevator door.

Then there’s an unscheduled detour back to the lobby when Will decides he needs a Gatorade. Nico leans against the doorway of the little vending machine nook and yawns, watching his partner’s bleary attempts to feed a dollar bill into the drink machine. Nico supposes he could have let Will manage this little expedition on his own, but supervision feels prudent at this point.

Nico finally huffs, grabbing the bill out of Will’s hand and jostling him out of the way. He gets the machine to accept it on the first try, turning to quirk an eyebrow at his partner. He’s rewarded with a soppy smile that makes his ears heat.

Finally back in the elevator, Nico punches the button for the fifth floor. Will leans into the corner, head tilted back, eyes closed. He startles when the elevator chimes at their floor.

“I should not have had all those shots,” Will groans.

Nico snorts. “It really wasn’t that many.”

“I’m not going to get in trouble for drinking on the job, am I?” Will asks, nose scrunching as he digs in his jacket for his key.

“You weren’t on the job, so no. But you are going to develop a reputation as the FBI’s cheapest drunk,” Nico says, dry.

Will giggles.

A grown man, giggling. By all rights it shouldn’t be appealing at all. Should it?

Well.

There’s nothing Nico can do about that.

“Make sure you drink the Gatorade,” he tells Will sternly, as the other man gets his key in the lock.

“Okay, mom.” Will gives him a wobbly smile.

Nico shakes his head, trying for disappointed and probably coming much closer to amused. He manages to pull up just short of fond, he thinks, if only by a razor’s edge.

“And hey,” he adds, as Will tilts into the door frame, a warm and somewhat drunken gaze aimed in Nico’s direction. “Good work this week.”

Will smiles. “Yeah. You too.” He reaches out, a gentle squeeze to Nico’s arm. “Night, Nico.” And he disappears into his room.

::

Nico ducks around the crime scene tape and walks up the stairs of 816 Third St., a paper bag under his arm. It’s breezy out, but mild for mid-November, wispy clouds drifting in and out of sunlight and dry leaves crunching underfoot as he makes his way up the front walk. He nods to a couple of the agents he recognizes in the front room, a core group of them still processing the mass of evidence at Robert Marcus’ clinic. Nico follows a narrow hallway to the back of the building, finding Will exactly where he expects him to be, blond curls just visible behind heaps of charts and boxes in the file room.

“Hey,” Nico calls as he enters. “I come bearing lunch.”

Will’s head pops up over the mess, and he pulls a lollipop out of his mouth to grin at Nico, lips tinted red. “You’re a godsend. I’ve been surviving on sugar-free candy for the last hour.”

Nico huffs. “I can see that. You sure those are safe?”

“I found them in the storeroom. Sealed box.” Will shrugs. “Guess we’ll find out. I don't think they had anything to do with any of Marcus’ home brews. I’ll let you know if my pancreas goes missing."

The team of agents has discovered, over the past week, that Robert Marcus spent most of his tenure in Fairbrook practicing as an amateur chemist. The insulin, mercifully, was straight from the supplier, but over the years Marcus has experimented with acne remedies, weight loss medications, and, most devastatingly, fertility treatments. The latter seem to have been the culprit of the missing organs and other congenital anomalies.

“How’s it going in here?” Nico asks. Will passes a crate of files into Nico’s arms, trying to clear a path for himself. Nico accepts it, adding it to the pile in the corner that Will’s already processed. “Any new insights? I went to your room to get you for breakfast this morning, but you were already gone.”

Will nods, shoving a box aside with his foot, lollipop still dangling from his mouth. “I wanted to get an early start,” he says, words distorted around the paper stick between his lips. “I know they’re replacing us with agents from the field office tomorrow, but I can get through this stuff quicker than they can, and I’m familiar with all Marcus’ secret codes now.”

It’s been hard work, making sense of Marcus’ notes. The guy had clearly tried to cover his tracks over the years. With some details grudgingly pulled from Marcus himself and the help of Will’s medical background, he’s managed to make sense of most of it.

There are half a dozen rolling shelves on tracks taking up most of the room, filled floor to ceiling with files. Much of the remaining space on the floor is now littered with boxes and bins.

There’s enough space for a makeshift picnic near the back of the room, however, and Nico and Will settle themselves with sandwiches on their laps, facing each other, backs against the mobile shelves. Will’s legs stretch almost all the way across the gap, Nico’s falling short.

Will reaches long arms above his head, hands clasped, then flops forward, groaning, fingertips grazing the toes of his shoes. He stays there for a moment, folded in half, eyes closed. Nico’s eyes catch on Will’s broad shoulders under his crisp white shirt, fabric heaving a little with every inhale.

“These shelves are locked in place, right?” Nico asks, a sudden need to fill the silence. He twists slightly, grasping the shelf behind his shoulder and giving it a shake.

Will pops up grinning, face flushed. “Yeah, they’re locked. You worried we’re going to be crushed? Shut down all the garbage mashers on the detention level,” he intones.

There’s a moment of silence. Nico blinks at him.

“Star Wars? No?” Will’s expression fades from teasing to appalled, blue eyes wide. “You have seen Star Wars, haven’t you?”

Nico frowns. “Maybe… maybe one of them? I honestly can’t remember. How many are there?”

“Oh my god. How have you not seen Star Wars?”

Nico shrugs, a little defensive under Will’s sudden, intense scrutiny. Despite his professional interests, he’s never really liked watching sci-fi. “I don’t know. I’ve been busy.”

“Since 1977, Nico?”

Nico rolls his eyes. “Yes, Will, I’ve been busy since 1977.”

Will shakes his head, solemn. “Well. We need to remedy that.”

Nico snorts, reaching for the paper bag next to him. He passes Will his can of Coke, glancing at the text scrawled on the sandwich wrappers.

“Thanks.” Will pops the can open and inserts a straw. “You know the original trilogy is on TV all the time. You really have no excuse.”

Nico opens his own drink, forgoing the straw and lifting the can to his lips. It’s perfect; icy cold and sweet.

“How about next time we’re on an overnight? Star Wars marathon. You and me.” Will says around the straw in his mouth, bumping Nico with his foot.

“Fine. I’ll consider watching Star Wars.”

Will looks impossibly pleased at this and Nico forcefully pushes down the warmth in his ribcage. When did he become such a pushover? He unwraps his sandwich, still hot, condensation on the inner paper wrapper. He takes a bite.

“Isn’t there a Star Wars thing on the National Cathedral?” Nico asks, trying to remember the details. “A sculpture or something?”

Will’s eyes light up. “Yes! The Darth Vader grotesque. We can take a little detour on our way home tomorrow. I’ll show you.”

Nico nods, his mouth too full of sandwich to answer.

“Hey, I got two pickles,” Will says in surprise, staring down at his sandwich.

“Oh, yeah.” Nico looks up. “I just told them to give you mine. Since you always get it anyway.”

He reaches for his Dr Pepper again, then glances at his partner. There’s something unreadable on Will’s face, his head cocked.

“What?” Nico asks, bemused. “Is that not okay?”

“No,” Will says, soft, a bit uncertain. “No, it’s good.”

They finish the rest of their meal in relative silence. Will balls up his wrapper and tosses it overhand to the garbage can. Nico watches as the foil ball misses the can by a good six inches, skittering across the floor. He snorts.

“I’ll get that later,” Will says, dismissive. He folds his hands behind his head, letting out a sigh and leaning against the shelf behind him – and then sliding backwards as the shelf begins to roll with his added weight. Will’s gaze shoots to Nico, eyes wide and guilty.

“Not so locked after all?” Nico asks, suppressing a smile.

Will lets out a giggle, nervous, hopping up and carefully stepping over Nico’s outstretched legs. A second later Nico hears the heavy clunk of the shelf locking in place.

“It’s okay,” Will reassures him, sounding unconvinced. “People hardly ever get crushed in these things.”

Before Nico can come up with a retort, the door to the file room swings open.

“Hey, Solace?” Magnus’ voice calls.

“Back here,” Will says, and a second later Magnus’s face appears around the corner, followed shortly by Sam’s.

“Oh good, you’re both here,” Sam says, pleased. “We’ve got news.”

“The first victim, Amber Collins?” Magnus asks, hopping up to sit on the counter at the end of the aisle. Sam takes the chair at his side.

“It turns out she figured out what Marcus was up to,” Sam finishes, glancing to her partner.

Nico blinks as Will slowly says, “... oh. So then –”

Magnus nods. “So Marcus decided he had to keep her quiet.”

“Shit,” Nico says. He shakes his head. “Shit. What a waste.”

Sam nods. “Yeah. I guess Amber was having some other health problems –”

“She went out of state,” Magnus supplies, “wasn’t happy with the answers she was getting from Marcus. Sounds like she was a pretty bright kid. She put two and two together and went to confront Marcus about it, told him what she suspected, threatened to go public. Marcus flipped out, lost it. Strangled her and then managed to make it look like it’d been a random attack.”

“Jesus,” Will says, with feeling.

“From what Marcus said, he was trying to mend his ways,” Sam says, sharing a skeptical glance with Magnus. “He told us he’d felt guilty about the fertility treatments for years, said he’d been doing his best to do things by the book, attending conferences and reading medical journals and everything.” She shrugs.

“Too little, too late,” Nico supplies, bitter.

“Doesn’t quite make up for the murders.” Magnus agrees.

“Anyway,” Sam says. “All that’s to say we’re pretty much wrapped up here. You gentlemen heading back to DC tomorrow?”

Will nods. “Yup. You too?”

Magnus nods. “First thing. We’ve got a department meeting right after lunch. Right back into it.”

“I have a plan for tonight, though,” Sam says, a mischievous glint in her eye.

::

Sam’s been asking around, apparently, and there’s a karaoke bar the next town over. So, against all of Nico’s better judgment, the four make their way over there later that evening.

The place is a hole in the wall - dingy and nearly empty mid-week, allowing Will and Sam mostly free rein over the small stage. Nico is opposed to karaoke on a spiritual level, and Magnus begs off too, claiming he can’t carry a tune in a bucket.

Magnus and Nico have a beer apiece, but otherwise they all stick to soda, Will in particular fervently refusing any and all alcohol, citing slippery slopes. But he and Sam seem to have a certain effect on each other regardless, exponential and escalating, and by the end of the evening Nico thinks Will’s nearly as giddy as he was after four shots a few nights earlier. Nevertheless, he’s steady as they head back to their rooms at the end of the night, and they make plans for an early start the next morning.

::

The four agents meet in the lobby for one last continental breakfast just as the sun’s rising, and an hour later Nico’s easing the car back onto the freeway, heading west.

The quiet in the car is comfortable, wrapped in the freshness and sleepy peace of early morning, a blurry mist hanging over the fields on either side of the highway.

“Have you ever tackled anyone?” Will asks after a few minutes of silence.

Nico glances over, amused. “You mean like Magnus did when they arrested Marcus? Like, in a professional capacity?”

Will laughs. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know - have you ever tackled anyone in a personal capacity?” He quirks an eyebrow at Nico, grinning.

Nico can feel himself blushing. “Fuck off. Yes. A couple of times.”

He glances over at Will, who’s looking intrigued.

“At work,” he adds firmly. “For work.”

Will grins.

“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Nico shrugs, trying to will away the color in his cheeks. “Woke up the next day feeling like I’d fallen down a flight of stairs.”

Will nods thoughtfully. The sun’s properly risen now, a blaze on the horizon in the rear-view mirror. Wordless, Will leans forward in his seat, snagging Nico’s sunglasses from the dash with a crook of his finger and passing them over.

“Why,” Nico asks, “you wanna see if we can find someone for you to tackle, next case?”

Will laughs. “Nah. I don’t think it’s my thing. I can’t imagine it ending well.” There’s silence for another moment. “Did you ever play football?” he asks Nico.

Nico huffs. “Pretty sure no one’s ever asked me that before. Do I look like I’ve ever played football?”

Will shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe? I was just thinking about tackling.”

“I definitely did not. Why, did you?” Will looks like he could have, Nico thinks, with those broad shoulders, a gratifying sturdiness to him.

Will hums. “Not really. Mostly just with my older brothers and my dad. I sucked though. I usually wound up getting heckled. Sent to the sidelines to keep score.”

Will says this lightly enough, but Nico thinks he can hear the hurt under the words. It takes him by surprise, the way it makes his heart ache. Unbidden, his mind conjures a young Will, freckle-faced, tousled curls. Left out and heartsick. It’s hard enough navigating those slights as an adult, Nico knows. As someone with agency and experience.

“I’m sure you weren’t that bad,” Nico offers, not sure what else to say, but wanting to say something.

“Oh no, I definitely was. I didn’t just acquire my clumsiness as an adult.” Will laughs, light and self-deprecating. He falls silent.

Something twinges. Nico casts his mind back over the last week, sifting through his own words and actions. There’s a prickle of guilt when he remembers. “Sorry, I –” Nico clears his throat. “Sorry for teasing you about your… card-shuffling skills,” he says gruffly.

Will laughs, surprised. “Oh. No, it’s okay. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking of that. I don’t blame you, anyway. It was funny.”

But still.

It’s such a small thing, but it feels important to repair. Nico’s quiet for a mile or so, trying to put words to what he wants to say. “Sometimes cops… FBI… it can be kind of an old boys’ club. Which I’m sure you’ve noticed,” Nico tries. It’s a sharp pull in his chest, torn between needing Will to know, and needing Will not to know him.

“It can…” Nico trails off. “In cultures like that there’s that teasing going on where it’s presented as everyone having a laugh together, but really, if you don’t appreciate being the target of a particular joke, there’s no recourse for that.”

Will nods like he sees where Nico’s going with this. “Right. Like schoolyard bullies, all grown up. Everyone else piling on whether they want to or not. Then if you can’t laugh it off, you’re a poor sport.” Will sighs. “Yeah. I felt like that sometimes, as a kid.”

“Like it’s your fault if your feelings get hurt, because you can’t take a joke, right? And it’s not…” Nico frowns, “it’s just not kind. It’s not respectful. I guess what I’m trying to say is that… I never intend to behave that way.”

His face is heating the way it does sometimes when he rambles on about something that’s not directly related to a case. Something too close to home. “So if I ever come across like that, it’s not – it’s never meant to be hurtful. It’s just because I have terrible people skills,” he laughs, thin, too exposed. He wishes for a moment that they were driving back home in the evening, safe under the cover of darkness. “I know I can’t just issue a preemptive blanket apology for whatever idiotic things I might say in the future, but…” he shrugs, out of words.

A furtive glance over at Will shows Nico that same look on his face, the one directed his way when Will discovered two pickles in with his lunch. A smile, soft. A bit more certain now than it was over a foil-wrapped sandwich. Nico’s not sure he understands it. It feels warm in a way he’s sure he doesn’t deserve.

“I know you’re not like that,” Will says, gentle. “I know you weren’t trying to be a jerk.”

“I can be a jerk sometimes,” Nico says, eager to move onto firmer ground, somewhere he’s not in danger of breaking open. “I’m just not that kind of a jerk.”

Will breathes out a laugh. “Good to know. Me either, I hope. I can be too sensitive, I’ve been told.” He gazes out the windshield for a moment. “Maybe we’re the softer side of the FBI.” A quick half-smile twitched towards Nico.

Nico huffs. “That sounds about right.”

“Sam and Magnus too, I think,” Will adds. “I liked working with them.”

Nico nods. “Definitely. Me too. They’re good people.”

Will takes a deep breath, stretching, then reclining his seat by a few inches. There’s a lane closed up ahead, and Nico maneuvers around the barricade, slowing his speed. Neither of them speaks again until they’re past the construction zone and Nico nudges the car back up to speed.

“I was so relieved when you showed up,” Will says suddenly.

“Hmm? When?” Nico’s gaze flicks to the right where Will is systematically dissembling his empty styrofoam coffee cup, tearing off bits of the rim and dropping them inside.

“Last week, I mean.” Will scrunches up his nose. “When you drove out here from DC. I did that autopsy and then… suddenly things weren’t adding up. I felt like I was in way over my head.”

Nico considers this.

“You had it handled though, Will. You knew what to do. You took the lead as soon as I got here, and you saw it right through to the end. They wouldn’t have caught Marcus as quickly if it hadn’t been for you. He would have killed more people.”

Will still looks unsure. “Maybe,” he says after a moment.

“Not maybe,” Nico says, more vehement than he intended. He feels a little sweaty, off-balance.

Is this just how it’s going to be, with Will? Are they going to end every second case with Nico feeling as if he’s had all his internal organs extracted and gently squeezed a few times before they’re set back in place? The stupidest part is that the whole process isn’t nearly as painful as Nico would have expected.

It’s not exactly comfortable. But it’s not bad.

Nico swallows. “Anyway. You weren’t supposed to handle it all on your own. That’s what… that’s what teams are for, and partners. That’s why they pair us up.”

“You’ve been handling it on your own, though,” Will points out. “Isn’t that exactly what you were doing before I got here?”

Nico shrugs, eyes on the road, far too aware of the little space in the car, his heart throbbing in his chest.

He supposes he can contribute one more thing to this heart-to-heart before changing the subject. He hasn’t harassed Will nearly enough for his musical selections on this trip, for instance.

Nico clears his throat. “Yeah. But maybe… maybe I shouldn’t have been.”

December 1998

“This looks interesting. What are you working on?” Nico leans over the coffee table to get a better look at the papers Hazel’s got laid out in piles. It’s late Sunday afternoon and they’ve just finished dissecting Nico’s latest case.

“It is interesting.” Hazel reaches for her laptop. “I’ve been trying to hack into the Zoion Labs database. Last night I almost breached their mainframe. So close. I got booted out at the last second.” She shakes her head sadly. “Frank’s been putting in long hours checking in on their government contacts. We’re pretty sure there’s a story there. We just haven’t quite figured out what it is yet.”

Nico scootches closer to his sister as she pulls up a file. Hazel’s tried to teach him some elementary coding over the years, giving him at least a rudimentary understanding of the document she’s brought up on the screen. She leans back, giving him a chance to make sense of her work. Just then, Nico’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He fishes it out, glancing at the call display.

“Sorry, I need to take this,” he murmurs, jumping up with the phone to his ear. “Hey, thought you said you were taking the whole weekend off.” There’s a pause and then Nico laughs, loud. “I should have sent you straight to voicemail,” he says, his voice light and teasing.

Hazel blinks. There’s more laughter as Nico paces down the back hallway. He’s too far away for her to hear what he’s saying now, but his manner is so unexpected that it stops her in her tracks. Frank appears from the hallway a moment later, a confused expression on his face that Hazel thinks probably mirrors her own.

“Who’s he talking to?” Frank asks when he’s close enough not to be overheard.

Hazel shakes her head. “I have no idea.”

“Is he… seeing someone?” Frank asks. Because yes, that’s exactly what it sounds like.

“I – he hasn’t mentioned anyone.”

Frank sits down in the armchair with his own laptop and they share a glance, giggling. Hazel turns back to her own work, but half her mind is buzzing with questions she’s going to ask Nico the second he returns. The trick, she knows, is not to be too obvious.

Nico’s back a few minutes later, dropping onto the couch again, a half-smile lingering on his face.

Hazel clears her throat and glances over at Frank, who hides his face behind his computer.

“Everything okay?” Hazel asks her brother lightly. She notices Frank roll his eyes in her periphery, a smile tugging at his lips. He clearly knows she’s rather violently holding herself back.

Nico glances up. “Yeah. Why?”

“Just… seemed like an important phone call,” Hazel offers.

Nico shrugs. “Just work stuff.”

“Was it Reyna?” Frank asks and Hazel turns to beam at her boyfriend. Usually he prefers not to get involved in such discussions. She appreciates his support during this difficult time. Frank shakes his head, avoiding her gaze and grinning behind his screen.

Nico laughs, short. “No. Not Reyna.”

“And everything’s okay with Reyna?” Hazel cuts in, unable to help herself. Inquiring minds want to know, okay?

Nico frowns, blinking at his sister. “I think so?”

“Okay, that’s… good to hear,” Hazel says, a little desperate.

Nico tilts his head, clearly lost. He turns and grabs a sheet of paper from the coffee table, scans it for a moment and then holds it out to his sister. “Is this the company you mentioned earlier? Because I think they were involved in a case I was looking into last year.”

Hazel ignores the paper in favor of gazing at her brother, beginning to lose patience.

“What,” Nico asks, bewildered. “Why are you acting weird?”

Frank sighs, stretching out long legs to prop them on the coffee table. “Hazel wants to know who you were talking to,”

Nico blinks. “What, on the phone?”

“Yes, on the phone!” Hazel throws her hands up, exasperated.

“It was just Will – my partner. At work. I told you about him, right?” Nico asks, confused. “The forensic pathologist? The one they assigned to work with me a few months back?”

“Oh. That was Will?”

“Yeah, that was Will.”

“Huh. Interesting,” Hazel says, turning back to her laptop. Frank snorts.

“Okay, what is going on?” Nico laughs, tossing the papers he’d been holding down on the couch next to him.

“Nothing, nothing,” Hazel says breezily, clicking through a document. “Will is a… platonic partner?”

“Hazel, I just said, we work together.”

Hazel finally abandons all pretense. “And that’s all? Because it really sounded like something more than that.”

“What?” Nico laughs. “That’s what all this weirdness is about?” He waves his arms in their general vicinity. “He’s – we work together. He’s my partner. At work. Why would you think – we were talking about work.” Nico’s voice starts to go a bit squeaky, which Hazel privately thinks isn’t really helping his case.

“Work,” Hazel says. “On a Sunday?”

“He had some ideas about a case we were discussing on Friday afternoon. And he just called to get my opinion,” Nico says, defensive.

Hazel continues to gaze at her brother.

“What?” Nico asks again, louder.

“Nothing.” Hazel turns back to her screen.

Nico blinks at her for a moment. “Okay. Fine. Nothing. It is nothing. Tell me more about Zoion. I think I might be able to help. How did you guys first hear about–”

“It really didn’t sound platonic,” Hazel interrupts.

“Well it is,” Nico says, now sounding annoyed.

“Is he cute?” Frank asks unexpectedly from his spot in the corner. Hazel giggles.

And shockingly, like a gift from above, Nico goes completely red. Hazel’s eyes go wide with glee.

“Shut up,” Nico mutters to Hazel when she beams at him. There’s silence for a moment and then Nico groans, throwing himself back against the couch and scrubbing his hands over his face. “Shut up,” he says again when the silence in the room continues.

“Sorry,” Hazel laughs, reaching out to squeeze her brother’s knee. “Sorry for teasing. And prying.”

Nico sighs, his posture softening a bit.

“It’s just that your whole demeanor changed when you started talking to him,” Hazel says gently. “It just surprised us. You sounded really happy. Even Frank noticed.”

“Hey!” protests Frank.

Hazel shrugs. “Sorry, sweetie. You’re just not usually as in tune with that sort of thing.”

Frank looks pensive for a moment then shrugs, conceding.

Nico lets out a long breath. “Thanks for your concern,” he says. “And yeah, we get along really well. Better than I was expecting. But there’s nothing else going on. Okay?”

(chapter 4 here)

Notes:

1. Thanks as always to @rosyredlipstick for the beta! 2. The best thing about posting a chapter is I CAN FINALLY STOP EDITING IT 3. BWAHAHAHAHA 4. As much as I do love writing, I cannot deny that comments are incredibly motivating and I cherish each one 5. Sorry for any medical inaccuracies. I did my best. 6. vampires are up next!

[aech1gwen]

Happy Birthday, Miles!

A short and late birthday story for Miles inspired by my recent post about Miles and Gwen. (Please forgive me for any writing errors, I have not written fanfiction for almost a year now so I might edit this out along the way as I notice any grammatic errors while rereading.)

----

In a familiar rooftop where she had met both the older Morales's, Gwen nervously paces around waiting for her boyfriend to arrive, her heart drumming a fast rhythm as she rethink this whole surprise. Yesterday evening, she had shared this idea with Mrs. Morales who of course, had wholeheartedly supported it and even thanked her for being such a caring lover for Miles. And now, she can't help be more anxious about Miles's reaction.

She knows she shouldn't pressure herself, besides who was she kidding, this is Miles Morales that she's thinking about. The sweetest and kindest man she had known her entire life, a man with the purest of heart who without hesitation would risk himself for others. Gwen knows that anything she gives him is something he'll cherish for on and on. Which is why, she wanted to give him an evening dedicated to just the both of them, an evening where they can lay under the stars and just be Miles and Gwen instead of Spider-Man and Spider-Woman.

 

---

In the early sunrise that day, Miles was woken up by the softest melody from a piano being played in his dorm. It was one he didn't recognize, a lovely lullaby of piano keys played together that he could tell was professionally and gracefully played. With how gratifying the music was, Miles had almost fallen back asleep until he realizes that he doesn't have a piano in his dorm and Ganke doesn't play one..

 

So how in the?

 

He begins sit up from his bed, carefully listening to music while slowly reaching up to the door then finally hears words, lyrics rather being sung and he had immediately recognized that comforting and gentle voice.

 

I never thought you'd be the one / To hold my heart / I never knew I'd think of you / Each time that we're apart.

Gwen? Miles peeks outside his dorm room to find his lovely girlfriend gracefully playing a massive piano (how it got there? he'll have to ask later) with her sitting down with her eyes closed but her body facing towards Miles's room. He stares in marvel at the scenery in front of him, completely awestruck with how captivating and pretty she looks playing and singing a the same time. He steps closer to her hoping to get a better hearing and look. The girl smiles in recognizing the boy's footsteps but she doesn't open her eyes yet, her fingers pressing on to the black and white keys with so much grace.

 

Each Day / I'll be the one missing your face / And all that you are / Save me / I promise I'd stay here by your side / And I know from the start.

Then as she begins to play the chorus she opens her eyes only to be greeted by a lovestruck Miles Morales, beaming at her breathtaking little concert and carefully listening to the lyrics. Their eyes met and Miles's smile grew even more as his heart beats to the slow rhythm of the piano. He hummed along with her and she continues on to sing softly whilst Miles just stares and listens. Her eyes fall back to the piano when she finally hits the last chorus. The dorm becomes a stage in the eyes of the birthday boy, he is the audience and she is the performer, the art, the star.

Miles is more focused on the lyrics and the unfamiliar song. Had Gwen recommended this to her yet? Or is it an original piece? Whatever the answer is, Miles felt that she was not merely singing for him but for everything they are.

 

When you're here I realized / I'll be the one to testify / Baby / Say that you're mine tonight.

 

Gwen had ended the song with one last key, looking back at the young man who had stars in his eyes and a gentle smile on his lips, she beams back at him chuckling at how adorable he looked. "Happy Birthday, Miles." she whispers in the most loving way imaginable.

Ignorant on his surroundings, he flinched at the shout of a "HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" from behind him, now noticing the other people in the room carrying a little SpiderMan cake with candles lit up. A soft laughter produces out of Gwen at Miles's reaction while he examines them all and saw that both his close friends from the Spider Society and his family had all gathered up here today to surprise him with big smiles on their faces and presents on their hands. He instantly began to burst into tears his mom runs over to embrace him whilst peppering kisses on his cheeks and forehead.

He started to thank everyone for being here with him on his birthday especially his Spider friends. Hobie comes up to him and greets him with a pat on his head, telling him that it was Gwen's idea to have everyone come over and celebrate with Miles for his 16th birthday. "I thought you'd love the idea of having them all with you on your special day," Gwen clarifies, finally standing up from the piano to stride closer to Miles, "they are important to you after all." she finishes.

Miles smiles adoringly at her while also taking in on what she's wearing now that she has stood up fully for him to admire her clothing. "Thank you so much, mi preciosa. You look very gorgeous in that dress, it suits you a lot." Miles compliments, taking Gwen in to give her a massive hug after he was done admiring her look. A moment later, they head back to the Morales's apartment and had started to celebrate. Miles glances around to see his other relatives on the rooftop with magical decorations that drove Miles to burst into tears again. They really had planned this so well. This was most definitely his best birthday yet.  

With his spider friends all dressed in casual clothes to blend in with the crowd while thel had the time of their lives, his parents and relatives coming to him to greet and blab short about how he's matured so much, his mom embarrassingly taking out baby photos of hin to show to his friends as he tries to stop her (he failed), and how Gwen had went with him to his Uncle Aaron's burial to pay respect. The sky becomes dark and his friends had decided to call it a night going back home to their dimensions.

 

Gwen had also excused herself but explained that she'll be right back to grab something from her dimension. She gives Miles a quick peck on the lips and leaves in a rush which brought in a doubtful look on Miles. While waiting for Gwen, he used his time to spend it with his parents chatting about his life as Spiderman and that even though they were terrified of the responsibility and danger, they were proud of him for trusting them and being honest with them.

And honestly, Miles was content with what he has.

After the events of what transpired, he had become more confident about himself. Sure, it did take a while to bring back into his spirit when Miguel had ruined him so badly on both his mental and physical health, but he has his loved ones who had wholeheartedly supported his decisions and everything that he is.

Of course, it also did take a period of time for him to trust his friends again. Gwen had almost.. almost fallen to her fate like the other Gwen Stacy's. Miles will never forget the day she had suddenly said goodbye and "I'm sorry." out of nowhere making Miles worried when she ran off over to the Green Goblin. Hobie had thankfully warned him about the destiny and tragic deaths of every variants of Gwen which that made him manipulate the canon events in order to save her. 

 

.....just in time..

 

When Miles finally caught her hand, he held onto her, clinging like onto her and pulling her close to his chest yet still somehow not close enough for him. He embraced her so close as if she'll really disappear if he let go, if he hadn't made it in time, she might have been. A waterfall of tears streaming down his cheeks silently hoping that she would open her eyes.

And she did. Gwen had whispered his name, opening up for Miles to see her beautiful ocean blue eyes as she looks at him in longing, causing Miles to whisper affirmations in Spanish whilst she clings into him, falling back unconscious and in tears. Mrs. Morales saw it happened right before her own eyes, the uncontrollable sobs this Spiderman (which she later finds out is her son) had displayed in horror of losing Gwen. She had offered to help which resulting to Miles turning back to her unmasked revealing his identity. But he didn't care, he was too focused on the unconscious girl in his arms.

 

Her safety became his top priority.

 

Many months of being the only spiderman had ended and he had been greeted by amazing new people he can rely on and talk to about his troubles. He had managed to break his own canon event and Gwen's. They had spoken about it in the hospital, all those pent up sentiments and feels were both let out and heard, hugs and apologies were exchange, then that was the day they had shared their first kiss... It took Gwen by surprise, but Miles had to find a way to stop Gwen's nonstop apologies for what she did and how she doesn't deserve his forgiveness so Miles did what he had always wanted to do since that day at the rooftop.

 

Of course, it may have taken the young girl by surprise but she did return the kiss with much sweetness and softness, falling into their own rhythm and setting up their own pace as they test the waters.

 

"Mi amor, let's go talk to other umm.. spider people," Mrs. Morales closes the door after she takes a peek at the happenings inside, letting her son and Gwen have their moment. "I'm sure you have some questions to ask them." Jeff agrees without hesitation and leaves to check on the others. The moment they come back, both have fallen asleep in each other's embrace, Miles never felt happier that day.

 

---

 

Half an hour had passed and Gwen hasn't come back yet. Miles tries to contact her through his watch, no response. He begins to worry, so he goes out of his room only to be met by his mom who had wanted to him to follow her back to the rooftop. "You'll see, Miles." Rio had gently replied to Miles's constant curious questions. As they got nearer, Rio steps ahead to unlock the entrance for her son to witness the shimmer in his eyes when he saw his one final surprise.

 

On the rooftop was a rows of fairylights hanging above to light up the whole rooftop. He examines more, observing the small sunflower petals scattered all over the floor and leading to a path in front of him. He hasn't noticed yet, his mom left and closed the door whilst his eyes was too busy processing this magical sight in front of him. He took in the amount of detailed decorations everywhere then brings his gaze back to the petals, that leads all the way to a makeshift blanket fort with his one and only girlfriend, sitting on the opening with that familiar delicate smile and her hair gently swaying with the breeze.

 

"Happy Birthday, Bambi." She welcomed him using the nickname she used for him since he had compared him to a baby deer. Although Gwen usually uses the nickname as a taunting joke, but she said it so softly and filled with fondness that Miles cherished the name more than ever.

 

"Gwen!" He ran into her arms resulting to them both tumbling back into the fort, lying down on the soft blankets that wraps the floor with an enormous amount of pillows. He was practically squeezing her out of bliss that Gwen couldn't help but laugh and returning the hug with much energy. A couple of instants after, he shifts away sufficiently just to give her the sweetest kiss on lips, "I don't know how you did this but I adore you even more for it." Miles whispers in astonishment, his face near to Gwen and lays their foreheads on one another, he can see the soft tinge of pink rising up from her neck to her cheeks.

 

"I'm glad but I have 1 more gift for you." Gwen murmured quietly, unhurriedly sitting up with Miles to grab her gift just right underneath a distinctive sunflower pillow with a baby deer's head in the center of the flower.

 

Miles will have to snatch that later.

 

Whatever the gift was, it was small that Gwen had suppressed it in her fist, not a single clue of what's inside. Curious, Miles peeks at Gwen and notices how her cheeks had darken into a pretty shade of pink as she seizes one of his hands and gives him—

 

A USB?

 

"It's not really much but I just thought tha— that you know—"

 

Miles darts back at Gwen, encouraging her to take her time responding even though curiousness is ingesting him up on what this gift is about. "I always noticed how much you love listening to music. So I thought that whilst Miguel starts assigning me into more missions, I wanted to explore each of those dimensions and listen to their music and also gather songs that made me think of you and songs I know you might like." Gwen describes slowly to Miles, he bobs his head and smiles then finally understands what the gift is for.. "And I also added songs I wrote about you in it so you could hear them." she looks away in embarrassment, but she couldn't see how Miles was flustered and in tears.

 

He was complimented at the understanding that Gwen paid attention to these songs and instantly thought of him or figured out that he'd enjoy them. She seized on many assignments just so she could compile this much songs for him to enjoy and listen because it's what he loves. Gwen knew how much music means to him and she collected these all just for him. It was overwhelmingly endearing of her, so precious that he gently grabbed her face and started peppering kisses in every single portion of it, causing Gwen to chuckle in shock. He never felt so lucky to have her.

 

Later that night, Miles had insisted that they both listen to each playlist of songs. Giving their thoughts and feelings about how they felt about it. And as they reached the playlist of songs that were written by his girlfriend, he requested if she could maybe sing it to him instead. Without delay, she did what he had pleaded for and he slowly fell asleep in the warmth and comfort of her voice, Gwen shortly follows suit. In the early morning hours, Rio had gently covered the blanket on both of them and took a quick picture for Miles that now served as his new phone wallpaper. Miles had downloaded the songs onto his phone and would listen to them constantly when Gwen was away, sketching every vision and meaning with a big smile on his face...

The End.

- "He draws the stars in his lover's eyes as they only appear when they're together in each other's company."

- "The melodies were sweet and bright as he was that made her adore him more than ever."

[justforbooks]

Dickey Betts

Guitarist, singer and founding member of the Allman Brothers Band best known for writing their 1973 hit Ramblin’ Man

Dickey Betts, who has died aged 80, was a founder member of the Allman Brothers Band, one of the most influential US “southern rock” groups of the 1970s. The hard-living outfit blazed out of Jacksonville, Florida, in 1969 with a mix of rock, blues, country and jazz that defined the genre, also influencing artists such as Lynyrd Skynyrd, ZZ Top, the Black Crowes and Kid Rock. They scored several platinum and gold albums and were inducted into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

Although the six-piece band was ostensibly led by the blond- haired Allman brothers, Duane and Gregg (guitar and keyboards/vocals respectively), as joint lead guitarist, singer and main songwriter Betts played a crucial role. A larger than life character with his cowboy hats, long moustache and gunslinger good looks, Betts wrote many of the band’s best loved songs, including Jessica, Blue Sky and the 1973 US No 2 smash Ramblin’ Man, inspired by life on the road.

The signature duelling of Betts’s and Duane Allman’s lead guitars rewrote the rule book of how twin guitarists play together - previously one had played lead and the other rhythm. The band’s huge fanbase included President Jimmy Carter, and in 2020 Betts even received the rare accolade of a mention in a Bob Dylan song, when Murder Most Foul contained the line “Play Oscar Peterson, play Stan Getz/Play Blue Sky, play Dickey Betts.”

He was also the inspiration for the rock star character played by Billy Crudup in the former rock journalist Cameron Crowe’s film Almost Famous (2000), the director having been drawn to Betts’s aura of “possible danger and playful recklessness behind his eyes”.

Betts was born in West Palm Beach, Florida, one of the three children of Harold, a carpenter, and his wife, Sarah (nee Brinson), who wrote poetry and played the cornet in a Salvation Army band. Although his father was also a keen fiddler, Dickey’s first instrument was the ukelele, which he started playing aged five, later graduating to the mandolin and the banjo.

He was at West Gate elementary school when he wrote his first song, Seven Years With Pamela, about his sister. He then attended various West Palm Beach schools until seventh grade, dropping out of high school when he was 16, by which time his pursuits included carpentry, hunting and listening to the Grand Ole Opry on the family radio.

Hearing Chuck Berry’s Maybellene in his mid-teens prompted another switch of instrument, as he “started realising that girls like guitars”. He dropped out of high school aged 16 to tour the US with a travelling circus in his first band, the Swinging Saints, but was playing in Second Coming with the bassist Berry Oakley when Duane Allman invited both men to join his new group.

The lineup was completed by the drummer Butch Trucks and – unusually in white-dominated 60s southern rock - a black second drummer, James Lee Johnson, who had previously played with Otis Redding and Percy Sledge.

Although sales of their first two albums were sluggish, Duane Allman’s appearance on Eric Clapton’s 1970 album Layla and Other Assorted Love Songs – which included the classic hit Layla – boosted the heavy-touring Allman Brothers Band’s rising profile. Their 1971 live album At Fillmore East sold 1m copies.

After Duane Allman and Oakley were killed in motorcycle accidents in 1971 and 1972 respectively, Betts led a rejigged lineup. The 1973 album Brothers and Sisters – featuring Ramblin’ Man and the instrumental Jessica, later the theme to the television motoring show Top Gear – topped the US charts for five weeks, while 1975’s Win, Lose Or Draw went into the Top five. By then the band were succumbing to a familiar music industry cocktail of success, drugs, alcohol and feuding.

Betts and Gregg Allman both made solo albums, before Betts felt betrayed when the latter testified against the band’s road manager in a 1976 drugs case and refused to work with him again. Nevertheless, they regrouped in 1978, splitting again in 1982.

A second comeback in 1989 proved more enduring, although in 2000 Betts was fired over his drinking. That third spell in the band had been dogged by alcohol and drug abuse, lawsuits and arrests, and in 1996 he was charged with aggravated domestic assault after pointing a handgun at his fifth wife, Donna (nee Stearns), whom he had married in 1989. The charges were dropped after Betts agreed to enter rehab.

In his later years he returned with his own Dickey Betts Band and played in the band Great Southern with his son Duane. True to his ramblin’ man credentials, he remained on the road to the last, even after brain surgery following a 2018 fall at home, and he released live albums well into his 70s.

He is survived by Donna and his children, Kimberly, Christy, Jessica and Duane.

🔔 Forrest Richard Betts, musician, singer and songwriter, born 12 December 1943; died 18 April 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[dwellordream]

“Like the Christians’ Eve, the Iroquois Sky-Woman had an insatiable desire to satisfy her hunger. At first she sought her husband’s guidance, but in time she struck out on her own. Her curiosity brought her to the sacred tree at the center of the Sky-World--a place where, as she soon discovered, the floor of the sky was very thin. Losing her footing, she slipped through a hole at the tree’s base and fell headlong ‘toward the great ocean far below.’

…Like her Iroquois descendants in North America, this first fallen Sky-Woman farmed the rich earths she created, gathered its fruits, and built a hut upon it to live in. After a time, her pregnancy ran its course and, legend says, she ‘was delivered of a daughter.’ The girl and her mother continued to look after their lands till one day, ‘when the girl had grown to womanhood,’ a man appeared. He stayed only briefly--just long enough to impregnate Sky-Woman’s daughter. When her time to deliver arrived she, like many women during the premodern period, died while giving birth. Her offspring survived: two boys who would come to rule the earth their mother and grandmother had made.

…Every native group had its own account of the world’s beginnings. For the Pueblo of the Southwest, human life began underneath the earth when a woman named Tsichtinako (Thought Woman) nursed two sisters: Iatikyu, the Mother of the Corn clan, and Nautsiti, the Mother of the Sun clan. The Ottawa, an Algonquian-speaking people living in the northern Great Lakes region, traced their origins to a male figure called the Great Hare and his younger brother.

…To the Protestants of New England, the followers of the teachings of the Swiss theologian John Calvin, the devotional practices of the Catholics in New France and the Spanish colonies seemed as alien as those of the Narragansets and Wampanoags who lived among them in Massachusetts and Rhode Island. In turn, the faithful in Virginia and Maryland, who followed the orthodox traditions of the Church of England, considered New England’s Puritans to be overzealous reformers.

…Even in the most physical, tangible sense religion was a constant presence. From the stark clapboard spires that capped New England’s Congregational meeting houses, to the sturdy brick of Virginia’s Anglican churches, to the poles marking the underground kivas in which the Pueblo held sacred rituals, places of worship dotted the landscape. Each and every day, the English villages lining the eastern seaboard would have been alive with the sound of church bells.

…Every part of colonial America had its own rhythms of religious devotion--rhythms that helped women and men make sense of their lives. But nowhere did religion play a greater role than it did in early New England. Almost without exception, the leaders of Massachusetts, Plymouth, Connecticut, New Haven, New Hampshire, and Rhode Island were dissenters from the Church of England.

…No matter whether they enthusiastically supported or dared to question the Puritan mission, all law-abiding New Englanders gathered in their local meetinghouses every Sunday, and often once during the week as well, to hear their preacher expound upon scripture. One perennially popular sermon topic was the nature of women. Between 1668 and 1735, women’s lives were the subject of no fewer than 75 printed treatises. Some of these tracts were funeral sermons that eulogized an especially pious female parishioner; others were more general “how-to” homilies dealing with marriage or mothering.

…Pious women were praised by ministers and neighbors alike. If they resembled any Old Testament figure, it was the industrious Bathsheba (the ‘virtuous woman’ described in Proverbs 31:10-31) rather than the perfidious Eve. Where Eve tempted, persuaded, and seduced, Bathsheba planted, prayed, and spun. Her every word testified to a womanly brand of piety: faith tempered with respectful submission. More than one New England minister echoed these verses from Proverbs, exalting the woman who ‘openeth her mouth with wisdom…in her tongue is the law of kindness.’ As the biblical passage suggested, such well-spoken women were indeed more priceless than rubies.

…In fact, New England’s ‘virtuous women’ may have been even more devoted to religious practice than their husbands and fathers. At the very least they were more dedicated churchgoers. At first, men and women joined the churches in equal numbers. Within a generation, however, women outnumbered men in many if not most of the churches in Massachusetts and Connecticut. By the mid-1700s, women comprised nearly three-quarters of many congregations.

…One of the more radical groups in the entire spectrum of dissenting English Protestantism, the Quakers granted female believers an extraordinary degree of autonomy and equality. …Converts of both sexes were encouraged to preach about their religious experiences, and one of the movement’s early and most prominent leaders was an English wife and mother, Margaret Fell. …Where Quaker women were concerned, Massachusetts authorities made the links between female preaching, rejecting ministers’ teachings, and worshiping the devil even more explicit.

…Black women and men brought a very different set of religious beliefs to the southern colonies. Their traditions concerning the supernatural were as diverse as the many African peoples from which they came. There were, however, important common threads; most West Africans believed in more than one God and made the veneration of ancestors an important part of their worship ceremonies.

…Until the 1730s, southern whites made little effort to convert their slaves to Christianity. But in the late 18th century, evangelical sects such as the Methodists and the Baptists appealed to blacks and poor whites alike. …Call-and-response hymn singing and joyful shouting are examples of African forms that influenced the style of worship practiced by both whites and blacks in many southern denominations.”

Jane Kamensky, “Daughters of Eve, Daughters of Zion: Women and Religion” in The Colonial Mosaic: American Women, 1600-1760

[nightswithkookmin]

SET ME FREE REVIEW #1

I said I wasn't going to write a review so I'm not writing one. This is just a commentary. Take a deep breathe, unclench your jaw amd brace yourself for this ride.

I want to start off by saying, admiting, and testifying that Jimin is a genius point blank period. His creativity, his duality, his delivery and execution in every single art work is an attestation to this fact.

If ever his ingenuity was in question, Set me free sets the record straight. It is only Park Jimin that can dare to assemble such imposing sounds, competing talents, daunting expanse and fine rhythm in one room under the single gaze of an equally brilliant director and not get lost in all that magical mashups.

The song is huge. BTS level huge. And for him to attempt to take on a song that takes 7 brilliant minds of our generation, him included, with varying vocal skills and talent- I must say, Jimin has some big balls on him and I respect him for that.

When I tell you my mind is blown, it is.

The song reminds me so much of BTS and everyone seems to agree. However when they say it's a nod to the group I disagree. I'll explain in a minute.

He draws on familiar elements and artistic devices that's signature to BTS as a group thus infusing among other things, nostalgia and that feeling of excellence and excitement we associate with BTS.

But that was the plan all along wasn't it? To show you he is not afraid take on a big shark like BTS or even to be compared to the brilliance of the group? Namjoon told us in words, Jimin just walked the talk.

I don't think this is a nod to BTS however. Because then we have to ask ourselves, is Jimin celebrating the band or has the band been celebrating Jimin all along.

This is bringing to light the artistic inspiration behind the creation of almost all BTS' master pieces. It's jimin. It's always been Jimin, the choreography, the beat, the visuals- everything has been inspired or created around him and his capabilities. The group has always leaned into his strengths in that way. It's why he transitions so well into it even as Solo.

Blackswan comes to mind. The stunning visuals, the contemporary dance styles, the concepts- everything was woven around Jimin. There are pieces of him intricately woven into the fabrics of BTS.

You can't have BTS without Jimin.

He is the secret ingredient that spiced up the group and this master piece of an MV shows it.

It makes sense to say there are songs that were made for BTS with Jimin in mind, choreographies inspired by him and that played to his strengths and uniqueness too.

It's why people accused him of being Hybe's favorite or the director's pet. The writing was on the wall.

Does this mean the others suck?

Yes.

I'm kidding😆

If you want to look at the strength of BTS you only have to look at the strength of the individual parts that make up BTS. From Namjoon's lyrical intellect, Hobi's versatility, Suga's unmatched flow, to even Tae's radiance- you cannot dispute that these men rose not by luck but by substance.

I used to think their Solo phase was them moving apart and away from their shared identity but now I think its the phase for each of them to model and strut across the biggest runway to show the world what they each bring to the golden table that is BTS. It's not a competition among themselves. Not at all. It's a review and examination of the parts that make up the whole and they all have something to prove.

And by Odin's beard, THEY WILL PROVE THEMSELVES. EACH AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM. IT'S IN THEIR BLOOD. IT'S THE BANGTAN SPIRIT.

He killed it.

He delivered.

Part two will focus more on the themes, visuals and vocal delivery. Look forward to it.

Hashtag drinking Hennessy. I saw what you did there Jimin. And if you read my blogs closely you'll see what I'm getting at.

Cheers Jimin 🍻

YOU DID IT