#This is why Neil gets his hair played with the way he likes

[jtl-fics]

Brain science anon here

As an apology consider twinyards fluff...

Aaron learning about this is in class (Like I just did) and finally understanding Andrew a little better. Do you think he’d share this tidbit with Andrew? Would it be a conversation where Andrew decides to give a truth about his past to Aaron, telling him what happened? Would Aaron share it with the rest of the foxes (with Andrew’s blessing aka “do whatever you want” type answer when asked if it was okay) when someone starts to rag on Andrew about it, in defense of his brother? Just think of all the internal growth Aaron goes through when he realizes it’s not his fault. What else does he start to rethink and relearn about Andrew? How much closer do you think they get when Aaron realizes it's not out of animosity that Andrew acts the way he does.

I now only accept apologies by way of sweet Twinyard HCs.

Maybe Aaron finds this out and maybe he finds himself watching his brother more. Maybe he starts noticing how sometimes when Andrew is sat with Josten Andrew's eyes are warm and bright and content.

Maybe he listens to what Andrew says and sees what Andrew does more than the way Andrew says it.

I think Aaron would hold onto the information for a while. Maybe just a little bit because he doesn't know how Andrew will react to him going 'you're actually brain damaged not an asshole', maybe it's shame that he had thought his brother a monster, and maybe...maybe it's Aaron wanting to hold onto something only he knows about his brother (eat it Josten).

Then he hears Matt shit talking how Andrew will never make Neil feel loved with the way he talks.

Aaron's been watching, he is DEEPLY aware of his brother's feelings towards Josten, and has unfortunately seen his brother make those feelings quite clear even if his voice never gave anything more than 'phone book read' energy. Josten never needed to know about Andrew's brain damage to understand what Andrew means and realizing that makes him hoarding the information feel stupid (fuck off Josten).

He wants to say something but he did just take that whole 'patient-client confidentiality' ethics bit so he thinks twice. He stands up and goes to see Andrew.

Andrew and Josten are on the couch. Josten's asleep on Andrew's lap, it's domestic in a way that he's learning Andrew can be, and Andrew gives him a look.

Aaron knows if he wakes Josten up this conversation will go worse, "I took a course on brain injuries. I think you damaged your Broca’s area and Wernicke’s area and that's why your voice is like that." he says and Andrew blinks, "Did you ever...did any of them ever...hit your head really hard. Especially on the right side?" and Andrew's silent stare gives no clues but the way his hand curls in Josten's hair like he's the asshole is a preferred teddy bear. "When people bitch about how you can't emote in your speech can I tell them to shut the fuck up?" he asks.

"Do what you want." Andrew says with a shrug.

Aaron pauses before he leaves, "I...I don't think there's anything to fix-"

"I don't need to be fixed." Andrew returns and Aaron sees as Andrew traces his fingers along Josten's burn scar.

Aaron gets the impression that the only person Andrew needs to understand his emotions already does.

It doesn't bother him as much as it would have before he had started watching.

He shuts the door quietly and returns to his own dorm room to slam the door open. He points at Matt who is trying to to choke on the fig newton he'd been in the middle of chewing, "FIRST OF ALL-"

[ingravinoveritas]

Lovely new article about Michael in Paste magazine. Article is behind a paywall, so here is a transcription (with thanks to the person on FB who transcribed it, and the parts in bold are my own emphasis).

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

I love this so much. The thoroughly well-deserved praise for Michael's incredible performance as Aziraphale, but also that Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship is specifically described as a "romance." And of course, the first sentence of the last paragraph that acknowledges how much Michael and David are indeed a "matched set" that cannot (and should not) be separated...

[dstryvampres]

this idea for a one shot came to my mind, so, neil is the type of guy who would invite a reader to show her his collection of anything and wouldn't see any subtext in it "hey why are you naked???" (he finally gives in and she fucks him hard lol)

Drain You

THIS IS SUCH A FUNNY PROMPT !!!! honestly, you’re right he’s just the man to do that.

Pairing: Neil Lewis x Reader

Warnings: smut, p in v, creampie, unprotected sex, neil is stupid, very brief nipple play, Neil bites you like once

Word Count: 1.9k

For weeks you had been trying to hint to Neil Lewis that you were into him, like really into him, and each time he would miss it completely. It seemed to him your weeks of walking into Gumshoe wearing the shortest skirts you owned and bending down in front of him so he could get a glimpse of the panties you picked out that morning, or wearing shirts that show an unnecessary amount of cleavage and then pressing your breasts into Neil meant nothing to him. You thought he would finally get the hint when you went over to his house and picked out a DVD from his porno collection, but he immediately redirected you to some stupid noir film. Neil makes you want to rip your hair out, how can a man miss an opportunity that has essentially been served to him on a silver platter. The most this man has given you has been a makeout session in the back of Gumshoe that stopped before you could even start feeling him up.

So now here you are, standing in front of the mirror applying a final coat of mascara to both of your eyes before Neil shows up in a last ditch effort for him to finally understand that you just want to fuck him. Tonight you plan to make absolutely none of your gestures able to be interpreted as anything other than the burning need for you to be dicked down by the loser who owns the indie DVD rental place.

The doorbell rings.

You rush over to the door to your apartment from your room, almost tripping on the hardwood due to a mix of your speed and socks lack of grip. Patting down the pink, almost see-through, and overly short dress you decided to slip on tonight, before opening the door.

“Hello,” Neil greets, a bottle of red in his hands.

He seemed to not pick-up on the fact that you thought this was a date just by his clothes alone. A Neil classic outfit of a wife pleaser underneath a short sleeve green button-up and jeans, in stark contrast to your own outfit curated to make yourself irresistible. It was nothing offensive, but it wasn’t like he was going out of his way to look his best tonight either, coming in the clothes he likely wore to work today. 

“Come in,” you say, moving over to the side and prying the door open a little more.

Neil takes your invite, slipping off his shoes before looking around. Taking in your apartment like he hasn’t been here before.

“I’m always amazed by how you keep your place so clean,” Neil jokes, following you into your living room.

“Thank you,” you purr, taking the bottle of red from him and placing it on the coffee table, extending yourself a little more than needed in order to expose the bottom of your ass to him.

You want to pounce on Neil as you catch him, out of the corner of your eye, staring at your ass as he drops himself onto your couch. Instead you settle on sitting right beside him, pressing yourself up against his side.

“Do you still have that new wave film I brought here last time?” Neil asks.

Fuck, he just can’t get a hint.

“I think so.” You do not want to watch that stupid fucking new wave film.

“Perfect!” Neil cheers, “Can you go get it? I’ll pour us some wine.”

You turn your head and frown before getting up and going through your DVD collection. Honestly at this rate you’re not even sure if Neil has a sex drive, all he ever wants to do is watch movies and talk about them. If this was any other man you would’ve already had your panties around your ankles. There it is. You insert it into the DVD player and walk back over to the couch, situating yourself a tiny bit further from Neil than before. He doesn’t seem to care, wine glass in his hand, taking a small sip before setting it down.

“This film is really amazing, it details a young criminal waiting out in Paris for fate to catch up with him,” Neil starts as the opening sequence starts up. You barely listen to the rest of his rambling, too focused on the way his lips form the words than the actual words. 

Eventually Neil shuts up, just smiling at you for a couple seconds before turning his attention towards the film. You do the same, not like you care at all for anything being said. The whole things in French and you’re way too hot and bothered by the build up of wanting to be fucked for weeks on end to read the captions. The movie is boring, and you don’t understand anything, resorting to entertaining yourself by drinking and ogling Neil. You have to fuck this man tonight, or you’re sure you’ll go crazy.

“Neil,” you whine out halfway through the film, only earning a hum in response. “I want to show you something in my room, I was going to do it later but…”

“Yeah? We can do that. Like now or after the movie is done?” Neil asks, turning his attention to you.

“Now.”

You get up, grabbing Neil’s hand and leading him over to your bedroom. You let go of his hand as soon as you step into your bedroom, already feeling your wetness on your thighs.

“What did you want to show me?” Neil asks, smiling a little bit. He’s so stupid.

“Look at the bookshelf behind you,” you suggest.

He actually turns around, looking at the trinkets, books, and CDs you have accumulating on your shelves. Maybe he comments on the vast amount of objects you have gathered in your room, you don’t really care all that much as you slip your dress and bra off.

“What in particular did you want to show-” Neil turns around, cutting himself off as he finds you bare beside your lacy pink panties and socks. “Why are you naked?”

Neil’s eyes rake over your body with hesitation, taking everything in slowly. By the time his eyes reach your panties he audibly gulps. You can't help but smile, slowly walking over to him and placing his hand over your clothed cunt.

“Neil, I want you to fuck me,” you state, looking into his eyes. His pupils, already wide from both how dimly lit the room is and also from your previous actions, grow once again.

He stands there, dumbfounded, before diving in to kiss you. Lips pressing onto yours, as he pushes you back into your bed. He slips his tongue into your mouth as his hands find your breasts, massaging them gently. He moans into your mouth, hips rutting into yours. You feel his hard-on straining inside of his jeans. You rake your nails on his clothed back, causing him to hiss out slightly.

You reach down to take off Neil’s wife pleaser, having to break away from the kiss to fully get both the button-up and wife pleaser off. Reaching your hands out over his chest to finally feel his bare skin, then bringing him down into a kiss to press his bare chest into yours. The sensation making you moan out. Neil takes the small break from your lips to trail kisses down your neck towards your breasts. Leaving feather light kisses in between your breasts before, trailing over to one of your nipples. He laps his tongue over the bud before slipping it into his mouth and sucking on it. You sigh out, lacing your fingers into his hair and wrapping your legs around his waist.

“I’ve waited so long, please, just touch me,” you sigh out, bucking your hips up into Neil’s.

Neil detaches his lips from your nipple, the remaining spit heightening the chill of the air causing you to whine out. He kisses down from your breasts to just above your panties, hooking his finger into the lining and dragging it down your hips. He hums at the sight of your cunt, slick and warm, just for him. Kissing your clit before stepping away and taking off his pants and boxers. His cock springs out, slapping his stomach. It's not the biggest cock you’ve had, but it’s still above average and, if you might add, quite cute. You don’t get much time to admire his dick before he’s climbing on top of you and leading you back into another heated, sloppy kiss.

Neil gathers your wetness up on the tip of his cock, slipping his tip up and down your folds teasingly. It’s not like he knows just how long you’ve been waiting for him to finally fuck you(3 weeks and 2 days to be exact), but he could spare the teasing just for a second. You whine out, moving so the tip of his cock catches on the sopping wet opening to your cunt. Just that alone is enough for you to moan out and clench around nothing, digging your nails into his biceps.

Neil breaks away from the kiss, lining up his cock with your cunt, and watches himself push into you. You could cum just from the initial intrusion alone, having to squeeze your eyes shut and bite your lip to stop yourself from doing so.

“You take me so well baby,” Neil whispers, coming back to leave sloppy open mouthed kisses on your neck.

Neil pulls out before pushing in again. Fuck, is loser cock good. It was worth listening to all that useless, benign movie knowledge for three weeks for this. His cock stretches you out, wide. Everytime he pulls out of you so he can push back in, you can feel your insides pulse with desire. When he pushes into you, his cock rubs along the sweet spot in your cunt, making you whine out with each thrust. 

Neil’s hands come back to your nipples, taking turns tweaking and pinching them as he fucks into you. Your eyes roll back into your skull as he starts to speed up.

“I can’t believe I waited this long to fuck you,” Neil whines out, his breath tickling the juncture of your neck.

You’re telling me.

Neil’s hands trace down from your breasts to your hips, stabling himself out with his grip there before increasing the speed of his thrusts. He’s going to cum soon if the erratic pace of his thrusts is anything to go off of. He leads one of his hands down to your clit, tracing circles into the nerve with his thumb. 

“Where can I cum?” Neil asks, breath hitching briefly.

“Inside,” you moan out, wrapping your arms around him to claw at his back.

Neil mumbles a quick fuck under his breath, before biting down on your neck.

In mere seconds you're cumming around his cock. Letting out a loud moan, clawing into Neil’s back so hard you’re surprised he doesn’t start bleeding. He follows shortly after, burying himself balls deep into you before spurting his hot cum inside of you. You squeeze his cock with your velvety walls, milking his cock, before you’re both finally coming down from your highs.

Neil pulls out of your cunt, and drops down on the bed beside you. His cum dribbles out of your cunt, but it seems you are both too spent to care. Neil lightly brushes some hair out of your face before pulling you into him.

“I’ve been trying to get you to fuck me for over a month,” you say, closing your eyes and burying yourself into Neil’s chest.

“Really!? I thought you were just being friendly with me, and cared about the movies I showed you,” Neil says, genuine shock in his voice.

You start to laugh, because you never thought a man could be so oblivious. Neil eventually starts laughing too. Both of you are now laughing at just how clueless Neil is.

taglist: @paradiseprincesss @luluartpop

[hanahanumana]

From AnaMaria Abramovic on Fb

Paste magazine has done an article about Michael and how underrated he is in Good Omens and I found a transcript since it's behind a paywall. Here's the link if anyone wants to subscribe. 💙

https://www.pastemagazine.com/tv/amazon-prime-video/good-omens-michael-sheen-underrated-performance-explained-streaming

There’s so much to love about Prime Video’s Good Omens. A delightful adaptation of the popular Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett novel of the same name, the series is romantic, thoughtful, hilarious, and heartfelt by turns. The story of the almost-apocalypse and what comes afterward, it wrestles with big concepts like destiny, free will, and forgiveness, all framed through the lens of an unorthodox relationship between an angel and a demon whose love for one another is a key to saving the world.

As anyone who has watched Good Omens already knows, nothing about this series works without the pair of lead performances at its center. Stars David Tennant and Michael Sheen—who play the demon Crowley and the angel Aziraphale, respectively—have the kind of lighting-in-a-bottle chemistry that’s the stuff of legend, and their characters’ every interaction conveys both their deep affection for one another and the Earth they’ve made their home. Their romance is the emotional linchpin around which most of the series turns, and their heartbreaking separation in the Season 2 finale is so devastating precisely because we’ve seen how necessary the two are to each other’s lives.

But it’s Sheen’s performance in that final scene that really twists the knife. As Aziraphale’s face crumples following his and Crowley’s long-awaited kiss, the actor manages to convey what feels like every possible human emotion in the span of less than thirty seconds as the angel realizes what he has both had and just lost. The moment is emotionally brutal to watch, particularly after sitting through five and a half episodes of Aziraphale looking as lovestruck as the lead in any rom-com. Sheen makes it all look effortless, shifting from giddy joy to devastated longing and everything in between, and we really don’t talk enough about how powerful and underrated his work in this series truly is.

Though he’s half of the central duo that makes Good Omens tick, Sheen’s role often tends to get overshadowed by his co-star’s. It’s not difficult to see why, given that Tennant gets to spend most of the show swanning around in tight trousers looking like the Platonic ideal of the charming bad boy, complete with flaming red hair and dramatic eyewear. Tennant also benefits from Crowley’s much more sympathetic emotional arc. I mean, it’s hard not to love a cynical demon with a heart of gold who’s been pining after his angelic best friend for literal millennia even after being cast out from Heaven. Of course, viewers are drawn to that—likely a lot more easily than the story of an angel who’s simply trying the best he can to do the right thing as he wrestles with his role in God’s Ineffable Plan. Plus, let’s be real, Tennant’s sizeable Doctor Who fanbase certainly doesn’t hurt his character’s popularity.

As a performer, Sheen has a long history of playing both real people (Tony Blair, David Frost, Brian Clough) and offbeat villains (Prodigal Son’s Martin Whitly, Underworld’s Lucian, the Twilight Saga’s Aro). In some ways, the role of a fussy, bookish angel is playing more than a bit against type for him—Gaiman himself has said he originally intended for Sheen to be Crowley—but in his capable hands, Aziraphale becomes something much more than a simple avatar for the forces of Good (or even of God, for that matter). With a soft demeanor and a positively blinding smile, Sheen’s take on the character consistently radiates warmth and goodness, even as it contains surprisingly hidden depths. The former guardian of the Eastern Gate of Eden who gifted a fleeing Adam and Eve his flaming sword and befriended the Serpent who caused their Fall, Azirphale isn’t a particularly conventional angel. He enjoys all-too-human indulgences like food and wine, runs a Hoarders-esque bookshop that never seems to sell anything, and spends most of his time making heart eyes at the being that’s meant to be his hereditary adversary.

Given the much more difficult task of playing the literal angel to Tennant’s charming devil, Sheen must find a way to make ideas like goodness and forgiveness as interesting and fun to watch as their darker counterparts. It’s a generally thankless task, but one that Sheen tackles with gusto, particularly in the series’ second season, as Good Omens explores Aziraphale’s slowly evolving idea of what he can and cannot accept in terms of being a soldier of Heaven. His growing understanding that the truth of creation is colored in shades of grey and compromise is often conveyed through little more than Sheen’s deftly shifting expressions and body language.

Our pop culture consistently struggles to portray the idea of goodness as something compelling or worth watching. Explicitly “good” characters, particularly those who are religiously coded, are frequently treated as the butt of some sort of unspoken joke they aren’t in on, used to underline the idea that faith is a form of naivety or that kindness is somehow a weakness. For a lot of people, the entire concept of turning the other cheek is a sucker’s bet, and believing in something greater than oneself, be it a higher power or a sense of purpose, is a waste of time. But Good Omens is a story grounded in the idea that faith, hope, and love—for one another, God, and the entire world—are active verbs. And nowhere is that more apparent than in Sheen’s characterization of the soft angel whose old-fashioned waistcoats mask a spine of steel and who refuses to give up—on Crowley, on humanity, or on the idea that Heaven is still something that can be saved.

Though he and Tennant have pretty much become a matched set at this point (both on and off-screen), Sheen’s performance has rarely gotten the critical accolades it deserves. (Tennant alone was nominated for a BAFTA for Season 2, and Sheen was categorized as a supporting actor when the series’ competed in the 2019 Saturn Awards.) But it is his quiet strength that holds up so much of the rest of the show around him, and Sheen deserves to be more frequently recognized for it. That he makes it look so easy is just another sign of how good his performance really is.

[smittenmeraki]

I have so many random ideas of Andreil being found out by the media in the strangest ways. My personal fav so far is them going pro and being on different teams. They end up playing against each other and everyone starts to think their rivals because Andrew keeps launching the ball at Neils helmet. After like 7 headshots from across the court Neil swears at him in german something along the lines of "I know you're doing that on purpose quit being a bitch for the sake of your entertainment or I swear I will empty your candy drawer" and of course Andrew's just there with his blank expression leaning on his racket, knowing Neil will forget all about it when they're home. However, all the fans see is Andrew targeting Neil over and over no matter where he is on the court so everyone thinks they hate each other until some weeks later an article is released with pictures of them grocery shopping together. Andrew is in the cart eating candy he hasn't even bought yet while Neil scans the aisle with a hand in Andrews hair. Another picture of them loading everything into the car, Andrew with a hand on Neils waist as he opens the backdoor. The article is titled something like "rivals or lovers : a deep dive into their history" and it brings up points like Andrew protecting Neil from Riko and Neil getting Andrew to shut down the goal with just a few words (ones no one knows), but also points of them shoving each other and getting in each others faces (tbh they were just flirting but from an outside prospective it was violence because they are never normal) all of the fan theories come to a head when Neil gets interviewed.

"What is your thoughts on the rumors about you and Minyard?"

"Rumors?"

"Yes, the ones about you two being teammates turned rivals turned lovers. Many fans are speculating what your relationship is and several articles have become very popular over it."

"We were never rivals??" Neil is absolutely lost at this idea, complete confusion.

"Really? Never once over the years?"

"No? And what articles? I don't understand how this has anything to do with Exy."

"Its about your career in the sense that Andrew Minyard has been a challenge for you." Neil smiles at the idea of Andrew being a challenge. "There was a really big article that shared some photos of you two together at a grocery store. It's rather unusal to see you two in a domestic setting, can you tell us about that? Many are wondering why you shop together." The first photo is pulled up on the big screen and Neil just stares for a moment, unsure of when it was taken.

"1. Its creepy that that was taken without us knowing. 2. I don't know what you want me to tell you, Andrew's not allowed out of the cart because he's a mence to shop with or maybe he refuses to let me go alone because I constantly forget things. Its just normal every day life, same as everyone else. 3. Because we live together?? I still don't see the relevance any this has to Exy. Many spouses go against each others teams, it's a part of being pro's."

"Spouses? So you are confirming you and Minyard are married?"

"Not on paper. Fundamentally yes. I thought this interview was supposed to be about how our season is going?" Neil sits back, baffled but also slightly smug from the look of shock on the interviewers face.

Meanwhile Andrew is at home with the cats eating a tub of ice cream while watching the interview thinking to himself 'yeah, fucking tell her. Noisy ass drama seeker.'

[salfishersface]

Omg I love your writing!! I love all of it so much! Is it okay if you can write a story of sal and fem reader having a argument on her birthday. And afterwards he apologizes and they have a nice night~❤️🥺

I hope you have a nice day and lmk if there's any other way to support!!

Birthday || Sal Fisher

Synopsis - You invite Travis to your birthday party and Sal gets a little jealous.

Warnings - NSFW.

Notes - Characters are aged 18+!

Word Count - 1.6k.

{Caffeinate Me}

You had decided to throw a party to celebrate your birthday and had invited all your friends from Larry to Ash, from Todd, to Neil and others that you had grown to love since high school. But it wouldn’t be a party without your loving boyfriend, Sal. 

You were currently standing in the living room, conversing with some of your guests. Sal’s left arm was wrapped around your waist, holding you close to him as he watched you sip the alcohol drink in your hand when suddenly the doorbell rang. “Expecting some more guests?” Sal asked, looking around to see who was there. 

“Just one more,” you said sheepishly, pulling away from his grasp and heading towards the door. You slowly opened the door to reveal Travis Phelps. He stood there playing with his hands, clearly uncomfortable and confused as to why you had even invited him. Your boyfriend watched from afar as the blonde entered your home, jealousy and rage bubbling in his gut as you hugged the man. “Make yourself at home,” you smiled at Travis, walking over to the dining room table and passing him an alcoholic beverage. “Don’t worry so much, if I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here.” 

Sal’s eyebrows narrowed under his prosthetic. Why would you even invite Travis of all people? He made your high school life miserable! Not to mention the jealousy he was feeling about your hands on another man. When you made your way back over to Sal, he grabbed your arm and dragged you upstairs to your room, slamming the door behind the two of you. “What is he doing here?” Sal snapped, running a hand through his blue hair. 

“Who?” You asked, pretending to be ignorant. 

“You know who,” Sal replied, biting the inside of his cheek. 

“Travis?” You asked. Sal just nodded. “I felt sorry for him. I wanted to invite him so he knew that I didn’t hate him for what he put me through in high school.” 

Sal was pacing back and forth, clearly distressed. “And you hug him… Like that?” 

Your eyes widened at Sal’s words and you realised quickly that he was jealous. “You’re seriously jealous of Travis Phelps?” 

“No,” Sal mumbled, kicking his feet on the floor. “Why would I be jealous of him?” 

“I don’t know Sal, why would you be jealous of him?” You asked. 

“I’m not jealous,” Sal grumbled, looking down at you through the eye-holes in his prosthetic. “Just don’t want my girl touching him like that.”

“Like what?” 

“Like that,” he hissed. 

“You’re not making any sense Sally.” 

Sal walked over to you and placed his hands on your shoulders roughly, gazing into your eyes. “I don’t want him here. I don’t want him anywhere near you.” 

You rolled your eyes and lolled your head back to look at the ceiling, a growl emitting from your throat.  “I’m not sending him home, Sal.”

“Yes. You. Are.” 

“You don’t get to tell me what to do,” you hissed, shrugging his hands off of your shoulders. 

Sal surprised you by taking off his prosthetic roughly and letting it fall onto your bedroom floor. His blue eyes narrowed at you and his scarred lips turned into a frown. “I’ll tell you exactly what to do,” he growled. 

“No you will not,” you said, voice stern. 

“Get on the bed,” Sal snapped, pointing to your bed. 

“Or what?” 

“Or I’ll make you.” With your cheekiness, Sal pushed you onto the bed, his forehead resting against yours as he breathed heavily. “If you’re not going to send him home, I’ll make you scream so loud that everyone gets the message and leaves.” 

Anticipation filled your body and a familiar sensation settled between your legs. You shouldn’t have been getting aroused at his threats, but you couldn’t help it. The thought of everyone hearing you scream Sal’s name had you dripping. The possibilities were endless. “I think you’re too scared,” you tease, a grin on your lips. All thoughts of your silly little argument had left your head. 

His nose bumped against your own and he grinned. “Oh. You think so?” Sal trailed a hand down your body, tucking it into your underwear and slicking his index finger up your slit. “You’re so wet for me already baby,” he hummed in approval. 

“Just the thought of everyone hearing me scream your name,” you mumble, cheeks heating up with embarrassment. “It does something to me.”

“Oh?” Sal asked with a raised eyebrow, his index finger teasing your tight hole. “Is that so?” 

You nodded shyly and hummed, your eyes fluttering closed as Sal slowly inched his index finger inside of you. “Oh God,” you whimpered. 

“Oh pretty baby,” Sal cooed as he bent his head down to catch your neck in a wet kiss. “You’re so fucking tight.” You whimpered again in response as Sal slowly began to move his finger in and out of you, his thumb bumping against your clit with each movement he made. With a few more thrusts, Sal was inserting his middle finger into your tight cunt, stretching you out even more. 

“S-Sal,” you croaked. 

“That’s right baby, say my name,” he growled as he continued to plunge his fingers inside of you. Your hands flew to the bedsheets, gripping them tightly as you felt your orgasm approaching already. Sal must have felt your pussy clench around his fingers as he chuckled lightly and bit down on your neck causing you to moan. “Feel good baby girl?”

“Y-Yes!” You cried out, eyes rolling back into your head. “Sally. I’m gonna cum if you keep doing that!” 

“Cum for me precious,” he cooed, kissing your neck once more and biting just enough to leave a large purple mark that would be visible for days to come. On his command, you felt yourself cumming over his fingers, spraying your underwear that you were still wearing with your juices. Sal grinned and chuckled, admiring the way you squirted at just his fingers alone. “Such a good girl baby. So good for me.” 

“I-I am so good for you Sal so please,” you begged. “Please fuck me.”  

“I’ll fuck you nice and good baby, I promise,” Sal whispered as he quickly unbuttoned his jeans and freeing his cock from his boxers. He was already erect, cock leaking milky pre-cum as he pumped himself vigorously. “Undress yourself,” Sal commanded, watching as you slowly moved to tug down your trousers and soaked panties. He let out a shaky breath as he watched you, biting his bottom lip as he continued to jerk himself off. When your trousers and underwear were off, and in a heap on the floor, Sal immediately jumped on top of you, pressing you down against the mattress as he slicked his cock up your folds. “Stay still baby, this won’t hurt. I promise.” And like that, he slammed into you. You let out a scream of pleasure, eyes widening as he stretched you out good and proper. Tears filled your eyes as Sal began to move against you, giving you no time to adjust to his large length. 

“Sally!” You cried out, back arching slightly off the bed. 

“That’s right, let everyone know who you belong to,” Sal smirked as he thrusted against yours rigorously. His thrusts were relentless, every ounce of jealousy he had felt previously was leaving his body now that he was inside of you.

“Please please please!” You cried out, almost screaming. You bit your bottom lip, suddenly conscious of the noises you were making and Sal just chuckled.  

“Don’t be shy baby,” he whispered, nipping at your collarbone. “Let everyone know, including Travis, that you’re mine.” Sal’s sudden possessiveness sent a shiver down your spine and had you writhing beneath him. “Stay still,” he huffed, slamming against you. 

“Feels too good,” you whimpered, screwing your eyes shut and throwing your head back against the mattress. You felt your second orgasm approaching and your fingers flew to your clit, immediately rubbing circles on your sensitive nub. 

“I feel you clenching around me,” Sal gasped out, hips still smashing against yours. He was a groaning, moaning mess as he continued his pace. His balls smashed against your arse rapidly with each thrust. “Oh God Y/N, yes!” He whispered against your neck. 

“Sal, I’m gonna cum again!” You cried out gleefully, giggling slightly as your orgasm washed over you. Your legs shook violently around Sal’s hips and he stuttered as you contracted around him. 

“Fuck Y/N, I’m cumming baby, I’m cumming,” Sal repeated over and over again as he thrusted deep into you one last time, pumping rope after rope inside of you. 

“Fuck!” You shouted out, wrapping your arms around Sal’s torso and pulling him closer to you. You could feel his cock twitching inside of you as he continued to spill himself into your womb, moaning your name over and over again. 

After a few seconds of sloppy thrusting, Sal’s hips came to a halt and his entire body shivered with pleasure. “Holy shit,” he whispered, laughing slightly. “I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too, Sal,” you smiled as he pressed his lips to yours softly in an all-encompassing kiss. 

“Do you think anyone is still downstairs?”

“The music is pretty loud,” you replied with a shrug. 

“Yeah, but so were you,” Sal poked at you jokingly. 

You rolled your eyes and a light blush covered your cheeks. “Shut up,” you mumbled, burying your face in the sheets next to you. 

“It was hot,” Sal tried to comfort you, but you didn’t believe him. 

“We should head back downstairs,” you say, pushing Sal off of your body and sitting up to grab your trousers and underwear off the floor. 

“Yeah we should, people are probably missing the birthday girl,” Sal cooed, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he dressed his bottom half and picked his prosthetic up off the floor, placing it gently back on his face. “Y/N, I seriously love you. With all my heart.” 

“I love you too, Sally Face.” 

[ash5monster01]

Hiii. Could I request a Neil smut? Maybe it is her first time and he's all soft and sweet? Thanks!

First Time

Pairing: Neil Perry x FemReader

Warnings: 18+, established relationship, smut, readers first time, fluff, dirty talk, p in v, oral, nudity

Summary: it’s your first time and Neil seems like the perfect choice to take your virginity considering how gentle and caring he is.

word count: 2.2k

Masterlist

You had always considered sleeping with someone before marriage. Yet that consideration wasn’t taken lightly. You had swore to yourself that if that was what you decided to do it had to be with someone who was worth it. Which never seemed likely considering Harvard was a big place with a lot of people. Yet somehow amongst all of them you had stumbled upon Neil Perry. Found him studying in library, a sadness to the air around him, but the most genuine eyes you had ever seen. It explained the reason why you had half a mind to even sit next to him in the first place. The rest was history.

You had dated almost the full four years of college and it was no doubt in your mind that he was the one for you. You were going to marry Neil Perry even if it’s the last thing you do. All of this is why you had officially decided you were ready to sleep with him. That and the fact it was getting harder and harder to pull away from him. So when he reaches your dorm room, wearing a ivy green sweater pushed up to his forearms, wire glasses hung low on his nose, and grey sweats, your excuse is you’re only just a girl. A girl with an entire meal for a boyfriend. You’re supposed to be studying but none of your books are open before you’re straddling him on the bed.

“Someone missed me today huh?” he teased with a light squeeze to your waist and you fight everything in you to not roll your hips on top of him.

“I always miss you” you tell him, hands holding yourself up on his firm chest. He had filled out since Freshman year, more meat on his bones, yet just as lean.

“Even when you’re with me?” he asks, hands reaching to remove the readers that were meant for studying he never got too.

“Sometimes, but only if we haven’t talked in a while or were busy doing other things” this sentence has him pulling you down to meet his lips which you happily accept. You can tell he’s surprised when you deepen it but it lasts only a moment until he matches the pace and dares his tongue past your lips.

“I gotta say baby, I’m loving this mood you’re in” he says trying not to sound to breathless when he pulls away and you grin, hands dancing along his chest and to his abdomen.

“What do you say we remove this pesky sweater?” you grin deviously and he raises his eyebrows as your fingers start bunching the fabric up, revealing an expanse of skin. Your mouth practically waters at the happy trail now revealed to you, hair he had also just grown in the last few years of college.

“You sure baby?” he asks but you don’t need to answer because you’re practically lifting him by the sweater to get it over his head, taking the white T-shirt underneath with it too.

“What, want me to remove mine too?” you ask and his mind actually malfunctions for a moment, unsure of how to respond because he truly had only seen you in a bra a few times. He never comes up with a response because now you’re lifting the red Harvard t-shirt above your head and revealing the white lace bra from underneath. He visibly gulps, eyes darting between your chest and face as he tries to comprehend what’s happening.

“Listen, baby. If we start this I’m not sure I’m going to be able to stop. I also have play practice in two hours and it’ll be so much harder leaving knowing I have you in bed like this” Neil tells you and you chuckle.

“Two hours is plenty of time, and you can always come back after” you tell him and his whole face reddens all the way down to his neck.

“You’re being serious, you want to do this?” he says and you nod almost instantly.

“I’ve already made up my mind, the only way I’ll stop now is if you’re not serious about me. I don’t want to do this and then have you leave me behind” you tell him and his face instantly softens towards you, hands pulling your face to his own.

“I’ve been serious about you ever since that day you sat with me in the library” and his confession is enough to make you kiss him again and Neil doesn’t miss the slight roll of your hips. You know you have his attention now based on the way he’s started to harden beneath you, no longer fighting the urge. Just as your tongue darts past his lips you grind against him again which makes him put his hands on your ass, holding you in place because one more movement and he’d be harder than a rock. That’s what you wanted anyway.

After a beat you break apart from his lips, something he protests to but stops when he realizes you’re reaching behind you to unclasp your bra. His throat has gone dry and as much as he feels panic rushing through him it is also paired with excitement. He knows not to stop you again, that you’re on a mission. So he does the only thing he can think of and just watches as the fabric loosens and slides down your shoulders. You don’t have to ask if he likes how you look considering he is now fully hard against your backside.

“It’s okay baby, you can touch me” you whisper to him like it’s your secret. He hesitates only slightly which has you guiding his hands and placing them over each breast. Your nipples harden under his palm which urges him to finally grope. The feeling of his hands and look of awe in his eyes has you grinding against him again. Now lost completely in your touch he leans up and places a nipple in his mouth. Your arms wrap around his neck as a moan bellows from you. Once he has given both breasts his attention you push him back down onto the bed, needing more skin to skin contact. His stomach jumps when you slide off him, shimmying down his body and curling your fingers into his waistband. His pants were tented and he couldn’t believe you were about to pull them off right now. Your lips meet his pelvic bone which makes him gasp.

“Shit, baby. Please” and you know exactly what he means. So you pull the sweatpants along with his boxers down, allowing him to spring free. Your brain short circuits as you look at the sheer size of him. You need to taste him immediately which is why you give no warning when you suck the head of his cock into your mouth. The precum is sweet on your tongue as Neil moans out, hips lifting to find some relief.

Seeing how well he responds you suck as much of him as you can into your mouth. He’s whining needily which urges you in to suck him for all he’s worth. Seeing how hard he has gotten for you has made you so wet you can feel it soaking through your underwear. When it all becomes too much for him he pulls you off, not wanting to finish before pleasuring you. “My turn baby, been dying to taste you for so long now”

Your eyes can barely leave his cock, now covered in your spit and hard against his stomach. It clearly needs attention but he wants to take care of you. So Neil lays you back in his spot, his own hands dipping underneath the fabric of your pants and pulling them down your legs. Neil’s eyes never leave your body as it is fully revealed to him. As much as you want to be shy you know you shouldn’t be based on the way he is looking at you, so you open your legs for him to see. “You’re so wet baby”

“All for you” you tell him and he grins, finger reaching out and sliding through your folds. Your head falls back when it bumps against your clit and Neil smiles before repeating the same action with his tongue. He had imagined how you would taste hundreds of times but this was better. You tasted so much better than anything he could’ve conjured up. Neil is no longer worried about going too far and has started to devour you like a man starved. He’s so good and you are so glad you finally decided to do this. Imagining going back to a life without Neil eating you was a life not worth living.

“Fuck, I need to be inside of you baby” and you nod eagerly, grinning at the slick that covers his chin. He watches as you reach to the bedside table, opening the drawer, and grabbing a condom you had stashed in there. Neil knows now you had been planning this all along. He wastes no time putting it on before lining up at your entrance. Your hands hold his biceps, eagerly waiting the moment he’d break that barrier for you. Officially make you no longer a virgin.

You’re whimpering as he runs his tip through your folds, on the verge of begging him to do something when finally he pushes in only slightly. You wince which makes him freeze. “It’s okay, keep going”

“You sure?” and you nod, holding him close as he slowly moves inside. It doesn’t take long for the pain to turn to pleasure and Neil closes his eyes, trying to think of anything else other than the fact that you were practically sucking him in. Usually the image of Nolan in his underwear did it for him.

“Please move” you whisper and Neil nods feverishly, slowly pulling his hips back before thrusting back into you. You don’t expect the low moan to rattle out of you due to the movement and once it reaches Neil’s ears he finds a quick pace, pumping into you like a man who no longer has anything holding back.

“Shit, you feel so good” Neil doesn’t think he has ever experienced this type of bliss before. There will never again be no better feeling in the world especially because the girl he loves so much is now marked entirely as his. You have no idea about the ring he has stashed away for graduation, and you have no idea he had planned on marrying you since the first day you both met. He would’ve been fine waiting until marriage but for once he finally understands why it was so good to wait for the right person. Yes, sex could be about the feeling but when you love the person you’re experiencing it with it adds an entire layer of pleasure. Charlie never understood that, Neil couldn’t wait to tell him. Charlie deserved this feeling too.

“Baby, I’m so close” you pant out, and Neil smiles as he leans down to kiss you. He can feel the way you clench around him and he knows he won’t last long. So he moves to speed up the process. You gasp the moment his hand meets your clit, and his mouth meets your nipple. Neil may have been a virgin but he also knew Charlie all his life. He was an expert because of his friend by senior year of high school.

The action alone has you coming undone in seconds, clenching around him so tightly Neil’s movements falter for a moment. When you relax into the mattress, a blissed out look on your face, Neil finds himself letting go and finishing right behind you. When his body weight lands on top of you, you can’t help but smile. Your hand meets the back of his head, fingers running through his hair as he kisses your neck.

“I can’t believe you expect me to still go to play practice after this and remember my lines” Neil says which has you giggling in an instant and Neil hisses when you flutter around his dick still buried deep inside of you. Slowly he pulls out, both of you breathing heavily from the action.

“I’m sorry baby, I just couldn’t wait” you tell him and he smiles as he kisses you sweetly.

“I can’t wait to tell Charlie” he says once he pulls away and you roll your eyes at the mention of his friend. One you had only met once or twice on a Winter or Summer break but knew was Neil’s best friend.

“Of course you would say that” you tell him because whenever Neil accomplished anything his first instinct was to always call Charlie. Charlie heard he got the lead in the play before you did. Yet after everything they had been through together, sometimes you just had to deal with it.

“What, he’s my best friend” Neil defends as you just giggle and pull his lips back to your own.

“Yeah well tell him he has to share”

[ninyard]

I would absolutely love to see something about Betsy and Andrew post Easthaven!

a lil snippet of bee and andrews first session after easthaven that i dont want to get long as hell but will probably end up that way anyway??? (tw drake/thanksgiving/easthaven you know the drill)

-

It was a Wednesday, as it had been a thousand times before, and at ten to the hour Betsy thought about her first session with Andrew.

She thought about his humourless laugh, and how he'd dramatically left the room less than twenty minutes into the session. She remembered how he smelled like stale tobacco and smoke, how he smiled at her, and pushed her limits.

Betsy thought about the second time she met Andrew, the third time, the fourth time. How he'd slowly started to crack himself open and let her in, how he'd allowed himself to trust again.

Betsy thought about their last session before the holidays.

Talking about his family had always been a sore spot for Andrew, uncharted territory most of the time, with far too many boundaries and ‘do-not-talk-about’s to be worth exploring further. They had dipped their toes in on a handful of occasions, tense discussions more often than not shut down as soon as Andrew felt the conversation becoming too close.

They’d made progress, that being said - they’d spent that last session before the holidays speaking about one of the last times Andrew had seen his cousin’s family in person. How interested he was in seeing how their dinner would pan out, about how he couldn’t wait to see the look on Neil’s face when he realised what he’d gotten them into.

(Betsy would not forget Neil’s face for quite some time; stoic, unbothered, with blood on his clothes and no emotions other than Andrew, Andrew, Andrew.)

At five minutes to the hour, Andrew swung open the door with a room-shaking bang. Betsy waited for him to sit down, but he stood there for a moment too long, watching her, and only when Betsy fixed her glasses did she see why.

Betsy had never met this Andrew before.

His eyes did not have much behind them, and it startled her to read his emotionless expression. This didn’t even look like him - it looked more like Aaron, the brother who did not speak, who did not sport the same medicated smile that Andrew had for over a year. It didn't take long for her to realise it was the absence of that medicated smile that made him look so wrong; it was as natural on Andrew's face as the clouds were in the sky. Him stepping into her office without it was as if he'd stepped through the door with a new hair colour, or piercing, or a bizarrely colourful outfit he'd never worn before.

“Andrew,” Betsy smiled. At her voice, he shut the door to her office behind him, and made his way over to the couch at the back end of the room. “We’re overdue a few formalities - happy New Year, for a start.”

He didn’t respond while she made their usual cocoas, and so she filled the silence with meaningless chatter, things that she knew he didn’t care about, but were words nonetheless. She got a better look at him as she placed his mug down, and caught his eyes, glued to her, waiting, watching. Perhaps the light was playing tricks on her, but he had subtle yellow marks on the skin of his face where bruises had faded to almost nothing.

“I don’t think it’s what you want to hear but I’ll ask it anyway,” Betsy checked her seat was clear before sitting down. “How are you feeling? It’s really great to see you.”

It was impossible to tell if the pause that followed was Andrew’s hesitation or reluctance. Was he not speaking because he had nothing to say, or because he didn’t know what to say at all? It was not Betsy’s place to fill that silence, either. If any session were important to hand him the reigns, this was it. He had to do this himself.

It was ten minutes, or an hour later before he spoke. “They shouldn’t have called you.”

“When?” Betsy asked after a pause. When he didn’t answer, she continued cautiously, “In Columbia?”

His lack of a response was response enough. His dead stare, his tired eyes emphasised by un-creased cheeks, his smile nothing more than a hard line across his lips.

“They had no choice,” she said, calm and measured. “You know they had to. You know why they had to."

"They shouldn't have."

Betsy had spent over a year trying to understand Andrew, to figure out whether his smile was genuine or chemically manufactured, trying to figure out what he meant when he spoke in riddles. They'd reached a point of understanding, a point in their therapeutic relationship where she could read him well enough to know what he needed her to say. This felt like square one again. This felt like trying to read a completely new patient.

"Why?" Betsy asked, and she tilted her head ever so gently when he looked her way. "What would you have preferred them to do?"

Andrew paused, and was slow to look away before he spoke.

"I don't know."

It was quiet, and there was something else in the room, something in his voice. Something that told Betsy he meant it. He didn't know. He didn't know what had really happened to him, he didn't know who he was anymore, he didn't know why he didn't want them to call the only person who truly understood, because all of it was far too real. Betsy being there only made it official.

"Talk to me," She said, careful not to change her tone, careful to avoid falling back into the typical therapist mode that Andrew had always despised. "Tell me what you're thinking."

Andrew stared at the wall for a moment before finally moving himself into a more comfortable position, taking off his shoes slower than he usually would, tucking them up beneath him on the couch. He shut his eyes for just a second, and then turned his gaze on Betsy.

"Why did you do it?" He asked, and Betsy felt her stomach bottom out. "Why Easthaven?"

"We agreed on it." She said slowly, trying to hide the defensiveness in her voice, trying to hide the fear that an unmedicated Andrew had started to regret his decision to come off them. "I told you why-"

"That's not what I'm asking." He interrupted with a gentle shake of his head.

When they'd spoken about it, it'd been a messy scrapbook page of pasted reasonings and a scribbled out pros and cons list. There were several different truths as to why Betsy pushed for it, a truth that had been hard for others to understand, but a truth that Neil seemed to understand the best.

"Tell me why." She offered. "Why is that something you want me to answer, when you already know?"

"Because I need to hear it without all the noise."

Easthaven had always been the plan - it was difficult to concisely explain the choice as to pull forward Andrew's timeline of events, but it was something Betsy had had to explain over and over again. To her superiors, to the boards in Easthaven, the courts and parole officers that didn't understand it at all. It had been almost hardest to explain it to Andrew himself, bruised and bloody after a night of retraumatisation and a concussion that left him barely able to focus, who's only coping mechanism was to make jokes to cover the fear that he hadn't even been allowed to feel.

Betsy took a deep breath and took off her glasses before saying, "Do you remember laughing?"

Andrew looked away as quickly as the words had left her mouth. She couldn't read his face well enough to tell if he was remembering, or if he couldn't remember at all. It was a silly question though, she thought, knowing how crystal clear Andrew's memory had always been, but perhaps she wondered whether between the haze of withdrawals and events of that night had led his reaction to become somehow buried amongst it all.

Andrew had kept his past a secret for so long, even to her, that he'd nearly given it his own statute of limitations in a way - nothing can be done about it now. Betsy had promised not to pursue any legal action, perhaps against the protocols she was required to follow, for the sake of his honesty way back in the beginning. For the sake of his openness, Betsy was willing to do anything. Andrew had allowed enough time and distance to pass before he handed over even the tiniest of details about the abuse he'd faced as a child. Enough time had passed that he felt as though they were nothing more than stories. Drake would never be in his life again, whether it be for justice or for some sort of closure, so, to him it felt safe to talk about. Any time he'd found his way into a conversation, the son of the mother that could've been, it was obvious how much it bothered Andrew to talk about it; the way his eyes glazed over recounting the details, the way even the mention of his name stilled him as if he were a mannequin on display. But Drake alone was far enough away from the Andrew that sat in her office months beforehand, and he felt like it was okay to divulge the truth.

But against all odds, Drake had come back.

He'd found Andrew, he'd put his hands on him, an adult now, more capable of fighting back, but still in Andrew's eyes he'd won again. It had been funny to him, the night of, that after so many years he'd finally, naively, stupidly allowed himself to feel safe. He had stopped looking over his shoulder each and every night before he got into bed. He had spoken Drake's name freely in a therapeutic setting without fear of repercussion. Yet he had looked him in the eyes again. Yet he'd felt like that child all over again, and years and years of progress were destroyed in an instant.

And Andrew laughed.

A terrible sound, a joke in the face of shock and trauma, a flick of his wrist as if the bruises that circled it were not enough to tell him that this was not to be brushed away. Betsy remembered sitting across from him that night as if it had been only the night before. She remembered the awful sound of his hoarse laugh as well as she remembered the painfully long drive from her sisters home to Columbia. She remembered it almost as well as the foggy conversation she'd had with Abby over the phone.

She looked across that room at him now, his demeanor that of a stranger, and sighed.

Why had she done it?

For him. Anything else was irrelevant - the season, the courts and their mandated recovery timeline, the opinions of anyone who thought they understood. All of it had been for him.

To keep him alive.

To keep him safe.

"I'll tell you," Betsy lifted up the cocoa she'd sat on the table between them, to rest her lips on the warm ceramic. Andrew watched her as she spoke, and she watched his chest rise and fall after a purposeful deep breath. "But Andrew, I need you to let me finish."

[leporinelou]

billy meets andy in fourth grade.

andy’s a year older than the rest of the class and doesn’t ever talk.

billy gets paired with him for a project and andy doesn’t move. billy stands up and calls his name but he still doesn’t turn around.

“andy’s deaf, billy.” ms. mackenzie tells him.

“oh.” billy’s eyes widen. he’s stumped, for a moment. “um. how do i…”

billy trails off. not sure what he wants to ask, exactly.

“just make sure he can read your lips.”

billy nods. he walks over to stand in front of andy and holds out a hand. like he sees adults do. andy raises his eyebrows but takes billy’s hand. shakes it. billy tells him his name and andy smiles.

andy’s taller than billy. most people are but billy still whales on anyone who makes fun of andy. billy’s small, sure. but he’s scrappy.

he’s sitting outside the principals office with mark p’s blood on his knuckles when andy walks past. billy pulls a face and andy laughs.

billy likes it when andy laughs.

andy uses sign language to talk to his sister and his aunt.

teaches billy, when he asks.

billy shows some of it to his mom. teaches her how to tuck her two middle fingers down, index and little finger pointed skyward and thumb sticking out.

“like this?” she asks, forehead creased in concentration.

“uh-huh.” billy smiles. puffs out his chest. proud. “it means ‘i love you.’”

billy’s walking andy home when andy points up at the stars dotting a purple sky. signs pretty. billy walks right into him when he suddenly stops walking.

andy catches billy when he stumbles.

sand shifts beneath billy’s feet as he leans up on his toes to kiss andy. it’s childish. a quick peck, awkward and clumsy. billy doesn’t really know why he did it but andy doesn’t frown or push billy away.

he smiles, instead.

signs pretty again and hugs billy tight.

billy’s mom leaves and neil loses his job. they move away and billy doesn’t see andy again. neil calls him words that didn’t exist in andy’s world.

when billy’s seventeen, neil packs up again. takes him, max and susan to hawkins. neil’s family. and billy.

billy locks eyes with steve harrington across the parking lot in september. gets on his knees and blows him in tina’s parents guest bathroom in october.

steve corners him in the showers after practice the next day. reopens the split on billy’s lip and gets blood all over his own.

they communicate with hands, mostly. grabbing, pushing, pulling. jerking each other off in the backseat of steve’s car. fists come in to play when billy finds steve in a house alone with a bunch of kids, max included.

billy’s bruises are somehow worse a week later and steve tells him to come over that evening. doesn’t ask. just tells.

billy sneers. spits and swears at steve.

rocks on his heels as he waits on the harrington’s doorstep at 9:15.

“you’re late.” steve says.

billy doesn’t say anything. doesn’t need to.

something changes after that. steve fucks billy in his plaid nightmare of a room and drags him to the bathroom to dab at his cuts and scrapes right after.

brushes the backs of his knuckles across bruised ribs and frowns.

billy tugs at his hair and brings their lips together. almost gentle.

it’s too fragile for a name, whatever they have.

it’s summer when billy first mentions andy. billy’s sitting on steve’s bed and steve’s looking at him in the way that he does whenever billy reveals a part of himself. eager to soak it up and bask in it.

billy shows steve how to sign his name. how to say please and thank you, bitch and motherfucker.

“what’s-” steve’s hair has fallen over his forehead and billy reaches out to brush it back. unthinking. “what’s ‘i love you’?”

billy freezes.

his heart pounds. they haven’t- they don’t-

“you sweet on someone, harrington?” teasing is easy and billy’s a coward.

“oh, you know.” steve shrugs and it would be casual if he wasn’t looking at billy like that. “kinda.”

“yeah?” billy looks away. focuses on steve’s boxers which billy knows have been in that exact spot on the floor for the last three days. “anyone i know?”

“you might.”

billy shakes his head, grins. “hot?” he asks.

steve just nods, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he edges his fingers towards billy’s on the comforter until they’re intertwined.

billy opens his mouth but steve leans forward and kisses the next smart ass response right off of his lips. winds long fingers into his hair and steals billy’s breath away.

makes his stomach do flips in that way that only steve can.

billy leaves with a smile on his face.

something crashes into his car on the drive back and everything goes dark.

five months, a ‘mall fire’, a shadow monster and seemingly endless hours stuck in a hospital bed later, billy finds himself in a house straight out of texas chainsaw, standing next to max as everyone debates on what to do next.

billy keeps quiet. doesn’t have much to say these days. he bites at his lower lip before looking across the room at steve.

steve smiles at him. something small and private.

everyone’s talking, no one’s paying attention to them.

steve raises his right hand. tucks his two middle fingers down and points the other two toward the ceiling, thumb sticking out.

billy’s cheeks flush and his heart pounds.

thinks it might jump right out of his chest if he isn’t careful.

his stomach does somersaults and he vows that if they get out of this, he’ll tell steve.

he’ll tell him.

for now he raises his left hand. two fingers down, two up, thumb out.

[sadhours]

Pervy Billy please 🤤🤤🤤

okay okay, here’s a teaser of my upcoming series stuck in the middle with you

billy hargrove x pamela oc!mayfield

cw: 18+ minors dni, perv!billy, stepcest, psuedocest, teasing, groping, dry humping and masturbation

🎀🤍🚬🍦

It’s like the little bitch does it on purpose. Those shorts can barely be classified as such, they’re practically just underwear and she’s prancing around the house like she’s trying to get a rise out of Billy. It’s making him pretty damn bricked up, just trying to enjoy his fucking bowl of Wheaties.

They’re alone. Neil and Susan shopping, like they do most Saturday mornings and Billy’s got no idea where Max is nor does he care. Pamela is doing her chores, pale blonde hair bouncing whenever she reaches down to grab miscellaneous clutter. Thanks to the motion, he also notices she’s not wearing a bra; breasts swaying under her thin cotton shirt. God, her legs are long, he thinks as he skates his eyes up and down them.

Billy’s aware he’s staring. Part of him thinks Pamela wants him to. He shovels another spoonful of cereal in his mouth before dropping the bowl in the sink for Pamela to clean. It’s her chore after all.

He’s got his own chores. Lists them off in his head; fix the leaky faucet in the bathroom, organize the garage, mow the lawn, wack all the weeds and take out the garbage. They can wait, he decides as he keeps his place in the kitchen and watches as his step sister continues on with her chores. Chews on his lip as she uses the scrunchie on her wrist to tie her hair up in a bun. She starts by cleaning off the counters, putting everything back in its place before she takes her place at the sink. A smirk spreads across his lips and he crowds behind her, places his hands on the counter to cage her in.

Pamela tilts her head, doesn’t look at him but exposes her neck like she’s expecting something. Billy takes these movements slow and calculated. He doesn’t want to scare her off, but then again, he’s sure Pamela is playing the same game he is. He laughs, soft as he towers over her. His breath fans over her neck and Pamela’s skin pricks with goosebumps as she wets the sponge. Squirts dish liquid on it before she finally speaks up, “Can I help you?”

Billy purses his lips, closes the gap between Pamela’s ass and his crotch as he tells her, “Just making sure you’re doing a good job is all.”

She snorts but continues cleaning the dishes and maybe Billy’s imagining it but he thinks he feels her push her ass back against him. So he grabs her waist, holds her steady and presses his lips against her exposed neck. It’s not a kiss. Just to feel her warm skin. Rolls his hips slow, testing before moving his hands to feel up her sides. Swooping forward and cupping her breasts in his palms.

He kneads them in his hands, shamelessly rolling his hips and Pamela elicits the prettiest little sound. A moan if Billy’s not mistaken and it makes him greedy. Slams his hips forward, grinding against her ass in those tiny shorts while he gropes at her tits. Pamela drops the silverware and sponge, gripping onto the edge of the counter as she pants.

“See what you’re doing to me?” Billy asks against her ear, rocking his hips forward again. Making sure she can feel the way his cocks hard in his basketball shorts. “Walking around in that shit… dressed like a fucking slut,” he pants, “Tryna get my attention, huh?”

“Billy,” she gasps, a whine of a thing.

He pulls her top up, just enough to expose her tits and gets his hands back on them. Pinches her nipples, rutting against her like the pathetic little perv he is.

“Billy.. we— ah, we can’t,” he babbles out, but she’s still grinding back against him.

“We can’t what?” he grunts out, nose bushing against her temple.

“Do this,” Pamela replies, hands moving to reach for his wrists. “It’s wrong.”

Billy knows it’s wrong. That’s part of why he can’t stop thinking about her like this.

But she’s right. This was probably far enough. He pulls away, looks down at her as she turns. Her pretty face all flushed. And he acts kind of like a child, stomping away to his room and slamming his door. Just to lean against it and shove his shorts down, get his cock out and wrap his hand around it.

“Fuck,” he whines, closing his eyes and imagines his step sister on her knees in front of him. “Oh, you slut,” he whispers, lips twisting up as he plays out this fantasy. Fucks his fist hard and fast, cumming with her name on his lips.

[starrycassi]

Today in Jean and Neil's bestfrienderism. With a side of Andrew being Andrew. And domestic Andreil.

.

Jean is having a panic attack.

Well, not quite. It's not a full blown attack, yet. But it is close. Very, very close. He is thirty. He is alive. He is Jean Moreau and he has endured so, so much. He is, somewhat, free. As free as the cattle are in a pasture. As free as the shrimp are to the breeding pond.

He has a wonderful husband. He is reconnecting with Kevin. He visits Cat and Laila whenever their schedules allow them the time to do so. He has a dog — well, he technically has three. Charbon is his, and his alone. She is a wonderful Black Labrador that Dobson appointed him. The other two, Caramelo and Dulce, (both named by Catalina, of course) are his and his husband's.

Charbon is moving as soon as he's clawing at his neck. She knows what to do. She knows what to do.

"-breathe. In, and out. Com'on, Jean. It ain't hard. In, and out. You're, like, an athlete. In, and out. You don't even smoke. In, and out. Drew? Water, yes. In, and out."

That's, unfortunately, not the voice of a cybernetically enhanced service dog. It's a different type of animal. Neil Josten.

He manages to make his brain claw around, trying to find where his hand is (in his neck, of course) and puts it up, flipping the bipedal cockroach off.

.

Jean doesn't have a panic attack. Thanks, Charbon.

He's still on the edge. He plays with the dog's ears, floppy and bendy. She seems content to let him do so. They're all on the floor. The two cats are in Neil's lap. Andrew is in the kitchen.

"Breathing okay? Didn't break a rib, did you?"

Jean flips Neil off again.

"I take that as a no. But we did do a RCP training course, you know? Aaron was being a little bitch about me being 'death-prone' or whatever. So you wouldn't even have died. Not on our watch"

"Pretty sure RCP is not the standard solution to panic attacks, junkie" Andrew says, sounding bored, while he walks into the room, tray in his hands. "Panic attacks, also, don't really kill people that often. He would've fainted, at worst"

"Should be standard. Gets the heart right again, does it not?"

Andrew drops the tray to the floor. Only, he doesn't drop it. The jug full of ice and water is intact, as is the glass right next to them. Jean serves himself a glass, drowning it as quickly as possible. It stings. It helps, with the whole "I hate my throat" thing. Harm reduction, Dobson called it.

"You're such a fucking idiot" Andrew says, before reaching down to tug Neil's hair. Neil looks up, their eyes lock, and Jean feels so disgusted that he almost forgets why he's on the floor, to start with. Can they be any less PDA-inclined?

Then again, Jeremy and him are worse. So.

There's silence. And, then, "Jean. We could find a way"

Jean is confused. Andrew, clearly, is not. Jeremy and him love each other, but even theh can admit that there's no other couple with such a level of telepathy as the Josten-Minyard one. It's quite off-putting.

" 'We' sounds like a lot of people" Andrew complains, his tone one of slight annoyance. Regardless, he drops down next to Neil. One of the cats migrates to his lap. He absentmindedly scratches its head, just like he did Neil.

"I'm not following"

They both look at him like he's an imbecile. In return, he glares.

"To get you out of the contract" Neil clarifies. Except, that doesn't clarify anything. Jean Moreau, even as a free man, belongs to the Moriyamas. Not the Nest, or Riko, anymore. It's as much freedom as anyone like him can wish for. Jean Moreau has, is and will endure.

Yes, he hyperventilates whenever the topic of children comes up. Because Jeremy wants kids. A big, happy, loving family. Jean, unfortunately, wants the same.

He doesn't want kids as much as he fears his debt. Their future. His work. Their worth.

Andrew made the offhand comment of Aaron's twins coming to visit next week. About how it seems that the whole group of "Neil's friends" are eager to overpopulate the world with mini nuisances and how he pitied the teachers that had to ever work with such offspring. How it feels like they're the only ones sane enough to avoid such a burden. He didn't mean anything by it. That didn't stop Jean from spiraling. Intent and reaction are, often, not the same thing.

"I stress that you should just get the Care Bear to replace you. He likes Exy. He likes you. Surely we can guilt him into agreeing"

"Non," he answers immediately. They've had this conversation. Jeremy has offered. Jean has refused. It is enough, that one of them is tainted by the Moriyamas. Jeremy's life is not and has never been perfect, but Jean refuses to add a whole ass mafia deal to that.

Andrew shrugs, unapologetically. Jean is not offended. Andrew is a no-nonsense kind of man. A "straight to the point" kind of man. He, probably, thinks that his suggestions are helping, somehow.

"There has to be another way." Neil muses, looking at the ceiling. "We already negotiated with Ichirou, once. Maybe time's made him softer? He's got kids, now. Fatherhood softens people up. Or so I hear."

"Your father tried to kill you. At least thirty times. Almost succeeded half of those, too" Jean reminds him, trying to stay out of the whole family conversation. Neil has never been one for careful sentences. He doesn't mean anything by it. Then, again, intent and reaction.

"It's his personality. He brings out the worst in people" Andrew adds, interlocking his pinky with Neil's pinky, before leaning in and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. Gross.

"Rude. Also, Ichirou is way more level headed than Nathan. We could try, at least."

"Absolutely no, you neuron-lacking flea."

"Over my dead body, Josten."

"Again, rude. You two never let me have any fun. Kevin is influencing you too much, I swear."

Jean doesn't feel like thinking about Kevin, so he takes out one of the bobby pins in his hair and throws it at Neil's face. Andrew snorts. Charbon looks at the interaction with curiosity. So does Neil.

There is silence, again. For a while. And, then, "Neil will play Exy until he can't, anyways" Andrew points out.

Jean is confused. Neil, clearly, is not. He looks at Andrew with such an open expression of vulnerability and worry, that Jean has to look away.

"Drew, you know that-"

"I said 'life', didn't I? Same team. Same house."

"Five years ago."

"Haven't changed my mind."

"Still. I know you hate it."

"As much as I hate you. I've put up with you this long. I will handle it."

"Are you two always this fucking cryptic? Jesus Christ"

They share a look. Andrew nods. Neil hesitates. Andrew pokes him in the ribs.

"Andrew is willing to make a deal. We- we talked about it, some years ago, when Kevin had that skating accident. It's, uh, a backup plan. Asking Ichirou to pass the contract down."

"For a price." Andrew adds. As if that isn't the most unhinged, crazy and stupid thing Jean has ever heard them say. And God knows that that's a very high list.

"You're joking with me."

"Do I look like a fucking clown, Moreau?"

"As a matter of fact, yes. I will not pass down my burden to you. Plus, it is, surprisingly, a decent plan. There is no other goalie out there who is making more money than you. Ichirou would be stupid if he didn't agree. Which means that you have to keep that option open. Neil is constantly looking for new ways of getting himself killed. I will not tolerate having you, either of you, on the chopping block for me. Not if I can help it"

He is angry. Do they think so selfish? So entitled? So uncaring? He feels nauseous. Charbon puts her paws on his chest, licking his face. He shouldn't feel offended, but he does. They don't mean anything by it. Intent, reaction.

"I'm already involved with our dear asian Shobhuza. Pretty sure he doesn't like me, already."

"Non. Absolutely no. Don't even- no. No. Are you listening to me? Never."

They glare at each other. Years ago, Jean would fold, Andrew's gaze reminding him too much of handcuffs and needles. He doesn't.

"Dramatic" Neil mutters in singsong. They glare at him, now. He has the audacity to giggle.

"We'll figure something out." he says, so sure of himself. How can someone so short be so full of confidence, Jean will never know.

"Even if we don't," Andrew adds, with something close to warmth in his tone, "surely the two of you can survive without passing on those dreadful genes of yours for a few more years"

"We were thinking of fostering" he murmurs, softly. So softly that he's unsure if they heard him or not. Andrew freezes, midway through petting his cat. Neil's eyes widen. Charbon gives a friendly bark.

Andrew and Neil look at each other. Do they ever do anything else?

"We'll find a way," Andrew says. Promises. Begs. Asks. Neil nods, gaze heavy with duty. They hold hands. Neil squeezes. Andrew squeezes back.

Jean feels like he might have another panic attack. How can they be so reckless? For him, out of all people?

Then, again, he would do the same. Sacrifices and promises.

Is there any other way to live?

[jean-meowreau]

I 📢 WANT 📢 BOTTOM 📢 ANDREW 📢

You're lucky I'm blasted as fuck rn so Andrew will be too but dw pls enjoy BB

"short piece" my ass lol

Bottom Andrew, Top Neil, Oral Sex, Rimming, Fingering, Gross Sappy Feelings, Andrew Minyard loves Neil Josten, Drug Mention(Weed/Marijuana), Some Hair Pulling, Andrew "Hands Free Orgasms Aren't Real" Minyard Orgasming Hands Free, Mating Press

IDK how many words but she's hefty.

Andrew blinks once, then twice, and turns his head. It moves too quickly, too easily, a swivel that's brand new and prefectly lubed up. Speaking of lubed up--

Andrew balks, his jaw dropping as he makes a noise of disdain. How dare Neil use his own words against him? "What the fuck?"

"Neil." His voice is low, theres a slight shake to it. His chest is rising and falling in a pattern, he's sure it's right, breathing isn't normally this difficult--

"Andrew?" Neil asks, his voice soft. Andrew's pulse starts racing faster, goosebumps break out across his arms and he shivers. Neil smiles, something somewhat wicked, as he puts down his book and rolls across their bed. He's facing Andrew now, their bodies less than an inch apart. Andrew can't stop staring at pretty pink lips curved into a smirk, thinking about where else they'd look even better-- "Staring."

"I'm not allowed?" Neil teases. He sees the way Andrew is staring at the hand on Neil's thigh. He reaches across, slowly up towards Andrew's face, before asking, "Yes or no?"

He doesn't even get a chance to ask the latter before Andrew is gasping out, "Yes!" in a voice far too close to a whine for his sober comfort. But that was for sober Andrew. High Andrew closes his eyes and presses his face into Neil's deceptively soft palm, turning to kiss the skin before biting at the meat of it around his thumb.

"I take it you're in the mood?" Neil teases as he brushes the side of his thumb against Andrew's cheek.

Andrew bares his teeth in response before muttering, "Pretty faces deserve it."

The blond nods before he reaches for Neil's waist and pulls him on top. When Neil makes to straddle him, as is the usual play for their evening forays, Andrew stops him. He sits up, meeting Neil for a kiss as he pushes his legs together and then wraps his own around Neil's waist. Baby blues are wide, looking over Andrew's face as he lays back against the pillows and waits. He's happy to do so, lazily eating up the sight of Neil staring down at him. The slope of his shoulders, the barely there bit of healthy fat lining him that shows in the small dip where the waistband of his boxers hug his hips, his toned arms bracketing either side of Andrew's head as he leans forward. The quirk of his brow as he keeps looking over Andrew's face, the feeling of his breath against Andrew's neck, the way his lashes flutter every time he blinks.

"Staring," Neil teases him again.

"Then why do I get in trouble for staring at you?" Neil fires back smoothly, leaning down to kiss Andrew, to stop his retort. He'd seen the way his eyebrows shot up and then furrowed, knew he was going to pay for that cheesy comeback if he didn't do something drastic.

"Tell me exactly what you want."

Andrew knows it, but he decides kissing Neil is more important at the moment, so he lets himself get lost in it. There are small shoots of electricity firing down and settling in his abdomen, fueled by every brush of their lips. Neil breaks the kiss, cupping Andrew's jaw to keep him in place so he can speak.

Andrew didn't bottom often. But he liked bottoming for Neil. He enjoyed letting himself get taken in by the junkie currently looming over him, watching him both expectantly and hungrily. So obviously ready to devour but waiting patiently, because Andrew mattered above all else. He moans quietly at the thought, shifting his hips to rub both of their clothed erections together. "I want to lose my voice."

The words are calculated, he knows Neil knows, but he watches the way he curls his hands into fists, unfurls them, and then reaches to hold Andrew's waist before rocking their hips together, enjoying the quiet moan he's rewarded with. "Are you telling me it's my choice?"

Andrew gives a single, resolute nod. Neil tries and fails to hide a grin as he rocks their hips together once more before he pulls Andrew's boxers down and off, tossing them haphazardly to the floor.

"I want to--" He starts, but Andrew interrupts him.

"Don't ask, just do."

Neil narrows his eyes, bending forward and resting on his elbows against Andrew's chest, looking over his face. "How high are you?"

"High enough," Andrew answers honestly. "I've wanted to try for a while. This helped with the..." He trails off and waves his hand in the air, gesturing to encompass all of the words he either didn't have or didn't want to say and ruin the mood.

"You promise you won't shut down if there's anything you don't like?" Neil asks between brushes of his lips along the length of Andrew's jaw.

It happened once when Andrew was tipsy and Neil asks every time he so much as breathes in Andrew's direction, now. They'd talked about it, how Andrew appreciated how attentive Neil was, but that he also enjoys some levels of spontaneity. He trusts Neil, he knows Neil takes redirection and respects boundaries, even on the things Andrew used to let slip with one night stands and others he let in. Nobody cared for him or his well-being to the extent Neil did.

"I promise," Andrew says quietly, directing Neil into a kiss. He's rewarded for the words with Neil's fingers wrapping around his dick and giving a slow tug from base to tip. He moans into Neil's mouth, letting the redhead lick his way inside as he gives slow, wonderful attention to his cock. Andrew slowly sinks back into the pillows, sighing out quiet moans as Neil kisses his way down his chest. He raises his hips excitedly when Neil nears his waist before letting out an admittedly dejected noise when his mouth bypasses his cock. Kisses are bitten into the meat of his hip, the top and inside of his thigh, before Neil licks over Andrew's balls. He gasps, hips jerking away from the feeling before he immediately settles them back against the mattress.

"Again," he whispers the demand, more of a plea than he wants to admit yet again, but Neil obeys and the discomfort at the idea of asking for something melts against the warm tongue licking over Andrew's perineum before sucking his balls into his mouth. Andrew isn't sure if Neil stopping attention to his dick was good or bad - he was aching for stimulation but Neil knew better; it would probably overwhelm Andrew if he did both in that moment. So he resigns himself to memorising the feel of his balls in Neil's mouth, his tongue shifting between both, rolling and fondling them. He ups the suction and it hurts only barely, slightly too much pleasure, but his balls are released almost as quick as it started. He's about to direct Neil back, but then his tongue is swirling over his perineum before dipping lower. The first swipe over his hole has Andrew stuttering out Neil's name as his thighs twitch, aching to wrap around his head.

Neil never ceases to surprise Andrew, and it's no exception when large hands cup under his thighs and lift them to wrap around his head. Andrew makes a strangled sound, shifting on the bed as he loosely locks his ankles together. When Neil laps at his hole again, this time Andrew curses quietly and squeezes. He hears a muffled moan from Neil as he's somewhat crushed between Andrew's thighs and pulled in closer. His nose pushes up against the underside of Andrew's balls and the noise he makes when Neil finally licks inside of him is one he will deny until his grave. It's a whine, quiet and quickly cut off when he realises that sound is coming from his own mouth. Neil freezes briefly where he is, and Andrew swears he hears a quiet moan before Neil is wrapping his arms around to hold the tops of Andrew's thighs and licking into him once more, with vigor.

Andrew hates that his back arches off the bed, hips grinding down against Neil's tongue, his nose rubbing against his perineum still. He's gasping for air, hands pulling at and fisting the sheets before Neil finds them and guides Andrew to his hair. He takes two handfuls, trembling at the whimper he hears from Neil when he pulls him in closer, barely muffled between his legs. And then he's cursing under his breath as he yanks Neil away, falling back against the pillows as he wills the orgasm sneaking up on him at bay. Neil makes a rather pitiful sound and Andrew shakes his head, still breathing hard. "Don't want to-- Inside, Neil."

Blue eyes blink slowly before he is nodding his understanding. He fucking licks his lips, savouring the remnants of Andrew there as he sits up and reaches for the bedside table for the lube. "Condom?"

"Not this time," Andrew breathes out, his gasps for air finally starting to even out. "That okay?"

"You know I don't care either way," Neil says as he pulls Andrew down the bed, propping his legs up on his thighs before shoving a pillow beneath his hips. "I'm just here for the ride."

"Bullshit."

"You make prettier sounds when we don't use one," Neil says after taking a second to warm some lube up between his fingers. It makes it ever more devastating when he continues -- as he's fucking a finger into Andrew, "You go crazy when I cum inside you."

Andrew bites his tongue so hard he's sure it's bleeding. He wasn't going to reward Neil with anything after those words, as right as they were. But he knows his glare is anything but menacing, his body betraying his pretend anger as his hips shift to meet Neil's finger steadily fucking him open.

"Staring," Neil warns again, with the umpteenth cheeky barely there smile. He stops Andrew's retort for the second time tonight by adding a second finger and stroking over Andrew's prostate with practiced ease. He liked being fingered when he was getting head, sue him. Neil fixated on things that he cares about, and Andrew and Andrew's pleasure are his priority most of the time. He pushes the idea of Exy from his head with considerable effort, determined to stay hard and fully enjoy the experience. But all he was left with was the still unnerving feeling the idea of being a priority to anyone was, let alone Neil. He'd proven himself time and again, but that feeling was still disconcerting--

"Where are you, right now?"

Neil's voice cuts through the beginnings of a spiral and Andrew blinks up at him before grabbing the back of his neck and yanking Neil down into a filthy kiss. It was equal parts claiming as it was desperate, Andrew arching up into Neil while clinging and pulling him in closer. He ignores the not-whimper that Neil coaxes from him as he licks into his mouth once more. Tracing the shape of his teeth before rubbing the tip of his tongue down the length of his hard palate, each ridge felt before he's sitting back and nipping at his bottom lip.

"I--" Andrew starts, shifting beneath Neil before squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing.

"Me, too," Neil says after a second, nudging Andrew's head back so he can kiss and suck at his neck as he adds a third finger. Knowing exactly what Andrew meant and couldn't say in that moment. Declarations of that sort during sex were still something Andrew was recovering from. Neil still meets him where he is.

"Inside," Andrew demands, shifting beneath Neil. His chest felt full to bursting with overwhelming feeings and his ass wasn't anywhere near full enough to make it worthwhile.

Ever the obedient lover, Neil pulls his fingers out and slicks up his cock, shivering at what must be the first touch it's received since they started. The fact he wasn't even undressed, had cupped the waistband of his briefs beneath his balls furthering the worry Andrew already knew was true--

"You're fucking insane," he mutters, head falling back against his arm propped behind. Neil is slowly fucking into him, ever patient and ever attentive.

"Yeah?" Neil, finally, for the first time tonight, sounds out of breath and shaky. "What are you going to do about it?"

Andrew flicks dark eyes up at Neil, and the cheeky bastard fucking winks at him. Andrew scowls, hooking his ankles behind Neil's lower back and pulling against him, forcing him to bottom out. They both moan high and loud in tandem, Neil's hands landing against Andrew's chest as his eyes go wide. He very gently grabs his wrists when he reaches to move Neil's hips. "I'm trying not to-- Hold on. Just a second. You feel so good."

His fingers curve and the bite of his nails in Andrew's flesh has him arching his back and clenching around Neil's dick. They both make a wounded sound, Neil bucking forward before grinding against Andrew's ass as he collapses against his chest.

"You won't get mad if I...?" he asks between gasps for air.

"I'll never let you live it down," Andrew says, but he cards his fingers soothingly through Neil's hair. "So excited to fuck me you barely got it in."

"I can't help it," Neil says through gritted teeth, lifting his head and grabbing Andrew's jaw, holding him steady as Neil rakes his eyes across his face. "You're so..." he groans in frustration, at a loss of words. "Fuck, Andrew!"

"That's what you're supposed to be doing now, yes," he teases ever so gently, his other hand slipping under Neil's sleep shirt to rub against his shoulders.

"I'm-- I'm trying," Neil huffs out, smiling at Andrew's own lazy smile as he watches Neil, enjoys how he's pleasantly stressed about the idea of cumming too soon to even give Andrew what he wants. "You-- the legs? And my hair? While I was eating you out." He says in quick, aborted sentences. "Fuck."

Andrew's barely there smile quickly morphs into something salacious as he takes a handful of Neil's hair. It does so much to Andrew's ego to watch in real time as Neil's pupils dilate and his breathing hitches. He swears he just felt his dick twitch where it was still buried in his ass. "Fuck me, Neil."

One shaky thrust later, Andrew gives Neil's hair the barest of tugs. He watches as the man in his hands and in him stills, pupils blown out. "A-Andrew..."

"If you cum early you can blow me," Andrew offers. "You know I enjoy every orgasm you give me."

Neil makes another strangled noise before tucking his face in the curve of Andrew's neck. His first few thrusts are short and stiff, but after Andrew offers him an encouraging moan, Neil steadies himself. His next thrust in makes Andrew see stars. He doesn't need to say anything, he knows Neil knows by how silent he's gone, how stiff he is beneath him.

"R-Relax," Neil stutters, hips smacking against the backs of Andrew's thighs now as he fucks him fast and deep, just how he likes. His next words, whispered against the sensitive flesh just behind Andrew's ear, have him seeing stars. "You deserve to feel good, Andrew."

His back arches, the pointed thrust Neil aims at his prostate sending sparks at the edge of his vision. "Sh-Shut--" --up!

"Make me," Neil taunts, the words barely audible between their skin slapping and the two of them gasping for air. Andrew narrows his eyes and gives Neil's hair another tug before pulling his head back to expose his throat. Teeth meet tender flesh and Neil is choking out praise around loud moans as Andrew renews the rounded fading marks of his teeth against Neil's shoulder. He didn't want to deal with another lecture from Kevin about hickeys and professionalism.

"Neil."

"W-What?"

"Remember what I said?"

Neil grunts quietly and his rhythm falters briefly as he shifts his weight forward onto his knees. He unravels Andrew's legs from his waist, and before the blond can think to complain his knees are pressed to his chest. He can't breathe, every time Neil bottoms out he swears his guts are so far displaced that his lungs are being pushed into his throat. Both hands are tangled in red locks now, tugging his appreciation as Neil speeds up his thrusts.

Cumming before Andrew had been a show. Neil would never let himself unless Andrew made it known it was exactly what he wanted that evening. Even bottoming, even getting the best head of his life, Neil is fixated on Andrew, he claims it takes serious effort to cum without getting to see the supposedly beautiful pinch in Andrew's brow and the special way he moans Neil's name.

"A-Andrew..."

He waits a few seconds, but Andrew can't find it in himself to respond. He just gives Neil another nod and yanks at his hair, trying desperately to kiss him.

Neil shifts and then, if Andrew thought he'd felt like a pretzel before, the angle Neil bent him back at to have his knees resting against the mattress made Andrew see God in all of her infinite glory. So taken was he, he didn't have much to offer to warn of his orgasm except a choked off cry of Neil's name before cum was splattering up his chest. It hit his system like a freight train, the world fizzling into white around him, some of that possibly his own cum splattering against his own cheek.

He knew Neil was in the same boat, teeth sinking into the meat of Andrew's calf as he let his thrusts slow with his orgasm. Something about getting a piece of Neil fucked inside, pressing and reaching deep enough that it wouldn't ever leave Andrew, made him go mental. The nails he pulled away from Neil's back, where he'd thankfully dropped his hands, were bloody.

"F-Fuck, Neil--"

"No, 's okay," Neil mumbles, cum drunk and high on his orgasm, barely able to open his eyes. "I-- that was good. Andrew, I've never-- so fucking good."

"Bleeding!" Andrew says, his stress evident.

Neil presses his face against his palm. "That's why I came so hard."

"What?"

Neil shakes his head, somewhat confused. "It felt good. And then I thought about if it scarred over some of my old ones..." he trails off, taking a few deep breaths. "And I liked the idea a lot."

Andrew nods, pulling Neil in for a hug. He sneaks a look at his back and lets out a breath he didn't realise he had been holding when he notices the scrapes are surface level, barely enough to cause worry. He looks back at his hands and notices there isn't any blood, and tucks that away for later to try and figure out what caused that.

"Have to talk about it," he offers, and Neil nods, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"It's okay if it needs to be a no. I just wanted to offer reassurance. I enjoyed it."

Andrew nods, grabbing Neil's face and pulling him in for a proper kiss. "Bath?"

"Sure. We've got to get you clean."

"You try to take any of your cum out of me and I will draw and quarter you."

Neil smirks, then winks. "Don't threaten me with a good time, Andrew."

[passivenovember]

(sharing again because I'm so proud of this one)

When Billy Falls in Love

--

Max's hair is twisted into a rough pink towel when she answers the door. She’s got a berry sorbet sunburn peeking through the angry red flush on her cheeks, freckles looking like they could peel off at any moment. It’s the same way Billy gets in the summertime, but he turns gold in seconds.

Max stays angry red. 

She wasn’t at the pool today. Steve knows because he was at the pool fifteen minutes ago, and Billy wasn’t there. And if Billy’s gone so is Max, and if Max is here-- 

“He’s not here. What’s with the flowers?” Max wonders, with her teeth pulling at the wrapper of a Scoops brand popsicle as she eyes the poorly picked and assembled bouquet of daisies and weeds Steve managed to convince the gardener to let him snag. 

Steve can tell she doesn’t really want to know what the deal is. Maybe she already knows. 

Max is fourteen and a perpetually bored pain in the ass, already moving to shut Steve out of the house when he jams his foot so the door won’t close. 

Max tugs on it. Groans. “Steve,” Max says, sounding tired.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know because we don’t keep tabs on each other, you psycho.”

“Bullshit,” Steve says. Neil’s car isn’t in the driveway, he almost points out.

Doesn’t.

Max almost cracks a smile, seeming to hear him anyway. If Neil’s gone that leaves Billy to play guard dog. “If you care so much about my stupid brother all of a sudden--”

“--All of a--”

“Get in your stupid shitty car and go drive around until you find him,” Max says, like. Get lost.

They’re so similar it burns. Chars licking over Steve’s skin in the shape of how they sneer and heckle the same, and they’re both so smart that Steve has to do math and study chemistry, and perform mental gymnastics just to keep up.

There’s a lot to latch on to, Steve’s hands slip over it like a gymnast missing the high bar. 

The way she’s looking at him, the way Max said all of a sudden like Steve’s done something wrong--

“He used to drive you around,” Steve says, like. Aha. “Don’t you give a shit?”

About him? 

About his bones and blood. 

Max shrugs. “Why should I?”

And. Steve’s an idiot but he remembers how it was before, back when this whole thing started. His lips, red and tender from sucking on any piece of Billy he could find. His fingers, tugging on worn belt loops and begging for a night on Loch Nora and that dull, exhausted phrase gotta watch my sister sinking a hole in Steve’s hope.

“It’s summer,” Max says after a minute, irritated, “We have an arrangement in the summer. June to Labor Day I do what I want, Billy fucks off for a bit, and we always show up here right when--”

“His car's gone,” Steve says. Because she owes it to him and his months and months of blue balls at her lack of self-preservation. She owes it to Billy.

“His car’s gone because he’s not here, Steve, we just went over this--” 

Max moves to slam the door and Steve holds it open, trying to ignore the hollow feeling that spreads through his stomach. “Why are you acting weird?” Steve demands.

“I’m not acting weird, you’re the one who’s trying to break into my house because Billy stepped out for five minutes,” Max tugs on the door, groaning dramatically, “C’mon Steve--”

Steve clutches the bouquet of flowers close to his chest. “We’re supposed to go see a movie.”

Max stops pulling on the door, all the attitude cut from her with something dull. 

Steve swallows. His nails dig into the palm of his free hand. Steve feels blood swell, but it’s probably just sweat. “Billy. He’s not on a date--”

“Look, Steve,” Max says suddenly, sounding. Much older and wiser than she did five seconds ago. “I like you. You’re cute and dumb but you’re annoyingly sweet and thoughtful. You’re tall, too. You’ve probably failed freshman biology a couple of times.--”

“--I--”

“Shut up,” Max tells him, and Steve swears there’s a bit of green swirling in all that red, embarrassment mixing like watercolor. “Can I be honest with you, Steve?”

Steve nods. He takes his foot from the door jam and rubs his hand on his jeans. Shudders as the feeling in his stomach ebbs and swirls and gets so much worse.

“You’re not his fucking boyfriend,” Max says, and slams the door in his face.

--

“Well. To be fair, she’s not wrong.”

Steve grips the steering wheel. The leather crackles and squeals with the skin of his palms, giving way to the rumble of the engine when he turns the car onto Park Avenue. 

“Jesus,” Eddie snaps, his free hand scrambling to brace against the passenger door while the bouquet teeters dangerously on his lap, “You don’t have to take the turns so fast, Harrington--”

“I can’t believe she said that.”

“--Fucking Evel Kenevil--”

“I mean. I’m practically his boyfriend, right?”

“Sure, and you’ll still be ‘practically his boyfriend,’ even if you drive at the speed limit.”

“Thought you said Max wasn’t talking out of her ass, Munson?”

“Look, I’m allowed to take things minute by minute. I’m just saying,” Eddie tightens the seatbelt against his chest, “You haven’t exactly popped the question.”

“You think Billy’s the kind of guy who--”

“Yeah,” Eddie says casually. “He’s exactly the kind of guy who wants to be asked out. I’ve seen the way he picks flowers and puts them in his own hair when he thinks no one’s looking.”

Steve snorts. “When has he ever done that?”

“We hang out, you know,” Eddie tells him, in lieu of an answer. “When you’re not around, we hang out loads--”

“Maybe you’re Billy’s mystery man,” Steve says only half serious. Mostly joking. 

Eddie flushes deep red, “Anyway. This bag of weeds is a good start,” He mumbles, twisting the fat head of a dandelion gently between two fingers.

Steve doesn’t have it in him to unpack any of what that might mean.

They’ve been driving for what feels like hours. The sky has turned hazy, floating in that honey-dipped place between dayglow and starlight. The world will be gold, soon, and then dark. Midnight black. 

Hawkins is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it affair. A shithole. Billy only has a handful of places to hide.

Steve presses a little harder on the gas, knowing in the very pit of himself that this is crazy. This is insane, driving around like a bat out of hell with Eddie Munson, but Billy likes Eddie Munson. Steve tolerates him. And Robin’s at camp, so.

Eddie clutches the door again with another sharp, sudden turn. “Harrington--”

“I’m not dropping you off until I find him.”

“Alright,” Munson grumbles. He lights a cigarette and stares out the window for half a neighborhood block and then says, “How do you know he’s not at home, already?”

Steve grips the steering wheel, convinced Eddie wasn’t listening the first time. “Maxine said--”

“That was an hour ago.”

“Neil doesn’t get off until seven, if Billy’s gone he wont be back until six-thirty at the earliest.”

Eddie checks the dash. “It’s six-thirty now.”

“Do you wanna die today, freak?”

“God, you’re so unpleasant,” Eddie says, handing his cigarette over, anyway, “You’re the worst, actually. Worse than I ever imagined and I’ve imagined it a lot when Billy and Dustin yap their fucking gums about how great you are.”

Steve takes a harsh pull from the cigarette. Coughs and hands it back. 

Eddie takes it from him. Ash gathers on the cherry but he’s got no self-awareness. 

“If you get ash in my flowers, Munson--”

“Jesus Christ, would you give it a rest? He’s gonna love them. He’ll probably cry, once he’s done beating the shit out of you.”

Silence falls, lurid and uncomfortable, and Steve realizes Munson is watching him. Staring at him, 

“This is insane boyfriend behavior, Harrington,” Eddie says.

“So, you admit I’m his boyfriend?” Steve tries weakly, in lieu of what he means. Why Should I Take Advice from You?

“I’m saying this is boyfriend behavior but you won’t be a boyfriend for long, once he finds out what we’re doing.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve grits his teeth. “What are we doing that’s so wrong, Munson?”

“Hunting him. Like a couple of crazy fucking bloodhounds.”

“We had a date,” Steve tells Eddie again. For the eightieth time. “Billy’s never missed a date so he’s either dead or dying or riding some other guy’s--”

Eddie bangs his head against the window.

Steve rolls the window down for him if only to protect the integrity of the Beemer. “Look, I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I know Billy. And he wouldn’t just disappear without--”

“You’re not his dad,” Eddie tells him, and Steve.

Steve doesn’t have time to get into all the reasons that’s spot -fucking-on. He’s not Billy’s dad, because Steve loves Billy. To his bones and beyond, a little knob of heartache swirling around each nucleus of every atom in the very core of him.

Steve loves Billy so much it gets him into trouble.

Eddie sucks down his smoke again, like, “You’re really doing all this for a missed date?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just saying,” Eddie shrugs, “I heard stories about you and the Wheeler chick. Seems like she missed a lot of dates at the end and you never did anything like this for her.”

“Billy’s not Nancy. Billy’s not like anyone, he’s--”

“Holy shit,” Eddie says, coughing. “You. You’re not just blowing smoke up my ass, you’re serious about him.”

And.

Munson says it like it’s a shock. 

Like Steve Harrington’s not capable of loving anything but himself. His hair and his house on the hill and this stupid fucking car and maybe that’s what the losers at Hawkins High think, but they’re wrong. 

Way wrong. Stuck four years in the past.

Steve has to bite down against every harsh word on the tip of his tongue, tear the sentences apart and swallow them down because of course he’s worried.

Steve’s worried all the time about a lot of things when it comes to this crush he’s been nursing for a year and a half. Steve worries if Billy sleeps enough, for one. If Neil was in a good mood today. How many new bruises Steve will have to cover with hickies the next time they see each other, paint all that hurt over with something good.

It makes him crazy.

Steve worries all the time if Billy loves him. If actually saying it makes a difference.

Steve wonders most of all how much money and begging it’ll take to get Billy out of that house on Cherry Lane. Steve’s spent many restless nights doing the math in his head, staring at the popcorn ceiling as he imagines taking Billy away from here. And if Steve’s taking Billy home, to the coast, then he’s taking Max, too.

So whatever number, whatever dollar amount Steve’s gotta hoard to make it happen--he’d better take it and multiply it by seven, because. Steve’s going to lasso the moon and give it to Billy in a bouquet of yellow daisies. 

If it kills him. 

He’s going to find Billy tonight and tell him the truth if it kills him--

“We’ve gone down this street, already,” Eddie says.

“You’re not helping.”

“I'm just pointing out the obvious.”

“And I’m just pointing out--”

“Look, if you care about Billy so much, why don’t you respect his privacy?” Eddie demands. Somewhere, along the way, he ashed his cigarette on the dashboard.

Steve wants to check the flowers. 

Can’t find it within himself to be angry about that. “I just want to make sure he’s okay. If something happened to him and I wasn’t there to make it better and figure out how to stop it from happening again--”

“God, you’re such a brownie,” Eddie snaps, turning from the window. “What if he ditched you because he’s not into you anymore, Harrington?  What if Billy got tired of waiting for you to pull your head out of your ass and stop obsessing over him where no one else can see it? What if he’s sick of being the plaything you fuck in the dark?”

Steve swallows. Feeling so, so small.

“Everyone says you’re a changed man,” Eddie gets closer, somehow. Looms. “What if Billy thinks you’re bullshit?”

Steve pulls the car to the side of the road. In front of them, hazy with the dregs of the afternoon, a coal brown sign announces that Hawkins will soon be a spot on a map left somewhere far, far away. 

Everything in that shitty little town hangs over him. Feels so huge. Max and Neil and his parents and graduation and the last month of summer, sitting bigger than the sky. 

The engine thrums underneath them and Steve swallows, turning against his seatbelt. “If Billy doesn’t love me,” Steve says, easy and slow, “He can say it to my face.”

Eddie blinks. 

Steve can sense the cogs turning, underneath all that hair. Brown like his, curly like Billy’s. “It won’t change how you feel about him?” Eddie asks. 

And Steve realizes, like a punch to the gut, that Eddie Munson cares about this.

About Billy.

He’s worried, too, in his own twisted, guard-dog best friend kinda way. It reminds Steve of Robin. Dustin, too, always baring their teeth at Billy because they’re not fully convinced that this thing between them will survive the summer.

That Steve would survive losing this. 

He wishes, a deep ache thrumming in his chest, that everyone would either get it or fuck off.

“I love him,” Steve says easily, “Love isn’t something that stops just because the other person’s come to their fucking senses about how much of a loser you are. It isn’t something you say because you want to hear it back. I’ve loved him for a year and a half and I’ll love him even when he realizes I’m not half good enough.”

Eddie smirks. It’s slow and terrible.

“Alright, Harrington,” He leans back in his seat and nods, satisfied. “I think I know where our boy is hiding.”

--

Duane county used to house to the only mall within a hundred miles until Starcourt. 

It’s a small and bustling and annoyingly progressive city, compared to Hawkins, and Steve isn’t the least bit surprised that Billy would run to a place like this to hide for a while.

What surprises him is that Billy knows how to skateboard. 

He’s riding the half pipe, so focused on the concrete that laps like waves under the wheels of his long, colorful board that Billy doesn’t notice when the Beemer’s engine cuts and Steve opens the driver’s side door. 

Eddie doesn’t move. 

“You coming?” Steve asks, frowning when Eddie sparks something too pale and skinny to be a cigarette.

“Nah, you go ahead.”

“You don’t wanna give me your blessing?” Steve wonders, suddenly terrified that Billy won’t go steady with him if he doesn’t see the irritatingly awful face of his best friend giving the thumbs up. 

Eddie hands Steve the bouquet. It’s crushed and it smells like dope.

“Billy’s gonna take one look at these sorry fucking flowers and break up with me,” Steve grumbles, his nose scrunching, and.

Eddie smiles at him. 

It’s soft and real, and kind of beautiful, and Steve gets why Chrissy Cunningham is apparently head over heels for the guy. 

“He loves you, too,” Eddie says, like, “Go on. Quit stalling. Don’t think your big love confession will feel the same if I have told your hand through it.”

Steve slams the door, and Billy floats to the top of the half-pipe with the echo of it. He looks like an angel in the clouds, shirtless with his skin golden in the setting sun, jeans slung low on his hips. The curly, bronze tendrils of hair Steve will always remember the feel of are swooped back in a scrunchie.

Max’s scrunchie.

Billy squints across the parking lot and recognizes Steve, his expression clouding over immediately. “What the fuck are you doing here?” He demands.

Steve waddles across the parking lot, “Eddie’s here,” He calls, like an idiot.

“So?” You fucking him now?”

“No, I--”

“What are you doing here, Harrington?”

Steve almost trips over himself, knees with with nerves. Billy does that to him, always. Forever.

The half-pipe is huge up close, looming like the mast of some ancient, terrible ship and Billy is the pirate waiting to throw him overboard. “We had a date,” Steve says.

Out of breath.

Weak.

“I had to get out of that house,” Billy shades his eyes with one hand, holding the long board aloft with his bare foot. He doesn’t say anything for a long, terrible moment and then he says, “Whatcha got there, pretty boy?” 

“Flowers,” Steve tells him.

“Flowers,” Billy mocks softly. There’s no bite.

He considers the moment. The Scene. Steve Harrington, with flowers clutched to his chest and the dingy little park beyond that and Eddie Munson, probably, hanging from a cloud of marijuana smoke as the afternoon crashes into nightfall.

As Steve crashes and burns.

Steve holds his breath. Billy glides down the half pipe, seeming to ride on the wind until he comes to a delicate, perfect stop in front of him. 

He smells like peaches. 

He’s been eating peaches. Billy’s hands are sticky when he grabs the bouquet, and Steve’s skin lights on fire from his touch. 

It’s so usual. It’s brand new every time.

“You bought me flowers?” Billy asks, pinning Steve with a clear, vibrant stare. 

His eyes are so blue. So beautiful--

“I didn’t buy them, I. I picked them,” Steve says dumbly, “The gardener was going to clear them away, but. I wanted to pick some for our date. I always pick you up on the way but I never bring anything, and I thought. Maybe Neil wouldn’t notice who they were for if it seemed like someone just picked them from a garden. Or the side of the road,” Billy snorts, and Steve nearly breaks an ankle trying to recover, “But I’ve thought about it, and they’re almost out of season, so the gardener--”

“--Right--”

“And. I see them every morning, from my bedroom window, and they remind me of you. Pretty and. Golden, so. I caught the gardener just in time, and i had to pay him $5 to let me pick ‘em before he cleared them away. They’re pretty. Right? I wanted--”

Billy sniffs the daisies first. His eyes close, lashes casting long, noir shadows over the cinnamon freckles on his cheeks and Steve aches to live forever in this moment. To scrape the image into his mind so it can live there, in a house made in Billy’s image. 

“Some of these are weeds,” Billy tells him.

“I--”

“Are you in love with me, Harrington?” Billy rubs the petals of one flower with his thumb, watching as the stems knock together. He’s holding the bouquet like it’s made of glass. Like it might shatter and crumble away if he’s not careful, and Steve.

Feels that way about Billy.

“I,” Steve tries again,

“Thanks for the flowers,” Billy says, and he turns to go.

“Wait,” Steve says. Begs. He almost reaches to stop Billy but he doesn’t want to hurt him. 

Billy stops. Waits. 

Something sharp and fragile sits there, just under the layer of indifference Steve was always too stupide to notice before, but.

“I love you,” Steve says. He sounds strangled. Drowning. 

It hurts.

It hurts and it really, really doesn’t when Billy flushes red. “I love you, too.”

And. 

Steve’s going to catch on fire at any moment. “You love me,” He repeats, testing the words. He doesn’t trust them to hold his hope. Doesn’t think Billy means it how Steve aches and dreams he does. “You love me, like. How you love Max? Or Eddie? Like a friend who you want to suck off sometimes--”

“Eddie and I are just friends,” Billy says, quickly. His gaze is steady on Steve’s face. “I don’t need anyone else for that, I have. You.”

He does. 

He really does.

Billy’s watching Steve like he’s expecting him to say something else, and maybe he is. Has been, for as long as they’ve been sliding inside of each other. Steve was just too dumb to get it before now. 

So he straightens his spine. Clears his throat. Says, “Well. I love you like I want to take you on dates. And introduce you to my parents. I want you to go steady with me and wear my letter--”

“We can’t do that sort of stuff, Harrington.”

“I know.”

“Well, then, why’d you say it?”

“Because it’s what I want,” Steve snaps. Like, “You’re so annoying.”

“It was your idea,” Billy smirks. It’s beautiful. It’s Steve’s second favorite thing, second only to his laugh. And the soft curve of his lips. Billy fiddles with one of the weeds and says, “You don’t even have a letter to give me.”

“Neither do you, asshole,”

“So now what?” Billy demands, his arms flaring wide, “You’re gonna say you want to go steady with me and we’re not gonna do it? Tease.”

Steve rolls his eyes to the heavens, grumbling as they plop wetly on the sun-warmed earth. Billy’s still barefoot and Steve wonders how his toes aren’t burning. “How are your toes not burning?” He demands.

“They are,” Billy tells him, annoyed.

And then. 

Steve gets an idea.

He sits on the ground and pulls both shoes off.

“What are you doing?” Billy snaps, but Steve can hear a smile in his voice, curling tendrils through the teasing annoyance that has made him so different from anyone Steve has ever loved before. “Steve--”

“Here,” Steve says, standing to hold the shoes out in front of him. He hops from one foot to the other as his heels start to burn.

Billy stares at the Nike’s as if they’re coiled snakes. Like if he takes them, they’ll burrow under his toenails and poison him from the inside out. “I don’t get it--”

“I don’t have a letter, but. People might see you in them and get it, right? When has anyone ever seen Billy Hargrove in a pair of Nike’s?”

Billy blinks, confused.

“You’re mine,” Steve says. “So they’re yours. Take them,”

Billy considers him for a long moment and then sets the bouquet on the ground. “Wait here,” He says, and skates off around the bend in the half pipe.

Steve’s feet are on fire.

He’s hopping dramatically, and in the distance he can hear Eddie laughing, and Steve’s going to kill him, but then.

Billy’s back and he’s holding his boots in his hands. “Here,” He says, “Eye for an eye, right?”

And Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He slips into the worn leather, pleasantly surprised at how comfortable they are. His feet thank him, the raging fire finally simmering.

Steve watches Billy. 

The careful way his fingers lace the Nike’s onto his feet. How his hips shift his weight when he stands. Billy walks in a slow, timid circle, “Shit, Harrington,” He says thickly, “I’ve never been someone’s boyfriend before.”

Steve shrugs, “I’ve never had a boyfriend, before.”

“Think we’ll be any good at it?” Billy asks. He squats deeply, popping back up with a wide, beautiful smile planted pretty as a forest on his face.

It beams itself, magically, onto Steve’s. Startles a bright, hysterical laugh from somewhere deep inside of him. 

“You’re perfect,” Steve says. Nothing has ever felt more true.

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 10

PREVIOUS

He calls his grandma to thank her for everything. She promises him that if anything keeps him from her on Christmas she’ll just make her way over to South Carolina to see him. “Maybe I can give that boy who is bullying you a piece of my mind!” She says and he loves her for it even if the thought of Andrew vs. his 70 year old grandma gives him heart palpitations that have nothing to do with the five hour energy he just slammed when no one was looking.

(He had eaten turkey because Abby had asked if he didn’t like it when he had forgone the white meat being passed around. She looked SAD so he just piled the dark meat onto his plate (at least it has less tryptophan) trip and now he needs to counteract the turkey. He could not afford to be sleepy on the impending car ride.)

He lets her know that everyone likes her pie and Abby had been overjoyed when he informed her that his gran always attaches a recipe card to the bottom for any pie in transit / for public consumption. (This is a woman who has been asked enough that she has the confidence to assume).

He gets off the line and feels the 5 hour energy kick in when Captain Neil appears out of nowhere next to him and he thinks he strains something when he resists the flinch his rapidly beating heart almost forces him into. “What language was that?” He asks.

“Polish.”

“You really do know a lot of languages. Just like your friend said.”

DANGER. DANGER. DANGER.

“Not that many.” DEFLECT DEFLECT DEFLECT “When are we heading out to Columbia?” DAMMIT

Captain Neil blinks but smiles, “We’ll be heading out in a little bit. Abby’s packing us leftovers. Too bad there’s no pie left. Do you think we could make it at the house? Andrew really liked it.” Neil says.

Pie is a safe topic. Pie will not betray him. Also if Andrew wants pie then he can’t kill FF until FF makes it and, perhaps, the pie will buy him a few extra days of mercy from his executioner.

“We can try. The secret ingredient is a grandma’s love though.” He says because it’s on the recipe card. It’s the most important ingredient in the whole pie. It’s what can keep a pie warm across a country. “Gran always says whipped cream can be used as a substitute though.” he says.

Captain Neil blushes.

DAMMIT WHY? WHY BRING UP THE WHIPPED CREAM?

“Well, we’ll have to pick some up from the store.” Captain Neil manages.

FF blanks his face as best he can and nods but gets up his heart beating too fast to remain seated. “I’ll be outside.” He says because he needs to walk around in some circles while he can. The car ride to Columbia is going to be a nightmare in general but especially since he slammed the five hour energy.

Kevin is the reason for the hold-up and the reason that FF gets 80 more laps around the house. He’s reminding them that they can’t stop exercising just because it’s a break gesturing to himself and the 20 minutes of squats that he just did to burn off the pie and then to FF who passes a window for the 10th time since this conversation started “See FF is keeping up with his fitness. Be more like him.”

Wymack eventually drags Kevin out of the house and into his car since they’re spending the break together. He flashes FF a thumbs up as FF passes and FF (unaware as always but great at mimicking social cues) gives him a thumbs up back.

It’s then that they get into the car. FF (as is the way of the world) is sitting bitch with Aaron and Nicky on either side of him.

Captain Neil is up front and starts to play some music. Both Nicky and Aaron are conked out before they even reach the entrance to the interstate. They have also slumped onto FF with Aaron asleep on his shoulder and Nicky drooling into his hair.

“You can just shove them off.” Andrew says.

“It’s fine.” FF says reminiscing about the last time he’d had something like this.

20 minutes later it’s not fine because the five hour energy is definitely kicking in but it would be so rude to move and wake Nicky and Aaron up. Nicky is probably tired because he came to check on FF five different times the night before and kept dragging him away from whatever Saw movie he was taking notes on and Aaron ate a LOT of white meat so he’s filled to the brim with tryptophan.

But he thinks he’s about to vibrate out of his skin.

He closes his eyes to try and breathe through this when.

“Smith said that we can try and recreate his grandma’s pie. We’ll just have to do a grocery run tomorrow.” Captain Neil says in Russian.

“It was good pie.” Andrew returns in the same language.

“He said that the secret ingredient is grandmotherly love.”

“It was on the recipe card. It said for best results be sure to add throughout the baking process.”

“His grandma said whipped cream was a good replacement. That it goes great with the pie.”

Uh-oh

FF knows that tone.

FF has fled across campus, the bus, the dorm room, and (one one notable occasion) the locker room when he has heard that tone coming from Captain Neil.

“Pie isn’t the only thing it will enhance the flavor of.” Andrew says back and FF feels as the car speeds up.

FF wishes that Andrew would just hurry up and crazy murder him already. He’d take the reverse bear trap over this psychological torture. He wants to pull up his phone and read if the Geneva Conventions list this as a war crime.

NEXT

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[evis-gossip]

Why I think Todd is bi

I think he would cling to whoever pays more attention to him (yes, I am implying that he’s an attention whore, sue me)

In the movie it happens to be Neil, but if there was anyone, boy, girl or anything, everything or nothing in between that gave him more love, he would be in deep, like it or not

He’s touch starved through and through

So, I shall like to present you with some headcanons or whatever about Todd being a simp

If you were to encourage him in his writings, tell him that he’s is talented, his eyes would glaze over and pouty

If you made any sort of positive comment about his physical appearance, he would melt. Ex: if you were to tell him that he was pretty, he would go tomato red so fast. And then if you were to tell him that was even prettier when he blushes, he would he even redder, shy, all hot and bothered. He wouldn’t stop thinking about it for weeks, but he would also avoid you at all cost.

If you were to touch him in any comforting way, he would lean into it so much he would trip over himself, would be embarrassed about it, to which you would comfort him further and even more physically, like hug him tighter and he would blush with his face so hot you would feel it through multiple layers of fabric

I feel like he would enjoy skin to skin contact would make him feel over the moon, even in the most innocent ways. Holding hands or caressing his cheek would have him stuttering and mumbling incoherently

And don’t even get me started on playing with his hair. As soon as you run your fingers through hair he would sigh and nearly whimper is he’s stressed. If you have long nails and graze them on his scalp his eyes would roll back into his skull, and he might even feel like he could pass out cold

On now let’s get on with kisses. If you were to do something as simple as tenderly kissing his cheek, or forehead, or temple he would feel like his heart would burst. If you peppered his face with little kisses he would let out the most delightful giggles, he would fight it at first but would eventually give in, obviously blushing profusely

If you actually kissed his lips, cupping his face, holding him gently, he would be putty on your hands. He wouldn’t want to even let go of you afterwards, definitely too dizzy to stand on his own

Now if you put it all together, the touches, the embrace, the kisses, the tenderness, well, let’s just say he’d need to lay down. And if you did all of this before or more than anyone else, he’d be wrapped around your finger, forever. Insanely head over heels for you.

Now, I think Neil must have done, some if not all of those thing throughout the movie. But this are the reasons why I think he would definitely fall in love regardless of gender, hence making him bi, but that’s just my opinion.

<3

[oraclefreak]

Dead Poets Society boys headcanons I thought of while showering: showering edition (sounds ironic)

Charlie: bro uses an IRRATIONAL amount of shampoo. Most probably has finished one entire bottle in a matter of 4 days before (shampoo prices must not be an issue for him, I guess). His hair somehow isn't damaged, and not even god knows why. Takes an hour for him to finish showering. He talks in the shower, and if it's in Hellton showers he will talk to someone else while showering (Knox and him get idiotically philosophical; call it shower thoughts that are actually spoken)

Cameron: this mf measures the amount of shampoo he uses. I never knew someone who did this, but I can DEFINITELY GUESS that Cameron has a measuring cup just for shampoo. His showers are short compared to the others, probably because he doesn't think about other things rather than to finish showering. Uses more hair products outside the shower (the youngsters would call it 'styling').

Meeks: he's a little more normal. But DEFINITELY has realizations while showering, it's just that he doesn't say them out loud. Suddenly his mind speaks to him about how to set up the DIY radio to work or something like that and he won't talk to anyone after the shower until he has it sorted out (will go RUNNING like he's running out of time to tell Pitts). Probably 25 minutes long showers because he also uses a product to keep his curls okay.

Knox: who told this dumbass that putting on perfume while the water is running and he's still showering is okay? Multiple people had told him that IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE, but he's like "no, guys, I swear it works... because the other day-", and he's mentioning an event that has nothing to do with putting on perfume in the shower. I can imagine one of his talks where he goes OVERLY philosophical and Charlie just tells him that he's 'talking stupid'. He takes (slightly) less than one hour just to not be called the one who takes the most time in the shower (a.k.a Charlie Dalton)

Neil: WHO put theater kid music in here? Social anxiety fears this dude. Not only he sings his favorite musicals, he also mumbles the dialogue for his next play. I'm certain that more than 7 people in Hellton have memorized at least one line from his dialogue just by listening to him (even if it's mumbling people can still hear him). Takes like 40 minutes for him to finish showering, and most of it is him trying to remember his parts in the play (sometimes Todd, who has them memorized after reading the script multiple times, tells him the next word and Neil yells it with excitement in an 'eureka' type of way). I think he would do a little skincare while showering, maybe just one product to clean his face and then wash it off.

Todd: always takes him 19 minutes straight to finish showering, some of the poets wonder if he has a watch to know when to come out (it has been proved scientifically that he does not take less or more than 19 minutes). Has a panic attack every time the soap slips. For some reason also uses conditioner... Who told him that he has to use it? I don't know (your hair isn't even that long, dude). Has the typical writer struggle of having an awesome idea but not having anything to write at the moment (has suffered the pain of forgetting what the idea was). Unlike the other poets, he does not do much after showering rather than brushing his hair and then dissociating (partially canon, I guess)

Pitts: he tried to get the shampoo out violently once, and it ended all over the place except his hand. He's more conscious about it now and it didn't happen ever again since then. He's a thinker, but not a philosophical one (like Charlie or Knox) or a genius one (like Meeks). His thoughts range from "did I turn off my desk lamp", to "TRIG HOMEWORK IS DUE TOMORROW AND I DIDN'T FINISH IT YET". Awfully specific but probably uses two brands of shampoo (I don't know where the idea came from but I can see it). Takes him a little bit more than 25 minutes to finish showering but does not usually reach 30 minutes long showers.

I don't know where all of these came out of.