#but like... if he DID hear neil say 'where's and-'

[grooviestguru]

sometimes i think about how neil's first words to the foxes after baltimore was to immediately ask where andrew was, and i wonder if andrew heard him

[madforhoran]

I’m back with some more tea: there was a Tumblr post about aa, it was about how he’s kinda of sad and pathetic at the party, and OP was charmed by this. Some of them are big mad because aa is obviously incredibly happy being the ascendant. Duh. He can see himself in the mirror and drink wine, no way he seems empty!!!!

Tbh they talk so much about how they won the epilogue and how happy they are with some of the stuff (they don’t talk about the freedom line anymore) that I’m convinced they hate it

the only plus point I'm giving here is seeing his reflection cuz that's pretty major

but I watched the non-romanced dialogue and even though he says he's living the life worth living he also adds that there's certain loneliness that comes with power (cuz duh, you gotta cover your ass watching for the next threat)

and as romanced, even with the agreeable options he love-bombs Tav hard - yet again we're at the 'this is what you want to hear, isn't it?' ..Neil's voice is totally laced with that slight condescending undertone

[heartyearning]

has anyone here read hawk mountain by conner habib? i really didnt like it but i cant figure out if its just due to the narration

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Neil Gaiman and Rob Wilkins at the British Library event The Worlds of Terry Pratchett: Neil Gaiman and Rob Wilkins 21.11.2023

Neil: The weirdest bit, the one moment that I remember as being the strangest, most quintessentially writing Good Omens together moment was when we had to copy edit it. And we copy edited it in the basement of Victor Gollancz, which at that point was in 14 Henrietta Street. And the basement was a basement. There were chairs down there, no tables or anything. So we're sitting in these card chairs in this... my recollection is it did have a carpet. And the carpet was kind of damp. You know, beneath that carpet there was sort of strange puddles of... publishing. And Terry and I just sat there and we were both copy editing away. And then there was a point where Terry looked up and chuckled like anything. I said, 'What are you chuckling about?' He said, 'That joke you put in.' I said, 'Which one?' Because, you know, you want to hear which one. He read it out and I said, 'I didn't write that one'. He said, 'Well, I didn't write it'. And at that point you could tell from our eyes both of us had come to the conclusion that perhaps the manuscript was generating itself. And neither of us was prepared to say this out loud for fear of being thought a bit odd.

(you can watch the whole event here :))

[neil-gaiman]

Hello Neil, my name is Zalean. If you have a few minutes, I wanted to tell you a little story. Not really a question and I’m not sure how to use tumblr but I wanted to say thanks so much for coming to Florida a few months back and talking with Art Spiegelman. It was my first time ever figuring out how to buy tickets for something. I lived in, middle of nowhere, Vermont for most my life and had no idea what I was doing, I had never been to anything before, nothing had made me excited enough to do the 5 hour drive. And then you just appeared 20 minutes away from where I am living now.

See, I was just starting to get to know your books and work because I fell in love with Good Omens so deeply when I discovered it during season twos release. Funny thing is, I knew of you all along without even realizing it, Stardust has been my favorite book and movie since I was a kid because it was my dad’s favorite story. Finding out my two favorite things were actually connected, I started trying to get hands on as many of your books as I could. I hadn’t read in years before finding your books. It was eye opening.

The talk event at the Dr.Phillips Center was sold out by the time I knew about it, someone had asked me if I knew of the event when they saw my Good Omens keychains my mom had made me. I called the box office because there is no harm in asking. I explained how I’m an art student at UCF and desperately wanted to be inspired and learn from you both. The customer service people were amazing and ended up calling me back to get me a seat in the orchestra pit before they were released to the public. I drove alone, I walked there alone, I sat alone, and it was worth it. I was so thankful to get a seat and grateful to my professor who was a bit jealous he didn’t know about it but let me leave class early to go because of course the art professor would be understanding for any learning opportunities in the arts. And it was truly wonderful, it seemed real and that’s what I wanted. I didn’t want a show. I just wanted to hear, in some sense, that you were like everybody else. I brought a notebook and pen for any information or story’s that I thought made a difference to my little life. The other people around were wonderful, you inspire kind people.

Like I said, I had never been to anything like this and I didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t know you would have signed books and I only found out because the people next to me came in late. I asked them why they brought the books after it was over and the lights turned on. They did look at me like I had three heads for a moment until they realized I didn’t know there were books to buy, they looked kinda sorry for me but they were so nice. I had never really thought about the importance of someone’s scribble before this but it’s something that proves you were there. It says “Remember when this person made you happy? Remember when they changed your life? Remember when they gave you hope? Look at this and remember.” I hope to see David Tennant and Michael Sheen to get an autograph now that I understand the meaning behind it a bit more but honestly I just love diving into everyone’s projects, the wonder you all create. Oh what fun it is to live a life full of stories!

The people that were sitting next to me let me look at their signed books and hold them. I flipped through some of the big ones, handed them back and expressed my gratitude just to be in the theater. I showed them all my little quotes I wrote down, I never want to forget why I create things and you say so much about never stopping, always creating. Then the women handed me a different book, a smaller book, but when I tried to hand it back, a bit confused, she softly placed it back in my open hands and said “I want you to have it, we have plenty and I want you to love these stories just as much as we do. It’s just starting for you, I want you to remember who started it”. The book she handed me being“The Ocean at the End of the Lane”. The first book I decided to read by you and had just finished a week before. The women had no idea she given me a signed copy of the book that made me want to read again. Your books make the world better. For such a big theater and such a big stage, I just wanted to tell you my little point of view.

The story you told about wishing you enjoyed the past more than you did, I hope you get to enjoy it now, and I hope you want to. And thank you, to you and to Terry Pratchett for creating something special. I convinced my dad to watch Good Omens with me over December break, he loved it.

I forget sometimes that everything is someone's first time, and then I read something like this and feel like I need to remember that better. I'm glad the people beside you were kind.

[punkshort]

Hard to Handle

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader one-shot

Summary: One year after Joel cheats on you and gets someone else pregnant, you run into him for the first time.

Warnings: pre-outbreak au, angst, language, infidelity, female rage, alcohol consumption, open/ hopeful ending but reader and Joel do not end up together

WC: 2.5K

Written for @tightjeansjavi's June writing challenge

"Guess who Neil saw at the pediatrician?"

You cracked open one eye and bringing your hand up to shield you from the sun, squinted over at your best friend, Kate. "Who?"

She grinned and sat up in her lounge chair. "Joel."

You made a face and closed your eyes again. "Don't care."

"He was all alone, Nate said. Looked like he was struggling to keep the baby quiet in the waiting room and he also said he looked tired as shit."

"Good."

"C'mon, aren't you the least bit curious?"

You made an exasperated noise and sat up in your chair to face her. "What's the point? He made his bed, he can lie in it."

Kate sighed and pulled out her phone. "Well, I was curious so I looked him up on Facebook and guess what?"

"I don't-"

"The bitch left him!" she exclaimed, showing you Joel's Facebook profile where it clearly stated his relationship status was single and the profile picture was an old one from high school. You snorted and shook your head.

"It's been almost a year, what do you want me to say?"

"I want you to feel happy that he's fucking miserable, that's what," Kate said, picking up the baby monitor at her feet and zooming in on the screen, checking to make sure her six month old was still asleep.

"Okay, fine. I'm happy he's fucking miserable," you replied before taking sip of your lemonade. "It's not fair to the baby, though."

"Oh, of course not," Kate said immediately, "but after what he did to you, you can't deny that this is karma kicking his ass."

You shrugged and looked down at your hands, picking at something imaginary underneath your nail. It had been almost a year since you left Joel. A full year when you found out, after being together since junior year in high school, that Joel had cheated on you and gotten someone else pregnant.

Well, found out probably isn't the right term. He flat out confessed one morning.

You had woken up and reached out for him, your hand running up and down his bare chest. You inched forward and buried your nose against his side, breathing in deep his natural, masculine scent before slowly dragging your hand underneath the covers to the waistband of his boxers. You didn't even realize he was awake yet until his hand suddenly shot out and stopped you.

"What's wrong?" you asked, sleep still permeating your voice.

"Nothin'."

You opened your eyes and looked up at him. He was wide awake and staring at the ceiling.

"Joel?"

He slowly turned his head to look at you and at the same time, one single tear slid from the corner of his eye. You scrambled up into a sitting position, panic singing in your veins.

"What's wrong?" you asked again, harsher this time. He swallowed and slowly sat up.

"I gotta tell you somethin'."

Your pulse began to race as all the possibilities ran through your mind, but what he said next was never what you had expected to hear.

"I slept with someone else and... she's pregnant."

You remembered in that moment it had felt like time stood still. The birds stopped chirping, the lawn mowers stopping running, the laughter outside your window ceased because the world as you knew it just ended.

After that, your memory was a little hazy.

You were sure you said some terrible things as you packed up all your belongings in a rage. The terms motherfucking piece of shit and fucking loser were tossed around more than once. You do remember preemptively accusing him of giving you an STD because he chased around whores and as you were walking out the door, you told him he would be a terrible father because he was still acting like a child himself.

Joel didn't say a single thing back. He stood there the entire time and took it, each word landing like a blow across the jaw. You weren't sure what pissed you off more: the fact that he didn't say anything or that he didn't even try to make you stay.

After you had a few weeks to reflect on it, you came to the conclusion that he must have been looking for a reason to break up and he was too chickenshit to do it himself, so he found a way to make you do it.

You blocked him on everything you could think of and pushed him from your mind. His name was banned in every conversation you had with your friends and family and as time went on, you managed to heal. You found a cute little apartment in downtown Austin and began hanging out more with your friends. You even went on a few dates with a couple different guys but nothing ever managed to stick, and you were fine with that. You actually preferred it. Being single was something you weren't familiar with and now, in your mid twenties, you were actually having a really fun time getting to know yourself again.

After so much time had passed, you really thought you were over it. Even after Kate shared that news with you, you still barely had a reaction. You were proud of yourself and feeling good. Joel was the furthest thing from your mind when you met some friends out for drinks that Friday night after work. The bar was crowded, but that wasn't unusual. It was one of the most popular spots downtown and your friend, Shannon, got there before the rest of you and managed to grab a small table.

"Are you still seeing that guy? The one with the cats?" Mel asked Shannon, and she shook her head.

"Ghosted me," she replied, making a sour face. You both pouted in return and you rubbed her back.

"Fuck him. There's plenty of other guys out there. Hell, there's plenty of guys right fucking here," you giggled and gestured behind her towards the packed bar. You noticed one guy in particular with sandy blonde hair and blue eyes glancing her way every few minutes and you nudged her foot under the table and jutted your chin in his direction. "Exhibit A."

She looked over her shoulder and smiled shyly before looking back at the two of you.

"I don't know..." she said hesitantly, then bit her lip and looked at him again. This time, the guy winked at her and she blushed.

"Come on, he's cute. Go dance with him," Mel urged, then Shannon grinned and snatched her purse.

"What the hell, can't hurt."

You both giggled as you watched her weave her way through the crowd towards her mystery man. Mel tossed back the rest of her drink with a wince before speaking again.

"Your turn."

You shook your head.

"Nah, I just wanna have a few drinks and go home, I'm not looking for another headache other than the one this vodka's gonna give me in the morning."

Mel opened her mouth to reply but then her eyes flicked to something over your shoulder. "Incoming," was all she said. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for a shitty one-liner, but you turned out to be very wrong.

"Evenin', ladies," came a very familiar drawl from behind you. Your shoulders immediately stiffened and you slowly looked up. Sure enough, there he was. Joel.

It was Tommy who had greeted you. Joel still had yet to say anything as you glared at him. You met Mel after your breakup with Joel, and while you had told her about it, she never saw what he looked like so she was completely oblivious to what was happening. She had introduced herself to Tommy and was giggling at something he said while you were mentally planning your escape route.

"Lemme buy you a drink," Tommy offered, reaching out a hand. Mel eagerly took it and glanced back at you, frowning a little when she noticed your icy demeanor.

You ok? she mouthed, and you just nodded. She grinned and followed Tommy to the bar, leaving just the two of you.

"Mind if I sit?" he asked. You shrugged and grabbed your purse.

"It's all yours, I was just heading out."

"C'mon, don't be like that," he said. You swiveled around angrily and he held out a refill of your favorite mixed drink as a shitty peace offering. Kate was right. He had bags under his eyes and he looked run down.

"You hand me that drink and I'm dumping it over your fucking head," you snarled. He sighed and set it down on the table.

"I tried callin' but it never goes through."

"Because I blocked you, asshole."

"Yeah, I figured that out," he replied, sounding annoyed now. "Can you please just sit down?" he pleaded, pulling your chair out, but you shook your head and took a step back.

"No, Joel. I don't have anything else to say to you," you told him, then before you caused a scene you turned on your heel and began to push your way to the door, ignoring him calling your name over the music.

When you got outside, you took a deep breath, the cool night air mixing with cigarette smoke from a few bar patrons nearby. You didn't live too far away, so you decided to walk home and text your friends on the way so they knew you were safe. It was about two blocks away from the bar when Joel caught up with you and the idea of him finding out where you lived made you irrationally angry.

His fingers reached out and brushed against your elbow, trying to get you to slow down. You yanked your arm away and skid to a stop. "Don't fucking touch me, Joel."

"I'm sorry, please," he tried, but you shook your head.

"Sorry for what? For ruining my night out with my friends or throwing away seven years together and knocking up some slut?" Your nostrils flared as you glared at him angrily and a few people walking by turned in your direction then murmured amongst themselves when they were out of earshot. Joel glanced around nervously and raked his fingers through his hair.

"Can we please talk? I-I wanna apologize, I wanna make things right-"

"It's too late, Joel," you huffed and crossed your arms.

"Goddamnit, why you always gotta be so fuckin' stubborn?" he groaned, "this is why it wasn't workin', by the way. This is exactly fuckin' why."

"So your answer was to cheat on me? Real fucking classy," you snapped.

"I was fuckin' drunk!" he almost yelled, making you jump. "'Sides, from the sound of it you're havin' the time of your life bein' single. Makin' up for all those years you were stuck with me?"

"Fuck you!" you seethed, pointing your finger in his face. "You fucking asshole! Who the hell do you think you are? And why are you keeping tabs on me, anyway? What I do isn't your goddamn business anymore, so leave me alone!"

He buried his face in his palms and rubbed his eyes aggressively before taking a deep breath and trying again.

"I know, I know. And I'm sorry."

"What are you even doing out at a bar this late, anyway? Shouldn't you be home with your kid?" you said, leaving out the part about him being a single dad now, refusing to give him the satisfaction that you already knew.

"My mom's watchin' Sarah, wanted to give me a break," he mumbled. For some reason, hearing his baby's name made you freeze. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. "It's just us now," he continued, and you swallowed tightly, finally letting him speak. "She left us a few weeks after Sarah was born. Said she couldn't handle it. I told her it sounded like that post-partum... whatever it's called," he continued, taking a step back so he could rest his tired body against the building behind him. "But she just got more and more distant and one mornin' I woke up to Sarah screamin' her head off in the crib and a note on her dresser."

You clenched your jaw, biting back the instinct to express your sympathy. Even through all your rage you couldn't help but feel a little bad for him. You could see it in his eyes. They weren't bright and playful like they used to be. The past year aged him.

"I made a mistake but I ain't gonna abandon my kid. Don't get how anyone could," he said softly, "she's just so small 'n helpless 'n I'm all she's got."

You took a deep breath and averted your gaze, staring up the street at nothing in particular. Even if you felt bad for him, that didn't change what he did to you: a betrayal worse than anything you had ever experienced. When you opened your mouth to tell him that, he spoke first.

"I still love you."

Your shoulders sagged and you closed your eyes.

"How stupid do you think I am?" you asked quietly. His tired eyes roamed over your face helplessly. "Your baby mama left you and now you're feeling overwhelmed so you thought you'd try crawling back?"

"That's not what this is," he insisted. "I didn't know I'd see you here tonight but now that I have, I couldn't let you leave without tellin' you I've thought about you every single fuckin' day since you left. Even the day Sarah was born, I was starin' down at her wishin' you were her mama instead." His eyes began to glisten, filling with unshed tears as he poured his heart out to you on the sidewalk. "I fucked up, baby. But if-"

"Don't call me that."

He ignored you and kept talking. "But if you gimme one more chance I promise I'll make it up to you." He gazed at you, blinking back his tears while trying to read your expression. "We got so much history together, there's gotta be something left. Somethin' worth fightin' for."

You tilted your head to the side and shook your head sadly.

"Sorry, Joel," you replied, watching as his face fell. "You made your choices, now you gotta live with them."

You turned and began to walk in the direction of your apartment, proud that you stood your ground but still feeling a pit in your stomach as you left. He wasn't wrong. You had a lot of history together and the hardest thing you ever had to do was walk away from him, but you knew in the end, you had to put yourself first.

Before he was out of earshot, you turned back around, spotting him standing in the same spot against the building staring down at his feet.

"Hey," you called out, and he quicky looked up.

"Good luck. To both you and Sarah. I mean it," you said sincerely. "You're doing the right thing, Joel."

He slowly nodded and you turned back around. Pulling out your phone, you saw a missed text from Mel asking where you were.

I'm gonna be okay, but I'm going home.

[andriel-islife]

Welcome to my TedTalk of my favorite aftg recurring event: people reacting to Neil’s languages.

First the monsters reacting to Neil’s French

“He wished he could take some satisfaction in the shell-shocked looks the language and his furious tone earned…It was an age before anyone responded. Nicky was too busy gaping at Neil to say anything, and Aaron was staring at Kevin as he waited for a translation. Andrew’s surprise gave way to what a fool might mistake for delight and he leaned forward on the desk. “Wow another one of Neil’s many talents. How many can one man have?””

This scene is funny because unproblematic and ordinary Neil Josten just busts into their dorm room with no explanation and starts speaking in angry French. (And Andrew’s “you’re interesting to me” without actually saying so.)

Andrew and Wymack discovering Neil’s German. (Only Andrew reacts but it’s important to remember Wymack heard the German as well(for later))

“That wiped the irritation off Andrew’s face. It was forever before Andrew answered in German. “That’s unexpected. Did no one tell you I hate surprises?”…”how many languages do you speak, runaway?””

We love seeing through Andrews medication to his true feelings(surprise). And then this being followed by a civil conversation of Neil’s true past and Andrew’s reactions. Is this really the love hate(mostly hate)TFC andriel dynamic we loved for half a book.

The upperclassmen+Wymack finding out about Neil’s French (only Wymack's response but, again, important to know the upper classmen hear his French.)

He didn’t realize what he’d done wrong until he felt Wymack’s piercing stare. Andrew’s lot new Neil spoke French…But Wymack, like Andrew, had also heard Neil speak fluent German. Neil ground his teeth and refused to return Wymack’s look.”

Wymack hadn’t reacted to the German because of the situation but he probably also didn’t feel the need to respond to yet another one of his kids having a second language. But apparently bilingual is where he draws the line for languages. Neil “multilingual” Josten had Wymack questioning who he really was and why his second and third languages happened to be those already present in his team.

Upperclassmen, Nicky, Aaron, and Kevin finding out about Neil’s German (thanks to Andrew being Andrew)

““Oh shit,” Nicky said, switching languages in a heartbeat. “Since when do you speak German? Andrew, you knew about this? Why didn’t you tell us?”…Aaron looked at Neil. “When were you going to tell us?”…Down the hall the upperclassmen stared at them in disbelief. Matt was the first to get his tongue back, but the best he came up with was, “I thought you spoke French. That was French this morning right?…”

Aaron being the king of not caring about things concerning Neil.

Last but not least(if I remember correctly) Jean reacting to Neil’s French.

“Jean wasn’t expecting him to understand them and shot Neil a startled look.”

This startling Jean was funny. How can one be anymore scared when sitting next to Riko Moriyama. And Neil letting his attitude get the best of him in not only English but also French. He was on a roll and he wasn’t going to let a language switch stop him.

[armageddidnt]

Welcome to My Collection of Random Thoughts during my nth* rewatch of Good Omens Season 2

*only amazon prime knows the exact number at this point but I’m fairly certain it’s in the double digits

Episode 1: Gabriel’s fly lurking in the box when Aziraphale first takes it inside 👀

Crowley’s promise of “two minutes” basically means that he’s been homeless and living in his car for the past 4 years strictly so that he can be within 2 driving minutes of Aziraphale at all times in case his angel needs him I’m not crying you are

So here I think the key word is “fragile,” Crowley knows they are ostensibly safe from their respective sides but that could change at any moment so he’s basically spent the last 4 years in anxiety-ridden terror hovering as close to Aziraphale as he can to try and protect him from heaven, hell, and anyone else that would want to bring him harm after all that business they pulled in season 1 with stopping Armageddon

Episode 2: I just happened to pause the episode while Aziraphale is lying to the angels about his miracle and LOL Michael really outdid himself here (Sheen, not the Archangel)

Gabriel trying to swat flies and almost smashing the repository of every single one of his memories

I’m cAckling

So if Good Omens exists in Good Omens, does that mean Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett exist in Good Omens?? Do you think they based their Aziraphale and Crowley characters on Aziraphale and Crowley??

Episode 3: So I’m trying to find any hints or foreshadowing of the Gabriel Beelzebub thing bc tbh I did kind of feel like it came out of nowhere which is really the only issue I have with them. I found this one scene where Beelzebub almost ?? seems to be concerned about Gabriel ?? But it’s blink and you miss it and there could be lots of other reasons why Beelzebub doesn’t want to fail in locating Gabriel (pressure from/leverage over heaven, etc) so idk

More Foreshadowing Fly content 🪰

Episode 4: So here we’ve seen that Shax can just appear inside the Bentley bc she did it earlier to talk to Crowley. Shax only pretended to be a hitchhiker so she could be invited in because Azirpahale was driving so technically she needed permission to cross the threshold of an angel 👀

This scene will never not destroy me the 1941 flashback is the absolute sOFTEST thing ever to happen on this show

We really need more context here I need to see the Crowley-Furfur Monkey Rides

Episode 5: ahahaha thank you google translate for absolutely destroying my sanity this evening

POP goes the Ziraphale

Okay I know you can’t hear it in the gif but just before Nina takes Maggie’s hand, there’s a very quiet miracle noise, like Azirpahale literally MADE Nina dance with Maggie, he said I’m writing a Mina Jane-Austen-Ball-AU and my otp will KISS godDAMMIT

Azirpahale seems lowkey kind of manic this whole scene tho, he’s controlling literally everyone to force Nina and Maggie together and whenever Crowley says anything that pokes holes in Aziraphale’s Magical Jane Austen Ball Fairytale, Aziraphale just straight up denies it. He wants Nina and Maggie to dance and he wants him and Crowley to dance and he refuses to acknowledge anything beyond that.

Is this just Shax insulting Crowley for how much of a nuisance he’s been or a reference to his former status as an angel ???

They’re both completely dismissive of each other when they’re trying to say something important and that’s the main issue they’ve been having this entire season tbh

Episode 6: I think it’s funny that Crowley describes the angels as bees here because in the book, Neil/Terry describe humans the same way. Guess we have more in common than we thought huh?

So the metatron was the one who originally decided Gabriel would be memory wiped and not sent to hell, and he was also the one that decided not to sound an alarm about Gabriel for some reason and said ‘just go find him yourself’ instead. The metatron has definitely got his own agenda and you can bet he doesn’t want Aziraphale up there in heaven because he’s a “leader” and he’s “honest” like that’s exactly what Gabriel was and look where it got him 👀

There’s just something I can’t quite put my finger on about the metatron bringing Aziraphale a coffee from “give me coffee or give me death” and then asking Aziraphale if he’s going to take the coffee he’s giving him…

I have not seen a single person talk about this since s2 came out but Nina literally calls Maggie “angel” because that’s the term of endearment they hear Crowley using for Aziraphale !!!! I’m still going fERAL over this and I can’t believe no one else is eitHER

Something about this part of The Final Fifteen compared to this scene from the first episode is so representative of the entire season. Azirpahale keeps saying “my way or get out” and Crowley finally hits a wall and can follow Aziraphale no further. So he does just that. He goes.

I’m sure a lot of us by now have seen this post that brings up how Aziraphale literally pushes the remains of Crowley into his mouth and swallows and it’s the only thing I see when I watch this now

We still don’t know for certain if Crowley queued up this song to play on their way to the Ritz or if the Bentley started playing it all on its own and it’s driving me insane

Basically how I am doing after my Truly-Alarming-Number-th watch of this traumatizing episode/season. WELP hope you enjoyed this garbage dump of my thoughts and feelings time to go cry for a bit again BYE

[pricegouge]

cw: fat femme reader. shitty tinder dates. alcohol mentioned but not consumed. that's it. written on my lunch break and unedited so mind the mess

divider by @/cafekitsune | taglist @pricegouged

You're on your second drink when you swear off dating apps altogether. 

Dylan - fine, normal, everyday, run-of-the-mill Dylan - had exposed himself fairly early as too fine and normal, and therefore boring, which wouldn't have been too big a problem if he hadn't also been leaning further and further into the asshole category with each passing minute.

The snide little comment about your weight would be enough to send you packing early under any normal circumstances, except you'd been an idiot who'd let him pick you up so you needed a ride home, and why pay for an Uber when you can be mean right back?

It takes you a moment to arrive at that conclusion, though, stopping mid sip of your water to arch your eyebrows at this pathetic little thing before you with enough force to have him backpedaling. You watch him flounder for a moment, considering your options, not listening at all as he tries to clarify that he's 'into it, though - big girls, that is'.

You roll your eyes away from him, pretend to watch the highlight reel of last night's match from where it plays on the outdated CRT in the corner. It's not even a good place for a date, really, a self-serve popcorn machine in the corner offering pre-fingered snacks and a low liquor shelf behind the bar suggesting you'd best be thirsty for something with no more than three ingredients. You're not exactly the snooty type, but you suddenly realize you should maybe learn to know your worth better because you cannot ever sit across the table from someone who's read The Game ever again. One more time might kill you, funeral expenses legally billable to Neil Strauss and everything. 

Except your new standards will have to be enacted in the morning because you suddenly refuse to spend a fucking dime on this terrible outing.

Dylan still looks slightly panicked when you turn back to him with a shy little affected smile and a demure batting of your eyelashes. You watch in real time as his expression shifts from pure panic at a gamble ventured and lost, to surprised delight when he thinks it's paying off. You let him keep thinking that, draw quiet and reserved the more dinner draws on though jokes on you there, because that just means you have to hear him talk more and it's a struggle to pretend you don't find the damn coasters more interesting than him at this point. 

(They're cardboard and growing waterlogged from condensation, the local brewery's logo becoming easily peelable. It's become your mission to get a clean pull by the end of his long winded ramble, though he's so invested in hearing himself talk that you surpass your goal twice, peeling both the front and back off the coaster and sticking the limp paper to your glass, pressing out air bubbles with your fingers like you're carefully applying proper labeling. He doesn't stop talking until your glass is labeled front and back, real professional.)

When he asks if you're ready to go you perk up like a dog hearing its favorite word. You wanna go for a ride? Hm? You ready to go home, girl? Your nod is bobble-headed, eager. You let him misread it because you're an asshole and because you did say in your profile that you weren't looking for hookups so really it's his own fault if he blue balls himself. 

The ride back is short, easy. You don't know if it's better or worse that he doesn't bother flirting with you here or test your expectations with a cheeky little hand on your thigh. Instead, his grip remains carefully at ten and two and you're grateful he's not touching you, really, but you know what he expects from you in a matter of mere moments, hours, whatever, and it pisses you off that he doesn't even bother warming you up to the idea by grabbing a feel of those 'big thighs' he's 'into.' So you let yourself stew, fuel for the fire, and you fiddle with his heat controls just because you can. 

If he was so dead set on ending this night all hot and wet, you could help him with that at least.

Sweat beads at Dylan's temple when he pulls into the intricate webbing of drives which make up your apartment complex. It's a nice enough place, one you can only afford with the help of one too many roommates. The steep rent is worth it though for nights like tonight, when apprehension begins to pool in your belly as you try to steel yourself for the small confrontation you're about to initiate. Dylan may have been a little weasel but he wasn't exactly contentious so you're not expecting anything too major to come of this, but it's reassuring to see so many people still out and about enjoying the cool fall evening. It's still fairly early, mothers only just heading back from the park with their double wide buggies taking up half the drive. They shoot Dylan ugly looks as he passes, just a hair too fast for their unofficial neighborhood watch. At least you know they'll be on your side if he really starts to act up.

Dylan does not need reminding which specific branches lead to your building, rolling to a stop next to your own car which you try not to look at with any familiarity. You may have already made the mistake of giving him your address, but every morsel of information he might glean about you now feels like a theft, and even what you had for breakfast is suddenly a dark secret you'd like to keep from him for no real reason. 

It's hard looking at Dylan now too, the shyness you'd been playing up before all of a sudden a very real obstacle as your eyes wander your building's facade, as if even you aren't certain which bay window is yours. Your lights are all off, you note with some annoyance, your roommates not home despite the fact they said they would be. 

'Up all night waiting for you,' Carren had winked, her big cheeky smile something you've never had cause to mistrust before. You gotta work on your naivete. 

Your eyes keep moving, resolved not to give away even your apartment number by being too obvious. They catch on the patio next door, however, when you spot your neighbor Kyle sitting on his Adirondack chair, smoking a cigarette as he watches this new car pointedly, doing nothing to hide his curiosity. 

If you had been smart you would've told Dylan to pick you up a few buildings down so he wouldn't even have the proper section, but the relief you feel at seeing your sweet, hot, extremely fit neighbor outside playing guard dog more than makes up for your mistake. So much so that your fingers don't falter when they find the handle, emergency release ready to be disengaged. You turn back to Dylan with a too-sweet smile and thank him for dinner again, already leaning out the door when he stutters something about having a good time.

"Yeah, me too," you call over your shoulder, beelining it for Kyle's patio because you've had enough drinks in that vacant chair across from him to know you're always welcome, especially in a situation like this. Sure enough, Kyle perks up when he sees it's you climbing out of the strange car, and then furrows his brow over your shoulder when you hear Dylan climbing out after you. Some snivelly little creature you've been trying to kill since you turned eighteen holds the reins when you turn back to him despite your better instincts, your need to avoid a scene outweighing everything else in that moment.

Your date's facade is visibly crumbling now, his frustration obvious in the set of his jaw and the sweat at his temples. You wonder if perhaps the thermostat had been a bit much and then immediately decide you don't care when he stammers something about maybe coming in for a glass of something nicer than what the restaurant had to offer. 

Presumptuous. "I don't," you blurt, only continuing when he blinks at you in confusion, "drink anything nice, that is." Across the lawn, you think you hear Kyle snort.

"Uh… coffee?" Dylan asks, just as stubborn as you.

"Gave up caffeine," you lie, trying not to think about the lovely mocha creation Kyle will likely offer you momentarily when you tell him you've got a splitting headache.

To his credit, Dylan doesn't quite pout. "Right. Well. Do this again sometime?"

And you're already on a roll with the lies so you just carry right on with them, chirping out a high, "Sure!" before trying to turn on your heel.

But you're out of niceties when a firm grip on your shoulder keeps you in place, Dylan's scraggly mustache looming into your space as you watch his lips pucker in horror. 

"Oh I'm good, thanks!" you squeak, yanking yourself out of his grip. A laugh bubbles out of you afterward, uncomfortable but still amused by your own reaction. Your satisfaction only grows when Dylan begins to look genuinely pissy. This was exactly what you wanted to avoid but you're past the point of caring.

"Is that it, then?" Dylan huffs, taking a daring step forward. 

You slide back, lock step. "'Fraid so."

"Even after I bought you dinner?"

"And made me feel bad about eating it?" You scoff. "Yeah."

"I drove all the way out from -."

"What's all this?"

You're not sure who jumps more at Kyle's sudden appearance. He hovers by your shoulder, a silent type of fury pulling at his pretty face. You forget sometimes he's military, his general geniality always setting you at ease. It makes this new version of him all the more frightening, a lethal force sitting pretty at your side. 

This is what makes the rent worth it, honestly.

"Kyle, this is Dylan. My date for the night."

Kyle hums, clearly unconcerned with the specifics. "Well, night's over."

You smirk up at where the sun still lingers over the horizon, pale behind its cloudy cover but present all the same. "Indeed."

"Piss off, mate," Dylan tries, his voice sterner than you'd originally given him credit for. 

You raise your brow at him but Kyle doesn't even bother. He turns to you and smiles, eyes crinkling around the corners, much too tight to be natural. "Luvie, will you go get us some drinks? Sliding door's unlocked."

Part of you rankles at the dismissal, but a bigger part of you does indeed want to be done with this horrible man so you nod, wave a sarcastic two finger salute at Dylan and finally make your way back across the lawn, slipping into Kyle's warm and cozy apartment with a sigh of relief. 

For all the friendly patio drinks you've had with him since moving in, you've never actually stepped foot in Kyle's place. You take a moment to admire it, noting the cleanliness and a tidiness which undeniably spoke of a military career. Still, small concessions to his personality dotted the walls and surfaces. A fresh laundry scented candle, a stack of blu-rays, framed pictures of people you've never met all grinning happily. You spot Kyle's same smile reflected back at you from all these different faces, his entire family evidently blessed with that thousand watt grin and you wonder how one camera could sustain all those lumens being beamed at it.

The layout matches yours, simply reflected. You find the kitchen easily, again noting the cleanliness with a nod of approval. Someday he'd retire and settle down, make someone extremely happy. You could only hope you would be long gone by then because the jealousy might truly drive you to desperate measures. Like taking Tinder back up again, for example. The notion draws you to the kitchen window, quest for beverages all but forgotten when you see Kyle leaning over Dylan's shoulder as the latter man flips through his phone. You frown in confusion, drawing closer to the window as Kyle reaches out and starts poking around your date's phone on his own. It's cracked open, crisp fall breeze whistling through. It drowns out the noise of the conversation but you try anyway, ears straining for any word whispered between the two. A moment passes, another. Dylan becomes increasingly agitated while Kyle stays the picture of controlled severity. You don't hear either of them at all until Kyle's eyes dart to the apartment, finding yours instantly. You gulp, feeling as if you've been caught despite not actually doing anything wrong anyway, and suddenly Kyle's veneer breaks like a thunder cloud. He claps Dylan on the shoulder heavily, turning his beaming smile on the smaller man and calling him a good lad.

Dylan mutters something indiscernible and turns back towards his car, resolutely ignoring as Kyle calls out overly friendly farewells. The engine rips to life, a low growl which suggests it's in dire need of an oil change. Still, it bravely fires up and carries Dylan away, Kyle turning back to you with a roll of his eyes which seemed to say 'this fuckin' guy.'

You grin at him, rolling your eyes right back before ducking your head, suddenly bashful under your neighbor's full attention. Drinks forgotten, you meet him at the door and thank him profusely, ignoring the way he tries to wave it off as if it was nothing,

"No, seriously, Kyle, that was very much appreciated. Probably not necessary but appreciated anyway. Please let me know if there's ever a way I can make it up to you."

And now Kyle's smirk is salacious. Great. "Well, you can join me for that drink I requested to start," he laughs, waving you back into his apartment. "Then you can tell me what you were doing on a date with a guy like that."

"Hm," you hum, already given in but thinking of how you can get what you want out of him first. Your scheming has already worked out so well for you tonight, after all. "Sure, but first you gotta tell me what you were doing on his phone."

He doesn't even miss a beat. "No can do. Top secret stuff."

"Oh," you scoff, allowing yourself to be corralled toward the couch. It's surprisingly soft, instantly cocooning you the moment you slump into it. A woven blanket hangs over the back of it which you wonder if Kyle would mind you using, if he'd get a kick out of returning from the kitchen to find you curled up like you owned the place. Probably, he wouldn't because he's much too nice to you always. "Potential terrorist threat was he?"

"He did fit the profile," Kyle calls back from the kitchen. 

You laugh, decide if he's allowed to call your date a terrorist then you're definitely allowed to use his blanket. His fault for leaving the window open on such a cold day. As expected, Kyle seems completely unbothered when he returns moments later, your favorite mocha monstrosity in one hand and his standard plain, sweetened coffee in the other. He holds your drink out of your reach teasingly however until you admit you'd met Dylan on a dating app and he tuts, relenting your drink to you almost as an apology for what you've had to go through.

"Why are you even on those things?" he asks, slurping at his coffee noisily. It's a funny habit of his, one he somehow manages to make endearing. 

Though, looking like that, you imagine he could probably make booger picking endearing.

"Well, Kyle, some of us aren't quite as naturally charming as you."

He smirks, doesn't bother to deny it. Cocky asshole. "Don't sell yourself short, I'm sure plenty of men would love to have their blankets stolen by you." He winks, hand reaching out to pluck at the weave which drapes over your shoulder. His hand lingers there, warm even through the layers, and your laugh dies in your throat, comes out as a strangled scoff.

"Well. Keep it a little warmer in here and your guests wouldn't have to make themselves at home uninvited."

Kyle's smile is softer this time, dangerously handsome. "You're always invited, pet."

And try as you might to be witty, you can't quite come up with a response to that. Kyle doesn't seem to need one, though, slurping at his coffee as he settles in, far too close. The hand which had been at your shoulder settles lower, palm warm where he kneads at your thick thigh experimentally. You'd laugh at the irony if your brain wasn't too busy turning somersaults trying to make sense of what's happening. Surely your neighbor Kyle - sexy, sharp, nice Kyle - isn't coming onto you.

Right?

But then he's leaning forward and placing his mug on the table, his thick fingers guiding your own mug to your mouth for a quick, stunned sip before pulling it away again and placing it next to his own. He's facing you now, full on, his big dark eyes gleaming with mischief. 

"I was making him delete all your contact info. Earlier. And then I made him deactivate his account," Kyle laughs, an infectious thing which gets you giggling too.

"Not willing to subject other girls to him?"

"I don't take chances," Kyle confirms, voice solemn as a vow. "But what about you, pet? What do I gotta do to convince you to delete yours?"

Given you'd already planned on deleting it, you should really just tell him you've already learned your lesson and there's no need to do anything at all. But your scheming has only yielded a fifty percent success rate tonight and you'd rather go for broke than break even so you just smile, wondering if Kyle saw your no-hookups stipulation on your profile before making Dylan unmatch earlier. 

You hope not.

"I don't know, it might take a lot of convincing."

[miheartsedthings]

dom billy x sub reader. angry sex.

He’s had a fight with Neil and takes his anger out on you as stress relief. Full on rough missionary sex where he breaks the bed. Ofc that doesn’t stop him hehe. some after care at the end please.

Took me a minute to figure out how I wanted to do this, but it finally came through! Hope it's everything you hoped for :)

@billysbot

Use Me.

NSFW 18+ only. DomBillyX SubbyReader

Warnings: Angry sex, punishment, mean/aggressive Billy, dacryphilia, rough play, degradation/praise kink (a blend).

Billy can’t seem to ignore calls from his dad and he doesn’t know why. When his name pops up on his phone every instinct in him says to ignore it, yet theres some deeper drive pushing him to follow through. He picks up, and then hates himself for it later. That man has a talent for disguising his cruelty as parental concern and being states away from Hawkins hasn’t changed that. He’ll call every other week to ‘check in’, interrogating Billy about his progress in college or how much he’s making at the garage. What bothers him most is when his dad inquires about you. 

“That girl still putting up with you?” or “Sure you didn’t drug her?” and sometimes, “What do you two even do together? Paint each other’s toenails?” 

All of this is accompanied by laughter, playing it off as a joke until Billy shows it bothers him. At which point Neil turns reprimanding. 

“So damn emotional. Did I not teach you well enough how to be a man?” 

Be a man. 

Billy’s told you about growing up under that command and how impossible it was. Neil didn’t want his son to be a man. He didn’t want a loyal, intelligent, passionate kid. The kid he had. He wanted a pet. Someone he could direct and who would follow orders. Take a kick from time to time and never complain, never fight back, only bend further and further. It was impossible to be this without filling up with some poison. Tidal waves of anger and despair. Billy had felt all of it throughout his life and now he’s away. He’s far from Hawkins and his dad but he’s still carrying it around. His weather follows him, storm clouds erupting above his head when Neil calls. Why the fuck does he answer? 

He started the morning with one of these calls and like no other time it’s filled him with so much fury. His anger persisted through the day, making work drag on. Even his workout was intense as he strained his body, full of indignation. He came home still swelled with anger, his mind rolling over questions that were infuriatingly hard to answer. Why did it still matter what his dad thought of him? Why does he care so much when he makes jokes about you? Why does he answer? Why can’t he stop feeling like a failure no matter what he accomplishes? No matter how often you tell him you love him why can’t he stop wondering when you’re gonna leave? Why can’t he truly trust anyone? 

He comes home, sweaty, and miserable, anger seeping from his pores. He doesn’t look at you when he walks into the little apartment. 

“Hey,” you call from the kitchen where you’re leaning against the counter flipping through recipes on your phone. 

“Hey,” he mumbles and disappears into the bedroom, his gym bag on his shoulder. Instantly, the air is tense. You’ve been around Billy long enough to know when he’s close to erupting. You pad over to the bedroom, leaning against the doorjam. His face is red and tight, eyes dark as he strips from his musty gym stuff. He still won’t look at you. 

“I’m thinking about salmon for dinner but I don’t know.” 

He doesn’t respond, tossing his clothes toward the hamper but not in it. You cross the room and correct this. 

“We could order out–”

“I don’t care.” 

His tone is careless and heavy with warning as he marches naked into the bathroom. Your eyes slip down to watch his beautiful asscheeks as he goes. Then the door shuts, cutting off your view. You hear the shower turn on and plop down on the bed, hearing the old frame creak. You’re not sure what’s got him upset this time, but you’d hoped going to the gym would fix it because you’ve been missing his body all day and it’s killing you. If you were allowed to touch yourself when he wasn’t around, you would’ve played with your toys while he was working out. It would’ve been so nice to fill yourself, fucking your cunt with the dildo he’d gotten you for Christmas, imagining it was him. You catch yourself rubbing your thighs together, your lips so wet they slip against each other. 

You lay back and pull up your skirt and your hand goes to your panties for just a moment. Just one squeeze of your clit between your middle and ring fingers, making it pulse. A soft sound escapes and you snatch your hand away, pulling down your skirt. It doesn’t matter how bad you want it, rules are rules and you have to be good. You get up and cross to the mirror on the dresser. Maybe it’s not so unfortunate that he’s mad tonight. He’ll need a release for all that aggression.  

You change into a dress you know he loves on you. The one you’re not allowed to wear out because it hugs you so well, showing off your cleavage and riding up when you walk. Once dressed, you pluck a book you’ve read a dozen times from the shelf and lay on your stomach on the bed, ass facing the bathroom door. You consider taking off your panties, but he likes peeling them off himself. So you lay there, unable to see a single word on the page because all you can visualize is him diving face-first into your pussy. 

He’d eaten you for a solid hour a week before, slow and sloppy while you lay there melting into his mouth again and again. The memory sends a shiver through you. Then, you remember just the other night, you’d aced a an exam he helped you study for and your reward had been getting filled from behind while a vibrating buttplug pulsed in your ass. You came so hard it made you cry. God, you want that again. Behind you, the shower turns off, and your stomach flutters with anticipation. You stop your wiggling hips, sometimes they move on their own but right now you have to be patient.  

The bathroom door opens and you jolt, staring uncomprehendingly at the book in your hand. You hear Billy stop in the doorway, feel his eyes on you, giving you goosebumps. The silence feels like a living thing. It breathes between you and hardly leaves room for your shallow inhales. He moves, and his towel is flung across the bed beside you, flustering your nerves again. 

“What’cha doin?” 

His tone hasn’t softened a bit, and when you look back at him, you’re met with the same cold expression. If anything, his anger has set in further. His brows are a hard line above his darkened eyes, his jaw set. He looks at you, completely unamused and you’re nervous for a moment that you won’t pull this off. Then, your confidence returns, you raise your brows, your face relaxed into perfect innocence. 

“Me?” you ask, your voice kitten soft, “I thought I’d read a little before making dinner.” 

While you speak, you slowly move back onto your knees, your ass poking up for a moment before you sit up, your legs folded under you and sitting on your heels. The perfect little princess pose. Your gaze moves down his chest, eager to see the rest of his naked body, but he grabs your chin, lording over you. 

“Uh uh, eyes up here,” he says. You look up at him, and you know he can see the desire in your eyes. He shakes his head. “You don’t want this right now, angel.” 

His warning makes you salivate. 

“Of course I do.” you say with complete sincerity “Fuck it all out.” 

A thrill pulses down into his groin. He glares. 

“I’m gonna hurt you.” 

“Please.”

He scoffs. 

“Really, baby?” 

You nod, your mind full of fantazises, his cock driving into you, your eyes spilling over with tears, his strong arms forcing you into a hold while he cums on your face or in your ass or- he yanks you out of your thoughts and off the bed. 

“Fuck-so fuckin dumb, you sweet little idiot-get on your knees.” 

You obey, dropping to your knees, back in Princess Position. Finally allowed to look, your eyes are filled with his beautiful dick as he strokes it in your face. Your mouth falls open before he can ask, your tongue lulling out to eagerly flick at the drops of precum seeping from the tip. He grabs a fistful of your hair, sharply yanking you back. 

“Did I say you could taste it yet?” you shake your head. “Huh?” 

“No.” He smacks you quickly across the cheek. “No, sir.” you say, nearly panting from excitement. Your brain goes foggy as you watch him stroke himself. He lifts up his shaft, pushing your face underneath. Instinctively, you gently suck one of his balls into your mouth. 

“There,” he groans. “That’s what you get until you earn my cock.” 

You accept this, setting to work messaging his balls with your mouth, one and then the other, making him groan each time you envelope one of them. Your hands are crossed behind your back, and you know if you move them he’ll punish you, but you want so badly to get a hand around the base of his balls while you suck them. You moan at the thought, and the feeling of his nutsack on your face. 

He pulls your head back and you open your mouth just in time for him to roughly shove his dick down your throat. 

“Fuck,” he groans, pushing your head onto it with both hands. You squirm as it meets the back of your throat and he starts fucking your face harder than you were prepared for. Your throat fills with thick spit, your eyes already stinging. “You’re such a good slut, baby,” he says “Dumb. Fucking. Princess.” 

With those three words he thrusts his cock into the back of your throat three sharp times and on the last time you gag, your throat starting to hurt.

“Ohhh,” he chuckles darkly, then pulls your head back just long enough to stick his fingers down your throat, collect a gooey spread of saliva and slap it across your face, rubbing it over your lips before ramming himself back in. He helps guide your head as you take his length, the sound of his cock churning your throat mixes with his gruff moans. You can't help wiggling, finding friction grinding against your heel. You moan as you work your clit against your heel, your panties so wet they're stuck to you. 

He yanks out his dick and bends to bring his dark eyes level with yours, glaring.

“Are you fucking yourself without my permission?” 

You shake your head. You didn't think it was possible for his expression to harden any more, but it does, and his grip on your hair tightens.  

“You're picking the wrong time to disobey me.”

He commands you to move your heels out to the sides so you're no longer able to sit on them. Then, he reaches down and yanks up the front of your thong, making you yelp as your sensitive pussy is instantly in pain. 

“Hold this.” 

Your hand takes up the thong, now pulled taut up to your belly button, so tight you feel every pulse of blood to your already aching clit. He reaches down and smacks it, making you jolt and yelp again. 

“Don't you move.” 

You nod, and then he's back in your mouth. He slams himself in until your lips are flush against him and then fucks your throat. Spit dribbles from your chin and you struggle to breath as he stuffs your mouth over and over. You can't stop feeling the ach in your clit, screaming for release from the tension of your panties. Billy uses your throat like a stress reliever, unrelenting in the way he pounds into it, his head falling back in pleasure. Your eyes travel up, admiring the rolling mounds of muscle along his body. His strong, arms and chiseled shoulders, all the way up to his throat, where his Adam’s apple is on display, God, you sometimes fantasize about rubbing your clit around that perfect bone. 

Your jaw burns, and your eyes water, clouding your vision. Your mouth is just a hot, softened hole for him to play with. He looks down at you, admiring the empty look in your eye. Meanwhile, your legs are falling asleep. 

“There she is, my favorite little dummy, finally being good for me.” 

A rush of pleasure pulses harshly through your tortured cunt and tears finally spill down your cheeks from the roaming flushes of pain in your body. Billy gives you a few more merciless thrusts before pulling your head back, leaving you slack jawed and panting, drool slicked down your chin. 

“Get up,” he says, grabbing you by the arm he forces you to bend over. You know better than to let go of your panties or move your other arm from behind your back, so you land face first in the duvet while he runs a finger along your horribly tender pussy. 

“Looks like it hurts.” He says, a sadistic thrill in his voice. 

“Yes sir,” you whimper. You don't see the little smile on his face when you say that. 

“Let me help.” 

You think he's going to say you can let go, instead he smacks your ass so hard it genuinely scares you, forcing you to cry out in pain and surprise. The sting is still bright when he does it again and then a third time, drawing pained whimpers every time. You bury your face into the duvet. 

“Better, yeah?” 

You don't answer, and he's not really asking. He shoves two fingers in your pussy, a bittersweet rush of pleasure bumps against your tortured clit. He moans at the feeling of your pussy gripping his fingers. 

“So greedy for me.” 

He grabs you, tossing you on your back so roughly the bed frame creaks again. You quickly correct your hand, pulling it from behind you and placing it on your belly, where he likes it. Your eyes still teary, you're praying he releases your clit, but be doesn't. Instead, he kneels on the ground, a cruel grin taking over his features as he places his hot mouth over the cloth choking your pussy. It's so close to being pleasurable, so close to the thing you want that it actually makes you start whimpering. 

“Please,” you whine, earning a rough slap against your clit, making you cringe in pain. 

“Did I say you could speak?” 

You shake your head. 

“No, sir.” 

“I didn't think so.” He shakes his head “I'm really trying to be nice to you, baby.” 

He grabs you and repositions you on the bed, getting between your legs. Your mind fills with pleading for him, your desperation clear on your face as you impatiently watch him stroke his cock just outside your entrance. 

“Hold that leg back,” he commands and you use your free hand to obey, holding your leg behind the knee while he pushes down the other one, lining up with your cunt. Please, please. But your hopes are dashed when he pulls your panties aside just enough to push his cock in, but not enough to end your suffering. A little sob leaks out as his thick length fills you. 

“Fuck,” he groans, his eyes rolling closed. “Such a perfect pussy.” 

His cock fills you, adding internal pressure to the strain against your clit. His hand comes down over your throat as he picks up speed, staring you right in the eye as he drills into you harder and harder until every smack stings your ass. He fucks you like he hates you and all you can do is take it, tears streaking down your cheeks. Pained little sobs blend with moans as your body is overwhelmed with conflicting tides. Meanwhile, Billy is in pure bliss. His cock stretches your pussy just enough, filling you so much you're kind of amazed you can take all of him inside. 

He grabs the hand holding your panties and gives it a yank, forcing you to yelp in pain, a fresh crop of tears start falling and at the sight of it Billy moans again, keeping up his punishing rhythm. He pounds you into the bed, and after one particularly hard thrust you feel one of the support beams snap underneath you. For the first time all day, you see Billy smile. His hand goes to your panties again and you flinch, bracing for the pain. 

“Want these off?” 

You nod rapidly. 

“Yes, sir. Please.” 

 “So polite, what a sweet little whore you are.” 

He slips your panties off and the relief that washes over you is so immense you start to cry as he gets back to fucking you. 

“Fuck,” you whimper out, unable to help yourself. The contrast is so incredible, and your clit is so sensitive that every brush against his pelvis makes your body shiver. Billy zeros in on this and asks you to touch yourself while he fucks you, your other hand still holding back your leg. All you can handle are slow swirls on your clit, but it's enough to make the shivers roaming your body constant and heavy. 

Your eyes go unfocused as you get lost in the feeling of him fucking into you over and over. It feels so fucking perfect it makes you sob. 

“Baby,” the word dribbles out against your will and his mouth comes down over yours. He's so good to you, helping you keep quiet because he knows you can't help it. He's so thoughtful. Your breath catches as your stomach drops and you feel yourself getting close. A nervous moan purrs onto his tongue while your pussy is slowly turning to liquid gold. 

“Yeah,” he coos against your lips, “Cum on my cock, cum like a slut.” 

Your pussy walls squeeze around him while your whole body thrums from the inside out, humming like a rung bell. You can't help the tears and the babbling words falling out of your shaky lips as you ride the delicious fullness of this feeling. His hand moves to the back of your neck, still roughly fucking you until his orgasm forces him out of rhythm. 

“Fuck,” he pants “fuck, I love my perfect slut.” 

Those words and his perfect cock are enough to set you off again, your eyes rolling back as he drills you into oblivion for the second time. He pumps thick, hot cum into you, coating you inside and then keeps going, groaning loudly. He kisses your forehead, your brain bleary. Your lower body hardly feels like it exists anymore, all you can feel is a luxurious pleasure and all you can see are his gorgeous blue eyes.

Fuck. This is all you need in life. 

Finally, his hips slow to a stop and the two of you are left panting. The weight of his warm body slowly sinks onto you as he breathes onto your chest. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, holding him. 

He kisses your neck. 

“You okay?” he asks, his voice soft and low. You nod. 

“Are you?” 

His arms wrap around you. 

“I needed that so much, baby.” 

You push your hand into his hair, gently stroking his scalp. 

“What had you so upset, lovey?” 

He snuggles into you, still buried inside you as his body recovers. He groans. 

“Fuck it. C’mere.” 

The two of you make your way into the bathroom where he joins you in a shower. You take your time together, washing each other and taking long breaks to mingle tongues in the gathering steam. His hands are so gentle as they move across your body. So different from the way he was in bed, as a living ball of anger. You lean your head against his shoulder, trying to keep your hair dry but at the same time not caring. 

Later, in warmth and the soft leftover smell of your bodies on the sheets, he pulls you into his lap. He takes your hand into his own, his fingers running along your palm as you lay against him, hearing the rhythm of his breathing. 

“Why do I answer?” 

You’re nearly asleep when he asks this to no one, and your eyes flutter open to find the room growing dark. You can hardly see him in the fading light. Maybe that’s what he wants. In any case, he keeps his eyes down at your hands. You know instantly what he means.

“I don’t know,” you say, “There’s probably plenty of reasons.” 

You turn, touching a hand to his cheek and kissing the other one, your lips trail down to his neck where you nuzzle in, amazed, as you always are, by the warmth he collects inside himself. 

“Fuckin stupid thing to do.” He whispers. 

“It’s not stupid.” you say, softly, your fingers slipping up to play with the hair behind his ear. “It’s just more than he deserves. He’s your dad, so there’s supposed to be something to gain from answering his calls. But he’s a failure, so it’s just bullshit every time.” you yawn, “You’re not stupid, lovey. You’re just too generous.” 

He turns, finding your mouth and enveloping it into a slow, lazy kiss as you lounge on the broken bed. His tongue is soft and salty. 

“Hmm,” you hum as the kiss gives way, “I love you, too.”

xoxo~

[lighteyed]

it's no big surprise you turned out this way

steve harrington x fem mayfield!reader

[3.7k] steve comes over for family dinner. it is absolutely not your idea.

disclaimer- no mention of blood relation to max, no physical descriptors of reader, they are sisters in any way you want them to be. trigger warning for shitty parents and billy h*rgrove. this is not a billy safe space.

dividers by @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

thanks for reading if you do <3 enjoy teehee

You drop a kiss on Steve’s head in greeting, which he accepts with a thrilled, in-a-new-relationship, glowing smile, before dropping down beside him and subsequently dropping your news, or rather, your request that’s not really your request, on him. “Neil wants you to come over for dinner.” You tense at the utterance of your stepfather’s name, even if it’s your own mouth doing the uttering.

   His smile dissipates. Only a little, but enough for you to wring your hands together. You want to scoop all the words you’d just said back out from his ears and spoon them into your mouth again. Make him forget it’d ever happened. “Like, like family dinner?” He asks. He can’t fathom a world where he sits placid across the table from Billy Hargrove and passes him the salt respectably and doesn’t end the night with his fist colliding with his face (regardless of the outcome).

   “No, it’d just be you and him, he’s dying to take you out on a date,” you deadpan in response, shaking your head. Steve rolls his eyes, no malice intended. “Obviously family dinner, Steve. You, me, Max, my mom, Neil��� Billy.” You force out the final name. He swears he hears your teeth grinding as you say it.

   “Don’t get grouchy on me.” He reaches over and smooths out the upset crease between your brows. Your shoulders relax in response. You’re always so wound up he’s made it his mission to give you that ease he knows you crave. He’s quite good at it, on days where he can steal you away and keep your mind occupied with the lovelier things in life. But there are some things he can’t spare you from, as much as he tries.

   Really, he can only keep you out of that house for so long before your family starts demanding their 17-year-old back.

   For the most part you keep away. Max roams the new mall all day with her friends now that June’s here and summer’s entered Hawkins in full swing, and you drive them there with your mom’s car if she doesn’t need it for the day, or Steve drives you all there and then home again if he’s not at work already that morning. If he has work you loiter in Scoops the entire day, lugging a stack of books acquired from the library and settling in a corner booth, popping your head up once in awhile to check on him and his misery in his new position in that ridiculous uniform. You brighten his days just as much as he brightens yours. And he really, really does. (And you like the uniform, as silly as it is, for the record).

   “’M not grumpy,” you deflate, pressing your forehead into his shoulder. He rubs your back in a nice, soothing way when you lean into him. Ever since he asked you out he’s been taking every excuse to touch you and you’re not complaining in the slightest. He has the softest hands you’ve ever held and they’re perpetually gentle and kind. All the love in the world encased in the hands of some boy from Hawkins, Indiana, a place you never expected to find a home in, let alone find a boy. The boy, if you thought about it long enough. Early days to be thinking about it but you did think about it. Often. For hours. You sigh quietly. “I can tell ‘em you’re busy, you don’t have to come.”  

   “Max knows I’m not busy,” he points out.

   “She doesn’t wanna be there, either. Look, I’ll just say you can’t come-“

   “But I can.”

    You lift back up, wary, but hopeful. A new flower poking its petals up from the earth, tilting right toward the sun.  “I don’t wanna make you miserable.”

   “That’s stupid,” he scoffs. He kisses your head this time, the perfumy scent of your shampoo fogging his brain up in a nice, lovey haze. “How could you make me miserable? You’re like, the best thing I’ve ever had, by a mile.”

   You smile in spite of your gloomy mood. “The fuckin’ Hargroves have an innate knack for misery.”

    “It’s a good thing you’re not a Hargrove then, hm, Mayfield?” He brushes your hair away from your face and  takes your chin in his hand, angling your face up properly to meet his, and he kisses you like he well and truly means it, firm and adoring. You can feel his grin seared into your mouth when you pull away, in spite of your reluctance and Steve’s attempts to pull you back in.

   . “You really wanna come? It won’t be fun. It’ll probably be shitty, actually.” You ask him in a tiny, hesitant voice, too overcompensating to someone who do anything you asked of him. Having Steve there sounds better than not having him there, and better than having to explain why he’s chosen not to come, but you know it’ll be weird. Worse than weird. After what happened back in November, him and Billy go out of their way to ignore one another, and it’s so deliberate it sucks the air out of a room. And even with that, Billy still makes it a point to direct snide remarks to you about Steve every chance he gets: alone, in front of Max, in front of your parents, in front of Steve himself while pretending he’s not there. And it’s gotten worse since you admitted to your mother in confidence that you and Steve were together now, and she told Neil, and Neil told Billy. But there’s no running from being at the same dinner table as him. You know you’re asking a lot. You wouldn’t be asking if Neil hadn’t insisted. In a loud, pointed voice, with a stare that unnerved you. You’d agreed to it hurriedly after that.

   “Well,” Steve leans back, playful, “want to is a bit of a stretch but I can make an exception for ya-“

   “Steve-“ you groan, pushing his chest, but he laughs, pushing himself back forward, smacking another loud kiss on your mouth.

   “Kidding, I’m kidding, c’mere,” his fingers grip your waist feather-light, tickling, as he laughs, and you can’t help but laugh too through your head shakes and faux-exasperated sighs.

  “I’m really asking you if you want to, I know it’s a lot asking you to make nice with Billy.” You interlace your fingers with his and he places them on your lap, all big brown eyes blinking up at you affectionately. You’re a sucker for his eyes. You can tell what he’s going to say before he says it.

   “Nothin’s too much for you,” he says in his sweet, low voice, another kiss pressed to your cheek, his stamp of agreeance left blazing there on your cheek.

   Late into the next day he arrives on 4819 Cherry Lane, as he has so many times before, but he parks right in front and gets out this time. He doesn’t sit by the wheel waiting for you to come running out, sometimes with Max in toe, usually by yourself, breathless and beaming, ready for him to whisk you away as fast as he can without breaking a million laws. He knows it’s not the gentlemanly thing to do, having a girl come to the car by herself instead of going up and ringing her bell, and normally he would, but you insisted he didn’t, not wanting to draw attention to yourself or him, and you were already waiting outside on the front steps when he got there most of the time, anyway.

   And this time, too, you get the door before he can ring the bell, almost ripping it off the hinges when you throw it open to greet him.

   “Thank God,” you mutter. You go to take his hand but remembers yours is sweaty and pull back. The sweater you’re wearing is pretty, complements your eyes and complexion and your everything, and your hair is down and soft-looking. He’d run his hands through it in other circumstances. “It’s not too late to make a break for it,” you lead him into the house quietly, throwing your head back and casting a dark look down the hallway. “Just say the words and we can flee, I won’t blame you.” He’s dressed so nicely, and you don’t even have the time to properly admire him. He did his hair all perfect (he always does but you can tell he put a little extra sparkle into it tonight), he’s in his nicest jeans that mold against his legs slim and fit, his sweater is a navy blue and it’s such a good color on him you might cry. You can see effort written in everything he does, tonight especially. His desire to make a good impression rings in your heart. You want to regard him warmly and turn your gaze on him with the utmost veneration but your skin buzzes with anxiety and it feels like one large, domineering fist is clamped around your intestines. 

   “It’ll be fine,” he says, squeezing your hand. He doesn’t even notice that it’s sweaty, though your anxiety is palpable and he amps up his happy exterior to balance you out. He’s probably just as nervous as you are, deep down. “Parents love me.” It’s an insistent sentence. “And I’m gonna turn on my charm.” He makes a clicking sound with his mouth and snaps his fingers around a little. You stare at him, blank. Neil is rumbling around somewhere in the distance and for the time being you are utterly immune to Steve’s banter.

   Not completely, but enough. “I don’t know if that’s the kinda charm we need here,” you pat his shoulder.

   “But it can’t hurt,” he points out with a raised eyebrow, pointing a finger gun at you.

   “Oh, it can hurt alright.” You steer him into the living room anyway. “Steve is here.”

   You announce it to the open air, waiting to see who comes when you call. Your mom, immediately, rushes out of the kitchen to greet him. She’s never met one of your boyfriends before. Her greeting is enthusiastic, to say the least. And she’s a hugger. It’s nice, actually, Steve thinks, no matter how embarrassed and nervous you are, to be embraced kindly by a mother. It’s familiar, like some distant dream from a faraway past. You have your qualms with Susan, he knows that, but he knows you love her hard, and that’s why you take so much issue with the way she lets herself be treated. It’s difficult to watch you grapple with all of this, all of the time.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Steve, or Steven? Whatever you want,” she rubs his back as she takes him into the kitchen alongside you.

   “Steve is great, thank you, Mrs. May-“ he clears his throat, “Mrs. Hargrove, I mean.“ It’s hard to reconcile this woman in front of him with the domineering men bearing that same last name. It’s hard to distinguish her as anything but another piece of you and Max. A good piece.

   “The girls talk about you all the time,” Susan says, still smiling.

   “I do not,” Max huffs as she comes out of her room, abashed. She’s in a nice outfit, too. Not as dressed down as she usually is. She tugs at her tied back hair like it hurts.

   “Ma, how tight did you do her hair?” You ask, beckoning Max over.

   “It pops out of every scrunchie!” Susan says, patting her on the head with such clear affection it makes Steve ache a little.

   “Maxie.” You open your arms for her. She stands in front of you obediently as you loosen the hold her hair ties have on her unruly locks, smoothing them out nicely as you tie it back up again, looser.

    Everything’s so nice and homey that the shift in the atmosphere is almost imperceptible when a door creaks open a bit away from you four. But it’s there. He sees you draw back into yourself, your smile, at him talking to your mom and being so sweet, at Max, at the normalcy of this moment, sliding right off your face as Neil walks into the room. You’d almost forgotten him. You could’ve stayed in a bubble with your mom and sister and beautiful boyfriend forever. But Neil comes out from the hallway, from Billy’s bedroom, and Billy follows behind, fully clothed for once, his shirt buttoned all the way up his chest, his expression dark and cloudy. His jaw is tight as his gaze fixes on Steve.

   But Steve, so gracious, sticks his hand out to shake Neil’s, smiling like Neil’s spawn isn’t the worst person Steve’s ever encountered as he introduces himself. “Nice to meet you, sir. Steve Harrington.” He keeps his mouth upturned sweet and polite even when Billy snorts in the background. He doesn’t even look in his direction.

    “Nice to meet you, too, Steven.” Neil’s handshake is more like a clenched fist. You stare at their clasped hands like you want to commit murder. Steven.

   “Steve, not Steven,” you mutter. Max touches your arm in warning before Steve can. You can’t help it. If there’s anyone you’re defensive over besides her, it’s him.

   “Steven’s fine,” he chimes in, keeping that same old good-natured Steve smile on his face. He’s too appeasing and Neil has never deserved it. He rolls his shoulders back and talks to himself in his head. Just one night. For her, for her, for her.

  “It’s the name your parents gave you, of course it’s fine,” Neil claps him on the back, and you know he doesn’t mean anything by it but you and Steve both flinch. From the words and the tap alike. Neil ignores your remark completely as he continues to talk to Steve in a way that makes your skin crawl. He brings Steve over to the dining room table and the rest of you follow suit, settling in around each other. You make sure you sit next to Steve, but you second-guess it when Billy takes the straight across from him. Neil drones on. “Y’know, it’s interesting how all this time, you’ve been driving the girls around for months now, but this is the first time we’re meeting.”

    Steve checks on you out of the corner of his eye. Your jaw ticks. He squeezes your knee but before he can answer, you do it for him. “He’s been busy, that’s all.”

Neil looks toward you. For once. It is not a pleasant look. “For months?” He tucks his hands under his chin.

   “I know you don’t like having strangers in the house after you work,” you say, placating in a way that turns your stomach.

   “That’s true,” Neil says. “Billy doesn’t seem to get the memo on that, so I’m glad someone in this house is paying attention.” The degradation of Billy at the dinner table is nothing new. And you feel bad about it. You’d feel worse if he wasn’t so nasty and hateful to everyone because of it. Neil had run into Billy’s latest flavor, Miranda Brady from your Calculus class, while she was rummaging through the fridge the other night, and he hadn’t been happy. He was polite to her until she’d been hurried out the door by Billy, and then he’d reamed into him in colorful, awful ways. Max and Susan both hadn’t been home, but it was one of those nights where you had been, and you’d lingered by your bedroom door awkwardly, making sure it didn’t get too out of hand. You weren’t sure either of them even knew you were there. Accepting the praise seems wrong. You nod stiffly.

  Billy, however, turns his gaze on Steve, the first acknowledgement he’s gotten in months. “Say, Harrington, you used to be quite the ladies’ man yourself, yeah?” A sick grin creeps up on his face. Steve sees your hand tighten around your fork. You’ve barely shoveled your pasta into your mouth. Max gapes at her stepbrother, her mouth still full of food.

   Steve clears his throat. “I had a steady girlfriend for about a year, actually. I’m sure you remember that.”

   “Yeah, but I mean,” Billy rocks his chair back. “That’s not what they were calling you King Steve for, is it?”

   You lurch forward. Steve drops his hand over your knee again. “I think it was because of the whole captain of the basketball team thing. Or the captain of the swim team thing, I can’t remember when it started. Youngest captain the Tigers had seen in a decade, actually, when I got it sophomore year.” Steve grins again and the cocky charm he possesses but hardly uses much anymore comes out to play, just for a bit. You settle down again. You eat what’s in front of you, calmly. You hear Max gulp down her own food across the table. It’s almost cartoonish.

  “Max, chew first,” Susan admonishes gently.

   “I am,” she retorts, but she’s inhaling everything in front of her.

    Billy  cuts in. “See, that’s interesting, I thought it was because you hooked up with a lot of girls. Like half the class.”

   Steve doesn’t even blink. He takes a sip of his water. “I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

  “Are you trying to upset your sister?” Neil asks him with raised eyebrows.

  He goes quiet again, hardened. “No.”

  “It seems like you’re trying to.”

   His jaw ticks this time. “I’m not.”

   “Do you remember what I said to you? About a half hour ago?”

   His jaw ticks again. His eyes meet Steve’s over the table. Steve feels the merest twitch of embarrassment for him. He knows all too well what it’s like to have a dad who takes a weird sort of pleasure in berating his son. “Yes, I remember.”

   You stare down at your plate, pinching the skin of your palm.

   “If you remember so well, then you should stop talking.”

   Billy stops talking. Neil turns to Steve again. “So, captain of two athletic teams, that’s impressive. I’m sure your college plans are impressive as well.”

   Steve stutters in his answer and you hold your head aloft in your hands, suppressing a groan. Max finishes her food so fast, she’s excused from the table and gone within minutes of that conversation starting. You nearly fall out of your chair in your attempt to kick her shin under the table. She holds her hands up in her retreat while nobody’s looking, mouthing that she’s sorry at you and running away into your shared bedroom. You suppress a groan again.

   Outside, after another grueling hour of Neil dominating the conversation and making dinner unenjoyable for everyone, you walk Steve to his car, fiddling with your hands again. He props himself up against his window and wrestles you out of the knot you’re in.

  “That sucked, I’m sorry,” you say, knocking your foreheads together, your mouth drawn in a thin, perturbed line.

  “It was fine, you’re fine,” he whispers the last bit. That’s what you’re more worried about, after all. You’re worried he’s mad, planning to leave you for someone with a more normal family, people who are warmer, someone capable of being warmer. You’re plenty warm around him, but you suppose you could be better. You start running over all the things you could do better and all the ways he could do better in your head. “Stop thinkin’ so much. Everything’s okay.” He nudges your foot with his.

   “No, I know, it’s just, it’s awkward, it’s not fun, shitty way to spend your night, shitty way for anyone to spend a night.”

   “It’s okay. It was good. I was good, wasn’t I?” He kisses your palm where you’d pinched it earlier.

   “You were great, you’re always great.” You stroke his cheek, lingering on his lips for a second. “You look really nice, by the way.” You’d almost forgotten to tell him. “I like this color on you.” You smooth over and down his arms.

   “Yeah?” He grins, lopsided, tilting his head.

   “Looks good with your hair.” You reach up to tug on the strand that hangs down like an art form over his forehead. You’re the only one he lets play around about his hair.

   “You look beautiful, too, for the record.”

   “I was trying to make this about you.” You poke him.

   “I like when things are about you.” He pokes you back.

   “I hate when things are about me.”

   “Yeah, I’m trying to fix that.”

   You chuckle. “Good luck.”

   He gestures back to your house. “I’m makin’ progress here. I think I get you a little bit better now, after all that.”

  “And what exactly do you get?” You wrap your arms around his waist.

  “Why you’re always so tense and grumpy.” He cups your cheeks like he’s holding the most delicate thing ever to be held.

   “I’m not grumpy-“

   “Just tense, then.”

   You accept that, begrudgingly. “I’m pretty on edge most of the time, I guess.”

   “I try to talk you out of it,” he says softly, stroking your face.

   “You’re the best, I hope you know that.”

   “I try,” he says again, and you nod. “It’s not easy. Night after night.”

   “It’s not.” You bunch up his sweater.

   “I get it, you know? They’re not here as often as yours, but I get it.”

   “Dinner with yours next time?”  

   “Yeah fucking right.” He kisses you for it, though, because you mean it, you’d have dinner with them if he asked just like he did because you asked, a long and languid kiss that he hopes no one’s shifting around the curtains to be privy to. He withdraws first and says, “Your mom is sweet, I’d have dinner with her again.”

  “I’ll let you know when she’s free, take her out, show her a good time,” you tease.

    “If she’s anything like you I’m a goner,” he laments.

    “You’re a flirt, is what you are.”

     You kiss him again, beaming, heart swollen with affection.

    When you go back inside and Susan tells you how wonderful and handsome she thought Steve was, how good he seemed for you, that rush flows through you all over again. You even bring her in for a hug.

thank u for reading ur super hot n sexy n we're kissing rn

[stabbyfoxandrew]

okay so, upon thinking about it, this is how the twin switch (horrible bad edition where luther confuses the twins and sends aaron upstairs into drake's arms instead of andrew) would go:

-

aaron goes to get smth from the kitchen for maria and luther follows him, tells him there's something for him upstairs. a couple minutes later luther is back at the table and aaron is not.

"did my brother get lost?" andrew asks.

"no. he went upstairs." luther puts his glass down.

"and why would he do that?"

"we arranged a reunion with one of his old foster brother-"

no. no. no.

andrew is up and out of his chair in a heartbeat. he hears footsteps following behind him but wastes no time getting up the stairs. he tries the doorknob but it's locked and fuck it's gonna take too long to pick, it-

neil is there. he has a look on his face that andrew doesn't like but he doesn't even question why andrew needs to get inside. after gesturing for him to back up, neil's foot goes through the door right by the knob and he shoves his hand through the hole to unlock it. andrew shoves the ruined door open and rushes inside to a scene from several nightmares.

his twin on a bed, drake standing over him.

andrew moves on pure instinct, grabbing drake by the neck and yanking him backwards. drake's head thunks against the wall and it's not enough to kill him (later, andrew decides) but aaron is there and bleeding and-

"get out." andrew says to neil. "and keep them out. i will kill any and everyone who comes into this room."

neil moves backwards to the doorway and keeps his eyes on drake, funnily enough. he doesn't look at aaron, he doesn't look at andrew. "do we call an ambulance or not?"

andrew turns a snarl on him.

"not for him. for aaron." neil specifies. "is he... hurt?"

"call it. tell them to send a pig too." andrew tells him and neil immediately goes to stand in the hallway with his phone at his ear.

"andrew?"

andrew's eyes snap back to his twin, looking at him with a confused squint. there's blood trickling down his face onto his shirt. his pants- andrew lets out a breath of relief. aaron's belt is undone, jeans unzipped. but that's as far as he got.

because andrew was fast enough.

"it's alright." andrew says. and it is, mostly. because he was fast enough. "it's going to be alright. you just got hit in the head."

"with what?" aaron sits up groggily, leaning to one side. andrew steadies him and glances down at the floor.

"a bottle of whiskey it seems." andrew holds up his hand. "how many fingers?"

"three." aaron says with a groan. then he squints down at the body in the floor. "who's that-"

"nobody."

"andr-"

"no. be quiet." andrew glances over at the door. "ambulance neil, where is it?"

"on the way." neil says. then he shushes kevin in the hallway. "the 'reunion' didn't go as planned. there's a body in there. you don't wanna see it."

"a body?!" nicky shrieks. "andrew what did you do?"

always my fault, andrew thinks bitterly.

"he's not dead yet." andrew says. probably. if he is, good. if he's not, andrew will finish it later.

aaron blinks heavily and looks down at his lap, at his undone belt, before raising his gaze back to andrew, eyes wide. "what did... andrew?"

there's a rasp of breath behind him and he turns to see drake's eyes start to open. andrew kicks him in the face and grabs aaron, hauling him up by the arm.

"we're relocating now." andrew leads aaron to the bathroom across the hall and sits him on the toilet lid, locking the door behind them and letting neil field questions. from neil's look, he knows exactly who drake is and what he's done. for neil's safety, he'd better not mention it.

in the bathroom andrew doesn't say a word, neither of them do. andrew just holds a washcloth against his brother's temple as aaron struggles to re-buckle his belt. finally, he hears sirens approaching from the distance. he looks out the bathroom window, ripping the lace curtain down in the process, but can't see the ambulance yet.

"he thought i was you." aaron says suddenly, with a disturbing amount of clarity. his eyes are huge and his pupils uneven and andrew doesn't know what to say to that. drake had no preference. he'll never tell aaron that. "andrew?"

"it's quiet time. you have a concussion." andrew says, tapping his finger against aaron's head. it makes him wince.

there's a knock on the door. "andrew, they're here."

"good." andrew looks back at aaron. "do you want a gurney or can you handle the stairs?"

"andrew-"

"just answer the fucking question."

"i can walk."

"alright. let's go." andrew opens the bathroom door and sticks his head out into the hall. only neil remains, standing between the bedroom door and here. he looks over his shoulder.

"he hasn't moved in a minute but he's breathing."

andrew grunts at him and keeps an arm around aaron's shoulders on the way down the stairs. the peanut gallery is in the living room, kevin and nicky sitting on the couch. kevin's texting someone, likely wymack. and maria is opening the door for the EMTs to come inside.

andrew rides in the ambulance with aaron, fills out his forms, and sits in the waiting room while a doctor looks aaron over. it's a concussion, andrew knows. but it couldn't have been too bad, he was lucid enough to figure drake out. andrew's phone rings and he's not surprised at the caller ID.

"what the hell happened?" asks wymack as soon as andrew accepts the call. "i've talked to kevin, nicky, and neil and none of those assholes has a clue."

neil definitely does. but he didn't say. good for him.

"mm. above your paygrade coach." andrew flips his phone shut and leans back in his chair until his head hits the wall.

he was fast enough.

[beauspot]

Good Omens Is a Big Deal

With everything going on I haven’t acknowledged how grateful I am for what Neil (and John) did this season. I always saw Good Omens as a romantic story and everyone involved seemed to be super supportive of that. To actually see a follow through on those themes was wonderful though. To see Aziraphale continue to look at Crowley like he’s the earth, the moon, and the stars. To see Crowley continue to save his angel not because he needs them to, but because they love him.

To see them have their dinners, and give the other access to their prized possessions. To see them dance. They love each other. They are in love with each other and it’s not implied or a throwaway line that can be edited out.

It’s the beating heart at the center of the story.

And they weren’t meant to be. Neil himself will tell you when he and Terry wrote the book Aziraphale and Crowley were meant to be friends and that’s it. Over time their relationship evolved and where a lot of writers would simply ignore that and keep pushing forward Neil pivoted and said “you know what? let’s see where this goes.” The last time I can remember something like this happening was with Hannibal years ago, it’s so rare with queer pairings.

I know everyone was excited about the kiss and it is refreshing to see queer people actually get to kiss, it’s still not something that happens all the time, but that’s not what made them canonically queer to me. If they remained completely asexual and never kissed or showed interest in kissing one another I’d feel the same. While I always felt they were queer what sealed it for me were 3 things:

1. Nina and Maggie, a romantic pairing that parallel our angel and demon break down to Crowley how she and Aziraphale are partners (and it’s clear they don’t mean business partners, does Crowley look like he runs a bookshop?) but they never say what they’re really thinking. They go on to state how that’s all they needed, the obvious implication here being that Nina and Maggie shared their romantic feelings with one another and that Crowley and Aziraphale need to do the same. Upon hearing this Crowley takes that as a sign to confess his feelings.

2. Gabriel and Beelzebub, another pairing that parallels Crowley and Aziraphale who are also clearly in love with one another is something Crowley references while he is confessing his feelings. “If those two lovestruck idiots can go off together, so can we. Because I love you.”

3. Crowley and Aziraphale express plainly to each other that they need the other. Crowley says to Aziraphale he wants to stop pretending they aren’t a team, a group, a them.

Aziraphale says verbatim “We can be together.” and “I need you.” He doesn’t say “We can work together” or “I need you to help me” or some other cop out that a lot of other shows or movies might come up with to continue to bait their fans, while having plausible deniability.

They love each other and it’s not platonic.

To me, the kiss serves as a way to seal the deal for people who only understand queer love when it’s punching them in the face. That’s not to say queer people can’t like the kiss, it’s one of my favorite scenes in the show simply because of how heartbreaking it is, but they were a couple to me long before that. And to add onto that by making every other important pairing in the show queer as well? Nina and Maggie being happy sapphics who don’t die at the end. They’re not together, but the implication is that one day they will be. Two non-binary beings—Gabriel and Beelzebub—falling in love and choosing to be with one another forever. The angels and demons are all genderless and no one misgenders them and no one gives a FUCK.

That means so much to me and I genuinely cannot express how thankful I am that this show and this season were made. The only thing I can say is thank you for standing for something, because not everyone does.

[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."

[pennyserenade]

crimson & clover | neil lewis x reader

summary | what begins as a innocent night at the club turns into something a bit more adventurous for you and the man who owns your favorite movie store. rating | (explicit) tags/warnings | alcohol mention, smut, explicit smut, fingering, semi-public sex, praise, unprotected, dirty talk (non degrading), neil is lovely! polite and respectful! word count | 2.8k+ a/n | i put on a 2000s club playlist and got to work. this is not beta'd because life is crazy but i hope you enjoy it. i dedicate this to @burt-reynolds, for all of her lovely 2000s aesthetics and her lovely vibes, and @theredviper for being so supportive and lovely always.

“Holy shit,” Neil mutters, his eager fingers gripping tightly onto your hips.

A thrum of music carries from outside the bathroom, where you’ve both left your respective friend groups in the haze of your alcohol infused ardor. As Neil lines your hips up to his clothed crotch, you make eye contact in the cloudy mirror above the sink. His gray blue eyes glow under the harsh lighting - wet and earnest as one of his hands trails to your backside, drawing up your short skirt. The heart pendant on your neck dangles dangerously close to the porcelain as he pushes your legs further apart, knocking one with his knee as a soft groan falls from his lips. The heat his body emits onto your own is enough to make you let out a shaky breath.

You told yourself you wouldn’t do this. Swore to it, in fact. It was the thing your friends constantly got at you for--the way you’d stop at Neil’s store twice a week, flirt with either him or Jonathan, and come out with your movies half price. You weren’t ever supposed to fuck one of them. It was contrary to your entire relationship, giving him what you were supposed to tease forever. But God, you couldn’t help it—not tonight.

When you had entered the club, Neil had already been there with Jonathan, but you hadn’t seen him until about thirty minutes in. Over the sound of intoxicated voices trying to speak over one another and loud, pulsing music, you’d locked eyes. It had begun as an innocuous greeting - a slight nod of your heads and demure smiles, nothing more. But there’d been more drinks and more talking, and your two friend groups drew closer together as the night went on.

It had happened when Jonathan had his hand on your friend’s thigh and his tongue down her throat. You and Neil were standing awkwardly next to them, pretending you weren’t in the presence of two people who were treading dangerously close to fucking in a public space. Neil held a beer in his hand, his face flushed from the heat and most likely the drink, and you were working your way slowly through another Vodka cranberry. He’d said something you couldn’t hear and when you asked him to repeat it, he did - drawing his face nearer to your own. The setting invited your next actions: his lips on yours, the drinks abandoned on the sticky countertop of your table in favor of touching each other.

He fumbles with his jeans behind you now, the clack of his belt making your heart thud. “I don’t usually do this,” you giggle, hanging your head to look at him behind. His blunt fingers work diligently, pushing down his pants to his knees. You smile; the blue of his boxers does little to conceal his erection.

You look back to the mirror. He gives you a boyish smile, warm and lopsided, before reaching down between your bodies and sliding your thong to the side.

“Mm,” he says, caging his bottom lip between his teeth. In a gruff voice, he adds, “God, you’re fucking glistening, baby. Look at you. Just—“ His fingers part your lips, his eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe as he coats his fingers with your slick, “look at that.”

The rich baritone of his voice coaxes unheard levels of confidence out of you; canting your hips back, you draw his fingers over your core, giving him unexpressed permission to enter you with the two fingers he’s been working through your cunt. The mirror gives you access to his features, impervious to propriety as they are: the sheen of sweat on his temples, the twist of his freckled lips, the slow bob of his throat as he teases a finger around your hole. You clench around the idea of him and he is good enough to sink a single finger in. With his other hand, he props your hips up.

In the mirror, you meet each other. The sweet, endearing nerd you had twisted your hair for in the video store is suddenly transformed into the stuff of romance books. Or a Hitchcock film. Yeah - Neil would like that reference. A positively Hitchcockian experience, the smolder of desire flashing dangerously in his eyes, like Gregory Peck with Ingrid Bergman in Spellbound. Like Cary Grant in—

“Oh.” Your nails grip onto the sink as his other hand slips down your front. Thrusting his thick finger slowly out of you, he presses two fingers over your clit, his cool lips grazing over your exposed shoulder. In this position - with his one hand focused on your clit and the other on your core - Neil’s body is completely enveloping your own. The poke of his erection on your ass is inspiring - not that you really need any inspiration. His fingers are more skilled than they have the right to be, curling inside of you, finding every nerve along your walls as he brushes, teasingly, over your sensitive clit.

When you think it can’t get any better — your body leaning back invitingly into his own, your mouth dry and desperate, the peak of your desire building and building, Neil enters another finger. His warm tongue finds a sensitive spot of your neck, and you grip the sink with renewed ferocity, feeling a dangerous, overwhelming sensation grip you.

“Oh, Neil,” you gasp, fingers carding through his hair, “I’m gonna—it feels like I might pee if you keep doing that.”

The groan that escapes his mouth, swiping hotly against the flesh of your neck, is positively guttural. “Fuck, you’re so goddamn warm and wet—“ his teeth scrap over your neck, “And you keep pressing your ass into my cock. Can hardly bear to stop this.”

He provides some alleviation by removing his hand from your clit, but he hones in on your cunt, gliding his fingers gently alongside your walls. Even through the sound of music, you can hear yourself — can hear the way your cunt beckons him in, welcomes the intrusion of him, despite your body so desperately feeling close to the point of exploding.

“Neil!” you call out with urgency, knowing you’re close to doing something you’re not prepared to. He relents when you reach behind, gripping onto his wrist, pleading. The absence of his fingers is noticeable as soon as he retracts them, but as you work at steadying your breath you feel somewhat grateful.

Smiling with a satisfied look in his eyes, he rests his dampened digits on your hips, and brings his lips to your ear. You watch him in the mirror, noting the glossy shine of your lips as he whispers, “God, you’re so fucking hot. I’ve wanted to do that—to do this—for so long. Thought about it—“ he drops his lips to spot behind your ear, murmuring, “—every time you’d come in.”

A slight return of his boyishness manifests itself in the lilt of his voice.

“Me too,” you reply, awed.

He grabs hold of your ass, pressing you lightly into the sink from the force of it. The coolness of the porcelain on the warmth of your exposed flesh makes you hiss through your teeth.

“Never thought this would actually happen, you know?” he says. It’s so genuine you can’t help the way a smile finds its way to your lips. He matches it with his own, looking every bit like the Neil you’ve known for months. But you don’t want that Neil—not now. You want a Neil who will fuck you from behind.

You grab a tuft of his hair as he gropes at your ass.

“I always imagined you fucking me over the counter like this,” you tell him purposefully, voice faux innocent. He hums, delighted by your words—you feel it in the way he’s begun to gently rock it into you. You drive the point further, pressing against him as you watch your mirrored reflections. Your eyes grow lidded, seducing. “Need your cock so bad, Neil,” you whisper.

He whimpers when you reach behind yourself, your hand on his cock. It’s the sweetest sound, but only half as good as the way his body lurches into your touch. He doesn’t need to say it for you to understand: he wants you this badly, too. It doesn’t take him long to reach for the band of his underwear, pushing them down to his ankles with his pants.

Wrapping his hand around your jaw, Neil guides your mouth to his. You arch into him, turning your head to meet his lips better. The resulting moan that you get when you lick into his mouth travels through you both. A string of saliva hangs between you as you part, detaching only when he says, “I’m gonna fuck you now, baby, just the way you wanted.”

You like him like this. It thrills you to know he exists in this form, that for all of his nervousness when you made pointed eye contact and shamelessly flirted at his store, he isn’t hesitant to be crude. You expected it of his friend, but this—it’s beyond what you could have imagined.

You watch as he focuses, the shadows of the bathroom painting over his face while he brings his cock to your entrance. Your fingers grip on the sink; already you can tell he is thick, that even though he has readied you, it will be a stretch.

Smirking, he looks back up to you. He is so achingly good looking, all sharp features, those stunning eyes of his lighting with a deep want. He swallows harshly as you share a moment, the head of his cock at your entrance, his fingers pressing into your hip, but nothing yet happening. You nod, and that is all the encouragement he needs; he presses in, a slow, careful motion.

As expected, it is a bit of a stretch. Wet as you are, it takes him a moment to work himself inside. Every careful inch of the way, you feel him: his veins against your walls, the fullness of him inside of you, the pleasure-pain of having to adjust to him. You worry your lip between your teeth in an attempt to stop a whine from falling out. From behind you, Neil looks positively blissed out as his hips draw nearer to your ass. He groans, looking at the place where your bodies connect.

“God, you’re so big,” you groan, reaching behind to touch the hand he has on your hip.

He sucks in a breath through his teeth as he slides back into. You can tell he is attempting to establish a rhythm, some place between his pleasure and yours. You can hardly stand it. You can feel the slick between your thighs, can sense just how badly your body wants him by how it welcomes him. You need him faster.

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, licking his lips. He begins to draw you back into him, moving you on his cock with the guidance of your hips. His eyes flash to the mirror, and you know immediately what it is he’s looking at: your tits, the way they bounce over the edge of your shirt as you move. The longer he watches, the quicker his hips begin to move, seemingly spurred on by the simple motion.

His hand slides up your shirt, stroking your skin, until he is skirting his fingers underneath your bra. Once again, he draws you closer to his chest. This time he presses his lips next to your ear. “So tight, baby,” he growls. “Taking me so fuckin’ good. Look at you. So—so fuckin’ pretty, sliding back on my cock.”

You can tell he’s trying hard not to lose himself. You wrap an arm around his neck, adjusting. In this position, he pushes more deeply into you, his cock rutting against the top of your walls just right.

Neil rolls over your nipple with his thumb, and his tongue licks a sensitive patch on your neck as you slide back into him again. You’ve both begun to move faster, your movements desperate. He is no longer so concerned about his limits, too caught up in the ease with which your cunt takes him, and how delightfully you mewl each time he bottoms out in you.

The length of his thrusts begin to grow shorter. He barely lifts you off of him before drawing you back, his eyes once more to your chest. Even in the dim lighting, you can tell he’s got a heavy blush spreading across his cheeks—that he’s nearing completion with each unsteady thrust he pushes into you. Before it’s too late, you decide to touch yourself, reaching between your legs fingers to rub over your sensitive clit in the small space he’s put between you and the sink. He latches on to the sight almost immediately, hooked on the image of you as he is.

“Fuck,” he hums, almost reverently, drawing up the front of your skirt. You squirm against him, whimpering, and he nods. “Yeah, like that. Squeezing me so good, honey.”

A bit more roughly than you thought him capable of, Neil yanks the top of your bra down, exposing your tits. As you reach nearer to finishing, the desire in the pit of your stomach becomes nearly palpable. Neil uses one hand to play with your nipples again. His thrusts slow, becoming more purposeful. “Come for me,” he encourages, voice like Heaven, all low and rich, honey on your skin. You circle your clit faster, spurred on, wanting to pleasure him.

As the orgasm happens, the warm flush of it hitting you everywhere, he moans. A few earnest laughs fall out of his mouth too, as if he can’t believe he’s coaxed you to it.

“Fuck, I can feel it—fuck, yeah, baby,” he groans, his speed picking up. You let go of his neck, falling forward again. You’re so overcome with pleasure that when you hit the sink, the pain doesn’t even register. He thrusts inside of you, pressing you down into the porcelain. The bathroom is filled with the echoes of your bodies slapping against one another, even over the club music, and it’s so good, so delicious, evident in the etches of your faces as he finds his release.

Neil exits you without warning a few pumps later, his warm seed spelling over the back of your thighs. He gasps softly, burying himself in the crook of your neck. You’re both sweaty, the air thick around you, but still he wraps himself around you. In truth, you find it endearing, the way his arms wrap around you, how you can feel the quick thud, thud, thud of his heart against your back as you collect yourself.

When you come back to yourselves, Neil rubs an affectionate hand over your arm, meeting your eye in the mirror. “Sorry,” he says, sounding a bit sheepish. He gestures down to your thighs. “I didn’t—it just happened so quickly. I forgot to ask where I should."

You laugh softly, taking in the state of both in the mirror. Half of your makeup is smudged off, and your lips are puffy, and you’ve done a number on his hair, the back wild and mussed up from running your fingers through it. You’re both blown up pupils and uncaring, eager smiles, too, like teenagers who’ve just discovered sex. “It’s okay,” you assure. “I had fun.”

He squeezes your hip, grinning widely. “Me too. I was wondering–uh.” His nose scrunches and you can tell he’s returned to himself full force. There’s a waver in his voice and a blush on his cheek that’s not just residue from the sex, which is awfully reminiscent of each encounter you’ve had with him at his movie store. “I don’t fuck in bathrooms a lot either, so I’m unsure if this is breaking any of the pillow talk rules…”

He looks to you for assurance, and you smile, waiting patiently. He smiles weakly. “You wanna go to dinner with me sometime next week, maybe?” he asks.

It doesn’t take long for you to form a response. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Really?” He seems surprised.

“Yeah. It’s not every day a man fucks in you in a club bathroom and then ask you to dinner after. You’ve intrigued me.”

His dimples appear. “I’m glad because there’s a pizza place by the store that I love, and the owners have begun to ask me when I’m going to get a girlfriend. Even if it doesn’t work out between us, I think that’ll hold them off for a while.”

The laugh that you let out seems to come from within you, a delighted, true sound.

This won’t be so bad, you realize. There’s only one thing better than half priced movies and flirting with the man who owns the movie store: free ones and fucking him.

[theladycarpathia]

Billy’s not expecting the call from his dad.

“Billy?” Hop sounds distant, the faint sound of an idling engine in the background. Billy blinks, because his dad is at work and as far as Billy knows that usually means sitting behind a desk at the station and arguing with Flo.

“Don’t you have paperwork to be doing?” Billy says and Hopper snorts. There’s the sound of background traffic that’s then shut out by the clang of a car door.

“Don’t give me cheek, I am still the chief,” Hopper says as though that means anything in a small town where the most crime that they get is some drunk idiot attempting to rob the gas station.

“Yes, sir,” Billy quips and changes the channel. No one else is home and he’s bored. Jon and Joyce are still at work, and El and Will are doing weird nerd activities. The diner didn’t have a shift for him today and he doesn’t have a date, so he came home. He’d half expected someone to be here, instead of getting stuck with a protein bar and old reruns.

“That’s more like it,” Hopper says and then clears his throat awkwardly. “I was just wondering…are you definitely single?”

“Dad,” Billy says, attention now fully away from the TV set. Hop’s called him before, to ask him shit like do they need milk and to take the trash out. He doesn't call to talk about Billy's love life. They never talk about that, not after that time Hopper came in his room without knocking. “What is your next question, because this could make the next family dinner a little uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be a dick,” Hopper gripes. There’s the sudden cackle of laughter in the background and Billy sits up.

“Are you with someone?” he asks and then sucks in a breath at the implications. “Did you put me on speaker?”

“I may have done,” Hopper says, sounding sheepish. “I just picked up a young man outside the movie theatre and he’s about your age…”

“I’m nineteen!” the mystery guy hollers from the backseat. Hopper keeps talking like the guy hadn’t spoken.

“I don’t know, I just thought he was your type.”

Billy presses a hand to his temple, unable to believe that his dad has just said those words. “What’s my type?” he asks, wondering if he’s going to combust right here and now. Hopper makes that little awkward throat clearing again, like he can’t believe the situation either.

“You know,” he says stiffly. “Sort of…pretty.”

Oh God. Billy can never look Hopper in the eye again.

“You think I’m pretty?” the guy asks curiously, and Billy can’t blame him for sounding a bit weirded out.

“I think you look like a lot of the doe-eyed pretty-boys my son brings home,” Hopper snaps. Despite his obvious discomfort, Billy can’t help the rush of affection at Hopper trying to be supportive. Neil would have beat the shit out of him. Hopper tries to hook him up with appropriately aged delinquents in the back of the police car.

“A lot?” the guy asks and Billy flushes. He then regrets it because he has no idea if he even wants to impress whatever guy Hopper has picked up.

“It’s not a lot,” he says defensively because Hawkins isn’t exactly big on the gay scene. His last boyfriend he met at Tina’s Halloween party and to be fair, if you wear a kilt and not a lot else to a party in October, Billy’s absolutely going to beg you to rail him in the downstairs cloakroom. The relationship hadn't exactly worked out.

“Look, I get the feeling I’m never going to hear the end of this so here’s the situation,” Hopper says, sounding tired. “This is my son, Billy. He’s about to finish high school, he likes cars and burgers and loud music. He has shit taste in men even though he’s attractive, clever and a smart mouth. Billy, this is Steve. I was on my way back from the mayor’s office when I caught him peeing in an alley. Judging by his big brown eyes and the fact that public nudity doesn’t seem to be a problem for him, I thought of you.”

“Aww,” Billy drawls, sitting back on the couch. There are lights in the drive so someone has just arrived home. Which is good because he needs to tell everyone this story so they can give Hopper shit about it over dinner. “Pops, that’s so sweet.”

“Don’t say I never do anything for you,” Hopper says, like he hasn’t already done everything for Billy by getting him out, giving him a home. “I’ll take an extra polaroid when I process him.”

“I had to take a leak!” Steve protests and Hopper sucks in air through his teeth.

“There are public bathrooms, kid, I’ve heard those work pretty well. Billy, help your mom with dinner when she gets home.” Sucks for Hopper, it’s Jon heading up the path, keys dangling from his fingers. Billy can’t wait to tell him this story.

“Or what, you won’t bring me any more dates?” Billy asks, but he’s only half-joking. Hopper means well and kind of fucks it up a lot but this time he might have hit it right on the money. He thinks he might like Steve.

“Do I get a picture?” Steve asks. “Or does the Hawkins Police just pimp out young innocent men with full bladders?”

Oh yeah. He’s definitely going to like Steve.

“I have a picture on my desk,” Hopper admits grumpily. There’s the jangle of keys in the door as Jonathan lets himself in. “You can look at it if you’re good.”

“And what if I’m not?” Steve asks and Jonathan walks in just in time to raise his eyebrows at Billy.

“I can help punish him, if he’s not,” Billy suggests, and Hopper hangs up the phone just as Steve begins to laugh.

This has probably been done before because it's based on that famous tumblr post but it's so dull during school holidays I have nothing to do but write. And I have no in progress Harringrove fics which is probably a problem I should fix.