#doesn’t care about the neighbors what’re they gonna do call the cops on him

[phantasmiac]

in which you agree to wait for pro hero!bakugou, and time is a fickle thing

cw/tw: angst ig. hurt no comfort question mark? but there is a little closure in the tags, as a treat. miscommunication. bakugou has worms for brains. alcohol mention. not proofread. gender neutral reader.

wc: 1.8k

i think if bakugou fell in love with you during high school, and the cat was out of the bag, he might ask you to wait for him. to wait until he achieves his goal of becoming number one, because 1. he thinks he won’t be able to focus on a relationship and his goal at once and 2. he wants you to have him at his best. and you agree, albeit warily, because you’re just that stupidly in love with him. and maybe it isn’t the brightest idea to remain best friends while knowingly pining so pathetically after one another. it’s hard having him so close yet so out of reach. spending your shared days off lounging around on your couch together with the unspoken rule of not touching one another (though the brushing of limbs that leaves firecrackers setting off in both of your stomachs is basically inevitable at this point). going out to eat, going on hikes, being attached at the hip on small trips with friends. sometimes it feels like you might explode. your friends fear the impending doom of the tension suddenly snapping and ending with the two of you ripping each other's clothes off in front of everyone. but it’s worth it, you tell yourself, and it’s better than not having him at all.

four years have passed since your promise and you’re still waiting, patient as ever. but now, katsuki’s goal is so close you can almost feel his lips on yours. he’s steadily but surely moving up the ranks, and countless websites and blogs have already submitted their predictions for this years upcoming billboard chart results. things are looking up, and yet you can’t help but feel that katsuki’s recently been pulling away from you. you try your best to subdue your growing insecurities and be reasonable, but as the weeks go by and the thread tying you together continues to tear apart, the conclusion you’ve been avoiding beams at you: maybe katsuki’s done waiting for you. and maybe it’s finally time you listen to your friends warnings and start moving on, especially now when his lack of a presence in your life might make things easier.

you try, quietly. you’re sure if kirishima got a hold of such information he’d fax it right on over to katsuki, an idea that mortifies you. there’s a new sidekick at the office who you’ve been getting along with recently. the prospect of a romance with him has never come to mind, not when it’s been occupied by thoughts of katsuki and katsuki only, but you think it’s a good place to start. a few dates happen but the spark just isn’t there; you haven’t found your rebound, but you’ve found a close friend and confidant. being part of the hero industry means you’re bound to bump into your former classmates on a regular basis, katsuki included; even if it does feel like he’s been actively avoiding you. you know it’s immature, but you make it a point to always sit next to said confidant and laugh a little more than usual at meetings where katsuki is present, hoping his possessiveness will kick in and ignite the fire that’s been dwindling. you figure you only have yourself to blame for the bitterness that consumes you when nothing changes.

despite your minimal best efforts, you’re still hopelessly in love with katsuki by the time you’re physically sat at the billboard chart event, anxiously waiting for the top ten to be announced. feelings and promises aside, you’re still rooting for his success just as much as you were when you were two silly teenagers in the middle of a friendly rivalry (whatever “friendly” had meant to an arrogant, brutish teenage katsuki), before your heart had declared itself irrevocably his.

and although you’d like to think that all your classmates have matured since then, the matter of the fact is that some people will always have a little more room to grow; which is exactly why katsuki has still retained some of his juvenile stupidity, and why a vein is practically bulging out of his forehead at the sight of you chatting away with that stupid motherfucker from your agency among the sea of heroes. sure he’s been purposely distancing himself from you, and sure he chose not to do anything about his feelings — flaming red with rage and emerald green with envy — all those other times the two of you were practically crawled up each others asses right in front of him, but why the fuck isn’t your attention directed at him today? you promised. there’s a little voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously similar to a certain redhead, and it’s berating him for acting like a hypocrite. in response to said voice katsuki grumbles that he’s not a hypocrite because he didn’t break his promise; he never stopped waiting. he just got scared. scared that after all these years he still wasn’t half the man you deserved; that you’d waited for him in vain. and what better way to avoid an inevitable heartache than to push you away? what better ending for you than someone you deserved?

you don’t think there’s any gift katsuki could receive that could outdo his big win that night, but you still walk towards him at the after party, wrapped box in hand. he’s standing at the open bar (courtesy of the HPSC), elbows propped behind him as he revels in praise and congratulations from his former classmates and colleagues. kyoka and denki spot you first. their knowing gazes make your face warm up from shyness and embarrassment alike —the embarrassment stemming from the fact that tonight was unlikely to end with the moment they’d been rooting for for years. katsuki’s head turns to you last, and you note that his face is slightly flushed. it’s a sign that he’s had a few too many drinks, a sight last seen about two year ago when mina and sero had challenged him to a drinking contest (never again, he’d told you the morning after). you politely ask to pull him away to a secluded balcony, ignoring the low whistle that follows.

the night air is bitterly cold, which you accredit for the darker shade of pink that has covered katsuki’s face, illuminated by the lights of neighboring skyscrapers. had it not been for the last four months of radio silence from the now number one hero, your heart might have been pounding faster. it’s steadiness is further set by his gaze, which meets everything but yours. tonight may not be the night, but it’s still his.

“you’re probably tired of hearing this; or maybe not, actually,” you chuckle. “but congratulations, tsuki.”

the nickname makes him perk up enough to look at you. he wants to tell you that it is getting tiring, but he wouldn’t mind hearing it a couple hundred more times from you. instead, he lets you continue, hoping for a set of more significant words.

instead, you pull the box from behind your back, wrapped in holographic orange wrapping paper. a deliberate choice, considering you’d been telling him how ugly of a color orange was since your school days (you make it work, you’d told him once). you hold the box out for him to take.

“i know it’s not much, and i knew you’d hate the idea but i still wanted to get you something. i’m really proud of you tsuki.”

he holds the gift in his hands, flipping the dimensions around like something might appear. giving you a chance to say more. you don’t.

“is that all?”

your head cocks to the side. “i guess so?” you’re unsure of what he means. katsuki’s always hated receiving gifts, so you doubt he’s suddenly greedy for a second something you might be holding behind your back.

a ridiculous thought smacks him right across the head, the product of disappointment, insecurity, and the alcohol coursing through his system. the image of you and that fuckface he doesn’t even know the name of is attached. the bit of rationality left in him allows him to bite his tongue. “i don’t want it,” he declares, arm extended to return the box.

“stop that. take it,” you swat his hand away. he allows it drop to the ground. a mistake, you assume. you’re quick to pick it up and shove it back towards him.

“i said i don’t fucking want it,” he reiterates, hands shoved in his pockets as he walks towards the balcony door. “don’t want your fucking pity gift,” he mutters, low enough for you not to hear.

your initial shock is quickly taken over by anger. katsuki feels his arm being yanked before he’s nose to nose with your tear stained face. “you’re an asshole, you know that? if you don’t want me in your life any more, grow a pair and say so. you’d do that if you had even an ounce of respect left for me, instead of stringing me along and making me look like a complete fucking idiot.” the shake in your breath is followed by the slump of your shoulders. your vision is too blurred by tears to see how katsuki’s gaze has softened. “what did you get out of wasting my time?”

he feels the box being forced back into his hand. this time, he grabs it with a firm grip as you reach for the door handle behind him.

katsuki feigns ignorance when asked about your sudden leave by your mutual friends. says you probably left with that little friend of yours. mina isn’t subtle at all when she points out that your “little friend” is still at the party, and calls him over to further inquire about your whereabouts; he says he doesn’t know either. he then turns to katsuki, congratulates him and tells him about all the good things he’s heard about him from you. suddenly he feels like throwing up.

at home, katsuki finally tears open the wrapping paper. the envelope that falls out captures his attention first. the letter inside is four pages long everything he’d expect from you, unbelievably cheesy yet still able to make his eyes all glassy. three pages filled with descriptions of shared past memories and all the reasons you think deserves everything good that comes his way. and the fourth page. this isn’t meant to be a love letter, but if i never tell you how i feel I think i’ll suffocate. you can just blast this page to pieces if you want to.

inside the box is a watch. all alone, in the solace of his living room, on his first night as the number one hero, katsuki lets out a bitter chuckle.

[headoverhiddles]

Disorderly Conduct - Sheriff Brackett x Reader [Smut]

Synopsis: You go visit the Sheriff at work to see if you can have a little fun. Then, an unexpected visitor forces you to improvise. 

@chari-koopa

It was one of those days.

Most days at work were alright-- Sheriff Brackett liked to think he did an on-par job taking care of Haddonfield and all its good citizens. Of course, today was one of those "fuddle days," as he called them. Everything was sticky and hot, as things got in early July, and Mrs. Bedford had called him all the way to Sicamore Road across town to settle a dispute with her neighbor over their gardening line. (He supposed it was for the best-- it had escalated to bearing arms by the time he got there.)  

Now he was looking forward to settling in with his sticky bun in the office until someone else decided they needed him.

"Sheriff?" Brackett looks up, clouds in his mind parting.

"Hm?"

"You've got a... visitor."

The fact that the officer was on the verge of a smirk should have tipped Brackett off, but one thing he was not was observant. Who could it be now, come along to bother him?! Maybe Jed from Strawberry Lane, come to complain about Mr. Adler’s golden retriever fucking up his lawn again. God forbid he have an actual issue to deal with as Sheriff, instead of riding around the streets in a god damn fur cap looking like Davy Crockett.

He headed right into his office, taking off said hat and sunglasses...

"Christ almighty!"

You smile up at the sheriff as he shuts the door quickly, checking out the frosted glass to see if anyone else saw you.

"Calm down. Nobody saw me but deputy hoo-hah in there. Shouldn't there be some more cops on duty? This is a station, right?"

"What are you doing out lookin' like that?!" Brackett blurts, cheeks reddening. You bite your lip, squishing your tits together a little more. You love making him squirm, and the remodeling of your school outfit did just that.

"I thought I'd come say hi."

"And what've you done to your uniform?" he sighs, swallowing as his eyes come to rest on your extremely accentuated bust. You had made a few modifications to your school uniform to make it sexier. The skirt now barely grazed the bottom of your ass, and your buttons were popping beneath your breasts.

"I made it my own."

"You sure did that," he nods. He rubs his face as he sits down. "You do realize everyone I work with is gonna think I'm a pervert now."

"Not if I were to beg you to fuck me loud enough for them to hear."

"(y/n)!"

You giggle. "Not that I would."

"You better not--"

"Fuck me!"

"Hun, I'm warning you!"

"What're you gonna do, daddy?" you breathe, spreading your legs. His eyes go down to your panties, which he can see are soaked through. He undoes the top two buttons of his uniform, takes a deep breath, and stands you up.

"Wait for me at home, I won't be long."

"But daddy, I need you now," you moan, grabbing his arm. He escorts you to the door, rubbing your shoulders.

"Sweetie, daddy's at work, he's working, he'll be home so--" He stops mid sentence and gasps a little as you reach forward to palm him through his pants. "What are you--" he gives a raspy moan, and you feel him get hard in record time.

"Mmm, I don't think you want me to stop now, do you daddy?" you blink up at him, licking your lips, and he grabs your arm, leading you over to his desk and hastily undoing his belt buckle.

"You drive me wild, princess," he mumbles, hurriedly taking himself out, "But you know it."

"Mhm," you smirk wickedly, and lick your lips at the sight of his cock. "Fuck, I want it, sir."

"Real fast," he groans, parting your thighs and grabbing onto one, "And I mean real fast." Just then, the landline on his desk rings. "Jesus," he mutters, and you press the speakerphone button for him, taking your top off. "This is Brackett!" His voice sounds so strong and authoritative when he's at work, and it turns you on. He knows that, so he tries to play it up.

"Sheriff, there's a Doctor here, said he came from Smith's Grove or somethin'. Got a big problem he's gotta talk to you about."

"You don't sound too urgent about the whole thing," Brackett says, moving your hips closer to his.

The deputy's voice lowers. "That's because he seems like a bit of a wingnut.” 

"Can it wait for five minutes?" Brackett blurts in exasperation.

"Only five sir?" You can hear the deputy smirking. Brackett looks less than amused as you giggle and bite your finger.

"That's enough outta you Ronson, keep quiet and tell him--"

Just then, there's a flurry of hard knocks at the office door.

"Sheriff!" It's a British voice. "Sheriff, I really must see you, it's a terrible emergency!" More banging.

"Oh hell," Brackett mutters, looking down at your spread out body on his desk, and you decide to take matters into your own hands. You slip under the desk, and Brackett follows your lead, quickly taking a seat in his chair just as the doctor bursts in.

"Haven't you ever heard of waitin' to be invited in?" Brackett snaps, covering his lap up, and the doctor puts his hands up.

"Sheriff, I'm Dr. Loomis. I'm so sorry for my lack of etiquette but this situation doesn't have very much time for it, I'm afraid."

"Alright doctor," Brackett says, sitting back, "I'm all ears. What's this big problem you've got for me?"

"Well you see, 15 years ago, I looked after a boy--"

As Loomis begins to speak, you put your hands on the sheriff's knees. He chokes a little as you get closer...

"--the devil's eyes. I couldn't get through to him. Now, he is dangerous, and he is coming here! Tonight!"

You swallow his cock down.

"Oh my god," Brackett breathes. Loomis hesitates.

"...Yes well, I'm glad you see the gravity of the situation, to be honest I feared you wouldn't--"

You go back to sucking him, almost gagging as you take him to the back of your throat. You start to dig your fingernails into his thighs through his uniform pants as you bob up and down on his cock.

"--and I believe he will make first for his childhood home."

You lick a stripe across the head.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

"My thoughts exactly, Sheriff." You go up and down, tightening your lips and playing with the vein on his erection, teasing him, working him up to an amazing orgasm.

Brackett white knuckles the desk with one hand, and taps your head with the other. He's close, you can feel it by the way he's thrusting ever so slightly into your mouth. You're so wet, trapped there between daddy's legs choking on his cock, pushing him to the absolute edge. You'd get it in bed later for this.

Doctor Loomis pauses his rant for a moment, eyeing the sheriff's appearance. His eyes are fluttering closed, and his breathing is heavy.

"Are you alright?"

Brackett opens his eyes under Loomis' suspicion.

"Just fine. Just... just fine, keep going." The encouragement is obviously directed toward you, and you go even faster, bobbing and licking.

"--Right. Anyway, I know for a fact Michael will be coming for his baby sister, and the other houses in this town are in danger as well."

Brackett gasps and looks up as you suck him perfectly. "Lord above."

"Indeed, so you agree this is the course of action we must take before he finds her?"

You suddenly feel Brackett's fingers twist in your hair as he comes in your mouth with a slight grunt. His neck strains and he squeezes his eyes shut, then regains his composure. "Um. Doctor, I'm gonna level with you. I haven't heard one word you've said." Loomis looks extremely frustrated. "Now how about...” Brackett holds up both hands, “We try things again, over burgers later. My treat. I know a damn good joint just up the bend here--"

"Burgers?! While we're eating burgers and chatting, Michael Myers will be out turning your little town into a slaughterhouse!"

"Okay--”

“Slaughterhouse, Sheriff!” 

“Alright! At least give me ten minutes to... to right myself, dammit!"

"Very well."

You start to tuck him back up.

"Oh, by the way," Loomis turns with a slight smirk, "The lovely little thing you've got under the desk is a right looker." He winks your way, and you blush. Brackett starts to babble, so the doctor waves it off. "What, you thought I'd never gotten a blowie under the table before? Nothing like it, eh? And she seemed quite the talent, judging by your entertaining facial aerobics." He laughs at Brackett's embarrassment. "You've not exactly got the best poker face, Sheriff." His face gets serious again. "We'll be in touch tonight."

The door closes, and Brackett gets up, running a hand through his hair.

"Dammit... (y/n)... this was not appropriate!" he moans, making sure his fly is done up.

You can see the conflict in his face easing away as you bite your lip and act coy.

"Daddy didn't enjoy it?"

He sighs, looping his arm around your middle and drawing you close. "I enjoyed it, princess. I enjoyed it a lot. Too much."

You smile, cuddling into his chest and tucking your hands into the back pockets of his uniform. "Love you."

His heart melts a little. He can never resist you. "I love you too, babygirl. So much. Now you get home safe." He gives your ass an affectionate little squeeze under the short skirt, and fits on his furry Sheriff hat. "Seems like the punishment for all that'll have to wait til tomorrow night."

[kittyfeathersflying]

Murder  twins

Andrew had been *weird ever since they moved in with Nicky. Scratch that, Andrew had been weird since the moment they met, but this was a different sort of strange. Ever since mom died and Andrew got Aaron clean, Andrew had been distant. Not avoiding him, it just seemed like he had something on his mind. He would go out at weird times of night, and he was chain smoking when he got back. He thought they would be closer. Andrew promised! He said it was them against the world and Andrew wouldn't let anyone else hurt him. How could Andrew do that if wasn't even talking to Aaron?

But today was even stranger. Andrew talked at dinner. To Aaron *and Nicky! He almost seemed happy. That's how Aaron knows Andrew's either in deep shit or going to do something stupid tonight.

Aaron almost falls asleep waiting, but it's worth it when around 3 AM Andrew walks past where he’s pretending to sleep on the couch. Aaron watches as Andrew walks down the street. Interesting.

Aaron would follow on foot but Andrew would notice that, it's a nice enough neighborhood that not a lot of people are walking around at night.

Nicky has a spare set of keys for the neighbors house and car. She’s old and retired, so Nicky borrows her car for work in exchange for mowing her lawn and helping her around the house. Aaron grabs the keys and sets out on Andrew's tail.

Andrew walks for almost 15 minutes until he goes for a car parked on the street. Andrew gets inside and drives.

Aaron was right! Andrew is planning something. There was a report of a stolen car a couple weeks ago matching the description of the car he gets into. Andrew drives for almost half an hour, into the bad side of town before he parks in front of a nondescript house.

Aaron parks a street over just to be safe and starts walking to the house. Andrew's not the hypocritical type, he’s pretty sure, but he doesn't know why else someone drives a stolen car to a house at this time of night, in this part of town, except for drugs. Andrew seems to hate drugs, dealers or users, the same. He certainly hated Mom, and probably Aaron when he was on them. Andrew seemed so angry at her after she OD'd but maybe that's how he dealt with the grief. Aaron knows he is not doing any better with her death.

Aaron was thinking of eavesdropping or just looking through the windows when he hears glass break and a commotion. All other thoughts cease in his head as he runs to Andrew. He just got his brother back, he’s not losing him again!

The door is thankfully unlocked and Aaron races through the unfamiliar house. "Andrew!" He hisses.

"Aaron?" Comes the weak but unmistakable voice of Andrew from the living room. Aaron runs to the room and sees Andrew.

He’s covered in blood up to his elbows and there is spatterings of it all over him. He’s sitting in a pool of blood from the body next to him. There’s a knife on the floor and the dead guy’s body has numerous stab wounds. Fuck. This neighborhood is rough, but it's not that rough. Eventually someone's going to call the cops. He’s got to get Andrew out of here.

Andrew's shaking and he keeps making half hiccuping noises like he’s going to start crying. His eyes are darting all over the place, but his pupils are wide and unfocused. He keeps looking over at Aaron in surprise like everytime he looks away he thinks Aaron's going to disappear. "Andrew?" Aaron slowly crouches near Andrew, careful to avoid the blood. "Andrew?" Aaron tries again. Andrew's eyes snap to him, finally seeming to actually see him.

"A-Aaron? What're you doing here?" Andrew's shaking is getting worse but he stopped making the awful choking noise.

"Cleaning up your mess apparently." Aaron mutters as he slowly reaches out his hand and cups Andrew's face, rubbing his thumb over Andrew's cheek. Andrew seems to calm down a little at the touch. "Andrew I need you to answer some questions for me okay?" Andrew nods. "Did you kill him?"

Andrew tilts his head a little to look at the dead guy. "Yes," he says in apparent satisfaction.

"Did anyone see you do it?"

"No."

"Good."

"G-good?"

"Yeah, that means it’ll be easier to cover up."

Andrew looks confused. It's small and muted on Andrew face, just a little tilt of his eyebrows, but Aaron can tell nonetheless.

"What?"

"We're gonna burn it."

Aaron looks around at the living room. This guy liked his shiplap and wood furniture. That's helpful. The one thing he missed about his drug fueled days was burning stuff in back alleys. Not that he can’t do that now, but those kind of alley’s are filled with the sort of people he’s trying to distance himself from now.

Andrew still looks confused.

"I'm going to burn the evidence; the body, the house, and if we're lucky the car too."

Aaron helps Andrew up and sets him down in a chair facing away from the body..

Aaron finds the cleaning stuff and wipes down the stolen car after he puts it in the garage. Then he takes bleach and pours all over the body and the blood staining the shag carpet. He takes the knife with him though, better to be safe than sorry, or end up in jail, in this case.  He gets towels from the bathroom to get as much blood as possible off of Andrew. He’s responding less and less, which worries Aaron, but he has other priorities first. Like cleaning up the murder scene and then deal with the mental trauma from said murder.

He uses the towels as kindling and uses the lighter fluid he found in the garage as fuel. He lights a match and feels so proud of his work.

He would admire the fire longer but he’s got to get Andrew to the car before the fire department shows up.

-

Andrew starts getting fussy in the car.

He keeps scratching at the blood his arm and face, and whining at Aaron when he slaps his hand away.

"I know it’s uncomfortable, but I'm going to have to clean the car, and it's best if it has the least amount of evidence in it."

Andrew seems to stop scratching but gets more twitchy and irritable when he stops. That's fine by Aaron he's used to Andrew being annoying.  

Thankfully Nicky sleeps like the dead so he doesn't hear them come in. Aaron wanted to start to clean the car now, but Andrews has other plans. He’s freaking out more than he was at the house. Andrew walks inside and starts pacing as he babbles; "I have to get it off, I don't like it, I don't like it!"

Aaron carefully approaches and grabs him by the wrists disrupting his scratching again. "Andrew, what is it? What don’t you like?"

Andrew seems like he might actually cry this time. "I don’t... I need it off. I don’t like it, its feel bad. Get it off!"

Aaron pulls Andrew in close, rubbing his back. "Shh, it's going to be okay. I'm here, I'll fix it." He means that too, he'll fix whatever's wrong.

Andrew mumbles "It feels sticky, I don’t like it." into Aaron's shirt. Aaron rubs Andrew's back soothingly, when he hits a wet spot and Andrew whimpers. "Oh, the blood congealed. It’s sticking to you? I bet that doesn't feel nice at all."

Andrew shakes his head. Aaron checks the time. They still have a few hours left till sunrise. "Alrighty let's get you cleaned up, okay?"

Aaron gets Andrew to the bathroom and tries to get Andrew to undress, but he won’t let go of Aaron.

Aaron sighs and turns on the water, and pulls Andrew in with him. He'll have to burn these clothes anyways, it doesn't matter how trashed they get before that.

Andrew sputters a bit at the water, otherwise doesn't react.

"Alright Andrew, I've got to get you clean, okay?" Andrew tightens his grip at first then gently lets go. Aaron manages to wrestle his shirt, pants and socks off no trouble. He leaves the boxers on, and takes off his own clothes.

He's gently scrubbing the blood off and Andrew's holding on to his shoulder for support.

Andrew looks away and bites his lip when Aaron gets to Andrew's arm. He's shocked at the scars on his forearm, how could he have never noticed them before? Andrew always wore long sleeves, even in summer. Aaron always thought it was because he was just trying to be edgy or something.

He looks at Andrew's expression, how vulnerable and afraid he looks, and decides that it’s something to worry about later. He doesn't say anything. Just tries to get all the blood off.

-

He manages to grab some clothes for Andrew and get them both dressed. He wants Andrew to sleep or explain what's going on, but he figures tonight's not about what he wants. Andrew sits on the porch and chain smokes while Aaron cleans the car. He buries the knife in the back for lack of a better idea. The clothes he can burn later after Nicky leaves for work.

Aaron drops off the car, puts it back in the neighbor's driveway, and sits down next to Andrew.

Andrew takes a long drag and exhales. "You didn’t ask."

Aaron lays his head on Andrew's shoulder. "Nope."

Andrew stubs out his cigarette, and lights another, he’s careful about not moving too much, as to dislodge Aarons head.. Then takes a drag and stubs it out, then lights another one.

"Ya'know I'm not an expert or anything but I'm pretty sure you're supposed to smoke those."  

"Why?"

"Well the nicotin-"

"No, why? Why aren't you going to ask? Why don’t you care? I just murdered a man! And you, ... you just cleaned it up."

Aaron closes his eyes, and takes a deep breathe. The sun will rise soon, meaning Nicky will get up and wonder why they're both up before dawn. He will turn on the TV and find that the news will report an arson. Just one in a string of many in the area. He won’t find a call on his voicemail about Andrew having been in police custody. He won’t hear about the murder on the news. He especially won’t hear that Aaron was the contributing factor in either of those realities.

"Because it didn't matter. He was dead and you're not. I can't lose you again. You promised me. You're the first person to ever promise me something and mean it, so you can't back out now."

Andrew stiffens at Aaron's words. "I won't. I haven't.”

"Murdering someone without a backup plan doesn't scream 'staying' to me."

"I didnt... I." Andrew falters. "I didn't think I'd freeze up. I had a plan, but I just... fell apart." Andrew swallows hard, staring out into the middle ground. “You didn’t ask…”

“Do you want me to?”

"No... yes. I think you should."

"Okay." Aaron stands up and pulls Andrew up with him.

"Let's talk inside, we'll freak out Nicky if he thinks we're waiting for him to leave."

Andrew leads them to his room. He curls up in a blanket. He pats the bed for Aaron to sit down. Aaron leaves a couple inches of space until Andrew nudges him and he scoots closer. "Ask." Andrew says from his blanket cocoon.

"Why did you murder that man, and how did it go wrong?."

"Tilda was hitting you." Is not how Aaron thought this was going to start. Aaron filched at the reminder but Andrew sticks his hand out and grabs Aaron's hand.

"I'm okay, I just didn’t expect you to start with that."

"I told her to stop, I threatened her if she didn't. She did for a little while." Aaron nods, she did lay off of him for a couple weeks, but Aaron just thought she was on a bender. "But she didn't stop altogether." Again Aaron nods.

"I was going to cut her brakes, make it look like an accident, I was going to be there to make sure."

Aaron squeezes Andrew's hand. On one hand Andrew was planning on killing their mother, but on the other hand, the one that's holding Andrew's, he wasn't the one to leave him. "Go on."

"But she died before I could do anything. I was... not in good place after that. Then I saw him in the convenience store. I'm not surprised he didn't recognize me, it was a long time ago. I did some research and I found out where he lived. If couldn't kill your abuser, I could damn well kill at least one of mine."

"Wha-what did he do?"

"He came at night, when his wife was working late. He'd crawl into my bed. He said if I begged he would,... he would stop. He told me to say 'please' and he would stop."

"He didn’t stop, did he?"

"No, I was seven, I believed him every time he said he would stop."

"Andrew.."

"I didn’t tell you to get your pity." Andrew practically sneers.

"That's not what this is. It’s poorly concealed rage under a thin veneer of sympathy."

Aaron, slowly under Andrew’s watchful eye, pulls back the blanket and snuggles up to Andrew. "I wish I could have killed him, I wish I could make him suffer."

"He’s dead now, it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

Andrew look surprised and strangely touched.

"What you think I would cover up a murder I knew nothing about, for anybody? Of course I care!"

Andrew looks away from Aaron, "...Anyway, I planned to kill him. I stole a car and parked it a little ways away for later and found his address. I confronted him, he didn't recognize me at first, but when he did he-he laughed at me, at my anger. He called me a slut that wanted him. Told me if I said please again just as sweetly as I used to, he'd love to go again for old times sake."

"Is that when you stabbed him?"

"Yes."

"Good, what happened after?"

"I was supposed to be better, not stab him 27 times in his living room. Get him outside or to a bathroom. Ditch him and the car in a lake. I just... got so mad. Then I had a panic attack."

"Oh, is that what that was?"

"Yeah. But you did the best you could given the situation."

"Wait, you said 'one of [your] abusers'. Who else touched you?"

Andrew seems to sink further into their cocoon. "It doesn't matter."

"Like hell its doesn't! "

"What are you going to do, kill them?"

"Maybe. Actually, yes! Yes I will."

"No, we barely got away this time!"

"If you can plot to kill my abuser, I can damn well plot to kill yours!"

"Rin..." Andrew sighs, exhaustion flooding him.

"Drew," Aaron curls his hand into his brother's shirt. "Tell me, tell me so I can help you, we can do it together, at least if we do it together, we have a better chance at getting away with it."

Andrew frowns, gripping Aaron's hip and pulls him closer. "Later, I'm worn out." He says and buries his face in his brother's neck, feeling oddly comforted by his contact.

Aaron nods and wraps his arms around his twin, rubbing his back. "Okay, I'm here, Drew."

They fall asleep like that, wrapped up together on Andrews bed.

[letmeletmetrashyourlove]

Breaking Things

Summary: Billy finds companionship in his next-door neighbor after she witnesses him being punched by his father.

Author’s Note: The things being broken are hearts. Just so you know. Just short of 4k words

REQUESTS OPEN! FEEDBACK APPRECIATED!

A new family had moved in next door nearly a year earlier. The Hargroves. I suspected they were a blended family, judging by how the siblings got along. Max, a girl, couldn’t be older than 14. She rode her skateboard around the block all the time. She came off as polite, but spunky. Her mother was also very proper, quiet and reserved.

Billy was the oldest sibling, my age. He had a hot rod car and a bad attitude. Although, he played it up more than he cared to admit. When the family came over to introduce themselves, he offered me a modest smirk, shaking my hand.

Come to learn that this was how Billy treated everybody. When he was in front of his parents, anyway. Without the oversight of his father, he was a crude, callous boy. Despite his prickly personality, he managed to win over the hearts of every girl in the school. Turns out teenagers really value the important life skill of being able to do the longest keg stand in Hawkins history.

With the Hargrove’s arrival came a few new echoes in the neighborhood. A skateboard on the asphalt, the rumble of a car engine… and screaming.

Every day, at eight o’clock in the evening on the dot, the screaming started. Short, sporadic bursts of hollering came throughout the day and continued into the night. But eight o’clock was invariably the loudest. A male voice, occasionally two, could be heard rattling the walls of the Hargrove’s house. But the second voice always quieted, frequently punctuated with a bang. Occasionally accompanied by Billy staggering out to his car and speeding off down the road.

Tonight, at eight o’clock, the screaming started again. It could be heard from my kitchen window. I could see into the Hargrove’s kitchen from there. Nothing much exciting ever went on, other than the occasional appearance of Mrs. Hargrove doing the dishes.

But this time, I noticed Billy. Neil had him pinned up against the fridge, some of the magnets had bounced to the floor. His father stuck an accusing finger in his face, ultimately forcing his closed fist across Billy’s cheek.

Billy instinctively reached up, cupping his face where he had been struck. This was followed by a terse conversation, leading to Billy picking the magnets up off the floor before heading to the front door.

I  suspected something was going on. A kid like Billy doesn’t develop that temperament without an outside force. And that force was Neil.

Without thinking, I ran out my front door and watched as Billy stormed out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

         “Hargrove!” I called out, watching Billy stagger down his driveway, clutching his face in his palm. I couldn’t tell if he was drunk or if the blow had rung his bell. Either way, I didn’t like the prospect of him wandering around town alone after dark. Not after what happened to Barbara Holland.

He ignored my shouting, stumbling down the street in the contrary direction of me.

        “Hargrove!” I called, “Billy!”

         “Fuck off and mind your own goddamn business.” He wailed, not bothering to look at me.

Billy Hargrove was never one to ask for help. Most of what he wanted, he could just get. Flash a smile, bat his lashes, girls bent to his every whim. That tactic not working? Yell and intimidate. Throw fists, break skin. But he wasn’t going to brush me off that easily,

        “Billy!” I worried, tracking him down the sidewalk.

        “What did I just fucking say!?” He spat, still not turning to look at me, even though I was mere steps behind him.

 I mulled over whether or not to catch his arm, recognizing the situation he just went through involved an unpleasant touch. But he wasn’t going to pay attention unless I did, so I reached out for his wrist. I trapped it in a grip firm enough to stop him, but not rough enough for him to see it as unfriendly.

          “What!” He thundered, powerfully enough to force me to jump back. He nevertheless refused to look me in the eye, his cheek still turned aside.

 I didn’t say anything, I just reached for his chin to angle his head towards me. He smacked my hand aside.

          “Would you cut the bullshit?” I requested, reaching up once again.

He rolled his eyes before he allowed me to rest my thumb on his chin, turning his face towards me to display a gash running across his left cheekbone, expanding under his eye.

          “What happened?” I feigned ignorance. I couldn’t straight up tell him I had watched through his window. He would probably do anything to change the subject, call me a stalker and storm off. He wasn’t used to having people care about him.

        “Fight with Tommy, that’s all. That bastard is irritating as hell.” He lied, drawing a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it. He drew in a deep breath, his whole body was trembling. With anger or fear, I couldn’t tell. He let the smoke out through his nose, closing his eyes as he tried to manage his breathing.

        “I… uh… I heard all that… yelling.” I implied that I knew more than I was letting on, more than he was telling me.

        “Yeah, you and the rest of the fucking block.” He derided, glancing up the street to meet several neighbors peering out their windows at us. They hastily drew their curtains when we caught sight of them.

        “Billy… Did… did your dad-” I pressed, playing with my necklace.

        “It was just an argument.” He interrupted, taking another puff from his smoke.

        “Billy-” I began,

        “Stop it! Stop fucking talking to me like that!” He yelled, catching me off guard. smoke exploded from his mouth as he flicked his cigarette onto the pavement and ground it out under his boot.

        “Like what!?” I counteracted.

        “Like… Like you’re smarter than me! Like… Like you know what’s going on!” He hollered, throwing his hands up in frustration. He did what he always did when he went into ‘intimidate mode’ puffed up his chest, raised his voice, broadened his shoulders.

Smarter than him. I knew Billy had his insecurities, but I never doubted his intelligence. The brief glimpses I got at his school assignments told me he was brighter than he let on. He’d quickly shove the homework or test into his backpack or toss it into the trash. It wasn’t cool to be smart or get good grades, and he couldn’t damage his bad boy reputation.

        “I saw your dad hit you through your goddamn window, Billy!” I shouted back,

His angered expression dropped to one of dismay. Abuse is never something anybody wants to talk about, and I just threw it out into the open.

        “And it’s not hard to connect the dots. I’m not a fucking moron like the rest of your friends who believe your bullshit excuses!”

          “So what’re you gonna do, huh? Tell everybody about it? Make me the fucking laughing stock of the town?” He scoffed,

          “No! Because unlike your friends, I’m not a piece of shit!” I hissed, “Now come on.”

I reached for his wrist once more but he yanked away before I could grab him.

        “Why?”

        “You’re walking down the street like a drunk and you’re bleeding.” I told him, “Somebody is gonna call the cops on you or something. Let’s go.”

He followed behind me, his boots clicking on the sidewalk.

        “I don’t need you to be my fucking therapist.” He grumbled.

        “I’m not trying to be your therapist.”

        “Good.” He replied.

        “Fine.”

        “Cause I don’t need one.”

        “Sure.”

        “I’m serious.”

        “I know.”

I led him up the steps of my front porch and inside. I sat him at the dining room table, leaving him while I got the first aid kit. When I returned, he was out of his seat, studying the pictures that hung on the wall,

        “You were a cute baby.” He smirked, pointing to the picture of me grinning at the camera, showing off the wooden block I was playing with. I ignored his attempt to change the subject, 

          “All babies are cute.” I rebutted, “Sit.”

He followed my order, watching my every move as I tore out a hunk of gauze big enough to protect the wound on his cheek. 

        “Does he do this to Max?” I whispered.

        “No… Susan would be gone if he did. And he enjoys fucking her too much.”

        “Jesus, Billy. I didn’t need to know that.” I grimaced.

        “Yeah, well. Neither did I. Thin walls in that house, Y/N.”

Without either of us realizing it, this became a routine. Eight o’clock, screaming, knock on my door, Billy in the dining room. Ice and a bandage on his cheek. Go home. Eight o’clock, screaming, knock on my door, Billy in the dining room. Ice and a bandage on his cheek.

Each time, he revealed a little more about himself. How he grew up, where he’s from, basketball, his car. But topic never touched was what happened to his mother. I knew she was likely still in California, but I didn’t know a damn thing about her. Or about how and why his parents split. I never bothered to bring it up, though.

Each time he stayed a little bit later. The first time he came over, he left right after being patched up. The next time we chatted about school for a while, then he left. The next time stayed for dinner, meeting my family. The next time we ate dinner and watched a movie, both of us becoming increasingly comfortable having the other around.

        “You know you can stay the night if you ever want to.” I offered on more than one occasion.

        "Y/N, are you inviting me to a sleepover?" He smirked.

I crossed my arms over my chest and raised my eyebrows at him.

        "I'm serious."

        “And what?  Have him come break down your door? Not gonna happen. I want him as far away from you as possible.” He reiterated.

This protectiveness from Billy was nothing new either. Whenever I glanced at him at school, he seemed to already have tabs on me. Not in a creepy way, either. Just, keeping an eye out for me. Not that I needed any protection anyway.

I generally sat alone at lunch, by my own choosing. I worked on whatever homework I had, read a book, listened to my walkman. But one day, I hear a tray slam down onto the table next to mine. The waft of cologne and cigarette smoke told me who it was before he even sat down. He gave me a nod before eating quietly beside me. Every eye in the room was turned towards us, the new king of Hawkins was sitting with some nobody at lunch, and that tipped the scales.

But the evenings were no different.

Eight o’clock, screaming, knock on my door, Billy in the dining room. Ice and a bandage on his cheek. Go home.

I began to anticipate his arrival, pulling the first aid kit from the bathroom and setting it on the dining room table. Even the nights that he didn’t need it, he still showed up, the routine burned into his mind.

The stomps that fell on my steps were heavier than normal, causing my heart to race faster with each thud. I was about to make a break for the back door when the familiar mullet headed boy burst through the front door,  

        “Jesus Christ, Billy! You scared the shit out of me!” I exclaimed, placing my hand on my chest as Billy slammed my front door closed.

        “You can’t just come storming in here like that. I’m home alone, I thought you were coming in to kill me or something!”

He avoided me, tramping past me and into the kitchen,

        “Billy!?” I called after him, getting up from the couch and following him. He paced around, letting out short, sharp breaths.

        “Hey!” I hollered, observing as he slapped a full glass of water off the counter and onto the floor.

I now stood barefoot in a puddle, imprisoned in my space by the shattered glass on the floor.

        “What the hell is your problem!?” I screamed, throwing my hands up in grievance.

Yet another glass struck the floor, fracturing and skittering across the linoleum. Billy proceeded to be a bull in a china shop, stomping through the kitchen, making the cabinets rattle.

        “Okay, fine? You wanna break things? Let’s fucking break things, huh!?” I shouted, tiptoeing around the glass the best I could and bringing him over to the display case in the living room that held all of the participation trophies I had received as a child. I wrenched it open, snatching one of the trophies.

        “Hm?” I hummed, lifting my eyebrows at him as I slammed the plastic figurine to the floor. I handed one to him, “Come on!”

He looked me up and down, considering whether or not I was serious before smashing the object to the floor, tearing another one from the case. He yanked them all down, one by one, demolishing them on the floor under his boots. Once he was out of things to break, his chest continued to heave, his jaw clenched.

His hands curled in and out of fists as he tried to slow his breathing.

        “Billy.” I murmured, “Deep breaths.”

He nodded, although he was still powerless to contain himself, each breath more labored than the last. My mind reeled, working to think of what to do to calm him down. Then it dawned on me.

I grabbed him by the face and pulled him in to kiss me. After his initial shock wore off, his hands flew to my cheeks, leaning into my touch.

        “Are you done breaking shit?” I breathed as I pulled away, peering at his reddened face.

        “Yeah.” He exhaled.

        “Good.”

He kept his hold on my cheeks, propping his forehead on mine and staring down at the wreckage on the floor. I followed his gaze, settling on the red splotch that was appearing around my foot.

        “Did you cut it?” He whispered, his face imprinted with worry as he dropped his hands from my face and set them on my upper arms.

        “Must’ve. I didn’t notice.” I remarked, lifting my foot up off the ground and glancing at the bottom of it. A fragment of glass stuck in the ball of my foot, leaving a gouged wound.

Billy wrapped an arm around my middle, helping me hobble into the kitchen. He hoisted me up to sit on the counter.

I didn’t have to tell him where the first aid kit was. He shuffled into the bathroom and plucked it out. He took a chair from the dining room table, sitting down in front of me and arranging my foot in his lap. He tugged out the piece of glass, setting the bloodied shard on the counter beside me.

He did what I had done many times before. Pulled out the gauze, soaked it with alcohol, wiped my foot, and placed a bandage over it. He wrapped the bandage around my foot a few times before securing it.

        “Sorry about the uh…” He muttered, pointing to the shattered glass I had likely stepped on, causing the bleeding from my foot.

        “Don’t worry about it.”

        “No...I… I shouldn’t have come in here and just started breaking things...I.”

        “Billy.” I cut off, “It’s okay. I’d rather you come here and break a few plastic trophies than go beat somebody’s face in, okay?”

He nodded,

        “Broom?” He sought, brushing the fragments of glass off to the side with his foot.

        “Don’t worry about it, I got it,” I reassured.

        “It’s the least I can do.” He replied.

        “Yeah. Uh. Closet, around the corner.” I instructed him, watching as he retrieved the broom. He began to sweep up all of the shards of glass and plastic from the floor. I observed in silence, the peace that fell over the room was cathartic. He had finally let out all of that pent-up hostility in a somewhat healthy manner.

Footsteps on hardwood told me that Billy had arrived. Eight o’clock. One the nose. Once again. The doorknob turned slowly, the click of it shutting behind him barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator.

        “Y/N?” He murmured as he entered the house.

I looked up to see his face beaten the worse I had ever seen. A split on his upper lip was hardly distinguishable from his crooked and bloodied nose. The same purple from his nose crept up under his eye, turning to black.  

My mouth hung open, unsure what to say. He took his usual seat at the dining room table, shrugging off his jacket and letting out a sigh. I returned a moment later with the first aid kit and a damp washcloth.

He sat in silence as I wiped the caked blood from his mouth. The scent of liquor rolled off his tongue. Our breathing and the occasional hiss of pain broke the otherwise stark silence.

Once he was cleared of the blood, I prodded his nose with my fingers. He screwed his eyes shut, his mouth twisting in pain.

        “Doesn’t feel broken,” I informed him, leaving him to go into the kitchen for an ice bag.

He caught my arm as I walked past him, keeping me by his side.

        “Can….Uh-I… Can you just… sit… with me?” He stammered. Billy never tripped over his words. He didn’t open his mouth unless he knew exactly what to say.

        “Of course.” I murmured, placing a kiss on the top of his head and sitting in the chair across from him.

        “I- uh… I’m... I’m drunk.” He admitted with a breathy chuckle.

        “I could smell it when you walked in,” I whispered.

        “Yeah, well. So could dad and Susan.”

        “What happened?”

        “Dad did what he does.” He muttered, pointing to the smaller bruise on his cheek that I hadn’t noticed, having been preoccupied with the blood dripping down his chin, “Susan came in, talking about how worried she was about me.” He scoffed.

I nodded, urging him to keep going.

        “I told her to stay the fuck out of it, she’s not my goddamn mother and she’s the fucking reason we moved all the way out here and the reason he left my mom. Then,” He gestured to his eye and nose.

        “Your mom?” I murmured, “I’ve never heard you talk about her.”

He glanced at his lap, grasping the pendant that he had around his neck,

        “Yeah… Uh… She was… She got really sick… Diagnosed when I was 12.” He told me.

        “I’m so sorry, Billy,” I whispered.

        “Dad… He… As soon as it happened… he just… he just gave up on her… Pretended to care, he wasn’t very good at it, but he pretended.”

        “Next thing I know, he calls me into the living room to meet Susan. She was supposed to be helping him take care of our finances. Mom always did that. She was smart, loved to crunch numbers.” He smirked at the memory, despite the pain in his eyes,

        “I rode the bus to the hospital every day. He couldn’t even bother to pick me up. He couldn’t even bother to go see her. And I come home one day, open the front door, go into the living room,”

He hesitated for a moment, his jaw clenching,

        “I caught her, fucking legs spread on my goddamn couch!” He growled, “First time he ever hit me… When I started screaming at him about that. Then he started screaming some bullshit about life insurance and how if they split before she died that he wouldn’t get any money. But I knew damn well that Mama had all of her money left to me.”

        “And what do I do about that, huh? A fucking 12-year-old kid, walking in and seeing that. Hearing him say he’s staying with your mother for fucking life insurance?”

        “Do I tell my mom about it? Break her fucking heart? She’s already sick, can barely even eat on her own.”

        “So what did you do?”

        “I lied to her. I lied and I said ‘oh he’s working late’ or ‘he got a second job’ I lied to her every damn day to fucking spare her.”

        “And every day she looked worse, every day she looked paler and paler. Thinner and thinner. You know how hard that was? Watching her just wither away to nothingness, right in front of me?”

That’s a pain that many people have to endure. The loss of their parents. But no child should ever lose their mother at that age. Under those circumstances, with those kinds of secrets.

        “When she finally died, he wasn’t even there. He came in to sign the paperwork and he left. He didn’t even fucking hug me, didn’t even look at me.”

        “My aunt and I planned the funeral. She didn’t know about Susan either, I didn’t want her to have to keep that secret,”

My heart broke for Billy and I suddenly realized why he is the way he is. He felt he was protecting everybody involved by not telling anyone what was going on. He endured that pain all alone, even the death of his mother was suffered without support from his father.

        “And I’m there in my suit, looking at my mom’s casket. And he gets up to the fucking altar, and he spouts out some bullshit about how she was the love of his life, and how he’s never going to forget her. He had forgotten about her the day she got diagnosed.” He spat.

        “Not even two months later, Susan and Max are living with us. Suddenly we’re moving to California and my mother is barely in the fucking ground.” His voice cracked as he spoke, but he cleared his throat in an attempt to conceal what he was feeling.

        “I would go to school and come home to this woman in my fucking house. Sleeping in my mom’s bed. Wearing her clothes.”

I reached out,  grasping his hand and giving it a squeeze before drawing circles on his skin with my thumb. He looked up at me, lips slightly parted as if he were about to say something. No words came out, only a pathetic squeak from the back of his throat before he broke down.  He exploded into body-wracking sobs, putting his face in his hands.

I sprung up from my chair, rushing over to him wrapping my arms around his shoulders. He threw his arms around my midriff, grasping the back of my shirt in his fists as he wept against my stomach.

I set my hands on the back of his head, scrunching my fingers against his skin reassuringly. I struggled to not let my own tears fall. The previous five years of his life had been a living hell, losing his mom, watching his stepmom replace her, lying to her and her family, seeing his father become physically abusive, and having a new little sister that he couldn’t figure out how to relate to.

        “I just miss her.” He squeaked, his whimpers muffled my top.

        “I know.” I murmured, reaching down to cup his cheeks and make him look up at me.

His face was blotchy, skin flushed and coated with a layer of tears and snot. What do I say to him now? He just spilled out everything about the most difficult time of his life. Things far worse than anything I’ve been through, far worse than most people our age have been through.

        “You’re gonna be okay,” I whispered.

        “I don’t know.”

        “I do. You’re strong, you’re smart,” I punctuated the line by poking him in the center of his forehead. He cracked a slight grin, “You’re loyal. And you’re a pain in my ass, but you’re going to be okay.”