#Neil saved him two corner pieces

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - Part 14

PREVIOUS

When Andrew came out of his bedroom to grab a second Allen wrench (he’s working on the frame of the dresser while Neil builds the drawers) he finds quite a few things to irritate him.

1st was the sound of his brother and his cousin arguing loudly. Andrew had been pretty clear that they needed to be quiet that morning but following Andrew’s clearly given guidelines was NEVER either of their strong suits.

2nd was the fact that there was a smell in the air that Andrew was unsure of. It wasn’t a bad smell. It didn’t smell like Nicky had left some component of the breakfast FF had bought to burn. Andrew sniffed the air again and…..lavender? It wasn’t really a smell that existed in the house of three college student boys.

3rd and most irritating was the fact that FF was not where Andrew had left him four hours ago on the couch. Again, Andrew had been pretty clear to both Nicky and Aaron that FF was to be left ALONE. FF hadn’t been able to go to sleep until Andrew had promised that nothing would happen to him while he slept.

He moves towards the kitchen table where Nicky and Aaron are eating some of the sour patch kids that FF had brought back as they argued, “He can’t be serious that Kate and I gross him out more than Andrew and Neil! I’ve seen how fast he walks away when they start getting gross.” He hears Aaron say.

“Aaron I have watched Smithy climb out a second story window because you and Katelyn started making out and he’d have to walk closer to you to go out the door.” Nicky returns. “I think you made him mad when you implied he was grossed out by Andrew and Neil. This is why I get spoon privileges and maybe, if Smithy is feeling forgiving, you can swipe your finger around the bowl.” he points at Aaron.

Andrew hangs back just out of sight.

He knows that FF does not like to be subjected to seeing PDA. A part of him feels…better at the confirmation that it really isn’t because him and Neil are both men. FF has seen them hold hands, kiss chastely, and lean on one another and been unbothered by that it was only when it started getting a little heated that  they’d realize that FF had left. FF never makes a scene about it, never scoffs in disgust or squeals in delight he just seems to see where it’s going and will leave if he doesn’t want to see it.

It’s nice.

“Well he’s probably mad at you for waking him up. Andrew said to leave him alone.” Aaron returns.

“He needs breakfast! He also has to take his ulcer meds at the same time so he had to wake up and eat something. He can go back to sleep after!” Nicky defends.

Andrew scowls. Ok. Nicky could live if that was the reason he woke FF up. Still, why the hell is FF in the kitchen and more importantly what bowl and spoon are Aaron and Nicky arguing over?

Andrew tunes his family’s argument out and heads to the kitchen to find FF putting a baking dish into their oven while incense burned on the counter (Andrew now realizes that was the thin box that had been in with the rest of the candy)

He sees the bowl and spoon that Nicky had mentioned and more importantly he can see the chocolate brownie batter on them. Andrew walks over to the bowl and picks it up. He wipes his finger along the inside and…

He closes his eyes for a moment to savor the flavor of the batter. He leans against the counter and his hand brushes against….a five hour energy bottle. Andrew knows he had thrown out the two he had found in FF’s bags before (Ulcer + exhaustion + FF = bad he didn’t need to be a math major like Neil to understand that math.)

Andrew shoves the bottle in his sweatshirt pocket as FF turns around and stares at him passively. FF’s eyebrow’s raise slightly but there’s no other reaction. Andrew considers that, perhaps, FF had wanted to lick the bowl.

He offers the spoon instead knowing it is the better prize but FF is the one who bought the ingredients and mixed together this amazing batter, so he gets first dibs.

“That wouldn’t be good for my stomach.” He declines and Andrew wonders if FF had taken his meds yet or, in his tired state, he’s forgotten to.

“When did you wake up?” Andrew asks.

“Hour ago.”

He should go back to sleep after he takes his meds but also knows that FF probably won’t go to sleep until the brownies are done.

“I’ll make the pie tomorrow.” FF says and Andrew blinks out of his thoughts.

Andrew decides to go get FF’s meds for him. He’ll make it clear to FF later that the guy doesn’t HAVE to keep making amazing desserts as a thanks for being invited to Columbia. If FF just so happens to WANT to keep making amazing desserts then Andrew isn’t going to be the person that stops him.

He shoves the spoon in his mouth and heads out to go find Smith’s bag and his meds.

Aaron and Nicky see him and both let out outraged noises as their quarry had been stolen.

Andrew ignores them and gets to the bag by the couch.

Who the fuck just has 14 bottles of five hour energy sitting in their bag??

***

When Andrew handed FF his ulcer meds he could admit to feeling grateful even if Andrew had obviously gone through his bag to grab it. He swallows it dry because Andrew is standing by the sink and he knows that until Andrew eats a brownie he is not in a position to ask for favors big or small.

(He learned his lesson from that one time with Captain Neil. If he wants to do anything related to Russian he has to be in the safety of his lofted bed under the cover of night and the cover of his…covers while he reads via flashlight. He will not be caught so flat footed again! These are all necessary precautions!)

Andrew seems to very much want for FF to be in prime condition for the hunt. Part of him wonders if he’ll be released amongst other game animals and FF had never felt more jealous of the turkey who got pardoned by the president the day before. Why does that stupid bird get all the luck? Where’s his presidential pardon?

That grateful feeling evaporates into a dust cloud as Andrew lifts a plastic bag, “Stop drinking these.” Andrew hisses, “They’re going to make your ulcer worse.” He points at FF.

“I need them.” He says.

“For what?”

“Five hours of energy at a time.”

“Pull out the brownies and go back to sleep Smith.”

“They still have 10 minutes.”

“Then I’ll pull them out in 10 minutes.”

“There’s a final step that I have to do once they’re fresh out of the oven.”

“What is it.”

“Smith Family Baking secret. I don’t make the rules.” FF gestures towards where the incense continues to burn, “Great Gran’s recipe and methods cannot be shared with non-blood relatives. My mom wasn’t even let in on the secret.”

Thank god

Andrew glowers at him.

Oh God

“It’ll be just 20 more minutes.”

Andrew’s eyes narrow at him.

“They’ll be worth it.” He pleads.

Andrew rolls his eyes.

“Go to sleep when they’re done. Take Nicky’s room.” Andrew commands.

“Take Nicky’s what?” Nicky leans into the kitchen.

“Smith is going to go back to sleep on your bed.”

“Yeah you look like shit Smithy. Don’t worry, unlike Neil and Andrew’s bed mine is all safe.”

Nicky zips out of the kitchen with Andrew hot on his heels. Nicky really is a good friend.

He performs the sacred rites necessary upon the brownies when they come out of the oven and takes a small corner piece to taste test and -

He closes his eyes and clasps his hands together in prayer.

‘Thank you Great Gran.’ He prays earnestly.

‘Remember to wash behind your ears’ he thinks he hears a whisper of grandmotherly advice in return.

That was probably normal.

He extinguishes the incense.

He cuts up the brownies, finds a decently sized plate, and sets the brownies out on the counter before he starts to work on doing the dishes. Yeah Yeah he could have been cleaning while he waited for the brownies to cook! That’s what you always do right? Clean as you go?

Well have you ever been baking brownies that might be the difference between life and death? No? Well then FF is just going to have to stop you right there because he had the oven light on and his eyes GLUED to these fudgey squares.

Who knows what the cousins’ oven would do? He doesn’t know this oven. He and this oven are taking their first whirl together and it could decide to turn on him at any time. They don’t have the brotherhood that he and the oven at his Gran’s house have built over the years! This oven could be one of those ones that maintain their temperature by turning on the broiler! He felt like he could never again recklessly trust an oven after he tried to make crescent rolls in the Viking Oven at his step father’s house and had gotten them back blackened by the broiler.

That oven had been the SINGLE thing he had been excited about during the kitchen remodel which means naturally it was the thing that had betrayed him.

He lets himself think of all the ways he hates the Viking brand as he finishes the dishes and puts everything back to where they belong.

He walks out of the kitchen with the platter of brownies and sets them down on the table where Aaron and Nicky are sat. “Oh my god they smell amazing.” Nicky says and immediately his hand is shooting towards the plate and picking up a corner piece.

FF valiantly resists the urge to slap his and Aaron’s hands away. He needs these to compel Andrew into letting him live.

“Oh wow, those do smell good.” He hears Captain Neil’s voice and when FF turns around Captain Neil and Andrew are both there. It is only in that moment that he realizes that he should have bought some vanilla ice cream to go with these.

Andrew’s love of ice cream was not unknown, probably even infamous. He was the man who, during the summer training, had been so possessive over the soft serve machine in the cafeteria that anyone who wanted any had to ask Captain Neil to get them a bowl or risk being threatened.

He starts towards the door. At this point Target probably isn’t even that bad, probably just some irate people who didn’t come with the rush and are mad they missed out, maybe some officers talking to witnesses on who threw cast the first Wii remote, and workers who will hate him marginally less (unless he gets the same check out person and they remember him (unlikely))

His progress is arrested by a hand grabbing his hoodie.

“Where are you going?”

“I forgot Ice Cream.” And he could get a five hour energy to slam on the way back home.

He then finds himself being pulled down an unfamiliar hallway.

Ah, the anticipation had been killing him more than the fear of his demise. His brownies had not contained the requisite amount of grandmotherly love to save him he had been relying on extract (Great Gran’s spirit guiding his hands) instead of organic (he does not have grandchildren or children for that matter)

Maybe ice cream would have been the deciding factor? He’ll never know.

He closes his eyes and lets himself be dragged. He’s too tired to fight.

A door opens, and he finds himself sat on a bed.

Weird.

“You are falling asleep standing up. Go back to sleep. I’ll leave you at Eden’s if you fall asleep in the booth.” Andrew threatens.

What.

FF knows about Eden’s.

He has heard about it from Nicky trying to get him to agree to go but he’s pretty sure it’d be like introducing an Amazon rainforest frog to the Sahara desert in terms of survivability for him.

“We’re going to Eden’s tonight?” He manages to ask.

Andrew raises an eyebrow at him but answers, “Yes.”

“I’m not really interested in clubs. I don’t drink out in public or dance.”

“Neither does Neil. I just drink. We can stay in the booth.”

“I don’t want to interrupt your time with Captain Neil.”

“It’s fine, neither of us hate spending time with you.”

“I don’t have clothes for a place like that.”

“Nicky grabbed some for you. You’re coming tonight. Go to sleep.”

With that Andrew pulls Nicky’s curtains close, shuts off the light, and closes the door.

FF, always very much like a bird when placed into a suddenly dark environment, starts to feel some of the  exceptional sleepiness that he’d been pushing off through sheer manic desperation to earn another day of life.

He lays down in Nicky’s bed and is tired enough that he can ignore the sheer amount of body glitter on the sheets (does Nicky excrete it like sweat??) and starts to let himself drift off to sleep.

Eden’s might be something completely out of his wheelhouse but-

A conversation with Nicky from when he’d been trying to get FF to go comes into his mind and he sits straight up in bed as Nicky’s words roll around in his head like stale hotdogs at a gas station.

“Eden’s is cool, even though there’s some sick shit in the basement.”

Eden’s is a Secondary Location with a BASEMENT.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

Per your requests:

@i-have-three-feelings​ @blep-23 @dreamerking27 @andreilsmyreligion @belodensetdust @rainbowpineapplebottle @yarn-ace @iwouldlikesometea @lily-s-world @obscureshipsandchips @booklover242 @whataboutmyfries @sahturnos @pluto-pepsi @dreamerthinker @passinhosdetartaruga @leftunknownheart @aro-manita-muscaria @hologramsaredead @Chaoticgremlinswishtheycouldbeme @tntwme @tayspots @nick-scar @crazy-fangirl2524 @blue-jos10 @stabbyfoxandrew @splishsplashyouropinionistrash @sammichly @the-broken-pen @bitchesdoweknowu @very-small-flower @ghostlyboiii @its-a-paxycab @bisexual-genderfluid-fan @cheesecookie @theoneandonlylostsock @foxsoulcourt @blueleys @adverbialstarlight @elia-nna @can-i-just-stay-in-the-corner @nikodiangel @foxandcrow-inatrenchcoat @hallucinatedjosten @satanic-foxhole-court @vexingcosmos @chalilodimun @insectsgetcooked @angry-kid-with-no-money @queer-crows @lilyndra @themugglemudperson @readertodeath @apileofpillows @mortalsbowbeforeme @hellomynameismoo @next-level-mess @youreonlylow @interstellarfig @notprocrastinatingatalltoday @percyjacksonfan3 @queenofcrazy27 @bsmr261 @ghostlyscares @spencellio @adinthedarkroom @harpymoth @sufferingjustalilbit

The requests to be added to the tag list got spread out across a few different mediums on this one so if I missed you then just ask in the replies!

As stated before if you’re up here and I spelled it right but you  didn’t  get a notification there might be something switched around in  your settings that won’t let me tag you properly?

[wutheringcaterpillar]

A Secret

summary: After running into Neil, the two of you begin to have a secret affair, and you always play it off like you don’t have feelings for him but he knows you’ll always be back

warnings: cheating, office sex, size kink, p in v, smut, brief mention of roleplay, ooc

The store was quiet and the other guys had went out to get lunch, peaking around the corner Neil made sure the coast was clear and shot you a text.

“So when’s my baby girl coming in for her daily fucking, hm? My cock is twitching right now just thinking about those pretty lips wrapped around it.”

Anxiety rose in your chest when your phone vibrated. To avoid any conflict you had Neil’s name saved as Nicole and your message notifications wouldn’t show the description of the text.

Your boyfriend had walked in, as he still hadn’t left for work yet due to his schedule change, forcing you to lock your phone and wait impatiently for him to leave.

“Hey baby, I’m getting ready to head out. I should be off around 4 boss insisted on a half day due to the overtime.” Of course he did, that meant less time with Neil and you hated that.

As much as you willed yourself not to, you were developing feelings for Neil and the guilt within you sometimes ate away at you but yet you still went back. Every time you said you wouldn’t you did.

There was something about Neil that kept reeling you in, maybe it was his soft nerdy smile, or the way he went on and on to compliment you, or maybe it was just the way he knew how to fuck you and brought excitement into your life.

However it was hard keeping those feelings at bay and having to act like there weren’t any there and it was just sex.

“Okay honey, I might go see my sister for a bit, she asked for some assistance organizing her room.” 

“Okay, sounds good I’ll catch you later.” He gave you a peck on the lips, and went on with his day.

Once out of the driveway, you grasped at your phone frantically to see a notification with an attached image that had you practically drooling at the mouth.

His erect head glowed as his shimmery pre cum glistened in the dim light of what you knew very well as the back office.

His hand was wrapped around his girthy length, and your eyes couldn’t seem to divert anywhere but there.

“Where’s my baby girl, I miss you and he misses you, very, very much ;)” 

In a rushed response, you texted him back.

“He just left, I’m getting ready now, bought a new outfit I hope satisfies your needs. See you soon cutie.” 

Neil being the movie fanatic that he was, loved that every once in awhile you’d surprise him in costumes and dive into his fascination of roleplay.

He couldn’t stop from smirking but soon blushing once you called him cutie.

You should’ve felt the fear of being caught, but you just wanted Neil so much all the time, you fell to pieces whenever he texted you, whenever you saw him your heart would flutter in your chest. 

He was sweet, cute, kind everything a girl could ask for in a guy. All the morals you claimed to have went out the window the day you met Neil.

It made you think back to the first kiss you shared.

It was about a week into knowing him, you had been waiting for your boyfriend to get off work and he got held up so you found yourself partaking in movie night at the store.

After all the guys had left and it was just you and Neil, there was just a connection that neither of you could explain and after a moment of awkward silences his hand accidentally brushed against your thigh. He immediately apologized but you giggled and said it was alright. It was quiet for a moment until Neil leaned into you, pressing his lips against yours and maybe you should’ve stopped him but you didn’t. 

After expressing about how your boyfriend would be home soon, Neil pouted slightly, upset about having to share you or possibly offending you by kissing you but you quickly put a stop to his thoughts and ended up making out with him on the couch that night and now here you were. On your way out the door to go see Neil, the man you couldn’t resist no matter how much you told yourself you shouldn’t.

He never shamed you for it, never asked you to leave him even though he did want you for himself.

Releasing yourself of your thoughts, you got yourself ready and headed over to see the man that always had you at your knees.

When Neil heard the front door open, he stopped gazing at the nudes you had been sending him on his phone and felt like he had been struck by lightning when he saw you approaching him.

His eyes trailed from the leather cowgirl boots you were wearing up to your thighs that were hardly covered by a short skirt, up to your chest, trying to contain himself at the sight of your boobs practically inviting him in.

“Miss me?” You smirked and he couldn’t help but smile and scoff as he wasted no time in rushing forward and picking you up underneath your thighs causing a happy squeal to come out of you.

“Oh, darlin’ you have no idea.” 

He nibbled at your ear before he carried you into his office with you were still giggling.

Your lips intertwined as he sat you down on his lap, his hands grazing underneath the short skirt he so deeply admired.

His fingers found the lining of your underwear, toying with the fabric before pushing them aside and entering a finger in your already soaked hole.

“Ah, impatient are we?” 

“Y/N, you don’t know what you do to me and my loins.” You grabbed his thigh roughly, looking at him with daring eyes.

“Use me then.” He didn’t hesitate to shove you off him roughly, forcing you down onto your knees.

Undoing his zipper, his cock shot up from it’s containment, eager to be inside of you.

Your tongue slid up his shaft from the bottom to the top, once reaching his ripe head, sucking lightly.

Neil didn’t let you up, shoving your head back down, almost making you gag.

Neil watched you intently as your head bobbed up and down his length, you always took all of him so good, gagging here and there. He thought it was adorable and hot at the same time.

Never breaking eye contact, you continued to watch him while you were down on your knees, doing what Neil considered God’s work, taking his cock down your small throat at such a slow pace.

“Ughhh, you’re doing so good sweetheart. Look at you such a good girl.” You batted your lashes at him while your cheeks began to turn a soft shade of red.

Your lips had looked plump while your tongue twirled around his sensitive skin, causing his thigh to switch.

He pulled you up, forcing you down on his still hardened cock. An overwhelming sensation of fullness flowed throughout your body causing a gasp to escape from your lips.

His blue eyes rolled back as his head leaned to rest on the back of the chair.

Lifting yourself up once you adjusted to the sudden intrusion, you began to slide up and down his length slowly.

Leaning back up, he watched you move your tight pussy up and down his cock while his thumb brushed against your cheek.

“You’re so beautiful Y/N.” You couldn’t stop the blush forming on your cheeks. A part of you had a size kink, loving how long and thick Neil’s dick was compared to how small you were. There were moments where you could swear you could see his dick pump in and out of you through your stomach, his head forming a bump to appear beneath your skin.

Even the height difference made you wet, just by seeing him tower over you.

As your pace began to pick up Neil was biting his lips, he watched as your body bounced up and down on his length while his hands squeezed at your hips roughly.

The feeling of Neil buried inside your tight pussy felt like euphoria, his dick brushing harshly against all the small nerves in your aching walls.

“Ah, fuck Neil! Feel so fucking good!” Licking his lips, he buried his face inbetween your boobs, the delicate chub cushioning his cheeks warmly.

Your hands curled there way into his hair, gripping the slightly greasy strands roughly as you worked your way up and down his length vigorously.

Every time your body bounced up and down he could feel the warmth of your boobs heating his cheeks, making it hard to breathe but he didn’t care.

In a swift movement he couldn’t contain not being in control. He lightly shoved you off of him before slamming you down and bending you over his desk. He sent a sharp slap to your ass causing your sensitive skin to blush. His pelvis worked endlessly as his balls slapped toward your dripping hole.

“Such a filthy girl for me huh? Dripping at my cock filling you up?” 

“Please- please keep-“ He yanked your head back by your hair, his lips pressed against your ear as he continued to plow into you relentlessly.

“Please what sweetheart?” You moaned desperately as you began to feel dizzy when the head of his cock rubbed that sweet spot deep within your aching core.

“Ke-keep fucking me- Ah fuck Neil!” His hands moved positions, cupping your breasts in his hands as he was no longer thinking with his head, his body falling limp on top of you as he fucked into you like a dog in heat.

Your arms started to grip at the sides of the desk, your knuckles whitening as you felt your release coming on.

His moans sounded like music to your ears, and you could feel the sweat of his skin sticking against your body.

Your inner walls began to clench around him as he continued to pump in and out of you causing your back to slightly arch.

“Look at my little girl, soaking me. It’s cute how you get off at how easy it is for me to manhandle you.” He released one hand from your boobs, entangling it in your hair, yanking your head back as he pounded into you over and over, making any response you tried saying completely muffled as you were unable to form words.

“I’m gonna cum- I’m gonna fucking- Ah!” You felt your wetness pool out of you, coating his cock in your stickiness, and it wasn’t long until Neil followed after you. 

Hopefully the guys hadn’t come back to the store yet because Neil couldn’t help but moan louder than he normally does.

He’d be lying to himself if he thought that getting caught didn’t send a different type of arousal through him.

“Sweetheart, it still blows me away that I don’t break you in half.” You giggled as your tired body pushed itself off the desk while you regained the steadiness of your breathing.

Looking around the room, you hadn’t realized what a mess you made as his keyboard was laying on the floor and his pen holder was knocked over on the desk, papers scattered on the floor.

“You never fail to please Mr. Lewis.” He smirked and pulled you in for a gentle, endearing hug.

Your arms tightened around him like you’d never see him again. It was like you were between a rock and a hard place, and it was hard to hold back feelings and Neil could sense that when your fist clutched his shirt tightly.

He started to trail little kisses down your neck, trying to comfort you the best he could.

That was when your phone began to ring, causing your eyebrows to furrow together in sadness. You didn’t want to let him go.

“Y’know I hate this part, the inevitable goodbye.” His baby blue eyes that looked so innocent felt like they were staring deep into your soul.

Something about Neil drew you in, he was so sweet, and patient but yet here you were, completely undeserving of his compassion and admiration for you. He never asked you to leave your boyfriend, he never brought him up as he understood it wasn’t his territory and he had no right.

It felt wrong but Neil would sometimes feel he had the upperhand and for once he won the girl, his guilt was beginning to fade compared to when the two of you first started.

Trying to lighten the mood, you kissed him sweetly on his cheek.

“Until next time.” 

You swept passed his friends fiercely, while holding onto your facade that it was just a quick fuck, but Neil knew that you would be coming back for more, you always did especially when your boyfriend was at work or out with friends.

He admired the short skirts that hugged your waist tightly, the way you batted your eyelashes at him and most importantly he loved to tease you of how much you must love his cock to risk your boyfriend finding out about him.

[peachycloudsworld]

Kevin and Oakley pt. 1

Looking back, Kevin really doesn´t know how he´s still alive. College has been a total shitshow; Kevin can see that now, almost seven years after graduating. Some of the stuff Neil pulled definitely should've gotten them killed. But hey, Kevin is not one to complain, he´s not sure where he would´ve been without the Foxes. Feeling sentimental, Kevin drops his phone on the counter and turns towards his cup of coffee. Every now and then he misses college - not the classes or the campus life, but the quiet evenings he spent with Neil and Andrew on the couch or the shopping trips with Matt, Allison and Nicky.

Now, all of the foxes are spread out in the world: Nicky is in Germany with Erik and their son, Aaron and Katelyn are both hard at work saving people, Dan and Matt are back in Palmetto, raising their kids while Dan has taken over a little leagues team, Renee is with the peace corps and Allison is somewhere in New York. Andrew and Neil live in and play for Michigan, they´ve just bought a house a few years ago and are living the successful-partners dream. And then there´s Kevin.

At 30 years old he´s still living alone. He has nothing besides Exy and the cream coloured hunk of a cat currently laying ontop of his fridge. She's been given as a present from Neil and Andrew who had blatantly lied when telling Kevin that the little kitten probably wouldn't get that big. Now, two years later she´s outgrown most cat beds he bought and prefers sleeping on his spare pillow on his bed. That doesn´t change the fact that Kevin, despite everything, loves her to pieces.

“Get down there, lady, you´ve already had breakfast.”

Lady just blinks at him, meows and lazily takes a swing in his general direction, missing by miles. With a sigh, Kevin puts his cup away and raises his arms towards her, quietly asking her to get down from the fridge. She in return reaches for his hand and starts nibbling on his finger. Defeated, Kevin accepts his fate and stays where he is standing, hand raised and with his coffee just out of reach. Instead, he lets his eyes wander, taking in the boxes of tupperware and kitchen utensils still unpacked and waiting in a corner of the room.

Kevin moved almost a year ago but for some reason he doesn´t dare to fully unpack. The breakup with Thea happened just shortly after he had graduated, just three months after he had moved in with her. It´s been a sudden, painful event; Thea had ripped the bandaid off but didn´t think of Kevin´s attachment issues. Moving back in with his father and Abby at 25 definitely was not something Kevin expected to happen.

Lady´s sharp teeth digging into the palm of his hand finally rips Kevin out of his thoughts for long enough to get moving. Scolding his cat gently, he pulls his hand away, offering once more to get her down. When she doesn´t react, he leaves her in favor of finishing his coffee and getting ready to leave his home-not-hom.

Reaching for the electric razor sitting on the little ledge beneath the mirror, Kevin shaves off the shadow of stubbles covering his cheeks. He's pretty sure he could grow a decent beard if David´s beard is anything to go by, but it´d be a change he´s not ready for yet. Changes in general are not something Kevin likes to go through, especially alone. Back in college it has been easier because there´s always been someone to catch him in one way or the other but now he's alone and away from his family so changes in any shape or form are something he turns away from.

His hair has gotten longer again - it´s time for a haircut - but the strands of dark hair framing his face take some of the attention from the tattoo beneath his eye so he might just leave it. After washing his face and brushing his teeth, Kevin deems himself presentable enough for practice. Today´s gym day anyways and the rest of the team doesn´t pay him too much attention so he doesn´t bother putting his hair back in something neater than a low ponytail before getting dressed in sweatpants and the blue and grey jersey of the Chicago Scorpions. His gym back is already packed and waiting in the hallway. Lady apparently considers this a pillow worthy enough for her majesty to lay on because she´s curled up inside the bag, tail hanging over the edge and large head resting on her crossed front paws.

“I can´t take you with me, you know that. I´ll be back in the afternoon, promise.” Lady just purrs and rubs her head against the towel she´s laying on, making Kevin soft enough to kneel down and rub her ear. The low rumble coming from her chest instantly make Kevin´s shoulders lose the unnoticed tension holding them up.

“I know sweetheart.” Kevin would die on the spot if anyone heard him right now. “I´ll be back before you know it.”

Kevin knows that once he´s out of the door, Lady almost instantly curls up somewhere and just sleeps until he´s back, but leaving his silky soft sweetheart behind, even if just for a few hours, leaves him feeling restless and on edge. With an aching heart he scoops Lady up in his arms, lightly rubs his cheek against her head before letting her back down on the ground. Before she can slip back into his gym bag, he zips it closed and lifts it up over one shoulder.

“Behave, you know the rules.”

Lady meows an answer, rubs around his legs while he slips in to his shoes and sits next to the door until it closes in front of her.

The drive over to the gym is a relatively quick one, traffic is bad but Kevin knows to leave a bit earlier just to get through it. Once he enters the gym through the court entrance, he´s immediately greated by warm, sticky air, laughter and Dalton´s obnoxiously loud music. The urge to turn around and just call in sick is quickly suffocated at it´s root when Dalton notices Kevin, drops the ropes he´s been holding and comes over. He´s already sweaty and gross, grinning while out of breath, and wraps an arm around Kevin´s shoulder, pulling him in close to squish their cheeks together.

“Kevin, light of my life. Oh how I´ve missed you, my-”

“Shut the fuck up,” grumbles Kevin, rolling his eyes while slapping Dalton´s hand away. “You stink.”

“And you´re late,” Dalton notices.

“I´m perfectly on time. It´s not my problem you´re addicted to lifting weights.”

“You can just admit your jealousy, Day.”

“Jealous of what? Your inability to buy normal shirts? I don´t think so.”

Snorting, Dalton shrugs and pats Kevin´s shoulder.

“Go get changed so you can spot me.”

Shaking his head, Kevin wanders off into the locker rooms to change into his gym clothes. While he´s warming up, the rest of the team slowly sneaks in, all holding varying phases of sleepiness in their slumped shoulders and sleep-swollen eyes. Their coach doesn´t usually join their gym sessions, trusting Isaac Wilson - team captain and kind of a jerk - to take attendance and take care of the rest. Wilson, of course, is nowhere to be seen. If he joins them at all, he´ll be late and most likely take the list of attendance he forced Nellie Jakobsen to check off.

Nellie is too new - and too kind - to be able to say no to Wilson and Wilson is too much of a dickhead to not take advantage of that. Speaking of the devil, Nellie steps up on the mat next to Kevin, reaches for a couple of weights and starts her exercises. Kevin continues his sit-ups, trying to not pay the young woman shooting him glance after glance any mind. It's not that easy though, when you're looking at the same mirror. At one point, Nellie must ́ve worked up the courage to say whatever there is to say because she turns, takes a little step towards Kevin and clears her throat.

“Uh…hi,” she smiles, her already rosy cheeks only deepening in colour.

“Hey,” replies Kevin, coming to a pause in his movements. “What´s up?”

“Uh…Chase and my sister and I wanted to go to the history museum later today and Dalton mentioned that you like history so we - I uh, I was wondering if you maybe wanted to join us?"

Blinking, Kevin tried to organize her nervous mumbling into understandable sentences in his head. Chase is Nellie's cousin and he's never met her sister in his life. He doesn't like meeting new people, he doesn't like going to places he's not been to before, not without planning and at least two days of overthinking it.

But then again, if Dalton knows about Nellie's plan, he'll annoy Kevin once he hears that Kevin said no. The fact that Kevin's social life is pretty much non-existent is already one of the biggest topic of Dalton's teasing, he doesn't need to pour gasoline into the fire.

Get out there Kevin. If it's no fun you can leave and if you're having a good time you can be even prouder of yourself to going through with it.

Of course Abby is the voice of reason in his head. Just because he can't say no to her.

"Uh...sure….yeah, sounds good."

[primatechnosynthpop]

Was seized by the supernatural urge to redraw some of my old nkotr art (mostly based on my own fics/aus because that's uhh pretty much the only time I drew them in an interesting way heheh)

[ID: two versions of an alternate cover image for Your Computer has a Virus, and it's Killing Your Online Friends. The new kids are in their jumpsuits from Computer Fighters. Neil is holding a floppy disk labeled "virus" and looking over his shoulder with a scared expression as multicoloured glitch effects surround and overtake him. Below this, Kevin grits his teeth and makes a fist while Ryan sadly puts a hand on his shoulder.

The colours in the new piece are more saturated and the glitch effects are done differently, and there's shading. Neil has his helmet, which was missing from the original, Kevin is visibly sweating and his fist is on the other side, and Ryan looks more resigned whereas in the original he has his mouth open. End ID]

[ID: two versions of a piece featuring fantasy versions of the new kids standing in front of a colourful roulette wheel marked with ominous symbols. Kevin is a human fighter, Neil is an elf bard, and Ryan is a tiefling warlock. The dark purple background is lit up with hot pink at the top and bright orange, purple, and green behind each of the guys to contrast their respective colour coding.

The old piece was done in an attempt at a realistic style, while the new version is in the artist's usual more cartoony style. The new kids' poses, expressions, and outfits are all changed to varying degrees; most notably, Neil's elf ears are bigger and Ryan's skin is red rather than a human skin tone. Ryan also has a cape instead of a jacket this time. In the original, they all look rather apprehensive, while in the new version they look more excited. Text has been added above them reading "The Only Lich Lair... With A Wheel!!" End ID]

[ID: two versions of a piece where Neil and Ryan are catboys and Kevin is a dogboy. Neil is in a cutesy pose with his hands raised like paws, Ryan is sitting or crouching with a dead mouse in his mouth, and Kevin is holding a football with scuff marks on it. In addition to the regular clothes they're wearing, Neil and Kevin have collars; Neil's has a bell in the shape of the lemon demon logo.

The colours in the original are washed out and there's a little dog logo on Kevin's football which is missing in the newer version. The colours of Neil's outfit are different and his leg is bent more, Ryan now has a box to sit on and has cat pupils while the others still have human eyes, and Kevin is now wearing a baseball cap. A gradiented blue background has been added along with yellow text at the top reading "Guar-NYAN-teed Video", with a paw print in place of the G*V logo's asterisk. End ID]

+ a couple bonuses:

[ID: a follow-up to the "Only Lich Lair" piece. The new kids are now injured and look miserable. Kevin has grown a beard and lost his hair, and is wearing a blindfold over where his eyes would be. He's also lost his armour. Neil's hair is frazzled and he's covered in singe marks, and he's lost a hand and got a chunk taken out of one ear. His instrument is also missing. Ryan has an eyepatch, has the tip of one horn taken off, and is frozen. He's also lost his wizard hat and the clasp for his cape. The bright lights in the background are gone save for the pink at the top, which drips down like blood; the text is also removed. End ID]

[ID: a sketch of Kevin wearing a sweater and scarf, holding half a broken sword shouting angrily, based on a scene from I'm Gonna be the Anti-Hero. An old version of this doodle is shrunken down in the upper left corner. Colour has been added to the new version, as well as blood spatter on Kevin and tears in his eyes. End ID]

[ssa-sapphic]

Pairing: Emily Prentiss × (POC)fem!oc

Next Chapter: part two

Summary: When the bodies of several women show up all around LA, it's Garcia who aids the team in making the shocking connection that all of the victims look exactly like one of her favorite actresses, Sloan Hudson. Upon making this discovery, the team soon realizes that this famous celebrity might just be the unsub's final target, meaning that she is now in grave danger and needs to be protected. Unfortunately for Emily, her days of being a profiler are soon put on hold when Hotch assigns her to be Sloan’s personal bodyguard.

Warnings: Basically all that an episode of CM consists of. I don't really know what to specifically list, but if you have any additions or specific triggers, please let me know

Word Count: 4.3k

"Fairy Tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten." - Neil Gaiman

A bright burst of lightning lit up the empty streets of San Francisco, nearly blinding a young woman who was running through the pouring rain. She had just clocked out of a late night shift at the local diner, and from afar, one could only assume that she was in a hurry to escape the cold rain and get home as quickly as possible. In reality, however, it wasn’t exactly the severe storm that she was trying to run away from at all.

Due to the overly obnoxious thunder—which seemed to echo indefinitely—it completely deafened the heart-wrenching screams that were escaping the young woman’s lips, as she quickly rounded corners and leaped over the puddles in her path. She didn’t dare look back, knowing that it would only slow her down and that the figure in the dark hoodie was more than likely still chasing after her. Besides, she didn’t need to glance at her attacker in order to know who he was. She already knew.

It was him.

The very same man she had seen earlier in the day, watching her closely as she waited on tables. She had felt his eyes on her as she carried plates of food to and from customers, yet, the mysterious man had vanished just when she was about to take his order next. She had thought that he just changed his mind about wanting to eat there. However, it was clear now, that the man hadn’t actually left like she’d originally assumed. Instead, he had waited patiently across the street until her shift was over, opting to watch her through the open window of the diner.

When closing time came around, she waved goodbye to her colleagues like she did every night, before she walked over to the bus stop.

Unfortunately, this night hadn’t ended up like the ones beforehand, where the woman would catch the public transport, find a window seat somewhere in the middle, and plug in her earbuds to provide herself with a little source of tranquility during the lonely ride home. No, this night completely took a turn for the worst, because as she waited at the bus stop, the mysterious man had followed her and took that opportunity to grab her from behind, attempting to shove a rag over her nose and mouth. It had completely surprised the young woman, and she immediately tried to yell out for help, but her sounds of distress were muffled from the piece of cloth covering her face. Within seconds, she had found herself getting lightheaded as the chemicals seeped through her nostrils and infiltrated her lungs.

Thankfully, though, with one last burst of energy she had managed to elbow her attacker in the gut, before fully breaking free from his grasp. She instantly ran in the opposite direction back to the diner, hoping that her colleagues hadn’t all left yet. However, deep down she knew that those odds were slim-to-none.

Her drowned out screams of help soon turned into agonizing cries as she finally arrived back at the restaurant, only to find it completely dark and deserted. Everyone had already locked up the doors and left for the night, meaning that she truly was alone, with no one there to help her. No one there to save her from the hooded figure that was drawing closer with each and every sob that broke past her paling lips. Any hope that was lingering in her chest, had now vanished, leaving her consumed with nothing but anxiety and trepidation. Her limbs trembled as she continued tugging harder and harder on the diner’s doors that just wouldn’t budge. She was locked out of her safe haven, like a sinner locked out of heaven itself.

She knew that she had to move though. She couldn’t continue standing there like waiting bait, she had to keep running. It was the only way to make this nightmare end. She prayed that some convenience store or shop would still be open at this hour where she could find refuge. Then she could borrow their phone, call the police, and finally be rescued from the sick bastard chasing her. It would all be over and she could go back home to where she knew her parents would probably be worrying themselves sick, wondering why she had yet to return.

But unfortunately that wasn’t the case for her, because sadly, the young woman took a wrong turn and was immediately met with a dead end. A dark and closed off alleyway that was ironic for the situation she had found herself in. She’d seen the movies, the crime shows, it never ended well for someone who was trapped in an alleyway after a suspenseful chase. It was definitely not what she had in her plans, but then again, none of this was. She didn’t plan to be stalked and attacked by some psychopath. Does anyone really?

All she knew for certain, was that she didn’t have enough time to turn around and go back the other way. In fact, she knew that she probably didn’t have much time left at all, because he was already drawing near. Whatever luck she had left was slowly dwindling away with each and every second that passed, and it didn’t seem like there was any other way out for her. At that point, she knew that she only had two options:

Surrender, and accept her unknown fate. Or, hide and get ready to defend herself with whatever makeshift weapon she could get her hands on in the junk of the alleyway.

It was now a life or death situation for her, which didn’t take a genius to figure out, and the young woman wasn’t about to give up just yet. At that moment, her initial shock and fear took a back seat, finally allowing her survival instincts to take the wheel. No matter what was to become of her fate, one thing was for certain, she’d be damned if she didn’t go down without a fight.

“Hey!!” JJ whined in protest, her mouth full of buttery popcorn. “Pen, why would you pause it right there? She was just about to kick his ass! ”

“Oh, I beg to differ.” Emily gave her a doubtful face. “The guy’s totally gonna kill her.”

JJ looked at her peculiarly, her hand halted in mid-air after pulling out more puffed kernels from the bowl in her lap. “Wait, are you actually rooting for the bad guy here?”

Her question immediately made the brunette return the same look. “Of course not, Jayje.” She deadpanned. “I’m just pointing out the obvious. I mean it’s so predictable. You know what? Garcia hit play, would you? 5 bucks says I’m right.”

“Sorry gal pals, I paused it because this queen needs to take a trip to her privy chamber. Be right back!” The blonde replied, apologetically, before tossing the remote on the coffee table and making a beeline for her restroom.

“I told you not to drink the rest of the wine!” Emily called out after her, teasingly.

Penelope only waved her off as she reached the door at the end of the hallway and quickly disappeared behind it, leaving the other two agents to bicker with each other some more.

The three ladies were currently having a girl’s night consisting of wine, snacks, and gossip, something that certainly wasn’t new to their friendship. It had been Penny’s turn to choose what they watched next for the evening, and it was no surprise when she ultimately decided on a dark thriller starring one of her favorite actresses. JJ and Emily hadn’t seen it yet, nor any other movie that the actress starred in. However, they were already hooked on the one Garcia had queued up for the night. It was entitled, “Dining Out”, and though Garcia had spoiled half of the movie already, they still were intrigued to see how it would end.

Within minutes, the flamboyant blonde had returned and was quickly taking back her previous seat on the leopard-printed sofa.

“Alright, I’m ready.” She cheered, reaching for the remote once more.”

“Wait a minute,” Emily stopped her. “What’s this actress’s name again?” She wondered out of the blue.

“Sloan Hudson. Why?” Garcia answered immediately, before a sly smirk slowly made its way to her face. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

The suggestive wink that Emily received next threw her off guard and made her stumble on her next words. “Oh, uh, well yeah...sure. I-I mean, I guess, but that’s not why I was asking.”

“Mhmm. Really?” Penelope questioned, doubtfully. “So you weren’t planning on searching her name up on google and stalking her IMDb profile?”

“Or setting a photo of her as your new lock-screen?” JJ added on to the teasing, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Alright, you two. Knock it off.” Emily rolled her eyes with a smile, as she pretended to throw popcorn at them. She knew that they were just messing around with her though, so the atmosphere still remained lighthearted.

Truth be told, Emily had recently come out to the team, though they already had their suspicions about her preferences for women. (I mean come on, they’re all profilers. Of course they knew. That, and the fact that she wasn’t very good at hiding it anyway.)

Since then, however, they had soon become aware of her “type” and it was clear that this “Hudson” girl definitely fit into that category. Her hair was dark, and her eyes were light, a contrast that balanced so well against her warm and evenly toned skin. Her features were soft, yet accented with perfectly sculpted cheekbones and nicely shaped eyebrows that made it seem like she was personally chiseled by the finest renaissance artists in history. Her raw beauty was natural and effortless, which was something that Emily always found herself drawn to in a woman. She fit her type to a T, so of course JJ and Penny would tease her about it.

“I swear, I wasn’t asking with creep-like intentions.” She defended herself. “I just thought she looked familiar. I don’t know, maybe I actually did watch something she was in before.”

“Well she’s done a little modeling too.” Penelope added. “You might’ve seen her face plastered at the mall or something.”

Emily thought for a moment, trying to wrack her brain for a possible answer. “Hmm, I don’t know. Maybe that’s it.”

“Shall we get back to the movie? Perhaps it will jog your memory a bit more.”

“Actually, we might have to take a rain check.” JJ cut in, looking down at her phone seriously. “Hotch just texted. Looks like we have a new case and we need to be at the BAU first thing in the morning, which is weird considering nothing came across my desk yesterday.”

“Wait, what?” Garcia pouted. “But you all just got back from a case. Now you have to leave again? We were supposed to have brunch tomorrow and everything.”

“Sorry, Pen.” Emily sighed, patting her thigh comfortingly. “I promise we’ll continue where we left off as soon as we get back, okay? Right, Jayje?”

“Yes, of course.” The blonde smiled reassuringly. “I still gotta know if I was right or not about what happens next.” She added, nudging the brunette’s shoulder with her own. “But until then, duty calls. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

The next morning, the team arrived at the BAU and wasted no time in filing into the roundtable room just as requested. They had no idea why their presence was needed on what was supposed to be their day off. However, they were certainly aware of what their job consisted of, so they knew it had to be serious. Hotch was already in there when they took their seats, and being the one in charge of the briefing, he stood at the head of the table and wasted no time diving right into it.

“Good morning, everyone. I’m sorry to call you all back in, but you know I wouldn’t do so if it wasn’t urgent.” He stated, before clicking a button on his laptop, making three different images instantly pop up on the large monitor behind him. Each image held the face of three different young women seemingly young, all with dark hair, bright eyes, and tanned skin. “Jessica Dunning, Rina Mendes, and Sofia Lombardi, all went missing a week apart from one another at the beginning of the month, and each of their bodies were found the exact same way: A single stab wound to the chest, and various traces of poison in their systems.”

“Well it’s clear this unsub has a type.” Rossi pointed out, noticing the similarities in each of the victims. “Was there any signs of sexual assault?”

“So far, none.” Hotch quickly clarified, before clicking to the next slide depicting pictures of the actual crime scenes. “But the unsub did position all three of their bodies in the same way, post-mortem. They were found laying on their backs with their hands crossed over their midsection, and a bouquet of flowers in their grasp.”

“Seems like a sick and twisted version of Snow White, if you ask me.” Emily mumbled. “Only the prince never showed. Maybe it's linked to the unsub’s childhood? Could’ve read the story as a kid and favored it over the other fairy tales for whatever reason.”

“That would actually be a plausible theory.” Spencer chimed in. “Afterall, in the original story the Evil Queen orders the huntsman to kill Snow White using a dagger, which could explain the stab wound in these victims. Not only that, but she later on uses poison as well in the apple that she gifts her. It seems highly unlikely for those two specifications to be coincidental.”

“Why is it that crazy psychopathic killers always have to ruin sweet little innocent things?” Garcia mumbled to herself.

“Guys, maybe the unsub is a woman.” JJ spoke up. “I mean, if we’re really linking this to the fairy tale, it could all be an act of vengeful jealousy where the unsub is targeting women who might seem more privileged or better than her in some way.”

“That could very well be a possibility.” Hotch replied, nodding in agreement. “After all, the acts of remorse and tidiness shown here are typically all signs of a female’s work, so until we know for certain let’s not rule that out. Whether this unsub really did get inspired by a childhood fairy tale or not, there’s definitely a pattern here.”

“Uh, Hotch?” Derek questioned, suddenly catching the attention of the other agents in the room. “Don’t get me wrong, I agree that there’s obviously something going on here, but you mean to tell me we were called in for only three murders? Doesn’t it usually take more bodies to show up for us to be even thought of?”

“Normally yes, which is actually what brings us to our main concern.”

Hotch clicked the button on his remote and immediately a different young woman with dark hair just like the others showed up on the screen. “This is Kayla Shafer. She was reported missing last night when she never returned home from her usual late-night shift at the diner.”

“A d-diner?” Garcia stuttered out, nervously, before glancing at the other two women in the room.

“Yes, that is correct.” He nodded, before continuing the briefing. “She’s been a waitress there for a little over a year now. Her parents just assumed that she had gotten caught up in the severe storm that occurred last night but when she never made it home, and they never received a message from her, they called the police. It hasn’t been 24 hours yet, so they couldn’t file a report, however it’s safe to assume that the unsub has her. Meaning, that we only have a few days to find her before its too late. The LAPD needs all the help they can get so that’s why the Chief has requested our immediate assistance. We can discuss more on the flight there but for right now we need to leave as quickly as possible. In the meantime, Garcia, I need you to run background searches on all of the victims and see if they have anything in common.”

“Yes, Sir.” The blonde replied, already beginning to type away on her laptop.

“Thank you. Everyone else, please collect your things and meet at the jet. Wheels up in 20.” Hotch stated, before exiting the room and leaving the others to gather their files.

As everyone stood up and dispersed, Garcia managed to quickly grab ahold of JJ and Emily, pulling them to the side.

“Okay, please tell me I’m not the only one who is rightfully spooked here!” She whispered, anxiously.

Frowning, Em glanced over at JJ in confusion, before turning to face Penelope. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the latest victim, Kayla Shafer! She was attacked, in the rain, after her shift at a diner. That doesn’t seem the least bit familiar to you?”

“…Ohhh, the movie we watched last night…” JJ slowly came to the same realization. “Wait, are you saying you think that it’s somehow connected?”

“I don’t know, you guys are the profilers, you tell me!” The blonde exclaimed. “I mean she even looks exactly like the main character!”

“Hold on a minute,” Emily put her hand out to try and calm her. “I’m sure it’s just a crazy coincidence. It would surely cause alarm if all of the victims were waitresses at diners who were abducted the same way, but Kayla was the only one.” She pointed out, before flipped through the case file. “You see? Jessica was a barista, Sofia was a wedding planner, and Rina was unemployed.”

“Emily’s right, Pen.” JJ rubbed her shoulder, comfortingly. “It’s just a crazy coincidence. But if it makes you feel any better, you can tell us how the movie ended so we can be aware if anything else suspicious comes up in the field?”

“Yeah.. okay.” Garcia sighed. “I guess th— wait a minute. Jennifer Jareau, you better not be tricking me into giving away the ending! Our girl’s night shall resume as soon as you all get back, and only then can you find out. Emily, don’t you dare look it up either! As a matter of fact give me both of your phones. I need to install a firewall that will prevent you both from researching spoilers.” 

The two laughed as they sidestepped Penny’s awaiting hands, and began rushing away. 

“Oh, I see how it is.” She called out after them. “Just remember that I can hack into your search histories!”

The flight was around 5 hours, so there was enough time for the team to come up with a game plan. Together they all gathered towards the center of the jet as Garcia’s face popped up on the tablet before them.

“My sweets, you have been gone a total of 4 hours and I already miss each and every one of you. This building is not the same when all of your presences are lacking from it.”

“Garcia,” Hotch spoke in a friendly, yet stern, tone that told her she needed to focus back on the case.

“Right! My apologies, Sir. So, I ran the backgrounds of each victim like you requested but they literally have zero connections to one another. I searched from A to Z starting from the day that they were born, but the only thing they seem to have in common is just their physical appearances.”

“Alright, so he chooses random targets who all look the same.” Emily voiced her thoughts. “It could be that the victims remind them of an ex-girlfriend or family member in one way or another. Or, maybe they do remind him of a fairy tale, and he felt obligated to come to their rescue in some dark and twisted way?

“Actually,” Spencer cut in, meddling with his fingers. “I was thinking more about the Snow White theory and some of it just doesn’t add up. The huntsman never actually harmed the princess, he let her go. So if this really was related to those key details, it doesn’t make sense that each of the victims actually had stab wounds because that wasn’t in the story. Not only that but according to these reports, the poison found in their bodies wasn’t ingested, but rather, inhaled. If this unsub really is trying to replicate the story of Snow White, they’re surely doing an awful job at it. I mean, it’s completely inaccurate.”

“Well, Snow White was known for her purity and innocence right?” Derek asked. “It could have something to do with religion. Just like Mary was criticized for being a pregnant virgin, maybe the unsub is targeting morally clean women who he thinks are actually sinners.” He shrugged, before looking down at the tablet. “Garcia, were any of the victims tied to a church or youth group of some kind?”

“Give me one second,” She uttered, as she began typing away on her keyboard. “No, they weren’t. But fear not, my beloveds, because after a bit more digging into their lives I did find out some very interesting things. Jessica Dunnings, the 24 year-old barista, also doubled as a babysitter for her next door neighbors, Darrin and Claire Anderson.”

“Alright… so she was just trying to make a little extra cash. How is that important?” Derek questioned, causing Garcia to smirk.

“Well Sugar, if you call ‘doing the devil’s tango’ with Mr. Anderson while his wife is at work a way of getting a ‘little extra cash’, then consider her heavily rewarded.”

That piece of information made every one of the team member’s eyes widen in surprise. They knew Garcia was never one to beat around the bush, but her lack of a filter never failed to catch them off guard.

“Ah, okay.” Derek nodded, in understanding. “So you’re telling me these girls were the opposite of pure, huh?”

“Not necessarily,” Garcia replied. “Rina was actually as innocent as they come. She had good grades all throughout high school and even graduated with honors and multiple scholarships. She literally had no mean bone in her body and was actually a volunteer at various homeless shelters.”

“Definitely seems too good to be true.” JJ commented under her breath.

“Well, that’s the thing,” Garcia continued. “Her life wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. When she was 15 she was diagnosed with Leukemia and the doctors didn’t think that she’d make it to her 18th birthday. It was an uphill battle and she was constantly in and out of the hospital, causing her parent’s medical bills to skyrocket. Thankfully, she beat the cancer and made it to adulthood, and she even started a GoFundMe page to assist her parents with the bills.” Garcia’s voice suddenly fell quieter, as a slight whimper was heard from her end. “But it wasn’t even a month after her birthday that she was murdered.”

“God, that’s terrible.” JJ sighed, deep in thought. “I can’t imagine what her parents must be going through. The poor girl didn’t even get a real chance at life.”

Emily suddenly sat up, and let out the breath she didn’t realize she was holding before quickly trying to change the subject. “Okay, so you were right, Garcia. These girls have literally nothing in common, other than the fact that their lives could literally be made into movies. I mean, the mistress and the cancer kid. I can probably think of five different films with those same story arcs. I don’t even have to hear about Sofia and Kayla to know that they probably had similar eventful pasts.”

Everyone nodded at her words, but it was Garcia who was immediately hit with an epiphany. It was a stretch, she knew that, especially given what Emily and JJ had told her before they left. However, it was seeming less and less like a coincidence. Now, she just had to muster up the courage to share it with the group without sounding ridiculous.

“The only accurate lead we have is in knowing that this unsub is clearly targeting young women with dark hair and light eyes, all with similar skin tones and features.” Hotch concluded what they already know. “They have a designated type. That means whatever the motive is, it’s most likely personal for the unsub, and we can see that they continuously show remorse with the bodies. Garcia, I want you to run traces of every woman in California that resembles the victims.”

“But Sir, that’s probably gonna result in thousands of women--”

“I know, but we have to start somewhere. The killings didn’t start until the beginning of the month so look into specific women who have any significance to the time frame. It’s a needle in a haystack, I’m aware. However, until we can gather more information at the scene enough to narrow it down, it's all we have to go on.”

“Well, actually, I, uh, may have some valuable information already for you.” Garcia mumbled, nervously. “I didn’t want to say anything, but the lives of these victims all seem extremely familiar to me. Like Emily mentioned, it's almost as if their lives could’ve all been the main plot to major-hit movies, and…I kinda think they were.”

“What are you saying?” Hotch asked, his interest certainly piqued.

Meanwhile, JJ and Emily both glanced at each other knowingly, wondering where she was going with this. They had assumed the latest victim was just coincidentally similar to the main character in the movie they watched last night, but they couldn’t deny that each and every one of the victims looked exactly like the famous actress that starred in it. Which is why, Garcia’s next words didn’t surprise them at all.

“Sir,” She continued. “I think this unsub could possibly be targeting a famous actress named Sloan Hudson. At first I thought it was just a coincidence, but the resemblance to all of the victims is uncanny. The real kicker, though, is the that it seems like every victim so far has lived the real life of some of the fictional roles she’s played in the media. For instance, Kayla Shafer was a waitress at a diner, and Sloan’s character in the movie “Dining Out” was a waitress at a diner too, both end up being attacked by someone. I originally believed it was just a coincidence, but after more digging and finding out more information, it’s not the only one. Sloan was also casted as a mistress, just like Jessica, in another movie entitled “Secret Secretary”, as well as a cancer patient, similar to Rina, when she guest starred in a surgical tv drama. I know it’s a stretch, and I’m probably not even right. It was just a thought, and I’m sorry. I’ll stop talking now.”

“You know, I actually think you might be onto something, Garcia.” Reid assured her, sitting up in his seat and already coming up with different theories himself. “If I remember correctly, Hudson was also casted as a wedding planner in that romantic comedy you dragged me to see last summer, and Sofia Lombardi was a wedding planner as well. So, without any other current leads I think it’s safe to assume that the unsub could very well be targeting her.”

“Okay, so I’m not just going crazy,” Garcia smiled to herself in relief. However, it wasn’t even a moment later that her smile completely faltered, knowing that Sloan was one of her favorite actresses. “Oh no...Hotch, if this is true we have to warn her. She could be in danger!”

 Hotch furrowed his eyebrows in thought as the others looked towards him.  “Alright,” He nodded. “This is definitely something we can work with. Do you know where she resides?”

On the other line, the rapid clicks of Garcia’s keyboard could be heard, and in less than a minute she already had her answer. “According to Google, she owns a luxury apartment in New York, but she’s currently in LA for her next film.”

“When does the filming start?”

“It actually started filming a few weeks ago. Her fans have been buzzing about it all over social media ever since the beginning of the month.”

“Well it fits the timeframe. So that could have been the trigger.” Emily pieced together. “It definitely seems personal. Perhaps an obsessive fan? Though, that still doesn’t explain the M.O or the end goal for all of this.”

“I think it’s safe to assume that Sloan is his end goal.” Hotch added, before turning to everyone. “Alright we need to know more about each of the victims and why this unsub positions them the way that he does post-mortem. Morgan, Prentiss, I want you both at the latest crime scene. Rossi, Reid, you two head to the M.E facility and examine the other bodies. JJ, you're with me as we meet with the LAPD. I need you to ensure this doesn’t reach the media before we get in contact with Miss Hudson. And Garcia?”

“Yes?”

“Good work.” He gave her a small smile. “Find a way to reach Sloan’s management team if you can, but in the meantime, I’m gonna need you on the next available flight to Los Angeles. You’re officially on this case.”

A/N: i’m really excited to continue this, so please let me know your thoughts and what you would like to see happen!

[witchsickness]

it’s billy’s fault, the way everything always is.

on friday morning, when the pen’s been tucked furtively into one of the spaces of his messenger bag for three whole days, neil clears his throat on the other side of the breakfast table. a subtle reminder of his presence, in case billy forgets himself long enough to build up an appetite. he’s buttering a slice of charcoaled toast. part of billy remembers what hunger feels like, but it’s nothing more than an afterthought.

‘guess you won’t be needing any lunch money today,’ neil says around a mouthful. spit-soaked crumbs rain down on the table. sue’s already gone. good thing billy knows where the cleaning supplies are stored.

‘it’s fine,’ he mutters, hoping it’s as close to the right answer as he’ll ever get, ‘i’ll just make a sandwich.’

neil passes a napkin over his mouth, leaves it crumpled next to the plate. he’s got that friday-morning glow around him, that means two days with nowhere for him to be. nowhere for billy, either. ‘i don’t think so. i don’t see why you should waste my hard-earned money when you could buy something from school.’

it’s a trap if billy’s ever seen one. he’s seventeen and seven months. doomed to walk right into it. ‘i don’t—i don’t have any money, dad.’

neil hums in commiseration, getting up. the bag is laying slumped against the leg of the table. a tilt of neil’s head, the upturned corner of his mouth. that’s all the warning billy gets. neil snatches the bag and pulls the pen out with a familiarity that turns billy’s stomach. he knows his way around. billy—feels sick.

neil hums, nail running over the grooves of steve harrington’s initials, engraved on one side of the pen. carved on the bark of billy’s stupid heart, too, framed by a caricatured, arrow-pierced one. like one of those cartoon animals that keeps falling off cliffs but somehow always survives, ends up taking the same wrong turns over and over.

it’s dumb. kids shows never end in bloodshed.

‘funny,’ neil says, pen turning in his fingers, ‘you’d think you could afford a piece of cafeteria pizza. since you’ve saved up enough for fancy pens, and all.’ he takes a step closer. there’s still a few wayward crumbs clinging to his mustache. billy focuses on that. counts them, again and again. ‘or you could just steal it.’

billy looks into his father’s eyes. ‘someone dropped it at school,’ he says, voice steadier than the ground under his feet, ‘sir. didn’t get the chance to return it.’

neil nods, lips pursed like contemplating the slight chance of honesty. ‘you haven’t seen him—’ he coos, last word spat out, assumed. excruciatingly right. ‘—for three days. no shared classes?’

‘slipped my mind.’

somewhere inside the house, a door opens. max is finally out of the shower. neil huffs, takes a step back. places the pen carefully on the table with a notion of fragility he’s never accorded his son.

‘one day you’ll thank me,’ he says, darkly. ‘you’ll leave this house prepared for real life one way or another. all i’m trying to do is show you there’s a certain place in the world for everyone, son. does you no good going after what you can never have.’

it’s misplaced, in the sense that they’re talking about different things. billy couldn’t care less about the upper-class affluence the pen represents in neil’s eyes. it’s not billy’s fault his father didn’t make it. that’s one thing he can’t be blamed for.

the pen catches the light, S.H. glinting gold, mocking him. neil’s right about one thing, at least. the pads of billy’s fingers are still tingling from yesterday’s practice, harrington passing him a jersey. nothing but pain will come out of this.

good thing billy’s had a lifetime to get used to it.

[captainpoopweinersoldier]

Night & Day - Epilogue

Battinson!Bruce Wayne x F!Reader x Neil

Warnings: Some light angsty pining

Words: 400

Link to AO3

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five

Tagging: @ursulaismymiddlename​ @salt-is-a-terrible-currency​ @sassymemesfanficfestival​ @afro-hispwriter​ @lokidoky​

A month later in Mumbai, Neil found himself grateful for the linen suit Bruce had purchased for him.

He'd been planning ahead, of course. Punctuality required little guess work in his profession, and considering the upcoming meeting had technically happened in a separate time loop, it was easy to prepare for the sweltering heat of the packed city.

Still, even Neil had to admit he was slightly on edge. He'd arrived two days prior to make himself comfortable in the apartment the agency provided. It wasn't every day one had the opportunity to introduce themselves to a person already considered their closest confidant, let alone where the fate of the world was concerned.

Weaving another past in the fabric of this mission, having abandoned all promise of a different future for a second time.

As if sensing his train of thought, there was a sudden rapping at the door, and Neil knew to retrieve his weekly issue of the Gotham Globe.

Call him sentimental, but certain things he liked on paper. He made a habit to hold onto clippings, enjoying the natural process of their yellowing corners as age took its course. 

He couldn't call you, tell you where he was and that he was okay. Couldn't call Bruce either, though he had an inkling due to radio chatter he was doing the utmost to trace his whereabouts. So he'd settle for the paper, save another clipping in a portfolio with contents only he would ever know. 

This week's headline:

BILLIONAIRE BRUCE WAYNE - OUT OF THE SHADOWS, INTO THE LIMELIGHT WITH BOMBSHELL PARTNER

A smaller section below the attention grabbing article was a piece on a deescalated hostage situation with over half a dozen shooters and no injuries or fatalities thanks to the Batman.

Neil chuckled, eyes trailing back to the black and white photo of you and Bruce, hand in hand while crossing the bustling city street. And though there was a soft pang in his chest - a yearning to be beside you both - his face split into a wide grin, chuffed to recognize Bruce in one of the outfits he'd set aside for him. 

"Atta boy, Brucie. Atta boy."

His cellphone rang and he answered just as he tucked the issue into his portfolio.

"There are no friends at dusk."

Neil checked his watch as the voice spoke in his ear.

"Bombay Yacht Club?"

He was needed in two hours. 

"Right on time."

[niksixx]

Don’t Love You Like I Used To

Hi friends :) Please enjoy this small imagine for Vince Neil! Remember to like, comment, and reblog so others can find my work. I love y'all :) 

Pairing: Vince Neil x Reader 

Description: He’s irresponsible with money. 

Warning: Slight cursing

A/N: The picture is NOT mine. Full credit goes to the owner.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“We have separate bank accounts for a reason, Vince!” You couldn’t believe how irresponsible he’d been. Had he always been this way?

Vince snorts. “Do you know how easy it’ll be for me to make that money back?”

The bank statement crinkles in your hands, the sharp edges digging into the skin on your palms. “Thirty thousand dollars,” You croak out. “You spent thirty thousand dollars, just this month, on clothes, motorcycles, and booze, from our shared bank account!”

Of course he could easily make the money back. And he damn sure was going to. But as you watched him shake his head, anger bubbled inside your chest. He didn’t care.

“That money,” You point, “Was for both of us. For our family. For things we both need. Half of the money in that account was mine. And you…” You fail to finish the sentence as your voice wavers, hot tears sticking to the corners of your eyes.

“Considering half of the money in our account came from me, I shouldn’t have to tell you what I spend it on.” Vince spat back, slamming the refrigerator door. “If you’d stop being dramatic for two seconds, maybe you’d realize this isn’t as big of a deal as you’re making it out to be. I made the purchases. I can’t change anything about it. I’ll make the money back and so will you. End of story.”

“Then use the money in your account, Vince!” You shout, throwing the piece of crumpled paper onto the floor. “You don’t need twenty pairs of leather pants! You don’t need a two thousand dollar bottle of liquor! But if you want to be irresponsible, do it with your money, not ours!”

“You don’t get to tell me what I need,” Vince steps toward you. “If I want twenty fucking pairs of leather pants, then I’m going to buy twenty fucking pairs of leather pants. I don’t hound your ass when you buy shit, so get off mine.”

As he stood before you, beer bottle in hand with dark eyes and a flushed face, you realized there was no way to make him understand his actions. That was the problem with Vince. He never understood.

You decided to save him from another lecture, and save yourself from a spouse who was incapable of understanding the effect of his actions. You step up to him, face neutral, voice low. “I know exactly how you can make the money back.”

“Enlighten me.”

You grip his free hand between your own two hands, squeezing before letting your arms fall to your side. “Sell it.”

Vince glances down at his palm, face draining of all color when he takes notice of your engagement ring. “W-What?” He stutters.

“Sell it,” You say harshly. “Because I sure as hell don’t need it anymore.”

[hargrove-mayfields]

Everyone who knew Billy Hargrove had thought that even though he had only been in town for a short time, he wouldn’t be leaving without making his mark on Hawkins High when he graduated. He was their new top dog, their poster boy in all things social, athletic, and academic, so it only made sense he’d choose to go out with a bang.

Graduation is held outside on the football field, a first for the school because the senior class of ‘85 is made of up of too many kids to hold it in the gym like usual, which would theoretically give him the perfect opportunity to screw around and ruin the formal ceremony.

What nobody had expected though, was for him to be sitting up straight and attentive at graduation, his hair pulled up in a bun under his cap and his earring left at home, wearing a pair of dress shoes he couldn’t afford, with all kinds of pins and cords and even a valedictorians medal adorning his robes.

And nobody expected him to wait at the head of the stage as his full name, William Reuben Hargrove, was called, walking across in perfect time and doing every polite handshake, smiling at the teachers and administrators and getting his photo with his diploma in hand and a respectable smile on his face.

Because he was one of four valedictorians above two salutatorians, he wasn’t given the opportunity to read his own speech, but rather was chosen to read the graduates address. His reputation preceded him, and it was clear from the tension sparking the air that everyone, including the parents, expected him to pull something when called to the stage and given the microphone.

But he didn’t, he stood proud and read it off loud and clear, or at least recited it from memory that way, Max had to read it to him for weeks in practice because he couldn’t power through and read it, the text small and too close on the page it all jumbled together, stepping down from the stage when he was done instead adding any words of his own,

It’s like a collective sigh is let out when he sits back down, Nancy taking her turn up on the stage to read the closing remarks and turn the tassels, and just like that the ceremony passes by without a hitch.

Because even though all knew who they thought Billy was, they didn’t know about the man he had to be in front of Neil Hargrove, watching from the bleachers.

Instead, what his peers had all wanted was for Billy to walk to his own tune, slouching in his seat and picking at his nails when he wasn’t supposed to be paying attention, fumbling the fancy walk and keeping his hands stuffed in his pockets as a big F-U to the school and all it stood for, and they definitely expected him to show up in a crumpled suit and scuffed old shoes, his hair a mess under the cap, looking like his true ragamuffin self.

Only, Steve Harrington was the one to do all that.

The rumor mill would have it that Stevie boy got wasted the night before graduation and was barely powering through it on a hangover. Truth would argue however, that he had woken up that morning alone, so depressed that no one, including himself, gave a damn about the accomplishment he had fought so very hard for, that he didn’t care about doing this stupid ceremony nobody would see anyways the right way, the Harrington way.

So he didn’t show up to senior assembly or to any of practices, he didn’t earn any scholarships or awards anyways, and he felt he hardly deserved the passing grades he was most likely given by sympathetic teachers who knew him all too well from retaking failed classes for years. He didn’t really feel like there was anything to commemorate, so he showed up, but only for the piece of paper, and maybe a little bit to prove his father who said he’d never be able to do it wrong.

After the ceremony was finished, they turned the field over to families to take pictures with their graduates, and graduates to take pictures with each other. Billy got a handful taken of him and his family by the school's photographer and Susan’s camera too, and a decent couple of Polaroids with the real friends he’d actually made, Tommy and Carol and Heather.

There were no pictures taken of Steve on his big day. He’d gone straight to the auditorium and gotten his diploma for the folder they handed him on stage, then drove himself home before anybody could stop him and ask for one.

~~~~~~~~~

It happens again in June when grad party season hits.

Among the most anticipated invites was the one to Billy Hargrove’s graduation party. Everyone was sure he’d have a big house party for the seniors, he always brought the life to the party like Hawkins had never seen it, it only made sense he’d have his own.

But again, his peers are mistaken, because nobody gets an invite other than that same handful of friends, and they all get theirs, along with a tiny print of Billy's unrecognizably serious senior photos, in the mail just like the rest of the Hargroves’ extended family.

Because his party is a family affair, an open house from eleven in the morning to four in the afternoon at an outdoor pavilion in the state park, where he’s supposed to dress nice and greet every member of the family with the same practiced smile, regardless of if he even knew who they were, or if they could tell the difference between him and his cousins.

None of it felt like real family to him though, when not even his mother could be bothered to come despite the effort he went through to get her an invite, and him and Max both playing the role of perfect children so well they almost forgot the other was there.

So him and his friends just sit at a table in the corner between making his appearances with great aunts who he didn’t even know, acting like ordinary kids under the watchful eye of Neil Hargrove until it’s over and they get to pack up the green and yellow decorations bought to be recycled for Max’s party again in four years and count all the money he’d gotten in cards, which he was supposed to be saving for college.

Steve again is the one to meet those expectations they held for Billy, the fallen keg king maybe not as undeserving of the title as they had thought.

As it turns out, his parents hadn’t been paying enough attention to realize it was time already to celebrate him, and it was far too late to send out invites if he wanted to have it before it was socially unacceptable but their standards at least, too much of his family living in Italy anyways, so he just had his own party.

The sort of party where kids came for the liquor, uncaring about the host of the state of their house after they're done getting their kicks, as long as they have something to do and a chemical codependency to form.

A couple of kids do actually bring him generic cards as congratulations, without money in them of course because they knew who he was and where he live, but not that his parents were planning on cutting him off as soon as they could, but most everyone else just came to get hammered, basically celebrating their own graduation with Steve’s money.

He’s miserable. He gets just as drunk as anyone else and passes out halfway through the party, waking up to a trashed house and a few stragglers on his lawn. Definitely not the type of celebration one has for their child they’re so proud of, or even actually gives two shits about.

~~~~~~~

Another expectation shattered, was the rivalry between Billy and Steve. They were supposed to be bitter enemies, the ex king shown up and beaten by the one who’d go on to steal his spotlight, but while they were different, from their personas and from each other botg, they were very much the same, and they recognized that in each other.

After they had thanksgiving break to let the tension between them cool off, things moved quickly from making friends at a house party neither of them wanted to be at to making out in the back seats of the Camaro.

By June they’ve been going steady for a couple of months already, but even though they’re officially at boyfriends status, Billy doesn’t go to Steve’s party. It was the night before his own and he’s pretty sure Neil would’ve killed him if he had stumbled home wasted just a couple of hours before he was supposed to look nice and represent the family well. Steve told him he didn’t expect him to come to something like that anyways, knew the party scene was for the side of Billy everybody but Steve liked to see, so he doesn’t go.

Steve does end up showing at Billy’s though, not able to stay long because Billy was sure Neil would see them for what they were, even if another of the assumptions about him was that he and Heather were dating. So he just drops by with a card and his well wishes, pretending he was only there as a courtesy, being members of the same sports teams and all.

He slips the card in the box and gives Billy and Tommy a little, too cool for this, definitely ditching as soon as he can, wave, and that’s the end of it.

But what nobody knows, or could presume about them, is that Billy came back to his house that night, and they had their own little celebration, for the both of them. No parents who couldn’t be bothered or who controlled every last minor detail, no people there in the name of just family or just to have a good time.

Just Billy and Steve, the real them that nobody knew like one another did.

[mourntheantagonist]

#HarringroveApril Day 16: Nostalgia

***

When Billy signed those discharge papers, piled into his dented Camaro and headed west towards the sunset despite the screaming redhead banging on the windows crying “please don’t go!”, with an aching chest both metaphorical and physical, he didn’t think for a second about looking back.

So how he ended up back in the same shithole he turned his back on ten years ago was entirely beyond him.

He had made a life for himself in California. He got his associates degree at the local community college and worked his way up from a nine to five teller position at the local bank all the way to branch manager, making an upper middle class salary. It was easy work. Boring work, unfulfilling work, but easy and worth every penny. He had a couple of friends, mostly coworkers, more so acquaintances than friends. He had a fancy apartment in the city, he went on dates, though they usually ended in one night stands where the other guy snuck out in the dark hours of the morning leaving Billy to sleep in a bed that was just too big for one person. But he was free from all of those forces in his life that always held him back and pinned him down, and each and every one of those forces just reeked of small town America.

He hadn’t heard a peep out of Hawkins since Max had given up on calling around eight years ago, or at least he hoped that she’d given up and something worse hadn’t happened to her. He regretted not answering those calls everyday. The guilt of leaving her behind like that weighed heavy like an anchor, but he did it anyway. Bad decision after bad decision he was surprised he made it to where he had today, and he just wished she’d call again.

But he also wasn’t sure enough of himself that anything would change if she did, and that phone would likely remain on the hook until the ringing stopped and she was left to the sound of his voicemail.

“You’ve reached Billy Hargrove. Leave a message.”

He wasn’t home the day she finally did call, which fortunately took that decision away from him. Her message was tossed in with a mix of telemarketers and employees calling in for days off, it could have easily been dismissed, passed over like every other piece of junk in the system if her voice hadn’t been exactly the same as it was the day he left her.

“Hey Billy, it’s Max. I know you probably don’t give a shit, but Neil died of a heart attack last night…” Billy stopped listening after the words ‘Neil died’ came over the speaker. He had to replay the message to hear the rest because by the time he’d gathered himself it had already ended. “...the funeral is next Saturday in Hawkins. Nobody expects you to come but I thought you should know anyway and that everyone would still like to see you. Call me back at…” Billy wrote the number on the back of a blockbuster receipt and set it flat on the counter quickly with a firm hand and a quick retraction, like it might burn him. Max’s name and a ten digit number below it in a blue ballpoint pen stared back at him and he just drummed his fingers on the counter and bit his lip trying to think everything over.

He looked at it for probably another thirty minutes while the rest of the voicemails cycled through in the background before he decided to make a call of his own. Slowly and shaking, he dialed the phone number and tried to even out his breathing while he waited for the sound of the pick up. He was partially hoping that it never came.

But it did. The click sound was followed by a voice that didn’t belong to Max, but one he still recognized.

“Hello?”

Billy took in a deep breath. “Hi. This is Billy.”

“Wow, I’m surprised you actually called.”

Billy huffed and if it had been ten years earlier he would have already hung up the phone by now.

“Who is this?”

“Lucas Sinclair. I take it you want to talk to Max?”

Billy tensed at the mention of her name, as if that hadn’t been the whole plan in the first place. “Yeah,” he said, a little bit of shakiness to his voice, “could you put her on?”

After a few short moments of silence and a little bit of movement in the background, he heard her.

“Hey Billy.” she sounded… glad… and it made Billy let out a heavy sigh of relief.

“Hey Maxine.”

“It’s Max.” There was that tone, she hadn’t changed at all.

“Yeah, I know.” There was a pause, Billy twirled the phone cord around this index finger to the point it started going pink and then purple while he tried to get the question to leave the tip of his tongue. “So, he’s really dead?” he asked, blunt as ever.

“Yeah. I don’t expect you to want to come for the funeral, but I just thought you should know, and if you need a place to stay you can– hold on one second” Billy could hear muffled bickering and Max yelling ‘Lucas Sinclair’ through clenched teeth and it brought a smile to his face. It reminded him of all those times he’d eavesdrop on her phone calls with him just to piss her off, just to hear her yell at him through their shared wall before she’d chase him around the house. Those were good days. “As I was saying. You can stay here if you need. We have a spare room.”

“Thanks for the offer.”

“I really hope you decide to come.”

“We’ll see.” He was just about to hang the phone back up, but he stopped himself, “Hey Max?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s nice hearing the sound of your voice again.”

Billy wound up taking the week off and driving that same old Camaro, restored back to its former glory, that did the distance twice before, back over to Indiana, to the place he said he’d never go back to, and he really couldn’t figure out the reason why he didn’t just go into work. There was nothing to drive him to go but the weird feeling in his gut that refused to go away until he called in, and a little bit of that pressure was released.

For each freeway exit he came across on the over thousand mile journey he contemplated turning around, getting back on that on-ramp going the other direction and save himself from whatever hell he’d be walking into.

Because that’s what Hawkins was to him. Hell. There were monsters like his father, and then there were real, legitimate monsters as well and Billy wasn’t safe from either of them, well he was safe from one now. He couldn’t imagine why Max decided to stay in the shithole and not get out like he did.

Maybe that’s what makes him the coward.

The welcome to Hawkins sign gave him chills. He remembered seeing that for the first time, following behind the rickety Uhaul pulled by their beat up truck when Billy decided not to follow them into their next turn, and instead got lost on the “scenic route” of Hawkins which really meant “trees, trees, and more trees” when he hit the Quarry’s dead end and nearly went off the cliff into the water below.

At the time he might’ve thought it would have been better if he had.

A lot of things had looked to have changed about the town since the last time he saw it. Places that he remembered being nothing but vast forests now had neighborhoods and restaurant chains and the place that once had a natural canopy was now completely deforested and exposed to the sun.

But the Quarry was exactly the same as he left it.

From the beer cans crushed and scattered, to the sounds of gravel pieces bouncing up and chipping the paint on his car.

The continuities continued to add up when he stepped foot out of the car, pulling on that same old denim jacket he hadn’t worn in years after trading it in for a suit and tie. His boot hit the gravel path just like it always had, with that same stomp that demanded attention, like each time he got out of that car he had to play into the dramatics, put on the mask and play the part he chose for himself. The breeze and the smell, it was all the same as before, as if the industrialization just several blocks north hadn’t had any effects on this little corner of the town where the birds still sang their songs in harmony and the smell of nature was pungent. It felt like no time had passed at all.

But it had been the sound of a rumbling BMW rolling down the crushing gravel that made him feel exactly like he was back in highschool again, the same rotten kid who used fists as forms for problem solving, the kid who as an adult had worked on his impulsivity, standing there, staring up the gentle slope with his fists clenched so tight his fingernails left marks on his palms. All that work, all that progress he thought he’d gone through, thrown straight out the window at just the mere sight of something from his past.

The BMW pulled up beside him, and the quarry apparently wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t changed. Steve still had the same big swooped back hair and that same exact look on his face when they made eye contact through the passenger window, the same exact look he had the day he told him he was leaving, and screamed at him to get out of his hospital room.

That was the last time they spoke.

Steve got out of the car without a word and just leaned against the door, looking him up and down, and Billy didn’t feel like he had any right to say the first word, considering he’d had the last one.

“It’s good to see you Billy.” Steve broke the silence, and it was almost startling, with both the sudden change of volume, and the sound of that voice he’d almost forgotten singing in his head like a song he didn’t remember learning the lyrics to.

“Is it?” Because it felt like it was all just a formality coming out of his mouth.

He wasn’t expecting an answer to that, so he shouldn’t have been surprised when Steve changed the subject. It was oddly refreshing seeing Steve write the script this time, steering the conversation his way.

“Looks like we both kept our old wheels,” he said, slapping the top of his car twice, maybe a little too hard. The sound of a hand against metal echoed through the trees. “though there’s not as many dents from what I remember.”

“I had it restored.”

The majority of Steve’s body was hidden behind the car that separated the two of them, but he could see in the way that his shoulders moved that his hands had found his own hips, doing that same stance of a mother who just caught their kid in the act of something naughty. “Some good memories happened in that car.”

“Some bad ones too. Or do I need to remind you how the dents got there in the first place?” Billy crossed his arms over his chest, as if the thousand pound chunk of metal that served as a barrier wasn’t enough to protect him. Because it felt like Steve could see directly through him with the way his head tilted when Billy threw his words back at him. Because they both knew that it was horseshit. Memories of whatever happened between Steve and the Camaro existed only in the dents that remained and the neck pain that still lingered. He didn’t actually hold any grudge about that, and he never did.

Because Steve was right. There had been good memories in that car, some he didn’t remember until seeing him again, some that still played in his mind when he went to sleep at night. Maybe that was the reason he kept it around for so long, that one piece that contained all of those few good times, all of those times with Steve.

“You were always so good at that.”

“What?”

“Deflecting. Pushing people away.”

Billy opened his mouth to defend himself, but there was nothing that came out but his own breath, but Steve filled that silence anyway before Billy would have even had the opportunity to speak.

“You cut your hair.”

It was like he was being interrogated.

“Company policy, they practically had to strap me down and take the clippers to my head themselves.”

Steve actually laughed, and it seemed genuine at least. Billy pulled out the pack of red that he always kept on the seat like it was muscle memory. His hands would only ever stop shaking when he had that little stick between his fingers, and they were only shaking more since Steve got out of that car.

“You still smoke?”

Billy put the cigarette in between his lips and lit up, pausing for a nice drag before bothering to answer Steve. Just letting his eyes fall shut and experience just a short moment of relaxation.

“Some old habits never die”

Steve pursed his lips. Every single one of his mannerisms were exactly the same. This one meant that he wanted to say something that he didn’t know if he should.

“Was I just an old habit too?”

“Steve–”

Steve just kicked the side of his car with his knee, sure to leave a dent of his own. The sound was loud enough that the consistent stream of chirping birds transformed into a cascade of flapping wings as the birds on the trees flew away from the scene. He walked around to the front of his car and the physical object that once created separation was gone, and suddenly Steve was within reach and he couldn’t breathe.

“Glad to know it’s harder to quit nicotine than it was to quit me!”

Billy chucked his lit cigarette at the ground and scuffed it with his heel into the gravel. “Who told you it was easy?!” He had a finger pointed to Steve and had closed their distance a few feet more, less than an arms length apart from each other.

“You left!”

“Because I had to! You know I did!”

“You didn’t have to leave me!” Steve practically screamed that final word, his face was now just inches away from Billy’s and he was nearly foaming at the mouth and from an outsider's perspective, Steve looked about two seconds from either kissing him, or killing him.

He did neither. He took a step back and recollected himself with a dramatic clearing of his throat. “You didn’t even ask me to come with you.”

“And you don’t think I regret that every fucking day of my life?” Billy’s voice broke, trembling throughout the sentence like he was containing a ticking time bomb. “Why are you even here?”

Steve just rolled his eyes at the steer. “Max sent me.”

“Of course she fucking did.”

“She cares about you y’know.” Billy scoffed, because how could she? After all he did to her? He could still hear those palms banging against those windows and her muffled screams for her to stay every time he got into that car. “Why are you here?”

“Did she not tell you the part where my dad died?”

“I know damn well you didn’t come all this way to pay your respects.”

Billy let himself drop to the ground and sit on the rough terrain with his back against his tire, unable to continue standing, his legs were ready to betray him.

“I have no idea why I’m here, okay? I just am.”

Steve nodded his head, and he didn’t say anything, no quip back in his face, he just followed Billy to the ground.

“Are you upset he’s gone?”

Billy let out a groan and tried to rub the growing migraine from his temples.

“I’m feeling a lot of things, but I don’t think ‘upset’ is one of them.” Neither of them said anything after that. They just sat there on the ground and enjoyed the silence together like they used to do. Looking up at the clouds and arguing over what shape they were. There’d be none of that today though, and it had nothing to do with the overcast skies. “You still keep a six pack in your trunk?”

Steve laughed and got up from where he was seated and popped the trunk. He was right. Some old habits never fucking die.

Steve tossed a can over to Billy and sat back down on the gravel, maybe a little closer than he had been before. Billy took a long swig and swallowed the bitter taste down. He hadn’t drank much since he was a teenager, he traded in his Coors for Cola and he doesn’t understand how he used to enjoy the taste of it before.

“Why did you stay in Hawkins?”

Steve dug his heel and pushed a pile of rocks forward, kicking a plume of dust into the air.

“Nobody ever gave me a reason to leave.”

Billy wanted to ask if he would have even come with him had he asked him to. But he opted against it, instead just taking another drink from the can and a genuine “I’m sorry.” passed his lips.

“You know I followed you?”

“What?”

“Yup. Made it all the way to St. Louis before I turned around.”

Billy was just staring at him at this point, unsure if he’d just heard him right. He just sat there with his mouth agape, catching flies and waiting for Steve to say more.

“I knew that you needed to go. I knew that you were hurting and it took me almost ten hours on the open road to realize that you needed time to heal.” Steve’s eyes looked glossy and his cheeks flushed but he kept his smile on. “So I came back home, and I waited here for you to come back. I wanted to make myself easy to find when you needed me.”

“You waited for me?”

Steve inched his hand over to where Billy’s was propping himself up and let his fingers gently trace the back of his hand. Steve’s touch was everything. It made his heart start racing and his palms start sweating and it felt just like 1985 all over again.

Billy took Steve’s hand in his own and entwined their fingers together and Billy let out a long exhale as they did.

“Billy,” Steve said softly, scooting his body just a little bit closer, less than a foot of separation now between the two of them, and he looked Billy in the eyes. Billy had almost gotten entirely lost in those pools of deep brown before Steve had the chance to speak again. But he heard it, loud and clear. “I’m still waiting for you.”

He waited.

Waited ten fucking years.

Billy wasn’t going to make him sit there and wait for a kiss too.

Billy closed the distance at the moment the penny dropped, sinking all of his weight into the kiss in a frantic and uneven pace just like they were eighteen again trying to squeeze both of their bodies into the backseat of the Camaro, refusing for even a second to separate themselves from the one point of contact that sealed them together like glue. The kiss felt just like their first. In the same spot, instead under the stars and the two of them both drunk off their asses, and that time Billy tasted of only blood and liquor.

But it was that same feeling. That desire to never pull away, that fear that it would end and that it would be the last time. He had that fear with everyone of Steve and his kisses, that each one might just be their last.

So he made a point to savor all of them.

They kissed until they physically couldn’t anymore. Out of breath with swollen lips and an inability stop the smiles that peeked through every couple of seconds. They sat there with their foreheads touching and their clasped hands still intact, relishing in the heat that was each other’s breath on their faces. Billy was crying, just streams of tears paired with a smile that Steve gently wiped away with his thumb, the brush of contact making him shiver.

“I missed you so fucking much.”

Steve cradled Billy’s head in his hands and peppered a few short kisses to his lips.

“I missed you too.”

“You think this is why Max invited me here?” Billy asked. “I can’t imagine she’d actually think I would want to come to this thing.”

Steve laughed. “No. She’s not an idiot. She figured you’d want to crash the funeral.”

Billy immediately got up from his place on the ground and held his other hand out for Steve to grab onto. “Well you wanna join me while I go piss on my old man’s grave?”

Steve took his hand without hesitation and let Billy pull him up off the ground.

“It would be my honor.”

Hawkins made a lot of bad memories for Billy, most of which he locked somewhere far away, but the good still remained. Right there in the look on Steve’s face with the way he looked back at him.

And he was happy to make a couple more.

[willowbird]

For the ask game: 17 for au, 3 for trope and 19 for prompt? Have a great day!

Band au, meet cute, "suck on that"

Hope you guys are okay with another Andrew POV! I'm pretty sure this counts as a 'meet cute', as much as anything with these two meeting ever could lol

---

The sound guy had a very nice ass. Andrew wasn't sure what the rest of him looked like, but for the moment that didn't matter. For the moment, Andrew was satisfied with the pleasant view as the man straddled a ladder some fifteen feet up. He was poking around with one of the speakers, though Andrew neither knew nor cared why.

Again: nice ass, and that was enough.

At least, it was certainly better than paying attention to the building manager - who was being a condescending dickhead as he rambled on and on about the rules of the house.

Apparently, this was a "dignified establishment" and any "rowdiness" caused by the band's fans was going to result in them being permanently blacklisted. If Andrew gave an iota of a shit he might have told the man they had no intention of playing this venue ever again anyway, considering how ridiculous the fucker was making this process.

"Furthermore, if any-- oh, there he is! Good, I have far too many things to do to be stepping in as your manager as well." Andrew tore his gaze away from the sound guy's ass and fixed the asshole with an unamused stare. Erik, their band's manager, was currently wrangling the rest of the band through a photoshoot that Andrew had not been invited to.

("Not invited", meaning "expressly told not to come elsewise the contract would be shredded". Some people got so fucking uppity about being punched in the dick and held at knifepoint.)

Whatever. Anyway, because the rest of the band was off getting their pictures taken, Andrew had been volunteered (read: commanded) to head over to the venue early and oversee setup for their concert tonight. Hence why he was forced to put up with this dipfuck - who was now passing him off onto some underling.

The guy that joined them was conventionally attractive with a charming smile that Andrew didn't trust for a second. "You must be Andrew Minyard," he said as the building manager scurried off to sour the souls of small children. He put out his hand, then let it drop when he realized Andrew had no intention of shaking.

"My name is Jake." The smile never faltered and Andrew was very familiar with the way the man's eyes scanned the entirety of his body. It was hungry, predatory, and confident - and Andrew was having none of that shit today. There were two reactions that Andrew regularly got, being an out gay performer in an up-and-coming but still relatively small-time rock band: scorn and sex. Honestly, some weeks the sex was welcome but most of the time Andrew preferred the scorn, it was far less demanding.

Andrew sighed heavily. "I am not going to fuck you, so save yourself some embarrassment and do not even bother."

Jake recoiled instantly, his expression shifting rapidly from surprise to annoyance to anger back to a flawed mask of easy confidence. "Volunteering to bottom then? That's bold, but I like it." He stepped closer and though Andrew did not give ground he did narrow his eyes as he rested the fingertips of one hand at the edge of the opposite armband.

"Touch me and I'll stab you in the dick." Punches were just for warnings and this guy clearly didn't heed those.

"I don't got to touch you for you to suck my dick, though. Maybe if you--" Jake never got to finish his suggestion, because out of fucking nowhere he was nailed in the forehead by the handle of a screwdriver. He stumbled backward, eyes wide and a little bit dazed. "What..? Fuck." He pressed both hands to his forehead, which was already beginning to welt, crouching down with another ramble of curses. "What the fucking... fuck! Shit!"

What happened next was a fast, chaotic jumble that Andrew only later was able to piece together. Jake The Predatory Asshole stood up too quickly, still reeling from the hit, and stumbled into a nearby ladder. This ladder was there supporting the sound guy, who had continued to work on his task throughout this fun little encounter. The ladder, which hadn't been properly locked, snapped partially shut as it was pushed, causing it to overbalance. This, in turn, sent the sound guy crashing to the ground.

Well, not exactly to the ground.

That ass, which looked so round and plush from Andrew's vantage on the ground, was apparently made of solid muscle. One moment Andrew was watching Jake stumble, wondering if this meant he didn't get to stab him now, and the next he was flat on his back with a very compact, stunned sound guy sitting on his stomach.

Now, Andrew was all ready to get his stabbing on. He didn't give a shit if it wasn't this sound guy's fault that he fell from the ladder and Andrew just happened to be there to break his fall. Andrew just got clandestinely denied a chance to stab some overconfident bro that likely kept rufies in a pez dispenser in the pocket of his shitty designer sweatpants. He was primed and ready to stab, then some guy landed on him - that guy was about to be stabbed.

Except just as Andrew was pulling his knife the guy looked down at him and not only was his ass fucking impeccable, but he had the bluest goddamn eyes Andrew had ever seen, and that mouth. It was currently twisted up into amused sort of smirk that tugged up more on one side than the other. His hair was long and queued into a messy braid over one shoulder, a few wisps hanging around his face that with the backdrop of the houselights behind him made him look like a fucking mermaid or something. This fucker was almost offensively attractive.

Then, to make it all even worse, a spluttering sound came from beyond them to where Jake had landed. "What the fu--!"

Exceptionally Hot Sound Guy, materialized a screwdriver and heaved it with a suspicious amount of skill and form. It made contact, judging by the cut-off expletive and fleshy thunk. Also by the smug little smirk that folded itself across the sound guy's lips.

"Suck on that," he said. Then, with a pleased little 'hmph!', he got off of Andrew and held out a hand in offering.

Dazedly, Andrew accepted it. When he looked over at Jake, the fucker was out cold, spread-eagle in the middle of the stage.

"I can drop one of the lights on him," the sound guy offered casually. It should have been a joke; Andrew knew it wasn't.

"Who are you?" Andrew heard himself ask. It came out sharp and accusatory instead of fluttery and infatuated, thank fuck for small miracles.

The guy apparently had to think about that for a moment (which, really? what the fuck?) then he smiled, this one a softer, more personal smile that Andrew did not understand but needed to on a deep, inexplicable level. "Neil," he said. "My name is Neil."

Neil looked over at the downed creeper, then got a positively evil little look on his face that had Andrew's brain finally catching up to exactly how much trouble he was in. He watched as Neil jogged back into the wings and returned with a bottle of water. Bypassing Andrew completely, Neil crossed right to the fallen perv, crouched beside him, and poured the contents of the water bottle right on Jake's crotch.

That second screwdriver must have really hit home because the fucker didn't even stir.

Pleased with his work, Neil tossed the now-empty water bottle off stage right and returned to Andrew. "Good enough for now?" he asked.

Andrew stared at him for a long moment. When he opened his mouth to say something snarky and unbothered, what came out instead was, "I am buying you dinner."

Neil looked surprised, then the expression warmed to something else before he said, the edge of a smile teasing Andrew from the corner of his mouth, "Okay."

Oh yeah, Andrew was so incredibly fucked.

fun little prompt game

[darkblueboxs]

The Words that Cut

AKA "nine times Andrew was called pretty and hated it + one time he didnt"

Read here or on AO3

Summary:            

“I used to think it would have been easier,” Andrew says. The words cost him more than Neil can know, but Bee says it’s important to get better at these things. If he wants to keep Neil, anyway. “If I looked different.”

There's a lot he leaves out of that sentence.

“Just look at him! Isn’t he precious?!” The stranger’s hand comes out of nowhere, pinching Andrew’s cheek and tugging. Be on your best behaviour, his case worker had warned him. And maybe this time it’ll stick. Andrew isn’t sure he wants it to. He keeps his gaze fixed on his scuffed sneakers, shoelaces trailing because he still hasn’t gotten the hang of the knots. Until the hand pinching his face forces him to look up.

“And gosh, look at those eyes!” The latest in Andrew’s never-ending line of foster parents doesn’t look so different from the rest. Her face is too close, and Andrew can smell her breath when she speaks, sharply tinged with tobacco. He wrinkles his nose, and she frowns. “Now, now, none of that. We don’t want to spoil that pretty little face, do we?” And she punctuates the question with another hard pinch to his cheek. Andrew bares his teeth, and she smiles. “Much better. Don’t you look beautiful!”

Then Andrew sinks his teeth into her hand, and she starts to scream instead.

*

…and this is Andrew! He’s going to be staying with us for a while. You’ll make sure your new foster brother feels very welcome, won’t you? Now both of you stand together, I want to take a photograph of my two handsome boys…

*

Andrew’s hook-up tucks himself back into his grey prison-standard joggers, panting heavily.

“Fuck,” he says, which just about sums it up.

Andrew wipes his hand off, keeping his eyes fixed on the grey expanse of wall behind the other boy’s head.

“That was hot,” he continues, as though Andrew cares. He got what he wanted from the encounter: now all he wants to be is alone.

“Go away.”

He flicks a significant look downwards, smirking. “C’mon, you really want me to leave you like this?”

Andrew grabs him by the neck and shoves him back against the wall, forcing his gaze away from his body. “I said go away.”

Instead of showing any sign of fear, his pupils dilate as he leans into the pressure of Andrew’s hand around his neck. “Fuck, you’re hot.” He reaches for Andrew, and Andrew’s mind goes black with rage.

He does not lay a hand on Andrew again.

*

“Look. Over there, by the lockers. No, no, don’t make it obvious!”

“No way! He looks just like Aaron. But also kind of cuter?”

“Are you crazy? They have the same face!”

“Yeah, but he’s got like, a bad-boy mystique. You heard he just got out of prison, right? Think he has a girlfriend yet?”

“Ew, Tracy.”

“Ask him for me. Please? I’ll do your math homework for the rest of the week.”

A girl with curly brown hair and freckles appears at Andrew’s shoulder as he slams his locker shut.

“My friend thinks you’re cute.”

Andrew doesn’t even bother with a perfunctory glance in the girl’s direction. “Your friend can fuck off.”

She looks affronted for all of a second before her lips curl downwards. “Whatever, jackass.”

Andrew isn’t quite out of earshot by the time she returns to her friend.

“Forget about it, Tracy. His brother is hotter anyway.”

Andrew’s hands clench into fists of their own accord. When they try to approach Aaron after practice, Andrew makes it clear what happens to anyone who shows interest in his brother.

*

Andrew hears his cousin’s screams before he even rounds the corner to see him splayed on the cobblestones, his nightclub attire torn and muddied with boot prints. Men circle him like vultures, teeth bared, eyes shining with mad hunger. Andrew has seen that look before too many times. Nicky’s attackers smirk as Andrew approaches, but the slouch of their shoulders says they don’t see him as a threat. It’s the last mistake they’ll ever make.

“Andrew, run,” Nicky says, words thickened by puffy, bleeding lips. His face has been beaten so badly it’s not even clear where the blood is coming from.

One of the men laughs. “Who is this, your boyfriend? Come on, baby, we can make you look just as pretty as your bitch over there.”

Andrew steps forward, knife in hand.

*

“Huh,” says Nicky on Andrew’s first night home with meds swirling through his system. “You actually have a really cute smile, Andrew.”

Grinning, Andrew puts his fist through a wall, and nothing more is said on the matter.

*

“The Foxes’ deadliest investment.” The journalist thrusts a microphone so close to Andrew’s face he practically inhales it. “And certainly one of their cutest! Andrew Minyard, do you have anything to say to your growing legion of fans? I’m sure all the girls want a piece of you, and I can’t say I blame them!”

Andrew bares his teeth. False laughter bubbles up within him, and he clenches his jaw to keep it in his throat. “How do my fans feel about disembowelment?”

The journalist is less eager to take his picture after that.

*

“C’mon, Renee, you can tell us. Are you really just fighting down there? Or are you getting another kind of action, if you catch my drift?”

“Allison…”

“Don’t answer her, Renee, she’s just trying to win her bet.”

“Can’t I just be interested? I mean, can you imagine it? I mean, sure, Minyard’s pretty in his own psychotic way, but the height. It’s gotta be an issue, right? Unless you’re really into small-”

“ALLISON!”

Andrew knocks at the door, saving his ears from any more of their gossiping. “Renee.”

“Coming!” Renee picks up her water bottle, relief washing her features while Dan and Allison choke on their laughter behind her.

*

Hello, handsome, says an impossible voice at his ear. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Oh, Luther, Andrew thinks as the bottle collides with the side of his head. I’m going to kill you.

*

He catches Neil poking at his scars in the bathroom mirror, digging his fingers into the darkened patches hard enough to scratch half-moons into the healing skin. His eyes meet Andrew’s in the reflection. All Andrew has to do is raise an eyebrow, and it’s as though Neil hears the question before he even has to formulate it.

“They’re distinctive,” he says by way of an answer.

“So?”

“Not exactly anonymous,” Neil huffs.

Andrew steps forward until he is lined up along Neil’s back, glaring at his reflection over his shoulder. “You have no need for anonymity.”

“I know,” Neil says, still glaring at his reflection. “And I’m glad I don’t look like my father anymore, but…”

“Vanity doesn’t suit you, Josten.”

Neil sighs. “Easy for you to say.”

Andrew’s hands, which have come to rest on Neil’s waist, stop. He wills them not to clench. “What does that mean?”

The tips of Neil’s ears redden. “You know.”

“I don’t.”

“I mean, it’s not like you have anything to worry about. Not when you’re so-”

“No.” There’s no inflection in his tone, but Neil hears the urgency anyway.

“Did I say something wrong?”

Andrew lets his hands fall back to his sides, flexing the tremors from them.

“I used to think it would have been easier,” Andrew says. The words cost him more than Neil can know, but Bee says it’s important to get better at these things. If he wants to keep Neil, anyway. “If I looked different.”

There’s a lot he leaves out of that sentence. The burning after-effect of hands pinching his cheeks, pretty boy, pretty boy, pretty boy, over and over like a mantra that dug itself into his chest and festered there. The days where even the prickle of someone’s eyes on him made him want to vomit. The nights he considered turning the blades on his face instead of his arms in the hope of making himself too ugly to stomach.

He doesn’t say it, but the subtle shift in Neil’s gaze says that he doesn’t have to.

“Probably not,” Neil says. It isn’t offered as a consolation – Neil knows better where Andrew is concerned – but from understanding. “It’s never because of us. It’s because of them.”

Andrew leans into Neil once more, letting his chin come to rest on his shoulder. Their eyes meet in the reflection. “Probably not,” Andrew echoes, and Neil’s lips twitch. Something that has been tied up in Andrew’s chest for far too long pulls and untangles. “Distinctive isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”

Neil’s lips twitch again, the movement blossoming into a lobsided half-smile that does terrible things to Andrew’s self-control. “Are you calling me pretty?”

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

“Oh.” Neil leans his head to the side so that it bumps against Andrew’s. “Well. You too.”

And, because it’s here and now and most importantly Neil, this time the words don’t cut. Andrew swallows them with a curt nod and leans into the kiss that follows, and everything that comes after. *

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 21 - Losing My Religion

Masterlist; Chapter 20

Summary: After Tallinn, you use the opportunity and visit Neil’s apartment. What you find there, only increases the confusion, just as the pieces are set for the endgame.

Warnings: Swearing; angst.

Author’s Notes: This was a challenge, and it’s a little different too, a breather before the real fun begins... or something. After this we move onto the icebreaker... (and things). I’ll shut up now, hope you’ll enjoy and all kind of feedback are greatly welcomed! 

The clean up after TP’s little accident on the highway was difficult. And tiring. By the time you have dealt with the mess and could call it a day, you wanted nothing but to sleep. And also disappear from the face of the Earth. That second thing was rather tricky to achieve. Unfortunately. You had to settle for the slightly awkward space given by the rest of the team and the fact that you were bound to return to London the next day. That was something. Even if it meant having to debate whether those damned keys were to be used.

The journey back was uneventful. Only Wheeler seemed capable of talking to you without looking as though she has been trapped in some metaphorical web of ineptitude that the others got caught in. That was alright. At least she knew how that conversation in the container went. Her company was good enough to keep you from going insane for the time being.

The moment the car arrived at the London quarters, you practically bolted out through the door. Eager to finally have your own space to reflect, cry, and try to move on after the unimaginable. But it was not exactly meant to be given…

“Y/N, wait!” Ives’ voice rung out through the reception hall as you skidded down the corridor.

Crap.

“Yeah?” cautiously, you stopped in your tracks, facing the squad leader.

Making the mistake of glancing at the reception desk, you met Anna’s watchful gaze. Of course. Even though you knew she had no clue about anything that transpired between you and Neil, it still felt like a painful reminder.

“I…uh...” the hesitation in Ives’ voice made you frown, “I just got this, and I’m not sure…” he passed you his phone with a strange expression on his face.

A text from TP. Just like the ones you received before. Right… This one had a familiarly succinct form: “Invert for eight days with the army from tomorrow. Then get to Trondheim, awaiting further instructions”

“Is this from him?” you looked up to see the blue eyes boring into yours with confusion.

“Yeah, it must be” you nodded and handed him back the phone.

At that exact moment, you got a text as well. Hurriedly you took out the device and read the message:

“Invert along with Ives and the rest”.

Short and simple. Yet not at all. Without a word, you showed your companion the text message and stifled a heavy sigh. Inversion. Eight days. Trondheim. That most likely confirmed your worst fears. The end of it all was near, and you were needed there. You, Neil, and everyone else still had their parts to play in the most important of showdowns.

“So, I guess we’re going back” you could feel Ives’ inquisitive stare on you “Just like they are” he added, awaiting a response.

Meeting Neil after those eight upcoming days sounded like a nightmare. Because a week was never enough to fall out of love. Or to even attempt it. You were a lost cause.

“…yep” nodding halfheartedly, you could feel another weight settle on your shoulders.

“Excited?” the intensity of Ives’ look convinced you towards his intentions.

Evidently, he tried to get a clue towards your state, probably assessing whether you could endanger the mission in any way. Despite everything, you were a professional. A Tenet agent. That had to come before any personal issues you might have had. Forcing a smile, you met his gaze with sincerity.

“Not really” a shrug completed the response.

But it was enough as he grinned back and squeezed your shoulder reassuringly.

“It’s alright. Have today off and be ready tomorrow morning,” he ordered with a feigned sternness.

“Aye aye, sir” you saluted, enjoying the laugh it prompted.

Maybe not everything was utterly shit.

“Your edge is still intact, I see,” he commented once the laughter died down.

“At least something is then” you grimaced slightly and walked off with a wave.

A day off. What could one possibly do with something like that after everything? The set of keys in your pocket felt heavy for something that small. And insignificant (in theory).

*** It took you one hour of staring at the wall, a thirty-minute-long shower, and two coffees to decide to make use of the keys. After all, what was the harm? It was a way of spending the idle hours. And maybe to understand him a little better. Even if it was too late to save anything. You wanted to know him. To know his mind and heart. You dug out the note with the address Ives gave you and typed it into the maps app. Your hands were shaking the whole journey. Even though it was not far, it turned out to be challenging. Often you were catching yourself glancing at the phone, expecting him to call or text as he always did.  But then you remembered, making the nerves come to the surface again. You wondered whether it was because of the absolute wreckage your relationship became or because you were unable to contact him in any way. Walking the streets leading to Neil’s apartment, you realised that it was probably both. You missed him. Simple as that. And equally complicated at the same time.

Google maps led you to an old docking space transformed into posh loft spaces in two store buildings of dark red brick. The residential area was completed with a large parking lot (full of rather good cars), making the first question of the day pop into your head: Did Neil have a private car? Something that unimportant yet entirely mundane only made you realise how little you knew of his life. But this was exactly why you came here. The second thought was something you always knew yet never took time to ponder on: the fact that he undeniably had money. It did not matter, of course. Just another fact that could as a trigger for the intrusive ideas to appear.

Ignoring the spiraling thoughts, you made your way to the indicated building, keying in the code at the door and following the stairs to the second floor. The apartment door no 4 looked like any other you have passed on the way. Turning the key in the lock, you took a deep breath, gathering courage for god knows what. Perhaps just being alone with everything that had to do with Neil… The door opened soundlessly. Faint daylight from the corridor fell onto the furniture and objects gathered in the hall, helping your eyes adjust to the darkness. You closed the door and locked it. The least you could have wanted was for someone to break in on your watch. Now that would have made him hate you. If he didn’t already, that is. Taking off the shoes, you scanned the hall. Hooks with various jackets and coats on the wall. Including a slightly weathered leather one that perked your interest. With fingers ghosting the material, you were unable to block the images of Neil wearing it. That was enough to make you blush and curse out loud. That won’t help with getting over him. As though that was even possible.

Next, your eyes landed on the shoes rack in the corner showing off Neil’s questionable taste in footwear. You grimaced when spotting another pair of brogues (that would have to go… if there was any future for you) and then smiled involuntarily at something as casual as old converse on the top shelf of the rack. So, he could dress more… normally. Interesting.

The rest of the space was filled with a large mirror and a cupboard full of random objects such as spare lightbulbs, shoe care products, and cleaning supplies. On top of that cupboard, there was a succulent (practical, you had to admit), a desk calendar, and a small notepad filled with Neil’s writing. The contents ranged from shopping lists to quantum physics, making you grin fondly when looking through the pages. The latest entry was written down in haste and barely eligible. What you deciphered made your heart stumble for the first time that day. It seemed like Neil was planning to invite you over after Tallinn, prepare dinner, and apparently do all that ‘he wanted to for a while’. Brilliant. The notepad fell from your hands as the implications dawned on you. He wanted to set everything straight, to talk and potentially tell you important things… But now, it did not matter. There was no post-Estonia. Just you alone in his cold, darkened apartment, full of doubts, regrets, and worries.

Shivering from both the chill and the anxiety, you ventured into the living room. It was an open space with a large leather sofa, TV, record player with shelves full of albums and vinyls. There were also bookcases filled to the brim and a dining table for four. Once your gaze fell onto the black piano in the corner, you did a double-take. Obviously, Neil was musically talented. All those times when he has been desperate to annoy you by singing various corny love songs in public were an indisputable example. A moment like that from Tallinn flashed before your eyes…

You and Neil sat in a restaurant on one of the ‘dates’ you had managed to fit into the schedule before TP arrived in Estonia. Cozied up in the corner on a comfortable sofa, you felt perfectly at peace. Instead of taking the seat opposite, Neil got as close as it was possible without raising eyebrows of the fine clientele. You were chatting about everything and nothing, occasionally taking sips of the coffees and letting your hands rest on each other’s knees. Other times they would be interlocked on the table between the plates, showing to the world that this was no platonic meetup. Using the natural break in the conversation, you finished the remains of your latte and watched as Neil focused on the radio somewhere in the background. By this point, you should have known better, but still, the second he started singing took you by surprise.

‘Pretty woman I don't believe you, you're not the truth No one could look as good as you, mercy’

His gaze settled on you without that mercy, awaiting a response. His lips curled into a deadly smirk, making the matters worse. For a moment, you wanted to ignore him, to deny him the satisfaction. But the way he stared, enunciating the song lyrics with precision and aiming them at you, triggered the familiar desire to stake your claim. To make him (and everyone else) understand that he was yours. Especially with a voice that beautiful and eyes that looked at you with boundless affection.

‘Pretty woman that you look lovely as can be Are you lonely just like me’

It was the cheesy growl at the end of that stanza that did it. Combined with the huskiness of Neil’s voice and his hand appearing on your thigh underneath the table, it was enough to convince you to shut him up the best way you knew. You leaned in, placing your palm on the inside of his thigh, just close enough to remind him. Capturing his lips in a kiss, you did not have to wait long for Neil to invite you closer. You began the intimate dance, getting lost in the moment entirely. With him being in public did not matter. Especially not when he was giving you everything he could on a silver plate. Those days every kiss threatened to evolve into a full make-out session as you tried to get ever closer to him. That is why when you heard an awkward cough followed by “Miss, Sir, I’m sorry, but I need to ask you to leave” you could only start laughing. That was two days before your walk, which ended in the alley. The rest was history.

Shaking your head slightly, you let go of the memory. Has it gotten even colder? Shivering, you spotted a sweater draped on the side of the sofa. Crossing the space, you glanced at the instrument that caught your attention. A simple black Kawai piano with a Chopin music score opened on the fallboard and the stool underneath. If there even was a future, you wanted to hear him play something. You could almost picture it. Those long, elegant fingers on the black and white keys, hitting every note with perfection and the flourish he applied to every single task. His gaze focused. Golden hair falling into his eyes carelessly. Lips parted, tongue poking out in concentration. He was bound to be a sight as usual.

Ignoring the waking up flutters that always accompanied every thought about Neil, you picked up the sweater. It was the colour of dark red wine, simple and yet sophisticated in its simplicity. Cashmere. He really is posh. Giving in to the sudden whimsy, you breathed in the smell. That was a mistake. The moment Neil’s essence overwhelmed your senses, you felt a surge of feelings. The musky scent, the hints of bergamot and lavender that always brought comfort. Before you could second guess everything, you put the sweater on, letting the smell envelope you like his hugs always did. It was another thing that you missed. The ability to rest within his strong embrace, safe and wanted. The feeling of his arms cradling you with care. Without the solidity beneath your hands, it was hard to remember how it felt. The sweater had to do. You rolled up the sleeves and approached the large window, drawing back the curtains to see the view and let in light. The sight certainly was not disappointing with the lookout on the Thames and the docking ships. The area looked peaceful, like the place you could want to go out on walks and spend the rest of your life… No, stop. That was a dangerous line of thinking. After all, you only came here to satisfy the curiosity. And because you could, with nothing left to lose. Well, maybe apart from your sanity.

With the day shedding some light onto the furniture and objects in the room, you could more closely assess the type of person Neil was. The décor was rather posh (nothing surprising there) with leather, dark wood, and refined fabrics gracing the space. But upon a closer look, you could see the hints of Neil’s personality shining through the bounds of the stereotypes. It was visible in the chaos of the little details. Billy Idol album discarded on the CD player making you smile. The dying plants on the windowsill. The opened book on the coffee table right next to a bar of chocolate and some bullets. What even… 

Looking around the space, you could easily picture him there. It was like entering a museum of Neil’s life and heart, and you were just a mere visitor. A trespasser even though you had the keys. Lost in the thoughts, you approached the bookshelves, looking over the titles. Young and Freedman’s University Physics with Modern Physics with a worn-out spine and a library stamp on the title page (a theft?). Griffith’s Introduction to Quantum Mechanics with scribbles on the margins, making your head hurt. More Quantum Mechanics but only getting increasingly complex. Spacetime and Geometry. In between the textbooks, there were classics of English and American literature, proving your theory that Neil knew the canon well. All those quotations had to come from somewhere… You looked over the further titles relating to the nuclear area of Physics and relativity of time, only to be thrown out of the moment when your eyes landed on a photograph in a wooden frame. A grinning young man with warm brown eyes and curly dark hair sat on the bench in the park. Alex. Picking up the photo, you took a closer look, feeling inexplicable heaviness in your chest. He looked just like Neil described him – an essence of goodness and understanding. The lump in our throat was strange. He still loved Alex that was a fact and something you took for granted. For a second, you wondered whether you could ever be half that important to him. But that was selfish. And wrong.

Swallowing hard, you put down the frame, focusing on another one nearby. In that photo, you recognized everyone. Ives with slightly longer hair grinning widely, next to him Wheeler with her practical bun and amused eyes, TP relaxed like always when in the company of friends. And then… You would recognize those eyes and sharp jaw anywhere, but… He’s not naturally blonde? You stared at the man who was undoubtedly Neil but with light brown hair, just as messy as usual. Interesting. You did suspect he dyed the hair but still having confirmation was unexpected. Staring a little longer at the photo, you already knew that it did not matter. He was a work of art, full stop. The rest of the photos depicted the Tenet crew, apart from the one you assumed was a family snapshot from years ago. Two happy boys with mundane looking parents and a Labrador retriever (Charlie!). Upon a closer look, you could tell that Neil got his blue eyes after his mother and the smile after his father. It was an interesting discovery. Other objects littering the shelves included postcards, trinkets from travels, and a strange collection of obscure coins. Also, more notebooks with Neil’s equations and theories and music scores. There was no order, just fate, and fancy. Just like him.

Wandering into the kitchen, running your fingertips over various instruments and surfaces, you wanted to soak in the atmosphere of the apartment. So far, the new information was almost overwhelming. But also fascinating in the fact that you already felt like you knew him better. Glancing at the fridge in passing, you froze. Among the cheap promotional magnets and old shopping notes attached to it, there was a rather familiar writing visible. A note you made Anna pass to him many weeks ago. “I’ll be at the shooting range. Meet you for dinner after 5” signed with your initials for practicality. Why has he kept it? It did not make sense. You forgot about the existence of something that inconsequential, yet here it was. Kept in place with a blaring orange magnet from Sainsbury’s. Suddenly feeling a little faint with the implications of the moment, you poured tap water into the glass and sat down on the stool by the kitchen island. You could still remember Anna’s offended stare when you gave her the note with the instruction to pass it to Neil later. That memory triggered another one, much more recent…

In the days leading up to Tallinn, you went out with Neil for a lunch and walk under the guise of planning the logistics of your journey. Sure, there was some planning being done over the tea and sandwiches. But there was also a lot of hand-holding, kissing, and gazing shamelessly. It was during those days, and then the idle hours in the safe house, that you have allowed yourself to love him. The feelings were there for months (most likely), but only after Oslo and the candid conversations in your room, you felt more at ease with them. So far, that PDA was not all that terrifying. And so, when you came back to the London quarters that afternoon, your fingers intertwined, you only realised how it looked like from the outside when Neil tugged you in the direction of Anna’s desk.

“What are you doing?” you hissed, hoping the woman was too busy to see you.

“I told you, need to get that ID sorted,” he explained, matching your conspiratorial tone, completely oblivious to your struggles.

“Yeah, but…” you raised your joined hands as if to show him the issue.

Neil grinned, waving his free hand dismissively.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s not like that’s against the rules” ending the sentence, he took the final step separating you from the desk.

Great. Plastering on the most pleasant of smiles, you met Anna’s accusatory glare. You could not blame her.

“Anna, hi” Neil’s bright grin got met with a cold face of stone.

You vividly remembered that first day at Tenet, when you were filling in the paperwork, observing him flirt with the woman behind the desk. Back then, you were baffled by her reaction, the fluttering of eyelashes and lovesick smiles. Now you wondered how you got to that point and why you were seemingly luckier than she could ever be.

“Yes?”

“My ID is expiring soon. Was wondering if you could give me the form for the new one?” Neil’s chirpy tone made you hide a smile by looking at the floor “I want to get this sorted for after we’re back” he added, with that hopeful gaze barely anyone could ever say no to.

Anna was not any different.

“Naturally,” she spared you a final spiteful look before turning around to use the computer.

Glancing around the empty lobby, you hoped to survive the rest of the encounter without any additional awkwardness. But Neil had other plans. He stepped in closer, nose brushing over your ear, tearing down any illusions about the nature of your relationship. You stifled a sigh when his lips placed a small kiss over your temple.

“Shall we go to yours after this?” the whisper complemented with a ghost of his fingers on the side of your neck made you shiver.

“Maybe…” you cast a wary glance at Anna, but her back was turned.

Thankfully.

“I thought we could resume the planning…” upon the suggestive tone, you turned to meet his gaze.

Surely enough, the playful sparks were there. And the smirk too. Of course. Planning, in this case, most likely meant more cuddling… and potentially kissing. His hands getting accustomed to your body, leaving countless promises for the future. The thoughts alone made you blush. Before Neil could get any closer, Anna’s voice interrupted the moment:

“Here’s your form,” nothing but ice and fury.

So, she must have noticed…

“Thanks” the polite nod made you snicker.

During the next few terribly long minutes, you did your best to avoid looking at the other woman. Or at Neil. Your gaze roamed over the ceiling, the walls, and the floor. Reading the same fire evacuation instructions for the fifth time, you felt a gentle touch on your arm:

“Can I put down your details as my emergency contact?” you looked up straight into those inquisitive blue eyes “I’ve had Ives the last two years, but I think you’re a more accurate option these days,” he explained as though it was obvious.

Emergency contact? You always assumed those were for best friends and spouses. You were not sure which fitted the criteria.  

“How so?” blurting out the only viable question, you met his perplexed gaze.

“… because I’m with you and not with him” the bluntness of the reply made your heart stumble.

“Right”

Of course, you agreed. As a ‘thank you’ that afternoon, Neil kissed you until there was barely any breath left for either of you. Now you missed the feeling of being that desired.

And yet, that stupid note was right there, in your eyes a bright red spot that you could not ignore. Because surely, he must have cared at some point? You finished the remains of water and washed the glass. Then, just for the sake of a distraction, you went through the kitchen cupboards. Nothing surprising. Appliances that looked barely used. Canned food every Brit would be expected to have. The amounts of frozen meals in the lower fridge compartments confirmed another thesis - Neil did not like cooking. That was fair not everyone could be Jamie Oliver. Not that you would prefer him. Certainly not. Shaking your head at the ridiculousness of the thoughts, you opened another cabinet. Wine and glasses, triggering the memory from your date night in Oslo. The way Neil tried to emulate his swank further by pretending to be a sommelier, making you laugh with his fake French accent and sparse knowledge. Upon the efforts to name something else than tannins (that Sauvignon Blanc had little of), you stepped in, shutting him up with a fingertip tracing the outline of his lips, collecting a stray droplet of wine. And then licking your finger clean, much to his shock. The strange snapshot from one of the most eventful nights in your life was a good cue to leave the kitchen and trod down the corridor.

You stepped into the bathroom, curiously glancing at the contents of the cupboards and around the sink. Nothing remarkable. Giving in to the temptation, you sprayed the cologne he used on your wrist and inhaled deeply. Closing the bathroom door, your eyes landed on the room at the end of the corridor. Neil’s bedroom. Involuntarily, you felt a shiver run down your spine. Bedrooms were always a sacred space. The most private of places in the house. The stage set for life’s crucial events. Love, life, and tragedy all began to play out (and end) in there. If there was a room closest to the heart of the owner, it would be the bedroom and its contents. With a shaky hand, you pressed down the handle and opened the door. The interior was almost too mundane. The bed with dark grey covers and decorative pillows. Some artworks on the walls and drawn curtains, forcing you to turn on the ceiling lamp. A small bedside table with a night light and books. A walk-in closet with the sliding doors partly opened. That was what drew you in first, crossing the space you peered inside. Only to be overwhelmed with that Neil smell that made sure to make your heart rate pick up. Gently, you ran your fingers over the suit jackets and sweaters hanged on the rails. He had a multitude of those, in different colours. Eyeing a suit in dark blue, you could imagine how it would bring out his eyes. There were a few sweaters in different shades of green, confirming the suspicions that he liked the colour. Further along, you found a drawer with ties of various patterns, making you grin at one olive green with Labradors on it. Now that was a classic Neil accessory.

Just when you were about to end the ‘snooping’ your gaze landed on a more casual part of the wardrobe. Jeans folded on the shelves, t-shirts, and polos. Even a jean jacket somewhere in the back. In the drawer, you found socks with questionable patterns, only increasing the fondness you felt for the owner of such an eclectic wardrobe. And then you made the mistake of letting your curiosity get ahead of you. Another drawer. Underwear. Your face got warm as you slammed it shut. Enough. Thinking about that could lead to the dangerous territory you would rather not venture out to. At least not when alone in his apartment, overwhelmed with memories and feelings. There would be time for this too later… Hopefully.

Sliding the doors shut, you took in the room again. The pile of books on the bedside table caught your attention. Gingerly, you sat down on the bed, doing your best not to think about the specifics of that moment. You, alone in his bedroom. This was certainly not how you expected to end up in there for the first time. But that too was beyond the point. Sighing, you picked up the stack of books only to drop them onto the covers with hands shaking. You would recognize the cover everywhere. Your favourite book. The exact copy you had last seen in Oslo when you gave it to Neil. That memory was rather unforgettable…

Hanging out in the hotel room, waiting for Mahir and TP to come back from a small errand, you did your best to ignore Neil’s piercing gaze from across space. That was the day after your careless dancing and that evening’s developments when he asked you out. Just before the mission. And Neil was staring, shamelessly so. It was getting on your nerves.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” putting down the itinerary, you broke the silence and faced him.

The satisfied smile was enough to make you groan. He knew exactly what he was doing, as though waiting for the moment to strike when you were alone.

“Actually not, no” the grin widened as he shrugged nonchalantly “Plus you’re quite the sight. As usual” propping his chin on his hand, he kept on gazing.

The bastard was impossible.

“Jesus…” sighing, you rummaged in the bag at your feet “Do you want a book or something?” you took out a worn-out paperback “Because all that staring makes me want to…” trailing off, you met his inquisitive glare.

Want to kiss him. For starters. But he need not know that.

“What? Tell me” Neil spread his legs casually, leaning back in the armchair. An object of pure poise. And the challenge, aimed at you only. That was Neil at the top of his game, sure of what he wanted and how to get it. But you were not going to give it to him easily.

“Better not” the slight shock in his eyes gave you confidence “If yesterday taught me anything, it’s that your ego is big enough” offering him a sly smirk, you took a sip of the water.

When you looked up again, Neil was staring at you with an exaggerated pained expression on his face.

“I’m wounded” he put the hand over his heart like the drama queen that he was.

Scoffing, you laughed at the spectacle. Two could play the game.

“Good,” the offended whine only increased the satisfaction “So do you want that book?” you picked up the paperback, showing it to him “I’ve got my favourite one with me. Could kill some time”

“Yes, please” he got up and crossed the room, taking the book from you “I’ll have a chance to see what’s in that head of yours” Neil leaned down to your level and kissed you on the forehead “Apart from the desire for me, of course” he added, once he moved out of your reach once again.

Fucking hell.

“Neil”

At least there were some fun memories to come back to, you thought, looking through the copy you borrowed Neil. Then you noticed another thing. Under your book, there was another one of the same title. Brand new. Pages filled with Neil’s scribbles on the margins and underlined passages, highlighting the exact same quotations that made this book become your favourite. My god. The realization hit you with a gasp and a shiver. He read it. And not only that, but he also tried to understand you through something you held so dear. Reading the notes he made, you knew he was listening to every word you said. No matter the moment, the stage of your ‘relationship’, evidently, he cared enough to be interested in your thoughts and feelings. You were holding the proof in your hands. In some margin notes, Neil even referred to you using your initials, pointing out why it could resonate with you so much. The more you read, the more it felt like you have encountered his diary, in some form. That would be it when it comes to getting over. Putting down the books, your head was spinning. Too much.

You needed food. And sleep. It was at that moment that you decided to stay. It got late enough to make the journey back inconvenient. And everything was right here. Feeling like Goldilocks personified, you made use of Neil’s frozen food assortment and put on the music. Once you got over the initial shock of the afternoon, it was almost too easy to pretend that Tallinn never happened. That you were still alright. That he still potentially loved you. With the somewhat soothing sounds of Billy Idol and The Darkness, you went over Neil’s notebooks with equations. You understood nothing but the possibility to read his notes and theories was as comforting as it could get. Then, feeling your eyelids get heavy, you cleaned up and moved to the bedroom. Lying down in Neil’s bed felt like sacrilege. But the moment your head rested on the pillow and you inhaled the scent, it was all excused. At least in your eyes. Giving in to the foolish daydreams, you could almost imagine him next to you. The warmth and comfort the cuddles always provided. But you were alone, still wearing that sweater that smelled too good to be given up. It had to be enough. You fell asleep thinking about those damned blue eyes and the man that took the ownership of your heart for good.

*** Upon waking up in the cold apartment the next morning, you wanted nothing but to leave as soon as possible. In the daylight, with dreams of happiness haunting every corner of your mind, the feeling of loneliness was more persistent. You made sure to get rid of any signs of your intrusion, cleaned the kitchen, and made the bed. The only keepsake you could not deny yourself was the cashmere sweater that you stuffed into the bag. Even if he would not want anything to do with you, you could give it back along with the keys. Surely he would understand… right? After everything that you found in his flat, nothing seemed certain anymore.

You made it back to the HQs with just enough time to shower and pack for the next week of sitting in the inversion chambers in the sealed off part of the complex. That did not sound good as it meant more time with too many people in the cramped quarters. You had enough of that at this point. But then that was the prize of getting the most incredible of jobs. That and getting your heart broken. Again.

You joined the rest of the army by the larger turnstile, used purely for long-term inversion, instead of training. Accepting friendly nods from both Ives and Wheeler, you took your place in the queue. No one knew exactly what the purpose of this was. Just that you were supposed to go back eight days and then travel to the Norwegian coastline, awaiting instructions. The intuition that was rarely wrong told you that you were in the endgame from this point onwards.

And so, the next week was restricted to trying not to lose your sanity locked within the four walls. The only escape from the small room was the kitchen (always full of people that wanted to know too much), bathroom (that always had lines of people waiting by the door), and the small courtyard, where you could not step out without the oxygen tank and a mask. Overall, it was not the most pleasant of experiences. Especially when most days you wanted to curl up in bed and contemplate the mess that your life became. And to marinate in pain that became a constant companion. The sweater could only help so much. Accompanied with nerves and worry, you felt objectively shit and did everything to preserve the solitude. That is how you found yourself in the small kitchen at 2 am, eating toasties and drinking tea. Earlier the compound was too busy, and you preferred starving than facing the others. Only with everyone asleep, you could catch up on the meals missed. Well, almost everyone…

“How are you doing?” a voice interrupted your brooding.

You turned in the seat only to see Wheeler enter the room with a small smile on her face. Her you could tolerate, as an exemption.

“Bad” the candid answer seemed only appropriate “But I don’t mind the company, so please… stay” you added upon her hesitation.

She just nodded and proceeded to make a cup of tea. The silence stretched, but for once, it was rather pleasant. Finally, she finished the task and took the seat opposite you, giving you a quick once-over. You knew what she saw. Tangled hair, reddened eyes from lack of sleep, and hours of tears. The sweater that became the only comfort in those early morning moments when nothing seemed real and yet everything was too much.

“Is the sweater his?” she asked plainly, and you could only nod.

At this stage, surely, nothing was bound to surprise her.

“Yeah… Maybe it’s silly, but I took it from his place just to have something… tangible” you explained, consciously running your fingers over the material. Instead of judgement, you got a smile in return.

“No, I understand” Wheeler took a sip from the mug before asking, “Did the apartment give you any answers?”

You have not shared the story with anyone, unable to process it all even in the quiet of your mind. But maybe this was a chance to let it out…

“Mostly whiplash,” you let out a bitter laugh “It’s like… he cares… or cared,” you stumbled over the tense “But then in Tallinn after the shoot-out, he just closed off completely, and I don’t know why” raising your hands in defeat, you planted on your face on the table.

Anything goes. After a moment of utter frustration, you met Wheeler’s inquisitive eyes again. She did not seem bothered by your antics. Just a little concerned by the picture you were painting.

“Maybe it’s trauma” the seriousness of her expression made you think.

You did consider that option. But even knowing what happened with Alex, his reaction seemed too violent. You were alive, and yet he was trying to push you away. Plus, that way of thinking implied something else. Something you did not dare consider.

“That would mean he… loved me” getting the words out was a challenge “And I don’t think he does” you stared at the table, giving in to the thoughts once again “Whatever is going to happen now, I think I need space. Some distance. Trying to get over this won’t work otherwise”

Formulating the feelings that were overwhelming your heart and mind felt somehow relieving. Even if the prospects were anything but good.

“Is that what you want? To let him go?” the straightforward attitude of your companion was helpful.

“I don’t know,” sighing, you met her gaze, “I want… him, but if he doesn’t feel the same then…” with reddened cheeks, you let the sentence trail off.

She would understand, you were sure of that. And, if the slightly suspicious look in Wheeler’s eyes was anything to go by, she had her ideas about the topic.

“You should probably try talking to him again” she spoke after a few minutes of silence.

“Last time that ended terribly,” you replied, arching your eyebrows, begging her to remember how bad that container conversation went.

“I know,” Wheeler patted your shoulder reassuringly, “But I also know that sometimes Neil needs a proper kick in the ass before he sees what’s right in front of him” she got up and went to the sink, picking up both of your dishes.

With the soothing soundtrack of the washing, you could feel almost sleepy. If it was not for that never-ending chatter of your thoughts.

“If you say so…” you murmured when she turned the tap off.

“Go to sleep. It’s just two days more of this torture” giving you a final smile, Wheeler left the kitchen.

You could survive two days. After that? Who knows. But it had to be alright.

[whats-rambled-rambled]

Smoke & Mirrors - part 4

Neil x Reader

Chapter 4: Save me

(see chapter 3, 2, 1)

summary: what’s gonna happen if we lock them together for some time...?

warnings: some violence, language and other explicit things, 18+ 

author’s note: 4,8k words, just because I thought I needed to add more plot to it because you wanted 2 shorter chapters instead of a longer one. Who’s laughing now? 

Reading this may cause a slight whiplash. Sorry, not sorry. 

song for this chapter: Aimee Mann - Save me 

Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think, please?

----

The Protagonist’s eyes darted at Ives. 

“And what did she say?”

“Short answer? Nunya,” Ives shrugged, closing the door behind him.

Wheeler giggled and TP looked at her in confusion.

“Long answer,” continued Ives, joining the other two by the coffee machine, “is that as long as they're doing their job, it doesn’t matter who they are fucking in their free time.”

“And are they?”

“What, fucking? I thought we’ve already--”

“No, doing their job,” TP pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “I have a mission for them, but it requires locking them together for a significant amount of time.”

Wheeler took a sip from her cup. “If they don’t bond, they’ll bone, and I’d say it’s better than killing each other.”

Ives snorted, clearly amused, but TP hid his face in his palms and groaned lightly.

“Was that your plan all along?”

Wheeler gave them an innocent smile. “Wasn’t yours?” she asked, and as she caught the exchange of looks, her eyes lit up. “You’re welcome.”

-----

You found the car parked near the front door and you had to admit - that grey-ish sedan was the dullest, most ordinary vehicle you’d seen in a while. And that’s why it was perfect.

Neil tossed you the keys and proceeded to load your bags into the trunk. You went to check the GPS setting. The total route was calculated for a little over 5 hours, which gave you enough time to go over the details of the assignment at least once on the way there.

As your mission partner took the passenger seat, you handed him the tablet with all the documents loaded up and ready to go. He nodded, fortunately sparing you the small talk and unnecessary comments, and started reading through them out loud as you followed the GPS directions to your destination.

What you didn’t expect was an almost insultingly short length of reports from the previous stakeout teams, and even a slightly more detailed operation brief was not enough to keep you occupied for too long. Exhausting all the work-related topics, you tensed, suddenly uncomfortable in the silence between the two of you. Especially since you caught Neil’s stare, because if his furrowed brows could be any indication, you had a feeling he might start asking way too many questions any minute now. 

As the radio crackled again, you groaned in frustration. There were still two hours left of traveling through the middle of nowhere, and you’d appreciate any distraction that wouldn’t make you want to drive into the nearest tree. Unlike talking to your partner. 

Neil opened the glove compartment and searched through its contents. He found a thick CD case and started flipping through pages curiously. With the corner of your eye, you saw a grin lighting his face when he finally picked one. 

As you heard the familiar piano notes, your knuckles on the steering wheel turned white. Oh, fuck no.

You glared at Neil, who was gently swaying his head, eyes closed, fighting himself to keep a straight face. When the lyrics started, he pressed his palms to his chest right over his heart and looked at you as he mouthed the words.

//When I was young

I never needed anyone

And making love was just for fun

Those days are gone//

You gritted your teeth and focused back on the road, trying to keep in check the rising anger already boiling the blood in your veins, as Neil was clearly feeling the song more and more with every line.

Well, at least this time he wasn’t--...

And then just as the chorus was about to hit, Neil mimicked the opening drum sequence and spread his arms wide, singing along:

//All by myself

Don't wanna be

All by myself

Anymore//

“If you don’t change that fucking song in the next 10 seconds, be ready to walk all the way to the city--...”

“Come on, it’s a classic!” he complained, the biggest smile not leaving his face even for a moment.

You smacked your tongue, finding your most casual voice, “...and I’m not gonna be bothered with pulling over.”

Neil turned down the volume so the music was barely audible, and while it was not what you’d asked him to do, he didn’t give you a chance to scold him. 

“I bet you’ve spent at least one evening listening to that song with a big box of ice cream on your lap,” he smirked, closely watching your reaction to his words.

You could feel your ears burning. Fucking hell, you really hated his guts.

“No,” you scoffed, but even you were not convinced by the sound of that. Judging by Neil’s expression, neither was he. You winced and groaned, ”...shut up!” 

“Nothing to be ashamed of,” - he shrugged - “been there, done that.” 

“Of course you have,” you couldn’t help but snicker at the image planted in your head. 

The blue eyes studied you for a while longer before focusing back at the view outside the window. Meanwhile, the song ended, getting replaced by an instrumental track. You turned the volume up and for the next minute or two, you drove in silence. 

When you heard a light chuckle, you glanced at Neil again. There was something peculiar in the look on his face, a soft gaze in contrast to a knowing grin.

You sighed.

“Do I wanna know what you’re grinning about now?”

Neil raised a brow and his lips parted in an even wider smile.

“Probably not.”

You shook your head, drawing a long breath, wondering how you were going to survive the next forty-something hours together. You could just hope that being at the actual location and starting the real work was going to make it easier. 

Grounding yourself, you stared into the darkness stepping back under the car’s headlights as dusk slowly turned into night. You noticed a faint glow of city lights reflecting in the clouds over the horizon and you relaxed slowly, tuning out anything other than the road ahead. 

Just as the CD player jumped back to the first song again and you switched to a local radio station, now clear of static, you realized your companion had been unusually quiet for the last half an hour. You looked at the passenger seat only to find Neil deep in his sleep and your heart started beating a little faster. Suddenly, everything about the sight seemed endearing - the peaceful face under the ruffled blonde hair, the slightly open mouth almost hidden behind the turned-up collar of the dark navy jacket, the way he wrapped his arms around himself in a little self-hug…

Your lips curled into a fond smile and as your chest clenched painfully, you turned the radio down, wishing you could do the same thing to your feelings just as easily.

-----------

The second you pulled over in the alley at the back of the abandoned hotel, two figures emerged from the door and rushed in your direction. You recognized the fellow agents and jumped out of the car to make the exchange as smooth as possible. 

“Ten-minute window until the patrol comes back,” you said to a short brunette, taking your bags out of the trunk and passing her the car keys.

“Got it,” she nodded, handing you the room key in return. “Our report should be ready before we reach HQ, I will send it to you ASAP.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that the lack of an easy escape plan is intentional,” said Neil as he grabbed one of the bags and looked around.

“But it is,” you shrugged, walking into the building and heading to the nearest staircase. “No loose ends. You’re either good enough to make it out undiscovered and alive, or you get revealed and --...”

“...and then even having the cavalry on call is not going to make a difference, I get it,’ he sighed, matching your two-steps-at-once pace up the stairs, “Can’t say I like it, though.” 

“So let’s try not to do anything stupid so we don’t get caught, shall we?”

A corner of your lips twitched as you heard him scoff at your remark, but to your surprise, he didn’t take the bait. Huh.

When you reached the room, you turned the lock and looked around, taking mental note of the location of every piece of equipment left by the previous team - two cameras, night vision binoculars, and a parabolic microphone placed by the windows. Some parts of the blinds on the windows were broken, others were missing, but the remaining parts still provided a decent cover from the curious eyes peeking up from street level. Other than that, the room was exactly what you would expect from a stakeout location - peeled-off wallpapers of an undefined color, a small table with an electric kettle, a couple of chairs, a mini-fridge, and a mattress. 

As you went to check the last few minutes registered by the camera, Neil started unpacking the supplies. Seeing nothing interesting on the feed, you grabbed one of the water bottles he’d just put on the table and took a seat by the window, your usual first-hour-of-stakeout enthusiasm fending off the tiredness you felt after the long drive.

Neil took a laptop and sat on a chair at the other window, alternating glancing outside and typing in a message to TP with a quick update on your situation.

Your main objective was to observe the building on the other side of the street, especially one loft that was suspected to be a meeting place for one of the smuggling cells’ bosses. Snapping photos of the vehicles pulling over, of the visitors, and reporting any odd activity straight ahead. The usual. But it was past midnight already and your targets were having a pretty quiet night, apparently. 

As Neil finished filing in the paperwork, he stretched his arms and groaned.

“Tea?”

You rubbed your eyes, a sudden wave of sleepiness flooded your brain as soon as you lost focus on the mission. 

“Yes, please, there should be a box with a green one somewhere.”

“Ah, pity, I don’t know how well it’s gonna mix with the biscuits,” said Neil in a ridiculous posh accent, making you facepalm in response. 

Partially, to hide an amused smile. 

You really were that tired, huh?

“I take my tea with no sugar, no biscuits, and no snarky comments, thanks,” you huffed as your eyes followed him to the table.

“I, too, don’t like talking over a cuppa.”

“What did I just say--” you groaned, smacking your thigh in frustration.

Neil giggled and rolled his eyes, now lit by a playful twinkle. “All right, one ‘green tea no bullshit’ coming right up.”

“Thank you,” you sighed, glancing up to the ceiling as if it was supposed to help with the alarming level of annoyance in your system.

Less than two hours on-site and you already wanted to strangle him. 

Among other things.

And before you could stop your tired brain, it brought up a memory of that karaoke night. 

His hands roaming through your body. The sound of a belt buckle hitting the floor. Your frantic gasp when you felt him inside you. His firm grip on your hips. The heart racing in your chest. Your longing body pressing itself into him even further. His uneven breath on your neck. The quickening pace of his thrusts. Your eyes squeezing shut. His muffled moan when you tugged at his hair. The cold wall against your cheek. Your fingers interlocked. His arm wrapped around you tightly. The things whispered into your ear---

“Your tea.”

“Hmm?” you mumbled, blinking rapidly and focusing your gaze on a thermal cup in front of your face. “Oh, thanks.”

Neil studied your expression curiously, a sly grin hiding in the corner of his mouth.

“Pleasant daydream?”

“Maybe,” you sent him a smug smile and raised a brow.

His lips parted slightly at the implication. Drinking his tea, he schooled his features and sat back on the chair. 

You spent the next moments enjoying the hot beverages, the silence becoming more comfortable with every sip you took. But as the time went by and you ran out of tea, the peacefulness turned into boredom. 

Finally, Neil shuffled in his seat and turned your way. 

"We should play a game."

Even though it sounded tempting, you didn’t trust those roguish sparks in his eyes. 

“We already had a chance to play ‘yellow car’,” - you shrugged - “not my fault you chose a nap instead.”

His puzzled face gave you a hint he didn’t get the reference. Pity.

“I was thinking about some sort of...questions game,” he said and cleared his throat, shifting in his chair again. "To get to know each other better."

"Why?" you stared at him with your mouth open, suddenly taken aback. 

He gave you a half-smile. "Don't you think it's weird that the only thing I know about you is all the ways to turn you on and piss you off?"

"Wouldn't be so confident about that ‘all’ part…" you huffed and lost a train of thought as you spotted the familiar flare in his gaze.

"You’re sure you wanna challenge me like that right now?"

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the way his voice got lower. You gritted your teeth as your mind started racing to find a way out of the dangerous waters. 

"Aren't you a master of multitasking?" you teased, batting your eyelashes.

"And aren't you scared of having an actual conversation?" Neil narrowed his eyes and grimaced slightly. 

"Fine!” you fumed as you tossed your hands in the air in defeat. “Why don’t you get straight to the point because I have a weird feeling you have a very specific question in mind."

A silence that dropped after your words was heavy and you realized you’d made a mistake.

"Actually, I do,” he said, tilting his head and locking his gaze on you. “What's up with you and kissing?"

...shit, walked right into that one, huh? 

You pulled one leg up on the chair, glancing outside the window to avoid the blue eyes boring into you. "It's nothing."

“Didn’t look like nothing to me.”

Sighing, you rested the chin on your knee and wrapped your arms around it, as if that little bit of comfort was enough to make the conversation easier. Your ears were burning, your heart pounded heavily in the clenched chest, and it all was only adding to your frustration. Because it really was nothing. Or maybe it should have been, and that was the issue.

“If you don’t wanna talk about it--”

Your eyes darted at Neil only to meet his soft look. A shadow of concern on his face wasn’t helping, but you were grateful that he was willing to give you a way out.

Although at that moment, you felt you owed him an explanation. 

“No, it’s just that it’s a bit silly,” you said, wincing. “I’m gonna tell you, but if you laugh, I will murder you in your sleep.”

Neil smiled lightly in encouragement.

“Got it.”

So you took a deep breath and squeezed the first word past the lump in your throat.

“It’s just that kissing to me was always something… special,” you cringed, fully aware that you sounded like a flustered teenager. “Like it really meant something. Do you know where I’m going with this?”

Neil’s brows knitted together.

“I think so, yeah.”

“Good,” you sighed, forcing yourself to breathe again. “And some time ago, I made a mistake and opened up too soon, burning myself. Fuck, it’s pathetic, I know, I just…” you hesitated and looked away, feeling the rising panic. You were exposing yourself, again. “...maybe I’m just wired that way and we should leave it at that. And never talk about it again,” your voice was hollow, the result of your brain’s desperate attempts to keep your emotions bottled up, just to keep you safe. 

And after what felt like forever--

“Okay.”

You shot him a thankful look, too overwhelmed to say anything. 

Neil got up, moving his shoulders in small circles to get rid of the stiffness. As he walked by you on his way to the bathroom, he patted your arm lightly. Reassuringly. The tip of your nose tingled and you bit the inside of your cheek, cursing a sudden wave of softness clouding your mind.  

A few minutes passed and Neil was back. He fell on the chair heavily, slowly massaging his temples with the tips of his fingers. Catching a question in your stare, he shook his head and grinned.

“What?” you asked, squinting suspiciously.

Neil chuckled, leaning back and spreading his legs. “Trying to figure you out is giving me a headache.”

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, focusing on the view outside the window. 

“Who we are and who we need to be to survive are two different things, you know.”

“So it’s all an act?”

You looked back at him, suddenly perplexed. “What is?”

“This,” he gestured vaguely in your direction and shrugged. “Or rather your usual behavior.”

You snorted. “Oh, I am a real ray of sunshine, but somehow being around you makes my inner bitch jump out,” you teased, meeting his amused gaze. A corner of your lips curled and you exhaled slowly. “I don’t know, after some time you learn life is easier that way, and at one point the line blurs,” you stopped for a second and frowned, wondering what had gotten into you tonight. “Does it make any sense to you?”

Something new tainted Neil’s features as he looked away, smiling sadly.

“You have no idea.”

Just as you opened your mouth to ask what was wrong, the blue eyes darted back at you.

“I’ll take the first shift, already had my nap after all,” the little laugh escaping his mouth felt forced. “You must be exhausted. Try to get some sleep.”

Oh you were exhausted, all right. But all of the sudden it felt as if he wanted to get rid of you and you couldn’t help feeling a bit hurt by that. There was something in his presence that gave you a hint that it wasn’t the best idea to pressure him about it now, and you slumped your shoulders, nodding.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, getting up. All that held-back fatigue was going to hit you in full force any minute now, and you really wanted to be laid down by then.

A few moments in the bathroom and you were back in the room again in more comfortable clothes. You rolled out a sleeping bag on the mattress and slipped into it, covering your mouth as you let out a small yawn. 

“Wake me up if anything happens or you need me to take over, will you?”

Neil shot you a quick look from his chair. 

“Sure thing,” he gave you a weak smile. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night,” you mumbled. 

You curled up and closed your eyes, hoping the heaviness you felt in your chest would be gone by the morning.

--------

It took your still half-asleep brain a moment to remember where you were and what was going on. You looked around as much as you could without moving your body to avoid revealing that you were no longer asleep. Oh right, the stakeout. 

You noticed Neil sitting on the floor by the only floor-to-ceiling window near the corner of the room, looking outside. The early morning light seeping through the blinds was reflecting in the disheveled blonde hair, a fitting addition to his overall tired appearance. It seemed like he’d spent most of the night working through whatever bothered him after your last talk, but he seemed more at peace now. You studied him in a little moment of sleep-deprived self-indulgence, musing over the dark quarter zip pullover, those absurdly long legs in khaki pants--...

Okay, enough. You sat up, rubbing your face.

“How’s the mattress?”

Hearing Neil’s raspy voice made you quite tempted to invite him over to check for himself.

“Passable,” you replied instead, stretching your arms and wriggling out of your sleeping bag. You nodded at the cameras. “Anything?” 

“Not really. One visitor, already on the list,” he said as his eyes followed you around the room.

“All right,” you sighed, flipping the switch on the kettle. “I need coffee, you want some?”

“No, thank you, but if you could pass me a bottle of water--”

You grabbed one and tossed it to him, heading to the bathroom. 

When you finally looked and felt like a decent human being again, you went back to finish making coffee. As you walked to the windows with the thermal cup in your hands, you caught Neil’s resigned stare. You sat down on the floor in front of him, leaning your shoulder against the wall. A glimpse of internal battle clouded his features and you tilted your head, waiting for him to speak up first.

“I didn’t want this,” he blurted out, and when nothing else followed the statement, you cleared your throat. 

“You have to be more specific, I’m afraid.”

Neil clenched his jaw. You noticed a hint of frustration in his eyes, but then his shoulders dropped and he let out a nervous chuckle, fastening his gaze on the view outside the window.

“I wanted to do things by the book. When TP recruited me… I thought I’d be just another field agent and I was okay with that,” he sighed and grimaced. “But he insisted on fast-tracking me, even when I told him it wasn’t fair to the rest of you.” Neil shook his head slowly and a corner of his lips twitched. “He promised me one of his best agents’ help on the way though. Imagine my surprise when the agent in question kept snarling at me and shoving me around instead.” 

When Neil looked back at you, you realized the meaning behind his words and your mind went blank. You stared into the blue eyes with your mouth open, trying to process everything you’d just heard and its implications.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you breathed out, feeling light-headed.

“Why?”

“Nobody told you…?” you asked, but his confused expression was his only answer. And you simply couldn’t believe that he hadn’t known all this time. “I’d been working my ass off for that position,” you huffed, studying his reaction to your words closely. “And then you showed up.”

Neil’s face dropped as he finally connected all the dots. “Fuck...I had no idea, I’m sorry.” 

Seeing his sincere look, you sighed, raking fingers through your hair. Fucking hell, what a mess. The impossible mix of emotions swirled inside you and you giggled hysterically, suddenly finding the whole situation absolutely hilarious. 

“And I had no idea I was supposed to babysit you,” you said as you stretched your legs, positioning them alongside Neil’s. 

“Thought we were having a moment here,” he scoffed, smiling lightly.

You smirked and tapped his thigh with your foot.

“Think again.”

Neil tapped you back, stifling a chuckle. “You’re insufferable.”

“Too bad you can’t do anything about that now, huh,” you teased, wiggling your brows as you nibbled at your bottom lip.

The blue eyes lit up. “Just you wait till we finish the job,” he said slowly and placed a hand on your ankle.

But before you could respond, you heard a phone alert and Neil jumped at his feet.

He read the message quickly. 

“Seems like we are about to see some action after all,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear. You downed your coffee and joined Neil by the table.

“Hold on, I’m gonna put you on speaker… okay, now”

“Hope you two are rested,” TP’s voice filled the room. “We intercepted a phone call. Our target is expecting a delivery in the next hour or so. Significant enough that from this moment on, the mission objective changes.” You exchanged looks with Neil, knowing well what was coming next. You walked back to the windows to keep an eye on the street. “We have a chance to prevent this shipment from spreading to different sellers. I’m sending the cavalry your way. But you’ll need to assess the situation as it progresses.”

“Means we might have to engage early, got it.”

“It’s your call, Neil. And as we have enough intel now… no loose ends. Good luck.” said TP and hung up.

Neil tossed the phone on the table and dashed to the bags to prep the equipment. You noticed movement in the loft across the street and snapped a few pictures before looking back at your partner.

“Are you good to go? You haven’t slept tonight.”

He glanced at you and gave you a smug smile. 

“How nice of you to worry about me.”

You could feel the usual annoyance mixed with a new emotion, but maybe you were just glad to be back on familiar waters.

“Nah, I’m worried about the mission,” you snorted. “Especially if we may end up going in there alone.”

“I’m okay. How does it look out there?”

You looked outside again and tensed as a van appeared at the end of the street. “We’ve got company.”

Neil changed you by the window and you rushed to get ready.

-------

After clearing the back entrance, you found yourselves in the underground garage. 

Splitting up, you took down the guards one by one without raising any alarms. 

Neil checked the van and then you both made your way upstairs. You knew there were at least five more people in the loft, but you had to rely on the element of surprise because the cavalry was still on their way. 

As you got to the door, you cocked your pistol and met Neil’s determined stare. You nodded. 

Bursting through the door, your instincts kicked in, allowing you to put a bullet into two men before they had a chance to realize what was going on. In the next second all hell broke loose. You knew one thing - you somehow underestimated the numbers. And just as you thought that maybe you got lucky and got every last of them, someone grabbed you from behind and you felt something cold and sharp pressed against your neck. Fuck.

You dug your fingers into the arm wrapped around your shoulders, but a stinging pain made you stop any further attempts at breaking free. The blood pounded in your ears and everything seemed to slow down. 

You noticed Neil standing in front of you with a gun pointed right next to your head. 

He secured a grip on his pistol and the man holding you yelled something at him, but you didn’t listen, focusing completely on the blue eyes, now filled with a silent question, looking straight into yours.

You let out a shaky breath and blinked slowly. 

A gunshot echoed through the room.

The pressure on your neck lowered and you heard a thud of a body fitting the floor behind you. 

Neil lowered his gun. 

You stared at each other for what seemed like forever.

“Nice shot,” you said, composing yourself first.

He gave you a weak smile, and just as he opened his mouth to say something, your comms filled with a familiar voice.

“We’ve missed all the fun, eh?”

------

Neither of you said anything on the way back to the HQ, not counting the short answers to the questions asked by Ives, but even he gave up after a while seeing you weren’t in the mood for talking.  

You got your duffel bag out of the trunk and looked around. Neil was standing at the bottom of the stairs leading to the building, talking on the phone. You walked up to him slowly, waiting for him to finish the conversation.

“Do they need us to get in to file a report?” 

“No, I convinced TP to give us the rest of the day off,” he said, hiding the phone in the pocket of his jacket. “We can do that first thing tomorrow, I’m just gonna drop the equipment now.”

“Great, thanks.”

You couldn’t wait to get back to your apartment. You tossed the bag on your arm and smiled at the thought of a long hot shower and crashing in your own bed. 

There was just one thing you needed to do first.

Neil took a step towards the building and without thinking too much about it, you reached out for his hand.

“Neil…?”

He stopped and turned around, puzzled. His eyes dropped to your joined hands and slowly moved up to your face. 

You gave him a nervous smile.

“Thank you.”

His features softened and he squeezed your hand gently.

“Don’t mention it.”

And then he smirked.

...of course.

“Guess that makes us even.”

(next chapter->)

[dastardlydandelion]

medium luci

ao3 link

content warnings: homophobia, comphet, child abuse, abusive relationships

It’s rare that Susan and Neil have the same weekday off. Neil typically works five days a week and she three or four, depending who’s on staff, being that she’s only part-time. But he’d had a dentist appointment midmorning so he’d taken today off and decided to make his hours up by volunteering for a double next week.

Susan doesn’t typically care to spend any extra time alone with her husband. They have so little to talk about these days, now that he doesn’t try to butter her up or feed her honey sweet lies as much as he used to. Now that Neil doesn’t care to talk much at all unless ranting or complaining about the various things he doesn’t like, his son’s style of dress, women who sit with their legs open, cab drivers who don’t speak English. Susan doesn’t even remember the last time Neil had to take a cab but he has strong opinions on them nonetheless, and the list goes on and on.

He thankfully hasn’t done much of that today, however. He’d parked himself in front of the television after coming home from his appointment and simply nodded when Susan announced she was going out to garden. She only comes inside when she hears the phone ring and by the time she’s walking up the back steps, Neil’s already answered it.

She watches his expression change as he converses with whomever’s on the other end, nervousness fluttering in her chest as his eyes widen, then harden.

“I’ll be right there,” Neil concludes as he hangs up, turning those hard eyes onto Susan. “That was the school.”

“Oh dear…what’s Billy done this time?”

“Not Billy.” Neil shakes his head and Susan’s heart drops with the realization her husband isn’t just irritated but seething, knuckles blanched as his hands ball into tight fists. “Maxine. Did you know the Sinclairs have a girl around her age?”

“N-No, I didn’t. I’m not very familiar with them, Neil.” Susan never had much luck getting close to anyone anymore, not in the least because of Neil himself.

“Apparently Maxine is,” he declares icily. “A teacher caught her and the Sinclair girl fornicating under the bleachers.”

Susan’s heart turns to stone and sinks into her stomach.

No.

Please, no.

Neil has very strong opinions about sexuality in general and homosexual conduct in particular, and Susan can practically feel the outrage radiating from him. It crackles in the air like the promise of a lightning storm. Neil’s fists are still clenched and his posture goes taut like it always does before he explodes.

“W-Well,” Susan begins, swallowing past the lump in her throat.

She hates herself for what she is going to say. She says it anyway.

“Well, you know where she learned that kind of b-behavior from, don’t you?”

Because if Neil is going to explode, Susan can’t stop him. But she hopes she can at least encourage the worst of it away from Max. She watches Neil’s eyes flicker and knows they’re both remembering the day they came home early from the short vacation they’d taken for their fifth anniversary, a girl and a boy sneaking out of Billy’s bedroom window, neither particularly clothed. She watches the angry bulge of the vein pulsing in his neck and knows they’re both thinking of that short young fellow with the skateboard who worked at the used car lot during the day and spent his time with Billy during the night.

“Yes, I know exactly where she learned it from. I’m picking both of them up and we’re all going to have a family discussion.”

“I should come with you.”

“No.” Neil holds up his hand. “Stay here, Susan. We’ll be back soon enough.”

Neil has gun powder in his gaze and she dares not argue. She lowers her head and steps aside when he walks past to fetch the truck keys from the hook. He stomps down the steps and slams the backdoor shut behind him.

Susan watches through the window as he gets into the truck and pulls out of the driveway, feeling dreadfully ill. She doesn’t mean what she’d said, of course. There are a number of behaviors that Max has picked up from Billy, but that isn’t one of them. If anyone is to blame, Susan supposes it’s herself for passing it along intrinsically.

She has her own secret desires locked away within the chambers of her heart. Desire she dares not confront for her own sanity, for her own safety. She’s never acted on her wants, always chose to play private games of hide and seek with them in her head instead, those insidiously innocent wishes of hers. Never spoken aloud let alone pursued those urges that flush hot beneath her skin when she finds her eyes drawn to other women’s lips, hips, breasts.  

Susan gave it to Max and unlike her, Max is brash and bold and brave. God save her, Max does what she wants to do and doesn’t care what other people think. Susan would admire her for it if it didn’t scare her to death.

Because Neil does care what other people think. He cares very much. And Susan’s seen him annoyed with Max in the past. She’s seen him frustrated with Max, displeased, exasperated. But never has she seen the silent stirring of a reign of rage to come where Max is concerned, never has she known that particular look in Neil’s eye to be directed Max’s way. She can only hope—

Oh, it’s such a despicable thing to hope for. Susan has poison in her soul, she swears she must. But Billy isn’t remotely hers and Max very much is.

* * * 

Susan doesn’t know if it was actually her remark that spurred Neil to turn the blame on Billy or if this was the conclusion he would’ve come to anyway. Neil often blames Max’s mishaps and mischiefs on Billy. Billy being the older sibling meant to lead by example. Billy being the older brother, meant to keep his younger sister out of trouble to begin with.

Her remark or Neil’s default thought process, in any case, it’s Billy he’s glaring at in the living room. Angrily dictates that Billy take off his shirt, belt in hand. Susan grabs a very pale Max’s shoulders and begins to usher her down the hall.

“Where are you taking Maxine?”

Susan freezes, mouth going dry.

Neil’s looking their way now, brow arched, stern and skeptical.

“I-I—“

“She isn’t going to learn if she doesn’t watch, Susan,” he declares with no room for argument. “Bring her back.”

Susan swallows, hands tightening on Max’s shoulders. Something dies inside her when she turns her daughter around. She buries it silently as she’s buried so many other pieces before and avoids Max’s eyes boring into her as she marches her back to the living room. Neil motions for them to sit on the couch, sunlight glinting off the metal buckle. Billy doesn’t bother to disguise his disdain, glaring murder, nostrils flaring like an ornery bovine. Susan suspects he’ll pay for this too.

“Your behavior today was beyond inappropriate, Maxine,” Neil tells her coldly. “Unnatural, disgusting, absolutely unacceptable.”

Max squirms next to Susan, hands tucking under her thighs. She is stone faced but this close, Susan can feel her shaking.

“Now, I know it’s not all your fault. Big Brother here’s taught you—“

“I didn’t teach her shit!” Billy cuts him off, sharp and acidic. “I told her to steer clear from Sinclair, this isn’t on me!”

Neil punches his son in the stomach with all the affect of swatting a fly, once, twice. Susan flinches. Billy’s gasping, breath knocked out of him. He staggers and Neil viciously shoves him to the floor.

“She saw you with that faggot’s tongue down your throat, don’t think I don’t know! I know you, I know the kind of shit you think you can get away with behind my back!” Neil roars like thunder. “Well, now it’s my turn to teach her a thing or two! Pay attention, Maxine!”

Max stiffens beside her. She opens her mouth to protest and Susan grabs her arm, sinking her nails in. Startled, Max's eyes dart to her. Susan gives a tiny shake of the head, urging her not to speak. Max bends her elbow like a chicken wing and jerks her arm out of Susan’s grasp. Ire flares in her gaze but she holds her tongue. She does not challenge Neil as he begins beating Billy with the belt.

Susan can’t watch. She lowers her eyes to the floor. She can see the movement in the shadows, Neil’s rapid whipping of the improvised weapon and Billy’s form jolting with the blows. Susan shuts her eyes to the shadows but she can still hear it, thick, hard leather striking bare flesh.

“Don’t turn away, Maxine,” Neil barks at some point between the sounds of violence.

Billy doesn’t cry out. Eventually it’s over. Susan raises her head and cannot bear more than a glance at her stepson braced on his hands and knee. The belt now rests at Neil’s side and still, her stomach is churning.

“If there is ever a repeat of the conduct you displayed today, there will be consequences. Is that understood, Maxine?”

Max looks to Susan. Her eyes are wavering. Then they glean whatever it is they were searching for from Susan’s and harden.

“Yes,” she mumbles.

“Yes, what?”

Max clears her throat.

“Yes, sir,” she corrects, louder and clearer.

“Both of you to your rooms,” he commands. “I want both of you to reflect on your actions until it’s time for dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” Billy answers this time, climbing to his feet in the corner of Susan’s eye. She remains on the couch as her daughter rises and plods down the hall, cheeks as red as the cherry atop a sundae. Flushed as red as the welts on Billy’s back that have Susan’s stomach in ropes even though she only spares a brief glance.

Neil sets the belt aside and plops down in his armchair. “Can you get me a beer, Susan?”

She nods and rises, quietly fetching one. Pops the tab and then passes it to him before she excuses herself. In times like this, Susan wants to leave more than anything. She wants to grab Max and take her far, far away. But she can’t imagine they would get anywhere, truly.

Neil controls the finances. Susan makes less money than he does and every cent she does earn inevitably winds up under Neil’s attentive purview. In a distant, ostensible kind of way Susan understands there are shelters for women in her situation. Shelters out there, somewhere…aren’t there? For her situation?

Neil hasn’t actually put his hands on her. Not yet. Not like what he just did to Billy. Hasn’t actually done so to Max, although the threat of that unfolded in the living room in a way that could not be more crystal clear. The threat alone feels like a fist to Susan, invisible fist clenched tight around her insides and squeezing so hard she's nauseous.  

Is the threat enough? Would Susan and Max be accepted on the basis of threats alone?

Provided she could ever find such a place to begin with. Susan doesn’t have the faintest clue of where to look for what feels more like a nebulous fantasy of a sanctuary than a tangible reality. A shimmering oasis in the desert. Even if she were to locate such a place, what if it were at full capacity?

What if she and Max got turned away?

That would mean choosing between being homeless or going back to Neil. Going back to Neil after a failed escape would certainly mean him making good on all those threats of his, the ones verbal and non. The examples explicit in his words and implicit in his actions. Above all, any failed escape would certainly ensure there would be no second escape.

Susan isn’t going anywhere. And neither is Max. The very notion is abstract and distorted, floating just out of reach in a gaussian blur of a wish. Their home isn’t a good home. But it is the home they have and so, Susan will simply have to do her best to make sure Max never does anything like this again. That Max never does anything to get Neil’s attention like that, nothing to stoke the coals always smoldering in his choleric soul. That as painful as it's sure to be, Max learns to keep certain parts of herself under lock and key.

When dinner is in the oven and Neil is engrossed in his program, Susan slips off to Max’s bedroom. She knocks quietly and lets herself in. Her throat knots up at the tear tracks on her daughter’s cheeks, far more gutting than the way she bristles as Susan steps closer, the sheer hurt in her eyes.

“What do you want?”

The same things as you, Susan thinks irresistibly. And I’d go after them too, if I didn’t know better.

“I’m sorry, Max.”

Max huffs and turns away. “Whatever.”

“I am.”

“No you’re not. You’re just like Neil, you think I’m disgusting,” Max spits, hiking her legs up on the bed and hugging her knees to her chest. “You think Billy’s disgusting too, you couldn’t even look at him.”

“No, I don’t…oh, Max.” Susan swallows and lowers herself to a sit beside her on the bed, gently placing a hand on her knee. She swallows her heartbreak when Max’s eyes flash as though the touch scalds her. “Neil and I disagree about many things. This is one of them.”

“Then why didn’t you say that?” The blaze in Max’s eyes dies down, voice softening to cinders. “Why didn’t you stop him?”

“Oh, he’s so much bigger than me, Max.” Susan sags with familiar defeat. “And I— I don’t think it’s wrong, you and this girl.”

“Lucy.”

“I’m sure Lucy is lovely,” leaves Susan’s lips, this fragile whisper she dares not tempt fate to speak above. “I could never think that you’re disgusting. But I’m just me, Max, and Neil is bigger, and the world…the world too, is so much bigger than I am. You can’t— never, ever in public.”

Max’s eyes widen. Susan shifts on the bed and moves her hands, finds both of Max’s and squeezes tight.

“You cannot be open with feelings like that. You can’t take girls to your school dances, you can’t kiss them where other people could see.”

Max lets out an angry growl even as her eyes well up.

“It’s not fair!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“I know.” She knows, oh, she knows, she’s never not choking on it.

Max chews her lip, scarlet and fuming. Susan halfway expects her daughter to headbutt her or holler right in her ear until she deafens. But after a moment it’s almost as if Max can decode all the things she cannot say because her hands twist under Susan’s and intertwine their fingers.

[staticscreenwriting]

Skin deep - Chapter One || B.H.

Synopsis: Billy survived the battle of Starcourt but is left with a body full of scars. Scars that remind him of the pain he had to go trough and the horrible person he has become. In order to forget about all of that and move on, he wants to get them covered up. Good thing Hawkins has a brand new Tattoo studio and the girl who works there might just be the help Billy has been looking for.

A/N: I needed a TattooArtist!Reader x Billy story so I wrote one and you know me, I can’t keep it short and simple. There will be several parts to this. Don’t ask me about an updating schedule because I don’t have one. I try my best to be consistent but I make no promises. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. 

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Billy’s palms are clammy as he steps out of his car. His eyes wander towards the sign hanging above the door, welcoming him to “Little Bear Tattoos” as an American traditional bear face grins back at him.

This isn’t his first time getting a tattoo, by all means, he shouldn’t be as nervous as he is. But things are different now. Everything is different. Things change after you almost die because you sacrificed yourself to an otherworldly creature to save a little girl.

He had just turned 18 when he got that stupid little skull inked onto his arm. That’s now just a little over a year ago but it seems like a lifetime has passed since then. Sometimes, Billy thinks, sometimes It feels like that was another person altogether. That dumb little boy who thought he knew shit. The one that paraded his tattoo around like a complete and utter douchebag. He thought it made him look rough and cool and dangerous.

In retrospect, it just made it more obvious that he didn’t know shit about anything. Not life. Not death. And most definitely not about what it means to look rough and cool and dangerous. Sometimes he wishes he could go back to that moment and just relish in ignorant bliss. Most of the time he tries not to think of the past though because thinking of the past means thinking of all the things lost that night in July. Most of all himself.

Back then, getting a tattoo was easy. Now, it feels like the entire world is resting on his shoulders. It feels like he can barely keep it all from crashing down on him. 

The bell above the door chimes as he steps inside the tattoo parlor. It’s a relatively small shop but it looks clean and the walls are covered in framed drawings of very intricate designs. If those have been drawn by this place’s artist, he’s in good hands.

A fluffy little brown dog is lazily resting on a pillow by the shop window and only raises his head as the sound of footsteps approaching fills the room.

“ Hi, welcome to little bear. “ a cheery voice calls out to him as a girl steps out from behind a curtain leading to some backroom. She has a big radiant smile on her face though it exudes a certain warmth that only genuine smiles do. 

“ Hi uh — I was wondering if you have a free spot. “ 

“ Hmm… that depends. What are you wanting to get? “ 

To be quite honest, he hadn’t really thought much about it. All he wanted was something to cover up the ugly scars still streaking most of his body. When before, he felt a certain kind of pride whenever he passed a mirror, now it sends a sharp pain straight to his heart. Everything about him, from the perpetually tired look in his eyes to the scars, it’s al a reminder of the bad things he’s done. And the worst part is that he can never talk to anyone about it. Ever. No one will understand but the people who’ve been there, and though he and Max are getting along much better now, he still doesn’t fancy having long profound conversations with her about his demons.

“ I uh — I’m not sure but it needs to cover something.” 

“ Old tattoo? “ 

Billy swallows audibly “scars.” 

He’s not sure what reaction he’s expected from her but a casual “Okay, we can figure something out. “ is not it. Though he avoids wearing short sleeves these days, whenever someone manages to catch a glimpse of his damaged skin he got 1 of two reactions. Either people started regarding him with pity or disgust and he honestly wasn’t sure which was worse. At least those disgusted by him left him well enough alone and didn’t hold a million questions they expected him to answer in great detail.

“ Let’s sit down and we can talk about some things you like and see how we can incorporate those into a tattoo. Also, I would have to take a look at the area you want me to tattoo and see how bad the scarring is just so I can take that into consideration when designing the piece. Scar tissue is harder to tattoo but don’t worry, I promise I can do it. “

“ You’re gonna be tattooing me? “

It seems like a dumb question but honestly, Billy hasn’t met or seen that many female tattoo artists in his life and this girl seems to be about his age. That’s not something you see every day.

“ Yup. I’m (Y/N), this is my shop. Now, do you want something to drink while we discuss the piece? I got all kinds of sodas, I got water and I got non-alcoholic beer. 

“ Dr. Pepper? “ 

“ Good choice. Coming right up. “ 

She walks behind the counter with the cash register and reaches into a small fridge taking out two cans of Dr. Pepper before leading him towards a little seating area by the window. 

The fluffy little dog lifts his head once again regarding the two of them with only mild interest before plopping back down. 

“ Oh, you okay with dogs? I can take him to another room if you’re uncomfortable. “

Billy shakes his head. Nah, he loves dogs. Always wanted one but Neil, being the miserable bastard he is, never allowed the kids to have any pets. Too much work, too much responsibility. What an asshole. 

Though Billy is never going to admit it, the bedside drawer, that was once filled with issues of Penthouse magazine, now holds a bunch of self-help books and magazines dealing with topics of PTSD and trauma. A lot of them mention getting a support animal whether that be a specially trained dog or just a hamster to keep you company. It makes sense, it gives you someone who listens to you vent about all your problems and insecurities. If only his dad cared enough about his mental state to reconsider his stance on pets. Then again, when has Neil ever cared about him?

“Nah, it’s fine don’t worry. He’s cute.”

“Thanks. His name is Bear and he’s kind of the mascot of this store.”

There’s a twinkle of pride in her eyes while she talks about the shop and her dog. Something Billy is infinitely envious of. Everything he’s ever felt any hint of pride in is gone. His car. His looks. All of it.

“Okay so tell me a little about yourself. Is there anything you can think of that you’d like to get inked? Any interests, hobbies? Maybe you wanna tell me a little about yourself.”

Back before, when things were different, Billy would’ve packed as much ego enlarging words and compliments into it as possible. Would’ve mentioned his car and his most satisfactory performance skills in the bedroom. But now, he hardly knows who he is these days. 

“ Um … my name is Billy. I’m 19, I’m from California. ‘Bout two years ago my dad packed us all up and had us move out here to the end of the world. Then … things happened.”

“You miss California?”

“Every day. The thought of going back one day is the only thing that keeps me fucking going. I miss the ocean. I miss surfing. I miss home. I miss all of it.”

She looks at him intensely for a moment, sizing him up, contemplating her next words. He can almost see the creative gears running in her head. 

“Alright. I might have an idea. I’d have to see the area first though.”

He expects pity in her voice though there is none. Her words are comforting and warm and calm. Billy wonders how often she has to deal with clients like him. Those who come to her with painful and ugly reminders of their past.

His hands are shaking as he pulls off his denim jacket and reveals his left arm to her. The skin is streaked with scars. They’re the same paths that used to wind up and down his arm in inky black hues like poisonous vines. Now they’re a faded pink but that doesn’t mean he hates them any less.

Billy can feel his heart beating in a fast rhythm as anxiety floods his system. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe -

“Okay how big would you want to go,” (Y/N) asks, her voice gentle and soothing and her eyes switching from his arm to his eyes. She doesn’t ask him what happened and that’s a relief.

“As big as you can. I know you can’t make it disappear but I’d like as much of it covered as possible.”

“ I won’t be able to do an entire sleeve today but if that’s something you want we can start with a bigger piece on your upper arm today and then work our way to a full sleeve in the future?”

“Sounds good. I just want the scars gone. I need them covered.”

“Well my guy, you’ve come to the right place. It’s my specialty. You’re in luck too, I’m free all day so depending on your pain tolerance and the trauma of your skin, we might even be able to finish the first piece today.”

Pain tolerance, he wants to scoff at that. What he’s been through, the pain and the anguish and the emotional trauma, nothing will ever compare to that. Not even close. He’d get a 100 tattoos all at once and it still wouldn’t measure up.

“Alright, let’s do it.”

“Cool awesome! Imma go over to the drawing board and you can feel free to keep yourself entertained in the meantime. We have an arcade machine in the back. There’s records in the corner if you want to listen to some music. I’ll even let you choose.”

“Is that an honor?” Billy asks, a small smirk on his face. Every once in awhile a flicker of the person he used to be shines through. But then it’s gone and he’s left as this shadow of his former self.

“Oh you have no idea.”

As (Y/N) settles behind a big wooden table and starts scribbling away, Billy wanders over towards the corner of the studio. A bright red record player is resting on a sideboard surrounded by several boxes filled with vinyl records. They’re sorted by band name then chronologically. There’s all kinds of genres too. AC/DC and Judas Priest but also Stuff like The Mamas and the Papas and the Monkees.

“Anything, in particular, you wanna listen to? Kinda hard to make out your taste with this selection. There’s … everything.” Billy calls out to her, leaving through the records.

“What can I say? I like a bit of everything. Don’t like to limit myself.”

Old Billy would’ve raised his eyebrow and asked her if that extends to her love life as well. But old Billy is gone and so he keeps his mouth shut.

“I know it seems like just your kinda music, but maybe stay away from the hard rock. Maybe something a bit more mellow.”

He hasn’t really listened to a lot of music since … well since everything. He mostly sleeps or reads and sometimes when it’s a good day he even attempts to do a bit of writing. It’s nothing spectacular but it’s - something. An outlet really. The stories vary from an autobiographical retelling of the incident to silly tales of young boys going on space adventures. It's a way to get lost in the save parts of his mind. The ones that can create make-believe worlds and happy thoughts. Not the ones tainted with gruesome images of the past.

The opening notes the Monday Morning by Fleetwood Mac fill the air and Billy doesn’t miss the smile tugging on the corner of (Y/N)’s lips. 

“Nice. Didn’t really think you were a Fleetwood Mac fan.”

Billy shrugs his shoulders casually “they’re a classic.”

He sits back down in the seat by the window, watches as the clouds pass the sky and the people go about their day. That’s until a furry little ball of fluff settles down in his lap and demands to be cuddled.

“Oh hey, you.”

“Sorry about that. Bear does not understand the concept of personal boundaries. He thinks everyone is only here to pet him. If he bothers you just set him down.”

But he doesn’t mind one bit. In fact, combing his fingers through the curly brown fur fills Billy with a sense of calm and it grounds him a little. He really needs to adopt a dog for himself. 

“It’s fine. No bother.”

Time passes with Billy cuddling the dog and ever so often glancing over at (Y/N) while she’s working on the sketch. She’s drawing then erasing then redrawing. Copying then throwing it away then doing it all again. All the while she’s dancing along to the music. There’s a lightness about her that Billy wishes he could possess. Even before the Stacourt situation, he never had this unbothered lightness about him. That’s just not the person you turn into when you grow up in a house with Neil Hargrove.

A light drizzle falls outside and Stevie Nicks sings along to it and life feels … almost peaceful right then. Billy lives for these small moments of normality. These glimmers of what life used to be. 

“Okay, I’m ready. Wanna have a look?” 

There’s a bright smile on her face as she looks at him and waves the sketch around. “I think I nailed this one. I hope you’ll like it.“

Billy can see that she actually means it. It's not just a silly phrase she’s tagged onto her sentence. She’s genuinely nervous for him to see it.

Bear follows Billy as he walks toward the counter, a smiley (Y/N) watching their every move. There’s something about how passionate she is about her work that makes Billy both happy and sad. There used to be things in life that he was passionate about. His car. His clothes. The music he loved. Now it’s all dull and trivial and he’s lost. So damn lost.

His eyes wander towards the sheet of paper. Delicate black lines run across the page, swirling and arching and creating a beautiful composition. It’s a lighthouse. A tall and sturdy one. It shines it’s light out into the distance to guide the ships safely around the sharp edges of the cliffs. It’s a beacon of safety and hope surrounded by the rough sea and crashing waves.

“I thought it was a nice symbol, you know. Light in the dark. Guiding ships to safety.” (Y/N) explains. She’s biting her lip nervously and Billy thinks it’s insanely adorable. This piece is perfect, to think she’s uncertain and nervous about his reaction …

“I tried to incorporate the ocean and the crashing waves. You know, as a reminder of your life in California.”

Billy is speechless for a moment. Everything he wanted. All the ideas swirling around in his head. She put it down on paper, made them visible. And he didn’t even have to voice them. They were all just mushy gray clouds in his head, non forming a coherent picture. Just a feeling. A feeling of peace and belonging. Of being strong when everything around you tries to push you down to your knees.

“Do you like it? I can change it if you —“ 

“I love it!”

Her mood immediately changes after hearing those words. As if a switch is suddenly flipped and sunshine floods her face. Her eyes light up and her smile widens.

“Okay perfect! Wanna get started?” 

“Sure, let’s do it!”

The black leather chair is soft underneath him as (Y/N) puts the stencil onto his skin. She has a soft gentle touch which only matches the tone of her voice. Very calming. A complete opposite to the rest of Billy’s life.

“Okay, so it’s not gonna be pleasant since I have to tattoo over scar tissue. If you wanna tap out or take a break just let me know.”

He’s fairly sure that whatever pain he’ll have to endure, it will be nothing compared to what he’s already been through. Pain has a completely different meaning to him now. 

“I’ll be fine.”

And he means it. Not just about the tattoo, about everything. It feels like this is the first step into a new life. One that won’t be determined by his past mistakes. By the trauma.

The buzzing sound of the tattoo gun fills the air and (Y/N) starts pulling the first few lines. Short strokes. As if to test his pain tolerance. Her eyes wander up to meet his, a silent question shining through them.

He grants her a nod. One of pure determination. One that says, without question: “I’ll be fine!”

For a while, they sit in comfortable silence. There’s just the humming of the machine and the raspy voice of Stevie Nicks to lull them into a soft tranquility. 

“ I’m not gonna ask about the scars but can I ask about the skull on the other arm?”

Billy lets out a mix between a laugh and a scoff. “Sins of my youth really.”

“ Oh geez, that makes you sound so old. You’re what, 19?”

“ Almost 20.”

“ See. You’re still in the prime of your youth!”

Billy shrugs his shoulder as she dips the tattoo gun back into the ink. Truthfully, it doesn’t feel like he’s in the middle of his youth. He feels so damn tired. He never got to be a kid. Never got to be a teen. Always wandering in between it all, lost and disillusioned with no one there to guide or help him.

“ How old are you?”

“ Just turned 20 a few days ago.”

“And you already have your own shop. That’s impressive.”

“Yeah well, it’s all I ever wanted to be. Worked my ass off. Spent all my free time at my cousin's tattoo studio up in Carmel. He taught me everything I know. Worked after school and on the weekends and then when I graduated my cousin gave me a little loan and I had enough to open the shop. He believed in me when no one else did and it means everything to me. Hope I make him proud. I just always felt like this is what I'm meant to be. An artist. And this way my art gets immortalized on people’s skin and in some cases it can help them overcome difficult times in their lives. I hope I can make even the smallest change in people’s lives. “

It doesn’t get lost on him, that she doesn’t mention her parents. Something must be up there but it sure as hell isn’t his place to ask about it. Families, he knows quite well, can be a touchy subject.

“Well, you’re definitely making a change in mine.”

“Yeah?”

She looks almost bashful as the question tumble from her lips.

“Yup. I … I need to make those scars disappear. They — they remind me of the worst time in my life and of a version of myself I never want to be again. Having you cover them for me with this art piece that’s so fucking cool, it means everything.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“You should be proud of yourself.”

There’s a connection there, one he can neither grasp nor explain. It’s like she understands parts of him he doesn’t even put on display. And it’s both scary and exciting. And maybe, he understands parts of her she’s not aware she’s putting on display either.

“Okay. I’m done!”

There’s an infinite sense of pride exuding from her words. Billy wishes there was something in his life that he was good at. Something to let him be proud of himself.

“Wanna take a look?” (Y/N) asks with the most radiant smile playing on her face.

“Absolutely!”

His legs are stiff from sitting in the chair for so long but he can’t wait to see the finished piece. Slowly he walks towards the full-length mirror, (Y/N) hot on his heels.

His eyes fall onto the artwork now permanently inked into his skin. There are vibrant shades of blue and dark black lines. The sea is alive, it’s unforgiving and rough. But there’s the light from the lighthouse, the hope, the safety. It’s all there’s and it’s beautiful. Where there used to be ugly pink scars thick and burning, there’s now a beautiful painting. The scars are gone. The pain is gone. All that’s left is beauty and hope.

He doesn’t realize that tears are running down his cheek until she hands him a tissue. His first reaction is to wipe them away and pretend they weren’t there in the first place. A Hargrove man isn’t allowed to cry. Not in front of people anyway. Especially not in front of women. Hargrove men are bitter and numb. They’re stoic. Silent. Angry. Above all they’re sad.

But isn’t that the person he wants to leave behind?

So he lets himself feel it. Lets the tears fall as if it were nothing. 

Maybe this can be the next step into becoming the person he wishes so desperately he can be.

“I take it you like it?”

“I love it.”

And he hugs her. Pulls her close and tight as if he’s known her forever. She reciprocates the hug in no time. Softly oats him on the shoulder.

She smells like flowery perfume and clean cotton. Soft. Sweet. Intoxicating

“I can not thank you enough.”

“Billy, trust me this means as much to me as it does to you.”

He doesn’t disagree with her but he’s sure that’s not true. It means everything to him.

They talk for a little longer then he pays her, way too little if you ask him. She deserves way more and he suspects that some kind of personal sympathy plays into the price. But he’s not one to argue. Not when he’s sure he’ll come back. There are more scars. More pain. He’s not fixed but he’s at least a work in progress now.

She takes a few Polaroids of his tattoo, to put on her wall. To show people she can cover scars. Can help them. Help fix them. Make them feel less broken. 

“They’re burn scars.”

Billy finds himself sharing a piece of his story. One he’s kept so close to him, sometimes he almost wondered if it was true. But it is. And there are more reminders all over his body. It feels right to share it though. She helped him cover part of it, without judging. Without questions. She deserves to know.

“Huh?”

“My scars. They are burn scars.  Not — not from the outside but from the inside. Like fire going through my veins. I uh don’t know how to explain but that’s what they are. You can tell that to your clients. That you covered burn scars. That you’re that talented. “

For a moment she just stares at him, a deep sense of affection shining from her eyes. It’s comforting and nerve-wracking all at once. But he lets himself feel it. He promises himself to let himself feel the good things even if they seem scary.

“That’s … hey, would you like to grab some dinner with me? I could really go for a burger at the diner round here. It’s real good. “

And with the way she smiles, how the hell is he supposed to say no to that.

“Sounds good to me. Lead the way!”

The sun hangs low above the horizon almost dips behind the line to vanish and make room for the moon but not quite yet. They step out into the dawn, Bear pattering alongside them his leash grabbed tightly in (Y/N) hand. 

As hues of red and pink and orange surround them and dip the world into a golden haze, Billy feels like maybe this is the way. Maybe this is his path leading into a new future. With less pain. Fewer scars. More color and more smiles.

And maybe a beautiful and talented girl and a little dog by his side.