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gay-mafia-stickball · 2 years

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In which I write a very self indulgent fic

The Seattle Spartans were winning in the third quarter. Andrew was in the goal, actually doing his best, Neil was raising hell as a striker, and the defense was as strong as it had ever been. Andrew hadn’t let a single goal in after the coach had threatened to sub him out for another goalie, James. Naturally, that was when it went to shit.

The team they were playing that day were known for their aggressive strikers, and those strikers held their pride high on their list of priorities. Unfortunately, they were also known for their gossiping backliners, who held their stories even higher. Even worse, their favorite topic of discussion was laid out directly before them: the Minyard-Josten Rivalry, as the media had dubbed it. The “rivalry” has blossomed in Neils second year, and had only grown now that he was on a professional team. Mundane activities such as walking in the park and going to the supermarket had been labeled “aggressive” and “brutal” and any moments of peace they had were pierced by news stories and articles attacking their perceived hatred. In a way, they found it funny, so they let it go on, but it was starting to get annoying to be asked intrusive questions such as the reason for their aggression rather than actual exy related questions, and the only reason Neil hadn’t yet put a stop to it was the gleeful look in Andrews eyes when the media blatantly mischaracterized their relationship in a funny way. Of course, it didn’t hurt to read the comments of the gay exy fans who knew exactly what was going on, and Neil might one day even confirm a few theories if it weren’t for the completely disproportionate response he would receive from the homophobes. So for now, they let it be.

With seven minutes left on the clock until fourth quarter, Neil was feeling pretty confident that the game was theirs. They were leading by a good amount of points, and they had subbed in their best players. The dealers put the ball into play, and Neil felt that familiar rush that came with doing what he loved.

The ball came flying to him first when their dealer, Veronica, hit it against the wall and slammed it back to him. He caught it in his racquet, running across the court and passing it to the other striker, Ronaldo. Ronaldo was fairly new to the team, but he was proving himself quickly, and Neil trusted him to get the job done. His trust was misplaced. An opposing backliner checked him into the wall, gaining possession of the ball and passing it to their striker. She ran across the court with Neil hot on her tail, but at the last minute, passed it behind her to the other striker with a complicated maneuver Neil couldn’t counter. The other striker caught the ball before he could intercept and hurled himself toward the goal, flinging the ball towards the net. Neils breath caught in his throat, his chest heaving as he watched the ball fly to the goal, and, for the first time since he had known Andrew, he was genuinely concerned he would block the goal. The ball was aimed toward the left side of the goal, and their was nearly no possible way for Andrew to get to it in time. But miraculously, he did. He would have had to move before the ball even left the strikers racquet, but he hit the ball. He hit the ball so hard that it flew across the court, faster than Neil could even see, straight into the opponents goal. Neils face split into a wild grin as the other team stood dumbfounded, staring at Andrew. The court was silent for one moment, then two, then the crowd broke into wild, screaming applause. Neil let out a loud whoop, clapping the backs of a few of his teammates. Andrew looked bored and expressionless to most people, but Neil could see his pride in the quirk of his mouth. He knew he’d be getting laid tonight.

The moment was broken by the anger of the strikers of the opposing team.

“What the fuck?” The girl, Elizabeth, said. “That’s not even possible! No ones done that in exy history!”

“Yeah, and no one could out maneuver that hit!” Agreed the other striker, Devin. “That was an impossible throw!”

“He must have cheated,” Elizabeth said, rounding on Andrew. Andrew’s eyes narrowed as both Elizabeth and Devin came up to him, but clearly he didn’t look intimidating enough in his bulky exy gear.

“Ought to teach him a lesson,” Devin muttered. Elizabeth smiled.

“You read my mind.”

In the moment, it was hard to tell who threw the first punch. Neil was sure the replays would have cleared it up, but he refused to even look at those. All that mattered was that Andrew was outnumbered. With two tall, bulky strikers on Andrew, especially with so much padding on him, Andrew wouldn’t stand a chance, no matter how many knives he used. Devin ripped Andrew’s helmet off, giving even worse than he got as Elizabeth kicked Andrew down and held him in place. Despite the fact that Neil was on the other side of the court by the time Devin and Elizabeth had begun the fight, he was over there in record time. Still, it wasn’t enough. He was at half-court when he saw Andrew flinch, surely remembering other times of being held down, other bruises in other places. He was yards away when he heard the sickening crack of a nose being broken, and he knew who’s it was. He was out of reach when he heard the maniacal laughter of a sociopath enjoying their job. Of course he recognized it, how could he not?

Despite being the fastest player in all of exy, Neil couldn’t get there in time. The damage was done. They had done it to him, to Andrew, and it was irreversible.

In the back of his mind, he could hear whistles blowing, see referees waving their arms and hauling the strikers off of Andrew, but it’s didnt matter. The damage was done.

Fury raced through Neils veins, fire pulsing through his chest. He tore his own helmet off, leaving it on the court behind him. He wanted to see Devin and Elizabeth’s expressions for this.

“Josten, you’ve gotta stay back,” barked the referee holding a struggling Elizabeth. Neil ignored her and yanked Elizabeth from her grasp, blocking her shout if pain from his mind. He kicked away the referee holding back Devin, slamming him and Elizabeth into the wall of the court. He shoved away the advancing refs as hard as he could, focusing his full attention on Devin and Elizabeth.

“The hell are you gonna be able to do, kid?” Elizabeth snarled. “What, you gay for Minyard?”

“Oh, Elizabitch,” Neil laughed, not bothering to wipe the smile from his face. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you?”

“The hell you talkin about, man?” Devin spat, for once actually looking a little scared. Neil grinned even wider.

“Don’t play with fire or you’re gonna get burned.”

Neil slammed his knee into Devins stomach and twisted Elizabeth’s arm behind her hard enough to hear a snap. He pushed Devins head back into the wall, satisfied with the crack of his helmet hitting the thick plexiglass. Devin fell to the ground next to Elizabeth just as a referee made it to Neil.

“Hey! Josten! Deffrey! Ackerman! Off of each other!” He shouted. He blew his whistle at an ear shattering volume. The three of them were hauled off, Josten to the sidelines and Elizabeth and Devin to the medic, all of them with red cards. None of them would be playing the rest of the game.

***

Thankfully, Neils coach let him off press duty after the game. Neil rushed immediately to the locker room, where he had been waiting out the game. Before he could get in, though, he was stopped at the door by the captain, Alice.

“Hey, Neil, I know you’re upset we lost, but I seriously need you to calm your tits, okay? Minyard isn’t looking great, and he really doesn’t need worse right now. You can do your petty fighting thing later, but we need him to heal.”

Neil knew Alice meant well, but frustration shot through him.

“Get out of my fucking way before I make you,” Neil snapped. Alice sighed.

“Neil, we don’t have time for this! We’re playing against one of the best teams in exy next week, and we can’t have exy’s greatest goalie in the hospital for it, much less exy’s greatest striker!” She said. Neil ignored her and pushed past her, nearly breaking her wrist when she tried to catch him. He took note of his teammates terrified faces as he stormed into the locker room, then promptly ignored them in favor of stopping in front of Andrew, who sat on a bench with ice pressed to his nose.

“I’m going to fucking kill them,” Neil growled, taking in Andrew’s injuries and calculating how long it would take to heal. He should be fine by the next game, but he didn’t care. They had hurt Andrew.

“Neil, don’t-“ James started, but he was silenced by two matching glares.

“I’m okay, junkie,” Andrew said quietly.

“I don’t fucking care! I saw what they did, I know what happened-“

“And they won’t do it again,” Andrew interrupted. “You did them in.”

“She fucking held you down,” Neil said. “He broke your nose. She held you down.”

“I’ve got Bee, haven’t I? And I’ve got you,” Andrew said softly. Their teammates looked on in confusion, whispering to each other. Didn’t they hate each other?

“Yes or no?” Neil asked. Andrew nodded and Neil sat down next to him, drawing him into a gentle embrace. Andrew kissed him on the forehead, then on the neck. A few gasps were concealed by coughs, but Lia, their dealer, was not so sensitive.

“What the fuck?”

***

The next day, the tabloids were covered with images of Elizabeth and Devin on top of Andrew, Neil on top of Elizabeth and Devin, and pictures of Elizabeth and Devin in the hospital. Andrew’s nose was healing nicely, but the tabloids were being dramatic as ever, thanks to the gossipy backliners. Popular headlines were ‘Josten Caught Beating Up Minyards Attackers: Some Kind of Favor Exchange?’ and ‘Inside Scoop From Florida Backliner: Josten Finishes What Deffrey and Ackerman Started?’

Neil only afforded them one comment: a post on his Twitter in reply to a gossip magazine. ‘I was helping my boyfriend, you pricks.’ Neil then deleted Twitter and settled back into bed with Andrew, content to finally rest.

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moodyfoxes · 4 years

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AFTG Fanfic Recs! #2

February 2020

Forming a Family; Forging a Future by queerwriterbee [Completed]

Andrew jumped to his feet as soon as he heard the door to the apartment open. He’d been waiting on the couch for the past three hours, unable to focus on anything but Persey and Neil’s arrival home.

“Andrew,” Neil huffed, surprised by his boyfriend’s sudden appearance. “Hi. Everything ok? You look… not ok.”

“I want to get married,” Andrew said in response, Neil nearly toppling over where he was taking off his boots. “And I want a baby.”

Neil did topple over at this, falling flat on his ass and looking up at Andrew in absolute shock.

“What?”

Andrew crouched down in front of him, placing one hand on the back of his neck.

“I want a baby. And she needs us.”

Andrew and Neil adopt a child, special needs baby edition. This is genuinely one of the cutest and just plain lovely pieces of writing I’ve come across. And for those readers who hate having to wait for new updates, this one’s already completed! No waiting around needed for this fic!

The Monster, The Junkie, and + One Series by AroPeterWam [Ongoing]

“Which one is Sir Fat Cat McCatterson? And why does he have a long name? I like the name King Fluffkins, but isn’t that too many noble titles for the cats?” Marcus, slowly coming out of his shell reached under the coffee table for one of the cats. -- In which Neil and Andrew come across a boy who might not be like any of their stray cats.

Andrew and Neil adopt an adorable child. This one’s angsty, like to the max. But there’s also the fluffiest of fluff sprinkled throughout, so everyone wins!

i’m here right now (just be here right now with me) by Talls [Ongoing]

Neil first meets Andrew with a racquet to the stomach in a locker room when he's eighteen. Andrew first meets Neil with a hushed conversation on a beach in California when he's five. They still manage to meet on rooftops, fall in love, find family, and heal together, just not quite at the same time and definitely not in the same order.

Andrew is the Time Traveller’s Wife! Well, husband I guess, in this scenario. It’s got an amazing plot with some really interesting interactions between Andrew and Neil, that really feel genuine. 15/10!

Doe & Josten: Deductionists by SpangleBangle [Ongoing]

Andrew Doe, rude but brilliant consulting detective, thought he had no need of a partner as he worked slowly away at dismantling the largest crime family in the country, helping out with other cases on the side to relieve the tedium. That was, until a scruffy runaway with a stupid amount of secrets stumbled into his life. Or, more accurately, broke into his kitchen.

Elementary AU! For those of you who loved the show, this is an interesting take on how dynamics and scenarios would change with the characters. Sometimes a little ooc but what fanfic isn’t?!

married to my enemy Series by jemejem [Ongoing]

Andrew's cousin keeps trying to set him up. With his life in shambles and his final year at the policing academy progressing rapidly towards his graduation, Nicky's attempts at resolving his lack of love life isn't exactly helpful.

That is, until Neil Last-Name-Not-Disclosed walks in the door.

Your typical Butcher Neil fanfic, minus all the angst! It’s the best of both worlds dude! This series is funny, fluffy, and just a straight-up joy to read when you’re struggling to find anything else.

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itsstickball · 5 years

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Could you do a prompt about Jean going back to see his parents? I’ve always wondered what he would do!

I have lots of feelings about Jean, so this got really long. Most of it is under the cut, but really the only things you need to know is that I created a summer professional Exy league in Europe and Jean, Jeremy and Neil are all playing in Lyon, France. (All conversations are in French unless otherwise specified)

It’s been seven years since he left Evermore.

Twelve years since he last set foot on French soil.

It’s…disorienting.

The steady stream of French that washed over him as they stepped off their plane and into the CDG terminal calmed the apprehension Jean hadn’t noticed growing in him until that point. Whatever reservations he had about joining the Euro league and playing for Lyon faded away. He was one of the best backliners in professional Exy, and France was his homeland.

Seven years was a lot of time to recover from the damage done to him by Riko and the Master, but that didn’t mean Jean’s version of friendliness was the same as the other players who’d flown with them across the ocean. He nodded or waved in acknowledgment as the majority of them dispersed to catch connecting flights or trains to other parts of the continent until it was only himself, Jeremy, and Neil Josten.

“The manager says there’s a car waiting for us at the South pickup.”

Jeremy informed them in English, breaking Jean out of his reverie. He smiled back at the striker and gestured for him to lead on. The motion earned him a blinding grin from Jeremy and a raised eyebrow from Josten. He likes to think he’s grown a lot as a person since the last time they played together on a team, but it’s second nature to roll his eyes. Josten must be thinking along the same lines because he just answers with a grin full of mischief and good humor.

Jean didn’t necessarily want to go see his parents, but they were playing in France, there’s a full week between games, and somehow Neil and Jeremy double teamed him (though with very different sets of intentions). Jeremy has always wanted good things for him, even if that means pushing him into potentially uncomfortable situations.

“What happens when we go home and you regret not taking the chance for reconciliation?”

He asked. Jeremy was safer not knowing the full extent of Jean’s leash to the Moriyamas, but he was intelligent to take note of the extra hoops he’d had to jump through just to play in the summer league. They both knew this might be the only time Jean got to be in France in a long time.

Jean doesn’t know how to tell his boyfriend that he probably won’t ever be able to forgive his parents – that he was long past needing or wanting them in his life.

“I’ll think about it.”

Jeremy looked like he wanted to say more, but pressed his lips together and nodded. That patience, the willingness to wait and accept his decisions, it was one of Jean’s favorite things about him.

In the end, Neil’s the one to convince him.

The short man didn’t smoke, not without his goalie, but Jean noticed in the few weeks they’d shared and apartment that he’d take a cigarette and just let it burn away in front of him on the balcony. The habit often coincided with Jean’s evening coffee, and they usually shared the time in relative silence.

“I disagree with Jeremy.”

Neil said once they’d both settled in for a minute or so. Though proposed out of the blue, the statement wasn’t all that odd. On the court, he had a great deal of respect and cooperation with his fellow striker, but the two had very different views on the world outside of it. It was perhaps strange that he seemed rather contemplative about this disagreement, but that could be attributed to the setting.

Jean prompted him to continue with a hum.

“I think reconciliation if too weak of a thing to hope for.”

Jean turned towards him at that, interested to hear his own thoughts echoed back so clearly. His interest furthered when Neil continued, but refrained from looking back at him.

“But, I think you should still go.”

An angrier, more raw Jean would have snapped back, huffed out his anger and then belittled the red-head for trying to understand him. Currently, Jean just took another drink of his coffee and waited. Sure enough, Josten continued, staring at the burning ember of his untouched cigarette like it held the key to the universe.

“If my mother were alive, she’d be furious with me. Everything she did was to keep me away from my father, but in the end, it hadn’t mattered. If she were here, I’d want her to look and see what became of me. I’d want her to know that I broke every one of her rules and still made it out on the other side – because I didn’t need them anymore. Before, we just survived, but now, I’m living and it has nothing to do with her.”

He went because, well, mostly because he misses Marseilles. He’s not fully healed or willing to forgive, but Neil was right. He deserved some damn closure – to be able to look his parents in the eyes and say “this is what you did to me” to be able to walk away and say “you put me through hell, but I found my way out of it.” He wanted to see his sister; to know that she, at least, got the normal life he’d been torn from.

Despite his relationship with Jeremy, Neil is the one he takes with him. As much of an asshole and a pain in his side the petit striker continues to be, Jean knows he won’t ask questions – won’t pry in an attempt to help Jean. And sure enough, he’s silent almost he whole train ride, only speaking to be an asshole about their lunch choice or point out Exy posters.

It turns out to be a good thing, having Josten with him.

He probably should have thought beforehand how unlikely it would be that his parents still lived in their little rundown apartment. Neil lets Jean take the place in silently, however and takes over interrogating the neighbors to try and find out where the Moreaus went. He follows the various leads across town while Jean stares at the city he grew up in, cataloguing what has and hasn’t changed. The crime was still heavily prevalent, multiple knives and guns flashed at Neil during their search, but he never flinched away. He found the pockets of good were still there too, though. Little sail boats dot the coast as they ride the bus alongside it, a corner bakery employee hands out free samples to children, a group of teenagers giggle until one of them asks him and Neil for their autographs.

The city was a soothing lull until Neil stoppped walking abruptly in front of him. Jean almost collided with him out of spite, but he doubted the middle-age woman working on the small flower garden on her porch would have appreciated the tussling that would have followed. Instead, he adjusted his stride to step up beside the short man just as he called out to that neighbor.

“Pardon moi, do the Moreaus happen to still live here?”

He asked, his accent having melded near perfectly over the course of the afternoon to fit the natural speakers, whereas he’d been imitating the Lyonnais for the past several weeks.

“Ah, oui.” The woman responded, nodding her head towards the stoop they had halted in front of. “Why do you ask?”

Jean didn’t know if it was a natural proclivity to suspicion or if his parents still hadn’t rid themselves of the habit of getting into business with unsavory people, but Josten smiled and waved his hand at her regardless, making up some story complaining about being given and incorrect address. It was only half-false and the woman seemed to relax.

He thanked her and then led the way up to the door. Neil came to stand a few steps behind, there for support, but not hovering. When he knocked, it was his father who opened the door.

“Jean?”

He took a moment to wonder bitterly if the man recognized him because they shared the same facial structure or if his parents had followed his story in the news. The older Moreau’s expression shuttered slightly when his gaze landed on the three tattooed into his cheek and then flitted anxiously back to Neil.

“Uh, come in, come in! Let me get your mother.”

He seemed to remember enough of himself to offer them a seat and some water. Neil accepted both, picking the armchair furthest from the others and then immediately pulling out his phone. Ordinarily, Jean would have snorted, but he appreciated the semblance of privacy.

Jean still stood when he heard his mother’s footsteps and voice coming down the hall.

“Thierry? What is it? Do we have visit- oh.”

The backliner stayed put until his mother ran out of words and steps. Only then did he tear his gaze away from the scattering of pictures on the mantle – from the small frame in the corner that showed a grinning boy holding his first Exy racquet. As he turned, the whole room seemed to fall silent.

“Hello mother.”

The words sounded odd and formal in his mouth. For a moment, he was thrown back into a media room with red and black walls a smiling psychopath breathing down his neck – ready to pounce should he misspeak. He blinked slowly washing the memory from his mind. Riko was dead.

Riko was dead and he was here.

“Je-Jean?”

His mother stuttered, lifting a hand to her mouth. Where his father had been quietly accepting, pale and meek, Nadine Moreau was all emotion. He had her to thank for his complexion and his stubbornness. He remembered that she hadn’t gone with them to the airport, but that she’d cried in his doorway the night before when he’d been pretending to sleep. He’d thought she was proud and scared that he would be playing across the ocean. He had no idea of the horror that she’d sold him into to remove her husband’s debt.

“Are you -. You’re.” She stopped and started. Jean waited for the words “I’m sorry” to come, hoping silently despite what his heart and Neil had told him. When they never arrived, and the awkward silence of his mother trying to find words as her gaze skittered across his face and frame, and his father not even doing that, Jean put them all out of their misery.

“We’re here for the summer league, playing in Lyon.” He explained, motioning politely towards Neil. “This is my teammate.”

He saw the questions flit across his mother’s face once more. Was this another boy condemned by the mistakes of his father? Turned into a champion by the horrible machine of abuse at Evermore? Neither player moved to explain themselves or their scars – though Neil had most of the ones on his arms covered by armbands anyway. The striker did offer a polite hello before going back to his phone.

When neither parent offered anything of value, Jean continued.

“We won’t be able to stay,” He said, no regret coloring his voice. “But a friend convinced me it would have been rude not to stop by.”

At that, Neil did snort behind him – though Jean didn’t know if it was at the return of his on-court arrogance, or the oversimplification of their conversation and his conversation with Jeremy. He found he didn’t care much – though it did help to snap him out of the awkwardness that had permeated the room.

“Well,” His mother said, sad but accommodating. “We don’t want to keep you if you have other places to be. I’m sorry Amelie wasn’t here to say hello, she’s out at the university most days.”

Her words were bland, but Jean saw in her eyes that she understood that she had no right to keep him, even if she still wanted to. His father’s eyes, as he escorted them back to the door, were as blank and numb as ever. Jean almost thought, in a quiet flash of anger, to ask if they’d replaced his heart with a machine yet. Instead, he allowed his mother to place a gentle hand on his shoulder and followed Josten out the door.

“Where are you going?” He called when he saw that the striker wasn’t headed back towards the bus stop they’d come from.

“To the university.”

Neil called over his shoulder without slowing down. Jean muttered about tiny assholes and lengthened his stride to catch up. When he was once more walking beside the red-head, Josten pocketed his phone and pulled out something else to hand over to Jean.

“What -?” He stopped himself when he saw that the small slip of paper was a picture. A picture of him and Amelie. “You stole this?” He tried to sound indignant.

Neil just shrugged.

“They have about twenty, I figured they could spare one for you.”

He did not thank the shorter man. But the striker didn’t comment on the way his eyes traced the photo of the two young children reverently either, so Jean figured they were even.

The university was apparently close enough that they could walk to it, though it was definitely well into the afternoon due to their circuitous trip to find his parents’ house. Still, Neil led on, occasionally checking the map on his phone until they stood on the edge of the school’s practice football fields. Jean didn’t bother to ask how Neil knew to go there, he’d seen the picture of Amelie proudly displayed in his parents’ front hall, holding a football and an acceptance letter.

They stood there quietly at the edge of the grass, watching the girls dribble, pass and shoot the ball around. Neil seemed content to ignore him until the players took a water break, and even when he spoke, there was no real judgment in his voice.

“So how much longer are we going to stand here watching?” Okay, maybe there was a little judgment, but it seemed to stem more from amusement and boredom than anything. “Jeremy wants to know what time we’ll be back.”

He tacked on more seriously, showing Jean the text on his phone. Neither of them commented on the fact that it was time-stamped twenty minutes ago. Jean let out a huff and steeled himself to walk over to the group of women. Neil followed until they got to the bleachers and then made himself comfortable on one of the benches. Jean stopped awkwardly several feet away, drawing glances and a few whispers from the closer players. He turned to look back at Neil, suddenly unsure of himself. By either miracle, or design, the striker was already watching him. Less of a help was the single-finger salute he gave in return.

Still, it made him turn around and take the remaining few steps.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt. Is Amelie here?”

He asked, trying to sound pleasant for once in his life. A few of the girls looked at him weirdly, which given his imposing stature, strange tattoo and scars was fair. But ultimately, they called out her name and Jean caught himself craning to try and get a look at the woman his sister had become.

She was laughing and breathless, jostling her teammates as she stepped up to join them.

“What’s up?”

He knew he was standing there staring for longer than was probably polite, trying to take her in and fight down the urge to wring his hand. It was getting to the point where Amelie’s friends had told her he had asked for her and the silence had stretched to become quietly awkward. It had been so much easier with his parents, whom he hadn’t expected anything from. But now, with his sister, he felt like he was standing on the edge of a chasm, with no way to see the bottom.

“Do I know –“

“Sometime today, please, Moreau! I want to watch Kevin’s dreams for the Sharks die in real-time.”

Jean whipped his head around to glare at Neil, who didn’t even have the decency to look up from his phone to catch it. He’d spoken in English, but names translated regardless of their context and the use of his brought a reaction from the footballers. The girls around Amelie bristled, having clearly not liked that some strange, foreign man knew their friend’s name. Jean’s sister looked pensive, however, when he turned back to face them. It soothed some of the anger and panic that had boiled to the surface with Josten’s intervention and allowed him to calmly bear the weight of her gaze.

She seemed to take a deeper look this time, not just mildly interested, but actually searching. After a moment, she stepped away from her friends and reached up towards his hairline, for a notch in the pattern that had existed long before evermore.

“Jean?”

She said questioningly, like she didn’t dare believe it.

He swallowed, his mouth dry with emotion at the gentle brush of her fingers against his childhood scar.

“You kicked me in the head with your cleats, jumping off that swing.” He said in confirmation, the corners of his lips turning up just slightly at the memory of that day. Their shape became more mischievous as she pulled her hand back.

“I’m not quite sure I’ve forgiven you for it, yet.”

“Oh my god! Jean!”

Where shock had barely touched his father and had rendered his mother motionless, it spurred Amelie forward until she practically tackled him. The force probably would have taken them to the ground if Jean hadn’t had years of practice bracing against much more determined assailants.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” She said into his t-shirt. “How?”

She pulled away, just enough to look up at him.

“How are you here? They said you wouldn’t be coming back.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever be able to.” He said honestly, rubbing a hand over the spot between her shoulder blades, uncaring of the sweat stains. “I wasn’t supposed to, but,” He glanced back at Neil. “Some friends helped me find a way.”

Amelie couldn’t talk for long, they were actually practicing for an upcoming summer tournament, but it was…nice. He shooed her off with another hug and his phone number. She texted him before returning to the field. Jean heard the crunch of Neil walking through the grass to join him as he stared down at the message.

[hey big bro! I know you said you’re busy, but maybe I can visit you before you go back to the states? Go to one of those fancy games of yours or something?

“Ready?”

Neil asked once he looked back up, gesturing in the direction Jean presumed there was a bus stop.

“Yeah.”

He said, a small smile pulling at his face. The day hadn’t gone at all like he’d thought it would, but maybe there was room for both Jeremy and Neil to be right. His parents had no bearing on his life now, no place in his heart – but maybe he could carve out a little room for his sister.

#aftg #tfc #jean moreau #neil josten #jeremy knox #is there for like 2 seconds #which is significantly fewer seconds than jeremy deserves #i love one (1) french boi #jean visits his parents #jean is a big boy now #and has HEALED #prompt me

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defractum · 6 years

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call the locksmith

Andreil domestic post-canon

For @justalittleaddicted as part of @aftgexchange.

It was a Tuesday during August when Neil didn’t move into Andrew’s apartment.

It was official – he was a Lion now, which meant hauling his ass over to Los Angeles in time for the pre-season training camp. Most traded players relied on their agents to do the heavy lifting. They just hopped on a plane and expected their belongings to turn up on the other end and a car and house to be sorted out for them.

Neil had done no such thing. For starters, when he dropped his key off with his agent to return to the letting agency, his apartment had been as empty and spotless as when he moved in a year ago. There was only an overstuffed duffel bag – battered and fraying in one corner, not the sort of thing an athlete making seven figures a year needed to carry around – and an Exy racquet slung over his shoulder. He said he’d sent the rest ahead.

The other thing was that he’d hopped into the passenger seat of a sleek Masarati idling on the side of the road, and driven himself the fifteen hours to LA. He hadn’t needed an apartment either, but the forwarding address he left was on the fourth floor of a modern build. It was a two-bed, but the second bedroom was an entertainment centre and home office rather than a bedroom.

The last few trades of the season were still being wrapped up, but Neil’s move to the LA Lions had been finalised almost a month ago now, on the down low.

Denver had been bemused – Neil had done well for them, but not so well he warranted snatching up after only a year into his pro career, especially not at the amount the Lions offered.

Still. The point was – it was a Tuesday. The training camp started in two days, and while most new players for the team would be frantically trying to familiarise themselves with the local area and setting up meetings with the coach, the manager, the trainer and PR, Neil had already met them all throughout the last year.

Instead, he was lying face to face with Andrew, his old duffel bag forgotten on the floor for him to later trip over, just breathing in his closeness. The last year had been hectic. Rookie players were under a lot of pressure to perform, not least those who had promised the bulk of their income to a crime lord.

They lay there until the doorbell buzzed, the courier with Neil’s belongings. There wasn’t a lot of it, but even the three or four boxes wouldn’t have fit into the car. He was still occasionally blindsided by how much stuff he owned now.

“Leave them,” said Andrew when Neil made to move them in from the hallway. “They won’t be there for long anyway.”

Neil frowned, not entirely sure of his meaning.

Andrew slid a folder across the breakfast counter towards him. “Pick.”

The folder was a selection of apartments. Neil frowned. “What’s this for?”

“You,” said Andrew, fishing around in the top drawer for what Neil assumed were the takeout leaflets. He’d been here enough times to know that’s where they were kept.

Neil leafed through them carefully. All of them were two or three bedrooms, all were immediately available with mod cons (and some of which claimed that a hot tub or gym were completely necessary modern conveniences) and a concierge service, and all were within a ten minute drive to the stadium.

“Why do I need an apartment?”

“You can’t stay here,” said Andrew, as if it were obvious. Neil had assumed he would stay here. Andrew had never said anything to the contrary beforehand, and it was a bit of a given considering he was being traded here because Andrew was here. Neil mentally replayed all of their conversations about his moving to LA, trying to recall if he’d missed anything, if Andrew had said that he didn’t want Neil to move in with him, or that they shouldn’t live together. Was it too intimate? They’d lived together for three and a half years at Palmetto. He came up empty.

Fingers clicking in front of his face startled Neil back to attention. Andrew was staring at him blankly. “You’ve gone somewhere I’m not following,” said Andrew, probably meaning his spiralling. “Did you pick one?”

“This one? Or this one,” said Neil, blindly pointing.

Andrew picked his phone up and called someone Neil didn’t know, and Neil could only watch him blankly as he started a conversation, setting up some times for viewings.

He didn’t know Andrew didn’t want to live with him. He didn’t know how he felt about that. He didn’t know he would care.

“We’ll go see them tomorrow,” said Andrew, slipping his phone away and disappearing into the bedroom.

He returned, a couple of minutes later, holding some cardboard boxes that needed taping up, and a roll of duct tape. His eyebrows knitted together as he spotted Neil not having moved from the counter; he padded up and waved a hand in front of Neil’s face.

“Josten.”

“Sorry,” muttered Neil. “What is it?”

“Are you helping me pack or what?”

“Pack?” That made sense. The cardboard boxes made sense. Nothing made sense.

“I’m not letting someone else touch my shit,” said Andrew as he started opening and emptying drawers.

This conversation was moving too fast for Neil. “What’s wrong with this place?”

He remembered helping Andrew pick it out the first time. There’d been few considerations, but Andrew had definitely wanted somewhere with a window that opened all the way, to fuel his smoking habit, and multiple exits, just in case. It’s spacious and minimalistic, but not so much that it feels sparse.

“It’s not your home if you move in here.”

Neil looked around. It could be. He’d been expecting it to be. True, the bookshelves were filled with Andrew’s books, and his wardrobe was full of his outfits, with Neil’s clothes usually haphazard over the floor. But home wasn’t four walls and a ceiling for him.

“Where are you going?” Neil asked stupidly. He felt like he’d missed a part of this conversation.

“This one,” said Andrew, pointing at the apartment Neil had picked out just now. “Or maybe this one.”

Oh.

Neil looked up to see faint acknowledgment in Andrew’s eyes. Coming from anyone else, that would have been concern.

“I didn’t – I thought that – oh.”

“Never thought I’d see you lost for words,” said Andrew. “Yes, of course I’m moving as well. What would be the point if I didn’t?”

“I don’t know,” said Neil honestly. “I didn’t – I just assumed.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” said Andrew. “I didn’t think I had to, but for avoidance of all doubt, I’ll say it now. We are moving in to a new apartment.” Together, his tone implied.

Something in Neil broke, as relief seeped through his bones. “Together.”

“Yes, obviously.”

Neil looked down at the apartments again. Home, his mind supplied. Not just with Andrew, in his apartment, carving space out for himself wherever he could, but a whole new space with the intention of fitting the both of them side by side the first time around.

It sounded pretty damn good. Maybe he’d pick the one with a hot tub after all.

#all for the game #aftg #the foxhole court #tfc #andreil #tfc: my posts #my fic

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nickireadstfc · 7 years

Text

The Raven King, Chapter 11 – WHAT THE FUCK

In which Thanksgiving happens.

Sounds good? No, it doesn’t. But it’s time for Nicki to read The Raven King.

I was not Ready.

I was a sweet, sweet summer child.

WHAT THE SHIT JUST HAPPENED.

I WAS NOT THE FUCK READY.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

IT’S BEEN FOUR HOURS SINCE READING AND I STILL CAN’T FUCKING D E A L WITH THIS.

Alright. Hold up, hold up.

I will get to the absolute FUCKERY that is this TRAINWRECK OF A CHAPTER in a minute.

But first – shopping.

Kevin stopped sniping about the road trip when he realized he could get something out of it.

They go to Exites, which is kind of dream candy land for people with Exy boners, to get Neil a few new racquets, just because they can.

To be honest, I skimmed through most of this bit in order to get to the fuckery that was promised to me at Nicky’s house.

TLDR; Kevin is buying Neil heavier racquets in order to fulfil his quest of becoming Surpreme Exy Master. What else is new.

Also, how do you pronounce “Exites”? Exits? Exit-ee-s? Exités? Wtf is this word.

There’s one bit that got my attention, though: A prime fucking Andreil Moment for the books, right there in between the racks of Exy racquets – how fitting, considering the Hot Bod Meets Racquet Incident from when they met.

“Here’s a real question: how have you survived this long when you’re so violently self-destructive?”

Hooo boy, it’s Real Talk Time.

He wondered why no one else had caught on, or if people noticed and just didn’t care enough to say it. (…) The focus was on what a danger he was. People talked about his trial and how it saved them from Andrew. No one said what they were doing to save Andrew from himself.

But Neil :’)))))))) noticed :’)))))))) and cares :’)))))))))) ma BOYS

“When they finally take your medicine away, who are you going to hurt, really?”

Andrew laughed. “I’m remembering why I don’t like you.”

“I’m surprised you forgot.”

“I didn’t,” Andrew said. “I just got distracted for a moment there.”

Mhmm, distracted by what exactly, mon ami.

Andrew put a hand over Neil’s mouth to shut him up and said, “Liar. But that’s what makes you interesting. It’s also what makes you dangerous. I should know better by now. Maybe I’m not as smart as I thought I was. Should I be disappointed or amused?”

Seriously, all later drama aside, let’s not forget what a fucking Andreil chapter this is. Like. AM I READING THIS SHIT WITH MY OWN TWO EYES.

The answer was there, right out of reach, close enough Neil could feel it, but too far for him to make sense of. Maybe Andrew felt it too, because even in his drugged haze he knew to shut up. The smile he flashed Neil mocked them both at that near-miss.

For real AM I HALLUCINATING THIS TO GIVE ME SOMETHING NICE TO MAKE UP FOR MY INEVITABLE BREAKDOWN LATER OR???

And then Kevin and Important Exy Business comes in to ruin the moment. Shame.

They get Neil’s racquets, they pay about the price of a nice sports car for them (“If Coach has a problem with the number he can take it up with me, but he should know how expensive I am by now.”, jfc Kevin chill it with the Extra will you), and then they are finally going to the Hemmick’s place.

From the outside, the house looked perfect. The lawn and vibrant green and neatly trimmed, the cars in the driveway were new and clean, and the house was a pale blue with dark shutters.

Meaning: There are at least three bodies hidden in our basement.

Andrew gave [the racquet] an experimental twirl, judging the weight of it, then propped it against his shoulder and started for the other cars. (…)

“He’s got a really shiny car for a minister,” Andrew said. “I’m going to humble it.”

Bahahaha. I actually had to laugh at that. Please do.

Nicky does not agree with me, however, and takes the racquet from him, leaving it in the entrance hall of his parents’ house.

Speaking of: PARENTS.

Nicky’s mum can’t even tell her own nephews apart, which is just honestly a great fucking start.

“Hello, Maria. How very, very nice to see you again, I’m sure. Very interesting, you letting us back in your house and all. I thought you were going to file a restraining order against me. What happened, did you lose your nerve?”

For some reason, I dislike Andrew’s sass as much as I like Neil’s. His drugged sass, that is – nothing against a good Minyard one-liner. But I still find his mock-cheery, vicious friendliness more uncomfortable and at times even annoying than anything else.

And Nicky’s dad?

About as cool a dude as an uptight bigoted Christian minister can get.

Which is to say - not fucking cool.

Even across the room Neil could see the tense set to his shoulders (…) Neil hoped that Luther was uncomfortable because he intended to relax old prejudices.

I will bet you literally any amount that he fucking does not.

“Are you religious?”

“No,” Neil said. (…)

“Why not?”

“I’d rather not get into it,” Neil said. “I don’t want to start a fight.”

“That’s a first,” Andrew said with a laugh.

I was about so say the same damn thing. Like – Neil “Attitude Problem” Josten, Neil “Attitude Problem” Josten, Neil “Attitude Problem” Josten – doesn’t want to start a fight?

It follows the most awkward meal I’ve encountered in a long time – polite conversation, forced as shit, with pauses in between and exactly no one enjoying themselves.

Then –

“You’re going back to Germany?” Maria shot her husband a startled look.

Nicky’s jaw tightened, but he looked his mother in the eye when he said, “Yes. Erik’s career is there. I wouldn’t ask him to leave just for me, and I wouldn’t want him to, anyway. I loved living in Germany. It’s an amazing place. You should visit us sometime.”

Nicky my boy I am so proud of you. I am seriously so proud right in this very moment.

Looking your mom, who has basically kicked you out for being who you are, right in the eye and refusing to be anything other than who you are takes serious, serious guts. <3

“We cannot condone sin,” Maria said.

“You don’t have to love the sin,” Nicky said, “but you’re supposed to forgive and love the sinner. Isn’t that what faith is about?”

“Faith is about following our Lord’s creed,” Luther said.

My eyes are rolling so far back in my skull they actually hurt.

WHY ARE YOU PEOPLE LIKE THIS.

“We have committed to repairing this family.” (…)

“Enlighten us,” Andrew said. (…) “If the first step isn’t tolerance, where does a pair of bigots begin in fixing a mess like this?”

Luther met Andrew’s stare with a calm one of his own. “With reparations for past mistakes. That is why you are here.”

With these cryptic words, Luther and Andrew disappear into the kitchen after dinner for some Fun Talk Times, of which we hear exactly nothing. Then, Luther comes back – Andrew doesn’t.

And when Neil inquires after what’s taking Andrew so long – that is when I start understanding why everyone, and I do mean EVERYONE, has warned me about this chapter.

“In fact, I think it’s promising he has been gone this long. He’ll come back when he’s finished speaking with Drake.”

Neil’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”

SAME, NEIL.

FUCKING WHAT.

“This dinner was not originally our idea,” Luther said. “One of Andrew’s former foster brothers came to us for help. They parted on unfriendly terms years ago, and it’s been so long since they last spoke he’s afraid their relationship is irreparably damaged. It made us think of our own familial problems and we were inspired to reach out again.”

This was the moment I started gripping my book so tight I almost ripped it, and did not let go until the chapter was over.

Neil gets his massive racquet, gets Aaron, and gets the fuck up the stairs to find Andrew.

And Andrew he finds.

I’m not quoting anything graphic here because we all fucking know what happens and I don’t wanna make anyone read that again but WHAT THE FUCK.

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCVK

At first I’d just thought they’d had a fight, shared a few punches, and then it HIT ME and I was SCREAMING, I HAVE NOT STOPPED SCREAMING FOR FOUR HOURS NOW WHAT THE F U C K.

And if all that wasn’t enough –

Neil saw too much blood and too much skin. He knew what he was seeing, knew what this meant, but couldn’t believe it yet. That didn’t stop him from leaping at Drake.

Aaron was faster.

AARON. FUCKING AARON.

WHAT ARE YOU THE FUCK DOING WHAT HAVE YOU DONE OH MY G O D.

THIS BOOK JUST WENT FROM ‘EDGY AND ANGSTY WITH A DASH OF IMPLIED VIOLENCE’ TO ‘ACTUALLY ILLEGALY VIOLENT AS IN FUCKING M U R D E R’ IN THE SPAN OF THREE PAGES.

WHAT

THE

FUCK

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Andrew wore only his shirt as he lay facedown on the mattress. He was covered in blood and a hundred shadows that would darken to terrible bruises. He held onto the headboard like he was glued to it, and he was laughing.

Cue the moment my heart fucking broke.

“Got quiet all of a sudden,” Andrew said, sounding surprised. (…) “Oh, oh, that’s unpleasant. I am not a fan of this at all.” (…) Andrew’s grin was wide and savage as he mocked his own pain.

Andrew. Andrew. ANDREW.

I cannot even put my feelings into words, just – ANDREW.

The strangled noise Aaron made was his best attempt at Andrew’s name. Andrew, who’d barely acknowledged Aaron’s existence in the entire time Neil had known them, looked immediately to his brother. (…)

“Andrew,” Aaron said, desperate and frightened. He held onto Andrew like he thought Andrew would disappear if he let go.

AARON. Andrew. Aaron. AARON AND ANDREW.

This is the first time I see them as brothers, not just as two people who happen to look the same. They didn’t even look the same in my head before.

Now they do, and I can picture them clear as day, sitting on a blood-splattered bed, two identical small blonde figures clinging onto each other as if their lives depend on it.

Don’t ask me if I am fucking okay. Don’t.

Andrew touched Aaron’s temple where he himself was injured as if he expected to find an identical injury there. “Did he touch you?”

HOW IS THAT YOUR MAIN PRIORITY RIGHT NOW.

I have a very, very clear idea of how that is his main priority right now. And I am NOT FCUKING LIKING IT WHAT THE SHITS.

Oh, look – the rest of the family is here.

You know what’s also here?

The fucking pinpoint moment I start going from ‘I guess I like Andrew he has cool moments and he’s an interesting character’ to ‘I LOVE THIS MURDER MANIAC KITTEN MORE THAN MYSELF AND I WANT TO PROTECT HIM ALWAYS’

“Don’t ask what. You know better. (…) Or do you still think this is a big misunderstanding? Go on, tell me again how I’m too unbalanced to understand normal brotherly love and affection. Tell me this is natural.”

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME.

IS THAT WHAT HAPPENED, PLEASE TELL ME YOU ARE FUCKING KIDDING ME, WHAT THE FUCK.

“Speaking of misunderstandings, am I remembering this wrong, or didn’t you promise me you would talk to Cass? You told me she wasn’t going to foster any more children after me, but apparently she’s had six more since I left juvie. (…) How many do you think were in her house when Drake was home between deployments?”

NO FUCK NO, IS THIS FOR REAL WHAT!!!!!!!!! THE SHIT!!!!!!!!!!

“Now you let him into your house,” Andrew said. “You put him under the same roof as your son, as my brother. After everything I did to keep them away from each other?”

This is decidedly NOT GOING INTO A DIRECTION I’M LIKING.

They didn’t know. They didn’t know about all this shit, nobody knew, this has happened so many times before, and nobody knew, and the only person who did know, the only person Andrew opened up to, told him he had misunderstood being raped.

I am going to be fucking sick.

Andrew peeled his armbands off one at a time and dropped them into Neil’s lap.

He said something, but Neil didn’t hear him. The pale shade of scarred skin was too familiar and too startling for him not to react.

Sorry to disappoint – I’d love to be all shocked about this, except I’ve seen a billion pieces of fanart with his scars, and I also kinda had the idea myself already.

Not shocked does not mean not emotional, however. ANDREW.

A N D R E W.

The chapter is over. They’re waiting for the police and the ambulance, and the chapter is done, and I had to stuff my arm into my mouth so many times to keep me from screaming.

I have never loved Andrew more than in this very minute. Never. I am now sold on this character.

He could probably bench-press me with his attitude alone and definitely does not need my protection, but I will still protect the absolute everloving fuck out of him.

I need a moment. Or fifty.

Nicki out.

#nicki reads tfc #tfc #trk #aftg #the foxhole court #the raven cycle #all for the game #tw rape #tw violence #tw death #you guys should know these but I'm putting them on here anyways because that shit is hardcore #I'm not even adding my kofi info this time i am so SHOOK #if ya wanna you know where to find a link #Imma need a break

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leahlisabeth · 7 years

Note

6. Empty Kiss - When one of you don’t kiss back, just the stoic feeling of their lips on yours, it’s empty, like no one even cares anymore. - Andreil fight, mayhaps???

Andrew knew something had shifted when feelings started to break through his drug fueled haze. At first, it was weak, just fleeting impressions sneaking through when he approached sobriety. There was fear, the urge to run, and, most improbably, every once in awhile he actually cared about Exy. The anger, the stubbornness, those he recognised, those could almost be his own, but the longing to be a part of the family, that was something that he had stomped out long ago.

Again, he blames the drugs because it took him far too long to realise the feelings were not his own. They belonged to this boy, the rabbit, scarred and terrified, but strong and full of words like knives, Neil Josten, the runaway, soulmate to the monster.

He wonders if Neil knows. He mustn’t. Would the longing to belong be this strong if he knew his soul had found a home? He wonders sometimes if Neil can feel anything from his side of the bond and if the drugs would let him care, he would rail at the injustice.

It takes months for the mark to even begin to show. It’s a fox paw because of course it is. Neil’s obsessed. And Andrew thinks it fits somehow because maybe if there was nothing standing in the way and he could let Neil be his everything, he would be drawn into everything else he was missing, the home and family that the Palmetto Foxes provided.

He traced the lines over and over in bed at night, pressing hard, trying to feel what he knew it should mean but he usually fell asleep without an answer.

Thanksgiving arrived and everything changed again. Drake happened and Andrew was separated from everyone, separated from Neil, and he was getting clean. He would trace the mark every time he couldn’t sleep, when the pain from withdrawal grew too much. He wished he could feel Neil, that he could draw strength from his feelings, from a Christmas celebrated with friends, and a new year full of possibility. But he was also happy that the bond hadn’t darkened yet and Neil wouldn’t have his Christmas ruined by Andrew’s pain.

And then he comes back, and Neil is bruised and broken, and Andrew never really believed this was real. But sometimes now, Neil lets him pin him to the ground and kiss him slowly and the fox paw on his forearm is red as scarlet. Neil blushes as red as the mark when he finally pulls up the hem of his shorts to let Andrew see the outline of the key traced on his inner thigh. Andrew kisses Neil like his life depends on it and waits for the other shoe to drop.

The away game in Binghamton is an exercise in restraint. He sits beside Neil in the bus and can feel every thought and feeling as Neil remembers their kisses the night before. Neil is dangerous. Andrew makes promises.

He feels a spike of fear from Neil as he waits for him outside the showers. He almost barges in to demand an explanation but Neil calms almost immediately. Neil exits the showers, his hair wet and his shirt clinging to his skin as if he hadn’t properly dried off before putting it on. He looks around, able to hide his hint of surprise from everyone but Andrew. He comes and stands directly in front of Andrew and smiles. It isn’t a smile that Andrew recognizes.

“Thank you. You were amazing,” Neil said, and Andrew was overwhelmed. Neil was leaving the stadium, right behind the security guard before Andrew could even begin to sort out what Neil had just given him. There was pride, and something Andrew thought might be love, but there was fear too, and bitter determination, and Andrew ran to catch up to Neil when he realised the sour thread running through everything was goodbye.

Then the riot began and he was too late. He could feel fear and pain from Neil, enough to drive him mad. He barely felt the elbow driving into his eye.

And then the riot ended and the fear and pain went on. Andrew found Neil’s duffle, phone tucked inside, and his Exy racquet a few feet away, handle broken and splintered. Neil was nowhere.

And no one else seemed worried. Dan was preoccupied with Matt’s injuries. Wymack and Abby were perfectly calm and said they would call around to the other hospitals once they had had time to get organised. There was no reason to panic now. Everyone he knew was sitting, laughing, relieved to be alive and safe, and his own world was imploding. Pain was fluttering up and down his hands and arms. Andrew knew intimately what a razor to the forearm felt like. Fire licked at his inner thigh and his soulmark exploded in pain. Andrew screamed hoarsely and doubled over, collapsing to the floor.

Abby was there a moment later, frantically patting him down for injuries. Andrew couldn’t speak because it was suddenly much too quiet. The place in his mind that Neil had occupied since they met was empty and echoing. Even the residual ache from Neil’s pain had disappeared entirely.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,” Andrew whispered as he tore off his right armband. “It’s not black, he’s alive.” But the mark had changed to a deep purple and Andrew didn’t know what that meant.

“Neil’s…” Dan choked. “He’s your soulmate?”

Nicky deflated, pulled a wad of cash out of his wallet, and handed it to Allison. Dan shot them a venomous glare.

“We’ll get him back, Andrew,” Wymack started but Andrew was done, he pushed past them all and locked himself in the bathroom. He didn’t emerge until Wymack knocked on the door hours later.

“He’s been found. The FBI has him,” he said simply.

Andrew stood and strode out into the main room. Two men in suits stood there, falsely sympathetic. Andrew marched right up to the taller of the two men, grabbed his black tie, and yanked the man’s face down to his level. “Where is Neil? I want to see him.”

The man fought and Andrew lost himself to a haze of rage until he feels metal around his wrist and recognizes Wymack’s face. “You can’t do anything for Neil if they lock you up,” Wymack said.

Andrew listens. But he doesn’t settle until he comes back from parking the bus and Neil is there in front of him again. It feels wrong. Neil is on his knees and Andrew is front of him. He’s close enough to touch, so why can’t he feel him? Andrew gently peels the bandages off Neil’s face and the wrongness intensifies. The burns, the cuts, those would have been agonizing, and Andrew hadn’t felt them at all.

Andrew leans forward, grasps the back of Neil’s neck, and pulls him into a desperate kiss, heedless of the people watching. And it’s just empty, it’s nothing, Neil isn’t kissing back. Andrew pushes closer, frantic, trying to find the fire of their kisses from only days before. But nothing changes. It’s like Neil doesn’t even care.

Neil pulls back first. Andrew tries to chase his lips but Neil’s hand is firm on his chest and it so clearly is shouting no. Neil clutches at his inner thigh, the place his soulmark had formed, and Andrew could see the bulk of bandages under his pants.

“I’m sorry,” Neil said hollowly. “I thought I was going to die. I couldn’t let you feel my death. I…I broke it.”

For the first time, Andrew could understand why Neil ran. All he wanted to do was run until he couldn’t feel anymore. He missed the oblivion of the drugs. But he didn’t run. Neil still had to be questioned by the FBI and, even if Neil would never feel the same way about him again, he had to make sure Neil returned, that Neil could keep his found family, his Foxes.

Returning to Palmetto was probably the hardest thing he had ever done. Reminders of what he had lost were everywhere. He couldn’t go to his rooftop refuge, he wanted to tear the beanbag chairs in their living room apart. Mere hours after returning, he found himself sitting on his bed, armbands on the pillow beside him, his sharpest knife resting in his hand, poised over the fox paw on his forearm. One quick slice and he could stop feeling all of this.

A soft knock interrupted his musing. He shoved the knife under the pillow with a promise of later and answered the door. Neil stood there, black garbage bags and duct tape cradled in his bandaged arms.

“I’m sorry,” Neil said. “I need to shower but I can’t cover…my hands…” He shrugged. “I didn’t want Matt to see my scars.”

And Andrew nodded and followed Neil to the bathroom because he doesn’t know what he’s asking. There’s so much weight to this moment, seeing Neil completely naked for the first time. The soulmark is hardly visible. The outline of the key is broken by white jagged lines as if Neil had torn it open with his fingernails. It’s the only wound that has already healed and scarred. Andrew wants to touch it but Neil’s answer is no longer yes.

He helps Neil cover his wounds and turns on the shower. He should leave but this might be his last moment to let himself feel and he’s not ready for it to end. He follows Neil into the shower, fully clothed, and starts to shampoo his hair. Neil faces him. Andrew almost wishes he would turn away. He can feel the water running down his neck and Neil is so close. Neil bends for a moment, chasing a rivulet of water as it snakes down Andrew’s neck. Andrew moans and Neil pulls back, blushing.

Andrew finishes Neil’s hair and kneels down to wash his legs and feet. He’s eye level with Neil’s cock and this is not how he imagined being in this position.

“I wanted this so much,” Neil speaks hoarsely from above him. “I would dream about this. I remember the want, everything I felt about you. But it’s like there is a wall between me now and me then. I wish I could go back.”

Andrew is suddenly glad that the water pouring down his face disguises his tears. He blinks up at Neil. “Yes or no?” He holds his breath.

Neil face twists but he nods and Andrew leans forward and sucks him down. Neil cries out brokenly and Andrew tries to pour everything he had ever received through the bond from Neil into this one encounter that would never be repeated. Neil sobs when he comes. Andrew crowds him into the wall of the shower, keeping him on his feet. He grips one hand around the back of Neil’s neck and holds eye contact and his other hand slips down into his pants tugging and stroking, completely silent as he finds his own orgasm.

“Goodbye, Neil,” he says and he leaves the shower, dripping water back into his own room. The soulmark on his forearm has faded into a light gray and Andrew knows it is over. He scratched absentmindedly at the side of his neck where Neil’s lips had been mere minutes before. He looked in the mirror and saw the faintest outline of a fox paw where before had been unmarked skin.

He dashes back over to Neil’s room. Neil is scratching the back of his neck and craning to get a look at it in the mirror. Andrew looks and rests his forehead on the back of Neil’s neck. It’s a key. Andrew is feeling again. He’s not sure if it’s from his own heart or that of the boy in front of him, but he knows what the feeling is, it’s hope.

#i'm sorry #but you gave me a very angsty prompt #how much do you hate me right now?#soulmate au #andreil #aftg #i wrote this

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