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bookshelf-dust · 1 year

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the hurt is good

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

billy hargrove x fem!reader

word count: 4,398

warnings: swearing, smoking, mentions of neil, reader has insecurities/social anxiety/anxiety in general, billy’s anxiety, descriptions of a wound, fluff, comfort

a/n: hi! so i worked on this for a couple days and i’ve kind of been wracking my brain with trying to figure out where i want to go, if that makes sense, but i think maybe i’ve gotten somewhere with this part. there’s definitely more opening up on both billy and reader’s side. there’s also one bit inspired by good will hunting, incase anyone catches it. anyways, this has been very self indulgent for me, and i hope that maybe you might find something in it. enjoy!! <33

before you read, listen to: fade to black by metallica and/or don’t dream it’s over by crowded house

————

It’s cloudy this morning, and you can feel the cold metal of your car door against your back, despite the layers you’ve got on.

You can feel Billy’s eyes on you too, so you focus on the details of his car rather than on him. On the shimmer the paint has in it when the light hits it the right way, the little scuff at the bottom of the driver’s side door.

You give in and turn your head to look at him, meeting his pretty blue eyes.

Billy takes a drag from his cigarette, assessing you.

He watches you pick at your nails, mess with your hair. Then you finally shove your hands in your pockets, though he thinks there’s probably lint in there you’ll play with too.

You watch him turn his head and blow the smoke in the other direction, like he does every time he has one near you.

Billy realized fairly quickly that you got to school earlier than necessary because you wanted to beat the rush of kids, spare the anxiety that came with parking.

He wasn’t really aware that parking is something that stresses people out. But it stresses you out.

And Billy has anxiety. He knows that. He feels it everyday. When people watch him in the halls at school, when he’s at home. Shit, it never stops at home.

But yours is different. You’re different than he is. He hides his well, and you don’t. Though maybe, he thinks, that’s because you never had to.

So he started getting there earlier too. Max would’ve complained, but she could skate around until the rest of the party got there. She found that she liked it that way.

Now, in the mornings, Billy pulls into the space next to you, tears you away from your book, and spends the rest of the time until you actually have to go into school talking to you—or not talking.

You’ve found that though it’s easy to talk to him, it’s also just as easy to be around him without speaking at all. You’ve found that his company is enough. His presence.

Billy notices, when you’ve turned to look at him, that you’re biting at the inside of your lip. He notices because he recognizes the movement, because he does the same thing. It’s rare that the inside of either of his lips aren’t sore because he’s chewed them raw.

“It’s going to be fine, you know,” Billy tells you. He stomps out the butt of his cigarette.

“You always say that.”

And truly, you know he’s got a point. You’ve studied your ass off for this test, have even had him look over your outlines for the essay portion too. You feel prepared.

But there’s always that voice in the back of your head, telling you otherwise.

The voice that clouds your mind like a shadow, that wraps its arms around your shoulders and squeezes.

It moves your hair to the side and whispers in your ear.

You’re not good enough. You have no purpose. You’re nothing. What are you doing here?

And more often than not, you believe it.

Billy walks toward you, adjusts the collar on your jacket, straightens the pin on the front pocket. He stares at you, a stern look on his face.

“And I’m always right, aren’t I? You’re going to be fine, in the end.”

You nod, and his mouth ticks up at the corners.

Billy bends the middle finger on his right hand and drags his knuckle across your cheek. It’s what he does now when he wants to offer you comfort.

You know it’s in place of a hug, or a kiss, or some passionate string of words that he can’t bring yet himself to say.

It hasn’t been but a couple weeks since that day at lunch.

He’d sat there, stealing food from your lunchbox and reading some book for English class. Something he’d never have picked out for himself and certainly wasn’t enjoying.

After that Billy found himself looking for you in the halls, just wanting to know you were there. It’s like when you’re a kid and your seat mate doesn’t come to school, and you feel this ache for them.

He’s not what it is, but he likes you. He likes your company. He likes that you don’t pester him or try to stomp all over his ego.

Billy Hargrove aches for you.

From then on, it’s been quiet conversations whenever you see each other, joining him for a walk when he’s outside. Sometimes he strolls down your driveway to wait for you.

It’s been nothing more than two lonely people finding solace in one another, in realizing that either person will understand whenever the dam breaks.

Billy might not know all the inner workings of your soul yet, but he feels like he does.

It’s when he asks you a question he hasn’t ventured to ask yet, though, that he realizes he wants to know more.

He wants to be your friend.

You watch the carline for the middle school pick up, listen to the shitty country music that the kids who live further out from town play on their way into the lot.

Billy knocks his ankle against yours softly. You look down, realizing that you’ve both got on the same pair of shoes: converse that look like they’ve seen much better days.

You look up, thinking he wants something. “Hm?”

“Would you want to go somewhere tonight? I don’t know,” he trails off, unwrapping a piece of gum and popping it into his mouth, “the record store? Or the bookstore, if you’d rather that. We could get something to eat.”

You feel yourself get warm all over and straighten from where you’d been relaxed against your car.

Billy senses that what he said set something off in you, and he starts to worry. “We could do anything you want.”

You inhale, avoiding eye contact with him.

“Uh, I don’t know, Billy. I’ve got to study.”

He scoffs. “For what? Your test is today.”

“Yeah, we’ll I’ve got another one next week,” you say.

“So you’re going to start studying a week early?” He asks.

“Yeah.”

You don’t sound so sure of yourself. It’s like you’re scrambling for a way out of this, for an excuse as to why you can’t spend time with him.

“My mom might need me tonight or something. I’ll have to ask her.”

Billy almost makes a quip about you having to ask your mommy’s permission to go out, though he decides against it, because you’re shrinking before his very eyes.

“Yeah?” He inquires.

You nod, shouldering your bag.

————

Billy calls you after school. Your mother picks up.

“Hi! This is Nicky. Who’s calling?”

He takes a deep breath. Your mother sounds kind, which he isn’t used to.

“Hi. This is Billy. Billy Hargrove. I was trying to reach Y/N, is she home?”

“Oh, hi, Billy! Yeah, she’s home. I think she might be asleep though.”

“That’s okay.” He tries to call her by your last name, but she insists that Nicky is just fine.

“Can I ask you something?” He continues.

Your mother doesn’t know a whole lot about your budding friendship with Billy, but she does know that you’ve seemed a little less…empty.

At least she thinks so. She thinks he might be good for you, and based on the fact that he’s calling, you might be good for him too.

“Sure, hon. Shoot.”

“Do you need Y/N tonight? Do you have plans?”

Your mother hums. “Nope to both. Any particular reason why you’re asking?”

“I wanted to see her tonight, but she said she had stuff to do.”

It clicks for him then, all at once.

“But now that I’m thinking about it, maybe she’s nervous? To go out and about? I’m sorry for saying all this, really,” Billy covers.

“No, sweetheart it’s okay.”

That almost does him in. No one parental has ever spoken to him this way. Not since his mom.

“Y/N has pretty bad social anxiety, so oftentimes she gets nervous about going out in public where there are loads of people. Does that make sense?”

“No, yeah that totally makes sense. Thank you for telling me.”

He’s silent for a few seconds, thinking. “Do you think you could check on her? If she’s asleep don’t bother her though.” He finally says.

“Hold on just a second, okay sweetie? I’ll go see what she’s up to.”

Billy smiles, and he’s sure your mother can hear it in his voice when he responds. “Okay.”

The line goes quiet on her end, and he can hear what he assumes is the sound of your mother setting the phone on the counter. He can also hear some muffled voices.

He really wants to see you, but he understands if you’d rather stay home. He would try and invite you over to his, but he’d also like to avoid that.

There’s s a large part of Billy that wants to be there for you and learn what it is that you’re feeling. He can’t say that he doesn’t get nervous to be the center of attention in crowded places, because he does, but he’s never felt like he couldn’t go out like you do.

There’s a shuffling over the phone that brings him out of his stupor.

This time it’s your voice that he hears, and it’s calm, sweet, just like your mother’s had been. You’re not upset with him. His shoulders relax at that realization.

“Hi, Billy.”

“Guess you weren’t sleeping then, huh?”

You laugh lightly. “Nope. Just wallowing in self pity. What’d you wanna talk about?”

“About what I asked you today. I’d really like to spend a little more time with you, but I don’t want you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, you hear me?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Let me think for a second, okay?”

“Only for a second. I don’t want you to psych yourself out.” Billy can hear you sigh heavily, and he rolls his eyes. He can practically picture you, standing there.

“Um, okay. I’ll-I’ll go. Yeah, I’ll go. I haven’t been anywhere besides school in a long ass time.” That bit seems directed more at yourself than at Billy.

“Okay, little honeybee.” He’d heard your mom call for you and he was saving that one up.

“Fuck off,” you start, though there’s no malice in your voice. “Also, we can go to both, by the way.”

“Huh?” He questions, caught off guard.

“The record store and the bookstore. You offered the bookstore and I’m not letting it go.”

“Stubborn ass,” he mumbles.

“Can it, Hargrove. Are you picking me up? If so, when?”

He knows you could just walk down the street and go wherever with him. But he doesn’t want that. He finds that he’s kind of excited to see you.

“Yeah I can pick you up, your highness.”

————

Billy reaches across and pushes the passenger side door open when he sees you patter down the sidewalk.

“Thank you,” he hears you mumble, pulling the door shut behind you.

“Mhm.”

The both of you are silent for a moment, and you watch houses flick by outside the window. You wonder what people are up to. If they’re comfortable in those houses. If they’ve got carpet or hardwoods or stairs.

The radio volume is shockingly low you notice, but high enough that you catch something you recognize: the beginning of “Fade to Black.”

“Is there a reason you’re keeping the music so quiet?” You ask, and Billy glances at you for just a second.

“I was trying to not be an asshole,” he smirks, but it turns into a full, swoon-worthy smile when he sees you do the same at his remark.

“Well, you can turn it up, if you want. I like this song.”

Billy laughs. “Don’t fuck with me like that, Y/N.” He reaches for the dial and turns it up anyways. “Are you trying to tell me that you like Metallica?”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Hargrove?” You sit on your hands, the leather seat cold on the backs of your fingers.

“I don’t know, I’m just not used to people liking the music I like.”

You laugh.

“So which one is it?” Billy asks.

You ignore him, pretend you don’t know what he’s asking.

“Is it James?”

Your grin is wide.

“It is, isn’t it?”

“Maybe. But Kirk is pretty too. Not that I don’t think they’re all pretty, because they are.”

“Pretty?” He snorts.

“Yes, Billy.” You’re feeling brave, happiness spreading through you because you got to talk about something you like—so you go for it. “You’re pretty too.”

Billy coughs, and you pat him on the shoulder. “That’s a new one,” he tells you.

“Well get used to it, pretty boy.”

————

You’ve only been in the record store for five minutes, but Billy can sense that you’re nervous. There’s a pretty good crowd meandering through the aisles, and it’s a Friday night, so that’s no surprise.

You keep close to him, and you worry that he’s bothered by it, but you really do feel better when he’s right there.

Billy watches you flick through a set of Journey tapes, notices when you seem to panic a little if he goes too far away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, your eyes downcast at a stack of magazines.

“For what?”

“Being a buzzkill. I doubt I’m very good company.”

“Don’t say that.” His voice is serious enough that you look up at him. “You’re not a buzzkill. And you’re the best company I’ve had since I got here.”

You keep eye contact with him for a few seconds, realize he’s got freckles. That’s enough to straighten you out.

“Can we go to the back? That’s where they put the random shit they find and then it’s usually like fifty cents.”

He smiles.

“Yeah, come on.” Billy holds out his hand. He wiggles his fingers when you don’t immediately take it. “So I don’t lose you in the crowd,” he says.

You feel yourself burn, but take his hand, and his palm is rough against yours.

He leads you to the far end of the store, and you find exactly the thing you were looking for. You walk around awhile, looking at everything and nothing.

You see something, and when you go to grab it, you let go of Billy’s hand and move your own up to his bicep, where you hold on to him instead.

Billy likes you holding his arm better, he thinks. It feels more…intimate. Like you trust him. He’s not used to that.

When you catch him looking at where you’re grasping him, you squeeze his arm a little, just above his elbow. “So I don’t lose you in the crowd,” you say, giggling to yourself. You say it the same way that people day “duh,” and that makes Billy’s heart skip.

You pick up what it was that you saw: an Ozzy Osbourne bobble head.

“What did Ozzy do to them? This is fifteen cents, Billy.”

“Maybe they really like bats.”

That does you in, and the both of you start laughing, enough that you get looks, but neither of you care.

You set it back down and move on, though there really isn’t that much more to look at. Billy buys a Tank tape, and that’s all.

He tosses his bag in the backseat of the Camaro so that he doesn’t have to hold it, and then walks you back down the street towards the bookstore.

You lead the way through the aisles, through fantasy and then romance and then mystery.

It’s obvious to him that you’ve been here loads of times and that you have a plan. You also seem much more comfortable here—like it’s your kind of atmosphere.

It’s in the mystery section that you linger, though, and he watches you pick up the same book, read the blurb, and then put it back three separate times.

“Y/N,” he says.

“Billy.”

You crouch to look at another shelf.

“You should get that one you just put back.”

“I have plenty of books.”

Billy rolls his eyes and reaches for it. “This one, right?”

You look up, nod.

“I’ll get it for you then,” he states.

“Billy—” You start, but he cuts you off.

“Can it.”

“Janet,” you say under your breath.

“What was that?”

“Guess that means I’ll have to make you watch Rocky Horror.”

“I’m buying you a present, and you’re going to punish me by making me watch some chick-flick?”

You grab for his arm again, and walk towards the register. “It’s not a chick-flick, Hargrove.”

“Whatever you say.”

You watch him pay, and he hands the paperback to you on your way back to the car.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

You both get in, and he sits a second to let it warm a little. “Dinner?” Billy asks.

“Sure.”

————

Your mother is leaning against the counter, making herself hot chocolate when you get home. “Want some?” Her smile is contagious.

You accept, and she spins back around after turning the stove back on, realizing you’re holding something.

She wiggles her eyebrows, which she should really refrain from doing.

“Billy bought me a book,” you tell her.

“He’s a keeper.”

————

It’s been a couple days since your not-date with Billy. That’s what your mom is calling it, much to your dismay.

She’s gone out for a little while, and you’re reading that book the pretty blonde bought you.

You hear a knock and panic, because you don’t do well with unannounced visitors, but you go to the door anyways.

A look through the peephole tells you it’s Billy.

You pull the door open, and panic a little more because his eyes are glassy, though you can tell he doesn’t want them to be.

His hands are clenching and unclenching, and he’s not wearing a jacket, so he’s got no sleeve to mess with either.

“I’m sorry. Your mom’s car wasn’t here so I thought—it doesn’t matter. Can I—”

“It’s okay,” you stop him. “Will you come in please?”Something is wrong, clearly, and frankly, he’s freaking you out.

He doesn’t say anything, just follows you inside, lingering in the doorway.

“What’s wrong?”

“I need you to promise you’re not going to flip out on me if I tell you.”

Your breath catches. What the fuck?

“Are you a murderer or some shit? Because I can clean things, but I am not that good.”

“Oh my god, Y/N, no.” Billy runs his hands down his face. “I need you your help. There’s a cut on my back, and I can feel it bleeding, but I can’t clean it up myself. I was going to ask you to look at it.”

You take a deep breath, start thinking about if you’ve got anything to fix him up with.

You turn around and walk towards your bathroom, leaving him there. “I’m assuming you’re following me,” you say.

You want to ask him what happened, but you don’t want to push either.

Because he came to you. And maybe that means something.

You crouch, opening the cabinets under your sink. You gesture vaguely behind you when you wear Billy stop in the doorway.

“Sit down for me, please,” you tell him.

“Yes ma’am.”

You roll your eyes, and though he can’t see your face, he can most definitely feel it.

You push the door open wider, and you come into view for him. You’re sat cross legged on the floor.

Billy watches you pull out a washcloth, some q-tips. A messy assortment of other things.

You look up at him. “Can you show me?”

He nods, and you stand, kicking the cabinets shut. You try not to stare as he unbuttons his shirt and slips it off of his shoulders. He turns so he’s sitting sideways on the toilet.

You bend to look at it.

It’s not horrible or anything, but you know it has to hurt. It’s more of a bruise than anything, starting to get purple around the edges, but he was right about the blood—though it wasn’t a lot.

There’s a thin gash above his shoulder blade. It looks like the kind of thing you get when you bump into something wrong and it scrapes you, leaving a cut just deep enough to draw blood.

“You’re not bleeding anymore, it’s all dry now. I’m gonna wipe it off, okay?”

Billy sniffles. “Okay.”

You turn the tap on and wait for the water to get a little warmer, not wanting it to be too cold for him. You wet the rag and then wipe the dried blood clean from his skin, rinsing the fabric and then repeating that process until it’s clean.

You feel like you need something to put on it. The placement is bothering you and feels more susceptible to getting irritated. You really don’t want it to bother him.

With a little more rummaging, you find some antibiotic ointment that you’ve used for knee scrapes before.

You put some on the tip of your finger. “This is probably going to be cold, I’m sorry.”

Billy nods, and is quiet the entire time you rub it over the cut. You try not to notice how warm his skin is under your finger. Or how his bare back looks.

“You haven’t asked,” he finally says.

You wash your hands. “I didn’t know if you’d want to tell me.”

You pull out one of those oversized bandaids. “It’s my dad.”

Your fingers freeze where they tear into the packaging, but you calm yourself before sticking the bandaid on him.

“He got pissed at me today, and there’s a bookshelf in my room. He slammed me up against it, and my shoulder caught on the edge of a cassette tape.”

You move in front of him to drop your mess of supplies into the trash and sit on the edge of the tub to listen.

“It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. He’s fucking hated my guts since my mom left. But I guess I’ve never had someone I felt like I could come to about it.”

You feel that everywhere.

You reach out and push a curl out of his face. “I’m sorry, Billy.”

You move to get on your knees in front of him so that your faces are level and take his hands. “It’s not your fault.”

His brow furrows. You say it again.

“It’s not your fault. I’m sure you think it is, but it’s not.”

His eyes are getting glossy again. “It might be though. If I’d just been different—”

“No. Don’t say that. You’re doing your best, Billy, and that’s enough. He’s an asshole and you deserve better.”

Billy nods again and again as if reassuring himself, as if trying to absorb your words.

“Hug?” You ask.

He nods again.

And you just hold him for awhile. He doesn’t cry, but you can feel him relax in your hold, feel him melt into you.

You think about how much it means to you that he feels comfortable enough with you to share this. That you’ve never felt this way before. This ache and this sincere passion for the well-being of another person.

You also think about how he smells like cigarettes and something fruity, which you assume is in his hair, and like his cologne.

Billy thinks about how he hasn’t been hugged like this since his mom. He thinks about something else he hasn’t felt in a really long time too. He wonders how long it will take for him to get the courage to tell you. If you feel the same.

Eventually, you pull away, and Billy pulls his shirt back on, grinning at you when your eyes linger on his chest as he buttons it up.

“Would you want to stay for awhile? Maybe for dinner or something?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

————

When your mother comes home, she’s not surprised that Billy is there, nor upset by his presence. She’s happy to see you with someone.

She may even have wiggled her eyebrows at you both.

But now, the three of you have not only eaten dinner, but heard every bit of gossip that your mother had to offer. It was after the bean spill that your mom dugout your very worn in copy of The Rocky Horror Picture Show for you to watch.

“You know,” she’d told Billy, “when Y/N was a kid, I left her with her with Wendy and went to see a midnight showing of this. It was so beautiful, all of these people dressed up in this room just to watch a silly film.”

Billy hasn’t ever felt this welcome in someone’s home. Never even in his own.

He’s sitting on the floor in between your legs while you braid his hair and he watches Dr. Frank-N-Furter dance around with Columbia.

So, come up to the lab

And see what’s on the slab

You’ve been quiet mostly during the movie regarding talking, though Billy revels in your laugh each time Brad says something stupid—so it’s pretty damn often.

You’d also told Billy he’d look spectacular in a corset, and that was after he agreed to let you practice the makeup someday. He’d hidden his blushing cheeks from you.

“I see you shiver with antici…pation.”

Your mother is sitting in an oversized chair across from the two of you.

“She does that every time,” she tells Billy with the sweetest of grins on her face.

Billy’s hand slips under your thigh and holds on to your knee.

“Done?” He whispers.

You tie the braid off. “Yep.”

When he leans his head back in your lap to look at you, you can’t help but feel like you’re the only girl in the world.

And when he leaves that night, you miss him. You miss Billy Hargrove.

It’s been a long time since you missed someone.

You watch your mother clean up the kitchen before bed.

“He’s a grump, but I like him,” she says suddenly. “I can’t believe he let you braid his hair.”

You hide a smile, not quite believing it yourself either.

“I like him too.”

And she knows you feel more than that for him. She can see it.

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

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neutron-stars-collision · 4 months

Text

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 4 - North Greenwich Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 3 Summary: Neil's brief disappearance does nothing to extinguish the sparks. As he returns, you make a series of discoveries about each other and grow ever so much closer. Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language, ridiculous amounts of flirting as per usual. Buckle up bc we're amping the pace a little... ;) Author's Notes: Well... that was a long break between the chapters 🙈 My apologies, turns out that having a job takes away the little joys in life like writing silly stories. Anyways, here we are, at last. With another 10.7k. And this one's packed with many good, fun things ;))) Some of those scenes had been months in the making (if not years, considering I first mentioned this AU to Shet in like 2021? I think?). So, yeah. They had it long time coming. More cameos, more nonsensical POV changes and, above all, more certified idiocy by them two kids. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

What Neil’s departure from London did not do was change the way things worked between you. Although you only had meagre information about his whereabouts (such as that he was within the same time zone but in a different country), there was no sense of a breach building in the space of that strange yet solid connection. With the anxieties surrounding the imminent ‘Don Quixote’ premiere keeping your blood pressure high daily, you more than enjoyed being able to pick up your phone and message him whenever possible.

He did not always respond immediately, but it was not a must. What mattered was that Neil eventually got back to you. Never disclosing any information about his work trip, apart from the fact that it was warm there even in mid-October, he still made the effort to keep up with your antics. In that sense, the insanity of the date you had risked changed absolutely nothing.

But it also changed everything.

It was as if your free will chose to conspire with the soul’s desires to get what they wanted. Namely – Neil. Because as soon as you had even begun considering breaching the line separating friendship from every other kind of relationship, your brain decided it was done.

Being his girlfriend was not on the list of priorities or wants, but getting in his pants definitely was. It was almost freeing to admit.

The only question left after all that soul-searching was whether Neil wanted you like that, too. Sometimes there were no doubts about that, either.

Almost a week in, with the ballet previews looming on the horizon and no chance of sleep anytime soon, you huffed an annoyed sigh and picked up the phone from your bedside table. Bleary eyes registered the hour (five past midnight) as you opened apps randomly, already giving up on the promise of sleep. It took you another few minutes to make up your mind, open the texts and stare at the conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours since the last exchange concerning the warmth of the climate wherever he was. You had been (fruitlessly) trying to make Neil send you a picture. Of himself. Not necessarily without clothes, but that was the dream. And a girl was allowed to dream, right?

Squinting at the screen, you hesitated for another millisecond before typing out the simple question:

/ 🏹, 00:15 am/ Are you missing me yet?

Neil did not make you wait for long.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ Obviously.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ I’m barely coping here, sunshine.

/ 🏹, 00:29 am/ Gee, you’re making it too easy.

/✝️, 00:30 am/ Making what too easy?

/ 🏹, 00:33 am/ Missing you.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ See, I thought my cheeky line would get a lukewarm response, so I was prepared to tease you further.

/ 🏹, 00:34 am/ And now I’ve no quips to offer.

/✝️, 00:39 am/ Apologies. I’ll do better next time.

/ 🏹, 00:40 am/ I’ll make sure of that.

/✝️, 00:42 am/ And what punishment do you propose?

/ 🏹, 00:43 am/ I’ve always wondered what you’d sound like if you begged.

/✝️, 00:44 am/ It could probably be arranged.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ I’ve no qualms about getting on my knees for a beautiful woman.

/✝️, 00:45 am/ But that would hardly be a punishment.

/ 🏹, 00:48 am/ Yeah, but if I let you have that and then left you… on your knees, so painfully hard with no release… How would that feel?

/✝️, 00:51 am/ You win this one.

/✝️, 00:52 am/ And yes, I’m blushing. Fiercely.

/ 🏹, 00:59 am/ Good, I was hoping you are. Goodnight, Neil.

As you hit send on the last message, your head hit the pillows with an audible ‘oof’. Your cheeks burned; the blush invisible in the dark yet still very much there. That was the problem with Neil and your chats. It was impossible to say when they would turn in that direction. When you would both lose control and follow a line of conversation that probably never should have happened. Not that you were complaining.

It was good to know what you could expect from Neil. If things happened the way you wished, they would. Admittedly, he’d look good on his knees. That was a fact.

That night you only got five hours of sleep, but who counted it anyway. What mattered was that you had some excellent dreams. Dreams that you hoped would end up prophetic.

On other days, your conversations were a little more serious. Like that early afternoon when you just finished the final in-costume run of the Cupid variation and exited the ROH to wander the streets of Soho. Whenever you felt close to losing your sanity, the walk around those familiar spots always did the trick. It was easier to breathe, to hope that you would not fuck it all up when the curtain call came. To believe that imposter syndrome was nothing more than a vile bitch.

Sighing against the thoughts muddling your brain, you took out the phone and immediately noticed the new message:

/✝️, 1:49 pm/ How’s the garden of the Dryads coming along?

/✝️, 1:50 pm/ It probably goes without saying that you’re my favourite ballerina.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ Damn, that’s high praise. Especially considering that I’m the only ballerina you know.

/ 🏹, 2:06 pm/ I think the garden is coming along nicely. Not so sure about Cupid, tho.

/✝️, 2:08 pm/ I call bullshit on that.

/✝️, 2:09 pm/ I just know that you’re brilliant.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ Doubt, she said.

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ ‘Cause like… How do you deal with the overwhelming weight of expectations?

/✝️, 2:18 pm/ I mean, I panic and lose it instantly, but generally speaking, I think you just sort of… ignore it and trust you are good enough.

/✝️, 2:19 pm/ I know that you are, Cupid. This role was made for you.

/ 🏹, 2:22 pm/ Elaborate, please. I need my ego stroked.

/✝️, 2:23 pm/ Well, she sorts of saunters onto the stage and has a minute to dazzle everyone, yeah?

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ Which is exactly what you did to me.

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ You’ve got this.

/ 🏹, 2:26 pm/ God, you’re irreconcilable. Better come back so I can force you to sit through this.

/✝️, 2:27 pm/ Working on it as we speak.

A smile painted itself on your face with an inerasable stroke of brush. Neil’s constant support and cheerleading were a welcome surprise. Sometimes, your meeting almost felt like a divine intervention. That is if you believed in such things. Because the odds of gaining both a fascinating man to pursue and a friend were quite low. And yet.

As you looped your steps back towards Covent Garden, you made the mental note to visit the box office and add a request for the guest list. It was a rare enough event to have someone you could invite to the performance. And have the right to believe they would come. You were not going to squander that sort of chance.

***

The whirring ceiling fan was starting to get on his nerves with its endless sputtering. And it was not even working, as far as Neil was concerned. The sweat still clung to his skin and trickled down his back to a point where he seriously contemplated ditching the shirt. And that rarely happened. Especially not on the job, with the whole squad confined to a medium-sized safehouse.

The bustle of the city streamed through the windows, cracked open so they could let in fresh air while still having a chance of keeping them safe from snipers and the like. Granted, one could never be fully prepared for an inverted shot, but it was worth trying not to get killed. Especially during a mission that technically was just a recon. Though Neil knew better than to believe The Protagonist when the man claimed something was perfectly safe. He meant well, sure. But despite the appearances, he did not know everything.

So, the windows cracked open three inches had to do. Neil sighed, annoyance digging deep beneath his skin to stay there for a little longer. It was another one of those boring, yet technically productive afternoons in the safehouse. Today, the task was to plan a hypothetical pincer movement. Just in case, they said. Well, Neil sure did hope the case never came to be.

He glanced at the blacked-out screen of his phone, the muscle memory betraying him as he picked up the device almost mindlessly and opened the conversation with Cupid. It had been a few hours since the last chat, which was pretty usual. They did not need to talk all the time. Neil knew that. He also knew that it was probably better they did not talk constantly. Considering that 3 out of 5 conversations always ended up dirty, up to the point where he was blushing like an idiot. And, sometimes disappeared in the bathroom to deal with some troublesome effects of those chats.

Yes, considering all that, Neil knew it was best they took some breaks. But also-

“Blondie, can you give us a hand with this?” the yell from further inside the apartment acted like a bucket of cold water tipped over his head unceremoniously.

Neil whipped his head up, glaring at the open doorway. Unfortunately, being referred to as ‘blondie’ was becoming more frequent. The petulant nature urged him to ignore it, but he knew that was hardly the last one. With another long-suffering sigh, he heaved himself out of the armchair and called back:

“I said I’m coming,” granted, that was over fifteen minutes ago, but everyone could get distracted. Right? “Would it hurt you to ask nicer?” he stalked down the corridor toward the living area with an arched eyebrow.

It was not surprising to meet a mirroring expression on the faces of Ives, Wheeler, and Jeremy sitting in a trifecta of judgment. Neil had no doubts about his place in that makeshift courtroom.

“Yes, when you’re slacking,” Wheeler dropped the disapproving glare with all the air of nonchalance and pointedly glanced at the table covered with maps and blueprints.

Neil had no choice but to sit down in the remaining chair and offer an apologetic pout to anyone willing to hear him out:

“I’m not slacking. I’m just-” whatever excuse he could whip out on a whim got interrupted prematurely.

“Otherwise occupied with your girlfriend. Yes, we know,” Wheeler raised her head once more with a dismissive wave of hand, making Neil consider the possibility that she was close to losing it right there and then.

That possibility was always worrisome, for no anger could compare to that of his friend. Especially when she was pissed off.

But that careful consideration was nothing in the face of the two realisations brought forward by that simple assumption. Firstly - Cupid was decidedly not his girlfriend. Secondly – fucking Ives.

Neil glared at the man in question, hoping his eyes would reveal the murderous intents hidden underneath as his clarifying statement broke the awkward silence:

“She’s not-” he never finished that sentence (perhaps for the better), for the harsh sound of his ringtone filled the room with cacophonic clamour. Neil scrambled to pick up the phone without as much as glancing at the screen, “Hello?” the tentative opener sounded ridiculous even to his ears.

Soon, it was clear he should have checked the caller before picking up.

“Hi, Neil,” Cupid’s silky tone caressed his ear through the device.

Neil knew she did that purposefully, solely inspired to make the idiot inside him blush and giggle like a loser. Make no mistake; Neil was certainly a loser. And an idiot.

Once he felt the shock pass enough to ensure he would not drop the phone he repeated the greeting.

“Umm, hi,” from the corner of his eye, Neil could see the accompanying trio stare at him without trying to be covert about it. Absolute assholes “You’ve never called me before” trust him to state the obvious.

For a second, Neil considered faceplanting onto the table. Equally, the idea of jumping out of the window sounded appealing. The thoughts of potential demise were interrupted by Cupid’s reply:

“I know. I just thought it might be fun to spice things up,” she was definitely enjoying this and the damage she has caused. It was audible in the lightness of her voice, the vowels curled by a cheeky smile he could hear as she asked, “How’s your day?”

No longer happy to ignore his audience, Neil turned towards them with another glare. All three stared back, with Ives going as far as shooting him a knowing smile.

“It’s fine, except for my team being desperate to berate me,” Neil directed the venom in his voice at the trio as Wheeler casually got up from the table and put the kettle on.

The light chuckle from the phone almost made him feel better about it.

“That’s rude,” her remark contrasted with the laughter he could hear in her voice. Yet it was too late to raise the alarm or prepare for what would follow, “Would it be better if I reminded you what a good boy you are?” as soon as Cupid finished the question, Neil felt the full-body reaction she wanted.

A shudder ran through his spine as his face flushed pink. On a last conscious thought, Neil leapt up from the chair and paced towards the window, hiding from the group. A half-swallowed groan broke through his mouth as he tightened his fist, hopelessly trying to forget how those two words sounded on her lips. It was pathetic.

The more tragic outcome was that now Cupid had even more blackmailing material in her arsenal.

“Jesus Christ, you’re evil,” Neil knew he still sounded wrecked.

There was no way of hiding that. Of making her forget this had just happened and the conclusions she could draw from it. Neil barely resisted the urge to smash his head into the window.

“Oh, so it would help,” as expected, Cupid sounded delighted by what had transpired. The cheeky smile he liked way too much was undoubtedly present on her face as she added, “Not so dully noted” may he rest in pieces, apparently, “When are you coming back?” the question sounded almost out of place.

Yet even in his muddled mind, Neil knew it was genuine. That she wanted to know. If that fact meant anything at all, he did not know. And he tried his hardest not to think about it too much.

“Why? You miss me?” ignoring the chorus of ‘awws’ behind his back, Neil allowed himself to ask.

Even if only for emotional validation. Because while she has hinted at it before, Neil was never tired of being reminded. The whole thing with her might have been hopeless, but it did not change how he worked. How his heart ticked and what beat it chose. Tragically, romanticism was tricky to get rid of. Neil experienced that first-hand.

“You know that I do,” Cupid did not mind humouring his whims as she offered a simple admission without a fight.

With all his predictability, Neil could not hold back the idiotic grin from making an appearance. Sure, it had no future, but that did not make him less eager to play along. What’s the worst thing that could happen? Famous last words and all. Probably.

“I should be back in a week. More or less,” that was the hope, anyway.

The few stray thoughts that had somehow escaped the web spun by Cupid, and her attention reminded him about the work still left to be done. Like the fucking pincer movement plan. With threebastards taunting him mercilessly. So much fun.

“Fab. I got you a great seat for the premiere, so… You know what to do,” the hopeful note in her voice was worth the future pain.

He had no doubts about it. The fact was that Neil was looking forward to the ballet. The hazy memories of seeing ‘Swan Lake’, aged six, hardly compared to the Royal Ballet company. It was a good enough reason to attend. The other excellent reason was Cupid herself, but that was best unsaid. And unthought. Somehow.

“Got you,” ignoring the ridiculous thoughts, Neil offered her a smile she could not see and a silent prayer cast into the heavens that he was not lying unknowingly.

“I know you do. You’re a good boy, Neil,” Cupid’s strike came with no warning.

Yet again, she dropped her tone a notch and whispered the damned two words with a breathy sigh. The metaphorical nail to the coffin this time was how she said his name, almost caressing the letters. And yes, this time it worked, too.

Neil had the mind to faceplant into the window and groan with frustration. The inescapable blush warmed up his cheeks as his body shivered. Some… particular parts of his physique also showed interest in what was happening, eternally oh so eager to betray his wish to stay unbothered.

“For fuck’s-” the choked curse got swallowed by the mightiest effort on his side as Neil took a steadying breath and asked, “Why?”

As if happy to punish him, Cupid laughed.

“Because it’s fun,” the unspoken duh made him both more annoyed and more bewitched by her, “I’ll let you work now, but…” as did the carrot dangled in front of his face like the sweetest of baits.

Always the idiot, Neil could not possibly ignore it.

“Yeah?” he could hear her take a deep breath as if steeling herself for a difficult admission.

“I’m glad we’ve met,” Cupid whispered the confession without as much as a pause between the words.

“Me too,” his reply got lost in the static as she hung up.

Letting out the breath he did not know he was holding, Neil lowered the phone onto the windowsill and stared at the city outside. Well then. The call would take a while to process; that was unquestionable.

“Aw, aren’t you two cute?” Ives’ teasing threw Neil out of that pleasantly fuzzy mind space with all the grace of an elephant.

He turned around with the glower at the ready. This time, he could not bite back the curse:

“Shut the fuck up,” on an afterthought, Neil added, “Please,” noticing the soldier open his mouth for a quip, he dropped his tone to a warning timbre. That called for a final caution, “Unless you want to start looking for a new physicist,” his glare slipped over the trio before Neil settled at the table and unfolded the blueprints without another word.

***

When that awaited text from Neil came, bearing the information that he was back in London and happy to meet you whenever you did not jump for joy. Definitely not. What you did do was grin and discuss the possible rendezvous immediately. When that Tuesday afternoon arrived, with the glory of a decent rehearsal and a good coffee in your paper cup, you happily bypassed the crowds at Green Park and skipped the steps down to the correct platform.

That twenty-minute walk to the station was a blessing, just as much as a curse. When Neil proposed the time you could meet on the train, you did not correct him about your location that day. Or that grabbing the Jubilee line would be entirely off the quickest route back home. You just accepted the time and place and ignored the voice at the back of your head reminding you that this was not how you usually behaved.

It could go fuck itself.

Once you settled on the platform, one glance at the watch told you the next train would be the right one. The strange giddiness sparked in your veins, but you blamed it on the three-week gap between the meetings. It was just that, nothing more. Obviously.

The autopilot carried you through the motions until you had boarded the carriage and came face to face with the cause of all this idiocy. Neil smiled, instantly clocking you before you had even placed both feet inside. It was impossible to keep your face neutral, returning the grin and manoeuvring around the commuters to sit next to him on the three plastic chairs facing the sliding doors.

Then, as if seized by insanity, you propelled your body forward with the arms coming up around Neil’s neck to embrace him tightly. His freeze took approximately twenty seconds to thaw as he returned the hug with equal strength. You could feel the warmth of his breath hitting the crook of your neck and making you fight back a shiver that would not do. Instead, you let yourself breathe him in, rest in the moment that was potentially a mistake. Still, you were not going to treat it like one. Not when the warmth of his hands seeped through the clothes as they rested on your waist.

When the lurch of the train reminded you of reality and all its flaws, you ruefully disentangled from Neil and met his wary gaze. His blue eyes scanned your face as if looking for clues towards the reasons for the madness you just allowed yourself. When that offered no answers, Neil broke the silence with a careful observation:

“I didn’t know that we’re doing hugs,” his impassive face offered no clues either, triggering a wave of uncertainty you had to smother.

Because what if you went too far? What if that was not what Neil wanted?

“We are now,” the confidence was missing from the statement, making you add a crucial question, “Is that okay?” you could hear the insecurity in your voice, betraying the worries.

They disappeared the moment Neil flashed you a smile, his hand lightly patting your knee as a complement to the simple reassurance:

“Sure is,” lowering his gaze to catch yours, Neil winked.

Thank fuck. It surely made life much easier. Or the plans you might or might have not made regarding him. Now that the crisis had passed, you shifted in the seat to find a more comfortable position and allowed yourself a selfish look, measuring him up as usual. The slight tan line revealed by the rolled-up sleeves confirmed what you did know about his disappearance. The minor tiredness in how he carried his body strengthened your guesses. The rest of him blinded you as always.

Especially the three buttons left undone, revealing a strip of his chest. And inspiring ungodly thoughts in your head. Ignoring that what could not be addressed. Especially not right now in a carriage full of people. You switched your attention to the other crucial topic. Everything was better than being arrested for public indecency. At least you did hope so.

“How was the trip?” you noted the shift in Neil’s posture.

How he strengthened in the seat, the mask back in place. Although his mystery had fallen into the background over the acceleration of your dynamic, it was still very much present. You had to figure him out. Had to crack the case. Even if it killed you.

For now, though, simply asking mundane questions had to be enough.

“Well… it was fine. The usual” the answer did not help much, however.

Neil looked as if he knew how enigmatic it sounded but could not do anything about it. Upon your questioning look, he only shrugged and offered no further details. This time, you could not let the moment pass without a comment. You rolled your eyes, a frustrated huff interrupting the silence with petulance:

“God, you couldn’t be any less mysterious if you tried,” although anger was not one of the present emotions, you knew Neil would understand the message as you glared at him without heat.

He winced as if admitting to the guilt you hinted at and turned to you with a more open expression on his face:

“Sorry, it’s uh… maybe one day,” Neil met your gaze meaningfully, making you keener to believe him.

You held his gaze for a beat, even if only to have an excuse to look into his eyes and see Neil without the veil of pretence. It was easy to hope one day he would tell you more. That there was one day, somewhere along the line, waiting for you. That whatever was happening would not burn to a cinder in two weeks and leave you bereft. As things like this tended to do.

“I’ll hold you to that,” before breaking the eye contact, you reached for his hand.

It was another insane reflex that was difficult to explain, even to yourself. Yet, still, Neil went willingly. His long fingers tangled with yours without resistance and allowed you to rest your joined palms between the seats, almost like a beacon to whoever was curious about your meeting. And you could see the nosy stares, the inquisitive grandmas eager to judge and label everything and everyone existing within their vicinity.

You used the warmth of your connected hands to anchor you in the present as Neil asked:

“How’s the imposter syndrome? Did it fuck off at last?” the softness in his eyes could undoubtedly be fatal.

As was the way he knew what to ask and hit the jackpot without even trying. Because, of course, the feeling of not being good enough did not disappear. Of course, you still got up every morning with the vague desire to approach the ballet director and tell her you are giving up. That you cannot do this. It almost seemed like Neil could sense your thoughts.

Which was both terrifying and appealing, if you were to be honest. It would make your job easier if he knew exactly what you were thinking. About him.

“I wish,” the suffering sigh was a cheap trick, but viable in your books, “I still think I’m going to embarrass myself, but well,” not willing to give up the comfortable weight of his hand in yours, you offered Neil a one-sided shrug “Can’t exactly capitulate now” the desperate edge to that sentence did not escape his attention.

Sure, you would not actually give up, but that did not mean you were not half-heartedly wishing it happened anyway. Ideally, in the form of someone else doing the job for you. Pathetic, innit?

Neil squeezed your hand, capturing your attention without needing to try at all. The frown was still present on your face, its force turning the corners of your mouth downwards. As always, Neil seemed to see through all that you were not saying. He met your gaze (which was a feat considering you were happy to look anywhere but at him) and spoke:

“I wouldn’t let you,” there was an edge to his voice, a steely resolve that told you the conversation was gaining another layer.

A different destination to the one you had expected at first. Although, with how your chats recently played out, it was to be anticipated. Probably.

Without giving yourself the time to overthink, you leaned closer to Neil and placed a hand on his thigh. You could see his eyes widen upon the move, the pupils blowing up in the quickest form of flattery a man could give you. Sharpening your smile to the perfectly saccharine variant, you delivered the prepared lines:

“Oh yeah?” his thigh muscles tensed underneath your hand as Neil’s mouth fell agape without him being fully in control of the reaction. It was adorable. And an ideally ripe ground to lay the final strike, “You’d force me? Have your way with me?” the sparks in his eyes were a pretty addition to the already gorgeous picture.

At that moment, you knew that you had missed this. No texting could ever replace the real thing. The back and forth with the arresting strength of his eye contact and the unpredictable suspense of what would come next. Like the sudden softening of Neil’s features and an unexpectedly tentative counter to your bold questions:

“If you’d let me,” he swallowed hard as if desperately trying to get rid of the thoughts in his head and simultaneously unable to shake them off.

As if ripping the thread connecting him to you and shortening it at an alarming rate was causing Neil physical pain. The revelation acted like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your palm. It was difficult to shrug it off as if it was nothing. It nagged and prodded until you could do nothing but stare dumbly at him, feeling every passing second like a wasted beat of time you would never get back.

Before you could get your shit together in any way, it was too late. Neil had already jumped to conclusions, as you worried he might. His brows furrowed as his teeth nibbled on the chapped bottom lip in a familiar nervous tic. Slowly, as if navigating a mined battlefield, he shifted in the seat, widening the space between you by a fraction. You noticed it anyway.

“You don’t mind that this sort of thing keeps happening?” the question was completed with a vague gesture, slashing the air between you awkwardly.

The inflexion offered no space for doubt. Neil concluded that you very much did mind. That somehow you were not an active and eager participant in the heavy flirting and mutual teasing. Neil was an idiot.

And you had to put that point across instantly.

“Why would I mind?” without thinking, you let your fingers repeatedly stroke his forearm as you leaned back into his orbit to confess what ought to have been obvious, “I mean every word I say to you. Including all that post-Watershed talk” it was delightful to see your favourite smile disrupt his frown.

At the same time, it was nice to have it out in the open, no longer unsaid and implied. Because you did mean it. And you did want it. Whatever Neil would offer, be it a friendship or more. The choice was his.

You could pinpoint when the weight lifted off his shoulders and let him breathe deeper. You stared as Neil absorbed and processed the information, his blue eyes showing a spectrum of emotions. Some were unreadable. Other more obvious, like the devilish sparks that always guaranteed the conversation would take a curious turn. Or the cautious hope, making him look so much younger and innocent. Your unoccupied hand itched with the desire to brush his golden locks from his forehead, so you tightened it into a fist hidden in the coat pocket.

Just like you hid everything that had no place in your life.

At the periphery of your attention, you could register the called stations. Or the fact that your stop was mercilessly getting closer. Only one question could make you forget the reality altogether:

“So, what would you do if I kissed you?” when Neil asked, you were glad you had never forced yourself to look away from him.

That hesitant hope was still there, lightening up his eyes. You let it pull you in, as there was no need to search your heart for an answer. It was fair to assume Neil knew that, too. The question was only a preliminary. But it was still admirable he asked. People rarely did.

You shrugged, highlighting the evident conclusion he hopefully had already reached. It would have been easy to close the gap and let that be the answer. Too easy. It was enough that you could hardly ever look away from him, constantly drawn and arrested by his eyes.

Forcing yourself to break the spell, you met his gaze and offered him an impassive smile. If only to keep up the façade for a little longer.

“There’s only one way to find out, Neil,” you hoped that was enough, that he would understand the ball was back in his court to do as he pleased.

You also hoped Neil came to the right solution. Sadly, that did not seem to come to be just yet. One glance outside the window alarmed you about the surroundings and that you were arriving at your station. The frown twisted your mouth downwards as you risked a glance at Neil. The disappointment in his eyes told you he already caught up.

Two choices were waiting at your disposal. You could either stay, miss your stop to find out what would happen next. Or you could choose cowardice and leave the carriage, delaying the fateful moment a little longer. Definitely not forever.

It was hard to say why you chose the second option. Why you stood up without as much as a look at Neil and feigned a cheery farewell that felt foreign on your tongue. Later, you were keen to pretend it was just the influence of the moment. A sudden spell of insanity.

“Oops, that’s me. See you soon,” it was a miracle that you did not trip in the haste to get out.

You barely registered the surroundings as you bolted towards the sliding door and stepped onto the platform, missing the gap by mere millimetres. It was pure luck that you did not walk into any poor soul as you attempted to get away from the train as fast as possible.

You did not get the time to flee. All because you did not consider one thing – Neil had a choice, too.

When you felt a hand take yours and pull you back, there was that split second of panic. Your disoriented mind rapidly flicked through at least ten different disastrous scenarios, starting at a random appearance of Liam and ending at a violent assault you were about to be subjected to. Only then, at the very end, your brain pushed forward another observation. There was something familiar about that handhold.

Before you had a second to follow that thought, the interrupter pulled at your hand, making you whirl around to face them. Your widened gaze fell upon the undone tortoiseshell shirt buttons and wandered up the neck to land on Neil’s blue eyes, patiently staring back at you. It took you another second to understand what happened. And another one to begin processing what it could mean. Why he did it.

Without being aware of the movement of your body, you stepped closer to Neil, tightening the bubble you both had created in the middle of the platform. People bypassed you as they rushed to the train with the beeping doors hastening their steps. But that hardly mattered. It was just white noise. Unimportant and ignorable.

Unlike Neil, who closed the gap between your bodies to mere millimetres, and wordlessly repeated the question from before. The answer did not change. You offered him a tiny nod, not feeling the need to speak. The surrealism of the moment could not be labelled anyhow.

From the second you had tasted Neil’s lips, you knew it would not be something you could forget. That the feel of him would burn into the cortex of your brain and stay there to haunt you for eternity. You were right.

Your eyes snapped shut as soon as he closed the distance and covered your mouth with his in a soft kiss. His gentle and pliant lips caressed yours attentively without effort, making you cling even closer to him. Your arms came around Neil’s neck as your fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck. It took another second, a blissful beat of existence, to make you kiss him back. Just as carefully. Just like you never kissed anyone before.

Neil’s relief came through in a short gasp, let out into your opening mouth, and the warm weight of his palms came up to rest on your waist beneath the open coat. Following the logic you did not understand, you tilted your head and allowed his prying tongue to lick into your mouth. The liquid heat traversed your veins, warming up your skin as Neil took his time to map out the inside of your mouth. Suddenly, the instant connection you felt made sense. Things clicked into place as you breathed the taste of him and breathed out the uncertainty. It felt right. Good. Unforgettable, even.

It felt like no first kisses and endless one-night stands ever did. And that made no sense.

Soon, that first kiss evolved into another and then the next. The platform, the people and the noise faded into the background as you swapped kisses, barely interrupted by quiet groans and swallowed gasps. On its own accord, your hand ventured up to tangle in his hair, grabbing a fistful of the golden locks and tugging in time with a particularly hungry nip taken out of Neil’s bottom lip. The reward of a barely stifled moan was more than worth it.

As was how Neil held you close and returned your kisses with equal zeal. He matched your energy and pushed you further until the remaining part of your conscience worried about being arrested for public indecency.

When the burn of your lungs excelled that of your soul, you placed a palm over the centre of his chest and pushed Neil back. Just a fraction. Just to catch your breath. His answering whine felt like another spark of pride, making your eyes glow with self-satisfaction. That was better than any other form of gratification you could think of.

When you finally forced yourself to blink your eyes open and look at Neil, you were met with kiss-bruised lips and darkened blue eyes, showing nothing else but hunger. At least ten increasingly ridiculous religious metaphors battled for leadership in your mind, but you pushed them all aside. The most accurate comment went to two simple words, pushed forward by the strength of your soul’s crudeness. Fucking hell. In the best of meanings, that is.

Following deeply rooted instincts, your tongue darted out to thoroughly trace the expanse of your bottom lip. And get remains of his taste, that you had already started missing. As far as kisses had gone, this one was pretty damn spectacular.

Neil seemed frozen, his eyes fixed on your mouth as if that was the only thing he could do. Admittedly, it was adorable. Yet, still, you decided to break the spell, the only way you could think of:

“I think your train has left,” you glanced over his shoulder, noting the expectedly empty platform.

Only now, when the haze of the kiss (or rather a whole make-out session) had begun to lift, you could understand what had transpired. And that Neil was keen to delay his return home for the price of a kiss. Or for the hope of a kiss, for clearly, he did not think he would get that far. Idiot.

You could see it now, back on his face. The slight disorientation and confusion suggested Neil could barely believe that what just happened was real. He blinked twice, then again, as if forcing himself to wake up and met your gaze with wide eyes. Without thinking, you allowed the hand you had pressed flat to his chest to venture up, stopping when your fingers started grazing over his neck. That was the trigger Neil needed to return to reality. He seized your adventurous fingers in a loose hold and placed your joined hands back over his heart. You could feel it racing.

“I’ll wait for the next one,” Neil offered you a half-smile, the uncertainty shining through the tentative joy in his eyes.

It was not something you were used to. Usually, after a kiss like that (never even preceded with a question, because who the fuck still asked for kisses?), you only ever got smugness. And an attempt at a smooth transition to sex, which did or did not succeed, depending on the participating party). Never uncertainty. Never shyness. Never contentment with what happened without pushing you for more.

You didn’t know what to do with any of it.

“No regrets?” the question was also one that you never asked before.

Not after something as trivial as a first kiss. But then, nothing was the way it usually went with Neil. That much was quite clear.

“Not really. You?” as if sensing your growing uncertainty, Neil did not hesitate before answering the question.

He squeezed your fingers, still wrapped in his palm and met your gaze with something almost resembling confidence. Somehow, that was enough. You took a fortifying breath to gather courage and discard the doubts. There would be more than enough time to deal with them later. Hopefully.

For now, there were other things to do and say. Like answering Neil’s question and reclaiming the conversation from its sombre paths. Especially since no cell in your body regretted the kiss. Or any other thing you had ever said or hinted at to him. It is just that somehow, somewhere along the line, your normal confidence had been wiped off the table. And it felt like it was never to be seen again. Not like before.

You hoped to ignore that bit of revelation, too.

“Nope. I’d offer a coffee at mine, but… I think some things need a better build-up,” you hoped the chaos in your head was not easily seen as you dropped the line with an attempt at the usual smoothness and met Neil’s eyes with remaining poise.

You meant that, too. A part of you, the same that had difficulties ending the kiss, wanted to continue it wherever it may lead you. You were quite sure you knew where it was going. And you certainly wanted that. But, at the same time, rushing into it seemed… wrong. As if the fact that you also wanted to be friends with Neil needed a little more respect. A little more time.

You could tell he understood from the way Neil nodded, his eyes still blown out by the darkened pupils.

“Agreed,” he shook his head slightly as if trying to clear it before glancing at the timing screen over your heads. Whatever the impact those 7 minutes of waiting had, the next thing Neil did was to heave a sigh and set his weary eyes on you, “Actually, I might walk back home. Should probably clear my head,” a small smile lifted the corner of his mouth.

Without overthinking the act, you seized his hand and started for the stairs. Just because you were not yet taking him home did not mean you could not drag out the goodbye. Right?

Right.

***

Although the kiss was not forgotten and only added to the general restlessness, you never mentioned it again. It was another layer added to the sprinkled, complex mess that was your relationship. A tiered cake that had so many flavours it was impossible to label it using a concise, less than five-word description. It just did not get discussed.

That was both a blessing and a curse, considering that with mere days left till the public Don Quixote premiere you could barely handle one type of stress and uncertainty. Let alone two. The reality check deadline crept up on you without warning, catching you pacing the flat for over an hour the evening before the official pre-premiere. The event always happened at least a night before the opening soiree and was reserved for the press, Royal Ballet directory and special guests of honour. It also meant that every detail of the performance had to be up to par if one wanted to continue advancing the career in the company. Which you did want. Desperately. It was just bloody unfortunate that the usual insanity of anxiety now was interlaced with something else.

Something that made you stop the pacing and pick up the phone only to open the messages and stare at the text conversation with Neil. It had been a few hours, and considering the 9 pm on the clock, you had a fair right to believe that he might be asleep. Maybe. But that could hardly deter the part of your brain that tended to get ahead of itself. Especially fuelled by stress and anxiety.

Without letting yourself falter, you typed the question:

/ 🏹, 9:04 pm/ Are you still up?

Luckily, you only had to hold your breath for an answer (or a lack of it) for less than 5 minutes. For that, your lungs were eternally thankful.

/✝️, 9:08 pm/ Is this the moment you ask me for dick pics?

A ridiculous guffaw broke the silence of your flat, along with that necessary intake of oxygen. Conversations like those still happened daily and only increased the want you could not get rid of if you tried.

And you didn’t try. There was no point to it.

/ 🏹, 9:09 pm/ Nah. Not yet.

You were having fun, chatting the shit on the daily with someone who seemed more than eager to keep the ball going. That was partially why you reached out on a whim, desperate to get out of the flat even for a little while. After all, asking Neil offered a fifty-fifty chance of an entertaining evening. All other intentions did not have to be disclosed. Even in your mind.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ That’s a relief.

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ How can I be of service, my lady?

/ 🏹, 9:11 pm/ You’ve no idea, babe.

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ I was thinking of going to the dance studio, that’s open till midnight. Do you want to come?

/ 🏹, 9:12 pm/ You’ve said you wanted to see me dance so…

After sending the third message, you put down the phone and exhaled. That nervousness residing in your bones was new. It was almost as if it mattered what Neil’s answer would be. As if you cared whether he would say yes to the tentative proposition. None of that had ever happened before.

The urge to faceplant into the pillow was derailed by the buzz of an incoming message. With embarrassing speed of reaction, you read the texts:

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ Happily.

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ When and where do we meet?

You grinned. As you copied and pasted the location pin into the message, you could already feel a different type of nervousness enter your system. It was time for Neil to see you dance. You would also see him for the first time since the kiss. It was high time someone covered this topic on wikiHow. Or, at least, you thought so.

***

Although the Royal Ballet had more than good enough facilities at the Covent Garden building, the company could also use a studio by the Southwark Underground Station whenever you felt like it. Conveniently, that alternative place was open till midnight on weeknights, offering a one-in-a-million chance to run over the choreography for a billion times more before the pre-premiere. Without an audience of your fellow ballet dancers and their critical eyes, at that.

The other perk to the external studio was that nothing stopped you from bringing someone from the outside along. Nothing except for maybe the deeply rooted fear of showing Neil what you could do. Or couldn’t do.

That fear had not left through the Uber drive from your flat, growing in force from the moment you set your eyes upon Neil waiting outside the studio with a smile on his face. You exchanged the usual niceties, bypassing the awkward tint to the interaction with an avoided hug and nonsensical commentary from your side.

The nerves seemed to reach the peak as you left Neil in the main ballet studio room, the space lit up sparsely to maintain the strangely surreal atmosphere of those late autumn nights in London when nothing seems to be tangible and real. Having left the house in a pre-planned rehearsal outfit, you only took off the unnecessary layers, leaving you in a simple bodice and a wrap mid-thigh skirt and pulled on the woollen leg warmers to keep the chill at bay.

Luckily for your racing heart, the ritual of putting on and lacing up the pointe shoes always did its magic, allowing you to centre yourself and take a couple of deep breaths. Until there was nothing left but to march out of the changing room and connect your phone to the speaker, the right track ready for you to press play.

But before you could go that far, you made the mistake of locating Neil in the room. He had settled on the floor opposite you, his back pressed to the mirror-covered walls of the studio. He stared as you entered the invisible stage and offered you an encouraging smile. A slow, gentle warm-up was a valid opportunity to falter. A necessary step you had to take while also admitting that it was convenient. Although, Neil’s attentive gaze following your every move was much less convenient.

Once you had run out of all other options, you started the music, put down the phone and took up position. Desperate to rehearse as much as possible, you chose to go through the entire dream sequence at the end of Act 2. As always, the Minkus score did its magic, helping you settle into the movement and almost forget about everything else.

You followed the steps with practised ease, hearing the dull thud of pointe shoes hitting the hardwood floors with each landing between the orchestral notes. When the cue to finish was near you were almost out of breath. The pearls of sweat clung to your temples as the sweetness of exertion burned through your muscles and tendons. When those final notes rang off in the quiet studio, you held the finishing pose and waited for the music to end. The resulting silence was deafening.

Slowly, as if pained to do it, you opened your eyes. Neil was right where you had left him; his gaze seemingly never trailed away. But the exact look on his face was different. Instead of the ease and unbothered nonchalance he tried to emit earlier, Neil was now speechless. Dazed. His mouth was still agape, and he had to remind himself to close it before swallowing hard. You tried your hardest not to let that get into your head. You failed.

“So… what do you think?” unable to keep quiet for much longer, you released the question into the ether with a permanent frown and a minimal level of conviction.

It seemed to be what Neil needed to wake up from the stupor. He shifted, pulled up his knees to his chin and eyed you with a bright gaze. The desire to look away rose with every minute, but you tried to endure it. Somehow.

“You’re brilliant. Do you know that?” the matter-of-fact tone threw you off kilter, bringing out an automatic (albeit manic) grin from its hiding back onto your face.

Neil mirrored the expression instantly, only widening your smile in the process. Feeling the need to move again, you flexed your calves, completing a set of rapid changements. Only once that was done you could attempt to answer the question.

“Maybe,” you shrugged, unwilling to stray onto that sort of honest territory just yet, “It doesn’t hurt to hear it again, though,” unable to ignore that one voice at the back of your head that had not been convinced, you asked, “Was it actually… good?” the emphasis on the word was automatic.

You could tell Neil saw right through your faux nonchalance as he smiled, a different type of fondness shining in his eyes. That, too, was best left alone for now. The observation was shelved among others of its kind in the darkest cavern of your brain. Ideally left alone for good, never to be touched or thought of again. Just in case.

Neil’s gaze never strayed from yours as he offered you an answer without a hint of exasperation:

“As far as my virgin eyes could tell, it was perfect,” the corner of his mouth rose in the makings of a familiar smirk.

It eradicated any illusions that he did not know what he was saying. Or the effect the sentence would have. You closed your eyes against the sight, hopelessly willing the inconvenient feelings to disappear.

By now, it was painfully clear that Neil could be a bastard when he wanted to. It was just another thing that you liked about him. Perhaps too much.

For a second, you debated following the easy way out he had offered. It would have been effortless to take up the tone and turn the conversation into yet another pleasant back-and-forth that could potentially lead you past the talking. Past that one kiss, that had lowkey driven you insane with the promise of potential.

But the doubts were still there. They still clouded your mind like a flock of hungry birds of prey hunting for a bite of flesh. And Neil was the only person you could talk to and know he would listen. That he would care. For some reason, it was a crucial thing to share. An important topic to raise. Here and now.

“Allow me to ignore that double entendre potential for a second,” your apologetic frown was accepted with a subtle nod and meaningful glance.

“You’re excused, Cupid,” Neil grinned, evidently taking pleasure from the nickname you became fond of.

Especially because it was him, who bestowed it on you.

“Thank you,” shaking off the sudden rush of affection, you completed the gratitude with a cheeky addition, returning Neil’s smirk, “Sir,” only once noted his answering blush, it was safe to delve into what you really wanted to tell him. You took a deep breath, completing half a pirouette to face the mirrors on the wall and asked, “Do you ever feel like you’re just constantly pretending? Like the whole ‘fake it till you make it’ deal, except you never stop faking it?” training your gaze on the hardwood floors, you stared at the tips of your pointe shoes.

The worn-out, ragged edges caught your attention for a split second. You took a mental note to break in the brand-new pair and prepare them for tomorrow’s show. On the periphery of your vision, you could see Neil’s reflection. You could feel him staring, the intense gazing boring holes in the back of your head. But not even that could make you turn and face him.

“Pretty much every day,” Neil’s reply made you look up, meeting his eyes in the reflection. That was not an answer you had expected, “I’ve found that sometimes, if you’re lucky, all that pretending can fool the brain, too,” he signed off the addition with another reassuring smile.

Still, the scepticism reigned free as an unbidden scoff tore from your throat, forcing you to swallow down the sudden desire to retreat from the conversation. Years of practice did not seem to share Neil’s thesis. Things never got easier. You doubted they ever would.

“I’d hope so. Except that, I’m not sure I am that lucky,” that was a given, an undeniable fact of life like the laws of physics or the ignorance of the Tories. Unchangeable. The familiar wave of frustration threatened to pull you down as you allowed the insecurities to speak their part,“I may appear as a fucking cool cat, confident and all, but… I’m not,” hearing the broken note in your voice, you swallowed hard, unable to look at Neil anymore. There was only one final thing to add, “And I wish I could be,”

There. The curtain has fallen, revealing the truth underneath. Now, it was clear Neil had no illusions left about you. No reason to think of you highly. Somehow, you felt lighter. Sure, still unable to meet his gaze, even in the reflection, but it was better that way. Now, when you did disappoint him somewhere along the line, for whatever reason, it would be much less surprising.

You had no doubts whether that moment of disappointment would happen. It always did.

“You have every right to be. Because you are” when Neil spoke, at first, you did not register it. His words flew right over your head before being caught by your heart, desperate to find anything to hold on to. Only then did you hear what he said. You looked up in time to see the remains of the fading blush on his cheeks, “If that even makes sense,” he shook his head slightly as if scolding himself over the awkward reassurance and stood up. The tense shoulders betrayed the lightness he still tried to emit, “Trust me when I say I feel useless and stupid every minute of every day,” the weariness in his voice clashed with the disbelief you felt when hearing what he said.

That made no sense. The turmoil made you turn around in a half-pirouette and face Neil with wide eyes and mouth agape. Your brain was experiencing severe computing issues, the smoke almost sizzling out through your open lips.

He was none of those things. You barely resisted the urge to close the miles between you and shake him by the shoulders, all the while screaming at him to stop saying such bullshit. You did not do any of those things.

“But you’re… you,” instead, you gestured vaguely towards him, armed with words that were not enough.

No words seemed to be apt to describe him. Neil was just… impossible. Ineffable in his wonderfulness. Much better than anyone you had ever known. But that was something you could not say. Not now.

“In my books, that’s not necessarily a good thing,” Neil glanced at you with tired eyes, kicking around at nothing as he slid across the parquet in his socks.

When you entered the studio, he started unlacing his shoes before you could protest. Said something about not wanting the cleaner to have more work. The comment made you smile too brightly before you excused yourself into the changing room and hid your face in the palms of your hands. That state didn’t seem to have passed.

In an effort not to do anything stupid, you backed away till you could feel the barre against your back. Only then you met his searching gaze and made sure to show Neil the extent of earnestness on your face:

“It is. I’ve never met anyone like you, Neil,” the admission was met with a surprised double-take, so you decided to soften the tone with a stupid addition, “The hottest priest in London and whatnot,” you did mean that one, too.

Neil’s huff of laughter felt like a dodged bullet.

“Funny,” the bright sparks in his eyes confirmed the praise with doubled force, making you turn back towards the mirror to avoid being blinded by the strength of his affection. That stuff could be dangerous, “You’re the hottest ballerina in London, so we’re even,” once you registered Neil’s words, the silky tone of his voice that had not been there just a second ago, you knew that trouble was coming.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him close the gap. The warmth settled in your cheeks as you felt the comfortable heat spread around your body. That pleasant anticipation ignited in your bones with every step Neil took. Somewhere, at the edges of reason and logic, you knew you still had a choice. You knew that whatever he had envisioned in his mind, could easily be stopped with one word from your side. What was the problem?

Mainly that you didn’t want him to stop. Did not want to cut short the moment slowly blooming into something crucial. You could feel it buzz beneath your skin as Neil took the final steps towards you and leaned in. His hands came to rest upon the barre, millimetres from yours. Not quite touching but enough so you could not ignore his presence. You could feel the heat from his body as Neil pressed his chest to your back and whispered into your ear:

“A cool cat,” in normal circumstances, the call-back to your rant would have made you laugh.

But those weren’t normal circumstances. Not with Neil’s proximity, his hands slowly tracing invisible lines up your arms. You could feel his breath on the nape of your neck, creating goosebumps effortlessly. And the thing was – this wasn’t anything new. It was far from the first time someone had done this. Far from the first time you had been tempted by someone who desired you. But it was the first time they seemed to take their time for it.

Your head felt dizzy with the revelation as Neil’s fingers lightly brushed the neckline of your bodice and journeyed down. It was a first in the fact that he did not even try touching your breasts, instead respectfully settling over your ribs and tapping a vague rhythm over your heated skin. Without searching your heart, you knew that you did not mind it. Not one bit.

You covered one of his palms with yours, firmly pressing it against your waist and raised your head to seek Neil’s gaze. He was already looking back at you, the blue eyes of his eyes dark and consumed with something you wanted to call hunger. The same feeling could be easily found on your face.

“Are you trying to seduce me?” you frowned at the hoarseness of your voice and the breathless tint to the question.

For the first time, it was impossible to fake your reaction. Impossible to pretend you were not affected. Neil’s answering smile, full of confidence and mischief, made that discovery seem fine. Not troubling at all.

“Is it working?” the warmth in his eyes made you feel safe, not threatened by the potential of what could happen.

Not viable to the pains of consequences. That seemed enough.

Enough to make you gently tug at his hand, asking for the freedom of movement to turn around and face him. Only then, with Neil’s curious gaze beaming down on you like a desirable spotlight, you placed his palm back on your waist and offered an honest reply:

“I think you already know,” as proof, you picked up his other hand and guided it to press against your chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat.

The wolfish grin you received in return was worth any leftover sense of shame and embarrassment. Neil leaned in, and just as you were about to close your eyes, awaiting another life-changing kiss, he left a promising peck on the edge of your jaw. On its own accord, your hand tightened over the wooden railing as you exposed your throat for his use.

Neil wasted no time leaving a trail of kisses down the slope of your neck, only just being careful enough not to leave marks. Each kiss felt like a hot poker pressed against the tender skin of your neck, blazing hot and impossible to shake off. You closed your eyes, letting the sense take in the sensation of his tender care. Of the contrasting burn of stubble, scratching at your skin with a delicious sting.

Every kiss took time, only then to be sealed with a lick of his tongue, eliciting your quiet gasps and barely kept in groans of pleasure. The wave of insanity rose, threatening to take over your brain, save for one consistent thought. One revelation.

No one had cared this much before.

Letting go of his hand, you tangled your fingers in his golden strands, lightly tugging to gain his attention. The answering groan was sure to enter the library of sounds and images you liked to relieve in private. But before you could attempt to formulate the desire painted across your face, the door to the studio creaked, disrupting the silence.

You gasped in shock as Neil took half a step back, warily eyeing the doorway. A thousand curses lodged themselves in your throat as a silhouette of an older man, armed with a bucket and a mop, peered inside the room with a scowl. Fucking Rich, the Janitor.

The older man scanned you both from head to toe and sighed.

“It’s closing time, kids. Go home,” his gravelly voice acted like the much-needed bucket of cold water.

As he turned back towards the darkness of the corridor, you met Neil’s eyes. The depths of exasperation visible there told you this business was far from over. You certainly hoped so.

#neil tenet #tenet movie #tenet #tenet 2020 #neil tenet x reader #neil tenet fanfic #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #robert pattinson x reader #robert pattinson x you #robert pattinson x y/n #robert pattinson imagine #deadlines & commitments

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notealotgoingon · 4 months

Text

2023 Bullet Journal Cover & Lists

- movies - books - physical music stickers

(typed list below cut)

Movies

X (2022) ★★★★★ 1/9

Pearl (2022) ★★★★★ 1/10

Jason X (2001) ★★★ 1/17

X (2022) ★★★★★ 1/26

Pearl (2022) ★★★★★ 2/11

Rosemary's Baby (1968) ★★★★★ 2/11

Harley Quinn: A Very Problematic Valentine's Day Special (2023) ★★★★★ 2/12

Skinamarink (2022) ★★★★ 3/8

Re-Animator (1985) ★★★★ 3/12

Ring (1998) ★★★★★ 3/12

Ju-On: The Grudge (2002) ★★★★ 3/12

I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997) ★★★★ 4/2

Scary Movie (2000) ★★★ 4/3

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves (2023) ★★★★★ 4/5

Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) ★★★★★ 4/18

Scary Movie 2 (2001) ★★★ 5/3

Scary Movie 3 (2003) ★★ 5/4

The Green Knight (2021) ★★★★★ 5/20

Black Panther: Wakanda Forever (2022) ★★★★ 5/21

Ant-Man and the Wasp: Quantumania (2023) ★★ 6/6

Evil Dead Rise (2023) ★★★★1/2 6/27

Nimona (2023) ★★★★ 7/2

Barbarian (2022) ★★★★ 7/6

Malignant (2021) ★★★★ 7/7

Barbie (2023) ★★★★★ 7/23

Scream VI (2023) ★★★1/2 8/1

Saw (2004) ★★★★ 8/1

Frozen (2010) ★★ 8/2

Resident Evil: Death Island (2023) ★★★★ 8/21

Studio 666 (2022) ★★★★ 9/4

The Exorcist (1973) ★★★★1/2 9/4

Saw II (2005) ★★★★ 9/9

Saw III (2006) ★★★1/2 9/9

Saw IV (2007) ★★★1/2 9/9

Saw V (2008) ★★★ 9/9

Saw VI (2009) ★★★ 9/9

Saw 3D (2010) ★★ 9/9

Jigsaw (2017) ★★★ 9/10

Miss Americana (2020) ★★★★ 9/10

Spiral: From the Book of Saw (2021) ★★1/2 9/17

Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023) ★★★★1/2 9/24

Saw (2004) ★★★★1/2 9/25

Saw II (2005) ★★★★1/2 9/26

Dracula (1931) ★★★★ 10/1

Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter (1984) ★★★1/2 10/1

Friday the 13th: A New Beginning (1985) ★★★★ 10/1\

House of 1000 Corpses (2003) ★★★★ 10/8

Friday the 13th (1980) ★★★★1/2 10/13

Taylor Swift: The Eras Tour (2023) ★★★★★ 10/19

Saw VI (2009) ★★★1/2 10/28

Saw 3D (2010) ★1/2 10/29

Saw X (2023) ★★★★1/2 11/6

Saw IV (2007) ★★★1/2 11/20

Saw X (2023) ★★★★1/2 11/20

Terrifier (2016) ★★★1/2 12/4

Hellraiser III: Hell on Earth (1992) ★★ 12/4

Saw V (2008) ★★★1/2 12/4

Terrifier 2 (2022) ★★★1/2 12/11

The Green Knight (2021) ★★★★★ 12/18

Sonic Christmas Blast(1996) ★★1/2 12/22

Black Christmas (1974) ★★★★★ 12/23

Black Christmas (2006) ★★★1/2 12/24

Saltburn (2023) ★★★★ 12/29

Taylor Swift: Reputation Stadium Tour (2018) ★★★★★ 12/30

Books

The Ballad of Black Tom by Victor Lavalle 1/2

The Witcher: The Last Wish by Andrzej Sakowski 1/12

We Can Never Leave This Place by Eric Larocca 1/14

Causes and Cures in the Classroom by Margaret Searle 1/29

Vox Machina: Kith & Kin by Marieke Nijkamp 2/1

Black is the Body by Emily Bernard 2/4

A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas 2/18

The Anthropocene Reviewed by John Green 2/19

Black Klansman by Ron Stallworth 2/26

The Dark Tower V: Wolves of the Calla by Stephen King 3/7

Ring by Koji Suzuki 4/14

What Moves the Dead by T. Kingfisher 4/14

In the Time of the Butterflies by Julia Alvarez 5/8

Circe by Madeline Miller 5/19

When the Emperor Was Divine by Julie Otsuka 5/30

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe 6/1

The Hellbound Heart by Clive Barker 6/25

The Way of Kings by Brandon Sanderson 6/28

The Lesbian Classics Get Me Off by Chuck Tingle 6/28

Icebreaker by Hannah Grace 7/5

Teacher of the Yearby M.A. Wardell 7/7

The Colorado Kid by Stephen King 7/17

This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar & Max Gladstone 7/31

Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle 8/4

The Writing Revolution by Judith C. Hochman & Natalie Wexler 8/10

You Can Go Your Own Way by Eric Smith 8/20

Phasma by Delilah S. Dawson 9/12

Small Spaces by Katherine Arden 9/27

Reforged by Seth Haddon 10/8

Fifty Feet Down by Sophie Tanen 10/23

The Exorcist by William Peter Blatty 11/22

Good Omens by Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett 12/2

Spoiler Alert by Olivia Dade 12/7

Wildfire by Hannah Grace 12/5

Interview With the Vampire by Anne Rice 12/12

Tender is the Flesh by Augustina Bazterrica 12/19

A Prayer for the Crown-Shy by Becky Chambers 12/20

Last Night at the Telegraph Club by Malinda Lo 12/28

Stowaway and Silent Song by Vera Valentine 12/29

Physical Music Media:

(this isn't all of the records/CDs I've gotten or listened to this year, but I figured I'd decipher the stickers I put in the book; these are all of the promo stickers on the outside of the plastic wrapping on the releases)

Beat the Champ - the Mountain Goats

Paradise - Lana del Ray

Red (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift

What's it Like? - Sure Sure

Did You Know There's A Tunnel Under Ocean Boulevard? - Lana del Ray

Stick Season - Noah Kahan

The Rest - boygenius

Midnights (Late Night Edition) - Taylor Swift

Raving Ghost - Olivia Jean

The Record - boygenius

Speak Now (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift

Dark in Here - the Mountain Goats

Bangerz (10th Anniversary Edition) - Miley Cyrus

God Games - the Kills

1989 (Taylor's Version) - Taylor Swift

#mine #studyblr #notes #aesthetic #bujo #bullet journal #bujolife #bujo aesthetic #bujoinspo #bujoblr #bujo list #2023 reap #booklr #books #film

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prettybillycore · 2 years

Text

You Are Not a Burden, Billy Hargrove || Billy Hargrove x GN!Reader

Pairing(s): Billy Hargrove x GN!Reader

Universe: Stranger Things

Summary: After moving in with you, Billy has good days and bad days with his mental health. You were there for him in one of his darkest moments.

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Neil Hargrove is his own warning, Billy's Anger issues, Mental Health Breakdown (Billy's), swearing, Police

Read it on ao3 (or on this Tumblr post below the cut)

Part of your deal with Billy was that he had to work on bettering himself. You told him from the beginning of your blossoming relationship– be nice to me and the kids and Steve or our relationship can’t continue. I know you’re still learning and I can see that you are trying, but respect is one of the most important things in relationships like this.

Billy had never been in a relationship; this fact surprised you at first, but the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. It broke your heart a little inside knowing that he had never been shown gentle kindness and love. You were willing to give him the safe space he needed to heal and he knew that too. You said as long as he was trying to get better you would be there to support him and that was more than anyone else had ever done for him. I’ll do my best, Doll. I promise. I know I’ll have bad days, but I’m gonna do everything I can to get the anger out in better ways.

You brushed your hand across his cheek and smiled up at him. He had never seen someone look at him with so much pure adoration. It made him feel fragile. All I ask for is that you’re trying. I love you, Billy Hargrove.

He set his hands lightly on your hips. I love you too.

| < ♥️ > |

Billy had more good days than bad this summer and you were so thankful for that. You loved him dearly– he was protective of you, always brought you flowers on date night, and wouldn’t let you open or close your own car door. He essentially worshipped the ground you walked on most days and you felt so loved. The party and your friends were all starting to accept that Billy was treating you like a god(dess). They didn’t always love that he was hanging around, but they respected your relationship. It was enough for you to feel comfortable. Billy was making progress on being generally nicer to the soon-to-be freshman and he treated Steve was respect every time he saw him. It made your heart swell.

There were still bad times, though. Mostly now they consisted of panic more than rage. Billy was staying at your house all the time and Max stayed in your guestroom whenever she felt like she needed to get out of the Hargrove-Mayfield household. Billy would receive angry and threatening calls from his father sometimes. He would scream into the phone until you gently placed your hand on his shoulder and he hung up the phone. You two would curl up on his bed and you would let him sob into the crook of your neck. He held onto you like nothing you had ever experienced before; like if he let you go, you would evaporate. You would hum simple songs and play with his hair until you both fell asleep.

This bad day wasn’t like those bad days, unfortunately. You walked into the house after dropping the Party off at the Wheelers’ place, and Billy was fuming. Much like Steve’s parents, your parents weren’t around much. Billy was just alone, just pacing around and mumbling to himself. You could see how angry he was in his body language. You closed the door behind you, “Billy, Love, are you alright?”

His nostrils flared, but he didn’t stop pacing. “Do I look fucking alright to you, y/n?”

You kept your temperament even and you were so glad that Max was off at the mall with the Party right now. “What happened?”

“Fucking Neil! Ugly bastard called the cops on me.”

“What? Did the cops come here?” You had only been gone for like an hour; you picked up all the members of the Party and drove them to Starcourt.

“Just Hopper, thank fuck. He said he recognized your name from when Neil called the station. He came to check on everything and told me he would handle Neil, but fuck! Why can’t he just leave me alone? I’m completely fucking moved out at this point. I live here with you and I’m not a fuckin’ burden to him anymore,” he seethed. His teeth were clenched together so tightly you were worried they would break.

“I’m so sorry, Billy. You handled it well; let’s get you a drink and sit down for a minute. I’m worried about you,” you said. You started to reach your hand out toward him, but he pulled back and glared at you.

“Don’t treat me like a child. I know I’m a burden to you too. You don’t have to pretend to care about me.”

You were dumbfounded. “What? Billy, you are not a burden to me. You never have been and never will be. Your brain is just saying that because you’re raging. You’ll be okay, I promise you’re safe here.” It was the first time those words had ever come out of his mouth. You couldn’t bare the thought of him considering himself a burden to you. “Honey Love, you are the most important person in my life. Your mental health doesn’t make you a burden, it makes you human.”

Normally, when you said things like that, he would go soft. He would fall into your arms and you will hold him until he was ready to talk about what was going on in his brain. Again, today was different than usual. He had really gotten into his own head while you were gone. “Stop lying to me, you fucking bitch! You don’t care about me! No one–”

“God I hate you sometimes. I hate your brain sometimes, fuck!” You cut him off with your cursing. His near-constant pacing stopped as you put your hands over your eyes. “I wish I could take away your pain. I wish I could take your trauma and lock it away and throw the key into the fucking ocean, but I can’t! I don’t know how to help you when your rage transfers to me. I know you aren’t really mad at me, but fuck it hurts…” Your hands were becoming damp with your own tears.

“Baby…” Billy mumbled. His raging monster inside had been shut up with those sentences. The guilt was crawling up his spine and made him feel like he was going to be sick. He wanted to talk to you about feeling burdensome, but not like this. This broke everything in him. His one promise to himself was to not hurt you; he never wanted to hurt you. You told him that was unrealistic because he’s human and we are all capable of hurting people, but he still told himself not to hurt you. He couldn’t believe that he had let those words come out of his mouth. “I’m… I’m sorry. I’m pissed at Neil, not you. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

You pulled your hands away from your face and he was standing still a little ways away from you. He looked absolutely horrified and you were sure that he was thinking all kinds of self-hating thoughts right now. You wiped your eyes and walked over to him with open arms. He hugged you back quickly and tightly. “I know, Love. You’re still going through things with Neil and there are still going to be bad days.”

“I never want to make you upset though… Fuck…” His face was hidden in your hair. You could feel him trembling. “I don’t want you to leave me, but I understand if you want to.”

You squeezed him tighter. “Absolutely fucking not. Even when things happen and we fight or you slip up, I know you’re trying to get through your pain. You’re starting to heal and I’m not going anywhere. You are not a burden, Billy Hargrove; not to me or anyone else. You are a human who’s got some growing to do... And I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said what I did either.”

“It's alright... I love you… so fuckin’ much,” he whispered.

“I love you too, Billy.”

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chettyspagetti · 3 months

Text

I think their soulmates in every universe but that’s just me

#campcamp #camp camp #spacekid campcamp #neil camp camp #campcamp ship #cc space kid #neilsquared #cc neil #neil x spacekid #space kid x neil #neil² #neil cc #spaceneil

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off-the-heezys · 2 months

Note

Do u have a rare pair ship or any platonic hcs?

I have a lot of rarepair / crack ships anon. It’s not even funny. Let’s see if I can make a list, and if you want to learn more, you can ask

Pikemax

Pikeman x Sasha (it’s kind of a rare pair?)

Masha

Tabrin

Kevdan

DavClem(?)

Kevvid

Radio Broadcast (Daniel x Fred) (you know that guy from into town that had like 3 lines)

Pikeman x Nurf

Military Magic (Harrison x Pikeman)

Chemical Warfare (Neil x Pikeman)

Vera x Pikeman

Can you sense a pattern

Neil x Space Kid but only @chettyspagetti adult version

Spacemax

I fear Cameron x Miss Priss is a rarepair

Gwen x Graggle!! Guys that one artist that draws them a bunch makes me so happy

Smoked Ghost. That’s a me and @theghostbunnie ship and I will not elaborate

Sneil (Snake x Neil)

I’m gunna stop there but I’m sure there’s more if I go fishing around in my brain

As for platonic headcanons!! Umm!!! There’s a lot!!

I like to imagine when they r a little older, space kid and tabii become BFFs!!! That’s mostly bc of an RP I was in years ago

Pikeman and Space Kid in high school r on a strict “we are friends because our dogs are friends” (I hc them with doggies)

Max and Nerris friendship. Very important to me

I like to imagine Nikki n Neil see each other as siblings!!

Kevin and Cute Waitress/Clem r literally the bestest of friends ok

Performance Trio come back to me. I miss you.

As much as I love gwenvid, I also love Gwen and David just being rlly good friends. Besties. Married for tax benefits

Nerris and Harrison QPP? Sign me up

Jasper and Space Kid friendship… come back to me….. I’m dying…..

I saw somewhere Ered views Dolph as her little brother and that means so much to me. Girl what if she saw herself as everyone’s big sister. What if I started crying

#camp camp #campcamp #asks #sorry kind of a long post #erm…

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aydaptic · 7 months

Note

Sorry if you've already answered this before but I'm new to the fandom and I found your account through your web-comic and I was wondering what is it about Gavin that you like so much? Why is he one of your favourite characters in dbh? (I've noticed that he isn't much of a fan-favourite in this fandom 😔)

This'll be a long post, but you asked (...and I'll happily answer!) I'll add some descriptions for context. At the top of my head, I can think of 21 reasons why I like his canon equivalent.

1. He's charismatic

Gav gives off an energy that makes it easy to hang onto his every word. I can quote all his lines by heart and I like listening to Neil Newbon (in this specific role) talk. I remember some of Kamski's lines as well -- also mo-capped/voice acted by Newbon -- but Kamski doesn't have nearly as much charisma as Gav does.

2. He's expressive

Ppl who 'talk with their hands' are more charismatic. Gav is all over the place in the break room if you stick around. Hand gestures capture people's attention as they emphasize what is being said.

3. He doesn't think androids are alive (...so in his eyes, the way he treats them isn't wrong)

"Could always try roughin' it up a little. After all... it's not human." - Gavin Reed, The Interrogation

That means he wouldn't rough up a human suspect. This alone justifies his unpleasant attitude towards androids. Hank -- who treated Connor way worse than Gav ever did -- changed his mind. Nothing says Gav can't do the same.

If Alexa suddenly said she was alive, the vast majority wouldn't take it seriously (if any at all.)

4. He's sarcastic

"Congratulations on last night, very impressive." - Gavin Reed, Waiting For Hank...

5. He has dark humor

6. He looks down on people that pay for s*x

Quote above. You don't call someone a "pervert" if you agree with their actions. The Eden Club, in particular, is immoral AF... bc those androids don't have a choice. Gav doesn't care about them being androids, but he still looks down on the guy who paid money to get laid, and I applaud Gav for that. Especially when said guy also had a wife and kids.

7. He has valid concerns about androids taking jobs

Anyone who says differently is either in denial, uninformed, or never had a job they were scared to get fired from. There's already been an uproar about ChatGPT and that's nothing compared to how advanced Detroit: Become Human androids are. The unemployment rate in this game is 37% -- higher than it was during the Great Depression and C*VID -- and androids are the main cause.

I've seen a lot of ppl ask this question:

Q: Why not just buy an android and have them do your job for you, then? You get the money anyway bc it's your android!

A: Bc, believe it or not, the vast majority of men want to work. This is a strange concept to grasp for a lot of ppl. I admire Gav for being one of those men who wants to do it themselves. Letting someone else do your job is taking the easy way out.

8. He's a hard worker

Gallery: "...Ruthlessly ambitious, Reed will do anything to advance his career, even if it means treading on other peoples’ toes."

9. He's ambitious

See the quote above.

10. He doesn't sleep well

This isn't just a headcanon. He has literal bags under his eyes. Just knowing he doesn't sleep well already has me asking, "why?" It's interesting.

11. He puts his feet on the table

After Connor interacts with him in the break room, Gav will go to his desk and do this. I'll go into detail about why this contributes to my liking his character in the very last point.

12. He calls Hank out on his alcoholism

As much as most of us love Hank, he's not in a good space mentally. Showing up drunk/hungover to work should not be tolerated. It not only puts coworkers, but also civilians, at risk. Hank should be in therapy instead of working at the DPD until he gets his life sorted out.

13. He calls Fowler out for giving Hank special treatment

"You won't get away with it this time." - Gavin Reed, The Interrogation (after Hank pulls a literal gun on a human coworker AKA Gav)

So Gav has brought it up to Fowler before and is about to do it again. Ties into the point above. What Hank does -- like assaulting a literal FBI agent -- shouldn't be tolerated.

14. He's a control freak

I gravitate towards ppl and characters who take charge. Those who like being in control and know what they're doing. I'm a control freak myself, but I'd prefer to let someone else take the reins as long as I agree with their methods. I like it when ppl know what they want and act on it. Gav does both.

15. He's protective of his coworkers

I was unsure whether or not to add this as I guess it can be seen as a subjective theory and not an objective fact.

Gav only ever steps in with the gun in The Interrogation when Con uses aggressive force on Chris Miller by tearing him away from the deviant. Con did this after disobeying Gav 3 times. So yeah. Gav is justified for stepping in. Hank, on the other hand, isn't justified for pulling a gun on a human coworker. I see this scene as Gav protecting Chris from Con who is showing signs of deviancy.

16. He can't wink

Endearing.

17. He pouts a lot

Again, endearing.

18. He swears like a sneezing kitten

Same as the two points above.

19. He doesn't like Connor

I don't like Con, either. Yeah. We exist. Personality types like Con's "let's be friends" attitude and constant positivity pisses me off. Before anyone comments that the player decides Con's personality... no. Only to an extent. There are several instances where the player has no say whatsoever. Some of Con's pre-determined responses annoy me.

20. He has great fashion

Big fan of leather jackets.

21. I like him bc I'm a narcissist at times

He's essentially the male equivalent of me to the T. I'm only an asshole internally, though. We love (or hate) characters we relate to. I relate to every single point except 17 and 18 on this list.

There you go :)

His OOC fanon equivalent has a huge fanbase -- especially on Twitter/X and Tumblr turning him into a blushing teenage girl -- but it seems like I'm the only person who can't stand that OOC portrayal of him. That said, I adore his canon equivalent in all his asshole glory.

#dbh #gavin reed #detroit: become human #dbh gavin #long post #Q&A #anonymous #*aydaptic

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wantsomegaycake · 10 days

Text

The Aftermath

Richard Cameron x Fem!reader

this is literally just an English assignment that I turned into a fanfic. enjoy

Warnings: Mentions of suicide (Neil), blood, fighting? It was after/during Charlie punched him so take that how you will.

Neil had done it, he had finally done it. The poor kid had killed himself.

It was after months of stress from his father, going behind his back to join the school play when his dad was stressing about his academic abilities, all A’s, but never enough for the old man. His dad had caught him in the play, waited until after it was over to drag him out to his car, take him home. His father had pulled him out of his boarding school, telling him he would go to a military school, that he was going to become a doctor. It was too much. Neil killed himself.

Richard didn’t know what to think after that. The poor boy was everyone’s friend, everyone liked him, especially Charlie. The two had known each other from when they were toddlers. Richard and Charlie were roommates, so any friend of Charlie’s basically a friend to him. He liked Neil too. Everyone did. The news shook both of them to their core. Separated them, tore their group apart, especially when Richard suggested it might’ve been the fault of Mr. Keating, who encouraged him to join the play. In Richard’s eyes, he was killed because that stupid English teacher pushed him to do something out of his comfort zone, to be himself, to try. Richard was easily manipulated by older, more stable teachers, like the principal. Of course it was Mr. Keating’s fault. He’d believe this to the end of time. Charlie did not agree.

It all spilled over in the attic of the school. Richard had told the principal his thoughts on that damn English teacher, and now he was to be fired from his position. Richard felt proud of himself. He did it! There would be closure for Neil’s death now that the man who pushed him was gone. Charlie did not agree. He was told this, told that it was all this teacher’s fault, that he should let him fry, and the anger boiled over into a punch aimed directly at Richard’s nose.He went to their dorm after that, sat down on his bed with his red hair in his hands, wanting to cry from the sting of the punch and the sting of rejection from the other boy. He knew that Charlie, his dear roommate, was going to be expelled, following their English teacher out the door. He felt an overwhelming swell of guilt in his chest, knowing that he was to blame.

And then she came through the door.

Not all the way through, just standing there in the doorway wringing her hands anxiously. She was always anxious, always like a scared dog that wanted to help but didn’t know how. That's what he liked about her. She was so damn kind, so damn caring, but so damn anxious. So she stood there, giving him space, but letting him know she was there for him.

Richard eventually looked up from his bloodied palms, his eyes watery, the blood still dripping from his nose trailing a small stream down the crease of his lips, sliding across his chin. He sniffled, wiping his face on the sleeve of his collared shirt, the dark red a stain on the wrinkled fabric. Her brows furrowed at that: Richard was such a neat freak, his clothes always steamed and folded and hung. Seeing him this frazzled was a jarring realization that he wasn’t as ok as she first thought. She took a step into the room.

“Don’t come any closer.” He muttered this, half hearted and weak. She knew him, knew how he would say things but didn’t mean them, not really. She knew his language, the one unspoken and filled with double meanings, but she knew better than that. She took another step into his room, taking a deep breath.

“I don’t… want to leave you alone right now.” Her voice is just as weak as his. Damn it, he was her friend too. She lost a friend too. She was hurting too.

RIchard scoffed as she continued towards him, wanting nothing more than to feel her soft touch on his face, wanting nothing more than to hold her close. “I don’t need your fake ass pity. I don’t need you.” The sharp glare on his face almost stopped her, making her hesitate. She knew better than to believe him in this language he was speaking. She sat down beside him on his bed, her lips pursing as she took his hand in her own.

“I’m not pitying you, Richie. I’m just…” she huffs, looking away from him. Her heart aches for him, losing two friends in a week, one from a gunshot and the other from betrayal. “I worry about you. I don’t want you to end up like Neil.”

This makes him pause, his eyes softening. God damn it, why did she have to be so kind to him? He knows he doesn’t deserve it. He's so damn tired, he can’t help but lace her fingers through his.

“I wouldn’t. I would never.” He solidifies his statement with a squeeze of her hand, his soft brown eyes tracing her round cheeks, her pouty lips, her kind gaze. He hates her. Hates that she cares for him even after he got Mr. Keating expelled on a faulty basis. He won’t even forgive himself for that, but she easily accepts him with open arms. This makes her hum softly, looking up at him, her dark eyes scanning his cheekbones, his pale, bruising skin, the blood smearing his freckled cheek. She reaches out, wiping away the blood with her thumb.

“Charlie really did a number on you, huh?”

This makes him chuckle, leaning into her soft hand, his eyes closing as he sighs. His breath is warm against her wrist, reminding her that he’s alive, that he’s not like their friend. “God, that's an understatement.” He pauses, just enjoying her soft touch on his face. He can’t forgive himself. It shocks him that she’s so kind. He looks up at her with sad, defeated eyes, filled with regret for giving in to the authority of the school, blind in his hurt.

“Why do you care for me? Why don’t you leave me? Why do you… why d’you forgive me so easily?”

She huffs, her brows furrowing slightly as she looks at him, sees how defeated he is, and her heart softens further. She shrugs, her gaze turns onto the floorboards. She doesn’t really know. She should hate him, she should despise him for expelling her best friend and getting their teacher fired over something he wasn’t a part of.

“I don’t know.” His heart sinks a little further, and he tilts his head to lean deeper into her palm, his own frown growing on his face. He hates himself, right down to the core. He doesn’t understand how someone like her could love him. He presses a soft kiss to her palm, then her wrist, then her shoulder with a soft tug to her arm, pulling her closer to him. She hums, just leaning into him, letting him hold her until he feels better about himself and his actions. Even if he doesn’t forgive himself, she forgives him, and even if he doesn’t truly understand it, he’ll accept the affection he’s starved for. He wraps his arms around her waist, just holding her close and burying his head in her shoulder, trying to keep himself from breaking down again.

#Richard cameron #Richard cameron x reader #charlie dalton #x reader #fanfic #dead poets society #neil perry #english assignment gone wrong #Anyway

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imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl · 11 months

Text

A Light in the Darkness {Part 07 of 07}

Eddie Munson X Hargrove!twinsister Reader

Chapter word count: 2K

Summary: After Billy died, you got stuck in a dark place, where you didn't have to deal with your feelings. Your friends don't know what to do but to drag you away from the many fights you pick. And life was dragging itself, an agonizing day after the other... Until Eddie Munson broke through the very high walls you built around yourself.

<- Previous part (06)

{Stranger Things Masterlist}

Intervention

“A what?” You ask, blinking a few times as your mind tries to process what's going on.

“We-”

“Let me speak,” Maxine says, interrupting Steve. “I've seen what Billy's death done to you, better than anyone.” She continues. “I'm the one to hold you at night, I'm the one to hear you sobbing, to wake up when you have nightmares and wake up screaming for your brother.” Max stands up and walks over to you, taking both your hands in hers. “You have a lot of anger, and I understand why, having lived with Neil all your life. And I understand it's all coming out the wrong way since Billy was gone, but this... This has to stop, (Y/N). I love you, but this has to stop. You're hurting yourself, and hurting us.”

“And putting yourself in danger,” Hopper adds, from his place standing near the couch. “This time you escaped... I'm not sure for how long I can keep covering for you.”

“There are five stages of grief.” Eddie finally speaks, and your eyes move to him, your heart beating faster for some reason. But you're used to it now, to the sensations Eddie provokes. It only dawns now, when you look at him in the crowd your family makes, that he lights up like a beacon. Like an anchor. And you crave to hear what he has to say. “You're stuck in anger and depression. And you have to feel them, yes, but you also have to move on.”

“How?” It comes out in a whisper, broken voice and tears rolling down. It's the first time you cry in front of them since the Battle of Starcourt.

“Start by letting it out of your chest,” Susan says.

“Yeah. You never speak to us.” Nancy adds. “We don't know what's happening.”

“Can you imagine how hard it is for me to understand?” Robins speaks up, gesturing at herself. “I joined the party too late. So I never know what to do when you freak out, go to the lake, or drive around. God knows where you go. What if you die? We wouldn't even be able to find you, and I get nervous and speak way too much, and these guys are the ones forced to bear me.”

A lot of them nod, and you just don't know what to say. Shrugging, you don't even try to resist the pull that moves you towards Eddie. He immediately stands up, arms opening to welcome you into his embrace. “It's alright. You're safe here, ok? We're your family, and we love you.” That makes you pull away, looking up at him.

And that's when he kisses you.

It's just a peck on the lips, but it makes your world stop for a moment. Your eyes are set on his as your skin burns deliciously, and for a moment there's nobody else there, just you and him... That until someone clears their throat.

“Are you done?” Hopper asks, and you collapse against his chest again.

But this time, you're not hiding. “If you guys wanna know... I'll tell you...”

They all move, giving you and Eddie enough space to sit down on the couch. Here, among them, you're safe, as Eddie said. And for the first time, you will force yourself to open up. It'll hurt, you know it, you feel it already, but you'll do this. For them, and for you.

“Billy was the one to protect me from Neil.” You begin, holding Eddie's hand, fingers laced together. “When we were kids, he took many of the beatings meant to me. Because I was his baby sister, even though I'm just seventeen minutes younger. And as we grew up-” A sob comes, you cover your mouth, closing your eyes tightly to push out some tears. “As we grew up, we started defending each other. I took some beatings meant for him too, even though he didn't like it. He wanted to take it all on himself, but I didn't let him. But many times when I was so scared, he was always there and... And now... Now he's gone and I feel like that monster can show up again at any time and I'll be all alone... And he'll beat me as he did and the only one who protected me and shared this burden is gone.”

You're a crying mess when you're done, shoulders shaking under the many sobs. Eddie holds you again, and you cry against him.

“It's true...” Max says. “But I didn't know it was like that...”

“Hey,” Steve whispers, and when you look, he's crouching in front of you. “I'm sorry Billy is gone. I always knew you guys supported each other, but this... I had no idea. But you have to know that you're not alone. You have me. And Maxine, Mike, Nancy, Robin. Dustin, Hopper, Susan, Lucas, and Erica. Even the rest of us in California.” He looks up at Eddie. “And by the looks of it, you have another protector as well.”

Sniffing, you look up at Eddie, who smiles and nods. “Hell yeah. I'd punch a thousand Jasons for you, Princess.”

That makes you blush, and you hide your face again. “So, we need a plan,” Dustin says, and you hear him messing around with some papers. “Here.” He gets up and hands you a small pile of...

“What the hell?” You speak out, sitting up straight. “How... It's...” Shaking your head, the new tears rolling down making it hard to read what it says on the plane tickets, but you got the most important part. A flight to California, to the nearest airport to Lenora Hills. “You're all going?”

They nod all at the same time. “You kids do whatever you want. I'm going to win Joyce back.” Hopper mutters and you can help but giggle.

“It's only a week, between the end of the school year and the graduation,” Nancy says. “But it'll be good. For you and all of us.”

“Guys, this is expensive... You didn't have to do that for me...”

“We managed.” Steve shrugs. “And you deserve it. All of us do, it'll be fun.”

The smile comes again, and you don't know the last time you felt... Happy. For too long, you have pushed these people away. And you shouldn't have. There are no words to thank them for not leaving, even after you were mean, almost exploding in anger. “I don't deserve it... I don't deserve any of you. And I'm sorry. I just... Didn't know what to do. Where to go, or how to feel.”

“You don't have to know,” Robin says, kneeling down in front of you next to Steve. “We'll find out, together. We fought monsters together, we can deal with a very angry girl.”

That makes you giggle, and you look around. “Thank you. All of you... For not giving up on me.” The tears that follow are from happiness... From feeling found in this sea of darkness.

“Groups hug, everyone!” Dustin calls and gets up as everyone comes closer.

You're still broken and hurt, but you'll probably feel like this forever. Billy has part of you, but now, you have to learn to live without him. And live a life he'd be proud of. Be happy, because that's what he wanted for you.

°°°

The sun is blinding, even under the beach umbrella. Steve and Robin are lying in the sun, trying to get a tan. Nancy is swimming with Maxine and Erica, and the rest of them are trying to find stuff in the sand with a small metal detector.

“You two,” You call. “Reapply sunscreen. I won't wipe moisturizer on your asses if you get all burned.”

“The sun isn't on my ass, so it'll be fine,” Robin says, and Steve chuckles.

“What are you laughing at, Harrington? You're the babysitter, you'll be the one wiping moisturizer in all our asses by the end of the day.”

“You wish.”

“Nah, I have a boyfriend to do that for me.”

“Ouch,” Robin adds. “She just shoved your single state all over your face.”

“Not for much longer...” He mutters, and you turn your head to look at him. “Nancy and I been talking...”

“Oh.” That has been going on for a while. And one of the first things that happened when you set foot in Lenora Hills, was Jonathan and Nancy breaking up. They're fine now, but the romantic relationship is over, probably for good. “Good. Remember to send me an invitation for the wedding.”

“Speaking of you, people with hopes for the future, where's Eddie with our sodas?” Robin asks, and you sit up, looking over your shoulder.

And there he comes, chatting with Eleven, each holding one side of a styrofoam box. “Finally.” You say when they reach you. “Did you get them from the factory?”

“Yup,” Eddie says, sitting on the towel next to you. “We were squeezing the lemons.” He smirks and you pull him into a kiss.

“So.” Eleven starts, sitting in the shade with you and Eddie. “After graduation, what are your plans?”

That's something you didn't stop to think. And honestly, it's the last thing you want to think about on such a beautiful beach. “Mmm... I'm not sure. I wanna skip college. Find a nice job and just start my own life.” Shrugging, you take a deep breath. “I always wanted to work in a pet shop, ever since I was a kid. Might sound like something stupid, but I'd like it.”

“It's not stupid,” Eddie says, and El nods.

“Thing is, I don't even know where. I... I wanted to go back home, to Santa Monica... But I build a strong connection with Hawkins and, as crazy as it sounds, I learned to love it. And Lenore Hills... Would be a good restart. And I already have you, Joyce, and Jonathan here so... I really don't know.”

“There's a way to know,” Eddie says, and you look at him, eyebrows furrowed. “Might be an odd way to set our future but we could always change our minds after.”

>>>>>>>>>>The way he says <our> future has the butterflies in your stomach flying all over. “What way?” You ask, your eyes set on him.

Eddie pulls his bag closer to him and starts looking for something inside it. “Found it.” He pulls out a red, 20-sided dice.

“I'm not even surprised,” you say with a giggle.

“We could throw it. And let's say... One to six, we stay in Hawkins.” He starts, and as odd as it sounds, it makes you smile. This is so like him, and it reminds you of everything that made you fall in love with him. “Seven to 12 is Santa Monica, and thirteen to eighteen, we come here to Lenore Hills.”

“What about nineteen and twenty?”

“You throw again.” He simply says.

Biting your lip, you look down at the dice, taking it from his hand. “Let's get closer to the water.” Getting up, you both walk towards the ocean, holding hands. “Whatever number comes up... You'd go with me?” The questions come out with a touch of fear. What if he doesn't want to leave Hawkins, and your relationship is set on where you want to go?

“Absolutely.” He says, making you breathe out in relief. “It's you and me.” When you stop, Eddie looks down at you, a hand caressing your face softy. “I mean, unless you grow tired of a Freak in your life.”

Chuckling, you shake your head. “Nah. What would I do without your freakiness all over my life, Munson?” He smiles. “So let's do this...” You say, looking at the dice.

“Let's do this... And after our graduation, our life can finally start.”

Nodding, you tiptoe, your foreheads touching. “Alright... I'll let it fall... And our future shall be set.” You put a note of drama on the last part.

“It shall be,” Eddie repeats, and as he kisses you, long, lovingly, and passionately, you let the dice fall.

Nothing matters for that moment. Hawkins, Santa Monica, Lenora Hills... It's just you and Eddie, and the kiss that you want to taste for the rest of your days. When you pull away to breathe, a smile on both your lips, you take a deep breath before looking down at the dice.

Gasping, you can't help but smile. “Well, we won't have to throw again.” He says, and you nod.

“Our forever starts now.”

Taglist: @multific @lovesanimals0000

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