look at neil in his pink shirt

sheerpoetry7  asked:

67: “My clothes look really good on you.” Neil/Andrew? Pretty please? 🙏🏻

It’s sickly hot on the day they’re supposed to play their first match of the season, a late summer heat that peels the cold morning away and sweats people out of their layers.

Neil’s mostly used to discomfort, so he puts his head down and gets on the bus. The rest of the foxes complain dramatically and threaten to strip until Wymack blasts the air conditioning and cuffs a few heads.

Everyone zips their sweaters off and ties their hair up, starting the laborious process of nest-making for the duration of the 9 hour drive to Cleveland. Every time Neil looks Andrew is aloof and pristine, like the sun isn’t any better at getting under his armour than anyone else. 

If you’re looking properly, you can see sweat turning the ends of his hair up and darkening his temples. It’s a strange indignity that Andrew wears like a calculated choice.

Nicky presses his icy water bottle into the base of Neil’s neck, and he gasps, clutching for the source.

“He lives!” Nicky says. “I’ve been calling you for five minutes.”

“We’ve been on the bus for thirty seconds,” Neil snaps.

“Thirty seconds too long,” Nicky laughs, leaning over the back of his seat so his arms dangle over Neil’s lap. “You wanna come talk strategy with Kev?”

Neil meets Nicky’s bright eyes, overly conscious of Andrew at his back, mussed by the temperature. He feels buttery nostalgia for the three hours they spent talking on the way to Baltimore, teeth pulling his lip in the empty bus, opening doors and considering it a win when Andrew didn’t close them.

“We’ve been pouring over stats for two weeks,” Neil tells Nicky, purposefully looking out the window to avoid his gaze. “We’re walking in ready.”

“Ahh, you’d think that. But apparently we have ‘blind spots’ that need seeing to. So says her majesty.” Nicky smirks, nodding at Kevin over his shoulder.

“Is he vice captain?”

“No,” Nicky says, mouth already curling in satisfaction.

“Then tell him to fuck off.”

“With pleasure, Neil Josten,” Nicky says, overly dramatic, winking back at him as he wanders to Kevin’s seat.

“Are you finally sick of it?” Andrew asks, and Neil lets himself enjoy the thrum of satisfaction he gets whenever Andrew initiates things. He turns all the way around in his seat.

“Of exy? No. Of kevin, yes.”

Andrew’s cool eyes trip over the foxes and windows and coughing AC units, landing on Neil and settling. Neil feels a yank in his gut like someone caught him by the waist while he was running full speed.

“Give me your bag.”

The feeling ebbs in a distracted sort of way, and Neil frowns. “Why?”

Andrew looks away, eyelashes light and fine on his cheekbones when he blinks. Neil knows from experience that another five minutes of heat would have curled Andrew’s hair and flushed his cheeks and neck.

He wants to see that. Like if he could take Andrew off the bus and kiss him in the thick heat, it would fix the feeling in his stomach.

“I want something,” Andrew says simply.

Neil rolls his eyes, but stands anyway. “That’s new.” He sways with the bus as he wrestles his duffel bag from the overhead compartment, dropping it on the seat next to Andrew.

Andrew unzips the top halfway and peels back Neil’s meticulously packed layers. The bus nearly topples him, so he settles back in and watches Andrew work, charmed.

He seems to find what he’s looking for, and Neil sees a flash of black fabric and the blur of Andrew rising out of his seat and into the aisle.

“Where are you going?”

Andrew slides him an unimpressed look and walks to the bathroom installed in the back of the bus. Neil watches him go, wondering wildly if he’s supposed to follow him.

He glances back along the groove of the aisle and finds Kevin ignoring Aaron and Nicky to glare at him. Beyond him, Matt’s grinning at Dan as she talks one of the newcomers through a play, and Allison’s curled up with a sleep mask and Renee’s shoulder.

He sits back against the sun-hot window and lets the jerky motion of the road keep him alert. He looks back towards the closed bathroom door and forward again, curiosity shivering over him.

Andrew emerges a second later, and Neil’s mouth goes cottony dry.

He’s put on Neil’s shirt. It’s the one that goes high enough to cover the scars framing Neil’s collarbones when he’s wearing it, but it leaves his arms open. It was part of this layered ensemble that Andrew bought him over the summer, but he almost only wears it to sleep because it shows the thatched burns on his ribcage. It’s breezy and comfortable and it’s not the first time Andrew’s stolen it.

But he doesn’t usually wear it where people can see, with his sweaty hair pushed halfway back and his arms pink from the sun he caught on the roof yesterday.

He sweeps back into his seat and pulls one knee up to his chest, and Neil watches the orchestration of his muscles matching up and tensing.

Andrew’s finger enters his field of view, too close to focus on. “Get that look off your face.”

“Get my shirt off, then,” Neil says before he can clap a filter on it. Andrew splays his arm all over his lounging knee, and Neil can see a pale triangle of skin under his arm, which shouldn’t mean anything to him. It shouldn’t.

“I didn’t pack for 100 degrees,” Andrew says, voice mild.

“Good,” Neil blurts.“My clothes look really good on you.” He swallows, and Andrew blinks at him, a bored predator.

“That’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard, Neil!” Nicky hollers from four seats up. Neil’s mouth pinches with annoyance. “I’ve fucked guys, and that’s the gayest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“No one wants to hear that,” Aaron says, putting in earbuds and shoving over to the far end of his seat.

“I thought it was relevant context,” Nicky argues, and Kevin smacks him in the back of the head.

The front of the bus devolves into chaotic conversation, and Neil looks back at Andrew.

“I was serious.”

“I know you were.” This would be where he took a drag from his cigarette, if this was their rooftop. This would be where he kisses him. Neil watches him with that secret in his mouth, and when Andrew looks back, he can tell he’s thinking the same thing.

“It will not be a regular occurrence,” Andrew says. “Your wardrobe is barely fit for one person.”

“Right.” Neil smiles right behind his teeth, where it doesn’t show on his face. “I’m willing to take the hit.”

Andrew regards him over the seat back. “Aren’t you always?”

Neil leans in and drags his eyes deliberately over the column of Andrew’s neck on the way to his face. “I want to kiss you.”

Andrew tilts his head. “I can’t help you.”

Neil takes this without complaint, but he stays folded over the back of the seat. “This is enough,” he says, a foot between them, Andrew’s broad shoulders holding his shirt taut across them.

“Shouldn’t you be obsessing over the court by now?” Andrew asks, cleanly sidestepping Neil’s attention.

“It is a court,” Neil says, smiling. “It’ll still be there in nine hours.”

“And yet you drag us along three times a day to get your fix.”

“No one asks you to come.”

Andrew gives him a look and Neil huffs, looking at the ceiling like it’ll stop the thrill from showing on his face.

“But I’m glad you do.”

“You’re in a sharing mood today,” Andrew says, like he’s commenting on an unfortunate traffic jam.

Neil reaches out to finger the collar of his shirt, and he feels a hollow jerk go through Andrew when his knuckles brush his neck. “It must be the heat.”

somewhere down the line, when andrew and neil can joke in a way that’s not really joking at all (they swear), andrew buys neil a “mrs kevin day” shirt and makes the remark that neil is kevin’s number one fan so it’s only fitting. neil likes the shirt. it’s soft and smells like andrew, a little bit but more when it’s washed, and best yet, kevin blushes when he sees it.

he doesn’t wear it out of their apartment because he may be a shit stirrer but he’s not a fool. or rather, he’s not a fool until it’s 3am and they’re out of cat food and the cats are every inch the nuisance andrew claims they are, and he doesn’t even think about getting changed out of his sleep clothes before he runs to the store down the road.

he gets captured on at least one grainy mobile phone camera, but it’s enough. he takes over all the exy tabloids and twitter accounts the next day, because he looks every inch the rabid fan: arms full of every type of cat food in a bright pink shirt that declares his love for kevin day. (“they’ve finally captured the true you,” andrew says). neil changes his twitter bio to “kevin day’s number one fan”, and kevin threatens to never talk to either one of them again.

anonymous asked:

would you write something where andrew learns how to knit?

This is beautiful let’s do this (this is less of a learns how to and more of a Andrew + knitting introduction & adventures ft. Neil Josten and Happiness)

  • SO after Renee moves away for her peace keeping ventures, Andrew has no one to spar with
  • Neil offers to take her place, but Andrew would rather gut him himself than see Neil with a knife in his hands again
  • and, stupidly, he couldn’t inflict wilful, angry violence on Neil if he tried
  • suddenly his avenue of stress relief/violence relief is gone, and it hits him harder than he expected
  • frustration builds up; muted anger and bitterness and the itching need to hit and hurt
  • the nightmares get worse, and after them there’s nothing to take the phantom pain and fear away
  • he starts drinking and smoking more, becoming more dangerous in practice and person
  • he’s more abrupt with Neil more often, lets him touch him less, basically just distances himself because he’s scared that he’ll snap and it’s Neil who will suffer
  • and Neil is seriously worried
  • he’s never seen Andrew like this, and its scaring him
  • and he misses him too
  • so, unsure of what else to do, he calls Bee
  • he’s done that before, after the first time Andrew fucked him, when he freaked out and took off and Neil had no idea what to do
  • Bee knew Andrew well enough to know what to do then, he hopes she can do something similar now
  • Bee is all over it
  • she knows Andrew needs something to help him relieve the stress and tension and anger, something perhaps calming and peaceful in the place of Renee’s reciprocated violence
  • so she calls in her annual leave and flies up, inviting Andrew out for lunch
  • Andrew suspects Neil had something to do with this, but goes along anyway
  • and Bee can see that Neil was right, Andrew is tense and disconnected and jumpy, worse than before the meds
  • because this time he’s fighting it, he doesn’t want to linger in the same darkness he once welcomed, but he doesn’t know what to do
  • Bee has an idea
  • Now, Bee is a knitter, an avid one
  • her grandmother got her into it a lifetime ago, and she does it from time to time to relax and unwind and remember her
  • she thinks maybe Andrew might take to it, given a little push
  • so she invites him out again, not telling him where they’re going, just saying its a surprise
  • Andrew only goes because he trusts Bee with, well, everything
  • when he sees that it’s a knitting club he just about walks out
  • what the fuck would he do with knitting? He’s a 5 foot tall man of barely contained violence, who can kill 4 men twice his size with his bare fists
  • knitting is not for him
  • but Bee asks that he try it, just once, just to see
  • he begrudgingly agrees
  • the club is mostly older women, though there are a few older men and strangely enough a bunch of younger people too, maybe his age
  • some are there for volunteering or community service, or simply because they either enjoy knitting or want to try it out
  • Surprisingly enough, its not so bad
  • Andrew can sit in silence and work while he either listens to the stories being told around him (the elderly have some fascinating stories to tell, when the younger ones ask) or just tune them out
  • and Bee thinks that maybe it’s working, maybe Andrew likes this, maybe he finds it as peaceful and tranquil as Bee had hoped (also she’s impressed because wtf first time knitters are shit but Andrew has taken to this with an odd amount of skill)
  • she takes him back next week, then the week after that, and he goes every time without another word
  • after that she has to go back, but she buys Andrew a knitting kit with a half a dozen balls of wool and gives them to him as a gift
  • she asks him to continue on with it, and maybe knit her something if he has time
  • so, Andrew does
  • at first he hides it from Neil, slightly embarrassed
  • but to his surprise Neil comes home one day earlier and catches him at it, but does nothing but smile fondly
  • “my mum used to knit. It was the only present i ever got apart from knives”
  • so Andrew integrates it into their nightly tv time, wherein they watch whatever movie Nicky has been gushing about over Skype (usually a gay classic), Exy games/re runs, or shows and movies Andrew used to like and that Neil has to catch up on (being on the run didn’t make for good media consumption)
  • in a moment of rare sentimentality, Andrew knits Neil a scarf- bright orange with a fox paw print in the centre
  • when Neil sees it he smiles so wide that his face must ache
  • but he kisses Andrew so softly and sweetly, fingers curling into his hair and tugging gently
  • (maybe later he lets Neil take him with his mouth, lets him press his happiness in soft kisses and licks and sucks to Andrew’s cock)
  • Andrew hates him (its very satisfying)
  • he also knits Bee something, as she asked him, a frilly pink beanie she can wear in winter
  • she absolutely adores it, and wears it every chance she can get
  • Andrew continues the practice for years, letting it fit into his life where violence once was
  • the urge to hit and punch and hurt is still there, but the edges are softened and he can take it out on the court (to Neil’s obscene delight)
  • On the nights when he wakes from nightmares, on the bad days where he can’t bear to be touched or looked at, not even by Neil, when he’s afraid of himself as much as of anyone else, he takes his knitting and retreats to his room
  • and he just sits and knits until the tension and nausea and fear and memory fades away
  • Neil thinks that the practice is good for Andrew, and adorable besides
  • he encourages it by hunting down the most ridiculously coloured, oddly textured, strangely patterned balls of wool he can find, gifting them to Andrew as presents
  • Andrew hates him, and in retribution knits items of clothing that he forces Neil to wear
  • around christmas, when they go out for a double date with Dan and Matt, he makes Neil wear a patterned beanie of obnoxiously bright yellow, pink and orange, a christmas scarf with cats on it and yellow mittens with red stars on them
  • he looks like a right asshole, but Neil has never been happier in his life. He loves wearing things that Andrew has made for him, regardless of what they look like
  • he would wear nothing but Andrew’s knit wear for the rest of his life if Andrew would let him (this is the same boy who owned like 3 ratty t shirts till Andrew staged an intervention you know he would)
  • When Dan sees him she laughs so hard she cries, and Matt giggles and kisses him on the nose
  • (that boy is so cute they would steal him if Andrew wouldn’t shank them)
  • After they get the cats Andrew also knits stuff for them, rugs for their cat houses and little booties
  • he subscribes to a knitting magazine that gets published monthly and contains tutorials on new knitting designs and techniques
  • he actually gets invested in the culture, and learns all the big names in the knitting world, something that is ridiculous and absolutely not the direction he thought his life would take
  • he even goes back to the club, from time to time, in the off seasons
  • he gets friendly with a couple of the older people there, who have no idea who he is and who couldn’t care less, because old people are harmless and their stories are always eventful
  • When Renee gets back he gives her a sweater of her favourite colours, and she kisses his cheeks and hugs him tightly
  • when she asks him later if he wants to spar, Andrew, to both their surprise, says no
  • instead, he goes home to Neil and the cats, to a cup of hot cocoa and reruns of Queer as Folk, to his balls of wool and his knitting needles
  • And with his boyfriend curled against him, his work in his hands and the cats sprawled on his legs, Andrew finds himself content
  • for the first time in a lifetime, the violence that itches under his skin is quiet

anonymous asked:

Can I request a prompt about allison and neil being best friends and taking a shopping trip together please 🙌🏻 maybe she tries to help him get over his insecurity with his scars? Thank you x

Thank you for the prompt nonnie <3

Send in some more aftg prompts! I’ll be a lil busy the next few days but I really feel like writing. Any pairing :)


Being friends with Allison was good. It was easy and nice, because Allison knew when to blabber and knew when to shut up. She was always honest, no matter if what she had to say was brutal or nice. 

“You need new clothes. And preferrably, something other than black.”, she stated one day at lunch. Andrew next to Neil threw her a glare, which she pointedly ignored. 

Neil looked down on his body. He was wearing a black hoodie, jeans and sneakers. “What’s wrong with these-”

She cut him off. “Nuh-uh. Shopping. Today.” 


They took Allison’s pink porsche to the mall and she dragged him into the biggest men’s store she could find where she started piling clothes into his arms. 

“Andrew always dresses you in black.”, she scolded, and Neil wanted to say Andrew didn’t dress him, but she kept talking, “I mean, I get it, it’s his aesthetics. And it looks cool when you’re together and stuff I guess. But you need color!”

To emphazise, tossed a green shirt on top of the pile. 

Neil shrugged. “Isn’t black, like, the go-to thing in fashion?” 

Allison scoffed. “Yeah, but all black all the time makes you look emo, and you’re too pretty for that. Come on, try that on.”

-

Allison did have a good taste in clothes. Of course she did, studying fashion design and all. But still, Neil was surprised when he saw his reflection in one of the outfits she picked. 

The jeans were tighter than he usually wore, black and skinny and stuffed into heavy anthrazyt boots which contrasted the skinny leg of the jeans. The shirt over it was a teal henley. Neil tugged the sleeves forward until they covered his hands before stepping out behind the curtain.

Allison squealed when she saw him. “Neil! You look really hot!” She took out her phone and snapped a picture before standing up to tousle his hair a little more. “Like a model, seriously. Let me just… can I?” She reached out for the sleeves of his shirt and gave him a questioning look. 

Neil bit his lip. “…I like them this long. Otherwise, my scars will show.”

Allison’s expression softened a little. “Sorry, of course.” She took her hands back. She seemed to think for a moment. “You know, I know you’re self-conscious about them. But I just want you to know that scars can be beutiful, too. You can make them beautiful.” 

Neil shook his head weakly. He knew she meant well, but… “I don’t feel like they can. They’re… they remind me of all the bad things that happened, my father, Riko, and all.” 

“…which you survived.”, Allison added gently. She reached out and put her hand under his chin to make him look up. “Listen, Josten, this is gonna be really cheesy now, but hear me out: you are a beautiful person. We love you, the Foxes loves you, your monster loves you and your fans love you. People even think you’re hot. Not that you should get your self-worth from that, but it’s still nice to know. Your scars will never change that, because who you are and why you’re beautiful comes from here.” She poked his chest with her manicured fingernail. 

Neil couldn’t help but grin as a warm feeling spread through him. Friendship. Support. “That was really cheesy.” 

“I know. Now shut up or I’ll bring you something that’s midriff-free.” She grinned back and cocked her head, “…although… that might help with winning Andrew over.” 

Neil threw a discarded shirt at her. 

this is for @ilgaksu for her biiiiirthday <3

“What the fuck is with you today, Minyard?” Wilson asks, somewhere between aggressive and honestly puzzled as he picks himself off of the floor.

Andrew shrugs, aware it barely shows under his bulky gear, and says, “Try harder.”

The ball’s already long gone down the other end of the court, cleared by Andrew with one hard swing. Wilson, scowling, turns and jogs back towards his backliner mark for this scrimmage. 

“Don’t break them,” Cooper says. She sounds amused from her position as Andrew’s other backliner, and more relaxed than usual. That’s probably because Andrew’s doing her job for her. “We don’t have enough game-ready strikers on the roster for you to start injuring them just because you got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”

“Don’t let them get so close, if you’re concerned,” he replies, all boredom. Playing goalie means he doesn’t see much contact, but when they’re in his territory offence are fair game.

They might only be trying to get closer to the goal because shooting from a distance isn’t working out so well for them today. They can’t complain though - stopping goals is what the Rebels signed Andrew for. 

He left Neil warm and not quite awake in his bed for this practice. They better make it worth his while. 

“I notice you’re not denying that you’re in a bad mood,” Cooper calls, though her attention is already back on the ball. Andrew doesn’t bother to respond. This team is already overly invested in making friends with Andrew, and talking to them only seems to encourage them, no matter what he says.

He turns aside four more attempts at scoring before Rawlins knocks twice on the door to signal a change over, calling Andrew’s side off the court. He’s the last one out, which earns him the sole focus of the defensive coach.

“Good work,” Rawlins says. He’s a man of few words, which makes him considerably less annoying than most of the Rebels. “Your visitor’s up in the stands.”

Said visitor already has the attention of the rest of Andrew’s teammates, who are looking and muttering amongst themselves. They’re probably wondering whether he’s here to scout out their strategies. That’s ridiculous, because there’s no way Neil Josten can score on Andrew if he doesn’t let him.

Andrew hangs up his racquet on the rack and heads up into the stands, removing his gloves and helmet as he goes. Neil’s slouched in a seat about ten rows up, his feet up on the plastic back of the seat in front of him. He looks up at Andrew from underneath his eyelashes as he approaches.

Andrew gets a sudden and vivid sense memory of Neil this morning, fingers curled into Andrew’s shirt and his sleepy insistence that Andrew go to practice like his hands and mouth weren’t the things keeping him right there.

“Hey,” Neil says. His expression is characteristically serious, but his easy posture and the pink marks that Andrew left on his throat last night make him look younger than he is.

“I thought you were staying in bed,” Andrew says. Neil said that this morning: I’ll still be right here when you get back, with a luxurious little stretch against Andrew’s sheets. 

Neil shrugs. “I got bored. Thought I’d come over and watch for a while. They were pretty casual about it.”

They would be - management knows about Neil. “So, are you feeling entertained now?” 

Neil reaches out and hooks a finger into Andrew’s jersey, pulling the fabric taut between them. Andrew can just about feel the attention of his teammates narrowing onto that very over-familiar action. 

From anyone else, it would be teasing. Neil’s face is ridiculously earnest when he says, “You’re playing really well.”

Andrew would roll his eyes if it weren’t for the gleaming intensity in Neil, the trace of heat that means I like you like this. Stupid as the reason for it is, Andrew likes that expression on Neil’s face.

“Yo, Minyard! Bring it in,” someone yells from the bench. Andrew doesn’t spare them a glance.

“Are you going to introduce me?” Neil asks, moving to stand like Andrew’s yes is a given. If Andrew were a liar, he’d say that’s the reason he puts his free hand on Neil’s chest to hold him in his seat.

“Not likely,” he says, and when Neil tilts his head back, mouth open like he’s going to speak, Andrew kisses him instead. Neil makes a muffled mmph! before going pliant and sweetly welcoming, his fingers in Andrew’s jersey just like a few hours earlier.

He’s rosy-cheeked when Andrew pulls back. There are several brave catcalls and the sound of hammering feet from below, which just serves to prove that all Exy players have a death wish. Fortunately for them, when Neil throws them a heavy-lidded glance and the corner of his mouth twitches, Andrew isn’t quite so interested in killing them.

Soft as Neil can be, there’s a very hard edge to the smugness of that smirk.