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#neil tenet x reader
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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)
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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.
40 notes · View notes
ktficworld · 1 year
Text
Bruce and Neil, long lost brothers.
You are in love with Neil but arranged to marry Bruce
*just imagine*
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210 notes · View notes
chellestrash · 2 years
Text
Tenet Masterlist
NEIL
I’ll be alright
Favorite color
Patience (18+)
Promise
Lost without you
Company
Stay with me
Knowing you
Whenever you need me
Exhale
Morning After
Virtue (18+)
Devotion
series
Moving pictures - part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7
Heal me - part 1, 2 (18+)
Care for you - part 1, 2
headcanons
My Neil headcanons
Thigh riding Neil - nsfw headcanons (18+)
First date headcanons
Casual!Neil headcanons
Showering with the Tenet boys
Struggling with body image
Non-binary/Gender nonconforming reader
IVES
Carry you home
Warmth (18+)
headcanons
Release (18+)
GENERAL
Falling asleep with the Tenet boys
Waking up with the Tenet boys
411 notes · View notes
Text
Night & Day P3
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Battinson!Bruce Wayne x F!Reader x Neil
Ratings/Warnings: Mature; angst if you squint. Kissieeeesssss.
Word Count: 2K
Link to AO3
Part One Part Two Part Four Part Five Epilogue
Tags: @ursulaismymiddlename​ @salt-is-a-terrible-currency​ @sassymemesfanficfestival​
Even after having the realization that Neil wasn’t Bruce, the staff catered to his every whim as he worked the room with fluid command in a way Bruce found surprisingly comforting. Fight tactics, evasive maneuvers, those were topics he was most familiar with. He’d even identified safe exit points on the way in on the off chance someone dared to come near him with a measuring tape. But… fashion?
Racks were brought in and carried out at Neil’s discretion while Bruce stood idly by, at a complete loss as to what he was meant to be doing. 
“We’ll get you all set with the basics,” Neil told him, thanking the staff and gently ushering them out of the room to leave the two men in private. “Then we’ll need something special for dinner tonight.” 
“Dinner?” 
“Oh, yes, darling.” He had a pair of pants slung over his forearm, and rifled through the suit jackets, occasionally approaching Bruce to hold something up to his chest. “I’m a tourist, remember? I’d like to be shown all the fine things Gotham has to offer.” 
“I take it this doesn’t count,” Bruce asked dryly. 
“I am a needy man,” Neil sassed back. “Besides, after this sort of effort I think it’s only fair I get to show you off some. You will woo our lady yet.”
Bruce swallowed hard, feeling an uncomfortable flutter in his stomach. Was it that obvious?
Romance - another area he was not familiar with and strived pointedly to avoid. Only once before you had there been a tiny glimmer of an instance remotely close to it - the occasional awkward stints of experimentation in his early twenties certainly didn’t count - but it was fleeting and left the city without ever looking back. 
Still, it meant compromise, for himself and you. A potential compromise to your safety, which he could never forgive himself for - if that was even what you wanted -
“Blimey.” Neil’s voice cut through Bruce’s internal spiral. He looked up only to find him standing directly in front of him, an odd expression on his face.
“What?” 
“I think I’m finally starting to see this resemblance people keep insisting on.” He tilted his head, jaw rolling as his tongue pressed into his cheek. “Telling that it has to take pining for me to notice but.. Nevertheless…”
He stepped aside as he trailed off, then began unbuttoning his blouse and Bruce took it as a cue that he should also be undressing. He couldn’t think of many people he’d be comfortable taking his clothes off in front of. Intimacy was one thing he often lacked, but besides that there was always the question of his scars.  Even after the toll his body had been through, it was the rare shocked stare that was more uncomfortable than the old wounds themselves. 
But there was something about Neil and knowing that you trusted him that gave him the courage to do so. 
Did he… like Neil?
“She uh - she told me that you were together once.” 
“That’s true.” 
It wasn’t entirely his business, but mutual interests had gone well for them so far. “Why didn’t it work out?” 
“The same reason relationships rarely work out for people like us. Our work comes first.” 
It was a sentiment Bruce understood all too well.
“Couldn’t tell her where I was half the time. Often spent weeks not knowing if I was dead or alive, with no one to call should she try to find out.” He busied himself with hanging their discarded clothes, back and forth until the two were down to their boxer briefs with nothing else left to hide between them. 
As it turned out, Neil had scars of his own; a scattered map of tender pink tissue that piqued Bruce’s curiosity.
“But you seem to have given her something stable here,” Neil added; if he noticed Bruce’s hypocritical scrutiny, it passed unacknowledged. “Something I could never do, not that I never wanted to.”
“You still love her.” It was less a question and more a statement, and the sight of Neil’s instant heartfelt smile spread an unusual heat through Bruce’s chest.
“Reckon I always will.” 
He did like him; he liked his honesty and his loyalty, his investment in your needs even if it required total selflessness of him - things that Bruce only hoped you saw in him as well.  
Neil might’ve been there to give him a lesson in self care, but it was all in favor of you. And suddenly Bruce felt more up to the task to see it through than he had mere moments ago - even if the predicament terrified him…
"Look at us,” Neil said, cutting through his reverie once more. “Just two men in our undergarments talking about love. I'd say this was a breakthrough for you, Bruce."
He nearly offered him a lopsided grin when his eyes landed on a set of too brightly colored shirts nearby. The turn of expression must have been all too apparent; Neil chuckled and gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder. 
“Not to worry, those are for me,” he told him. “Self-discovery or no, I don’t think you’re ready for florals just yet.”
~
By the time you found the way to their dressing room, Neil was alone in the spacious area as decadent as your own had been. The rich mahogany paneling could’ve made for a dim atmosphere were it not for the art deco chandeliers, their light glimmering on each pristine floor to ceiling mirror. 
Neil stood beside a fitting platform, and you leaned against the doorjamb to admire the view. Gaze slow up the length of his legs suited in tan, well-fitted dress pants; linen by the looks of it. His torso was adorned in a white blouse of comparable softness, and so sheer you could see the contrast of tanned skin within.
His eyes caught yours in his reflection, occupied with tying the knot of a skinny tie beneath the upturned collar of his shirt, and the corner of his lips pulled into a cocky smirk. 
“Like what you see?”
“Oh, absolutely. Though I do wonder if that’s dinner attire…” you teased, then stepped away from the door to take a closer peek; on such display, he was impossible to resist.
“You mustn't provoke me,” he chided playfully. He held out his hand as you approached, and with a small squeal of surprise, you were pulled onto the platform with him. Long arms instantly circled your waist, and he swayed you to the low drum of music flitting about the room. “Given the occasion, Bruce and I were warranted more than a single outfit.” 
It was still second nature to lean into Neil’s touch, drape your arms over his broad shoulders, and tilt your head back to stare into those dreamy eyes. This was like a day of ping pong - juggling personalities and your feelings for them both - the close proximity was only slightly overwhelming, especially when he looked at you with a weight behind his gaze that hadn’t quite been there before. 
“So it went okay, then?” 
“Oh, we’re best mates now.” You cocked a brow at him, suspicious. “Well, I’m not on Buzzfeed’s ‘Top 10 List of Batman Nemeses’, but we’ll see how he feels after I’ve done his hair.” 
“Neil,” you groaned. “What are you gonna do to his hair?” 
He stopped moving to the music at once, a genuine look of dismay on his face. 
“You’re right, I’m so sorry,” you were quick to butter him up. Even ran an appreciative hand through his hair, fingers lingering through the purposefully messy, perfectly styled quaff. “I love your hair…”
No matter how cross he was pretending to be, you could see him fighting back a smile. 
“Don’t placate me.” And before you could retort, his lips descended upon yours
This was unlike the just beyond friendly greeting in the airport; this was shared history and unrequited feelings. Neil kissed you like he never would again, hands sliding up your spine, moving around your arms to clutch you by the neck.
His stubble pleasantly scratched your chin as he tilted his head, lips parting over yours, and you were shocked by the volume of your own whimper at the feel of the tip of his tongue. Your heart thundered in your chest while the kiss deepened, taking hold of his hips for the sole purpose of staying upright. 
You were dazed when he pulled away and set his forehead on yours, eyelashes slowly fluttering as you watched panting breaths cut through his swollen lips.
“Nothing but whiplash with you two…” you murmured. 
“It’s not my intention to confuse you,” Neil said earnestly, a huskiness to his voice you’d forgotten how much you missed until right then. "Or interfere with whatever's between you and Bruce."
“I know.” Trembling hands busied with fixing his shirt collar and tie, the job having been left unfinished. You sought his gaze and shared a warm smile amid soft, adoring touches. "Thank you. For doing this."
"It's like I said.. Anything for you, my darling." He pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, the knuckles of his hand tracing its remnants. "Besides, I can see why you’re so attracted to him. Would it be terrible of me if I was as well?”
“I know.” You said again, struggling to regain from swooning - a losing battle between the weakness in your legs and the way Neil’s hands continued to roam - hardly picking up on that last bit there until it was almost an afterthought.
“Wait, what?”
~
“Will that be all La Boutique can do for you today?” the brunette receptionist asked.
You couldn’t help but scrunch your face at her. After all was said and done, it took four individual assistants to carry the new wardrobes out of the boutique and into the town car you’d taken from the Tower. Though you had an inkling most garment bags belonged to Neil, he assured you thrice over that Bruce had gotten plenty to hold him over without needing further guidance. 
“That will be all, Gina. Thank you so much, the service was impeccable.” He leaned onto the countertop once more, body language reeking so strongly of schmooze, your eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets.
“Piacere mio. And what will be your form of payment?” Her fingers danced over her tablet before sliding it across the table, and Neil blocked your path, shielding your view of the screen. 
“What’s the damage?”
“Oh, Brucie, darling!” he sang, letting loose a beckoning whistle over his shoulder. 
“Don’t be ridiculous, Neil. How much?”
Bruce smoothly slid himself between you and the counter, wallet in hand, and sunglasses covering his nocturnal eyes. Evidently, the clouds had dispersed and made way for the sun since your arrival at the boutique, and the brightly veined marble of the lobby was too much. Either that, or it was another attempt at disappearing into the background. 
“I got it.”
“But this is supposed to be a gift for you, Bruce,” you tried insisting, bouncing on your toes in attempt to glance over the pair of strapping shoulders. But he swiped the credit card through the card reader before you’d even finished speaking.
“You think I’d let you bring me to a place like this and expect you to pay?”
You gaped at Neil. “Help me out here -”
“No can do, love.” Neil propped his chin on his hand, peering up at Bruce with a little too much fondness in his eyes. “Sugar Daddy Bruce suits him almost as well as his new clothes. And they do fit damn good.” 
What the hell had gotten into them? “Did you just call him -”
Bruce shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me.” 
Your jaw fell slack; speechless when you caught the wry grin pulling at the corner of his lips. Had they tapped into the champagne without you noticing?
The embodiment of night and day, they escorted you from the boutique, torn between who to sputter at more. Wondering if this budding relationship would backfire on you, even if it was in the sweetest way possible.
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littlelordfuckler0y · 2 years
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Neil tenet x reader Instagram au
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hollandorks · 1 year
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stay - teaser
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neil (tenet) x reader
hi look another teaser! I’ve had a chunk of this fic written for a while, and I’m really not sure when it’ll ever get finished or posted, but I decided to just go ahead and post a tiny teaser anyways 
I don’t actually have a summary of this one but: reader is a white hat hacker and private investigator who discovers some odd things when she starts to look into her hot, mysterious new neighbor. Eventually syncs up with canon (and don’t worry it’s a fix it fic) 
word count: 376
y/n looked up as her new neighbor stepped outside. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit that she was staring from the moment the sun lit his hair a brilliant gold. The colors of it danced, golds and yellows and light browns, like a sun-drenched field. 
Her new neighbor was…not bad looking. He was tall, startlingly so, with a sharp jawline and broad shoulders to boot. 
He glanced over at her and she nearly lost her breath at his brilliantly blue eyes. 
“Are you my new neighbor?” she asked with a confidence she didn’t feel. She barely had to raise her voice as the balconies were very close. She shifted to plant one foot on her chair, elbow on her knee, glad she was still wearing something business casual from her morning meeting with the suspicious wife. At least she wasn’t in her stained cactus print pajamas. She would have had to move from the embarrassment. He was very good-looking. Hot in a rumpled young professor way. 
“Looks like it.” He flashed her a grin full of straight white teeth. He had an accent, too. British. Hot. Damn, she thought in a bit of a daze. She noticed the way he pinched the pinky of one hand with the thumb and forefinger of his other hand. His fingers were long. The sunlight flashed across the face of an expensive looking watch. 
“You’re not a serial killer, are you?” she asked to cover up the heat setting in her cheeks. 
“Worse, I’m afraid. I’m a physicist.” She grinned at the response. Hot and smart.
She closed her laptop and stood. “Damn, I was hoping to find another killer to bounce ideas off of.” 
“Well, there’s always time to change careers.” The man leaned over the small space separating their balconies and held out a hand for her to shake. “I’m Neil.” 
She took his hand and shook it, trying hard not to notice how his very large hand dwarfed hers. “Nice to meet you, Neil.” 
She turned to go inside, catching a flash of a raised eyebrow as he said, “Not going to tell me your name?” 
She looked over her shoulder at him and winked. “Nope,” she said as she stepped inside and closed the door.
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inklore · 2 years
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𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭!
shockingly i’ve never done one of these before, but there’s a first for everything right??? and since i have nothing to do on this lovely friday night i thought why not?
this will probably go into the wee hours of the night since i never sleep, but if not everything is answered tonight then they definitely will down the road!
here are just some things to keep in mind:
you do not have to send in a prompt, it can literally be a thot or concept, etc. but if you would rather have a prompt then check out my prompts tag
i’ll be accepting them for the following (or check my who i write for info if there’s someone not on this list you’d like to see)
marvel: moon knight (all alters), all peter parker’s, frank castle, yelena belova, loki laufeyson, thor odinson, joaquin torres
dc: bruce wayne, edward nashton, arthur curry
etc fandoms: anthony bridgerton, benedict bridgerton, santiago garcia, poe dameron, cedric diggory, neil (tenet)
feel free to add tropes, au’s, genre’s light/dark themes, more than one babe, smutty, angst, fluff, to your request as well, all is welcome!
no pressure tags: @holyvictim @aphrogeneias @duskliar @cityofstqrs @fluffyprettykitty @ohcaptains @littlenymphiewrites @simplystevies @silver-pieces @wint3r-h3art @tom-whore-dleston @rae-gar-targaryen @greenorangevioletgrass @jettia @kthynes @clints-lucky-arrow @burnthoneymint <33
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deathwife · 2 years
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acceptance
neil from tenet x f!reader. word count idk, that's how i operate. word estimate? short.
summary: you have a huge surprise for your boyfriend, one which ends in a surprise for you, too.
a/n this is just a silly little short thing that i wrote. no warnings but still, 18+ only on my blog, thank you.
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Today was the day, finally. You had been waiting for this for months, working hard and spending way too much money on stamps. Today, you would find out if your labor had been worth the time.
A thick, creamy envelope sat in the mailbox, embossed with the name of the prestigious university that your love dreamed of attending. At the beginning of your friendship, your now-boyfriend had expressed a desire to pursue a scientific doctorate, at the very university whose correspondence had just arrived. He'd always been busy, though, and not entirely certain that he could qualify for the program, so you'd taken it upon yourself to apply for him. Secretly, you had obtained all of his transcripts and credentials, had found his draft research proposal, and you had written his essays and cover letter. You paid for the application and sent it off, staying in touch with the university and sending over anything they asked for. The verdict was in, and you were holding your breath. You snatched the envelope and ran back inside, locking yourself in the bathroom. If it wasn't an acceptance, you would never tell him.
You ran the shower to cover up what you were doing, hoping he wouldn't get lonely and come looking for you. Your hands shook, making it difficult to get the envelope open and take out the papers, but you managed it. The words on the page blurred together in your anticipation, but you got the message-- Mr. Neil Smith, thank you for your application to our physics Sc.D program. We are delighted to extend to you an invitation to join us this fall. It took everything in your power not to scream at the top of your lungs. He did it! He was in! Oh, god, you had to move, had to uproot everything, but it would be worth it. Your sweet angel was going to get to live his dream.
You took a quick shower to cover up your excuse, and headed back to the bedroom, where Neil was reading in bed. "Angel," you said, smiling when his head snapped up at the sound of your voice. "Get ready. I want to take you to lunch."
"What's the occasion?" he asked, setting his book down still open.
"I have to have an occasion to take my one true love out for food?"
He blushed, as he always did when you called him your true love. You knew he adored hearing it from you, since his feelings for you were so strong. "You have a point. Give me a half hour?"
"Of course. Wear something nice."
His eyes narrowed. "Okay, there's definitely an occasion."
"Shut up, just get ready!" You tried to keep from getting too wound up too early.
When he left the room, you took the envelope out from under your sweatshirt and stuffed it into a purse, making sure it was completely concealed. You had never been so happy, apart from the day that Neil had told you that he loved you for the first time. Your heart fluttered today the way it did then, knowing that your life was about to entirely change for the better. You wondered how often you would have this feeling with him. The feeling had been there on the day he asked you to move in with him. It would certainly be there once he asked you to marry him, and on your wedding day. For him to love you was all you had ever wanted, and though he told you that your love was everything he wanted, you still ached to see him pursue his other ambitions. He would do the same for anything you had your heart set on. This new life was going to be fantastic.
He was dressed to the nines when he told you he was ready, and so were you. You were grateful he had taken you seriously, because he wasn't much of a dress-up kind of guy. It didn't matter to you, but you knew you'd take some pictures today, and he would want to look nice when he looked at the photos again later in life. When you saw him, you whistled. "Damn, look at you!" you exclaimed, running down the stairs and into his arms, which, for some reason, alarmed him.
"Please be careful!" He held you out at arm's length. "Oh, good. Okay," he said, seemingly processing that you were fine. You ran down the stairs to him all the time. What was wrong with it today? "Carefully, my love, please, for my sanity."
"Oohhh-kaaaay," you said, side-eyeing him. "Why?"
"No reason," he said, his eyes flashing that there was definitely a reason. "Let's go."
You plugged in directions to the nicest restaurant in town, and left the car with the valet, who you tipped before you led Neil inside. Never before had you chosen something so fancy, but today was a huge celebration, or it would be once he knew what was happening. When you were seated, you ordered a bottle of champagne, and Neil's eyes went wide. "What?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"I... I mean... Darling, you can't have champagne! Am I supposed to drink it all on my own?" He looked deeply troubled.
"What do you mean, I can't have champagne? I can have whatever I want," you said, with a puzzled frown.
"My love, you're pregnant!" he said hastily. "Champagne is bad for the baby!"
Your jaw dropped open, and it took you a solid minute to wrap your mind around the conclusion that he had come to. "That's what you think?"
"Of course! What other news could you have for me that I wouldn't have gotten some kind of hint about?"
You shook your head, and then started laughing. "Honey, I'm not pregnant!"
His face fell. "You're not?"
Your heart broke. "Are you disappointed?"
"Yeah, a little," he admitted, his cheeks scarlet. "I thought I figured it out while I was in the shower. I thought you were taking me to a nice lunch to tell me that we're having a baby."
"Oh, Neil." You moved to the same side of the table as him, wrapping your arms around him. "You want a baby?"
"Yeah." He wouldn't make eye contact with you. "Sorry I made this awkward."
"Angel, just because we're not having a baby now doesn't mean that we never will." You rubbed his back to comfort him.
"Really?" He perked up. "Someday?"
"Someday. Not today, but someday."
"Okay." His relief was enough that you could feel it too. "So what's all this for?"
The champagne came then, and you poured two glasses before you pulled out the envelope and handed it over. "Here."
"What? Is this from--"
"Yes."
"What do they want?"
"Just read it."
"All right." He slid the papers out and scanned the front page, freezing in place before frantically scanning it again and then cautiously reading every single word. "Y/n, what is this? Where did you get this?"
"I spent the last few months applying in your place," you explained. "I wrote your essays."
"What about the research proposal?"
"I found and proofread your draft."
"And they..." He teared up. "They want me?"
"They want you!" you confirmed, still over the moon. "So are you going?"
"Are you coming too?" he asked, staring at the page.
"Anywhere you want me, I'll be there, so if you want me to move with you, then yes."
He finally looked back at you. "You're willing to change your whole life for this?"
"It's your dream, sweetheart. I'd do anything for you. Especially this."
"Marry me," he blurted out, leaving you shocked. "Oh god, I'm sorry!"
"Why?" You placed a hand on his cheek. "Why are you sorry?"
"I shouldn't have said that. I should have waited until I have a ring," he explained.
"You know I don't care about a ring!" You kissed him, overjoyed by his outburst. "Do you really want me to marry you?"
"So much, but even more now. I was planning on asking you soon, actually. I just said it because I'm so overwhelmed," he said, tears streaming down his face. "No one else would ever do this for me. The only way I could think to return the amount of love this must have taken was to ask you to marry me."
"Well, that's perfect. I'd be honored."
"That's a yes?"
"It's a yes." You were crying too. He hugged you tightly, his love radiating out of him wordlessly. You hoped he could feel how much you loved him too, how adored he was, how worthy.
He wiped away his tears. "I love you so dearly, darling. I can't believe you did this for me."
"I knew you could do it. I love you so much I can hardly stand it," you answered. "You're so brilliant. Now the whole world will know it, Doctor."
"Pending." He pulled back, smiling and shaking his head. "I'm getting my doctorate. We're getting married. Jesus Christ, this day could not possibly get better."
"It can if we order dessert."
He laughed. "Consider it done."
Neil wouldn't let you go back across the table. He was very cuddly and affectionate when he was happy, and he kept giving you hugs and kisses throughout the meal. You loved it when he got like this, and welcomed his joy. Your mind wandered back to his earlier assumption that you were going to have his baby, and you felt strong reassurance when you thought about his reaction. If you had been pregnant, he wouldn't have flipped tables, and wouldn't even have been ambivalent. He would have been ecstatic. It was comforting knowing that he would have a positive reaction even to an unplanned pregnancy, and made you feel yet more secure in your already extremely secure relationship. He was a dream come true, a real-life prince from a fairytale. When the dessert arrived, you fed him tiramisu from your fork and followed it with an intense, passionate kiss, grateful that it wasn't a particularly busy day in the restaurant so you could go all out.
Those gorgeous, stormy grey eyes of his shone with pride when he looked at you. "You are truly the best thing that has ever happened to me. Thank you."
"You've made every wish I've ever had reality, so we're even," you said, looping your arm through his and leaning onto his shoulder. "I love you."
"I love you, my beautiful fiancee." He stood, offering his hand, after you had paid the check. "Now how about we take care of that ring?"
"I don't need a ring, honey."
"Maybe not, but I want you to have one. Will you help me?"
Your heart melted, and you took his hand. "Sure, but only if you let me buy you one, too."
"Deal." He sealed it with a kiss.
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afro-hispwriter · 2 years
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So i really want to watch Tenet but i hate seeing Roberts characters die but apparently Neil doesn’t die but does but i saw a clip for the end of the movie and he is alive??? someone explain plz idc about spoilers bc i rlly want to write something for him, he just looks so beautiful
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Deadlines & Commitments
Neil x F!Reader
Chapter 1 - Stratford Underground Station
Masterlist Summary: Everybody knows anything can happen on London tube. That includes meeting a handsome stranger with a strange name, who doesn't mind saving a ballerina in distress. Chapter playlist Warnings: Swearing and E-rated language (as the preview already shows). Author's Notes: So it's finally here, my opus magnum. Or so I hope. As I've hinted before, this project is the love-child of a few things - my unfading obsession with Neil, fascination with London and the love of public transport. Or something along those lines. I've no idea how long it'll be, or the exact details of what's going to happen, but I know that it's going to be fun. For both me, and them. And you, too, I hope. Chapter titles come from station names (in case you've been wondering) and I decided to go wild and attach a short, chapter-centric playlist to each of them, because why not. Enjoy and please, let me know what you think 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)
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The discovery that it would be a day came a mere two hours after the harsh sound of your phone alarm. Its harbinger took the form of Liam – a moderately tall, dark-haired man with an acceptable face and an ability to make you come that did not seem to get the hint.
Instead, he continuously nagged you for days after the (absolutely intended) ghosting you have implemented. While you would admit it was harsh, it was also not your fault that you had enough of him after the hook-up no 5. It was just fine, nothing spectacular and, most importantly, it was getting predictable. Solution? Ending the situationship before it could become a chore rather than a pleasure. Problem? Liam did not seem to think the same.
So, when, this morning, you finished the lukewarm coffee and picked up the phone to check the socials before leaving, only to find another string of texts with pathetic emojis, the mood has soured. It was nothing new, just more hearts, pleading eyes and invocations to your goodness, all culminating in the same way. With another proposition of date, with another love confession he could not have possibly meant. This time, you’ve had enough. You ignored the urge to smash the phone and instead broke the silence by sending him a simple message – Fuck off. With that, you let out a string of curses that probably made poor Miss Stevens next door recoil in disgust and blocked Liam. The triumphant spark did not outweigh the annoyance, however.
The second blow of the day came not that much later and could also easily be blamed on Liam. Or so it was easier to believe. There was no sense of distraction as you tied up the ribbons of your pointe shoes and started warming up. And, at first, it was all just as it was supposed to. You welcomed the opening notes of the coda enthusiastically, happy to go through the steps just as you were supposed to be. As you were taught. A turn after turn, the burning in your legs felt like a benediction. That was what you were always supposed to do.
Until it started to feel different.
One misstep was instantly noticed by Jane, who danced alongside you, perfecting the same choreography. You could hear her quiet gasp, wordlessly pointing out the mistake you would never have missed anyway. In a split second, you knew it was enough to throw you off, losing the tempo and balance, barely managing not to sprain your ankle and topple onto the parquet. Refusing to look at Jane, you slid down the wall by the barre and let out a frustrated groan. Not long after that, you decided to check out of the studio. One humiliation was quite enough.
By the time you had set onto Southwark station, intending to catch the tube back home, you were half contemplating unblocking Liam to sue him for mental damages. And the cost of reparations of your dignity. It seemed like a fair deal, considering everything. On autopilot, you descended the steps to the station, welcoming the cooling air of the metal-plated hall. While the whiteish subway tiles in most stations felt like home, the futuristic tinge of Southwark had always felt special. Even if the afternoon bustle could sour your mood and make you throw daggers at any human in your path. There was a dose of relief in the knowledge that it had already been done. You were pissed off beyond measure.
Any innocent bystander could probably see it in the angry square of your shoulders as you strode through the ticketing hall and past the gates. After all those years, there was no need to check the signs; your body knew where to go. Down the escalator, following the graphite signage leading towards the correct platform. Once you were there, you looked up at the timing screen to check the ETAs. Stanmore 2 mins. Thank fuck. Moving down the platform like god intended, you got lost in the chaotic ambience. Sometimes, especially on those difficult days, the noise was better than any music you could listen to. The babbling children, the chatting adults, and, if you were lucky, an odd bark or two in between. That, combined with the PA overhead, was enough to ground you. To take in that deeper breath.
Only that tell-tale whoosh of the approaching train could pull you back into the moment, the body yet again taking the needed steps without you ever telling it to. One step back, not crossing the yellow line. Two steps to the side, aligning with the platform edge doors, yet not standing in the way of those leaving. By the time the train arrived, you were exactly where you were supposed to be. A surveying look inside the cart told you the crowds had been avoided. Luckily. With only a handful of people occupying the space, you stepped aboard and zoned in on one of the empty seats by the window.
It was then that fate chose to intervene again.
You barely stepped in the right direction before the train started again, the sudden movement throwing you off balance and making you drop the bag hung precariously on your shoulder. You watched it fall, unzipped pouch spilling the insides onto the dirty grey floor. Another string of curses lodged in your throat as you knelt among the wreckage of personal items. Before you could reach for the notebook, another hand appeared on the edge of your vision. Long, fair-skinned fingers met yours over the moleskin cover, making you look up and follow the outline of a person. Up over the legs, clad in black jeans and over the bare forearms, revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of a dress, pinstripe shirt. Until you met the striking blue eyes of the man kneeling in front of you, having joined the fray. The stranger stared back, his piercing gaze roaming over your features, seemingly just as struck as you were.
A beat passed, and neither of you moved. You glanced up, taking note of the dirty blonde hair falling over his forehead in disarray. The announcement over the system began calling up Waterloo. It was the wake-up you both seemed in need of. He was the first to shake off the stupor, snatching the notebook to place it in your waiting palm. He shot you a friendly smile, the expression brightening his stunning features.
“Bad day?” his husky voice was another pleasant surprise, shooting through your brain like the restart to the systems you seemed to have been missing.
You looked up to find him one step ahead again. There was something mysterious in his handsome face, instantly making you forego the suspicions against strangers. This one did seem at all dangerous.
At least, you hoped he wasn’t.
A sardonic smile invited itself onto your face. For the first time since the morning, the expression was not forced.
“You could say that” picking up the bag, you accepted the belongings he had collected from the floor and hoped to convey the gratitude through a simple word “Thanks,”
“No worries. Hope that’s everything…” the stranger threw a final glance at the cart floor and got up, brushing the dust off his knees.
The nagging feeling in the back of your head did not ease off, helping you decide what the next step should be. After all, there was no reason to cut the interaction short. One glance out the window told you there was still time. The train had just left the Waterloo station, giving you at least a quarter of an hour till you had to get off.
Perhaps, that was your sign from the petty destiny to get your shit together. Strictly speaking.
“Looks like it,” dropping the remaining items into the pouch, you extended your hand in greeting, “I’m Y/N,” raising your head to find his gaze, you were welcomed with yet another bright smile.
Judging by the lines around his mouth and crinkles in the corners of his eyes, your mysterious saviour did smile a lot. The realisation only strengthened the conviction, pulling you into his orbit effortlessly.
His warm palm engulfed yours in a firm handshake. It lasted just a second too long, yet no complaints were to be raised.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Neil,” the gleam in his eyes was like the poisoned edge of a dagger, a fatal weapon to strike you down should you be reckless.
You knew for sure that face would be hard to forget. Even if you were to never see it again after today.
“You don’t look like a Neil,” catching onto the peculiarity of his name, you shot him a cheeky smile.
Finally remembering what started the ordeal, you took the seat you had been hovering over and motioned for Neil to join you. He did not hesitate.
It only made you like him more.
“Elaborate, please,” the curious tint in his voice, completed by a deadpan look, made you grin, unable to defy his charm.
Not that you were trying to, anyway.
Making a show of giving yourself time to think of an answer, perfected by the loud hum and a hand stroking your chin, you measured him critically. Still amazed by the man Transport for London put on your path. By the seemingly faultless features, harsh lines of his cheekbones and the kind eyes that still held uncertainty that you were all too familiar with.
“You know… a little more geriatric. A little less dashing,” you sent Neil a wink, watching with fascination as the pinkish blush spread over his cheeks.
That sort of reaction was always a compliment. A sign that you should keep going because it could only get better. The frustrating morning had been almost forgotten, having stood no chance against the unpredictability of the interaction.
You could see Neil process the compliment with rapidly blinking eyelids and a parted mouth. Westminster had been called before he spoke again:
“That’s a new one, but I’ll take it,” the blush had faded slightly, yet the disbelief in his pretty eyes told you he was not used to the flattery.
Which was a surprise considering the way he looked. But that, like all the other discoveries you had made within minutes, would have no application. You would likely never see him again.
“You should. I don’t hit on complete strangers every day,” you sent him a pointed look, meaning every word and hoping Neil would see that.
The amused smile he cracked along with a chuckle, were the rewards for the risks you had taken. Being that forward with a stranger could backfire terribly. You had first-hand experience of that. This time, though, no alarm bells were to be heard as you waited for Neil’s response, with your gaze fixed on his face. If only because it was hard to look away.
“Now I’m flattered,” the sparks in his blue eyes burned bright as he took a cursory look out the window and then back to face you with complete focus, “So… do you want to tell me about your day?” the lack of judgement in his gaze helped you decide before you even knew you were considering it.
Usually, confiding in random people met on the tube sounded like a bad idea. Not entirely off-brand for your poor judgements, but still. But this interaction was anything but usual. The temptation was too big to be ignored. You twisted in the plastic seat to face him properly and channelled the anger dormant beneath your skin. It was all too easy to do.
“There’s this guy… We’ve had sex a couple of times, and it was quite good, but now he wants more, and I- I’m not even sure I believe love exists, let alone feel that way about him. Trouble is he doesn’t get the hint, so…” becoming aware you unloaded the whole speech without taking a break to breathe, you took a greedy inhale and spit out the conclusion with a frustrated huff, “He’s just pissed me off” it was a lot.
You could tell Neil was slowly coming to the same conclusions from the dumbfounded look on his face as he processed your rant. He blinked, unseeingly staring at the Jubilee line plan above the opposite seats. The apology was ready on the tip of your tongue when he finally spoke again:
“Overeager?” the sympathetic wince in his face made that same affection stir in your heart.
All because he understood. He got it. And that was rare. Yet again, you contemplated unblocking Liam. This time, to send him Neil’s phone number with an annotation – This guy gets it. He can explain.
But it was hard to say whether Neil would be up for such a task.
“Mm, yeah,” you offered him a tight-lipped smile and a nod, confirming the theory.
“Sorry,” it was your turn to suffer through a double take.
With incredulity filling every inch of your soul, you stared at him in confusion:
“What for?” as the train arrived at another station, you glanced up to check you had not somehow missed your stop.
But it was fine. There was still enough time to continue what was slowly becoming the most fascinating conversation of the previous couple of months, if not years.
It was Neil’s turn to be amused. His eyes roamed over your face as his lips quirked into a smirk. The cheeky expression sent your heart tumbling through the ribcage. You knew he could be dangerous. You were right. Again.
Yet, no sense of foreboding danger could make you look away. That was for the weak. Or the smarter.
“Being a representative of the male species,” Neil shrugged as if his answer did not leave you agape with amazement, “I know almost everything is our fault, one way or another,” the slight grimace passing through his face told you he knew that was an understatement.
But it was better than nothing. Better than the load of self-entitlement and egocentrism displayed by most of the men you had ever met. It sure did set him apart.
“Guess that’s true,” nodding in agreement, you chose to forego the subtlety and reached out to pat his hand, “Thank you, though,” yet met his eyes, not trying to hide the extent of impression he had left on you “I can already tell you’re a better representant of the species than Liam,”
The fading anger at that man seemed so distant now. Like a dream that you could no longer remember, except for how it made you feel. Liam would stay blocked and hopefully never seen again, but now you could finally see yourself having a pleasant evening. That felt like a reward in itself.
“And he’s called Liam? Good god,” Neil’s dismayed tone was the one to bring you back to the present.
The smile played in the corner of his lips. The amused expression was fast becoming your favourite. Which could be problematic, but you were never the one to search your soul if that was uncalled for. Which it definitely wasn’t.
“I know” sharing an eye-roll with your companion, you chose to focus the attention on that second part of the shit day, “The other thing that happened was how I fucked up the ballet practice” almost automatically, you winced, self-consciously rolling the right ankle as if feeling the phantom pain of the twist that never came (thank god) “But it also can be blamed on him,”
Too caught up in the thoughts of vengeance you would never actually implement, you missed Neil’s surprise, reflecting through the widened eyes and an intense stare boring through your temple.
What you did not miss was a question uttered with so much disbelief that your head swivelled in its direction faster than you thought possible:
“Hold on, ballet practice?” Neil’s scrunched-up face, complete with a frown between eyebrows and mouth agape, was the reason for your giggle.
“Yup, I’m a ballerina at the Royal Ballet,” there was an unusual sense of pride in the proclamation.
Probably because it had been a long time since you got a reaction this stunned. You did not remember the last time someone looked starstruck when hearing about your occupation.
“I’ve never met one before,” his blue eyes still roamed over your face with amazement as Neil confirmed the obvious.
While attention was always pleasant and a reason you got into professional ballet in the first place, this kind of focus felt different. It made the rare blush dust your cheeks as joy surged in your veins from the sheer force of being noticed. From being seen through the best you could offer rather than the multitude of shortcomings that were all easy to find.
“Well, now you have,” you opened your arms in the ta-dah motion and added, “A second soloist, to be exact,” the hierarchical promotion was still an additional point of pride.
A result of years of practice and mental conditioning to try and improve. The culmination of hours of pep talks, pleading to your strength not to give up. To keep on trying. A proof that you were good enough. But it was also a reminder that you were not there yet. That there was still more to achieve.
“I’ve no clue what that means,” the apologetic tone in Neil’s voice was another reason for a smile.
Without thinking, you nudged his shoulder with yours and grinned upon noticing the bashful blush creeping back onto his cheeks. That alone was a reason to delve into the explanation:
“That I’ve still got a long way to go if I want to get promoted to principal dancer. Which is the dream,” hope waged war with scepticism as you chose to stare at the window opposite the seats, taking note of the passing darkness of the tunnels outside. That moment of wistfulness inspired the next thing you said, “You could come to see me if you wanted to,” it was another risk taken.
Another potential to end the conversation prematurely by misjudging the limit. Before you could find the tenacity to see the reaction, Neil’s question got rid of the doubts:
“Are you hitting on strangers again?” the smile in his voice was matched by a cheeky grin on his face.
The brightness in his eyes told you he was enjoying the conversation, that it was not just you who been silently wishing for more time. For more opportunities to continue the back-and-forth, testing the limits of what was acceptable within an unusual connection like yours. Because, surely, there were limits. Right?
“You’re not a stranger anymore, Neil,” instead of searching for the lines drawn in the metaphorical sand, you laid a careful hand on his shoulder and watched with the breath caught in your chest as he glanced at it and back at your face. The only indication that too was not a misstep was the darkening shade of pink on his cheeks and the persistent smile, motivating you to land a double strike, “I am, though. Is that bad?” innocently batting your lashes, you signed off the move with a quick stroke of fingers, tracing the collar of Neil’s shirt.
He swallowed hard, clearly reacting to your risqué move. The goosebumps rose on his skin following your touch, making your smile widen. Unwilling to stop the fascinating game just yet, your fingertips skimmed down the front of his shirt to strengthen the invisible lines in the collar and encircle the tortoiseshell button. As your fingers drifted ever so closer to the bared sliver of the chest revealed by the two buttons left undone, Neil gasped and met your searching gaze with an intense look of his own. It was easy to see the curiosity there, brewing underneath the composure. Not for the first time since you met, you wondered what else was hiding behind that steel-like grip of control. What else was there to discover?
“I’m not complaining,” answering your question with ease, Neil did not flinch away from your taxing gaze.
It was good to know. Just because.
Unable to look away, you realised that your hand was outstretched with the fingers lightly touching the collar of his shirt. The heat from his skin radiated onto your palm, making your fingers flex unconsciously. It was your turn to swallow against the sudden dryness in your throat, as yet again you found yourself arrested by his gaze. Like then, the time seemed frozen, leaving you stranded between one heartbeat and the next. You were content to stay there.
Only the familiar announcement over the PA system could wake you up. The train is now approaching St. John’s Wood. Your body jolted awake with the curse ready on your tongue:
“Shit, that’s my stop” a spiteful glance at the darkness of the tunnels outside was a reflex, born out of the annoyance for the world that did not seem to care about your happiness or the desire to stay in that Jubilee line train cart till the very end of times. The anger passed quickly, yet you knew the frustration would persevere long after you made it home. The only way to push back against it was to turn your focus back to Neil, “It’s been a pleasure. I’d say I won’t forget you, but I’m not sure I can promise that,” the exaggeration in the statement, and the knowledge that it was unlikely you would forget him, were better left unsaid.
As much as the chance meeting was everything you never dreamt of experiencing, it was just that. A pleasant outlier. The one-off happening, that would never happen again. You could feel the sharp prickle of that realisation stab at your consciousness as you checked whether all your belongings were accounted for and got up from the seat. The train was slowing in the approach at the platform, forcing you to grab onto the nearest railing.
“Try your hardest,” Neil’s response made you whip your head back up to stare at him in confusion until the meaning of his words caught up.
Then you could only grin, willing to stretch the limits one last time.
“Or?” the question was accompanied by the tip of your tongue running over your lower lip as your eyes traced Neil’s gaze.
He caught the hook. The intrigue and hunger in his stare proved the point as he glanced at your mouth, not even trying to resist the obvious trick. You were glad it worked.
One look at the world beyond told you there was no time to lose. The familiar voice called out to make sure everyone minded the gaps, and you could not help but throw one final glance at Neil. His dirty blonde strands caught the fluorescents and created a washed-out halo-like effect. The blue eyes were still fixed on you, observing and calculating. Yet again, a wayward thought begged you to stay. To say fuck it and check what could happen if you had more time. But the courage was not quite there when the train came to a stop, and the doors slid open.
Before you could take that decisive step outside, Neil replied:
“I’ll be disappointed,” the smile in his voice was an easy trigger, bringing a breathless chuckle to your lips.
You still laughed as the doors closed behind you and the train started moving away from the platform. You did not look back, letting the crowd of commuters carry you along the tunnels and towards your apartment. It was better that way.
Only once you got back home did you realise one crucial fact. One simple observation easily missed in the rush of thoughts about striking blue eyes and sharp cheekbones. It had been hours since Liam crossed your mind. And somehow, it all made sense.
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ktficworld · 9 months
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✨And the winners are✨
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1. The eldest, wise and responsible brother:
As Steve won two polls I have decided to make Andy the eldest brother and he also looks like an elder brother. I mean look at him.
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2. Romantic and hard working, second brother:
Steve won this poll in the end by beating Bucky by a small margin. But a winner is still a winner.
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3. Strongest third brother:
Clark is the third brother so congrats to the cutie pie *even though I wanted August to win* but moving on.
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4. Second youngest, pretty and funny:
Bucky won this poll by a fucking landslide and why won't he? He fits the bill completely.
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5. Youngest and a charming asshole:
This was surprising, I thought Nick is going to win as Sebastian has a larger fanbase but I guess I underestimated Batman. Like most people do.
The cast is all ready now you'd have to prey that I get some time to actually write this. 🫡
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Night & Day
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Battinson!Bruce Wayne x F!Reader x Neil
Summary: In an effort to get Bruce out of a depressive slump, you enlist the help of an old flame.
Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Epilogue
Rating: General
Word Count: 1.4K
Warnings: None; just some cutesy fun!
Link to AO3
Tags: @ursulaismymiddlename​ my emotional support cherub. @salt-is-a-terrible-currency​ you drag me into your fandoms I drag you into mine :)
10:20        LONDON        ON TIME
But no gate yet, which - glaring at your watch for the umpteenth time - meant the plane was probably somewhere outside, circling the tarmac until directed to a walkway.
After two hours of traffic, a steep parking ticket, and an additional fifty minutes to get through security, you were nearly biting your nails from anticipation if not for the large cup of cruddy coffee fastened tight in your grip. It’d been too long since you’d seen one of your oldest friends, and with the plan in mind, it was meant to be a special occasion.
Ten more minutes passed and you watched the flight information display update with three other arrivals amid a muffled throaty announcement over the loudspeaker, and it was a fight to keep from having an outburst.
10:20        LONDON        ON TIME    D51
You tried not to sprint, weaving through passerby in a rush to get to the gate before you lost him in the crowd and wasted yet another hour just to track him down. While he was perfectly capable of looking after himself, events never bode well for lost tourists wandering Gotham International.
But once you made it to the gate, the thought instantly felt foolish - it was impossible for that man to be overlooked.
His long legs carried him above the heights of his fellow passengers, but as always, it was like sunshine sought him out. A halo of light cutting through smoggy cityscape to illuminate his forever messy dirty blonde hair and his sun kissed skin. He could’ve very well modeled, donning an expensive day suit in an olive green color only he could’ve pulled off so handsomely. But he also happened to be one of the smartest people you knew in the world - that is, until you met Bruce. 
“Neil!” you practically squealed, startling a family nearby. 
He looked for the voice, face splitting into one of his priceless smiles once spotting you. Then you were running, unable to stop yourself, and crashed into his open arms like a scene from a  movie. 
“My darling girl,” he huffed, quite literally sweeping you off your feet to give you a flourished spin before setting you back down. You were lost in his bright blue eyes as he clutched your face in his hands, then kissed you before you could right yourself. It’d been too long since that too, but also wasn’t the purpose of his trip, and you pulled back before your weak knees sent you to the floor. 
“This is not that kind of visit, Neil,” you scolded playfully.
His brows furrowed in mock concern and he stood up straight, a pout settling on his face. “Are you suggesting I’ve come all this way to a city I’ve never heard of not to be romanced?” 
“I’m not suggesting, I’m telling. Now, come on.” You took hold of his hand and led him in the direction toward the exits, suddenly remembering there was a time limit to your parking spot. “I’m gonna need your help with something. Someone. I’ll fill you in on the way.” 
“Very well, but I’m driving.” He retracted the handle on his suitcase and picked it up so he could walk faster, and his long stride was quick to overtake yours. “I’ve been stuck on a plane eight hours, I need something fun to do.”
~
“So, what you’re saying is, and correct me if I’m wrong…”
It was difficult to pay attention from the passenger seat. You braced yourself as the car whizzed through traffic, one hand on the door, the other splayed on the dashboard. It wasn’t that Neil was a bad driver, far from it. It was that he fancied enacting a good getaway, enjoyed the speed and sly maneuvers of weaving through cars and lanes and ramps alike. A thrill seeking picked up from his career in espionage.
As the GPS signaled the appropriate exit a thousand feet ahead, you suddenly wished you borrowed the Corvette. Your sedan could only take so much.
“Your boyfriend -”
“- He’s not my boyfriend.”
“- Is a billionaire philanthropist by day and a batsuit wearing vigilante by night, and you want me to, what, exactly? Give him a makeover?”
“Sounds a little insane when you say it like that.”
“My darling,” Neil ignored a blaring honk as the engine revved, sending the car soaring across an intersection. “That’s because it is just a little bit insane. I don’t think depression is your boyfriend’s biggest problem.” 
“He’s not my boyfriend!” you whined at him. “Why must you keep calling him that?”
His hand darted from the wheel to tickle your side. “Because you make the cutest little face when I do!” You swatted at him, snapping to keep his eyes on the road and he straightened in his seat. “If I’m being honest, you’re making me jealous.”
“Anyway,” you carried on. “You’re a time traveler.” 
You watched his mouth open, then close, then open again before gesturing vaguely, and you knew he was debating lecturing you over the semantics. How it wasn’t really time travel. Feynman this, Wheeler that. Electron positron something something. But he was the physicist, and you were a Poli Sci major and the concept was entirely lost on you the second he stopped explaining it. 
“Touche,” he eventually settled on. 
You took his surrender as an opportunity to segue back to the original topic at hand. “He just has these slumps where he seems so down. I figured you being - well, you -”
“- Charming, devilishly handsome, a fantastic dresser.”
“Oh my god,” you groaned, laughing all the same. “Yes. All the things. Give him some guidance, will you? A bit of a friendly push.” 
“One Pretty Woman treatment, coming right up.” 
At last, the car finally reduced speed and you were relieved to see Wayne Tower come into view, its skyscraping rooftop so high amongst its neighbors, it disappeared into the smokey grey mix of clouds and smog. 
“Jesus…” Neil marveled. “He lives in that?” 
For the second time that day, it took proper navigating to find parking, even once inside the Tower’s garage. It was the middle of the workday and the building would’ve been brimming with employees, contractors, and housekeeping staff. Once more, you regretted not asking Bruce to borrow his car. While he had his own parking space in the lot, the more secluded space underground was incomparably convenient.
“Oh, one more thing,” you said before you both stepped out. And as he turned toward you, it was a mystery as to how it almost went forgotten. There were some differences, sure. The blonde hair and tanned skin, the aforementioned dress sense. Neil likely even had a trimmer build; he might’ve had history as a soldier but Bruce’s training and expertise went far beyond that.
“You could say I have a type. He looks just like you.”
~
Upon entering the Tower, Neil made a safe assumption to approach the receptionist desk, only to offer a sheepish grin when spotting you make a beeline for the elevators. There were over seventy buttons on the panels inside, one for each floor, and security clearance was required to select several, including the one labeled ‘PH’. Of course, you had security clearance. You swiped your ID badge, the round knob lit up, and the lift began its smooth ascent.
“Do you work here as well?” Neil asked curiously. 
“No.” He fell suspiciously quiet until you cocked a brow at him. “What?”
“Nothing!” Though his smirk said otherwise. “Simply trying to recall the last time I created identification swipes for people I wasn’t dating.” 
“Oh, do stop.” 
“No, no! Perhaps my faked death has kept me behind the times. Is that a thing now? Should we have one made for each other?” 
“Please promise me you’ll behave,” you pressed, eyes skyward in a plea from any higher power this plan of yours would work out. “He’s - he’s important to me.” 
“And to this city, I reckon... I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” he added quickly when you raised a fist, fighting the urge to jab him in the gut. You softened when he reached over to grasp the back of your neck in his hand, thumb petting behind your ear, and you realized how much you’d missed the damned man. “Anything for you, darling.” 
You threw yourself at him, hugging him tight, basking in the nostalgia of his familiar scent. It was begrudging to release him as there was a low ding announcing the arrival to the utmost tier of the building. Whatever soft feelings warmed your chest were abruptly replaced with anxious nerves. You hoped the two men you loved most liked each other, hoped Bruce would keep an open mind about this…
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littlelordfuckler0y · 2 years
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|| 𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬
—𝐀𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐞
16 she/her cancer infp
Works:
𝐊𝐥𝐚𝐮𝐬 𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧
𝐄𝐥𝐢𝐣𝐚𝐡 𝐦𝐢𝐤𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐨𝐧
𝐍𝐞𝐢𝐥 (𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐭)
𝐈𝐤𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐬
𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐚𝐥𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞
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