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decaying-church · 7 months

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Kinktober day 2: Threesome + Dwayne & Paul (The Lost Boys)

Dwayne (The Lost Boys) x Male!reader x Paul (The Lost Boys)

Kinktober 2023 List | Day 1 | Day 3 | Ao3

(A/n: 29 days left)

Summary: you wake up with not one, but two boyfriend in your bed!

Warning: Face riding, ass eating, blowjob, riding, threesome, reader gets held down, swearing, (technically) breaking and entering, not beta read.

Word count: 2k

It wasn't often you woke up sandwiched between two men- usually it was four, and not it your house. Apparently, Dwayne and Paul missed you enough to drive to your house in the middle of the night and crawl into bed with you- not to sleep, not to watch you sleep. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you woke up around four in the morning and found Paul, as beautiful as he was, three inches away from your face.

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

You would have fallen out of bed if it weren't for Dwayne who laid comfortably behind you- not comfortable for you, you didn't know he was there and damn near had a stroke when he wrapped his arms around.

“Your heart’s beating pretty fast!” Paul said, smiling like he hadn't just scared you shitless.

“Well fuck, I wonder why!” you said, fully awake now.

You rubbed your eyes, blinking hard, the only light in the room was the little desk lamp that Paul seemingly turned on every time he was in your bedroom.

“When did you two get here?”

Paul looked at Dwayne, Dwayne gave no response.

“Sometime between 9 pm and 4 am..”

“Oh so anytime after the sun went down to now.”

“Basically.” he grinned.

Wordlessly, you rolled over.

“Morning.” he said.

“Good morning, how long have you two been here?”

“‘Bout 5 hours.”

You laid flat on your back, “you've been sitting here watching me sleep for 5 hours?”

They looked at each other again. Neither of them sleeps at night so it's not like they could use that as an excuse. The longer they stared at each other, like they were telepathically trying to come up with an excuse, the more sure you became that they were, in fact, sitting and watching you in the dark.

“Fucking creeps..” you said, but your tone held no real burden, and a small smile found it's way on your face as you slid out of Dwayne grip and out of bed.

Before they could drag you back down, you walked over to the backroom and locked the door, not like that could really stop them.

You pissed, brushed your teeth, and washed your face before walking back out.

You were gone for eight minutes, max.

When you came back the currents were drawn shut and the over head light was on. The most jarring change though was Dwayne and Paul humping like dogs in your bed. With Paul situated in Dwayne's lap, grinding their crotches together like the world was going to explode if they didn't, all while Dwayne guided him with firm hands on his hip.

You blinked.

They stopped after a moment, Paul climbed off of Dwayne, sitting next to him with his legs cocked wide open, a bulge pressing tightly against his white jeans, smirking as he rested against your pillows.

Dwayne wasn't any better, his pants were unbuttoned and pulled slightly down on his hip. One leg hanging off the bed, he stared right into you damn soul, eyes as intense as always.

The two of them stared at you so expectantly, they weren’t even going to ask, they were just going to wait for you to come to them. Which you were, you were tired and a little confused, but definitely not dumb enough to let this opportunity pass. Resisting the urge to roll your eyes at their shared cockiness, you climbed onto the bed, almost immediately you were attacked by Paul- fully attacked, he tackled you down to the bed, climbing on top of you in a similar way to how he was with Dwayne.

He kissed wherever he could reach, his long, blonde hair falling in your face when he came to kiss your lips. With your hand on his thigh, you flipped- later he would say that you ‘threw’ him, you did not- off of you.

Before you could push yourself up, your arms were grappled and pinned above you, looking up, you could see Dwayne smirking down at you.

You tried to pull your wrist away, only for him to hold you tighter, not like you were going anywhere to begin with, fucking vampire strength. The moment you were distracted by Dwayne, Paul acted, seating himself on your thighs, closer to your knees than anything, and pulling your pants down all too eagerly, you glared at him when you heard a small rip.

“Paul,” Dwayne warned, “gently, remember?”

“I know, I know,” he looked down at you, a small smile on his face, “sorry.”

Despite his words, you could tell he wasn’t even remotely sorry, which was only proven when he fully ripped your pants before, they could have been fixed before, but now they were in prices on your bedroom floor.

“Goddamnit, Paul!”

“They were ripped!”

“I could have fixed them!”

He groaned and rolled his eyes, “Fine, fine! I’ll makes it up to you.”

Before the bargain for a new pair of pajama pants could start, you felt a warm, wet stripe against your cock, you gasped, your body tendering in surprise for a short moment before relaxing again, he continued, mouthing at your cock through your underwear, with Dwayne pinning you down to keep you from escalating things. Paul, with all the same vampiric strength that Dwayne and the other boys had, grabbed you by the waist, but didn’t stop you from thrusting up against his mouth, he liked it far too much for that.

He tried to be patient and gentle like Dwayne had told him to be but he couldn’t, he watched as your head fell back against the bed, a long moan coming from deep in your chest when he swirled his tongue around the tip of your cock.

A second later, your underwear were in tatters on the floor with your pants. You didn't have time to think about the loss of contact- and underwear- Paul took well over half of your cock into his mouth, moaning around it- you weren't shocked, he's done this to you dozens of times before, but it felt so good every time. He was beyond skilled with his tongue, running it over every little sensitive spot you provided to him, drawing shapes with it.

Cracking your eyes open you could see Dwayne staring at Paul, a small smirk on his face. You could see how hard he was, Paul having clearly done a number on the both of you, but with the way he was pinning you down, you couldn’t do anything about it. He was always the silent observer of the group anyway, you figured just watching would satisfy him for now.

Saliva and pre-cum covered both your cock and the inside of his mouth, and the moment he felt that you were ready, he pulled off with a wet ‘pop’.

You didn’t whine or beg, you knew that these two had far too high of sex drives for this to be over so soon.

You looked up at Dwayne, then down at Paul, who didn’t exchange a single word with each other before simultaneously jumping into action. You let out a small laugh as Paul struggled to get his pants off, surprisingly, he did eventually get them off in one piece.

Dwayne let go of your wrist, you watched him as he swapped places with Paul, except he practically sat himself on top of your cock. You don’t know when he lost his pant, but when you looked, his hard, leaking cock was pressed right up against yours.

“Okay, so-“ Paul started with a wide smile on his face, he was almost giddy as he began explaining their little plan to you, “Me and Dwayne were talking about this all night! We were talking about our fantasies and stuff- just guy stuff y’know and-

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

“-is it weird that I think about riding Y/n, like all the time?”

Dwayne hummed before responding, “No, I think about it too, it’s not weird.”

Paul propped himself up on his arm, “Okay but I think about riding his face a lot, is that even possible with him?”

“You’ve done it with David-“

“I know, but it’s different, vampires can’t suffocate, humans can!”

“I doubt that you’ll suffocate him.”

“I might!”

You stirred in your sleep at the sudden noise, both boys went quiet for a moment, waiting for you to settle again. When you did, Dwayne whispered to Paul, “Just be gentle with him and he’ll be fine.”

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

“-then while you were in the bathroom-“

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

“Fuck he looks good-“

“You’ve been staring at him all night, of course he looks good to you.”

“You stared just as much as I did!”

“He faced you for the first 5 hours-”

“Whatever, whatever..”

Silence passed between them for a few moments.

“…you think he'd be down for it?”

“For what?”

“Letting me sit on his face, you think he'd let me?”

“Probably…”

Another silence.

“You wanna tag team him..?”

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

“-and that's just my really long winded way of asking if I can ride your face with Dwayne rides your dick?”

“You underhanded, sneaky, little motherfucker- you too Dwayne!”

“Yes, yes, all of that, but are you going to do it?”

“Of course I am!”

Again, you weren't stupid and you weren't going to let an opportunity pass you.

It didn't take the three of you long to get comfortable. Paul held himself open just inches from your face and Dwayne was already pressing the tip of your cock against his entrance. Dwayne sunk down slowly, appreciating the burning stretch every inch brought, Paul sat on your face like it was a goddamn chair. You moaned as Dwayne rode you, right against Paul’s hole. You figured that there was no better time to start. Taking both his hips into your hands, you held him steady as you prodded at his hole with your tongue, pressing inside with a bit of force. Already, he whined and tried to press more into himself, and you have him more, hearing him moan and watching as he used one hair to grab onto your hair, and the other to hold onto the head board, trying to stable himself.

You couldn't see Dwayne but you could feel him, he rode nice and slow, enjoying every bit of your cock to the fullest, even with Paul’s thoughts almost covering your ears you could still hear his soft, deep moans. Testing, you met him with a thrust, making his body jerk before settling again.

You focused back on Paul, he was much louder than Dwayne, with so much more energy coursing through his body. He wrapped his hand around his cock, low murmurs and desperate whines flowing like a river from his mouth.

“Yes, yes- ha- ah, mhh~! Right there, right there, please!”

You listened, pressing your tongue firmly inside him, his legs snapped shut, and his grip on your hair grew tighter before releasing completely, joining the other in damn near breaking your headboard. Slowly, panting hard, he opened his legs again, cum dripping all over his thigh and down to your face, a drop landing on your cheek.

He sat like that for a long moment, either trying to resituate his mind or come to terms with how fast and how hard he’d just cum.

Eventually, he rolled off of you and splayed out on the other side of the bed.

Dwayne stopped for a moment, wordlessly staring at the other man, he didn't say anything and didn't continue riding you until Paul gave him a thumbs up, albeit a tired one.

He rode you harder, bouncing on your cock, his hands gripping your shoulders, loud, wet slapping filled the room.

It didn't take you long to finish inside of him, he was wonderfully tight, even after repeatedly slamming your cock into himself. You didn't stop him though, letting him ride to his heart's content. A few moments later his eyes squeezed shut and his mouth fell open in a silent moan. Cum shot out of his cock, splattering against your chest.

He sat there warming your cock for another long moment before lifting off. He dropped on the opposite side of you. Just as clingy as he always was after sex, tossing his arm across your chest.

Paul, who seemed to be having trouble keeping his eyes open, let a goofy smile graze his face.

“Best ride ever, right Dwayne?”

Dwayne let out a small, tired laugh. Cuddling further into you with a satisfied smirk on his face.

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shanastoryteller · 9 months

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Happy Pride! One of the genderbendy stories, please? Lady Mo, maybe?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40

Xuanyu groans and rolls her eyes when Lan Wangji insists on treating her wounds before they continue, but apparently decides she's tested his patience enough for one evening because she says, "Fine," and and begins to untie her robe.

He steps closer and grabs her wrists. "What are you doing?"

She looks up at him and this close he can see the exhaustion lingering in her dark eyes. "You just said you wanted to bandage me up before we left again!"

"You cannot undress in front of," he gestures around them.

She frowns, following his hand, and then looks down at herself. "Oh. Right, forgot that mattered now." He quirks an eyebrow and she blinks, face going a shade paler before she pastes a too wide smile across her face. "Okay, well, the carriage then?" She doesn't wait for him to answer, instead raising her voice to shout, "Sizhui, make sure our guests get something to eat before we get moving."

"Yes, Lady Xuanyu," Sizhui says, more formerly than he would normally, but Sizhui takes after him in that he tends to fall back on formality when he's feeling out of sorts.

Lan Wangji sighs and leads her to the carriage with a hand on the small of her back. His instinct is to grab her arm and drag her there, but she gets squirmy and argumentative, and he's had quite enough of both.

She hops into the carriage, only wincing at little at the sudden motions, and he follows her in, setting down the supplies he'd grabbed and then closing the doors firmly behind them.

"It's really not that bad," she says as she undoes her robes and slides them down her shoulders. "We'll have time to bathe when we arrive at Koi Tower and I could have just cleaned them there. They don't really need bandages."

He ignores her and doesn't let his eyes linger on her breasts even as he gets flash of memory of closing his lips around a small, dark nipple and biting, his tongue running the indents his teeth had left in soft flesh.

"You didn't need to go running off alone," he says, hoping it's dark enough that she doesn't see the flush he can feel crawling up his neck.

She scoffs as he presses a damp cloth against the stab wound between her shoulder and collarbone, cleaning away the tacky blood. "Song Lan needed help and he's my friend."

Lan Wangji wants to ask once again how in the world she knew were Xiao Xingchen was, how she'd been able to lead Song Lan right to him, but one issue at a time. "You could have told us that and we would have helped."

"Uh huh," she says.

He presses down harder than he'd intended and she hisses in pain. He pulls back, grudgingly admitting to himself that she was right. The wound has already closed and the bruises covering her chest have turned a sickly yellow, looking days old rather than hours. He's never seen anyone improve a golden core so quickly before, especially using such dubious methods.

He doesn't want to say the wrong thing, so he gives himself time to gather his thoughts as he wrings out the cloth. "We are not the Mo. Or the Jin."

"Uh, yeah? I noticed," she answers, pulling her robes open even wider to reveal even more bruised skin and the curved slice around her right hip.

"Have you," he asks quietly, keeping his touch gentle as he cleans the blood from thigh. "You are not - you don't have to," he stops, taking a deep breath and pausing his motions so he doesn't accidentally hurt her again. "You are not required to tell me anything that you don't want me to know. However. I am your husband."

"I noticed that too," she says, voice coming out low, and Lan Wangji does not allow himself to be distracted by the fact that he's kneeling over his mostly naked wife, her body small and soft and strong, evening bleeding and bruised.

"Then you should act like it," he returns, and odd reversal of their argument after the waterfall. "In the Lan you are not a bastard daughter but my legitimate wife. If you'd told me you wished to assist Song Lan, I would have helped you, and others would have volunteered to accompany us. You would not have needed to go alone. "

Xuanyu glares at him, somehow even more compelling with the anger brightening her eyes. "I was fine alone. I didn't need you."

"This is not about needing," he says softly, "but about having. Whether you need me or not is irrelevant. You have me. Next time I hope you remember that."

He ties her inner robe together before jumping out of the carriage, leaving her to redress herself. He feels the weight of her gaze on him, but she doesn't say anything.

Lan Wangi sighs, rubbing at his forehead. He drops into the seat next to his brother, noting Sizhui and Jingyi sitting at the same table as their guests and insistently putting more and more food on their plates over their protests. Well, Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen's protests. A-Qing seems quite happy to eat everything put in front of her.

Xichen raises an eyebrow.

"How long did it take Jin Guangyao to trust you?" he asks impulsively, regretting asking almost as soon as it's out of his mouth.

Xichen sighs, "Oh, Wangji," and doesn't answer.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #alexseanchai #untamed

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heeracha · 2 years

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## buy one, take me. — l. heeseung

synposis: with his best friend asking him for help because said best friend was scared he wasn't "boyfriend material" enough, heeseung looks for flower shops for his best friend's girlfriend. thankfully, jake knows someone from the university who has an aunt that owns a flower shop, you. now, heeseung messages you and shyly, but shamelessly asks if he can get any promos or discounts to which you shamelessly answered him, "buy one, take me". heeseung doesn't pass on this, of course. after all, you are pretty damn cute.

pairing: heeseung x fem!reader

content/genre: college au, slowburn, fluff, angst and crack, smau.

warning(s): swearing, of course. and as always, i'll put it in every chap if there's something you need to look out for.

note: yes, blod-talicized for slowburn because this is already planned out three years ago (but for another idol) anyway !! i'm excited to share this, my ass had been wanting to post this,,,,,, i already have the ending i just really need to do from part eleven up to,,,, that. so here you go. T_T okay, if i suddenly ghost again FLOOD ME MESSAGES/ASKS/IDC WHAT TO FINISH IT. TAGLIST CLOSE.

tags: r.asks: botm, botm updates, botm thoughts

sample texts. / playlist.

profiles. / profiles two. / profiles three.

ep 1. — the pilot.

ep 2. — the bf problem.

ep 3. — the help from jake.

ep 4. — the promo.

ep 5. — the benefit of jeongin.

ep 6. — the availing of the promo.

ep 7. — the two introverts.

ep 8. — the era of reporter sunoo.

ep 8.2. — the dog cafe.

ep 9. — the look. what look?

ep 10. — the panicking of heeseung.

ep. 11 — the time heeseung decides to trust y/n.

ep 12. — the real heey/n friendship era.

ep 13. — the star stamp.

ep 14. — the late night in the flower shop.

ep 15. — the biggest cliché.

ep 16. — the text-snapping of y/n.

ep 17. — the weekend of heeseung without y/n.

ep 18. — the two am ride.

ep 19. — the stupidity.

ep 20. — the time y/n blocked heeseung.

ep 21. — the whipped y/n.

ep 22. — the painful sight (according to riki).

ep 23. — the library.

ep 24. — the dog café pt 2.

ep 25. — the frustration of jungwon and sunoo.

ep 26. — the flowers and bambi sticker.

ep 27. — the pretty dense boy texting y/n.

ep 28. — the message from jay.

ep 29. — the look heey/n give.

ep 30. — the pet name.

ep 31. — the switch up.

ep 32. — the no more denial.

ep 33. — the time seungmin called y/n 'sweetie'.

ep 34. — the way y/n sensed it again.

ep 35. — the talk.

ep 36. — the halfway there.

ep 37. — the another lame line.

ep 38. — the time heeseung accidentally kissed y/n.

ep 39. — the drive-in.

ep 40. — the flour and eggs.

ep 41. — the favorite view.

ep 42. — the one time they used their main accs.

ep 43. — the origami flower bouquet.

ep 44. — the stressed gf.

ep 45. — the plane plan.

ep 46. — the time y/n isn't teasing with heeseung.

ep 47. — the time when everything is "fine".

ep 48. — the time heeseung forgot.

ep 49. — the fight.

ep 50. — the graduation.

ep 51. — the flower arrangement on the cashier.

ep 52. — the favorite flower of heeseung.

ep 53. — the fact that heeseung is still jealous.

ep 54. — the supposed three year anniversary of heey/n.

ep 55. — the bubble chat turned blue.

ep 56. — the dumb flowers.

ep 57. — the time y/n finally replied.

ep 58. — the rehearsal dinner.

ep 59. — the flowers weren't dumb after all.

ep 60. — the lifetime promo.

bonus. — the matching icons.

bonus 2. — the pettiness of flower and seungie.

bonus 3. — the one where heeseung thought y/n's leaving.

bonus 4. — the one with heeseung's doe eyes.

alternative ending. — the one when y/n almost stayed.

marriage discount; p. sunghoon [ fem!reader ]. — after endless of weddings that sunghoon attends to, he's been spending non-stop. so, upon hearing about a discount for married people even if it's just in the dry cleaners, sunghoon tells the employee that the girl, who happens to be you, walked in in the shop is his wife. even if he doesn't know you.

heeracha, 2022.

#OMG SECOND HEE SMAU RAWR LIKE I PROMISED WONT BE AS ANGSTY AS YMTM #Hiraya-M #enhypen imagines #enhypen reactions #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen smau #enhypen social au #enhypen social media au #enhypen socmed au #heeseung imagines #heeseung scenarios #heeseung reactions #heeseung fluff #heeseung au #heeseung social media au #heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader

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mimicha-arts · 7 months

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Date: 09/29 SPOILERS FOR S2 Part 1

I don't know how many times I rewrote everything, my documents flew away for dozens of pages, so I will divide my post into several parts.

I like to theorize and explain things to myself, but at the moment every new question that comes up contradicts every answer I found. I don’t have a lot of time now, and unfortunately I have to write first, then translate. So I don't know when I will be able to edit the next part and post it.

In the first post I want to talk about time, number of attempts, and what the original reality is. My friendly reminder - this is all just empty speculation and I'm just having fun (while crying actually). I'm pretty sure that when we get trailers and more information about canon, I'll change my mind a lot. But that's it for now.

Time

The events in s2 take place in a short time. In the last interview it was said that about 3 days had passed. so. October, 23th - Lu Guang was stabbed, Cheng Xiaoshi was interrogated during the day, the events in the hospital placed during the evening. October, 24th - Chen Bin's funeral, Cheng Xiaoshi dived in his photo October, 25th - dive in Li Tianxi's photo, interrogation of Li Tianchen, time loop, Lu Guang's kidnapping October, 26th - everything that happened in the theater and in the tunnel Plus taking into account the time (about a month) they spent in the hospital, ep12 ends at the end of November/beginning of December, congratulations. The start of the new year is almost here, have we really crossed the critical point for Cheng Xiaoshi and he won't be forever 21? Heh.

9/13 is not the date of Cheng Xiaoshi's death, it has to be 9/12. Below I will describe why I think that this is not his first attempt, and in this case more than 5 minutes have definitely passed. Time has not stood still, seconds are passing. Lu Guang's watch does not say five in the morning, but midnight and five minutes. The date of the password is Lu Guang's reminder, corresponding exactly to the time of the dive. If that's the case, I believe that each new reality is a new password corresponding to the time of diving, as a reminder of the previous failure.

Technically, I think that Cheng Xiaoshi actually died at 5:35 in the original timeline - this date was indicated, everything led to it, but in the end it was not shown in s2 itself. The events in the tunnel do not correspond to this time, since the actions took place earlier (the meeting at the theater was scheduled for 3 am, the rest of the events happened very quickly, the whole action couldn't have lasted for 2 hours and a half, so I think everything happened before approximately 4 am or so).

It coincides too well with this broken time in the Overthink. So, I am desperate enough to believe that Cheng Xiaoshi's death occurred at 05:35 (as actual time). Even if the specific time in the ED can be perceived as 5:20, because that is literally the reason why Lu Guang broke the time - his wish that Cheng Xiaoshi could live, his love for Cheng Xiaoshi. It is possible that time passed in the original reality - literally from this moment until the last attempt at 00:05. So maybe. While Lu Guang lives one life after another, in fact, Lu Guang is truly “frozen” in this 12-13 September, and not even a day has passed in the original timeline. Why do I think that exactly this amount of time has passed (more than five minutes, but less than a day)?

It’s difficult to say at all that Cheng Xiaoshi died in the photo studio in the first place.

There are changes in the design of their room.

Lu Guang probably washed the blood from his hands, so he spent some time for it, but did not change his clothes, still covered in blood, even has traces of blood on his face. (Did Cheng Xiaoshi touch his face before he died? Did Lu Guang himself cry, covering his face with hands? Oh, boy)

I'll talk about details in the next part.

Again and again

I feel sorry for him. He is the most pathetic, most selfish, most insane person in the universe. I love it so much.

I believe we have not yet seen the actual chronology in terms of events, but we have seen the original timeline in terms of Lu Guang's insane room.

I’m sure this is not his first dive; we have always had the symbolism of constant resets. Again and again, again and again, again and again. I think there have been many attempts. As many as there were photographs he could find - if the ability works the same way as Cheng Xiaoshi use it himself, and he should be the author of the photo, we can only cover our heads with our hands and cry.

This is Lu Guang's POV - Lu Guang already knew that the death node cannot be changed (meaning he already tried), but he still wants to use the very last attempt to try.

He looks so dead inside, it's impossible. In my understanding: he initially used earlier photographs that were closer to September, the death of Cheng Xiaoshi in the original reality, and then dived deeper and deeper into the past, into more distant events.

Let's go back to s1. It is still difficult to say how many times the events were repeated. Lu Guang himself confirmed it in his words that this happened more than once. There have been a lot of attempts, he himself said “no matter how hard you try".

I think that “last chance” meant just that, last chance. From what he said, we know that a photo can only be used once. If s1 showed us the events of the current timeline, which I believe, this was probably one of the earliest photos that Lu Guang could use - a photo that happened before their first meeting. Back to their real beginning. This… tritely has a beautiful and symbolic logic behind it. Current events are “all or nothing.”

The photo studio from the flashback is the original universe, this reality is not destroyed, he returns to it after each original attempt. We know that Cheng Xiaoshi died many times in many different ways. If there have been many attempts, if the attempts are limited to photographs, all he can do is use them from some original point.

Like I think he can't get an "infinite" number of attempts by using the photos again within the "past" he returned to. In my opinion, “dive within a dive” is impossible. I don't think that after diving, there is a possibility of another dive by the same person inside the diving - because it makes more sense if Lu Guang has an invisible timer that reminds him - the time is running out.

I think the design of their room in the original timeline confirms this. Their table is always full of books, there are things, lamps, even framed photo. Everything is empty. If these were the events immediately after Сheng Xiaoshi's death, would their room be so lifeless?

I'm inclined to think that Lu Guang went through all their belongings, used every possible attempt to find suitable photographs that would allow him to try to rewrite the events again.

I find destroyed or burned photographs more symbolic of failed attempts being burned, too - after all, a photo can only be used once, everything is changing, it’s not a time loop. Every used photo, every reality that doesn't turn out well, is another crossed out opportunity. But remembering his words about the destruction of photos - I think that we will see this again in the context of the fact that he destroyed the photos himself. It is quite possible that he destroys the photo after the dive to erase the reality/time where Cheng Xiaoshi died again as a fact. Because… otherwise a terrible situation will arise. If Lu Guang possesses himself from a photo, then after leaving it after Cheng Xiaoshi's death, the original!Lu Guang moves back to the original line, while Lu Guang from the rewritten timeline remains in the timeline where Cheng Xiaoshi is dead (and if the events are rewritten so deeply, it is not at all clear what will happen to his memory). Therefore, I am sure that the original Lu Guang must destroy the photographs because of this as well.

I was wondering if he destroys the photo while diving, right after it - maybe that's how the mechanics could work, I would say, of how he "locks" himself into a certain reality. But since I believe that he should return to the "original point", I do not think that this is possible - if he doesn't need to come back, if he just "dives after diving" further into the next timeline, it won't make sense: more photos can be taken, attempts won't end with a limit. But do I like this idea for the last attempt? That he has to live his entire life from the very beginning without a “save point” to return to? Oh. Yes. Note: I considered the possibility that there is no original timeline as a starting point for diving, that he dives again after diving inside the dive itself, destroys the photo immediately inside the dive, that everything is repeated again, no limit either. Just at some point Lu Guang himself decides there is no point in continuing to use any photos from this period, so decided to use a photo corresponding to the very very beginning. But in doesn't make sense, in any case he will have the opportunity to take more photos that he could use for further dives, this does not create a " the last try" point (even if it was possible, also knowing Lu Guang’s character, I don’t think that he could partly “give up”, partly take such risks voluntarily)

But it's still questionable. Because, if the original timeline exists, all dives were made from there, then a simple problem arises - given Cheng Xiaoshi's ability, all dives take place in “real time”, i.e. in the original reality the same amount of time should also pass. We all understand that this is impossible, it is difficult to imagine how many attempts Lu Guang made, how many years actually passed.

So, if we believe that the “original reality” is a thing, then the combination of their abilities, becoming a “perfect fusion,” has other limits, other specifics of using and/or the original timeline is so broken that time only passes when Lu Guang exists in it.

The original universe… or?

I hope I've made it clear enough before - in my opinion the original timeline was shown to us in terms of the timeline from where he dives into the photos. Their room. Because there must be something that creates a limited number of attempts.

But I have some doubts about the fact that what we saw in the vision or flashback is the original timeline, too. Yes, they could have shown us the very first death of Cheng Xiaoshi, this would even be logical, but the problem is that this is only relevant if we agree that Lu Guang has white hair from birth.

Considering that the hints themselves within the series may turn out to be a joke, I still haven't completely dismissed this idea. The only characters with unusual hair color are twins, but they are like that at least because of genetics, they inherited it from their mother. While the issue with Lu Guang remains open.

Therefore, I am considering 2 simple options: 1. Lu Guang's hair was originally white from birth, so we shouldn't expect him to have a different design in the original timeline. Or Lu Guang's hair turned white before Cheng Xiaoshi's death for some other reason. Then we can safely say that the events of the flashback is the original universe.

2. Lu Guang's hair was not originally white, but his hair gradually turned white with each dive attempt due to overpowering, trying too many times, and overusing his abilities.

If we consider the second option, then:

The flashback events shown to us are one of the later attempts, for example, the penultimate one, which is generally a possible option. That version of death, when Cheng Xiaoshi received a very similar injury to Lu Guang - that why the flashbacks were specifically about this late attempt.

The events shown to us are this current reality in which Cheng Xiaoshi was/has to be the 7th case, and this is exactly the death that was intended for him in this timeline - but this period of time, from April to September, was cut out and "stolen", just as case 7 disappeared. And that in the most recent attempt, not only was time rewritten “from the very beginning,” from the very first photo, but something else happened to prevent Cheng Xiaoshi’s death at the appointed time.

The one who was supposed to die in the photo studio when Lu Guang was stabbed - was Cheng Xiaoshi himself, and what was shown was not a flashback, but Lu Guang's vision of how things could have been different (if we perceive the forest not as a literal location, but a symbol) . I doubt it, but let's leave this possibility open.

Why do I even think that the white hair theory could be real? Of course, maybe it's just the light, but maybe… Due to Li Tianxi's memories and abilities, taking over the memories from the other reality in which Lu Guang lived, Qiao Ling's hair also changed a bit. Pay attention to the only white strain in her hair. This is an extremely interesting and rather intentional detail.

If this is the case, then Qiao Ling's white hair is a hint. This does not mean that every attempt is 1 white strand of hair. It's not that… literal. This is an artistic way of allowing the viewer to speculate if this is the case.

I'm not betting on any particular idea, given that things can't be that simple and we don't really know how September-April will be explained. Another problem is why Lu Guang is wearing a watch on his other hand in this shot. Everything may be different, case 7 may be about a completely different character. But I also think many things will be connected at some point.

Photos and OP

There are a lot of photographs. So many. As we remember from Dive Back in Time. There will be two key ones - thanks to Vortex.

One of which is precisely related to the moment that allowed Lu Guang to travel 6 years (or more) into the past - to the moment they even met. Would this be a photo at school? Was it an accidental photo left behind? I have much more painful though. Their “very beginning” has a huge chance of not being high school time, but as I mentioned before, I’ll leave that for a separate post.

But the other one? I can’t imagine clearly, of course, but for me there are 3 ways:

This is about the current timeline - September-October were influenced by the use of a different photo - it will let us understand what the 7th case and one of the main storylines.

The starting point from where Lu Guang began his attempts to save Cheng Xiaoshi and change his fate. The core one.

If we believe the hints in the art book, the intro, the dark design of Cheng Xiaoshi, then the photo will be from the moment where something happens to make CXS become depresso!CXS.

I had hopes that the teaser would be about s3, and thus something would become clearer in my head, but… For now, we can only build theories for the next year or two.

Thank you for reading ~

#link click #link click s2 #shiguang dailiren #link click spoilers #link click theory #mimicha.lc #I'm banging my head against the wall because I don't have clear thoughts #there are too many possibilities and they are all 50/50 #I really think that we are going about the same way as 仙王的日常生活 ... at some point

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villainousshakespeare · 7 months

Text

Therapy Fit for a God

Chapter 31

Loki/OFC Rated E: Trigger Warnings (for previous chapters): Smut, Sex, Oral Sex, Angst, talk of suicide, therapy, unhealthy family dynamics, mention of torture and mind control, touch starved, drinking, memory loss.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23, Chapter 24, Chapter 25, Chapter 26, Chapter 27, Chapter 28, Chapter 29

Loki’s plans to conquer and rule Midgard have come to a disastrous end. After being captured by the Avengers, he is being held on Earth. Odin has refused to interfere, and the outlook for the God of Mischief appear bleak. His only hope may lie in one mortal woman, a Psychiatric expert brought in to interrogate him.

Dr. Caroline Thorpe is intrigued by Loki and thinks that more lies beneath his actions than is commonly known. Can she find out the truth before he is shipped off to die for crimes against the Earth? And can Loki bring himself to care?

@yespolkadotkitty@just-the-hiddles@hopelessromanticspoonie@wine-and-whines@arch-venus25@caffiend-queen@devilish–doll@enchantedbyhiddles@hiddlesholic@i-do-not-fangirl-i-fanwoman@kellatron55@ladyoftheteaandblood@latent-thoughts@yespolkadotkitty @myoxisbroken@nuggsmum@nildespirandum@pedeka@redfoxwritesstuff@sinfully-lustful-darling@vodka-and-some-sass@wrathkitty@kingtwhiddleston@wolfsmom1@poetic-fiasco@shiningloki@dangertoozmanykids101@bookworm-christina@amwolowicz@delightfulheartdream@frostbitten-written@what-a-flammable-heart@tom-hlover@nonsensicalobsessions@myraiswack@loki-yoursaviourishere@ghostypau@ms-cellanies @colorfulfreakstudentpizza@mareebird@colorfulfreakstudentpizza @szycha22@chokemedaddyloki@queenofallhobos@just-the-hiddles-reads @alwida10 @justjoanne242 @lovelysizzlingbluebird@lokiprompts@evieplease @bitchassbecky691@georges-left-ear@mischief2sarawr@thedistractedagglomeration

It's back!!! Well, if this isn't the definition of taking too long, I don't know what is. My sincere apologies. It was a long summer. Finally though, I have scratched out some time away with just my hubs and my keyboard, and now that he is in bed I space to write!

It was a relief to Loki that the room he paced back and forth, wearing a proverbial hole in the carpet, was familiar to him. He reminded himself of that fact regularly, in an effort to stave off the worst of the anxiety coursing through him as he waited for his Lady's arrival. No matter what the future held for him from this point forth, at least he knew himself and all that belonged to him, this room included.

Also included, he hoped, was the woman due to arrive at any moment.

It had been a boisterous reunion with when he had finally joined his family where they waited for him to emerge from his procedure. Any event involving Thor was bound to be less than serene, but the nature of his discovery made the atmosphere raucous even by the standards of the Asgardian royal family.

"Brother! I mean Cousin!" Thor had proclaimed, lifting him from his feet in an embrace that had gone near to shattering Loki's rib cage. "Norns take it all, Brother it has always been, and Brother it shall always be!"

"Thank you, Thor," he had wheezed out with the little air left in his lungs.

"I always knew that you and I shared blood. It was as obvious as it is that day turns to night and night to day."

"Yes, our similarities are breathtaking," Loki had replied dryly, doing his best to hide the misty eyed sensation sweeping over him at his brother's declaration. "I am only surprised that the people did not take us for twins."

"Loki, my dear one," Frigga had cut short his sarcasm before Thor had an opportunity to read it and be stung. "Can you ever forgive us for what we have put you through?"

"I have forgave and been forgiven for far worse in my time," Loki had shrugged, accepting a kiss from her on his cheek. "And as it turns out, I was not the only one deceived in this."

"You were not," she had agreed, a spark of anger in her eye that he was grateful was not directed at him.

"So tell me, where is my dearest not-father? I would have thought he would be first to greet me, all eagerness to explain why he was right to keep the true details of my birth from all of us."

"Mother sent him away," Thor's voice had held a note of awe that Loki was completely in agreement with. To his knowledge no one had ever imposed their will upon the great All Father of the Nine Realms.

"Did you?" was all he said aloud as his mind reeled.

"We all needed time to process the truth," Frigga had a voice of vibranium that would have cut through the strongest armor. "It will go easier if we do not have to do so while your father... while Odin spins his version of events. He will be back in time, when we have all had time to consider."

"What have I told you, Thor," Loki had smirked at his brother. "In a battle to the death, I would choose our Mother every time. If, that is, I may still call you mother?"

The hesitation he had felt rocked him tot he very core. Always, Frigga had been the guiding light in his life. Her love may have been flawed, conditional to Odin's laws, but he had always believed in it. Even when he had learned that he was not her son by birth, there had been no other woman to put in her place. Now, now that he had a name and a face to put to the woman who had birthed him, could he still consider Frigga his Mother? Would she want him to?

"Volla may have given you birth," Frigga had said, tears standing in her eyes, "but in all ways that matter, you are my son, Loki. I have always loved you. Knowing that you are the blood of my blood only strengthens that love."

It seemed that there were times when the tears would not be stifled. He had embraced her again, allowing the salt water to flow from his eyes onto her shoulder as he held her to him. It was only as Thor joined them, wrapping them both in his beefy embrace, that he had heard the door to the chamber open and shut and known that Caroline had slipped silently out.

He had wanted to go after her immediately, but an unaccustomed shyness had descended on him. He owed her so much, this tiny but fierce woman of Midgard. Not only was she responsible for this latest revelation of his origin story, but it was due to her that was alive to learn it. Now that he could remember all of the support she had given him over the past weeks, he found himself feeling profoundly unworthy of so steadfast a woman. He needed something to show her that he knew just how lucky he was to have her in his life and in his corner.

"Mother," he had asked, enjoying the sensation of saying it once more without the sarcasm. "I have a favor to ask of you."

"Name it, my son. If it is in my power, it is yours."

"Now that is a dangerous statement if ever I heard it," Thor had said with a rumble of laughter, as Loki began to lay out what he wished for.

His mother, as always, had been as good as her word. Loki paused his pacing now to once more needlessly take inventory of his pocket universe, making sure the precious item was safely locked away for the right moment.

A light tap on the door brought him swinging around to stare at it for a moment. An unaccustomed wave of uncertainty threaded down his spine, causing his heart to beat an irregular tattoo. He wanted so much for the next series of minutes to go as he hoped. It had been longer than he could remember, now that he had memories to recall, since he had wanted anything so much.

"Loki, are you in there?" the clear, musical voice called. "Your mother said you wanted to see me."

He realized suddenly that he had stayed rooted to the spot and moved in a dash to cross the room and open the door. He smiled as he saw the small woman standing there, green dress bringing out the color of her eyes and the roses in her lips.

"My darling Caroline," he breathed, calming as his eyes met hers. "To call you lovely would be a drastic understatement. Won't you come in?"

"Of course," she smiled at him. "How are you feeling? You did have quite a morning."

"And you," he replied, ushering her into his space, "have had quite a month. Give or take."

"Fair," she acknowledged with a laugh. "We have both been through quite the wringer lately."

Loki watched her mouth as the corners tilted up and yearned to kiss it. Everything in him was telling him to gather her into his arms and not let her go until she was breathless from his embrace. But he had a question to put to her, and he wanted them both to be clear headed when he did.

"Loki, what is wrong?" she asked him, peering up at him through troubled eyes. "You do remember me, don't you?"

"I remember everything," he said, caress seeping into the words. "I remember your bravery, your strength of will, the way you put your career, your very life on the line to help me, a veritable stranger from an alien race. I remember how right it felt to hold you in my arms, and the passion we discovered together when at last I had you in my bed. Oh, min kajesta, I remember it all."

Her face had turned a beguiling shade of red while he spoke, and he watched as the pupils in her eyes dilated at his words. Once more pull to have her without a moment to loose overtook him. Just speaking her praise out loud had him straining against his leather trousers with desire.

"I am glad," she managed to squeak out, eyes darting down and up again.

Caroline made a move towards him and Loki sprung into action, darting around the table and lifting a bottle of wine to offer her.

"May I pour you a glass, darling? I promise it is not the normal Asgardian vintage, but a perfectly respectable Chateaux Margot from Midgard."

"That would be nice," she sounded confused. "Loki, tell me what is bothering you? I promise, I will accept it, whatever it is."

"Of course you will, sweetheart," he sighed, pouring the wine into two glasses and handing one to her. "Just as you accepted every other facet of my disreputable life."

"Well, I don't so much know if I accept the invasion and all the destruction that went with it," she qualified, "but I do understand the mitigating factors. But please, for the sake of my sanity, tell me what is wrong."

"My darling, since the moment you met me, bound in that cell, your life has been in upheaval. I have torn you away from your work, your friends, your home. Your very life has been threatened on numerous occasions. It cannot have been an easy time for you."

"Not easy, no," she agreed, face scrunching adorably as she considered his words. "But at it was never dull. In all honesty Loki, there were days when I thought I lost you that were horrible. You can ask Tony at some point, or Bruce, I was a basket case. But as long as you were with me, I always believed that things would somehow work out. It was only when you were gone that I was panicked."

"Ah yes, Stark and Banner," he said their names with a grimace. "They are just the problem."

"Why? I thought you and Tony had bonded? And yes, I understand that Bruce might not be your favorite person, given the Hulk smashing, but -"

"You misunderstand me, love," he interrupted her. "I am not disparaging the Midgardian heroes. I will not even say anything against that blind menace who despite his infirmity managed to look inappropriately at you. No, it just that they are, well, heroes. That is what you are used to consorting with, Caro."

"I have not consorted with any of them!"

"I do not mean it in that way," he smiled at her, grateful despite the misunderstanding to hear that she had not been more than a colleague with any of them. "I simply mean that you spent your time on Earth with a certain type of man. The heroic, selfless type to be specific."

"I would hardly call Tony selfless," she scoffed.

"You are deliberately deflecting what I am trying to say," he ground out, frustrated that she was interrupting him. "This is hard for me darling, please let me finish."

"Sorry," she mumbled, face not loosing its impatient look.

"With the caveat that Stark is possibly the only person alive as self interested as I am," he admitted, ceding her the point, "you are part of a team of heroes. Yes, there are times when certain members of that team do things that go against that code of ethics, as when they wanted to execute me without a proper trial, but for the most part, those that you surround yourself with are paragons of humanity, struggling to do what is right and just."

"Alright," she said slowly as he paused. "I might have some issues with parts of what you said, but I will grant you the basic premise. I work with a team of good guys. What is your point?"

"My point, my love, is that I am not a hero. I am a seriously flawed semi-reformed super villain at best."

"Loki," she said, face contorting to hide what looked suspiciously like laughter, "is that what you think?"

"It is the truth."

"Have you not been paying attention?" she asked in frustration, flopping down into one of his chairs and taking a long drink of wine. "Very good by the way. Alright, where to begin... How may times have you saved Thor's life? When you would go on your missions for Asgard before his thwarted coronation?"

"Countless, particularly if you take into account the times I kept him from saying or doing something dramatically stupid."

"And by how many of those missions was Asgard kept safe?"

"All of them, but it is not the same thing."

"Isn't it? You were fighting to protect your home. It is no different from what Tony does on Earth. And when we came up with the plan to retrieve the Mind Stone, the very thing that had caused you so much pain and torture, did you Tony, Thor, and I go alone? No, even though it was not your world that hung in the balance, you put your life on the line, not to mention your sanity, and helped us keep the jewel from falling into unsafe hands. What do you call that?"

"Righting a wrong I myself committed."

"But that's my point!" she insisted, sloshing wine onto the carpet as she gestured for effect. "Everyone commits wrongs. No hero is perfect. Not Matt, not Bruce, certainly not Tony. It doesn't matter if you make mistakes. What matters is that you when you do, you try to make them right. You are a hero, Loki, not because you are perfect, but because you try."

"You don't think I'm perfect?" he asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow that sent a flood of desire through her.

"I plead the fifth," she said, bringing a confused look to his face. "Loki, let me put it this way. You are all the hero I need."

"You are sure?"

"More sure than I have ever been about anything in my life. I love you, Loki."

"Well in that case," Loki took a big breath and reached into his pocket universe, "I would like to offer you this."

With all of his nerves ready to snap, he held out the small golden apple in his hand to her.

***

Caroline had been looking forward to this moment with Loki for what seemed like ages. First she had thought him gone, most likely dead if not dying. Then, just when she had found out that he was alive, his memory was wiped out, taking all of his knowledge of their relationship. She had white knuckled it through the past few days when Loki, lacking his memories, had nonetheless invited intimacies with her, ones she desperately wanted, but felt guilty indulging in with his altered state.

Now, at last, the were both healthy and whole, minds in tact. She wanting nothing in the world but to have a sizable amount of time together, alone.

She had slipped out of the room when Loki had emerged from his procedure and greeted his family. Yes, she had been separated from a fully functional Loki for days, but his separation from his family had been going on for longer. It was important, she thought, to give Loki, Frigga, and Thor a moment to reforge their frayed family bond. Watching all of the love his mother and brother surrounded him with had made Caroline happy, but she still felt as yet a bit of an outsider, not sharing the centuries of history with the three. A quiet exit seemed the most tactful action she could take.

Now at last, it was her turn. Loki had sent her a message asking that she meet him in his rooms. Suppressing a thrill she let her mind wander to why he might want to meet her there. Could it have anything to do with the large, comfy bed that dominated the room? Caroline could only hope.

Her pulse was racing as she knocked on the door. The few doors down from where she herself had been allotted quarters was long enough to amp up her excitement to a fever point.

The Loki who answered the door was not the one she had been expecting. Judging by Loki's actions in all of there previous time together, Caroline would have expected him to pounce on her. They had wasted so much time apart, be it mentally or physically, that even a few moments not in his arms seemed a crime to her. He, on the other hand appeared determined to keep the whole room between them. Why?

She tried to track his thoughts as Loki rambled on, to answer sensibly about all that they had gone through, to defend him against himself, but as he kept talking, her mind was screaming for him to throw her onto the bed that loomed just behind him and ravish her. What was taking him so long?

"You don't think I'm perfect?" Loki asked, seizing on and twisting a comment she had made in the midst of trying to convince him not to belittle himself. His look, cocky and knowing, sent a wave of lust so strong through her that Caroline pressed her thighs together to counter it.

"I plead the fifth," she said, forgetting for a moment that he would have scant knowledge of American legal terms. "Loki, let me put it this way. You are all the hero I need."

"You are sure?" he seemed intent on the point, as though their futures depended on it.

"More sure than I have ever been about anything in my life. I love you, Loki." It really was as simple as that.

"Well in that case, I would like to offer you this."

Caroline didn't know what she had been expecting. Jewelry perhaps? His empty had to pull her close to him? Certainly she had not been expecting a small, perfectly formed golden apple. She could tell from the look on his face that it was important, but she had no idea in what way. Distantly, she thought she might have seen something about an apple in that large encyclopedia she had paged through in his cabin, she couldn't remember what the significance was. She was fairly certain it was nothing to do with the Frost Giant side of his heritage.

"Thank you?" she said uncertainly, reaching for the apple.

"You don't understand, do you?" he guessed, reading her. "Of course not, how could you. Caroline, min kajesta, I want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"I want that too, Loki," she said, beaming from the inside.

"No, you misunderstand me, my love," he smiled again, getting down on one knee in front of her chair and caressing the side of her face. "I want to spend not just the rest of your life, the short life of a mortal, with you, but the mine. The lifespan of a God."

"Loki, I am not a God, or a Goddess," she laughed nervously at the very idea.

"To me you are the very definition of Goddess," he told her, eyes brimming with love. "You are wise, gentle, strong, loving, and, to be quite candid, the most desirable creature I have ever met. All you are missing is longevity. And this apple can give it to you."

"What?" she must be hearing him wrong, she thought.

"The Golden Apples of Idun can grant a sort of immortality to any who eat them," he explained quietly. "They can, in short, turn a mortal into a God."

"How many are there?" she asked, stalling for time.

"At the moment? Three. When you have eaten one, there will be two. But fret not, more will grow. I a thousand years or so, another will take this one's place."

"Loki, I can't take that! It is too precious for me."

"The stars are not too precious for you, my dearest love," he told her seriously. "I would steal them all for you."

"Did you steal the apple?" she asked.

"I would have, if I had to, but I did not. Frigga called in a favor from Idun and procured it for me."

"Frigga did that?"

"She did. She loves me, it seems. And she thinks you are good for me. She is right, you are far too good for me, but I intend to have you nonetheless. Will you have me, min kajesta? Will you share this long life we me as we commit mischief across the galaxy? Say yes, love. Please."

"Loki," she said his name like a prayer. "Yes, my love."

#Loki #loki/ofc #fanfic #Loki fanfic #Thor #Avengers #Frigga #Therapy #romance #recovery #love #true love #future sexy times #I promise #It's back!!!#sorry for the delay #Please forgive me #Loki makes a big ask

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thelonelyempath · 1 year

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Sick Prompts II

1. “If you even so much as look like you’re about to pass out, I’m taking you to the hospital.”

2. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine for me.”

3. “You were so sound asleep you would’ve missed the fire alarm going off if I didn’t wake you.”

4. “I’ll bring you some food. It’s almost time to take your meds anyway.”

5. “If I see you leave that bed even once, I’m going to physically manhandle you back into it.”

6. “No kisses until you’re better!”

7. “Baby, it’s just a stomach ache. You’ll be fine.”

8. “I told you eating that would make you sick.”

9. “Darling, look at me. How many fingers am I holding up?”

10. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

11. “Don’t even think about going to work/class today.”

12. “After all of the times I’ve told you it’s a bad idea, you still insist on going out to play in the rain.”

13. “You know I love you more than anything else in the world, but please cover your mouth when you sneeze.”

14. “We’re almost there, love. Just stay with me a little bit longer.”

15. “Nightmare, huh? Must’ve been a fever dream.”

16. “Scoot over. It’s cuddle time.”

17. “Would you rather go to work/class and suffer because you obviously don’t feel well or stay in bed and get cuddles and forehead kisses and watch movies?”

18. “You can’t say the words vomit and okay in the same sentence.”

19. “You’re sick. Let me baby you.”

20. “No one is expecting you to get over this immediately.”

21. “Why are you so dramatic whenever you get sick?”

22. “Can you even keep water down right now?”

23. “I know you hate hospitals and all, but I’m taking you to one. Get in the car.”

24. “Okay Ms./Mr. I’m-not-sick, tell me why you sneezed five times in the span of an hour.”

25. “Please take your medicine, love. It’ll help you get better.”

“26. “Well considering the fact that you’re shivering, the circles under your eyes are five times darker than they were two days ago, and your forehead feels like it’s on fire, yeah I’d say there’s a pretty good chance you’re sick.”

27. “I love you. I really do. But your immune system is shit.”

28. “Go to bed, darling. You need to be resting.”

29. “You’ll live.”

30. “Oh my, 103. That’s not good.”

31. “When we get home, I’m gonna wrap you like a burrito in my thickest blanket and put on your favorite movie.”

32. “I’ll be honest, babe. You’re kinda cute when you’re all cranky.”

33. “You need to eat, love. Just a little bit for me.”

34. “You look absolutely miserable.”

35. “Ooh. That cough sounded like it hurt.”

36. “How bad is the pain right now from 0 to 10?”

37. “Aw, poor thing.”

38. “How’s your head feeling?”

39. “Would it make you feel better if I put a warm towel on your head played with your hair?”

40. “Don’t just stand around doing nothing! Get him/her some water for god’s sake!”

41. “We’re not gonna watch a sad movie. If you cry, you’ll get more congested.”

42. “As adorable as you look in my hoodie, I’m gonna ask that you please wash it before giving it back.”

43. “Come to bed, love. I’d be kind of a terrible boyfriend/girlfriend/partner if I just let you sleep on the bathroom floor.”

44. “I find it really odd that you act all big and tough, but become a baby when you’re sick. But that’s okay. You’re my baby.”

45. “Don’t even try and tell me you’re not delirious. You have spent all day mumbling abstract nonsense to yourself.”

#sickfic #sickfic prompts #otp prompts #otp sick prompts #writing prompts #sick prompts #sickfic sentence starters

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hookhausenschips · 5 months

Text

Burning Rubber

F1 Masterlist

Burning Rubber Masterlist

Chapter Eight

▶️ 8.2

nephthys added to her story!

seen by charles_leclerc, riabish, olivernorris1, and others

25 November 2023

iMessage

ItsAzhaTheDrifter

liked by landonorris, riabish, oscarpiastri, Jirani636, and others

tagged: landonorris, JaKhel636, Lianaaaababy, Jirani636, GianaLenae96

ItsAzhaTheDrifter: life after being discharged; 1) hospital had some vibes. 2) tea time with my brothers. 3) my sister won’t leave my bed, she snores. 4) movie nights. 5) Lando is a fat cunt who doesn’t share. 6) Ja Khel’s dog is now my dog. 7) I didn’t believe Lando could DJ so he pulled out his set up. Loser. 8) I forced Jirani to take me to McDonald’s at 3 in the morning. 9) Ja Khel is on the loose in the drive thru.

32,639 Comments:

user: the fact Lando really brought out his entire dj equipment is killing me😭

> user: no literally

landonorris: I’m definitely not sharing with you now

> ItsAzhaTheDrifter: I hope McLaren doesn’t need you because I will run you over.

nandolorrislover: how does she know Lando? She doesn’t seem like his type🤢

> driftrc520: they’re not even dating. Sit down child.

carlossainz55: can confirm he never shares :/

> ItsAzhaTheDrifter: come get him before he ends up missing fingers stealing my fries!!!

> landonorris: you wouldn’t hurt me

> ItsAzhaTheDrifter: one like and I smack him

liked by maxfewtrell, charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, and oscarpiastri

user: I really am loving Azha and Lando’s friendship

> user: yeah “friendship”. I can sense the romance from here

27 November 2023

nephthys added to her story!

seen by maxfewtrell, carmenmmundt, francisca.cgomes, riabish, and others

Replies:

maxfewtrell: please say you’re alive after letting him drive😅

> nephthys: barely 😰

Lianaaaababy: as if you weren’t enjoying the view🙄

> nephthys: I’m not bringing you anything 😐

riabish: the duo is back🥹

> nephthys: don’t tell him, I miss you the most🖤

27 November 2023

landonorris added to his story!

seen by olivernorris1, maxfewtrell, mclaren, carlossainz55, and others

Replies:

maxfewtrell: did you finally ask her out?

> landonorris: no…

riabish: if you don’t ask her out already I am setting her up with someone

olivernorris1: you two would be a beautiful couple, mum and dad agree

carlossainz55: do it already.

29 November 2023

58 notes · View notes

undercoverpena · 4 months

Text

my 2023 tumblr top 10

WARNING: I’m going to be mushy about my writing, and celebrate me, if this isn’t for you, scroll past. kindness only.

1. 2,541 notes - Nov 18 2023

BE GOOD, BE QUIET

joel miller x f!reader (tlou)

i’m so blown away by the love this fic got!! this silly idea of a storm, of joel, and here we are. it was the fingers in your mouth wasn’t it... i knew it.

2. 2,495 notes - Mar 27 2023

ABOUT SOMEONE, THAT ISN’T YOU

simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (cod)

this was such a blast to write, and i still can’t believe a little whump fic from me did so well!! i will say one of my fave lines ever is this: He finds you in the centre of dust and debris.

3. 2,339 notes - Apr 23 2023

AREPAS

javier peña x f!reader (narcos)

my baby. the fic i’ve re-read the most. my beloved. i remember posting this after a mammoth 6 hour editing sessions of it because dyslexia, and then the relief. i went to sleep, woke up, and was like omfg.

4. 2,155 notes - Jul 31 2023

CAN YOU IMAGINE...

simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (cod)

this was purely me being up far too late, and just being a mush, that then turned spicy. it should be expected now, but then, in july, it was all new for me.

5. 1,662 notes - Jun 9 2023

LATE NIGHT TEXTS SERIES

javier peña x f!reader (narcos)

arepas walked, so LNT could RUN. gosh. this fic. the last couple of days it has so much love too, and i’m so overwhelmed, and happy. but my fave thing about this, it all stemmed from a scene in my head of him picking her up from the airport, combined with the fact i was alone for a week, and here we are. one of my fave things i’ve ever written.

6. 1,634 notes - Feb 26 2023

TAKE ME TO YOURS

javier peña x f!reader (narcos)

stemmed from a prompt, this was meant to be a short thing that quickly got away from me. it was one of the first things i wrote for this man, and i still have so much love for it. the scene of him seeing her in the room, god....

7. 1,612 notes - Sep 17 2023

YOU SHOULD BE MY ONLY GIRL

joel miller x f!reader (tlou)

so this fic is a firm fave for me, because not only was it for my cheese ( @thetriumphantpanda ), but also i had the chance to have @perotovar ‘s work on my fic too. like still, i can’t believe how fortunate i am. i still love this one so freaking much. the stress of me worrying if it was good enough though, didn’t love that so much.

8. 1,564 notes - Jan 3 2023

DON’T

john price x f!reader (cod)

this was the most ridiculously brilliant thing, because i wrote it in a chat to my friend @guyfieriii and she was like POST THIS. and i did, and here we are. to this day, price is still someone i dont feel confident writing, but i will admit this was alright ;)

9. 1,484 notes - Jul 15 2023

CIRCLES AND SQUARES

simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (cod)

sometimes, some of my best works are when i write them for people, and writing this for mothie was a joy. i also can’t believe how much ghost is in my top ten.

10. 1,357 notes - Aug 29 2023

HOME AND THE GHOST MUG

simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (cod)

this might have been the last thing i wrote for cod before leaving the fandom entirely, and again, i was up far too late, moving a mug of my husband’s, and here is the product of it.

Created by TumblrTop10

#tumblrtop10 #jo's thoughts

41 notes · View notes

neutron-stars-collision · 3 months

Text

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 4 - North Greenwich Underground Station

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

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

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

But it also changed everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Neil did not make you wait for long.

/✝️, 00:26 am/ Obviously.

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

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

/✝️, 00:30 am/ Making what too easy?

/ 🏹, 00:33 am/ Missing you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/✝️, 00:51 am/ You win this one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

/ 🏹, 2:12 pm/ Doubt, she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

/✝️, 2:24 pm/ You’ve got this.

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if happy to punish him, Cupid laughed.

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

Always the idiot, Neil could not possibly ignore it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

It could go fuck itself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you had to put that point across instantly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hoped to ignore that bit of revelation, too.

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

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

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

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

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

Right.

***

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

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

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

Without letting yourself falter, you typed the question:

/ 🏹, 9:04 pm/ Are you still up?

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

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

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

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

/ 🏹, 9:09 pm/ Nah. Not yet.

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

/✝️, 9:10 pm/ That’s a relief.

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

/ 🏹, 9:11 pm/ You’ve no idea, babe.

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

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

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

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

/✝️, 9:15 pm/ Happily.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No one had cared this much before.

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

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

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

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

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

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