numero uno martinelli glazer

pls do click that ask button !! im not picky say wtvr u want. (obviously, be smart about what you say, and dont be a hater, and whatnot.) my replies may take between five minutes and five weeks so whoops

reqs are open as well. i am a heavy procrastinator tho... but fortunately also a people pleaser !! dm/send in an ask to motivate me to write faster fr (this applies to any of my fics btw)

anons: 🫀 ⭐ 🎈🫧

about tags...

note: im not retaggging the 300+ posts i made before this post. only like the relevant/longer ones maybe ? idk tho

#nellis wordvomit day-to-day shitposts (pls do not take seriously im heavily delusional)

#scraps from nellis floor snippets of fics i write. may or may not be in text post format

#nellivision any pics i take, which includes text posts, screenshots, anythin of the sort. irl will have poor blurring

#nellis incomprehensible rants for my long rants about topics ranging from ship discourse to footballers. they prolly dont make any sense but thats okay

#nelli picks up the phone literally js me answering asks. may range from whole ass hc pages to like a sentence

#nelli holds a gun to ur head my recs. songs, fics, the like. if i put it here i SERIOUSLY recommend it (im very picky) and my tumblr mutuals are actually obligated by law to check them out /j. ofc this is my opinion at the end of the dayyy

#nellis mailbox my submitted posts. submit wtvr u want make me giggle idc

#nellis other brainworms anything that does not fall under the below tags

#nellis football yaoi corner football rpf stuff

#nelli loves ball (derogatory) footy in general (excludes rpf)

Well. It was true. Neymar's skin was warm, oddly so, more than made sense. He ran a few degrees hotter than any person reasonably should, and the best way Leo could describe it is that he felt constantly sunburnt. Not unpleasantly, but present. Insistently so. Leo remembers noticing it even through clothing: the heat of his shoulder when it knocked into his, or the back of his hand brushing Leo's arm in passing. 

And then, later, without the clothing. The warmth had been almost disorienting up close, radiating off him in the dim light of the hotel room, and Leo remembers thinking, distantly, that it made sense somehow. That of course Neymar would be like this: not cold, not careful, but relentlessly, unreasonably warm. He'd felt it most under his hands, at his waist, the jut of his hip, the curve of his-

Leo knows where this is going, and confidently derails his thoughts. No.

His skin is warm.

Leo remembers noticing it even the first time, when they'd done the handshake-hug thing after the Club World Cup final and Neymar wouldn't meet his eyes. His lips had been bitten raw. Leo had noticed that too, and felt his heart drop out of his chest, down, down, down. But before the lips there had been the hand clasping his and the warmth of him, there and then gone, and Leo had held on for exactly one second longer than necessary, which he had not thought about since.

(He is thinking about it now.) 

Then there are his lips, which Leo has absolutely no business thinking about as carefully as he is, but here they are regardless.

They are, objectively, a very good set of lips. Not too full, not too thin. Leo has opinions about both extremes, formed over years of existing near people (too-full lips look unnatural, but thin lips are no better; Leo has them, and he thinks he would be much more attractive if they were normal-sized.) Neymar sits precisely in the middle in a way that feels almost deliberate. Maybe he was designed specifically to be difficult. 

They are perfectly shaped, a particular kind of soft that Leo noticed first when Neymar was talking over call and then noticed again, more specifically, later, under- circumstances that he is not cataloguing right now. In conversation they are almost always doing something, whether pressed together when he's thinking, pulled to one side for photos, or pushed out when he’s skeptical, or bitten when he's nervous (Leo has seen this twice and both times it did something unreasonable to his chest). When he laughs, the real laugh, they… disappear, practically, because his whole face takes over and his mouth goes wide and his eyes crinkle and it's quite honestly, a lot to witness from close range. Leo doesn't know how he managed to handle it over video chat, much less in real life.

Leo also remembers how they felt against his own lips, before he can stop it. His jaw. His neck. He should not be remembering this. His chest. His-

Leo stops as he throws the blanket off himself (he’s very warm) and becomes, suddenly, very aware of himself. He is lying in bed thinking about Neymar's (sinful) mouth in forensic detail at - he checks his phone - one in the morning, and his body, apparently, has not been listening to a single thing his brain has been saying for the last twenty minutes. He is, he realizes with no small amount of resignation, turned on.

Because the problem (and it is a problem, one he has been trying to solve since approximately right now) is that Leo does not forget things. He never has. It has been useful, over the years, for football, classes, rote retention that coaches love and teammates find slightly unnerving, and learning new languages (or at least trying). It has never, until now, actively harmed him.

But his brain does not - can not - distinguish between useful and not. It keeps everything in the same drawer, files it with the same obsessive neatness, and retrieves it with equal enthusiasm whether he wants it to or not. The offside trap Mourinho's men ran in 2010. The exact inflection of his mother's voice on the phone last Tuesday. The four different types of Mexican cheeses in the grocery store by Alexis’ house. And now, apparently, this.

Neymar, grinning crookedly at Leo, spread out over the hotel bed, the white blankets a sharp contrast to his caramel skin. Of course he recalls the shadows pooling in his collarbone, and by extension all the hickeys that Leo had felt obligated to leave there. He remembers the deliciously sharp V-line, the cute little bunch of fat right above his hipbones, the definition of his abs (so much better in person. That Blackberry did nothing for Neymar’s abs), and, of course, what was resting on it. Leo's brain then renders the image of Neymar's dick in complete and humiliating detail...