#having to take a break from talking to one of my best friends bc im pissed at their response to me telling them abt lisa | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thelastofhyde · 5 months

Text

you cut your hair, and take some space (2)

pairing. narcos!javier peña x fem!reader

synopsis. an anthology of events that precede and procede the termination of you and your father's best friend's sexual relationship. this is part 2 of 3! (part 1)

warnings. no use of y/n! all spanish text is followed by immediate translation ( please note that i am fluent in castilian spanish, therefore some words/phrases may differ from that of other hispanic countries ), age gap , student!reader, dbf!javi, post-s3!javi, policeofficer!javi bc i said so, break up au, mutual pining, forbidden lovers kind of vibes, reader has a healthy relationship with her parents, violence, nondescript depictions of sa ( not javi ), pedro-ception aka there's a small cameo of another pedro boy, vomiting, mentions of pregnancy, reader is described to have hair and celebrates christmas ( but no mention of the reader's religious beliefs )! smut ( creampie, breeding kink through the roof, domesticity kink?? javi just wants to love and be loved and start a family, dacryphilia, indecent use of a credit card, spanking, dirty talk, prostitution kink?? i feel like i'm making these up at this point, + a hell of a lot more ) this fic is based on bsc by maisie peters except this has a happy ending bc im a sucker for mr. peña :( not all warnings listed here appear in this part, these are warnings for the fic as a whole !

word count. 14.3k

hyde’s input. hey... hey... how y'all doin'?🧍remember when i said part 2 would be posted a few weeks after part 1? yeah, that was a fucking lie. and, remember when i said it would be 2 parts in total? that was also a lie! the universe is praying on my downfall ( i had a fun mental health episode and fell into a black hole for a few months <3 ) unfortunately, i am very much still alive and kicking, so this is me trying to get the ball rolling again when it comes to posting fics. as the fic has surpassed 40k words, meaning it would likely crash the tumblr site for anyone trying to read it + tumblr will not allow me to post it as a whole due to it's paragaph-count limit, i've decided to post it in three parts. the fic will be posted in full on ao3 once all three parts are available on tumblr!

if you see any typos, no you didn't 🫣

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of. “huh?” “this. us. it could be casual, y’know?”

Golden boy, you dropped the ball I am Annie fucking Hall

The year moves too fast.

It’s like you blink, and suddenly it’s Thanksgiving.

Leaves turn brown. Pumpkins are carved only to rot upon front porches. A gathering of friends, young adults getting their first taste at hosting a thanksgiving meal.

You’re put on dessert duty, which culminates in stressful tears and your mother’s hand rubbing soothing circles into your back, reassuring you that it’s okay, everyone burns their first pie.

No one at the party needs to know the pumpkin pie you brought was a product of your mother’s gentle care.

Then there is actual Thanksgiving, which you celebrate, as always, at your aunt's.

The highlight is, and forever has been, the road-trip out of state, your father making it his mission to deafen you and your mother with his horrific singing.

As they drop you back at your apartment, your father has no qualms leaning out the car window and calling after you.

“I expect to see you cheering me on at the Thanksgiving Touchdown event!”

Which brings you here, to said event, sweater sleeves tugged over cold fingers and a wandering pair of eyes who refuse to comply with your wants.

You want to focus on the ongoing football match- Fire Department vs Police.

Your eyes prefer to follow him, striding up the field, his hair soaked in sweat and his t-shirt long removed.

You’ve no valid reason to roll your eyes at the other women who seem to prefer spectating the sport of Javier Peña. You’re no better than them.

Yet, as one of them let’s out a joyous shriek as he takes a pass at the ball, your eyes roll.

"He’s a show-off, that boy.”

At least you have company. An older gentleman, who you caught struggling to pick his wallet up from the floor. He’d smiled as you returned it, and conversation had flowed easily from there.

As the whistle blew, commencing the final match of the local community services’ football league- or, Thanksgiving Touchdown, as your father so aptly named it-, he’d patted the empty seat next to him.

“Hmm?”

He points, and you follow the direction, realising he’s speaking about Javi.

“Him,” he says it with a teasing tone to his voice. It’s like he’s mocking the agent. “Think’s he’s God’s gift, takin’ his top off like that.”

The more you sit with the older gentleman, the more you enjoy his company.

On the field, your dad bellows something at Javi. He replies with a curt salute, and shoots off down the length of it.

He’s fast, agile, stealthy.

A force to be reckoned with, keeping pace with rookies half his age.

The vision of him, gun strapped to his leg and a tact vest on his chest, speeding down streets in the columbian heat conjures in your mind.

You wonder how it felt to know him then, if worry kept his companions awake.

It had certainly kept you awake in recent months, and that was with him safe, in Laredo, cooped up in some bachelor pad.

“Surprised he’s not thrown his top to the crowd of screaming ladies!” The gentleman continues his mocking, and it rouses laughter out of both of you.

A whistle is blown, your eyes return to the field and, though he’s quick to look away, you catch the tail end of Javier’s eyes on you.

Fifteen minutes pass, in which you do your best to not stare at him.

You’ve made worse attempts in the past.

Eventually, the man next to you coaxes you into getting him a lemonade from the food truck.

You oblige, of course, and deny his attempts to hand you cash, insist it’s on you.

He’s kept you smiling on a rather gloomy day.

You tell him you’ll be right back, smile, and realise you don’t know his name.

“Chucho,” he tells you, and waves you off.

You join the queue, keep your head down, ignore the gossiping women three spots ahead of you, claiming to have each shared an encounter with Javi.

You don’t need to know what he’s been up to.

You don’t want to know who he’s been up to it with.

It happens when you’re finally being served.

There’s no longer a queue, just you, smiling as sweetly as possible. The service industry is rough enough, nevermind on holidays.

You order successfully, both Chucho’s lemonade and a hot chocolate for yourself.

The guy working the truck- young enough, a bit too traditionally good-looking, with coiffed hair and a shaven face- he’s talkative.

Friendly.

Too friendly.

Till it crosses the border into flirty.

You’re not interested.

At all.

But it’s flattering, to feel wanted.

Even more so after a something that means nothing yet everything ends out of the blue and you’re left reeling over whether or not some part of you is to blame.

So you let him shoot you his dashing smile, and throw in unnecessary pet-names that just feel forced into every sentence he speaks to you, and write his number on the paper cup of your hot chocolate.

“Here you go, pumpkin,” he winks. The pet-name feels a little too on the nose for the season. Couldn’t he have called you sweetheart instead? “A sweet treat for that sweet smile.”

You wonder if he’s allowed to gift the free donut he slides your way.

Your stomach growls and begs for sugary release before you can fully bring yourself to care.

An awkward thanks. Hands reach up to grab the to-go cups, three fingers curling up the bagged donut.

He helps you get a grip on the beverages, placing them in your hands.

His touch lingers, more than necessary, fingertips brushing over your knuckles as if trapped in slow-motion.

“So, a pretty girl like you got a boyfriend, or are you gonna let me take you out to-”

Gasps fill the air.

Half the crowd boos.

Your father screams one name, loud and clear, down the pitch.

“Peña, get your head out your fucking ass and pick up the ball!”

Turning on your heal, the scene unfolds.

The ball, abandoned on the ground.

The players, scrambling to grab it before one another.

Javier, frozen in place, face an unreadable maze of emotions, eyes staring right at you.

They follow you all the way back to your seat, even as the game picks up again.

Even as you congratulate your dad on another victory for the police department, now the four-time consecutive champions of the Thanksgiving Touchdown.

Even as you head off to your father’s car.

Even when you’re home, curled under a blanket and watching a televised copy of Annie Hall, you feel his eyes on you.

The look of betrayal on Javier Peña haunts you even once you fall asleep.

If you don’t love me, What was April?

You’ve always been organised.

Everything has it’s place, from the books that line your bedside table to the memories inside your mind.

You compartmentalise.

Tucked deep into the right side of your brain, there’s a box.

It’s contents, memories you’ve yet to process.

Moments you know that, if you wish to move on, you’ll have to relive.

Caution tape holds the lid shut.

Fragile stickers cover every corner.

And, scribbled in bold red marker, April ‘99.

A late night.

You, wide awake, laying on your back and mapping out stars in his ceiling.

Javier fell asleep hours ago and now snores softly against your neck, muscled arm curled around your waist as his legs entangle your own.

The agent is a fiend for cuddling, and so often wraps himself around you like a vine.

You find yourself nestling your hand in his hair, and take note of the sharp breath he intakes.

Go still.

Worry you’ve woken him.

Relax when you feel him snore and press himself even deeper against your naked skin.

He’s tired. Exhausted.

Work was getting to him as of late.

He hadn’t told you that, but he didn’t need to.

You know him. You can read him.

Can tell in the way he moved slower against you.

In the way he let you take the lead, resting back against the couch to watch how your hips wound down on him.

In the way he got even clingier than usual, dragging you into the shower with him just to have you near, holding you from behind as you washed up the plates he’d used to serve you dinner (a trade-off he’d reluctantly agreed to months ago: he cooks, you clean), laying his head on your lap as you curled up to watch some cheesy horror movie- one you’re bound to fall asleep during and he’s counting on it, glancing up till he spots you slumped over and eyes closed, granting him the perfect excuse to carry you to his bed and nestle himself in beside you.

Unlike other nights, you’re trapped awake.

Something feels off, makes you queasy.

There’s something nagging at your mind.

It’s like you’ve forgotten something, misplaced something, and can’t even figure out what it is.

You just know its absence is wrong.

Javi mumbles something, dreaming away, and you feel the subtle press of his lips against your skin.

Fingers curl tightly into the fabric of your (his) shirt.

He can’t get you close enough, it seems.

Playing against his wants, you pull back, slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of his face.

There’s a pinch between his brows, furrowed in worry.

It’s not fair, you think.

Sleep is usually where you see him at his calmest.

It’s a selfish act, born purely from your own desire, but you find yourself pressing a kiss against his forehead.

His grip loosens, though slightly.

It gives you enough time to feel a stir between your thighs, a calling coming from your bladder.

So you do your best to slip out his hold.

It’s a struggle that leaves you topless and feeling a pinch of cruelty, standing over the bed as you watch his hand grabbing at the vacant spot you once occupied, your scent and shirt the only traces you leave behind.

You don’t bother turning on a light, make your way to his bathroom with practiced ease.

Pad your way across the cold linoleum floor, sink down onto the porcelain seat- he’d stopped leaving it up when your overnight visits became more frequent. You hadn’t asked- didn’t need to ask-, he’d simply done it.

Closing the door over, yet not enough for the hinges to squeak and the handle to lock, you pray the wood muffles noise of the flushing toilet.

When it stops, you wait a few seconds, until you’re sure there’s no rustling coming from his bedroom.

Then, you open the tap.

The water is barely a trickle, yet you tell yourself its enough.

Lather your hands in soap, sit them under the constant drip of cold water till you feel the suds wash down the drain.

It’s hard to stop yourself from sneaking a glance at the mirror, just as it’s hard to recognise the version of yourself you see.

Your hair frames your face, though messy.

Your eyes are bloodshot, yet carry less bags.

Your cheeks are rounder, fuller.

You look different.

You feel it too.

Yhen come the thoughts of Javier, and how he sees you.

Has he noticed a change?

Is he the reason for it?

Does he feel different, too?

Your stomach flips.

He’s not said anything. Or done anything, to make you notice a change.

But, then, Maybe it’s been subtle, slow, dragged out long enough it’s not drastic enough for either of you to take note of.

You eye the spare toothbrush he keeps in his bathroom, and try to remember when it became yours.

You don’t remember.

One moment, his toothbrush sat alone. And, the next, you were standing side by side, laughing as you raced to see who could make a foamier mess of the toothpaste.

Corazón, you look like a rabid animal, he’d called you once, laughing through tears as he wiped away the white suds dripping off your chin. You’re lucky that you’re just so cute.

You can recall, even now, how quickly his mouth had found yours that night, with no ulterior motive other than to bask in the minty taste of one another.

The stir in your stomach becomes more intense.

Eyes refocusing, you find yourself in the mirror again.

Only, sweat lines your forehead and your face seems drained of colour.

You make it only two steps back before you’re hurtling across the bathroom floor.

Your knees crash down first, harsh and unforgiving against the tiles.

The first wretch burns, has you coughing over your own gag.

In the dark, it’s hard to see what exactly comes out of you, but you know where it came from.

Your stomach.

Another wave of nausea hits, this one harder, and you’re gripping at the sides of the bowl, spewing into the water below.

A splash meets your cheek, but you’re too out of it to care, wave after wave of nausea leaving you a coughing, gagging, crying mess.

You feel lightheaded, only managing a moment to catch your breath before another wave hits.

It feels like you’re suffocating.

It’s in your throat, in your mouth, in your nose, in your hair.

It feels like it’s never stopping and you’re doomed to spend the rest of your days submitting to the horrors of throwing-

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” warmth, against your naked back.

It’s a nice warmth, not like the one that has you covered in a cold sweat.

There’s a soothing motion over your skin.

Up, down, up, down.

You try to follow it, match your breathing to the tactile comfort.

“That’s it, baby,” cool air meets your neck, the hairs that stuck to your skin now pulled up and pushed back. “I’m right here, I got you.”

Eventually, all that’s left is the burning of bile at the back of your throat and the dull ache of eyes gone raw with tears.

You’re pulled into a solid mass, naked chest pressed to naked chest as you go slack upon the bathroom floor.

You’re exhausted, and covered in your own sweat, tears and vomit.

Javier doesn’t care, pulling you tighter against him and whispering sweet words you don’t quite pay attention to.

“Woke up and you weren’t there, corazón. Don’t do that again,” even in his attempts to chastise, he’s gentle, brushing the remaining strands of sweat-slicked hair off your face. You must be an awful sight, yet his expressions don’t give way. “You wake up, you wake me up too. ‘Specially if you’re gonna hurl, okay?”

You glance at him, swallow back a lump and deal with the realisation that dawned upon you ten minutes earlier, as you sat hunched over the toilet’s bowl.

“Javi,” he smiles at the way you call his name.

You feel sick all over again at the thought of that changing, everything changing, as you build the courage to speak.

He calls your own name back to you.

“I’m late.”

You await the sharp inhale.

And the unwinding of arms.

You imagine he’ll stand up, pace the floor.

Run his hands through his hair, rant over every thought he has.

Ways to get rid of it, the dangers of your dad finding out.

Then he’ll turn the blame to you.

That’s what men do, right?

He’ll ask why you weren’t safer, why you forgot to take that morning-after pill, why you played so fast-and-loose with your body.

None of it arrives.

He stands, yes, but only to pull you up with him, tired limbs leaning into his strong build as he drags you both under the heat of a warm shower.

You watch the remnants of your own vomit wash down the drain, and question how he can stand there, not disgusted with you.

He dries you off, delicate drags over your skin.

He’s rougher with himself, scarcely drying properly before he’s carrying you back to his bed, a replay of hours earlier as he lays you down, crawls in behind you and tucks you both under the soft comfort of his worn-out sheets.

Only, this time you’re wide awake.

He so easily nestles himself behind you, dragging you back against him and committing himself to the role of big-spoon.

His hands have always felt large, their touch always electrifying, but nothing compares to the feeling of him splaying one across your lower stomach, a subtle press into where part of him could be growing within you.

“Javi,” you whine, fighting off the sleep your overwhelmed body so badly needs. “I’m sorry.”

You say it because you feel obligated, like it’s your place to be apologetic.

After all, the blame is yours, surely.

“No seas boba (Don’t be silly),” there’s a fresh set of tears already sliding down your cheeks by the time he replies. “Don’t need to be sorry, baby.”

“But I-”

“But, nothing,” his tone feels final, one that tells you you’ll get nowhere arguing against him. “You’ve done nothing wrong, corazón.”

You fall asleep, eventually, soothed by his gentle breathing and the repeated motion of his thumb stroking over your belly.

Yhe next time you awake, there’s a crack of sunlight creeping through his blinds.

Javi’s still in bed, only he’s propped up on his elbow and staring down at you.

His smile stretches a little wider when he spots your open eyes.

Lips press against your own, soft and subtle.

A quiet greeting, a wordless goodmorning.

“I gotta go, corazón,” is met with a protest from you, rolling over to curl into his solid chest.

Expecting it, he wraps you up tighter in his arms, presses an array of chaste kisses to your head.

You don’t want him to leave this bed.

Or this apartment.

You don’t want him out, in the real world, where the hours you’ve spent cooped up together become more scandalous than the peaceful nature of them.

“I know, I know. Don’t wanna go either, baby,” you wonder if you spoke your thoughts aloud, or if Javi simply knows you so well.

Eventually, he peels himself away from you.

You watch him dress.

Tell him which tie to wear.

Help him tie it, the comforter pooled around your naked waist as you sit criss-cross-apple-sauce and Javi’s at the side of the bed, legs bent at the knee.

He thanks you with a kiss, then asks you to pass him his cologne.

It’s on the other side of the bed- his side of the bed- and you lean over to grab it.

You don’t bother handing him it, spraying it directly onto your own wrist and dabbing it into the skin of his tanned neck.

He lets you, a gentle smile on his face and eyes that pull you in for a hug, burrowing himself between your naked breasts.

He presses a kiss between them, hums in enjoyment.

“You’re gonna smell like me all day, cariño (darling),” he tells you.

“Good,” you reply.

Another hum, this time of approval, and a squeeze to your hip.

When he pulls back, he looks even more reluctant to leave.

Reality rears it’s ugly head, but he pushes it out your mind with the pressing of his hand against your stomach, the same spot he’d held onto all night.

Leans down, brushes his lips against it.

Your hands instinctually curl in his hair, and you like to think you leave it a little messy, enough to ward off any of the women he works along side, hopeful eyes hoping to get a taste of the handsome, unmarried cop.

“Stay,” he mumbles against your skin, as if you’re the one who’s about to leave. “Don’t go, ok? I’ll call around lunch.”

He keeps his word.

Calls you, a few minutes past two, interrupting whatever daytime TV you were pretending to watch.

Answering leaves you feeling lightheaded, like you're trapped in a daydream.

Listening to him croon down the line while your finger anxiously tangles in the phone’s wire as you stand in his apartment, it feels domestic, like you’re waiting for him to come back home, a place you share together.

The thought has you pressing a hand against your womb.

“How bout you, corazón?” He knows how to make you melt, picturing him smiling at his desk. “Have you ate yet?”

With a grimace, you admit you haven’t.

“You need to eat, baby,” you don’t like the fact he uses that pet-name, not right now. “There’s plenty in the fridge. Could make yourself a sandwich, or some toast. Might even have some of that pasta left over. You know, that one you said you liked? Oh, wait, maybe don’t eat that, don’t think uncooked salmon is good for pregn-”

You don’t want him to say the P word, so you cut him off.

“I’ll probably just have toast.”

He says ok, then you hear him take a bite of whatever his lunch is.

The call goes on a little longer.

It’s mostly him talking.

He tells you a quick story, something about one of the younger guys accidentally stapling his tie to an arrest warrant.

That rouses a laugh out of you, makes you forget all about the massive P word he almost said.

“I’ll be home soon, okay?”

That sounds nice coming from Javi.

Home.

Not his home, just home.

A place he feels his soul at rest.

A place he’d begged you to stay this morning, safe and tucked away.

“Was thinking we could drive out to the clinic, find out for sure if we’re pr-” he cuts himself off this time, like he knows you’re not ready to hear that word. “Then we’ll take things from there, okay? Whatever you decide you wanna do, corazón, you call the shots.”

He keeps his word, again.

Comes home barely three hours later.

He walks through the door and welcomes the way you coil yourself around him, humming in delight as he peppers a few kisses over your face.

“Still smell like me,” he says it with approval, takes a purposeful whiff at you as he pulls you tighter against him.

You still smell his cologne on him too, buried beneath a few layers of sweat and cigarette smoke.

Near clinging to one another, it’s a miracle you two make it out his apartment and down the elevator.

An arm around your waist, he guides you over to his car.

Pulls the door open for you, stops you from bumping your head on the way in.

He practically runs round the car’s hood, jumping into the driver’s seat and thrumming the engine to life with the turn of a key.

“You remember to eat?” He asks as he pulls out onto the street.

You nod, then audibly reply.

Tell him you did in fact eat toast, leave out the part where you spewed your guts again twenty minutes later.

The drive is quiet.

Not uncomfortable, just relaxed, with the radio playing gently and his window rolled down enough to let in some air.

At some point, his hand slides over the console and rests against your thigh.

You welcome it, covering it with your own.

As you watch out the window how he drives past the turning for the local hospital, he must catch your questioning gaze.

“They, uh,” he clears his throat, rings his hand over the steering wheel. A small stain of sweat marks it. “Know your dad pretty well in there. And me. Figure you’d rather he not find out about us like that.”

He’s right.

So you relax back into your seat, accept the fact you’re both driving out of town together.

At some point, the beginning notes of your favourite song play through the stereo.

You instantly perk up, sitting up straighter in your seat and tap your foot a little to the beat.

Javi says nothing, simply peels his hand off you to turn the volume dial up.

Seconds later, he turns his head and throws you a look just asking if he’s done good.

You smile, and thread your fingers between his own.

A soft squeeze before he pulls them up to his lips, eyes back on the road.

The clinic is bright.

And squeaky, each step you take making you a little more nervous than the last.

Javier, by all accounts, is solid as a rock, signing you both in, picking up a few pamphlets, buying you a can of soda, all while you curl up in some plastic chair and just focus on not spewing your guts out.

You only relax once he’s sat beside you, helping you get a sip of the sugary drink and wrapping a protective arm around you.

You don’t mean to but you fall victim to sleep, the past 24 hours getting the best of you.

You come-to likely not much later, but to the sound of a childish giggle.

Cracking one eye open, just slightly, you notice you’re slumped into Javier, head on his shoulder.

There’s a giggling little girl in front of you both, in purple overalls and with two pigtails to hold her curly hair.

One of her hands is on Javi’s knees, using him to keep herself standing.

“First time?” You snap your eyes shut as a stranger’s voice fills the quiet bustle of the clinic.

A confused sound leaves Javier.

“Yeah, could tell from the look on your lady’s face,” the man continues. “Same one my own wife had during our first visit.”

You want to pay attention to Javi’s response, but you’re a bit busy dealing with the fact he’s not correcting the man, telling him you’re not his lady nor his wife.

His thumb soothes over your hip, and you wonder at what rate you’ll melt away into a pile of nothing thanks to his soft touches.

“You hoping for a boy or a girl?”

You tell yourself to try harder, to actually pay attention.

You succeed, catch as Javi replies, “a girl.”

“Yeah?” the stranger seems genuinely invested, it almost makes you want to open your eyes, see him for yourself.

But you don’t want to ruin the moment.

“Wanted a boy, myself,” that same little girl giggles again and you can’t fight the temptation to peek once more, catch as she crawls into her faceless-father’s lap. “Doc told us it was gonna be a boy, too. Then this one came along and, wouldn’t ya know, not a boy.”

“Surprise!” the little girl squeals, and you feel Javi’s shoulder shake under your head.

God, you want to look at him, see if he’s looking at her with the same adoration that’s festering in your heart.

“Yeah, baby, you’re my little Sarah-Surprise,” the man coos and, despite his rough accent, it suits him. Like he was only ever meant to speak with gentle words and a soft heart, all for his precious daughter. “It’ll get easier, on your lady, just so ya know. Less scary, more exciting. ‘Bout to welcome our second one, and I’ve never seen my wife so happy.”

Javi’s still not correcting him.

It makes you nauseous for a whole new reason.

“Mr. Miller?” A voice calls out.

A nurse, you imagine.

A chair squeaks as pressure is taken off it, the stranger standing.

You peak your eye open in time to see him picking his daughter up, her little legs dangling off his hip.

He takes a few steps, till Javi interrupts him.

“What,” he clears his throat, and you wonder if it’s of emotion. “What are you hoping for this time?”

“A girl.”

Eventually, it’s your turn.

You’d pretended to wake up to Javier’s coaxing.

Shuffled into some room, reluctantly separating from Javi.

A smiley nurse handed you a cup, talked you through what you needed to do for your tests.

Took your blood pressure, complimented your earrings, and stepped out the room to give you privacy.

A short while and a reunion with Javi later, you sat in a doctor’s office, both a nervous wreck as you clasped each other’s hand.

“Mrs. peña,” again, Javier does not correct the doctor. And you realise it’s because he filled out the forms, he signed you in. He wrote you down as Peña. “You and your husband are not pregnant.”

What should have followed was a sigh of relief, from both of you.

But all you felt was led drop in your stomach and Javier’s grip tighten on your hand.

“You are, however, displaying symptoms of acute food poisoning, likely salmonella.”

The doctor continues on, detailing a prescription you’re being given.

But it falls on deaf ears, the world around you gone blank as you wrestle with conflicting emotions.

You’re not pregnant.

You should be elated. Jumping, and cheering, and dancing all over the place. Instead, you’re silent, letting yourself be guided back into the car by Javi.

This time, the drive is silent.

Not quiet.

Silent.

You watch him drive past the turning into your street.

He doesn’t explain that he’s taking you back to his place.

Getting you back in his bed, switching off the lights, he curls himself in behind you and splays his hand over your stomach.

Over your empty womb.

For some reason, you find yourself sobbing into your pillow, unaware of the tears from him that stain your neck as he tries to hush you.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay,” the irony of him repeating those very same words last night is not lost on you.

It’s hard to move on, when every month there’s a stabbing pain in your abdomen and a trickle of blood staining your underwear to remind you of April.

And so you keep it locked in it’s box, slapping another caution tape over it’s lid as you groan and roll out your own bed, trudging your way into your bathroom to check if the wetness between your thighs is your monthly visitor.

You played a game But I run the table

You’re avoiding your dad’s calls.

It’s not because he’s done anything to warrant your rejection, but, rather, it’s the forthcoming actions he’ll be guilty of.

See, you know why he’s calling.

Your mom let it slip, over brunch and a few too many glasses of wine.

He’s hosting another poker night.

He wants you there, as always.

Some baseless theory of you being his good luck charm.

Or, at least, that’s what you were until the last poker night he’d hosted, way back in March.

He slips away, phoned by your tipsy mother and obligated to drive three towns over to go pick her up because she misses him.

“Fill in for me, will ya, kiddo?”

It was less a suggestion, more of a pleading, his hands already scraping the seat back and awaiting you to plop yourself down.

He leaves you with his hand, his winnings so-far, and a kiss to the top of your head.

“Watch out for Peña,” he whispered, as if you hadn’t been keeping an eye on the agent all evening, clouded by his own cigarette smoke and sitting looser each sip of his whiskey, no ice. “His poker face is dangerous.”

He turns out to be no threat.

None of the officer’s are, really.

Rounds end and rounds start, and you father’s pile of winnings grow more and more.

It’s an ego boost, taking money from these cocky men who look at you as though surely you have no clue what cards you’re holding.

But, taking from Javi?

That’s something else, entirely.

Each time you win, he gets more agitated.

Flinging down cards, muttering curses, shoving his cash across the table.

All whilst glaring, at you, eyes black with ire.

And intoxication.

And something else.

Something you know all too well on Javier.

Lust.

Nearly an hour’s past since your father left, someone else leaves the table.

Says he needs the toilet, you point him in the direction of it.

You all call for a break, and then you graciously offer a refill on drinks.

It’s what your dad would’ve done, kept them all drinking and lowering their inhibitions, their focus disappearing alongside it.

“I’ll help!” One of the officers exclaims.

He’s on the younger side.

Practically a rookie, it’s only the second poker night he’s attended.

He’s sweet, with his large-framed glasses and his nervous smile.

You both make your way out of the basement- refurbished to be your dad’s man-cave- and head towards the kitchen.

You open the fridge, grab however many bottles of beer you need.

He heads to the liquor cabinet, pulls out a bottle bourbon.

You beat him at grabbing the whiskey, an unvoiced need to be the one who refills Javi’s glass.

Maybe, he’ll offer you a sip.

Conversation flows naturally between you, in spite of him being a near stranger.

He asks about college.

You ask about working with your dad.

You both agree on the fact he’s a pain in the ass.

He tells you about a new bar, downtown.

You tell him where to go to get the best club sandwich.

It’s light, it’s easy, it’s friendly.

You’re enjoying his company.

nNeither of you can tell who causes it, but one of you mispronounces a word and you both wind up in a pile of giggles, falling over yourselves and banging into counters.

His hands grip his sides.

You’re clutching your chest.

Through wheezes, he repeats the phrase that left you both in this state.

You laugh harder, louder, warn him to stop before you lose control of your bladder.

Something thuds in the hallway, your eyes shoot up to the kitchen entry and you swear you see Javi’s retreating figure.

Blink a few times, realise there’s no one there.

You both gather some decorum.

He grabs as many of the beer bottles he can manage, and looks at your empty hands in question.

You tell him to head back without you, that you just need to go to the toilet.

Parting ways, you find the both the downstairs and upstairs bathrooms occupied.

Sigh in frustration, only to remember your parents en suite.

It’s empty, because of course it is. No one would feel comfortable enough invading the privacy of your parents' bedroom.

You do your business, wash your hands, fix yourself in the mirror.

Decide your lipstick needs a little touch-up, your clothes need straightening out.

And, when you’re done and ready to head back down to the poker table, you hear a thud.

Pull open the bathroom door, expect to find your father struggling to put a tipsy, giggly, clumsy version of your mother into bed.

Instead, there is only a brooding look and disapproving grunt.

A firm grip, on your arm, dragging you right back into the bathroom.

The door slams shut, a little harsher than you’d like, the sound of it surely reaching the ears of those regrouping for the next dealing of the cards.

He doesn’t pounce, like he so usually does when he’s wearing that look of frustration.

He’s simmering in it, teetering on the edge of boiling anger as he smooths a hand over his chin, visibly clenching his jaw, swallowing back whatever it is he wants to say to you.

He takes one step forward, and you go one back.

Then two steps, which you also match.

Your hip smacks into the sink’s counter on your fifth step backwards and it’s enough to finally put his hands on you.

He tugs you right into his chest, one hand soothing over where you’d banged your hip.

It’s alarmingly gentle for his stoic features.

When he speaks, you nearly melt into a puddle, the heat of him invading your space, face inching close to your own, enough to have you questioning the sanctity of your parents en suite.

“What’s going on with you, huh?”

“Could ask you the same thing, officer,” you make the fatal mistake of giggling, but you’ll blame it on the fruity cider you’d helped yourself to.

He clearly finds no humour, not even as you fiddle with the top button of his shirt and shoot him your best look of innocence.

“Think you’re real fucking funny, don’t you?” His hand, warm and imposing, grips a hold of your face.

It’s almost painful, but you like it, squirming a little at the blunt stab of his nails and the way he smooshes your cheeks, forcing a pout onto your lips.

You try shake your head, his grip won’t let you.

“Sitting in a room full of men, making yourself the centre of attention,” he huffs a breath out of his nose, and you can’t help but compare him to an angry dragon.

He’s worked up, frustrated, angry.

And it’s hot. A turn-on.

“What’s the matter, Javi? Jealous you’re not the centre of all those men’s attention?” You’re poking the dragon, teasing him, and it’s an act that may leave you burned and scarred.

Or, as you’re hoping, it’ll win you the ride of a lifetime.

He doesn’t even grace you with a verbal response.

No, he scoffs, as though he’s in physical disbelief at the words you’re saying.

Spins you around, pins you to the sink’s counter, tugs your hair till you’re forced to stare at your reflection.

He’s right behind you, seething in anger, fire in his eyes.

His head dips between you neck and shoulder, brushing his lips against your pulse point.

“Not all of us are attention whores like you,” it’s fleeting, and he’ll deny it if you dare mention it, but he smiles.

Just a second, but you feel it, see it even though he tries so hard to turn his face into your neck.

It’s what lets you know he’s playing, teasing, egging you on to push him over the edge.

“I’ve been with real whores, corazón,” he confesses a sin you already know, eaves-dropping one too many times on your dad fishing stories of Colombia out of him. “Fucked them so often they started doing their nails in colours they knew I wanted to see wrapped around my cock.”

Involuntarily, your back arches, brushing your ass against him and providing him the perfect access to wind his hand up between your heaving breasts, all the way up till his fingers curl round the base of your throat.

In the mirror, the image is one of ownership, of Javi seizing your bodily autonomy. A whore and her gentleman caller.

It’s arousing to think about, Javi and his whores.

You wonder what positions he put them in.

How many rounds he lasted with them.

How often he made them cum.

“And not one of them took half the money you’ve taken from me tonight.”

Oh.

So that’s what this is, his pretty ego, bruised at the hands of you?

Poor Mr. Javier Peña, humiliated in front of all his peers round after round, hundred bill after hundred bill.

You almost taunt him for giving into the temptations of the fragile male ego, but you’re stopped in your tracks.

By him, hands squeezing at you a little tighter as he grinds the unmistakable outline of his hardened cock against you.

That single action changes the game, entirely.

Because this isn’t about you stealing his money and his ego.

No, this is something far filthier, that has your panties growing wetter beneath the skirt of your dress.

“I’m worth every dime though, aren’t I, officer?.”

The grip tightens.

He shoves you harder into the counter, so hard a tub of your mother’s moisturiser topples off.

The hard outline of him is still there, ever-present.

“‘S that what you like, huh, taking my money? Wanna be Javi’s personal little whore?”

Every ounce of feminism evaporates within you.

Who could deny such a tentative offer?

Certainly not you, reflection mimicking the way you eagerly nod, teeth biting down on your bottom lip in a failed attempt to hold back a grin.

Javi notices- of course he notices- and takes his victory, hips rocking even deeper into you.

There’s too many layers between you, a feat on which you both agree, yet neither of you do anything about.

You just savour the friction, instead, pushing and pulling one another to the axis of pleasure.

Your panties, soaked.

His jeans, tight.

“What’s it gonna cost me to get you bent over and stuffed full of my cum, corazón?” One hand leaves your body. The mirror snitches on him, exposing how he’s reaching into his back pocket. “This?”

He smacks something down, into the bowl of the sink.

It’s his wallet, and you watch the worn leather of it shine with the residue of water on the linoleum.

The hand at your throat pulses a squeeze, his knee nudges you from behind.

“C’mon, don’t be shy.”

His mouth, right by your ear, lips tickling you with the subtlest of brushes against it.

His hand guides your own, down into the sink, flipping the wallet open and putting it’s belongings on display.

Bills, some placed neatly, others stuffed in forcefully, edges spilling out the pockets. There’s less in there than when he arrived, courtesy of you.

There’s a few miscellaneous cards. A library card, an ID slip you’re sure he uses for something in the sheriff's station, a loyalty card to some record store.

The picture of his mother sits centre stage, radiant smile and loving eyes grabbing the attention of any who dare open it.

He has his mother’s eyes, you notice.

And then you notice something else, peeking out from behind his mother’s picture.

You dive into temptation, dart your nosy fingers over to tug at the object, till you realise it’s another picture.

A picture of Javi, and you.

Taken on a polaroid you found under a box of his belongings, you remember the day clear as ever.

The two of you had messed around, captured your sins on film with the promise of destroying it after. It would be too risky a thing, to allow image evidence of the intimate ways in which you knew each other’s bodies.

Javi’s fingers on your skin, your nipple in his mouth, his cock’s outline bulging within your lower abdomen.

There was no point risking your father ever finding it.

But this picture, this one you do not remember.

Fully dressed, eyes fixed on his television, your head lays in his laps while his fingers card through your hair.

It’s captured from above, as if Javi’s own eyes had made a permanent record of his view.

The sweetness of this living on, of Javi taking something sacred for himself to keep hidden in his wallet distracts you for a moment.

He does good to bring you back into the room.

“Take how much you think you’re worth, corazón,” whispered into your ear, as he rips a few of the notes out his wallet.

They sit in the sink, growing wet.

And you are too, frozen on the spot.

You glance down, count over the different bills.

Five dollars.

Twenty dollars.

Hundred dollars.

With each bill you count, your internal price shooting up within your head, you try picture his reaction.

In the mirror, he’s watching.

Not the sink bowl, no.

You, your face, looking at your expressions in a way that reminds you it’s his job to read people.

You decide to be bold, dig into his wallet and, even though your insides twist in anxious turmoil, hold up your hand to present him with your answer.

Resting neatly, between your fore and middle finger, a shiny credit card.

The gleam in Javi’s eyes just about match it, blackened and blown out with lust.

The card is plucked out your hand.

The hand on your neck leaves, in search of your waist.

The fabric of your dress bunches, wrinkling and creasing as his fabric-straining grip inches it’s hem higher and higher.

You feel sexy like this, face heated and breathing heavy.

It’s an effect he has on you, has had on you, forcing you to look at yourself in new lights, in new angles, admiring every out-of-line trace of you for what you are.

Desirable.

And attractive.

And pretty.

And smart.

And every other word under the sun that Javi whispers into your skin with innocence as his body commits sins within you.

At the bottom of the mirror, you watch as the white cotton of your panties comes into view.

Wet, as you both expected, the thin fabric now turned almost sheer, exposing the delectable view of your cunt hugged cutely by the cotton’s tight seams.

Javi hisses, muttering something to himself.

There’s a strain to his voice, one that would have you worried he’s in pain if it weren’t for the way you’re watching as his face contorts with lust.

His eyes are dark and you study them like he studies his card, contemplating something.

A few seconds pass.

Tension is puffed out his chest with one exhale, through the nose.

You feel the air tickle your skin.

He nods curtly, to himself, and flickers his gaze back to meet your own in the mirror.

It’s unwavering, even as he brings the black plastic down and smacks it against your mound.

You squeal, he hushes, and you both know he doesn’t mean it at all.

He likes when you gift him noise, a private aria only he has tickets to.

Just as easily as the first time, he snaps the card against you again, a jolt of pleasure shooting straight through your clit.

Just as loudly as the first time, you squeal, a jolt back into his warm, steady, hard embrace.

“What’re you running from, hmm?” His face turns, burrowing itself in the tresses of your hair.

A shallow sniff, and you wonder if he notices the smell of his shampoo on you.

There’s a pressing of lips, against your scalp, and it’s far too gentle of a juxtapose to the imagery of his fingers pulling your panties to the side, exposing your pussy to the bathroom’s cold air and the two pairs of hungry eyes in the mirror.

“You say that this is what you’re worth, and then you don’t want to take it?”

The third spank of the card against your bundle of nerves is harder, louder, echos in the confined space. A moan, minuscule and muffled, slips past tightly shut lips, a look of fear flashing through wide eyes.

Javi’s quick with his reassurance, gentle with his comfort, a hand stroking over your collarbone.

“Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hear you. You just be as loud as you need, hermosa, they’re too busy encouraging that boy-cop to ask you to dinner.”

There’s a tint of jealousy to the way he says boy, and you’re reminded of the image of him in the kitchen doorway.

Smack!

The card strikes down, once more, this time eliciting an open-mouthed gasp.

He doesn’t let up, repeating the action twice more.

It hurts, in a way that makes your core throb and your toes curl, squirming aimlessly in a grasp he knows you don’t truly want to escape.

But he mocks you, with a hushing noise in your ear and gentle it’s okay, corazón, Javi’s got yous against your neck. His thumb swipes through your folds, coating it in your wetness and dragging itself up to your clit, soaking it in soothing rubs.

His gentle nature lasts mere seconds, his wrist flicking back only to smack the credit card down again. This time, it’s a pattern of three, repeatedly crashing down on your sensitive nerves one after the other.

In the mirror, you watch him observe as he twiddles the card between deft fingers, contemplation on his mind.

The room’s quiet, apart from your shortened breaths and his deep inhales.

You hear a cheer.

From the basement.

It must have been a loud cheer, for you to hear them all the way up here.

And, suddenly, the stakes feel higher than when you were sat at the poker table, counting Javi’s coins with every passing round.

If you can hear them, they could hear you.

This doesn’t seem to cross Javier’s mind, who merely twists your head away from the bathroom door and back to the mirror, to where his hungry eyes await.

All contemplation is gone, he’s decided in what he’s going to do, and so you watch as he takes the card and swipes it through your cunt.

It’s not a pleasurable act, in itself.

In fact, it’s rather uncomfortable, the solid plastic hard on your delicate skin.

It’s the arousal of him doing it that gets you weak in the knees, to have him perform such a mundane act- the swiping of his credit card- in such a crass, dirty, wrong way.

Like he’s paying for you, committing a physical transaction in exchange for your body.

It doesn’t matter that he could have you for free, has had you for free.

He wants to pay, wants to reward you in a way that aligns with the capitalistic world.

“Javi…” You whimper, softly, head lulling back against his shoulder as he swipes the card again.

Your eyes, slowly slipping shut, shoot right back open as you feel the rounded corner of the card prod at your opening, as if trying to notch itself within you.

“Think she could take it, corazón?” Javi bites at your ear, teeth clamping down and pulling at it’s lobe. The card sinks in, not even an inch. You nudge back into, your cry circling the room around you both. “I know, baby, I know. It’d be a wide stretch, but ain’t that all pretty whores like you are good for, hmm?”

It’s automatic, the way you bend to his every whim, head nodding without direct orders from your brain, every part of you, conscious or not, ready and willing to prove you could fit his card inside of you.

For him, you can do it.

“Fitting big things in your little pussies?”

Surprisingly, the hand between your thighs retracts and you watch as he brings the card up to your mouth, glistening with your arousal.

“Open,” the directions are unnecessary, your mouth already dropping open for him in an act of muscle memory.

He hums approvingly, yet his eyes are still fury filled as he slots the card between your lips, lathering your tongue in your own taste.

“You’ll take anything I give you, won’t you, corazón?”

The statement rings true, both ways: as much as you’ll take anything, he’ll give anything.

You don’t tell him that, though, finding it much easier to rest your palms on the countertop, backing your sopping core into him, enticing him with the wiggle of your hips and whines from your lips to take you already.

“Shh, shh, don’t you worry that pretty head. Javi’s gonna feed this greedy little cunt, ok?”

The unbuckling of a belt.

The unzipping of teeth.

The shucking down of-

Something smashes, in the basement, and it’s enough to have you flinching.

Javi’s touch soothes you, a hand running over the curve of your shoulder as he presses yet another kiss into your neck.

“S’okay, probably just a beer bottle.”

He doesn’t move another inch, not till he sees you nod, melting back into him.

You hear, more than you see, the way he tugs his trousers down, just enough to free his hardened cock from its jean-clad confine. The risky business of a quickie in your parents’ en suite calls for clothing moved aside, and not removed.

Much to your annoyance, his all-encompassing warmth drifts away as he moves back, hands clamping down on your hips.

He tilts them to the angle he wants, the angle he knows gets him brushing all your sweet-spots.

He tugs the skirt of your dress up, and then readjusts your soiled underwear.

You hear him draw a deep breath and watch his eyes in the mirror, glued to that spot between your legs, entranced.

The drag of his cock over your folds is familiar, the way he smacks the head of it against your clit is welcomed.

He spears you no gentle coaxing, no stretching around his fingers first, coming undone just for him to fill you right back up, this time with his cock.

No, this is a vengeful touch, the kind that’s meant to display his irritation, his fury, for reasons you’ve yet to confirm yet you’re more than willing to accept.

A man like him, so unfairly selfless, taking something in this world for himself, how he wants to and how he likes to.

You’ll be his vice, so long as he grants you his virtues.

Javi fills you with a single thrust, grunting low into your ear as you feel the way the air is physically knocked out both for your lungs.

He’s still, head buried in the crook of your neck as he works on steadying his breathing, giving you time to adjust to the delicious stretch.

You whine out some version of his name, feel yourself pulse around him.

A hand, reaching up to cup your cheek.

A kiss, gentle and longing against your mouth.

He’s making you wait for it, you think, torturing you with an impending paradise.

He’s savouring the feel of you, he thinks, taking advantage of the few moments alone he wins with you.

"Javi,” he barely lets you part from him to speak, chasing a trail of kisses down your jaw. “This isn’t the time to develop patience.”

The snide remark earns you a bite, his teeth nibbling on the sensitive skin of your earlobe. You squeal, try remind yourself to be quiet, only to squeal louder when his hands tickle at your waist.

“I’m a very patient man, corazón.”

You scoff.

“Just not when it comes to you.”

His hips roll back, slowly, but it’s better than nothing, better than when he wasn’t moving at all.

Still, he makes you squirm a little longer, moan his name a little louder.

Only then does his fake resolve snap and he’s fucking into you at a brain melting pace in the blink of an eye.

Javier does his best to keep quiet, at first, biting down on his lip and your neck just to contain all those melodies he usually makes.

You can’t say the same for yourself as, despite your efforts, broken moan after broken moan tumbles out your mouth and into the sink, filling and filling and filling it in sync with how Javi your cunt.

You wonder how long till it all spills over the edge.

“Joder (Fuck),” he groans as you unconsciously squeeze him tighter, pulling him deeper into your walls. serves him right, for the teasing and the torturing. “Tienes el coño más lindo en todo el mundo. (You have the prettiest cunt in the whole world.)”

You feel lightheaded.

Warm, sweaty, covered in the fingerprints of a lover you shouldn’t be with.

The bathroom fills with an array of sounds. The slapping of skin against skin, the broken cries of an agent’s name, the mindless rambling of a man drunk on pleasure.

“So good to me, baby. Always so fucking good to me.”

“Gonna stay here forever, fuck. That sound good to you, corazón, hmm? Full of my cock always?”

“Look at yourself… Pura belleza (Pure beauty).”

He consumes you, mind, body and soul.

There’s no worrying about the happenings around the poker table, no listening out for your father’s car pulling in the driveway, no worrying about your tousled hair or sweating skin.

There’s just Javi.

Beautiful, gorgeous, deserving Javi.

“Please, please, Javi-“ The words all melt together, pleads becoming his name, his name becoming pleads.

You’re not sure what you’re begging for.

It’s okay though, Javi always knows what you need.

“I know, amor (love), I know,” he murmurs into your skin, butterfly kisses so gentle you wonder how they come from the same man that’s pistoning his hips into you like it’s the last chance he’ll ever get. “Let go, c’mon. Show me how much you love this cock, how much you love-”

He’s cut off by his own groan, you cunt fluttering around him as you inch closer and closer to the edge of euphoria.

Hands hurry off your waist, slipping between your thighs.

It brings a welcomed cushioning, shielding you from repeatedly bumping against the marble of the countertop.

Your legs part further, eagerly, an easy pathway for his yearning fingers to seek out the wonders of the female body as they brush over your clit.

The gentle tactile that he strokes over your bundle of nerves, partnered with the repeated brushing of his cock against that spot that makes you weak in the knees, drool out your mouth, it’s becoming too much.

Eyes glancing in the mirror, you wonder if yours is the same image of the whores who’d warmed his Colombian nights: sweat soaked skin, hooded eyes, messed up hair, wrinkled clothing.

He tilts your hips, a deeper angle to fuck into you that has you perching up onto the tips of your toes, fighting with the chance of losing balance.

He’d catch you, if you fell.

Wrap you up in an embrace that’s more familiar than your own.

“I’m gonna- Fuck! Corazón, need you to cum. Now, please. Please. Need to feel you-”

He’s babbling, losing composure and revealing the side of him you pray he never showed those other women: the side that needs, the side that longs, the side that begs to see you cum before he allows himself to, before he’s able to.

“Javi,” it’s a struggle to speak, but you endure, fighting off your orgasm and holding back tears. There’s something you need from him too. “Cum with me. Wanna be full of you, all of you-”

“¿Sí? (Yeah?)” He pleads back, thrusts already getting a little sloppier, hands a little shakier in the way they touch you. Much like his poker face, you know how to read the face he wears moments before he falls apart. “¿Eso es lo que quiere mi corazón? (Is that what my sweetheart wants?) Want me to cum in you, hm?”

“Yes, oh god yes! So bad, Javi, I want it so bad!”

“Ay, bebesita, no llores. (Aw, baby girl, don't cry.)” He coos, a condescending lilt to his words that has you falling into a bigger mess. “Shh, don’t worry, baby. Gonna fill you right up, so my cum’s dripping down your thighs when that poor kid asks you for your number. Thinks he’s got a shot with you cause he made you laugh, poor boy wouldn’t know how to deal with all the noises I get out of you.”

Javi divulges into a spine-tingling rant of burning hot jealousy, the kind that leaves your cheeks burning and your heart scorching, lit under a flame of your desire for more of him. To have him, equal parts physical and emotional.

You try warn him of the bubble that’s about to burst, the feeling in your loins building and building till it’s seconds way from toppling over.

“That’s it, baby, squeeze my cock. Lemme feel it,” He urges, heart pounding out his chest against your back, hands tightening their grip on your hips. “Need to feel you cum, ‘s all I want.”

You both crash and burn, together.

You fall first, a chaos of unfinished words, crying out for Javi.

He follows close behind, body pressed against your own like he’s willing you to fuse together, to become to entangled in one another that all possibilities of separation become void.

“Take it, cora-” He’s in your ears, in your head, in your heart. Inside of you, consuming you, as eagerly as he’s willing to be consumed by you, fingerprints on hips and teeth-marks in necks. “Take it, take it, take it.”

Arms envelop you from behind, crossing over your chest to pin you back against him.

He’s nearly stagnant, nothing but the twitch of his cock and the shallow thrusts he fucks you deeper with, filling you with another, another, another pump of his cum.

“So good,” Javi’s voice persists, teeth gritting as he bites back the need to be loud, to be heard, to lay a claim on you so blatant no one could deny hearing it. Your relationship with your father is the only thing that holds him back. “Good to me, baby. Always… Good… Díos. (God.)”

Craning your neck to the side, you manage to pull him in for a kiss.

It’s something he accepts easily, lips parting and melting into a dance against your own.

One of his hands falls over your jaw, twisting your face even closer to him.

The kiss dies slowly, with each of you refusing to truly part, pecks being splattered messily against the other’s mouth.

“Was I,” Javi interrupts you with another kiss, his free hand smoothing up and down your side, his hips still slowly rocking into yours, a delicious sting of overstimulation biting at your core. “Am I worth it?”

He pulls back, tired gaze warm as it takes in your messed features.

With the smile that stretches over his lips, however, one would think you were the prettiest creature in all the world.

He calls your name, calmly, slowly, like he’s trying to memorise the shape of it on his tongue. “You’re worth everything I could give, and more.”

There’s something behind the ways he says it that makes you believe him.

With little will to do so, you peel apart from each other, his hands moving quick to adjust your underwear as his cum starts to leak out onto your folds.

He exits the bathroom first, a final kiss placed on your cheek before your left alone, forced to confront the wrecked version of you that will never see your parent’s en suite in the same light.

Your dad arrives back just in time to see you slipping back down to sit at the poker table, no seat left for him to take but the one between his sweet daughter and his loyal best friend.

If only he knew he was placing you both where you most wanted to be when he suggested Javi give you a ride home, waving you both off through the car window with no idea Javi's cum sat dripping out your cunt, staining the car seat.

Your phone buzzes to life in your hand, slipping you out of your memories.

Your father’s contact name reads clearly on the screen.

Hitting decline one more time, you roll over and try ignore the gathering slick between your thighs.

Damn Javi and all the memories he haunts you with.

Mr, I don’t want a label You made me a little miss unstable (And it)

Days grow colder.

Nights grow longer.

You change your bedsheets, stuff a comforter back inside.

Pick out a tree, synthetic, and lump the box up the countless stairs to your apartment.

Try not to think of how he would’ve insisted on helping, refused to let you carry it.

Even if it culminated in him doubled over in pain, clutching his lower back.

Lights, baubles, action.

The tree’s smaller than you expect, barely reaching your hip, but it’s green, tree-shaped and festive. It’s enough.

Your decorations are minimal, a few inconsequential things you picked out your parents’ stash. There’s a Santa hat, frayed with time. A few cracked baubles, with string so thin you suspect they’ll snap off. A gingerbread man ornament, a glass snow-flake. A crooked star, missing one of its points, tops the tree.

A homemade snowman, one you’d gifted your parents after a busy day in nursery. Neither of them had the heart to tell you you’d made its nose a rather phallic shape.

And then there's the red phone-box, nestled somewhere in the middle, an etching of LONDON brandishing it as a reminder of your trip.

You’d picked it up in a tiny bookstore, right next door to The Distillery Club.

The winter season has never felt so lonesome, tucked away in your grown-up apartment.

There’s no fireplace to warm your hands, no hot cocoa boiling on the stove. No cheesy hallmark movies to laugh at with your mother, no racing past your father to grab the last slice of dessert.

It’s just you, alone, with only your wandering mind as company.

Sometimes, more often than not, it wanders to him. To if he’s alone.

To if he’s filling his heart as easily as he fills his bed.

To if he’s finally bought a second seat for his dingy balcony.

“Is this some tactic of yours?”

He hums, brows furrowing, lips pouting, smoke dragging into his lungs.

The cigarette sits perched between two fingers of the hand resting on your knee, his other curled around your waist.

“Some what?”

“Tactic,” you repeat. Watch him blow a puff a smoke, taste his ash at the back of your throat. “Only having one chair, so pretty girls have no choice but to sit in your lap.”

He lets his gaze wander away from the streets below and up to you, sitting pretty in his lap. Like a cat, draped over his thighs.

Nothing but his own rumpled, inside-out shirt to cover your skin.

Bare legs, messed hair, smudged lipstick.

Fingerprint bruises littering your hips, bitemarks etched into your collarbone.

“I gave you a choice,” he speaks with a reservation he didn’t have before, when he’d offered you a ride home from the bar. There’s an etching of something that’s diluting his expressions, sinking him deeper and deeper into his own pensive mind. “You were the one who insisted on sitting on me.”

“You weren’t complaining earlier.”

Nails pinch at your thigh, causing a squeal out of you.

A few birds fly off a nearby wire, a head or two turn in the street below.

They don’t see you, or Javi, or the lack of clothing that sits between you.

“Neither were you. In fact, you were a little busy fucking my fac-”

“Stop!” Your sudden modesty feels unearned, yet that does nothing to stop you from placing your hand over his mouth.

He licks at it, you grimace, he licks again.

Then takes another breath of nicotine, as you wipe the remnants of his spit onto his naked thigh.

When he offers the cigarette your way, you hesitate.

Picture your father, disappointed to see you smoke.

The whiff of Javi’s post-sex smell- muted cologne, matted sweat, burnt ash- steals your senses, reminds you you’ve already done enough to disappoint your father, a cigarette can’t do much damage.

So you let him hold it up to your mouth and inhale it’s poison.

You and Javi were never meant to happen.

Sure, the line had already been crossed weeks ago.

But that was supposed to stay in Vermont, tucked between snowy slopes and wooden cabins. Existing in a timeline separate from your reality, where you are your father’s precious daughter and Javi is his trustworthy colleague and friend, that is where it should have stayed.

And it had, for two weeks. Sixteen days, specifically.

You’d returned to classes, to sharing lunch breaks with your father in his office, to slowly moving more of your things out the family home and into your new apartment.

And Javi, from what you heard, had returned to keeping civilians safe, to sharing a drink or two with your father at the end of the work week, to flirting with every secretary within a mile radius.

Neither of your crossed paths and, when you nearly did, the other made the effort to turn a corner, shut a door, hide behind a wall.

Until tonight.

Until you ditched your mediocre date, some lame excuse of having a last-minute paper due.

Until you’d gone to console yourself over your failing love life, unknowingly sliding into a bar stool right next to the most desired cop in town.

Until he’d turned to you, tilted his head, and asked “d’you wanna get out of here?”

He’d offered to take you home.

The drive was quiet, tense, until his hand drifted over the gearstick and you dragged it down onto your thigh.

He squeezed.

You inched it further up, till the tips of his fingers brushed at the edge of your dress.

He took the invitation, took a turning towards his own place.

Brought you into his apartment, drowned you in his fountain of kisses, begged you to sit upon his face. He’d made you see stars beneath a roofed sky, eyes rolling so far back they threatened to get stuck there.

With barely a moments recovery from a third blinding orgasm, he dragged you down the expanse of his body, sat you down on his cock and refused to help your overstimulated, puddle-brained self ride him, grinning cunningly with his back pressed against the mattress as you struggled through shaky legs.

Eventually, he tired and launched himself, arms tangling behind your back, feet planted flat behind you, hips fucking up into your battered cunt until you both came to a haltering crescendo.

He’d layed you down to rest, cleaned you of any mess, and then wandered out to his balcony, inviting you to join him when the feeling returned to your legs.

Which brings you here, fifteen minutes later.

“...wouldn’t have to be serious,” he’s speaking, finishing off a sentence you don’t quite catch the start of.

“Huh?”

“This. Us. It could be casual, y’know?” Another puff of smoke slips right through his lips. “If that’s what you’re worrying about… your dad, and all that other stuff. I don’t need a label, not if it means I get to have… We could keep it casual, if that’s what you want.”

It takes a few moments for you to fully register his words, and then a few more to formulate a response.

“Is that what you want?”

He shrugs.

Pulls in another breath of his cigarette.

Stubs it out on the arm of the chair.

And says nothing.

You assume it’s a yes.

Because what else could Javier Peña, notorious womaniser, want with you if not a casual, no-strings-attached permit to sleep with you, as many times as he sees fit, without the risk of losing his job or, worse, his best friend?

Silence falls upon you both.

You twist in his lap.

He tightens his hold.

Within a half’s hour, he’s got your hands white knuckling as they grip the metal bannister of his balcony, his own hands busy pulling your hips back to meet each of his desperate thrusts, not even the cool air of the night enough to soothe the flaming desire that burns between you.

Your stomach twists, your mouth dries, your eyes water at the thought of him out on that balcony now.

Somebody else, some new body sat in your spot, upon his lap as they exchange smoke rings and warm mouths.

Broke me big time It’s funny and I’m laughing baby You think i’m alright

The Laredo sheriff’s department is known best for three things: its lack of parking, its swoon-worthy ex-DEA agent, and its office holiday parties.

Each year, it’s the same.

The station, decked out in decorations.

A Christmas wreath, mistletoe hanging from every doorway, egg-nog and mulled wine.

It’s not just Christmas.

It’s menorahs, and ficus trees, and a statues of different gods.

Each piece of culture, tradition, holiday that makes up the people that inhabit the station, day in and day out, behind desks and in cop cars, filing paperwork and fetching coffees, represented in some way, celebrated.

Each member of staff is encouraged to bring their friends, their family.

Their spouse, their mothers.

Anyone, and everyone, is welcome.

Then there’s the gift exchange, a Secret Santa system, optional for each member of staff.

It’s the part you look forward to most.

Crowding your dad the minute he gets home on the first of December, poking and prodding till he lets it spill who he’s got.

Fishing out a pen, some paper.

Drawing up a list, made of details and anecdotes your father remembers of his target.

Dragging your shop-avoidant father down to the mall, for a day of gift hunting and sweet-tooth indulging.

Getting to watch your father’s coworker open their gift, eyes lighting up as you once again knock the ball out the park and gift them something perfectly tailored to them, winning your dad the spot of top gift-giver year after year.

This year, there was none of that.

No list of pros and cons for each gift option.

No trying to crack just what exactly your dad should gift his person.

No waiting with baited breath to watch them open it, heart racing with that little fear of them not liking it, of you failing.

No, the moment that name fell from your father’s mouth, you knew what he needed to get.

Hinted at it, slightly.

Claimed you’d smelt it on a friend, thought it would be a good idea.

Sipping on some wine and picking at the buffet, you watch him pick up his gift.

Hold it up to his ear, shake it.

Look down at the box, confused, then tear into the wrapping paper.

The whole room stops.

Not really, but it feels like it does, as somewhere across the room Javier Peña holds up a bottle of that damn cologne.

And, when his eyes instinctively find yours, it feels like everything else fades away.

Fades to grey.

It’s just him, and you. The only two within the room, holding a secret too heavy on the tongue to ever speak it aloud.

He knows.

Of course he knows.

Knows you’d watched him spray it on his skin, day in, and day out.

Knows you’d worn it on your own, sunk it deep into your pores after intertwining your souls upon wrinkled sheets.

Knows you’d watch its contents decrease over time, time you’d spent with him.

That bottle of cologne reminiscent of a timer on you both, that morning before the hospital trip becoming the last few sprays he got out of it.

Colour returns to the world that surrounds you as your dad steps into view.

He’s hugging Javi, pathetically tipsy and ignorant to the lipstick stain on his cheek, no doubt ingrained to his skin with how hell-bent he is on having your mother kiss him beneath each mistletoe.

They’re exchanging words you don’t hear, slapping one another on the back.

You turn on your heel, insides twisting as nausea overcomes you at the scene.

The next time you see Javi is hours later.

You’re trying to leave, tempted to take the good old Irish exit and just slip out a back door.

But your parents- ne, your father- are so busy show-ponying you around the room, that you fail to take a single step that goes unnoticed.

“There she is!” Your father calls out, somewhere behind you, as you slip your hand into the arm of your coat. This act sparks outrage, a frown birthing onto his face. “Don’t tell me you’re leaving too.”

You say you’re tired.

He boos, loudly, like he’s not the chief of police and a whole grown adult.

Grabs at you, lovingly, trying to pry the coat out of your hands.

The effort is minimum, and you know he’s only messing around.

You can leave, if you want to, even if he’d rather you stay.

“It’s not even midnight and you two buzzkills are leaving!” He wails, all the while he’s reaching around and helping you slip your other arm into the coat.

That’s when Javi’s face comes into view, over the arch of your dad’s shoulder, sporting a smile and a pair of keys dangling off one finger.

You try your best to counter his smile with your own, though your throat feels dry and your cheeks feel tight.

“I can’t believe I’m being betrayed like this by two of my favourite people!” The smile slips before you can catch it, eyes widening at your father’s words.

Words you’d spent months agonising over the thought of hearing. Picturing the circumstances in which he’d find out. Imagining the horrendous fallout, a red slash over Javier’s reputation. Swearing you’d quit it, quit him, and then winding up tangled in his sheets again, head pressed to his chest, eyes closed in the soundest of sleeps.

Javi plays it cool.

Nudges your dad’s shoulder, shakes his head and tells him to “quit the dramatics, viejo (old man).”

“I gotta head out to my pop’s first thing in the morning, he’s wanting me to help him rewire some of the fences.” Comes out as his excuse, one your dad can’t really argue against.

He knows better than anyone that Javi drops everything for his dad.

Well, better than anyone but you.

Your excuse, however, falls a little short, a consequence of the last minute conjuring of the lie.

“I’ve, uh, got an early class. Don’t wanna flunk out in my last year, right?”

Your dad stares at you.

Your mum stares at you.

Javi stares at you.

And that’s how you know you’re screwed.

“Class? I thought you were on winter break.”

Javi takes the momentary distraction to shrug his coat on, over those broad shoulders.

Shoulders that twist with the rest of him, as he makes space for you in the doorway, nodding you over. Here, he’s saying without really speaking, escape with me.

So you do, tiptoeing past your parents as though, the slower and quieter you move, the less they’ll notice your approach to the exit.

“Oh! Yeah, I- Sorry, I meant that I-”

“The library, it’s still open for the graduate students,” Javi swoops in effortlessly, dragging the spotlight off you.

He takes hold of your jacket, too, slipping the zip into place and dragging it up the length of your torso, over your chest, till it rests snuggly at your sternum.

A little too snug, making each new inhale deeper, harder, practically heaving the air into your lungs.

At least that’s the reason you give yourself.

You don’t get to dwell on it too long, fortunately, for your mother lets out a gasp.

She points, eyes a little widened by excitement, at the both of you and nudges at your father.

“Look!” She tells him, and you watch in confusion as he displays her same reaction, eyes wide and mouth agape.

Then comes the laughter, straight out the depths of your dad’s belly and right to your weak heart, a melody that reminds you so much of easy Sundays and curling up next to him on the sofa, watching kids’ shows that seemed to entertain him more than you.

“Oh that’s just,” he takes a laugh break, doubling over slightly, his own finger joined in pointing at you two, beneath the doorway. “Too perfect!”

Before you can inquire on either of your parents bizarre reactions, Javi’s eyes are staring into your own and pointing upwards.

Wrapped with a red bow and barely hanging onto the door frame with a single strip of tape, a mistletoe stares down at you, two white berries like mini eyes.

When you glance at the agent once more, it’s hard to read what he’s thinking.

His shoulders are tense, his lips are pursed, his brows are furrowed. But, his eyes.

His eyes burn you with an unspoken intensity, a look he should never possess in front of your parents.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” You mom, camera in hand, urges you both, a wide grin cast upon her face.

You dad is in no better state, rushing forward to squeeze you both closer, one hand clasped over the back of Javi’s head.

When the once-agent exhales a nerve-striken breath, the warmth of it, of him, hits your neck.

“Dad, c’mon, stop-” you’ve never imagined yourself stuck like this, your mother and father both urging you to kiss a man you spent months tossing and turning in bedsheets with behind their back.

The creatively deviant part of your brain tells you this is how it could be, maybe, in some other life.

Some other life, where Javi’s not a cop, you’re new in town, and you both bump into each other at the grocery store.

Both of you reaching out for the same apple, or box of cereal, or bottle of milk.

Your hands, brushing.

Your eyes, meeting.

He’d charm you, easily as he always has.

Get your number and then, the next day, a date.

One date leading to two, three, four, more dates.

Till you bring him home to meet your parents at last, squeezing his hand tighter when he tries to pry it away as the door opens to your father’s stern face.

It would take a while, you reckon, for your dad to see past the difference in years.

Your mother wouldn’t care, wouldn’t spare a second thought to it, not when she notices how much he makes you laugh and how he can’t keep his eyes off of you in any room you occupy.

This could be your first Christmas together, your parents begging for one sweet photo of you under the mistletoe, before you both head off to spend the rest of the holiday season with Javi’s father.

But it isn’t, and you’re not.

“C’mon, it’s bad luck not to!” Back in the present, in reality, your dad’s found his way over to your mother’s side. “Peña, just kiss the girl on the cheek for Christ sake, I ain’t gonna bite your head off for it this one time!”

His lips brush your cheek like an autumn breeze.

Gentle, a hint of warmth, a tickle from the wisps of his well-groomed moustache.

“Get a bit closer, you’re not fully in frame!”

The flash goes off on your mother’s camera, and the two give a little cheer, and Javi wraps an arm around your back, squeezing you a little closer.

When all is said and done, your mother’s forcing you both to stare at the camera screen, a perfect picture of the most doomed couple to ever grace this Earth.

Such dramatics in your thoughts reminds you of the copious glasses of prosecco you’d downed throughout the night, and of your intentions to get yourself home before you done something stupid.

Like stand under the mistletoe with your former casual lover, the very same man your father calls for golf matches and March Madness debriefs.

Javi offers you a ride home, an idea your father approves of.

“I’m heading that way anyway, gotta pick up a few things before I drive out to the ranch.”

A part of you thinks he’s lying, wanting any excuse for a moment alone with you, but then that’s the kind of delusions you shouldn’t be feeding into.

You and Javi don’t spend time alone anymore.

You and Javi do not exist together anymore.

Maybe you never did.

“It’s okay, I already called a cab.”

You part ways at the door, your father watching you from inside.

Javi calls your name, before you can take more than a few steps.

For a second, he just looks at you.

Then his arms are pulling you in, and he’s got you right against his steady chest, and he’s resting his head atop your own, arms squeezing tightly at your sides.

“Get home safe.”

He walks away before you can tell him to do the same, the door slamming to his car the last thing you hear as you pull out your phone and call a cab.

It takes twenty minutes for it to appear, in which the rain starts and your clothes get soaked, but all that and the fifteen dollar fare are a cheaper price to pay than the torture of letting Javier Peña drive you home.

Crawl up the stairs, unlock the apartment door, drop your clothes onto the floor.

You find sanctuary under the shower, soap suds and boiling water, a dynamic duo that scrub off any remnants of his skin against yours.

Even as you step out, fully cleaned and towel wrapped around yourself, you catch a hint of his cologne, the very same one you’d made sure your dad picked out for him.

And as you pick your coat off the ground, a distant voice that sounds much like your mother scolding you for leaving such a mess, you notice it.

First, just a little extra weight.

Then, scratchy paper as your hand dives into the left pocket.

The wrapping is haphazard, with an uneven bow tied atop it, but that’s not what matters.

You tear away at it, let the paper fall to the floor at your feet.

Then you’re met with a small box, which you tear open too.

And find it sitting neatly among balls of yarn, the prettiest, most delicate looking glass bauble.

It’s ribbon a deep green, and it’s centre an image of mountain slopes, backed by a green forest and a valley full of wooden lodges.

It shakes in your grasp, and you spy the snowglobe-esque white foam that dances around within it.

In it’s centre, in bold, italic and green, Vermont.

One more glance in the box.

There’s a note, tucked at the bottom.

You fish it out in one breath, hold it up to read what it says.

Corazón, For your tree. I hope there’s still space.

#javier peña smut #pedro pascal smut #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña oneshot

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malfoyfarms · 2 years

Text

She Wanted You

JJ Maybank x Routledge!Reader

Word Count:1.4k

Warnings:none

A/n: angst bc im boycotting watching season three LOL, not my gif

“What do you mean she left?” JJ questioned, dumbfounded. He didn’t realize it, but he was walking into a war zone. The Chateau no longer had the same feel. It was like someone sucked the air out, and pumped smog in.

With tears in his eyes, John B pointed towards his sister’s room. Sarah and Pope were lingering in there, but JJ had no idea why. The room was oddly neat, incredibly out of character of the girl who resided there. Her closet was emptier than usual, the three picture frames that once had pictures of her with her family and friends were empty. What caught JJ’s eyes next, made his mouth go dry. His breath was no longer there. The navy sweatshirt he had given her years ago was folded, on the bed, next to the pillow he always claimed during their relationship. Atop the sweatshirt was a ring from a gumball machine, an orange and green friendship bracelet made of paracord, and a pile of notes written on scraps of random papers. Every other personal belonging was missing from its spot.

JJ tore through the girl’s nightstand, and when he realized the box of her life savings was gone, he let out a string of colorful words and kicked the stand.

“Here, you should read this.” Sarah handed him a neatly written note. By the tear stains on Pope’s face, the somber tone from the kook, and JB’s raging anger, it was a farewell.

He took a deep breath, and swiped the letter from Sarah. The familiar handwriting was already pulling at his heart.

I’ve rewritten this letter four times already, and I still don’t know how to put my thoughts into actual words. Firstly, I love you. I love you until the waves stop coming in. I love you so much that I knew I needed to leave. I’ve known since you wandered home with John B in third grade, and gave me all the answers (even though they were wrong) to my math homework that if there was going to be another boy in my life, he was going to have to fight you for that spot. From 7 years old, I only ever wanted you. But over the last two years, I can see that I’m not the one for you. And that is why I’m leaving. One of the only things that got me through my day was seeing you smile, but I understand that there is someone else who causes those crinkles by your eyes.

I have to leave because it’s too painful. I need time to have all your kisses leave my body, I need to leave because I can’t smell the ocean, listen to Akon and Konvict, or even wash my fucking clothes without thinking of you. I see you in body language, in the waves, in every damn aspect of my life. Not only are we ingrained on this island, but you are ingrained in me. If I’m ever going to come home I need to remove every trace.

I told you last week, I’d always be on your team, even from a distance. I need you to pursue Kiara because there is nothing more I want for you than happiness. Deep down, I know it will always be her. While that sentence feels like a shot, I’m coming to terms with it.

Don’t try to come find me, either. I won’t be going to any of the places we’ve ever talked about, I do have my secrets still. Not Yucatan, not Tybee, and certainly not Jekyll. Take care of my brother.

All my love,

Y/N

“When did you and Y/N break up?” Sarah asked. JJ couldn’t even think straight. Y/N and the boy broke up about a week ago, for that specific reason, JJ thought there was something there with Kiara. He didn’t think the girl would pick up her stuff and bolt. Leave her brother, her best friends, and the life she claimed to love.

“I, uh, initiated it last week or so,” he stuttered, “it wasn’t definite or anything, but it was insinuated I guess. We had a conversation about it, but I don’t think I ever could have said it out loud.”

“Oh,” she thought. “You know she really loved you with every bone in her body.”

He sucked in a deep breath to try to keep his tears at bay. How could he walk out to the front room and face John B. He was the reason the youngest Routledge had left. With Big John gone, she was all he had left. Hell, with Luke gone, she was all JJ had too. In some form he robbed his friends of a family member.

JJ laid down on the neatly made bed and latched onto the sweatshirt that smelled just like her. His memory flooded with images of Y/n in that sweatshirt. From it covering her bikini when they went night swimming, it being the one sweatshirt that was specifically for after she came home from school, the one thing that grounded her when she was having a rough day. JJ felt his chest start to tighten, and his hands were clammy and shaking.

“I thought you said you’d never break her heart!” JB screamed. Impeccable timing.

“John B don’t–” Sarah tried to interject.

“No Sarah, he promised. He promised me almost three years ago that if I gave him permission to date Y/n, he wouldn’t hurt her. He knew he’d be breaking more than just her heart. And now I can’t even help her pick up the pieces. I can’t fix my baby sister, the way she fixed each and every one of us!”

“Bro, you think this is what I wanted? I had a conversation with her. Nothing was definitive. It’s not my fault she took her shit and ran!”

“When has Y/n ever not taken her feelings and ran? Name one time!”

JJ sat there in thought, and there had been one time she didn’t run, and he had promised that he wouldn’t tell. He was going to anyway.

“When you disappeared. I held her while she cried herself to sleep for nights on end. So don’t act like I never treated her right. You know I did.” JB ran his hands through his hair and left the room.

“Until you decided you may have feelings for the girl who is like her big sister.” That stung.

“What’s going on?” Kie asked.

“She’s gone.” John B said. “‘Cuz JJ’s in love with you.”

JJ sat in the hammock, wearing the navy sweatshirt he hadn’t worn in years. It smelled just like her. He could even feel the marks of where she rolled the sleeves and dug her thumbs into the side.

He barely remembered last week’s conversation about Kie, but never did he think that it would cause you to disappear. Y/n was so incredibly loyal. She wanted him. Every. Damn. Day. She wanted him when the clouds were out, and the usually blue sky was gray. She wanted him when he was bruised and beat up, she wanted him when he was crabby after a 14 hour shift, she wanted him at every hour of the day in any way she could have him.

It was just a conversation, he thought. He never flat out said that he was leaving her for the tanned, wealthy kook.

He felt so fucking stupid. He felt so much self-hatred. He remembered when they were 12 and 14, and Y/n wanted to walk to the gas station a few streets over, but John B wouldn’t go with her. He remembered what she usually bought. Peach iced tea, sour straws and a bag of munchie mix. Every single time.

He remembered when the girl got drunk for the first time and dialed him to come get her. God, she was so inebriated. She clung to the boy, giggling profusely. That was the first night she ever told the boy she loved him. Y/n never knew it, but JJ kept that memory locked in his head.

He pondered the time she was ready to give him her virginity. He remembered how nervous she was, but how much she trusted him.

It had grown dark by the time he wandered back into the Chateau. He was surprised JB didn’t kick him out, he fully expected to be out on the streets by now. As he stumbled towards the bedrooms, he went past his own, and fully dove into the light purple sheets he had come to love. She’ll come back, he thought. She has to.

#jj x reader #jj outer banks #jj maybank #jj maybank imagine #Outer Banks #outer banks imagine #obx imagine #hms pogue

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whore-4-drewstarkey · 1 year

Text

Lips of An Angel- Drew Starkey x Fem!Reader

summary: based on the song Lips Of An Angel by Hinder. (take a listen! i recommend it!!) Y/N drunkenly calls up her ex boyfriend drew, to confess her love she still has for him and all her regrets from their past relationship.

warnings: odessa…., alcohol consumption, emotional cheating (if you even call it that), angst, a tad of fluff if you squint, slight mentions of physical/mental/emotional abuse (not from drew), lmk if i forgot anything bc i’m sure i did lol.

a/n: for starters…. i’ve been waiting to write this one and i was gonna do it for rafe first but it just felt more right to do drew lol. also please don’t come at me for the way i put odessa in this. (personal opinion: i don’t think they’re really a thing irl but whatever). for the sake of this fic i had to put her in it to work as she’s the only prominent female in his life besides his sisters so bare with me please. (personally not a fan of her for my own reasons and things i’ve read) hope you all enjoy this one!

revised and edited by the one and only @slut4drudy ilyyyyy

as drew had just put the last of the champagne glasses into the sink from his and odessa’s small get together with friends, he could hear his phone ringing that all too familiar ringtone… the ringtone he had set for only her. he thought to himself… how strange it’d be for her to call him at such an absurd hour after not talking to one another in two years.

him and Y/N had began to date their senior year of college at western carolina university, and just like every college couple, they eventually broke it off a few years later. it had been a mutual agreement when he got cast on netflix’s show, outer banks, as she didn’t want to hold him back any longer from achieving all the goals she knew he would. the two however kept in contact regularly until none at all just two years ago when she’d started dating her now boyfriend maverick. and from what Y/N seen drew had also moved on… to his costar odessa.

“hey, uh drew your phone is ringing. do you want me to get it?” odessa asked drew as he finished washing the champagne flutes, drying his hands hurriedly with the towel next to the sink.

“uh, nah, um i’ll go answer it. it might be my mom. you know her and not being able to sleep and missing her kids. i’m just gonna go in the reading room and take the call. i’ll be back out in twenty. sound good?” he asked warily.

“yeah yeah take your time. tell her i said hi for me” she smiled as his towering figure walked past her frame and into the living room, picking his phone up. his large thumb moved nimbly against his phones screen to answer the call from Y/N as he entered the reading room, plopping on the couch.

“h-honey, why you callin me so late? it’s kinda hard to talk right now” he stuttered out her pet name he hadn’t called her in years. all he received in return were her soft sobs from the other line. those little soft sobs shattered his heart. the last time he’d heard them was because of him. because he had spoke the idea of maybe they should break up. because he didn’t know if he could do the long distance relationship, and Y/N had just agreed. no hesitation because she wanted whatever would make him happy. and if that meant breaking up with her and breaking her heart, then so be it. she wanted what was best for him because she loved him.

“honey, why are you crying? is everything okay?” drew whispered out through the phone to his broken ex in an uneasy tone, as his jaw clenched. he hated the idea of her being sad. he always had.

“w-why are you whispering?” she sighed as more tears streamed down her face.

drew bit his lip, exhaling a huff of hot air he hadn’t known he was holding before speaking, “i gotta whisper because i can’t be too loud.”

“why? i-im sorry. i shouldn’t have called. this was so fucking stupid” Y/N slurred out into her end of the phone, catching drew’s attention.

“oh, well, my girls in the next room” he spoke as he paused to let her speak.

“like i-i said… this was st-stupid of me” she slurred out again before continuing, “you’re moved on. i get it”

“honey, Y/N, it’s not like that. i swear. s-shes not even my girlfriend” he tried to elaborate before she cut him off.

“then why’d you call her your girl?”she challenged.

“baby, you’re drunk. i can tell by the way you’re slurring your words. what’s wrong? why’d you call?” drew tried to deflect the question and ask the more important questions; why she’d called and why she’d been crying.

“answer my questions first please” she hiccuped through her phone and into his ear.

“we haven’t put a label on it. in all seriousness i don’t even know what i want. i don’t even think she knows what she wants. it’s more of a friends with benefits kind of deal” he sighed out as his left index finger and thumb pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed once more, contemplating to speak what he’d been thinking for awhile now. “but honey, if i’m being serious, sometimes i wish she was you”

“i wish i was her too” Y/N whimpered out as she took a gulp of the vodka from the bottle she’d been coddling in her arms, sitting on the bathroom floor, hiding from maverick.

“i guess we never really moved on… did we?” he chuckled out, causing Y/N to smile at the sweet sound of his chuckle. it was bliss to her ears. she’d missed that sound so much in the last two years.

“now answer my question honey, what’s wrong? why’re you calling so later? isn’t it like after 1am there back home in charlotte. right?” he asked Y/N in a concerned tone, face scrunching up in worry as well, though she couldn’t see it.

“u-um. drew it doesn’t matter. forget i called you. okay?” Y/N tried to deflect his concerning questions he’d been shooting her way since the call had started.

“Y/N, honey. i’m not hanging up until you tell me what’s got you so bent out of shape that you’re drunk off your ass, drunk calling me at 1 am your time all while sobbing. i just won’t” he huffed out, losing his patience in the girl on the other line.

“joseph” she began to slur, sternly, “i said it doesn’t matter. go back to your girl or whatever the fuck she is to you” she hiccuped yet again.

“fuck, i cant believe i’m about to say this right now, but it’s really good to hear your voice sayin’ my name. it sounds so sweet” drew smiled to himself as he softly giggled. maybe it was from the champagne he’d had earlier or maybe it was the blissfulness from just hearing Y/N oh so sweet voice saying his name again.

“i love you” Y/N slurred out once more as she started to cry again. “i’ve never stopped” she continued. “i thought i could and would move on but i cant and it hurts me that we aren’t a thing anymore” she continued to weep.

“honey don’t say that. please” he frowned as his heart cracked yet again over his ex girlfriend and her words. more like over her admittance of missing him so much still even after all these years.

“why not, drew? it’s the truth” she sniffled as she wiped her runny nose with the sleeve of his old college sweatshirt she’d still kept after all these year even after their breakup. she picked the bottle of vodka back up and took another swig of it.

“those words…. fuck. they’re coming from the lips of an angel baby. and hearing those words, it’s makes me so fucking weak. because as much as i want to be with you… i cant” he sighed as a single tear streamed down his stubbled cheek, not even bothering to wipe it away. he soon continued, “i never want to say goodbye, honey. and it’s so fucking hard to admit that. but, girl, you make it hard to be faithful with the lips of an angel” he dryly chuckled as the memories of their kisses ran through his brain. it still felt so real. the longing to be near her was still there. and the butterflies. and the desire to make her happy. and the want to make her feel safe and loved.

“drew, you’re the one who just said you guys aren’t even a thing so why would you even say that?” Y/N croaked out as she wiped more of her tears away.

“it’s complicated honey. i feel obligated to be faithful even if her and i aren’t really officially a thing. now please for the love of god, baby, why are you crying? what’s wrong? what happened?” drew exerted his concern as his eyebrows scrunched together in worry.

“i- uh, drew you cant do anything about it, so it doesn’t matter” she whimpered in a whisper, reaching for the bathroom door knob to make sure it was in fact locked. she squeezed her eyes shut as soon as she heard mavericks yells from their kitchen.

“you know, it’s funny that you called me tonight, Y/N/N, because we had some friends over and the whole time i was just thinking of you and how you’ve been. i haven’t heard from you in two years, hunny” drew whispered, his voice strained from the way his heart clenched in pain at the lack of communication between the two when they had both promised to keep in contact.

“maybe that’s why i dream of you. you know what they say, if you dream of someone that means they’re thinking of you. do you dream of me too?” she spoke shakily, as her jaw began to quiver, biting back yet another sob.

“what about maverick? and yes i’ve dreamt of you too, love. i do often” he confessed as he thought back to his dream he had of her from the other night. the two of them had gone on a picnic in the mountains back in their home state of north carolina, enjoying the scenery and all it had to offer, that was until he was awoken by odessa’s loud alarm blaring throughout his bedroom. drew’s lips parted once more as he spoke again, “and does he know you’re talking to me? will it start a fight?”

“th-that’s why i-i uh called. he… uh he got mad again and s-started to throw some things around the kitchen. h-he said some things which isn’t out of the ordinary with him” her frail voice cracked as she finally admitted to him why she had called him so late in the first place. tears once again started pouring out of her once bright eyes which have now been filled with void. “he drinks… a lot. and when he does… he gets kinda aggressive. he will do things to me and say horrible things as well. i-i called you tonight because i’m drunk and i miss you and i know you’d never do this shit to me and because you listen. so well. you always have” she began to cry again for what felt like the twelfth time that night.

“honey, what are you talking about? has he hit you? do you have a place to go?” drew shot up at the mention of mavericks behavior coming from Y/N. he was on high alert and wanted nothing more than to protect her at that instant.

“i shouldn’t have even called. does odessa even know you’re on the phone with me? i don’t want her to get mad at you. i shouldn’t have even called” Y/N stumbled over her words due to the excessive amounts of alcohol she’d been drinking and maybe even a mix of anxiety.

“no, i don’t think she has a clue. i told her it was probably my mom, but, i knew it was you. i still have your number saved to my phone… with your ringtone too. couldn’t get myself to delete it, even after all these years” he confessed as he ran a hand through his shaggy hair. he bit his lip in frustration before speaking sternly this time around, “Y/N, honey, tell me…. has he fucking hit you?”

“y-yes. but he didn’t mean to” she tried to excuse her boyfriends actions, though deep down she knew it was a lie. “and yeah if i have to i can go to my brothers but i don’t need anyone’s fucking help or pity” she blurted a little loud.

“fuck, Y/N” he sighed as fresh tears broke his waterline of his azul eyes, his jaw clenched tight.

“it’s okay, drew, i promise. i’m not your problem anymore. i haven’t been for four years now.” she expressed as she drank the last bit of the vodka that was left in the bottle.

“Y/N can you do one thing for m-“ drew was cut off by a soft knock on the reading rooms door, notifying him that someone ,odessa, was on the other side.

“hey, uh you almost done? it’s getting late and i wanna go to bed” she complained to drew as he’d pulled his phone away from his attentive ears.

“u-uh yeah. let me tell my mom goodnight real quick” he stuttered nervously, worried she’d been ease dropping on part of the private conversation he’d been having on the phone with Y/N. and with that odessa nodded her head as she left the room, shutting the door as she went.

“what is it that you want me to promise you?” Y/N sniffled.

“call me if it gets bad again. i’ll fly out there immediately”

“i promise.”

“i never wanna say goodbye” he admitted to her after her promise.

“i don’t either, but you have to” she spoke flatly as she’d just heard Odessa moments before. she opened her mouth, speaking one last line, “i love you drew”

“i-i love you too honey” drew spoke the words he’d been bottling up since the day the two broke up, as fresh tears streamed down his stubbled cheeks. during the moment he spoke those words all he could hear were mavericks yells and bangs onto the bathroom door through his phone, before the call ended all together.

taglist: @slut4drudy @runningfrom2am @maybankslover

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mins-fins · 2 months

Text

a day for love !

"so…what are we exactly?" "mortal enemies". "oh".

synopsis: zhong chenle has too much on his hands, with his musical education studies and being apart of the NCT U student body and basketball team, he has no time for any distractions, but then he meets you, cocky, flirtatious, attractive you, core member of the NCT U fencing team. he's immediately put off, taken aback my your self absorbency and sky high confidence, he finds it annoying, how you never take anything seriously. zhong chenle does not like you, he hates the way you always have his face red, how you make his legs feel weak, how you continue to run through his mind even when he's trying to not think about you. you're so annoying, and he's carrying that sentiment to his grave, he swears.

pairing: zhong chenle x male!reader

genre: university au, strangers to lovers, annoyed (chenle) x annoying (reader), fluff, crack/comedy, again no angst, lowkey fast burn(?), pining pining pining, chenle's in denial the whole time 😭, just super unserious, angry love confessions (kinda), many many other idol cameos, ft. na jaemin the instigator (and also kinda lee heeseung)

warnings: swearing, sexual jokes, mentions of sexy time, threats against your life in like a romantic way, mentions of drinking, lots of back and forth between our main leads, chenle being the stubbornest person ever

word count: 15k

notes: heyyyy… heyyyy…😇 so this is another draft from march that i abandoned for a good few months before finally getting up off my ass and finishing it, im not going to lie, it could've been much better writing wise, the thing that carries this work is the dynamic between chenle & reader which was soooo fun to write because i loosely based it off a dynamic between my irl friends 😭😭 this was originally supposed to come out in may at best BUT.. a lot happened, this is a birthday gift for the one and only user junjiie (take a shot everytime i mention jj in a note) the silliest, my bsf ever, and the person who i constantly attack with unsolicited spoilers! i apologize jj 😓 he listened to all my insane rants about this thing and i always have to thank him bc he's always interested!! happy birthday jj i love you sm 😿 again named after a yukika song, i have a pattern

IF CHENLE IS ANYTHING THESE DAYS, IT'S ANNOYED. it's already annoying enough that he's practically been worked to death this week, given no breaks by the student body or his coach, but now jaemin has decided to drag him away from his work to watch some stupid match between people he doesn't know. now, chenle isn't the kind of person who likes working on friday evenings, but this friday is different, because he genuinely has so much to do and has no time for distractions of any sort. just the sight of jaemin barging into his dorm was enough to make him and sigh and roll his eyes. it wasn't just that, but it was also his insistent begging for chenle to accompany him to his friends little competition, a friend he doesn't even know to begin with.

chenle isn't just annoyed, he's pissed off, his head hurts and there are so many people talking around him. he's currently overwhelmed with thoughts because he has an assignment to turn in soon and because he's standing here looking after jaemin's stuff, even more pissed because jaemin said he'd only be gone a few minutes.

it's been ten minutes, and jaemin is nowhere to be seen.

the moment jaemin appears, chenle swears he's going to punch him in the face. he crosses his arms and lets out his fifth exasperated sigh of the entire hour, a displeased look makes itself apparent in his eyes, what even is this anyway? some dumb fencing competition? chenle doesn't care about this, or about jaemin's friend that he hasn't met yet. at this point, chenle doesn't even want to meet this friend, he's frustrated.

and yeah, maybe it's stupid of him to be dumping all of his frustrations on this friend he hasn't met yet, but he's sleep deprived, and he wants a cup of coffee.

standing around and waiting for jaemin has become boring, so chenle has begun to scour his surroundings. the banners above display your usual school spirit words, all of them talking about beating the other school or something, he hears the people above him conversing about the upcoming competition, making bets on which fighter they think is gonna win.

it's enough to make chenle snicker, they're betting on this like it's a boxing match, it's just dudes fencing, it truly cannot be that serious.

"all this shit for some dumb fencing competition?"

"well, what crawled up your ass today?"

chenle startles when you seem to come out of nowhere, but his momentary fear immediately becomes annoyance once again as he notices your tone of voice. what is he getting an attitude for? chenle doesn't like you already.

"nothing, where the hell did you even come from?"

chenle looks you up and down, taking in your features. you have bewitching eyes, they're a beautiful shade of light brown, your tall, much taller than chenle, your hair falls prettily around your face, a pretty butterfly necklace adorns your neck (chenle has no idea why he's staring there), and your wearing a varsity jacket, the letters NCT U printed on the side.

ah, so he's an athlete. somehow, chenle doesn't put two and two together, or maybe he isn't exactly thinking about that, just annoyed by your audacity.

"i was just.. observing" you respond, shoving your hands into your pockets as you let a small hum leave your lips. "what's with the fencing hate? i don't think it's that bad.."

"your probably saying that because you're a fencer yourself".

a snort. "well— you caught me there".

chenle raises an eyebrow, now your tone confuses him. what is this guy getting at? he can't read you, and he doesn't really like it.

"i'm not even supposed to be here, i have work to do, but now i'm here looking after jaemin's stuff while he's doing who knows what because i agreed to come watch him support his friend!"

"well there's no need to yell.."

chenle glares at you, a certain distaste in his eyes he doesn't think he could replicate with anyone else, but you do sound kinda unreasonable, so he takes a deep breath. "yeah, sorry".

"it's alright".

there's a silence. chenle doesn't know what kind of conversation this is, he's not the kind of person to just interact with strangers like this, he usually doesn't like having conversations with strangers, but he doesn't want to stop this conversation..for some reason. you intrigue him, so he begins again.

"NCT U fencing? i didn't know our school had a fencing team.."

"maybe you just aren't around much, we are the stars of the show after all".

your words make chenle scoff, a small raise of his eyebrow accompanying it. he crosses his arms and examines your varsity jacket once more, then narrows his eyes. wow, what a high ego. "stars of the show? isn't that a little cocky of you to say?"

"cocky? tell that to my fifteen medals" you reply, and that gets an eye roll out of chenle. "and those are just college medals" you whisper, leaning closer.

chenle somehow gets frozen in his spot, not moving back, leaving the two of you with your faces almost pressed together. if he wasn't speechless right now, he would've pushed you away, but your breath fanning against his face and your sudden closeness makes him feel dizzy.

he stares, and he stares for a while. he allows for his eyes to roam your face, and they instinctively fall down to your lips, your lips which just look so tempting.

what the fuck? you don't even know the guy chenle! why are you thinking about kissing him?

"wow, you must be quite the impressive fencer, then".

his words are meant to come off as sarcastic, and he stops staring at your lips so that he can gently push you away from him, trying his best to ignore his currently reddening cheeks. "i am! i would even say so myself, not to give myself too much credit or anything.."

"well that is giving yourself too much credit" a small hum escapes your lips at his words, and you allow for yourself to be humored by his words. "what about the rest of your team?"

"your acting like i called them shitty fencers" you easily reply, glancing down at your watch and sighing as you notice the time. "i never said they don't bring anything important to the team, i'm just acknowledging how good of an asset to the team i am, and that's totally fine, nothing wrong with it".

your reasoning makes sense, but chenle doesn't this conversation to stop just yet. "that's just a level of confidence that seems a little unruly".

"there's nothing wrong with being confident" you say, and chenle allows for his shoulders to fall. he can't exactly disagree with that. "i know how good of a fencer i am, and you should be applauding me for that".

"maybe i'll applaud you when i actually see you display such skills".

you snicker at chenle's words, he hates that you look so good, he doesn't even know you, but you've managed to both annoy and sort of make him swoon in one go. "well it's your lucky day, you can cheer me on when i beat my opponent in a few minutes".

ah. chenle thinks back to the school spirit banners that are hanging from the ceiling, he thinks back to jaemin, to the stupid promise he made a good few hours ago, and now he's standing here with some overconfident fencer, some overconfident fencer he would've never met if he didn't give in to jaemin's incessant begging.

"that's nice, you really think your gonna win?"

"i don't think, i know, chenle".

chenle is about to counter your words with another remark, but pauses upon hearing his name escape your lips. how did you even know who he was? he's about to start assuming your a stalker or something. "you know my name?"

"you're apart of the student body, you play basketball, and your constantly in the top ranks , everyone knows who you are".

the words get an uncertain smile out of chenle, but he quickly lets it drop because he doesn't want to be smiling because of you. chenle doesn't care, he'll remain stubborn. "yeah, right, glad you know that".

"alright then, you can cheer me on, chenle, i'll be looking for you in the crowd".

chenle scoffs again, now he's completely done with you. "in your dreams.." he mutters, and while he intends for that to not be heard by you, you catch it anyway, but you allow for chenle to think he's in the clear, deciding to not comment on it.

"wish me luck!"

chenle watches you walk away.

he allows for the questions to immediately run through his mind, what the hell was that? why did he want to chase after you like some desperate little man? why didn't he want the conversation to end?

but then again, you are just so annoying, you're so convinced your going to win. chenle almost wants you to lose just so he could laugh in your face about it, but he also does want to watch you face off your opponent, just for entertainment.

and with no jaemin to be seen anywhere, chenle just groans and cusses at the older in his mind, he is genuinely going to punch jaemin when he sees him.

for now, he'll focus on this dumb competition (and on you, wait— no, NOT YOU! he is not focusing on you at all).

CHENLE HAS A HEADACHE THE NEXT DAY, AND HE MAKES sure to put all the blame on jaemin. what kind of friend is he? dragging him off to go see his friend's dumb competition only for him to disappear for more than half the time than proceed to only show up after the competition was almost over and scream in chenle's ear in the entire time. chenle thinks he should start getting paid for hanging out with jaemin, because he can never tell where the other male is half the time, but he's still getting dragged out to shit like this all the time. when jaemin skips his way into chenle's dorm the next morning, he's met with an immediate glare from the chinese, and he seems to have no idea why chenle is so upset with him. "woah, who pissed in your cereal?"

chenle scoffs, throwing jaemin his sweater and going to get a glass of water. "you did, i have a headache because of you".

jaemin laughs at chenle's annoyance, a taunting smile coming to his face as he makes his way towards the younger, a surge of pride in his chest. "really? what did i do?" it isn't a genuine question, and chenle can tell by the exaggerated pout which graces jaemin's features.

"you made me go to your friends stupid competition, then still decided to drag me around after the competition" chenle grits his teeth as he says those words, and all jaemin does is raise a humorous eyebrow, a small hum escapes his lips as he gets another glare from chenle. "not to mention, your friend is so annoying".

jaemin chuckles, getting a small punch in the shoulder from chenle. "oh, so you met y/n then?"

the name doesn't register in chenle's mind, he never actually got to know your name. "is that his name?" just the thought of you has chenle's stomach turning upside down, and he has no idea why. "he pisses me off, he talks too much".

"aww, he didn't make you swoon?"

"absolutely not" chenle says immediately, he is not going to admit how he felt lightheaded just by the sight of you, how you easily had his face red without having to do anything. "he's so into himself, how do you even hang around a guy like that?"

how do you not fall so in love with a guy like that?

"well he has every right to be! y/n has basically won the school all of their fencing awards, a majority of them anyway, i don't get what the hate is all about.."

chenle clears his throat. "i don't hate him, i'm just commenting on his self absorbency".

"your saying that, but you couldn't take your eyes off him the whole competition".

the accusation is enough to make chenle's cheeks go fiery red, what the fuck? he noticed? he opens his mouth to immediately deny the claim, but all he does is stutter whilst trying to clearly articulate his words. "that's not true".

"but it is! you were fangirling more than his actual fangirls! you couldn't even contain yourself!"

chenle rolls his eyes, a small scoff escaping his lips as he tries to ignore his reddening cheeks. "i was not fangirling, you're crazy".

"am i crazy? or are you just in denial?"

"your projecting onto me".

jaemin just snickers, able to see right through chenle's little denying streak. his red cheeks are a clear indication that you probably did end up flustering him, the latter is just too stubborn to admit such a thing. "uh huh, sure, keep telling yourself that chenle".

chenle scoffs, completely turning away from jaemin as he tries to ignore the heat rising in his cheeks. no he wasn't fangirling over you at all, jaemin is just crazy, jaemin is just making stuff up.

at least, that's what his mind tells him.

"YOUR LATE, ZHONG CHENLE" THE WORDS get a small glare from the addressed boy. a chortle sounds from his fellow student body member, kim jungsu, who is humored at the sight of the usually stoic zhong chenle being pissed off, but then again, such a face has become a norm to the titular zhong. "woah, what happened to you?" chenle only scoffs at the question, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips as he ignores the question from choi beomgyu, who only raises an inquisitive eyebrow. the two older boys exchange glances, watching as chenle begins getting up to his usual things. "jaemin decided to hold me up, again" chenle grits his teeth as he thinks about the stupid shenanigans of the na, rolling his eyes.

"what did he do this time?"

"made me walk around the whole school to find something for him.." chenle mutters, pissed off. "but he kept stopping every few minutes to catch up with his old friends!"

beomgyu startles at the sound of chenle's shout paired with the slam of files onto the table. it's often these days that na jaemin seems to be annoying zhong chenle more than anything, the prospect is hilarious, though, he has to admit.

"did you guys hear? y/n got an perfect score on friday!"

the absentminded comment is one chenle so badly wants to ignore, but just the mention of you is enough to make his stomach begin stirring in a way he can't explain. it's monday, why are people still talking about your stupid friday competition? (chenle knows why people still would be talking about it, you're a very talented fencer, he can't deny that).

"did he?"

"what are you guys even expecting at this point? it's y/n, he's never lost a competition once.."

chenle stays silent as he listens to his fellow peers talk about you, your competition, your winnings, just you you you. chenle hates the way you take over his mind, he's only met you once, only talked to you once, but he can't stop thinking about you.

it's a mix of butterflies and some other unknown creature fluttering around in his stomach.

"chenle! how come you and y/n aren't friends?" beomgyu suddenly chimes in, nudging the other in the shoulder. the younger blinks, puzzled by the abrupt question. "you two would be a good.. pair".

chenle knows what he's implying with the emphasis on the word pair (pair? more like couple..), and just the look on his face is enough to give him away. he ignores the red which dusts his cheeks, something that's been happening much more regularly when chenle starts thinking of you, he hates that it does. "we just.. don't know each other like that".

"you two have talked though haven't you?"

chenle is getting bothered by these constant interrogations, he doesn't want to talk about you, because he's not sure he'll be able to keep his ground, or his face from heating up irregularly. "yeah we talked at the competition.."

"oh you went!? how was it?"

"it was uh.." chenle pauses, trying to figure out the words to describe the competition, he isn't even thinking about the competition, he's thinking about you. he can't stop thinking about you, you've been running around in his mind for the past few days. "yeah uh— what you said, y/n got a perfect score.."

chenle quickly turns away from his peers so that he doesn't have to be faced with their several questions about you, mostly because he doesn't know how many excuses he'll be able to make for his red face. he puts away the files as he listens to everyone else continue conversing about you, how known are you? chenle doesn't think he wants to know.

"that can't be tru— wait y/n! come here!"

chenle's heart drops at just the mention of you, and he hears a confused "what?" escape your lips accompanied by the sound of footsteps. he curses in his mind, how is he supposed to avoid you now?

"what's up?"

chenle turns around as he tries to not look at you, but unfortunately, his eyes have other ideas. they drift off to you immediately, and once he looks at you, he can't look away. you look so casual, but you seem to glow. everyone else in the room has basically become nothing, and only you matter. chenle reprimands himself in his head for having such thoughts, he shouldn't be thinking about you so much, especially with you currently in the room. so, he clears his throat and takes his eyes off you.

"beomgyu said—"

"i didn't say anything! don't put the blame on me! dongyun back me up here!"

chenle blinks as he watches his friends dissolve into a full blown argument, with you standing there awkwardly having no idea what was going on. he is quick to tune out the argument, as he's done several times in the past.

but you don't seem to care about the argument transpiring in front of you, seeing as how you slip away from the shouting guys and go over to chenle. "do they always do that?"

chenle can't ignore you now, so he takes in a sigh and looks over at you, his legs immediately feeling like jelly as he locks eyes with you.

you're beautiful, just as beautiful as you were the first time chenle met you and became absorbed in you as a whole. chenle wants to fall over, but he stands his ground, he remains stubborn, he doesn't want to give you that satisfaction.

finally, after what seems like forever, chenle finds his voice, it took him pathetically long to though. "yeah, they argue about stupid shit all the time, don't worry about them".

you snicker, eyeing the student council members who are continuing to go at each other's necks. choi taeyang rubs his temples, completely irritated by this idiotic argument.

you aren't focusing on that, though, because your eyes immediately go back onto chenle. "we never truly established our relationship.. are we friends?"

chenle finds the words baffling. did you really just ask him that? he scrunches his nose, but he can't exactly tell how he feels about the whole thing. "are you really asking me this now?"

you hum, fiddling with your sweater collar. "well, jaemin told me i should try getting on your good side, apparently we need to get to know each other".

"of course he said that".

chenle grits his teeth, but his irritation is feigned, because you snort and look away, your smile this bright, blinding spectacle that chenle could admire for ages. "if you don't want to it's fine" you say, smile unable to be erased.

"i didn't say that" chenle quickly rebuts, much too eager to make that fact known to you. "we can be friends i just.. don't be as annoying as you are".

you gasp, offended. "you think i'm annoying?"

"your just jaemin's copy and paste really".

"is that supposed to be insulting? i happen to like jaemin".

"well that's obvious".

you scoff, crossing your arms. chenle has to stifle his giggles, because watching you look so defeated is just a little bit amusing to him. he can't help his smile, why the fuck do you look cute right now?

"you're so rude, i like you though".

chenle blinks. well he was not expecting that. maybe he doesn't have you all figured out like he thinks, you're unpredictable, how aggravating. he feels his jaw clench as he stares you down. "is that how you always make friends?"

"no.. you keep avoiding the term, though".

"you keep questioning me".

"i just want to get to know you".

"you can do that when we aren't in the student body room".

you roll your eyes, but it's not serious, because nothing is ever serious with you. "okay then, i'll see you some other time, zhong".

you give chenle one last smile before muttering something intelligible to beomgyu, which draws an incredulous gasp from him. you bid your goodbyes to the rest of the student council before once again smiling and making your way out of the door. "he's so dreamy isn't he?"

taeyang snorts, shaking his head. "totally, but i think he liked chenle best".

chenle's face goes bright red the moment he's put on the spot, and jungsu's little giggles meet his ears. "you— he was just being stupid.."

"ohhh, i see".

"wait, chenle and y/n have thing?"

"we do not!" chenle immediately shouts, but as his voice elevates, his cheeks continue to flare. he isn't convincing enough, seeing as how taeyang snickers at the way he heats up embarrassingly. "we do not have a thing! he's just.. annoying".

"so you don't want to fuck him?"

"no!"

but unfortunately, zhong chenle isn't spared from the teasing of his student body members.

"CAN I ASK YOU A STUPID QUESTION?" IT WOULD BE annoying if not completely a norm by now. good god jisung is lucky he's jisung, chenle can't count how many times he's wanted to just clock him square in the face. maybe he's saved from such a fate, but yangyang surely isn't, and chenle is just gearing up the punch as he hears the liu begin snickering. if kun didn't nag so much he probably would've followed the whispering thoughts that told him to shut yangyang up with his fists, but keeping his composure is important. chenle clicks his tongue, tugging at his sweater and rolling his eyes at jisung's subsequent muttering. "okay but don't be mad!" chenle immediately snaps his head towards the younger, and jisung halts in his movements, yangyang's growing laughter is definitely not helping. "you're already mad!"

"i'm not, idiot" chenle grits his teeth, but he relaxes his shoulder and takes a deep breath. "just ask".

"what the hell is going on with you and y/n?"

chenle immediately scrunches his nose, pausing. now how would jisung know about anything that happened between you two? not that anything did happen between you two! it's just strange how chenle meets you on one friday, has like three interactions with you, and suddenly everyone thinks that he has a crush on you or something.

he doesn't! he really doesn't! why isn't anybody convinced?

"nothing! oh my god why is everyone asking me this?"

yangyang snorts, great, now he's going to add his two cents to the mix. "you look at the guy like he solved all of your problems, you sure you don't even want to kiss him?"

chenle scoffs, quickly flipping off yangyang and rolling his eyes. "no, yangyang i don't want to kiss y/n, and i don't stare at him like.. that, who even implied that to you jisung?"

jisung is just the slightest bit terrified of chenle, seeing as how his facial muscles strain to try and fit a smile. "jaemin hyung.."

"and you know heeseung gossips about everything! he's about to put it on the school paper!"

"lee heeseung isn't apart of the school paper, he runs a barely functional gossip blog".

"gossip gets around quickly".

"you guys are acting like i got caught kissing the guy! i'm not in love with him or anything!"

jisung clearly doesn't believe that, and of course yangyang doesn't believe that, seeing as how he doubles over in laughter at chenle's statement of denial. chenle glares, yangyang isn't as funny as he thinks he is. "it's not funny".

"it really is, your cheeks are so red, how are you not in love with him?"

"i'm just not, how do you guys not believe me?"

"it's a bit obvious".

"your terrible at lying".

chenle gasps, dropping his arms at his sides. gosh, even when he is telling the truth everyone thinks he's lying.

and no he's not secretly lying! he is telling the truth! he has absolutely no feelings for you at all!

"i'm not lying".

"well you can go prove yourself then, your boyfriend is right there".

when chenle snaps his head in the direction jisung pointed, he stills, because there you are. his cheeks flare up at the nickname yangyang gave you, the words he's not my boyfriend rest on the tip of his tongue, but they get stuck in his throat when his eyes land on you.

are you fucking everywhere now? chenle talks to you one time and now you suddenly appear every single time he tries to convince himself that he doesn't harbor any romantic feelings towards you. you have to be some kind of psychic, you're probably reading chenle's mind, just ready to show up when he suddenly gets stuck in denial.

"see? your doing that weird love like stare" the whisper gets him out of his daze, his eyes of admiration quickly becoming eyes of hatred fully directed towards his fellow teammate.

"i am not".

jisung blinks, contemplating his words because of the way chenle glares, so his mouth falls shut. "there's nothing going on there, you guys are just stupid".

for the first time ever, yangyang and jisung do something in unison, snicker. "okay chenle, i'll totally believe that".

you laugh in the far distance, the harmony is beautiful, and chenle has to use all of the self control in his body to not turn his head in your direction. he can already imagine your smile, and he has to fight his own smile, chenle can admit that you're annoying, but he can also admit that you have a very pretty smile.

"your lover boy is over there".

you pause, still giggling behind your hand as you glance over at kim minjeong. "who?" you inquire, wincing at her hard pinch to your shoulder. when you turn your head, you grin at the person you see. "i can't exactly figure out why you say that".

"you seem a little obsessed".

you laugh. a huge, polyphonic laugh that would make the words you're hearing seem like absolute nonsense. "obsessed? i like the guy a normal amount".

"woah.. like?"

"platonic feelings do exist ms. kim" you rebut, arms crossing over your chest as you listen to the mutters of your fellow students. "and besides, he doesn't seem to like me much".

"he looks like he's even in love with you".

"you don't even know what love is, jiung".

if you're being completely honest, you have no idea why you're going to extreme lengths to defend yourself like this. zhong chenle is cute, easily aggravated, your actions piss him off insanely quickly, you can see why people would think you feel something for him, you enjoy admiring his face way too much, you zone out on his features way too much, others might get the wrong idea. "fuck you, anyway, there is no way he isn't in love with you".

"in love? are we in a romcom?"

jiung scoffs, and minjeong pinches the bridge of her nose. "are you stupid or do you just not want to admit it?"

"admit what?"

your feigned innocence gets a groan of unison out of your friends.

and maybe a certain zhong is just admiring you from afar..

IT'S NOT USUAL FOR ZHONG CHENLE TO WAKE UP EARLY, and six am is really a stretch he can't believe ended up happening. after minutes of tossing and turning, he screamed into his pillow and rose from his bed to begin his day. classes start in two hours, but he's not going to be able to get back to sleep. he makes sure he doesn't wake daegal, grabs a basketball, and leaves his dorm to make his way to the school gym. it's something he usually does when he finds himself sleepless, playing basketball can get his mind off of literally anything, so whenever he wakes up in the early hours of the morning and can't get back to sleep, he simply makes his way to the school gym to entertain himself for a few hours. it's usually always empty too, so he doesn't have to worry about being interrupted while he's cranky in the morning.

he hums to himself as he dribbles the ball down the hallway, basking in the silence of the air. sometimes people are too much, he can enjoy being alone on most occasions.

the cool air of the gym hits his face as he continues his dribbling, taking a shot and having it land perfectly in the basket. he whistles, proud, but not surprised. it isn't surprising how good he is anymore.

"nice shot".

the moment chenle hears the voice, he has to bite back his groan. you snicker at the expression you see blossom on his features, and chenle turns towards you, lips pressed together. "nice to know you're so happy to see me".

"it's beginning to get ridiculous how you are everywhere" chenle is quick to bite back, and you shake your head, a laugh threatening to escape your lips.

chenle can't even help his smile. oh fuck you. you're evil. you're the evilest being chenle has ever had to share a space with.

he doesn't want you to leave, though.

"are you saying i'm doing this on purpose?"

"exactly what i think" you laugh, fingers picking at the fabrics of your sweater, and chenle finds himself frowning.

"what are you doing up so early?" he inquires, cutting off your response with a question.

you feign thought, rolling your eyes. "i usually wake up early to stretch, maybe get in some practice, it's sort of like a built in alarm clock".

"you wake up at six in the morning every day?"

"it's torture" you reply, eyes glancing around the practically empty space you two stand in. "but i've gotten used to it, coach is always on my ass about it.."

"ohhh because your his star player?"

there's a hint of sarcasm in that question, and your brows furrow as you watch chenle distracts himself with his basketball. "he's just constantly like that".

"okay, so you aren't doing this on purpose?"

"even if i was, is there anything wrong with me wanting to see you?"

chenle pauses, blinking as he lets the words slowly settle into his brain. if he had absolutely no self control, he would've giggled out loud right in the very moment. why are you so.. you? it's absolutely ridiculous, actually, why do you say things like this? do you have no regard for chenle's heart? you have to know what you're saying.

"what? like you have a crush on me or something?"

"seems you want for that to be the case".

chenle opens his mouth to respond, but it closes the moment he sees your smile. he grits his teeth, it's sickening how easily he's about to fall. who allowed for you to have such a pretty smile? he finds himself grateful to even be witnessing such a thing.

he finds himself flustered at how speechless he is, and he sighs, ignoring his heated cheeks. "you and your weird fantasies".

"whatever you say zhong".

chenle groans, quickly wanting to change the topic. "you wanna play?"

you chuckle at the question, shaking your head almost immediately. "oh no i'm not good at basketball".

"it's not that hard, just dribble and shoot".

you seem to find that idea ridiculous, because you laugh again. "you're definitely going to kick my ass".

"maybe i want to do that" chenle smiles, and you narrow your eyes.

"okay, i see the game your playing".

chenle laughs, and you frown at the corresponding sound. "come on, just once? i'll return the favor, i'll fence with you!"

you seem puzzled by that one. "..do you want to?"

"it can't be that hard".

you bite back another laugh. "you know how to be convincing".

chenle raises an eyebrow. "is that a yes?"

you sigh, rolling your eyes. "fine yes, whatever".

"don't 'whatever' me".

you can barely resist your smile as you watch a hint of irritation settle in his eyes. "come on, let's play".

and maybe chenle smiles a little too wide at that, because he can't stop admiring your smile.

CHENLE TAPS HIS PEN AGAINST THE DESK, LISTENING TO the murmurs of the rest of the student body. it's easy to be quiet when in a room full of noisy, immature men. he barely even remembers where most of their conversations go, it's become much too easy to tune them out. beomgyu must have said something insane, because taeyang is giving him that incredulous glare he can only share with someone like beomgyu. god chenle misses hanbin, he's the only person who can contain such idiots (which is amusing, because all he has to do is clap and they all go silent). "who even agreed to that? did mr. jeong tell you anything?" chenle just barely fights his groan, of course they're arguing about this again. maybe he should just get up and scream, then they would all shut the fuck up.

"i already told you! nayeon said—"

"i didn't ask about nayeon, did i?"

beomgyu sucks his teeth, throwing his hands in the air. "see? this is why no one likes talking to you!"

"i'm just stating the obvious".

"you two have been at it for hours! please just let it go".

honda hitomi leans against her hand, just barely able to fight her own exhaustion. she's about to collapse onto the floor and not get up, but she keeps herself awake for the sake of her own sanity. "what did mr. jeong say about the end of the year fair we planned?"

chenle sighs. "he has not gotten back to me on that one".

"good god it's never going to happen at this point! can i just take down the posters?"

"don't lose hope so quickly!"

"at this rate hope no longer exists! we have to wait weeks for a response from the principal himself! aren't we supposed to be hosting all the cool student events?"

"yeah that's what we have chenle for".

chenle ignores the giggles that reply to those words, much too tired to even care anymore. "i need to make sure donghyuck doesn't traumatize daegal.. you guys have a good day" he grabs his stuff and scrunches his nose, almost unable to stand on his legs considering how long he'd been sat.

"why would you let donghyuck babysit daegal?"

"he's broke so i'm practically forcing him to" chenle swings his bag over his shoulder, smiling at the snickers he receives from his members. "i'll see you all tomorrow, and if any of you see hanbin tell him he better come up with a good excuse for being missing".

it's a threat that again has beomgyu throwing his arms up in the air, even if it wasn't directed towards him specifically. "will do boss!"

"don't call me that" chenle just barely misses the incoming whine choi beomgyu lets out when he finishes the response.

and then chenle exits the student body room, his shoulder slumping accompanied by a silent sigh. he just wants to get home without any distractions, no yelling, no stupid jokes that lead nowhere, no one to imply something idiotic that will make his eye twitch—

"chenle! hey!"

well of course that can't happen.

zhong chenle's life will never be peaceful, and that disturbance comes in the form of na jaemin, running towards him with that abhorrent smile on his face. chenle is already praying in his head, because he knows jaemin is just going to try something insane again. "amazing to see you jaemin".

the guy isn't even breathless, which chenle finds amusing considering he was totally bolting the whole way here. "did you hear?"

"what?"

jaemin looks disappointed, and he crosses his arms. "you didn't read the blog post? pretty much everyone has already".

chenle blinks, no longer interested in pretending to humor whatever it is jaemin is going to show him. "everyone?"

"mostly everyone, don't be surprised if gyu yells in your ears about it soon".

chenle scrunches his nose. sensing his complete obliviousness, jaemin sighs and pulls out his phone, giggling before even turning it on. "you and y/n are the school's couple of the month".

chenle's eye twitches.

"excuse me?"

jaemin nudges him, showing him the phone. chenle doesn't even have to read anything, all he has to do is look at the title.

[THE SCHOOLS FENCING STAR & SHOOTING GUARD ARE IN LOVE: BUT WE ALL KINDA KNEW THAT ALREADY..]

chenle sighs, of course lee heeseung wrote it. he rolls his eyes, massaging his temples. "tell me you don't believe this.."

jaemin giggles, turning his phone off. he laughs for a while, but pauses when he realizes chenle isn't laughing with him. "wait.. you two aren't dating?"

"no jaemin, we aren't".

the information flabbergasts him. "what do you mean you aren't!? i thought you two were doing like the secret thing.. the whole yeah were dating but like not publicly thing!"

chenle simply shrugs, turning on his heel and continuing his walk towards the exit. jaemin almost trips on his feet, following closely behind him. "how many times do i have to tell people this? there is nothing going on between y/n and i!"

"so then what were you two doing in the gym?"

chenle stops, glancing behind him to catch a look at jaemin's face. he narrows his eyes, scratching the fabric of his sweater. "talking, jaemin, like you usually do with people".

"six in the morning and you two are just talking?"

"you take everything out of proportion, i'm not sure you know what 'dating' looks like".

"well i know y/n, though, and i know his expressions, he stares at you with so much love it's sick!"

chenle can't even muster another eye roll, he simply keeps quiet at the words, turning around to look forward. "whatever.."

he stares down at the floor, not allowing for the words to get to his head. if he does than he'll begin thinking about you, and if he envisions your smile he won't be able to bite back his own.

IT'S FUNNY HOW QUICK GOSSIP CAN SPREAD, BECAUSE ALL chenle's been presented with in these past few weeks are rumors and mindless gossip. what kind of grip does lee heeseung have on everyone? how does his wannabe gossip blog really do all of this damage? he can't even begin speaking without someone asking if he's dating you. is this what being your boyfriend would be like? suddenly everyone is invested in his business and he can't even live in peace because everyone assumes you two are dating. he's let out enough sighs these past few weeks, he's beginning to get tired of everyone's constant muttering, he can't even talk without annoying himself, and he hasn't had an actual conversation with you in a good two weeks, which was totally unintentional at first, but it slowly became more.. voluntary.

you two don't talk much, simply give glances to each other in hallways. it's not that chenle is avoiding you! it's just that chenle is definitely avoiding you.

he just sort of needs space, for an unchecked amount of time.

you almost completely consume his mind, and because everyone thinks you two are dating, it's hard to not think about you. maybe it was difficult to get you out of his head before, but it is insanely difficult now. he doesn't escape jaemin's snickers, whispers, or even just mentions of your name, you're practically haunting him.

looking at your face ensures that chenle will probably collapse onto the floor.

so chenle's avoiding you for the peace of his mind. he makes excuses for why he doesn't want to see you every time, a tight lipped smile on his face whenever someone brings you up.

and of course, because of his avoidance, even more rumors swirl. something about you two getting into a random fight, a lovers quarrel the audience are calling it. how annoying.

but he can't avoid you forever, because you literally know everyone, including the people in his close knit friend group. so what is chenle supposed to say? it gets harder to come up with excuses for not wanting to be in the same room as you. jaemin keeps sending him weird looks, asking questions with his eyes, but chenle simply walks away.

you seem to want to talk to him, but you also seem to sense that he needs his space, because you don't just suddenly ambush him to ask why he's suddenly avoiding you like the plague (even if you do really want to).

and chenle keeps that track record pretty solid for a while, he dodges all of the questions, stares, you, it almost becomes easy after a while.

but it doesn't stay the same, because of course it doesn't, you always just.. appear.

"you sure you can make it? we don't wanna bother you if you can't".

mark is always so considerate, chenle doesn't know the last time he met a guy so nice. "yeah, yeah i'll be fine! just text me the time and i will be there".

"on time?"

chenle snaps his head towards donghyuck, glaring. the older simply giggles as the younger flips him off, and he scoffs. "yes on time donghyuck, fuck you".

"see you lele!"

chenle scrunches his nose at the nickname, he would flip donghyuck off again if not for wanting to keep his sanity in tact. he has to have some kind of limit, and when he hears yet another giggle spill from donghyuck's lips, he wishes he had acted on his intrusive thoughts.

chenle has a few hours considering they always like going out late (and they wonder why their always tired in the morning), he can binge all of how i met your mother for the seventieth time, and he can keep daegal company enough that she'll tire herself out.

chenle's hands stay shoved in his pockets, it isn't even that cold, he just has an emotional attachment to this sweater.

but then chenle stops, because he just walked the complete opposite direction of where he was supposed to go. he blinks, mentally cursing at himself.

"what an idiot you are zhong chenle".

"well that's rude to say to yourself".

chenle jumps, but he can't be startled for long, because it's you. after avoiding you for almost two weeks (seriously he was so close!), you had successfully cornered him.

well 'cornered' may not be the right term to use in the context, you smile, as if pleased to see him. "feels like i haven't been here in years.."

you glance around, feigning interest in your surroundings. chenle bites into his inner cheek, suddenly feeling the air become awkward. "did i do something wrong?" you inquire, seeming completely.. normal.

"no" chenle almost whispers, turning around as to not stare at you. he begins walking the right way this time, unconsciously inviting you to follow him, which you clearly sense with how you straighten up and begin walking beside him. "it's not you".

"so you're avoiding me for what reason?"

chenle shrugs, silence overtaking the air between you two. he listens to the small mutters of others as you two walk together, he can ignore it easily considering you're right beside him now, maybe it's because you overtake all of his thoughts. "i don't know.. everyone thinks were dating, it feels kind of weird".

"well i guessed that was the case".

chenle again goes silent, you are much calmer about this than he would've expected. it's just something he isn't used to seeing from you, he knows if he was getting avoided so clearly he probably would've blown up on the person, but that's just him. "aren't you mad?"

"not really, i can see where your coming from".

chenle hums, the air again becoming awkward. "i'm sorry" you don't look at him as he apologizes, but you smile anyway.

"it's alright, we technically aren't.. friends so i'm really not that offended".

chenle pauses, well he totally forgot that one. he's the one who said it himself. oh he is such a fucking idiot, but you don't say it to offend him, you simply state it as a fact. "still, i probably would've blown up on you if it was the other way around".

"oh trust me, other people have done way worse, a little ghosting is nothing".

that finally gets a smile out of chenle, and you seemed to miss that smile, because you mirror his expression. "i didn't mean to worry you, none of it is your fault".

"i wouldn't say i was worried, i was just confused, but you have your reasons".

chenle sighs, stopping as you hold the door for him. so you're basically just walking him back to his dorm now, no words even having to be exchanged. that's funny. he doesn't put all of his focus on that, though, you're directly in front of him right now, he should put all of his focus on that.

"so were good, right? no bad blood?"

chenle glances over at you. "there never was any bad blood, i just got into my own head".

"that's good, you still have to make good on that promise of fencing me".

chenle raises an eyebrow, suddenly feeling his cheeks dust red. "fencing and basketball are vastly different".

"obviously, but you kicked my ass so i should get to kick yours".

"it was a pretty close game, ten to six".

"my point still stands".

chenle hums, just barely biting back his laugh. "okay fine, we'll fence, just go easy on me".

"aww, but then it won't be fun!"

chenle childishly sticks his tongue out at you, immediately met with an offended stare. still, you laugh, giggle even. chenle finds it funny how easily he can make you laugh.

"either that or we won't".

"fine then".

your smile indicates to chenle that you definitely don't plan on completely fulfilling that.

you raise your hands up in mock surrender, and chenle simply shakes his head, completely done with you. he stops in front of his door, rummaging through his pockets looking for his keys.

"thanks for walking me" he says, quite literally unable to shake off the weird feeling in his stomach. "even though you kind of just followed me here.."

"we were talking, i didn't know how to just leave".

i didn't want for you to leave anyway.

but chenle doesn't say that one, simply smiles again. "it's fine, thank you again".

"so what are we exactly?"

chenle blinks, just about to open his door when you ask that question. he thinks about it, thoughts chugging like a train.

"mortal enemies".

you snicker, looking down at the floor. "oh".

chenle hums, hand resting on his doorknob. "yeah, have a good day y/n".

"you too chenle".

CHENLE DIDN'T UNDERESTIMATE YOU WHEN HE CHALLENGED you to a fencing match. you've been a fencer as long as you could stand on your two feet, you mentioned in passing once that you'd been fencing since elementary school, introduced to the sport by your father. chenle doesn't know anything about fencing, he's watched one competition and can barely recollect the memories of what went on because it was at that competition that he met you. it's hard to focus on anything when your around, especially the match he literally challenged you to. he wasn't exactly thinking when he brought it up, just really wanting for you to play basketball with him. he stumbles back, tripping on his own feet and falling back onto the floor.

"wow i suck at this" chenle mutters, back resting against the mat on the ground.

your distinct chuckle meets his ears, and chenle lets out a sigh. "well i didn't say it.."

"oh fuck you, your the fencing expert".

"that's what you get when you compete with an actual fencer" you respond, chenle rests the épée beside his laying figure. "you didn't go down without a fight though, four points!"

"four points to twelve points, you think that's a worthy competition?"

"it's impressive for someone whose fencing for the first time ever right now" you remove your fencing mask properly, getting a good look at him on the floor. "i'm sure you could take jiung in a match".

"oh don't mention your teammates, i can't handle any of this, how do you do it?"

you whistle, dropping the épée onto the floor and extending your hand towards chenle. he takes it, feeling a pain spike as he stands on his two legs. "you liar, you said you were gonna go easy".

you simply smile, feigned innocence behind that wretched sight ('wretched' is the wrong word to describe it, chenle absolutely loves your smile).

"that was me going easy" you reply, squeezing his hand against yours.

that's when chenle is brought back to reality. holy shit you two are holding hands. he stares at the spectacle, blinking dumbly as you again snicker at your own words. he pulls his hand away quickly, ignoring the excessive heat of his face.

"oh then i really suck".

"your better than most people".

chenle hums, being better than most people doesn't really mean anything when going against you. "stop frowning, you did well".

chenle is definitely not frowning, he's not! how would you even know that? "well doesn't mean much in these books".

you shake your head, and chenle doesn't frown (but his lips turn downward). he picks the épée up from the floor, twirling it around. "can't just say i'm not good at this?"

"the reason you aren't good at this is because of your handiwork" you quickly respond, stepping closer to him and wrapping your fingers around chenle's wrist. "you have to angle your hand at ninety degrees, it has to be parallel to your foot.."

chenle blinks as you begin explaining the ways for him to improve his fencing. your rambling, very interested in actually helping him instead of just beating him at your own game again. chenle is quite literally on the verge of a heart attack, everything you're saying has blurred into the background as you get closer, the heat in the room steadily rising.

you continue talking, angling chenle's arm forward and pointing the sword straight. chenle cannot focus on what you're saying because you are so.. beautiful? you look so good in this lighting, it has to be criminal. you unconsciously get up in his personal space and chenle's breath hitches, but you don't notice.

"—and when you lunge your other hand should go down to balance your body weight" you mutter, smile on your face as you glance at chenle, who looks midway through a disassociating scene.

"hey, are you even listening to anything i'm saying?" you nudge chenle with your shoulder. chenle snaps out of his little episode and blinks, leaning away from you as he sees how close you are.

"oh.. uh— well".

you sigh, letting go of chenle's wrist and watching it lean down in just the slightest. "nuh uh, keep it up, ninety degrees".

chenle scoffs, but you raise an eyebrow, and he pauses. who knew you could be like that? chenle is just a little afraid seeing you serious. "you really don't have to help me".

"it's out of courtesy".

chenle narrows his eyes, and you whistle again, removing the fencing gear your wearing. "you aren't going against me again are you?"

"absolutely not" chenle shakes his head, another heavy breath leaving his lips. "you're brutal, i can't keep up".

"i'm sure you could".

"you have too much faith in me".

you hum, slipping your sweater back on and shoving your hands into your pockets. chenle again sighs, walking past you. "you could've at least tried to get eight points on me".

"the only way i'd get eight points on you is if you gave them to me" chenle replies, and you hold the door open for him again, watching as he narrows his eyes at you. "and you'd never let me".

"it's good to be competitive".

"at least you said something true".

you two must have a thing for unconsciously walking together now, much too distracted in conversation to even catch the looks your being given.

"i see you guys have made up!"

you pause, smiling at the sight of your longtime friend, and chenle sighs at the sight of jaemin. "why are you so sad?"

"jaemin brings chaos into my life".

jaemin scrunches his nose, offended. "don't be so quick to say that, i brought y/n into your life!"

"exactly".

now it's your turn to be offended, a gasp drawing from you. "wow i see how it is, chenle, maybe you should just go back to ignoring me then".

"you're so petty".

"oh and you aren't? that is completely unfair!"

jaemin glances between the two of you as you begin your mini argument, the bickering between you two surprisingly entertaining him.

what an interesting lovers quarrel.

"DON'T BE BORING! LET'S GO TO JINYOUNG'S PARTY!" JAEMIN shouted in his ear as he saw chenle trying his best to drift off to sleep. the younger was very much not on board, he wanted to sleep, he wanted to rest, maybe have a romantic dream about you or whatever. it's not like he had a load of work dumped on him tonight, he just didn't want to go out on his fine evening, and he also doesn't know jinyoung that well. he's not the extent of social butterfly jaemin is, he's sort of afraid of being that awkward friend who just follows his much more known friend around. he just knows jaemin is going to ditch him the moment he finds a cute guy to make out with, and that isn't his ideal kind of night. it didn't matter what he said though, jaemin had somehow convinced him to not sleep in his bed all night.

"this room reeks of drunk breath".

"don't be boring, chenle!" that must be jaemin's only response, because he smiles when chenle frowns. "have some fun" he pushes at his shoulder, but chenle simply sighs.

"i can't wake up with a hangover tomorrow.."

"just a little?"

jaemin puts his best puppy dog eyes on display, pouting with his hands clasped together. chenle immediately leans back against the wall, put off by whatever.. this is. he points, pressing his index finger against jaemin's chest. "if you get wasted i'm leaving you".

"that isn't a threat".

yeah, it really isn't, jeno is jaemin's ride or die, he'd carry the guy up the stairs while he was hanging off his shoulder for pete's sake.

so when jaemin does eventually get wasted, chenle isn't even that surprised when jeno shows up to follow him around and make sure he doesn't kill himself.

jinyoung is nice, a little erratic, chenle finds it amusing how easily he gets offended at heeseung's jokes. he almost socked the guy in the face, but then they looked at each other and began laughing loudly about it, they're much too gone to even realize they're being stupid.

chenle could barely take one sip of those drinks without grimacing, he can't even get tipsy, he might fall over from the taste alone, he isn't going to risk it.

he can't stand being alone for long, though, because he finds himself at beomgyu's side, listening to the choi talk his ear off. he doesn't know many of beomgyu's friends, he's met taehyun once, courtesy of jisung surprisingly, but the other guys are practically ghosts to him. one of them really likes bread though, he's never seen a guy so passionate about wheat.

"i can't believe you think strawberry ice cream is good! it's terrible!"

"it's not! you're a pussy! no wonder you can't eat fruit!"

maybe beomgyu and this bread obsessed guy have arguments like this often, because the words sound so practiced chenle assumes they must rehearse this argument for every time they drink. beomgyu huffs, crossing his arms, and he snaps his head over to chenle. "tell soobin he's wrong".

"is that his name?" when he asks that, soobin waves from behind beomgyu, a wide smile displayed on his face. "i have no say here".

beomgyu pouts. "even outside of school you're boring".

"you're arguing about strawberries!"

and just when chenle is about to join the argument about the ethics of strawberry ice cream, he hears something.

"boo!"

chenle almost jumps out of his seat, startled by the sudden sound. he grits his teeth once he's met with your smiling face, and you giggle, your breath reeking of the disgusting alcohol. "oh hello you".

"hiiiiii did you miss me?" you ask, hands clasped together as you try your best to sit, tripping on your feet. you hiccup; "cause i definitely missed you—" a poke to his cheek, another giggle leaves your lips. "—i can't believe you're reeeeal" your words slur and syllables stick together, you clearly aren't in the right mind at the current moment.

you lean half your body weight against chenle, laughing at something you say in your own head (at least that's what chenle assumes is happening, you're simply laughing for no reason). "did you miss me too?"

you jut out your bottom lip, chenle has to turn his head to stare at you. your cheeks are flushed, eyes are wide, and you have a permanent smile on your face. "it's debatable".

"you take that back!"

chenle can just barely stifle his laugh, you're absolutely ridiculous. you pout again, brain fuzzy. "don't laugh at me.."

"how much have you had to drink?" chenle asks, a finger in your hair. the strands are soft, just like he predicted.

"uhhh nothing really like um.. uh— four?" you hold up four fingers, then burst into laughter at the sight of your own hand.

oh. so you're that drunk, you giggle again, a snort following that sound. your head rests onto chenle's shoulders, and you shake as you giggle.

"four drinks? already".

you hiccup again. "jinyoung said.. um, i actually forgot what he said, but he promised me something! i like promises!"

you snap your fingers, leaning back in your seat and almost falling backwards in the process.

chenle watches, listening to the continuous drunk chatter of beomgyu and soobin. he then sighs, tired. "y/n, come on".

you crack open one eye. "whaaaaat? you don't wanna dance?"

"i think you've had enough, let's not dance right now".

"but we have to" your lips turn downward into a frown, visible sadness in your eyes.

"we can dance at another time".

"oh really?" your eyes shine, as if you're already awaiting the moment you two will dance.

"yeah, let me take you home before you end up passing out on the floor".

chenle wraps an arm around your waist, and you wrap an arm around his, but he's basically carrying you around.

"jaem" chenle calls out, grunting as he lifts you from your place. when jaemin turns around, he looks fine, not like what chenle expected. he's met with an immediate eyebrow raise, as expected of jaemin. "i'm taking y/n home.."

"youuu just wanna see my bedroom" you slur, poking chenle again as you practically fall onto him, no longer controlling any of your movements. "hiiiii jaemin!"

"okay, i see" jaemin looks you two up down, and you're still waving while he judges you. "have fun".

"don't start".

at the sight of chenle's piercing glare, jaemin puts his hands up in surrender. "okay, make sure he doesn't die".

"he might end up killing himself anyway.." chenle mutters under his breath, again lifting you up as he sighs.

"byeeeee jaemin! i love you!"

chenle scrunches his nose, and you continue to wave even when jaemin disappears from view. you lean onto him again, noticing his silence. "don't be mad, i love you too".

he glances. "not mad".

you giggle again, wasted beyond words. "no need to lie to me, you're so obvious".

chenle's cheeks flare up at that. alright you fucking psychic.

WHEN YOU TWO MAKE IT BACK TO YOUR DORM, you collapse onto your couch, bringing your knees to your chest. you weren't as talkative on the way back as chenle thought you would be, the moment you two left jinyoung's door, you simply went silent, the many drinks probably went to your head, you must be exhausted, and for the first time in forever, you two don't really bicker. you simply walk along with him in silence, so there are no words exchanged between you two. when you collapse onto your couch, chenle can just barely keep in his laugh. you let out a heavy breath, groaning. "i hate parties.." you mutter against your cushion, scratching at the fabric of the cushion. chenle turns to stare at you, and you let out a groan of pain(?).

"no you don't".

"no i don't".

you stretch your limbs, then hug your knees against your chest. "chenle?" you call out, eyes closed, and arms circled around yourself.

your voice is barely audible, he doesn't think he's heard you be so silent ever. he hums as his response, and you take in a deep breath before asking yet another question. "can you get me a blanket from my room? it's always cold in here.."

chenle nods even though you can't see. "okay, and which door is yours?" he's afraid of accidentally walking into the wrong room, he's heard your roommate isn't exactly the easiest to get on good terms with.

"the one at the far end of the hall" you stretch the final letter of the word 'hall', your sighs endless.

chenle mutters a small response and turns on his heel to make his way towards your room. he hears you let out another sigh, your fatigue following closely behind him as he opens the door.

when he does enter, instead of immediately doing what you asked, he allows for himself to get engrossed in the scenery of your room. the posters which litter the walls, your many fencing awards, medals, trophies, certificates. the photos on your shelves containing some familiar faces, there's one with you and jaemin that chenle can only assume was from way before university.

oh, so they do go that far back.

your room is adorable, it isn't exactly big, but you mastered how to make due with the space you were given. he glances at your bed, and he grabs a good enough blanket, heading back to the living room.

"you're a blessing zhong chenle" you say when he lays the blanket over you, watching as you let your body relax.

chenle stares, simply watching the way you shuffle against your couch. "it's really no problem, sleep well".

"what?"

chenle snaps his head towards you. "sleep well y/n, i'm leaving".

"you can't leave!" you open your eyes, staring at him incredulously. "what happens if i get attacked while you're gone!?"

chenle deadpans, you cannot be serious right now. "you're not getting attacked while i'm gone, y/n, that makes no sense".

you cross your arms, clearly not as completely sober as chenle thought you were. "i need for someone to stick by me, just until wonjin comes back!"

wonjin. oh, that must be your roommate. "and when is he gonna come back exactly?"

"i don't know" you put your own hand on your forehead, wincing at the heat that you feel. "he's a wild card.. kind of".

chenle sighs, of course you're starting with something again. "i can't stay y/n, i really have to get home".

no. he doesn't. he doesn't have to get home. the only real reason would be daegal, who his brother graciously stole for the weekend. he doesn't live with anyone else, so he isn't exactly going home to anyone. he doesn't know why he said that, he just lied to lie.

"no you don't".

you're correct, but chenle wants to remain stubborn. he sucks his teeth, irritated at the pure truth. "just for a few minutes?" you ask, putting on pleading eyes as you stare at the other standing at the arm of the couch. "please? you don't have to stay for long, just until i sleep".

now how can chenle deny that? he can pretend he isn't in love with you while others are around, he can act like the flirting doesn't affect him in the hallways, he can act like nothing's there in the bright light of the day, but now? now? while you're staring at him with pleading eyes? how could he ever deny you?

"i— fine.." chenle sighs, hands dropping at his sides as he steps closer, sitting down beside you on the couch. he doesn't lie down just yet, he isn't that tired. "now will you sleep?"

you nod quickly. "much better, good night".

you rest your head against your couch, snuggling against the blanket as your hand reaches over to take chenle's, intertwining your fingers together. "thanks for staying with me.. you're a good friend".

chenle keeps silent, but you still aren't asleep, because you snort in response to your own words. "sorry, enemy, we're enemies".

chenle gives a chuckle in response. "yep, mortal enemies".

you give a dismissive wave with your free hand, laughing again. "okay okay, i love you, good night" you let your hand drop and keep your eyes closed as you slowly begin drifting off into a slumber.

chenle again pauses.

you what?

his cheeks flare up, just the small confession distracting him enough, your thumb caresses the back of his palm, and the touch amplifies the red of his cheeks.

you love him.

well that's nice.

THE SUNLIGHT PEAKING IN THROUGH THE NEARBY window earns a small wince from chenle, eyes begging to remain shut as the light shines against his eyelids. he shuffles— or, he tries his best to shuffle with the lack of space he's in, a small groan escaping his lips as he tries to wake himself. he goes through an inward battle of trying to adjust his eyesight whilst also attempting to avoid the direct light of the sun, taking a few moments of squinting until he can finally open his eyes, adjusting to his surroundings as he begins to fight the fatigue in his body. oh he is such a fucking liar. he agreed to just a few minutes right beside you, and he fell asleep, right beside you. he woke up before you, and your soft snores become all he hears in the room. "oh my god" chenle massages his own temples, cursing under his breath.

you're still asleep, just barely awaken from your seemingly good dreams as chenle takes in a deep breath, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes with one hand.

he stares down at your sleeping figure, your hair too messy, cheeks rosy red, and your other hand still holding his, squeezing. he snickers silently, and you must not have been that deep asleep, because you shuffle against your couch.

chenle lets go of your hand to rummage for his phone, and you let out a small sound of defiance as you feel his fingers slip from yours.

he almost laughs again, watching the way your eyebrows furrow. 09:14 am. wow, he doesn't remember the last time he slept that long.

"good morning.." you mutter, though you keep your eyes closed. chenle narrows his own eyes, amused by the sight. you feel around until you grab his hand again, intertwining your fingers. "i'm tired".

"yeah?"

"..and it all hurts".

chenle sighs, unable to get away from your hand squeezing his. "you have ibuprofen or something?"

"i just need to.." you pause, finally getting up, somehow without letting go of chenle's hand. "like walk around for some hours" you wave your free hand dismissively, and when chenle sends you a look, you clear your throat. "sometimes i can just walk in circles and get rid of a hangover".

chenle scrunches his nose, and you laugh at the face he gives you. "i'm not sure why it works that way either, it just does".

"you're a strange guy".

you hum, running a hand through your tousled hair. you two stay silent for a moment, staring at each other. "so you stayed over, huh?"

chenle again scrunches his nose, his cheeks flaring up. "i didn't mean to fall asleep.." he mutters, stubbornness immediately on display. "i was tired".

"aww, you didn't stay for me?"

"don't make me vomit, y/n".

you stick out your tongue, jumping off the couch and dusting off your clothes. "you gonna stay around or would you like for me to walk you out?"

"let me settle into the morning air first.."

"okay weirdo".

chenle almost scoffs, there's no way you're calling him weird, you're as weird as jaemin. maybe that's why, weird people can't grasp their own weirdness, they see it all as completely normal.

"you don't have a shitty hangover do you?"

you shake the bottle of ibuprofen then grab a bottle of water, taking the medication as if simply programmed to do it. you narrow your eyes, picking up on chenle's staring problem. "you stare a lot, huh?"

chenle snaps out of his dissociative state, realizing you asked him a question. "oh no i'm fine, i didn't even try to drink that shitty alcohol".

you snicker, putting the medication away and walking towards the bathroom. "you're simply a little too uptight".

"uptight? how did anyone drink that?"

you shrug from where you are, your voice echoing from the bathroom. "jinyoung is pretty convincing" chenle hears the sink water start running, assuming that you're brushing your teeth.

"not enough for terrible drinks".

chenle rises from his place, trudging behind you towards the bathroom. he stands in the doorway and watches you, he doesn't know why he's so interested in watching you do even the simplest of things, there's simply something about you that makes the simplest of tasks so compelling to watch.

you again catch his eyes, spitting out your toothpaste. "you definitely have a staring problem".

chenle sighs, how is he even supposed to argue with that? he is quite literally proving to you that he has a staring problem.

he doesn't really have one, though, it's just with you that he can't help but stare.

he can't exactly respond to that one, and a smirk shows on your lips, you've rendered him speechless. "oh.. am i right?"

chenle's scoff is stubborn, his arms folding over his chest, there's tease in your voice that makes red spread across his cheeks. "you aren't, i just constantly need to be around someone.."

what a reasonable lie that you clearly buy! you simply roll your eyes in response, he really just lies like it's nothing. you clasp your hands behind your back, lips turning up. "why do you lie to me so much? do i make you nervous or something?"

and it's not like you step closer, you simply stand there with your hands behind your back, a tormenting smile playing on your lips. you aren't doing anything, but chenle's legs feel weak, you're simply standing and smiling, it's nothing crazy, but you are crazy, what gives you the right to stand and smile like that at chenle?

"don't flatter yourself".

you raise an eyebrow, smile permanent. god you look so kissable right now, maybe chenle should give into his desires and lean in.

but he doesn't, he simply scowls, feigning irritation at your lack of action. "sorry, forgot we're mortal enemies and all".

you whistle, hands shoving into your pockets and walking past chenle. "you want me to walk you out now?"

chenle turns as your shoulder brushes against his, following behind you to the door. "you don't have to".

you open your front door, motioning with your head. "i technically already did!" oh so you're trying to be a smart ass, how funny. chenle's face falls, and your lips turn up as his turn down.

"you're so annoying".

"i'm simply here to entertain" you sing, gently pushing chenle out of your dorm. "have a good day enemy!"

and chenle would've flipped you off if he wasn't distracted by your smile.

CHENLE LETS HIS STUBBORNNESS CARRY THROUGHOUT the week, even while you two see each other, occasionally talking, occasionally staring longingly (that's more on chenle's part, you have such intriguing facial features, and not in a creepy way). he definitely does not have dreams about kissing you, about going on dates, or even about you two being a real couple, that would be ridiculous, zhong chenle does not have a crush, and he especially does not have a crush on you. yes the evidence looks pretty undeniable, his stares linger too much, his eyes linger too much, especially on your lips, he practically itches to hold your hand when you two are in public, the whole "mortal enemies" thing becoming an inside joke for you two. you seem perpetually oblivious to chenle's stares, or maybe you're just acting, it's getting a bit difficult to tell.

the rise in romantic tension doesn't help the rumors that were already up in the air, because the more chenle stares at you like he wants to eat you (in very figurative and literal ways), the more people just make assumptions about what exactly is going on between you two.

to be fair, they die down in whispers, but not in speculation. chenle can't even glance at you without another post popping up on heeseung's (frankly terrible) gossip blog about how he's obsessed.

and maybe there's some truth there (but chenle would never admit that, he can't give lee heeseung credence, he actually likes himself), but no one should ever know that, and hopefully you don't, he knows you don't read all the shit online. you do enjoy completely irritating chenle, though, he doesn't remember the last day he had that wasn't fueled by your annoying rants.

now, it's become mundane for you to be everywhere, and though it's never uttered, chenle really doesn't mind. he finds your presence to be enjoying, you entertain him like no other.

so no matter how much he tries to feign stubbornness, he loves your company. it's amazing how someone so annoying could also be someone so entertaining, and so.. well— beautiful too.

it's strange how easily you two fall into a rhythm of just existing together. chenle feels as if his life would be stranger if you weren't showing up abruptly for another strange conversation to follow.

it does become friendship, yes, but you two never say it. there's a peculiar romantic line there that you guys never bring up, there are too many almost kissing moments that never actually amount to kissing. chenle thinks you must be playing with him, psychologically torturing him. you fucking know, he can see it in your stupid smile.

but he doesn't say anything, not wanting to think he's getting it all wrong. if there's something chenle has learned about you, it's that you're unpredictable, and seeing as how you usually act with your other friends, being super affectionate is naturally your thing.

chenle doesn't want to seem stupid, it would be so embarrassing if the feelings he's spent a good few months trying to ignore turned out to be unrequited.

"is this your idea of a dat— oh my god you have a puppy!?"

your voice pitches up as you catch sight of daegal, cooing at the puppy who barked as she saw you enter. chenle glances at you, your eyes practically shining as you stare at his dog. he barely bites back his smile. "this is daegal, she's my daughter".

you kneel down to get a closer look at the adorable puppy, lips jutted into a pout. "hi daegal! how are you?"

though she's a little hostile at first, she takes one step forward, and you ruffle her hair, earning an excited yelp. you look like your about to burst into tears with how adorable she is, and you cast your eyes at chenle. "she's so cute chenle.."

"are you gonna cry?"

you shake your head, but chenle still isn't convinced. "i love her, i should come here more often!" daegal makes a sound you take as agreement, and you gasp again.

"oh wow, you're already replacing me with my dog?"

"absolutely" daegal jumps into your arm, and you melt into the feeling. you close your eyes, basking in the air of chenle's dormitory. "she likes me more than you do".

chenle narrows his eyes, but he can't even pretend to be pissed, because you simply look so ecstatic, how could he even be mad?

"okay baby, come here" he doesn't even have to move his hand, but daegal leaps out of your arms to circle around chenle. "you can't just steal y/n from me" he teases, carrying her in his arms as he makes his way over to his room.

he hears your overdramatic gasp in the distance, the words certainly surprising. "did i just hear what i think i heard!?"

you're practically hopping as you follow behind chenle towards his room, barely able to contain your own excitement. "oh my god you like me!"

chenle snaps his head towards you, a piercing (yet faked) glare in his eyes. "no dummy, were mortal enemies".

"i heard that~" you sing, turning on your heel to glance around chenle's room. "you just always have that large stephen curry poster on your wall?"

"he's my idol" chenle places daegal on his bed, she immediately curls up beside one of his pillows and settles, relaxing.

"seems like an obsession".

"you don't get stephen curry like i do".

you stare incredulously, a small smile on your face. you place your chin onto chenle's shoulder, watching his once serene expression become one of irritation, his eye twitching. "maybe not, but i definitely get you now".

chenle raises an eyebrow, silently questioning those words in the reflection of his mirror. he blinks, almost afraid to catch your eyes, but he already has, he's staring at your spitting image right now.

you peel yourself on him, a dramatic sigh falling from your lips as you stare, hands on your hips. "how long have you had a crush on me?"

chenle narrows his eyes. "excuse me?"

"come on! give me an honest answer! i won't laugh, i like you too you know, it's honestly kind of cute—"

"y/n".

you pause, chenle knew you were about to begin a ramble, so you shut up, angering him not really being on your list of things to do. you give him the stage to speak his mind, and he deadpans at you. "you are so annoying".

"does that mean you do have a crush on me?"

he stares, fighting the smile that threatens to break on his face. "you are so annoying, it's stupid how i have a crush on you, it's so dumb! you're so annoying but it's also what makes you endearing, and charming, and cute and fuck you!"

and maybe chenle does spit such hurtful words, but he doesn't mean them. his face is unbearably red, cheeks heated to the max, it's embarrassing that he's admitting this to you, now all he has left to do is kill himself and change the trajectory of your life forever.

you stare for a moment, and then you begin laughing, small giggles falling from your lips in such a rapid pace chenle is afraid you'll die.

"you always tell people you like them by shouting?"

"you're so annoying".

"is that your way of saying you love me?" you ask, stepping closer with your hands clasped together. "maybe we should talk about it".

"do you want me to die..?" he mutters, face still incredibly hot. he glares again, but he can't even keep his composure. "i'll take back that confession".

"aww, i like it when you yell at me though".

chenle shoves you backward, yet he smiles anyway. you're so annoying, but maybe there's allurement sprinkled in that he can't exactly ignore. "i fucking hate you.." he mumbles.

you again stare, simply pure adoration in your eyes. you again step closer, fingers grazing his jaw in gentle swipes along the edges. you pause, uncharacteristically silent. "can i kiss you?"

chenle stops. oh! well he didn't expect for this to happen now. he looks up, staring for much too long, thinking for much too long. "i— um, yeah.. yes".

the response fizzles into the air, overtaken by the influx of your cherry flavored chapstick, his bottom lip caught between your teeth as your finger draw shapes into his hip. chenle didn't guess this one, maybe it's because he always bites first, but then again, unpredictability is a thing with you.

your teeth scrape against the plush, pink skin, not rough enough to draw blood, you have courtesy. the action produces just the slightest hint of a whimper from chenle, what a fuel to your ego.

when you two pull away for air, chenle's first move is to avoid eye contact. you giggle at the sight of his cherry red cheeks, your fingers still graze his jaw, slowly turning his head in your direction. "hi".

maybe chenle's smile is too wide, but he's done giving a fuck. he begins fiddling with the zipper of your sweater, trying to distract himself. you again laugh, seemingly amused by his actions. "let's not do this before i take you on a date" you whisper, implications high in the air.

chenle's cheeks again flare up, and much too easily as well. "you think i wanna sleep with you right after we just kissed?"

"people are strange.. and you are people".

"you think i'm moving too quick" chenle pokes your cheek, resisting the urge to place a kiss onto it, maybe not now. you hum happily, intertwining your fingers.

"i didn't say it, let me treat you before sex".

the words are much too honest, but chenle loves honest. it's so stupid, you're so stupid. "what makes you think we're having sex?"

"oh just wait".

chenle frowns, eyebrows furrowing. "that sounds like a threat" he states, scratching behind his ear.

you whistle again, hands behind your back as you laugh. "you've definitely said worse, i'll treat you well".

you hold your hand out again, and chenle takes it without any hesitation, basking in the feeling of your soft hands on his own. "okay, i'm holding you to that, if you fail i'll hang your head on my wall".

you snicker, nudging him. "see? you are worse! it's obvious!"

chenle scowls, but it's so lighthearted that he can't even call it a scoff anymore. "you're so annoying".

you tug at his hand, a small act of defiance. "thank you, enemy".

your fingers slip from chenle's, and he can't fight his smile. you're so annoying, yes, but you're also so pretty.

"CAN YOU STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE YOU WANT to kill me?" if chenle thinks about it, you really are jaemin's twin. jaemin's stare is reminiscent of the ones you share with chenle whenever he glares, arms crossed, nose scrunched. jaemin's lips turn downward into a frown, a frown that directly copies yours, wow, you two are simply carbon copies of each other, no wonder you're such good friends. chenle finds it weird that almost anything can remind him of you now, considering you two have only been dating for two weeks (where did all the time go?), his terrible staring problem hasn't gotten any better anyway, he can stare at you with free reign whenever he wants to. it's too hard to be stubborn when he's so obvious, especially because you could just raise an eyebrow and he'd crumble (only a little though, not all the way).

"how else am i supposed to stare at you?" chenle's eyes hold a certain distaste, and jaemin lets out a loud, overdramatic sigh. "do you always have to ask me stupid questions?"

his hands fall at his sides, an action that chenle judges in it's entirety. "jeno would treat me better than this.."

"go sit with him then".

chenle doesn't have to tell him twice, he stomps his feet like a baby and trudges towards where jeno sits. he can barely stifle his laughter, something about jaemin's stupid way of responding to things is amusing.

chenle might just leave right now, it's not like this is one of the games that one of jaemin's random friends is playing at, this is simply a random volleyball game for a team he doesn't really care about (with no offense to the players).

his hands scratch at the fabric of his pants, he's only here because he decided to give into jaemin's incessant begging. oh screw na jaemin.

"this fucking sucks.."

"is this becoming your thing?"

chenle startles, jumping from his spot with a small squeak. he then relaxes when he sees you, a glare settling in his eyes. "you need to stop doing that" he responds, and you snicker, completely amused. "i didn't think you were coming".

"i was looking for you" you whisper, hands behind your back. "since when is jaemin so convincing to you?"

"he isn't, he's just annoying".

"wonder where i've heard that before" you feign thought, tapping your finger onto your chin. your lips turn up as you catch chenle roll his eyes, he's simply so easy to irritate. "you're so mean to me".

"that's my job".

you gasp, hand placing itself over your heart. "you just stole my cue".

i've unconsciously begun taking up some of your habits too, what the fuck is up with that?

the words aren't said, though. chenle simply reaches over and takes your hand, deciding to not say the obvious. you stare for a moment, then your lips turn up in their usual manner.

"that happens when i spend so much time around you" he tugs you forward by your hand, practically pressing you against him. "i'm picking up your annoying habits".

"is annoying your favorite word?"

"annoying is what you are".

you narrow your eyes, swinging your laced hands back and forth. "but you love me" you sing, much too enamored to even be bothered by his insults.

chenle scoffs, but he doesn't deny, simply squeezes your hand. it's difficult to care about anyone else when you're right here, even the people who send you weird looks (which is strange considering everyone already thought you were dating before you actually were, why is it weird that you two are holding hands?).

he shakes his head. "absolutely not".

you frown, that sick, sad frown that is just much too convincing. there's no reason for you to look so sad so flawlessly, chenle wants to punch you in the face. it's how he'll show his love for you.

the game won't start for a long time, he probably would've died of boredom if you hadn't shown up. "hey you wanna go?"

chenle glances at you. "go where?"

"literally anywhere but here" you state, nudging him with your shoulder. "i won't bore you much, i swear".

chenle sighs, he has no argument for that, he would rather be anywhere but here. "if jaemin texts you, don't answer".

you snicker at that, looking down at the ground. "he's going to think you killed me or something" you mutter, just lightly shuddering at the cold air that hits you both as you exit through the door.

"maybe i will" he responds, his rings would usually clash against your hand if not for the feeling being so mundane. "i have to rip you away from daegal, she's getting too used to you".

"is threatening to kill me your way of showing love?"

chenle stares for a moment, simply basking in everything. your intertwined fingers, the cool evening air, the comfort of it all, maybe chenle isn't exactly all that mad at jaemin, you're right here beside him, talking your ass off, and he laughs, it's all so funny. "sometimes you piss me off".

"i'm hoping you said that with love".

it's gotten much too difficult to successfully act serious around you, you're too funny. "of course i did, stupid".

you raise an eyebrow, an action that makes chenle sigh. you have to know that's his weakness, it's much too easy to get him. "say it, please?"

chenle cannot believe the audacity you have. you greatly piss him off, you bat your eyelashes as you patiently wait for him to confess his love to you.

chenle lets out a loud, exasperated breath. you're so annoying.

"i love you".

your face lights up, cheeks flaring at the confession. you press a kiss to chenle's cheek, enamored.

"i love you too".

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unicorn-gallerexy · 6 months

Text

Howdy, I totally mean to post more and didn't do any of that but then i got stuck with this idea and getting it out so here ya go, i want it out my face. There will be part 2, but i need a break bc this too so long and is longer than i wanted it. Only mildly proofread, rada rada, yknow the drill

Word count: 12.7K (i managed to hit the end of like 3 keep notes, i ain't ever done that)

CW: (technical) Homewrecker!Atsumu x Wife! Reader, smut, (kinda/justified) cheating, manipulation and mild threats (not from Atsumu), open marriage (you weren't vibing with it), trash treatment from husband, Long af, Atsumu being mad bc wtf is up with your husband?

One for Another

When your husband asked his question, excited just after coming home, you thought you couldn't hear. Or maybe it was that you didn't understand?

Either way, you asked him to repeat himself.

"I want to open our relationship. It sounds like a good idea, yeah?" He smiles, like there's nothing wrong with his sudden asking, and the look you give him is blank before it obviously reads upset.

"Why?" You steady your voice a lot easier than you steady your mind. You were hurt, this was so out of the blue. Yes, he had voiced a bit of an issue with your extra few pounds, or how you didn't dress up more often, or how you didn't have as much sex anymore (which was more his fault but he blamed you and the weight you put on) but you were working in it. You started working out in your own home because he was insistent that other people, like his coworkers, could see you let yourself go. You worked on being consistent with skincare and wearing more clothes that flattered you. You were actually looking quite a bit better than you had before. At least you and your friends thought so...

"Because it's a great idea?" He says it so easy as if you should be understanding. Seeing as you don't look pleased, his smile drops and he heaves a sigh so heavy at the thought of explaining himself. "Look you and i haven't... Been on the same page for a while. You and I just aren't matching up right now, so i figured it would be good to open the relationship so we can fill in those gaps."

"What gaps? I've been working on myself for damn near two months now, solely because you asked. What am i not doing for you?"

"Jesus Christ, this isn't about you. It's about us being happy, and im not happy. Im also not just trying to leave you high and dry but im sure you're not happy either." He says the part about you not being happy as if it doesn't matter to him. His emphasis was on him not being happy, and the part of not leaving you sounded more like a chore than a willful choice.

He swept you off your feet and promised a life a comfort. He was working on a promotion, he complimented you regularly and the sex wasn't bad at all. You fell for his charm easy, and he seemingly fell for you just as hard. After a few years, he asked you to marry him and made it known you could depend on him completely. Your job was basically down the drain by the time the wedding happened due to higher positions deciding the right way didn't make them enough money fast enough. He said you could trust him to take care of you, that he'd keep you happy and comfy, that he didn't mind a housewife for a while. You let yourself fall into that role, it wasn't hard. The house he bought was sizeable but not too big, the chore list was never too long and you did indeed live comfortably.

Over time, through his several promotions to an executive seat, you moved into bigger and better, all while he coaxed you into being his lovely little housewife and homemaker. Anytime you talked of going back, he'd mention how the job market wasn't the best, reports of customers abusing staff locally, rumors he "heard" here or there about owners and managers of places you were looking into, and always mentioning how you complained of every job you had. How you hated working, but how you were basically just taking care of yourself and he was taking care of you by working and giving you a card of his he didn't need to keep track of.

This was more temporary than you thought it was.

In the last two promotions, he had been given an assistant that always seemed a little too close for comfort. If you ever brought it up, he'd only mention how he married you and how she worked for him, so he couldn't be cheating on you. He blamed your insecurities and said you were forcing your own self doubt on him, and how that wasn't fair. At first the responses seemed loving, in their own way, before they turned angry. He'd shout about you being insecure, how you were trying to accuse him of things you had no proof of. He'd leave the house and even when he came back, he rarely ever apologized. He'd simply place more money onto the card and talk to you as he normally would. He pretended to care with a kiss on the forehead and half holding you in bed every so often.

That didn't stop him from pointing out your mounting flaws over time. It didn't stop him from refusing any sort of advances you made, day off or not. Didn't stop him not inviting you to company events as he had in the past and instead saying he was going with *her instead because "family isn't invited this time around" as if there weren't pictures posted later of his coworkers with their wives who you know don't work for the company at the same event.

You would've left a long time ago, really. But he wasn't wrong in saying you were insecure. Or that he'd leave you high and dry. He managed to manipulate you into not having a job for years, which doesn't look the greatest when applying for new ones, which created your dependency on him for financial reasons but he also had preyed on the parts of yourself you couldn't stand, made you feel like he and he alone loved you, like no one else would or could love you. You defended his words when your friends brought up concern by citing that he was right, as no one had really come up to you to flirt or asked you out prior to him so there wasn't really much competition for you. And, at the time, he at least liked you.

All for it to be thrown back in your face now. The waves of realization hit like you're in a losing boxing match. You feel your eyes burn but refuse to let any tears fall. He, unfortunate as it may be, can still read you at least a little. He comes and wraps his arms around you in a hug that makes you feel slimy, but you don't pull away as there's no where else to go really. "Listen baby, this isn't just a good thing for me. It's a good decision for both of us. I'm not giving you what you want, you aren't giving me what i want, don't you think it's better to find those things in other people and still have each other to come home to? At least give it a shot." He insists. It's obvious to you now, he doesn't care about you finding someone, only about him being allowed to do as he wants without being called a name that fits.

Part of you want to ask, but you figure you won't get answers if you do. You feel backed into a corner with no real way to lash out. So, you give a reluctant and strained yes, giving in to your defeat in hopes it hurts a little less. He kiss the back of your head and quickly slips away from you, grabbing his keys and saying something about being back later before slipping out of the door. You hear it lock, you hear the car start and drive off, and looking at the time on the clock in the stove behind you, it now reads 7:38pm. You could swear he turned his head to look at it when he was behind you.

The weekend comes in shortly after, he says he's going on a trip and you don't bother to ask where to or when he'll be back. You're already distant and its only been a few days, not that he cares at all. He packs and leaves in a hurry, only sending a text of "I love you" about an hour later. You've yet to tell anyone, feeling overwhelmed with shame and stupidity at not seeing any signs earlier on to avoid this. Or maybe because you feel ashamed that you couldn't keep your husband satisfied? That he was seduced by someone you'd consider younger and prettier than you'll ever be. You're not that old, nor are you bad looking but that's not how you see it. Your eyes only seem to find more and more inadequacies each time you look into a mirror. From the bags darkening under your eyes to your hair becoming more tangled with your lack of care, from the flaring breakouts across your face from stress and ditching your routine to the weight you worked off coming back with friends because you wallow on the couch and dropped your workout routine.

What was the point?

You had nothing else to work towards. Sure you barely looked different from before him, and if you got back into all of it, you'd look basically the same as you did then, maybe a bit better, but what would be the point? No one wanted you before he did, he literally had no competition for your affection or attention. The only thing that's changed that you can't undo is the passing of time. Sure, in the grand scheme of things you really weren't that much older than you were then but, if no one wanted you then, who would want you now?

You couldn't give an answer, and thus your brain concluded with: no one.

You eventually wind up inviting friends over about 2 weeks into his trip and, not having heard from you for longer, they jump at the chance to see you. When they arrive, and you answer the door, disheveled in sweats, they can see that you're not holding up well and the sweet smiles and loud hi's drop. Being asked what's wrong sets off the water works, not having cried in or out of his presence made the dam behind your eyes too full, and concerned friendly voices opened the gates. You step aside to let them in and they immediately hug you, telling you to calm down enough to at least tell them what's wrong but the sobs are violent, shaking your body completely and taking the strength from your legs. They guide you to the couch, sit at your sides and tell you to cry it out, seeing as every time you try and speak, it's unintelligible.

When you manage to calm yourself enough in your friends arms, you don't lift your gaze from the floor, explaining why you haven't answered calls or texts and why you just spent a literal hour crying into them. To say their furious is an understatement. They shout question after question, most at how he could do this and feel nothing. You cry into your hands, and that's when they calm down, starting to throw suggestions, the first being divorce. You remind them of how he basically holds all your financials, your place to live, and a solid position in his company. Your friends sigh as they realize that leaving, at least now, isn't a real option. After a moment of quiet thinking, and soft sniffles, your first best friend grabs you by both shoulders with a smile. "Open relationship, right? That means you can also do what you want. We can get you back on track with all your routines and go out, take you with us on singles night!" She's beaming even if you don't look the most into the idea, your other best friend seeming to voice your thoughts for you.

"As if he'll actually let her have another relationship outside of him with no repercussions. Be real, May. He'd flip his shit because he just wanted to go out and fuck anything that breathes without being called a cheater" May pouts, having already thought of that in a more minor capacity.

"I figured that, Kura. We don't have to tell him shit. He's not even being that discreet about it, with the 2 of us helping her out, he'll never know." She leans to speak over your shoulder to Kura before looking back at you with soft, loving, hopeful eyes that you feel you haven't experienced in a while. "Maybe we can actually find you a real man who'll treat you right and wont do this shit. You don't deserve to just wallow here by your self." Her hands cup your face as she awaits an answer and you shake your head in her hands.

"No one wanted me before, May. Who's gonna want me now? I'm older and-"

"Still hot, at least when you're not distressed." Kura says from behind you, smiling with some sort of support for the plan. You shake your head as May keeps hold of you.

"Okay but everything is here, workout equipment and-"

"We'll take you to the gym with us! Kura has been wanting to get in there for a while but she keeps bailing on me. I'll take you two with me and then we're all obligated to go. We'll go on spa days, I'll call you so you don't have to acknowledge him while you do your routine here. Trust me, thought out much more than you think." May beams, Kura chiming in about possibly just moving rooms so you have space if you haven't already. Both paw at you and basically beg, saying it'll at least be good just to get out for a little while every day even if you aren't man hunting. You tear up again, and when asked why, you say you thought they'd me mad at you, tell you i told you so or something because you didn't listen when they spoke up. You're given the warmest embrace you've had in a minute as they tell you it's not your fault, it's his. He preyed on you, just to throw you away for nothing substantial. You cry, and say ok, agreeing to go with them and along with their plan, causing them both so squeal with joy before May goes to bolt upstairs.

"Where are you going?" You sniffle, caught in Kura's arms as you look up the stairs.

"To run you a proper bath. We're having an at home spa night now. You need it." She scrunches her nose in the way that makes you laugh and knowing you still have some happiness makes them happy.

The night goes on as they wish, both helping wash your hair and your face, saying you need a break as they pamper you and do their best to drive away the sadness in your heart, or at least distract from it. They help you move things into another room, opting to watch terrible B and latter alphabet movies, doing your face routines together and eating proper food since you've seen gorging on junk food for a while now. They opt to stay over for a few days when you tell them your husband wont be home for another 3 weeks. Both girls help you clean up, do laundry, and essentially reset your home to brinf back a real sense of normalcy. May sits and picks out a couple gym appropriate outfits, laying them on top of the dresser, before they leave you a couple days before your husband is supposed to be back. They kiss your forehead, hug you tight and tell you the day of a group gym trip so you look forward to it. Kura notes she wont back out if you don't, putting a sense of responsibility on you to ensure you don't bail last minute.

When your husband comes back, he finds you lounging about in the other room, only to ask a question you truly dreaded hearing. "Hey, I can still have the bedroom to myself for a bit right?" Behind the doorway, at his side you can see another shadow in the sunlight that bathes the house and a feminine giggle from behind him. You simply wave him off, a half hearted mumble sending him on his way to the bedroom, girl in tow. You hear the door shut, lock clicking into place as you curl into yourself and text your friends. They send you texts to just forget about it as much as possible, you telling them it's hard when you can hear them through the walls and know he feels no sense of remorse.

That was what killed you most, the fact he was doing it all and seemed to feel nothing for you. No remorse, no guilt or shame, not even the tiniest bit of pity even if it would piss you off. You realized quick he didn't feel anything negative about it, but that didn't mean it didn't suck to have such a blatant display of what you could only feel was disrespect. Then again, you're surprised it didn't happen earlier.

Your affluent living situation meant a very nice, expensive gym wasn't too far away. May and Kura didn't live in the expensive part of the city but they had good jobs and kept up with the monthly payment plan that even you and your more frugal upbringing balked at when you got the sign up paper at the desk. Once paying the overcharged fee and getting your membership card, May lead you and Kura around to show you the facilities the gym had to offer and blabbed about the famous and influential people she's seen in passing from actors to local businessmen to athletes. Kura and you keep up as she taps your arm for your attention. "I'm kinda starting to regret coming with May." She whispered, no malice behind as you nod and hum in agreement.

You feel exposed even if your fully clothed. The sports bra and crop you normally wear to workout at home suddenly feeling to short to be worn outside (even if you've done so a million times) and the yoga shorts holding your ass nicely feeling all too tight to be worn in public. You can't help the shy stance you keep as May guides you past a the sauna, pool, and cryo rooms towards the side of the building, keeping one arm wrapped around yourself and the other down at your side. Kura is dressed in similar pants, but her top is a loose cotton shirt you wish you'd gone for instead. May, being the one used to being here, is in a good sports bra and yoga shorts due to the weather. Once her tour is over, she guides you into the large workout room, complete with just about any and every machine you'd need for every part of your body. You wanna vomit.

You know you left to get away from your currently shitty home life but now you actually kinda regret coming. May turns with a big smile that falls quick when she takes note of yours and Kura's faces. She keeps hopeful, taking you both by the hands over to the treadmills that face out of the window. "We can start here so that you two can get a bit more comfy, yea?" You both nod and hop on, the 3 of you starting at the same pace and making mild small talk.

After you and Kura seem to loosen up, noted by you finally dropping your arm from around yourself, May takes the opportunity to switch it up and get you guys through some stretches. From there, it's basically downhill. May is fit, not annoying about it and it shows. She puts you and Kura to your limits and genuinely encourages you the entire time in such a way that's hard to be mad at. You're at it for hours until the final stretch for your cool down when she beams "And we're done! That was fun, wasn't it?"

"I regret.. My decision." Kura pants.

"Fun isn't what id give it but i mean..." You trail off with a weak wave of your hand on the floor next to Kura as May hops up to drag you both down the hall and to the sauna. When you both express dismay over the sound of sitting in a hot, moist room on a hot day after being worked to near death, May assures you that you'll just both feel so much better after and if you're so inclined, she'll take you to the actual pool for a bit after. You and Kura grimace at the thought of being more openly exposed than you already are at one another as you follow May and say you'll both pass on that part today.

Out of clothes, wrapped in towels, May hands off your clothing to one do the workers before noting to you as they leave that they're gonna wash them. You and Kura share a surprised look at her as she pushes you both into the (thankfully) empty sauna. She does everything to set it up and soon enough the room is hot and steamy, her eyes fixing to continuously check on you two as you close your eyes and drop your head to relax in the warm, wet heat. "So how long can we be expected to be alone in here?" Kura asks, scooting to put just a bit more distance between you two which you're thankful for.

"With how long we've worked out, not too much longer. But we don't have to leave or anything like that. We can basically stay in here for as long as we want, though it is recommended to leave at some point to prevent overheating." She sighs.

"With how much we have to pay for a monthly membership, we better be able to stay in here for as long as we want." You complain, Kura letting out a small laugh as she lays her head against the wall. She and May look at you, your head still down and eyes still closed.

"Black card for your thoughts, lovely?" Kura mutters, you shake your head before answering.

"Just thinking about home, unfortunately. Thinkin about how i let it get here honestly." Kura pushes your arm and you look at your friends, both sets of eyes stern but full of care as they note him and whatever he's doing isn't worth any more of tour head space. Kura throwing the idea to take him for what he's useful for and buy everyone lunch after, naming off pricy places your younger self could only dream of going. You laugh at her, especially as may joins in with the new ultra luxury bakery that just opened up and is known to be pure Instagram fodder and not actually good baked goods. Just as you near snort with laughter at their suggestions, about to cut in with something cheaper and actually good, the door opens and causes you three to scoot a bit closer to one another in a corner and 4 actually fairly familiar faces trail in, shortly followed by a duo that you can tell aren't with the prior 4. Your husband's work and you being his previous arm candy piece at work events let you passionately shake hands with plenty of elites, faces recognizable to you easy. The 4 who are making conversation amongst themselves are athletes, specifically the (debatably) most popular members of the team. Koutarou Bokuto, Shoyo Hinata, Kiyoomi Sakusa, and Atsumu Miya.

The other 2 are businessmen that you've seen at damn near every single even you went to with your husband, higher ups from a company his worked with. They were always hitting you in the worst way so your nose unconsciously crinkles before you turn to Kura and May. You aren't too surprised, May did say plenty of the wealthy who live close by here and even some who don't come to this gym just because of how nice and/or exclusive it is. You hope somewhere inside yourself that the duo doesn't notice you at all, as that would help the first day back to a workout routine all the better.

Of course, you cant ever have what you want. The universe curses you by making one of the idiot duo loudly recognize your left shoulder tattoo of a chubby kitten playing with stars from various franchises, like animal crossing fragments and Rosalina's stars from Mario games. "Oh shit! I remember that dumb little tattoo! Y/n, how have you been babe?" He says. You roll your eyes hard enough to hurt as you feel every pair of eyes in this small room land on you. You force a smile and turn your head, giving a strained hi and fine. He and his friend start to bombard you with questions at your minor acknowledgement. Your husband, what he's been up to and things like that. You answer most, half with lies as Kura leans over your back and tells them to call him if they've got "such a hard on for him" instead of harassing you.

Kura has taken on most of your lost bite while you work to get it back, and you find yourself plenty thankful for it. You don't miss the small snorts of laughter from the other side of sauna and neither do the duo on the other side of you. Not liking to feel any sort of embarrassment, and somehow deciding that the wife of their business colleague is their prime target, the second one opens his mouth with venom. "You know Y/n, i have friends who work with your husband. We haven't seen you at any of the company get togethers anymore, yknow? But we have seen him with this real pretty dame on his arm. You make him get a replacement so you don't have to be there or what?" They way you stiffen is visible and your brain short circuts on what to do next for a half second. Both have this smug smile on their face as everyone looks wide eyed at the two, and they look at you.

You stand, eyes lifting from the ground where you had planted them during talking to them initially. "The fact you two are so mad because you cant even get escorts to sleep with you, much less me when im married so you go around saying shit like that is honestly pathetic." Your hand slaps the one who opened his mouth before you can rethink it, turning on your heels to leave at you hear not just your friends but the other men in the room giving them quite the reprimanding as you float your way to where you can pick up your freshly washed clothes. You must've been in there for longer than you thought, as they're set out with your membership card on top to show ownership. You're quick to change as you hear voices outside looking for you. You step out and toss the towel into the bin they have out for them and your friends rush to your side and try to comfort you but you simply tell them to get dressed so you can go and eat.

They're dressed in a flash and following you out the front door, you never noticing the sets of eyes that manage to trail your form as you storm out with your friends hot on your ass, wiping your eyes. Once in the car, there's a beat of silence as they seem to try and find what would be the rihht thing to say after that. What do they say? Your tears don't wait, a uncontrolled sob escaping you before your hand covers your mouth to hold back the rest of the noise as you cry. He's so brazen about it, of course other people notice but the last thing you wanted was to be confronted with it anywhere else. You're hugged from two directions, hands rubbing your back and arms to soothe you as May says she wont blame you for bailing after that. You shake your head, taking deep breaths to calm yourself and taking the tissue Kura passes you from her bag to wipe your eyes and blow your nose before you close your eyes. Clearing your throat, you croak. "I'm still going to do it... I'm not gonna let this stop me... Even if it sucks..." Kura pats you on the back, saying she'll still be with you and May clapping at you not letting it throw you down without a fight.

You get to pick lunch. A nice sit down hot pot spot that's having a slow day, so they wave the typical time limit they have and sit you three in a cozy booth. You loose track of time, your friends being efficient in distracting your mind from the day's sour turn, laughing and eating to replenish some energy. You three can see the door, and have made a game of betting (without money of course) on if the groups and couples who come in have ever actually been to a hot pot place or if they came in because they think it's "exotic". It's a dumb little game that results in fun banter. Lo and behold, the bell advice the door dings again and in walk... The same 4 athletes who basically saw you getting outted as being cheated on. The MSBY black jackles, with the rest of the team in tow. The owner working the register guides them to the large booth in the opposite corner from you and your friends, who ask if you wanna go after seeing the 4 familiar faces. You shake your head, saying you're having fun and betting that the extra shy, probable assistant, hasn't been to hot pot before as you slip a leafy green veggie in your mouth. You're friends smile and agree with you're bet, and you let your night continue.

The three of you fall easy back into yourselves as the waiter comes to top up your broth for the 3rd time, never noticing the pair of eyes that seem to linger along your form here and there. You don't even notice how the same eyes trail you once again as you leave out with your friends, looking considerably happier than when you left the gym. He knows he shouldn't be looking so hard, but he just cant seem to understand. Why would a man who married you not want you or not want to show you off?

You keep to your word and go back three days later, muscles sore the day after from how hard May worked you both but you return nonetheless to join her again as she says you'll both get used to it and she'll keep the routine the same for a while to help speed up that process. She beams at both of your forlorned faces as she makes you both get down on the floor for your stretches.

She keeps to her word, and you get back into your prior habits as your friends remind you that self care shouldn't be tied to the scumbag you live with as they have now deemed him. Your days with them are your highlights, whether it's just lunch and the gym or if they come over to insult your husband in the guest room you've moved into. Your gym trips are a bit better for your mental health tho, having made a couple of friends through May's bubbly personal skills and being away from your husband's revolving door of women. You tend to avoid anyone who has more consistent contact with your husband or his job to avoid any more incidents like your first day and that seems to do you well, though you've of course run into several big names that have worked with his company or him once or twice. You don't mind those, especially since some are constant faces anytime you go to be whipped into shape by May.

Some of the more consistent faces you see are those of Athletes, specifically coming across the MSBY team again and again. The 4 who initially witnessed your sauna incident either didn't remember it or simply never seemed to show they did, none giving you any odd looks or pitied glances any time your eyes seemed to catch theirs in passing. You were always the first to turn away, never catching on to the way one of them seemed to stare. At least not at first. The more often you came, the more you saw them and vice versa. The more you saw them, the more he could stare. The more he could stare, the more you seemed to catch him and while he would avert his gaze elsewhere or focus of the weight in his hands, he'd still eventually find a way to stare at you again all whilst taking pride in the way you seemed to fluster under his gaze. That man was Atsumu Miya.

Of course, his blatant "eye fucking" as Sakusa would call it didn't go unnoticed by the others, Bokuto and Hinata scolding him for essentially hitting on a married woman. When away from other who knew nothing about the information they had heard in the sauna, Atsumu defends himself. "He's cheatin on 'er anyways and i haven't even said anything. Why can't i look?" The others always reply that it's not the point.

"They might be trying to work it out?" Hinata mutters, making all of them turn their nose and Atsumu respond with a "Fuckin hope not." The boys were raised on better teachings so, even if they were reprimanding their friend for his borderline inappropriate behavior, they still don't like the idea of some poor, pretty girl "working things out" with a man that obviously doesn't care about her. Atsumu's typical defense doesn't hold up for long though. As time passes, the more he sees you, the more he tries to find ways to talk to you. From bringing you and your friends water to engage in small talk under the guise of being kind before he's called back to managing to catch you and your friends as you're about to leave some other amenity after making sure he worked out for just a bit longer, saying it was to not slack close to a game, to be sure he caught you at the tail end of your swim or sauna sit. Atsumu continues to argue that there's nothing wrong with making small talk or incidentally running into someone in a shared public space.

"You don't even know what incidentally means, homewrecker." Sakusa shoots, Atsumu having an aghast expression at the word. Though, with more time and the tiny tidbits of info he learns about you personally, the more the insult seems to not matter. You're a nice convo partner, and he's just being nice, right?

Of course, you have other obligations to attend to aside from the gym. You know he still expects you to clean the house, that damn bedroom you can't find it in yourself to even look at much less sleep in anymore included, and make him (and guests he brings) food. You'd refuse if he didn't opt for the coercive method of throwing the fact you don't have a job right now in your face, guests there or not. You just go with it at this point to avoid talking to him, moving away or giving minimal acknowledgement when he tries to soothe you with empty hugs and worthless words. So the supermarket is your other safe haven. No hard work, no husband or women he's fucking, no real stress aside from not finding something you're craving. Crossing into the refrigerated section causes a shiver, eyes scanning over price tags you've never gotten used to looking at. As you reach out for a pack of chicken with a decent tag, a stronger hand brushes in front of your to cross in the other direction. Looking up reveals a familiar blonde headed athlete who seems to beam at seeing you, as if he didn't see you a couple aisles ago.

"Hey, been a couple days. How ya been?" He asks, taking his hand away and gesturing for you to grab your thing first.

"Been alright, resting up before my May drags us back. You?" Conversation comes easy, he's noticed you're kinda quiet so he takes the lead in asking questions and talking about his own things. He's careful, even subconsciously, about asking certain questions as to not put you in a sour mood. You ask him the occasional question as he seems to follow you around, noting he doesn't have anything else to do except his own personal grocery trip, like about his games and team. He has no issue answering, giving the occasional jab at them and joking with you to make you giggle behind your hand as you both float around the store until you both have to check out. When he realizes that the window is closing on the most in depth conversation he's ever had with you, he spings an invitation as you both exit the store. "Umm... Hey, do you maybe wanna come over to mine later? To keep talking? I think you're actually pretty interesting." He says quickly, trying to make sure you don't think what he feels you are.

You smile, laughing softly. "Your reputation is starting to sound a bit more true. You always invite girls over to 'talk' after you grocery shop with them?" He smiles and shakes his head, free hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Nah, just you." He flirts, and liking the feel of the missing male attention, you agree. He comes and tells you where his place is, and upon looking at it typed out, you realize that it's actually not far from where you and him live. Like, just a bit farther, just almost out of sight due to the curve, down the long street that your house sits at. You can walk to his house. When you tell him as much, he laughs. "Small world, huh? I'll leave the door open then." He shoots you a wink before heading on his way to his car ad you do yours.

When you get home, you don't speak to your husband. This is now normal. You simply put away the groceries you bought save for what you cook after. Once you've rushed through making a meal you have no real intentions of eating, you simply shoot him an "I'm heading out." Before slipping out of the door and taking a slow, leisurely stroll down to Atsumu's place. It takes about 20 minutes at that pace, and once in front of the door, you get butterflies. That old familiar flutter in the base of your tummy makes you hesitate to knock but you're a big girl, so you reach your hand up to give a few solid pounds to the heavy door. His place is nice, you've seen every house in the neighborhood at least once but you never really knew who lived in them. You were already housewife status before you moved here so you rarely came outside or interacted with any neighbors except next door and directly across the street.

The door opens with the slightly sticky sound of the seal meant to keep the outside out, and in the way of your view into the luxury home stands a broad chest. Your eyes get stuck for a half second before they trail up to his face, bright smile already splayed across his face. "Well howdy neighbor." You've heard him speak so the accent wasn't low on you but there sure are some words that really bring it out. You bow your head with your greeting and he turns himself to the side to let you in. "What took so long? I was waitin for ya." He asks jokingly, and you smile as you tell him about having to cook before you left because if you didn't do it, who would? He hears how lighthearted you make it sound, and he swallows the frown before it gets to appear on his face. You're keeping your head high to cope and it makes him wanna gag as his eyes trail up you, seeing no real flaw as to why some man wouldn't wanna be with you. He thinks you're real pretty, gorgeous even. You're also smart, funny and pretty quick witted when your head's not in the clouds. He knows it's a little odd to feel so strongly for the situation of a woman you just met, but his mama taught him so much better than that so when confronted with shit like this, it's hard to fathom. Even more so when the subject of it is right in front of him, oh so beautiful with your-

"Atsumu? Earth to pro athlete, need you back down here, big guy. Atsumu?" Shit. He had zoned out looking at you as you spoke so when he shakes his head and politely asks you to repeat the last thing you said, he feels awful. You seen a little too used to it as you shrug it off, which he feels makes it worse, and ask again. "I said: Did you have a plan when you invited me over or were you just gonna go with the flow and see what happens?" You stand with your hands behind your back so to not touch anything, and he struggles with his mind wandering as he motions for you to sit down and quickly jogs into his kitchen.

"I mean, we had a pretty nice time talking at the grocery store so i figured we could just pick up where we left off." He calls before coming to set a glass of lemonade down in front of you on the coffee table. "And if you stay long enough, i wouldn't mind you joining me for dinner?" It comes out like a question, you've been here for all of 2 minutes max and he's already inviting you to stay longer. He's so eager in a way you cant help but giggle and agree. You watch as he sits on the other side of the couch before starting to engage you in some bit of conversation from before. What you pick up on is that he constantly tries to get you to talk more and he pays actual attention to what you say. Anytime you quiet down out of habit, he asks you another question. The conversation hops from life experiences, to vacations, to upbringings. Anything to get you to talk to him more, anything to learn as much as possible about you, anything to make you smile and giggle like he's getting so enamored with.

He can't keep convincing himself that he's just being nice.

Not as he moves just a bit closer every time he sits back down from refilling your drinks. Not as he keeps trailing his eyes up and down your form when you laugh hard enough to close your eyes. Not when he has to fend off the mild shutter that slides up his back at certain words you say. Not as he continues to mentally say you're basically in the right if you were to do something outside of your marriage, and how he'd offer himself up in a heartbeat despite the guilt he'd been raised to have. Maybe if he finds out just a bit more about your garbage life partner, he can get rid of all the guilt he has. So he asks as you sip at the wine he offered up along with dinner, citing he's not as good as his brother in the kitchen but he does know a bit.

"Hey, i understand if it's still kinda touchy and you really don't have to answer if you don't wanna but, im just having a hard time wrapping my head 'round it." He starts, and your stomach turns as you know what he's gonna ask. But you sigh and down the rest of the glass, feeling It's better to get it out there now rather than feel like you're manipulating the situation later. The feeling of being wanted for a bit was nice while it lasted though. You set the glass down next to your empty plate and turn to face him, questioning when he went from the other side of the couch to only a couple inches away, motioning for him to continue. He ponders on how to say it without seeming insensitive before he sighs and just blurts it out. "Why the hell is your husband cheating on you? I genuinely can't understand." He stops himself before he goes on a tangent about how pretty you are or how nice you are or how he'd treat you plenty better.

You feel your eyes burn. You thought you'd be over it by now but maybe you had just pushed the thoughts away, far enough that it was basically outta sight, outta mind. You blink quickly to get rid of the tears and once Astumu catches the glossy look, he shakes his head. He opens his mouth to tell you to forget about him asking but you out your hand up to stop him. He fears you might just up and walk out, looking like a kicked puppy along with you as you take a deep breath to compose yourself. You open your eyes and put your hand down, speaking before he can. "He wanted an open relationship, so he's not actually cheating on me." Saying it feels gross, and if you took your eyes off the floor you'd see Atsumu with a face that agrees. Not because of the open relationship thing, because of how you phrased it.

"So you didn't want the open relationship?" He asks for clarification and though you and Atsumu don't know each other as well as you know your best friends, he's a comfortable presence that feels empathetic to you in a way, despite feeling like he's pitying you too but that's just your mind talking there. You shake your head, dropping it into your hands to rub away the tension that's building your temples.

"He sprung it on me out of no where, said i wasn't making him happy anymore. Saying i had 'let myself go' and whatnot. I was working on it, really. Working out at home, keeping up self care routines, trying to initiate even though that isn't normal for me. He just... Didn't want me anymore." You're quiet as you talk, a small sniffle in the middle of your statement tugs hard at his heart. Well now he can't possibly feel bad. He asks you about the dudes at the sauna the first time he saw you and lets you explain that they work with with your husband under a different company. "They've probably seen him with his pretty little coworker who he's been sleeping with. By the sound of it, they aren't the most discreet about it so it's just embarrassing for me. They're the types to get pissy when turned down. He rolls his eyes hard enough to hurt, feeling like his brain is throbbing in his skull over how dumb it sounds. Your husband, he colleagues, whatever whore he's screwing that most likely knew who you were and that the idiot was married. It gives the most sour ass milk taste to him.

"And what about you? Since he forced it, wouldn't it be good to get out and see someone?" He asks softly, particularly because he's yet to see you truly conversing with another man in the time he's been talking to you. He's also never heard you talk about anyone else, not that it would truly be any of his business but it just intrigues him. You simply shake your head again though.

"He's... He's the only man over ever been with. We met when i was young, got engaged and married pretty quick but i wasn't the prettiest thing in the group so he had no real competition. When that happened i kinda just stayed inside and didn't bother even after starting the working out thing with May again. I mean, if no one wanted me then, why would they now and I've just gotten older?" Your insecurities have shown before but Astumu's about to start asking some real serious questions about how your husband treats you if you think so low of yourself.

"So why not leave? I mean it's obvious he doesn't care 'bout ya, and you don't seem like the type to stick around for shit like this." He admits its a bit assumptive but he can read people pretty well, and he'd bet on this assumption for sure.

"He married me when i was young and kinda took over most things. Pre and post me leaving my job and agreeing to be his fulltime housewife. I kinda can't... At least not right now." You admit. Atsumu has genuinely never wanted the throttle a man so badly. He's basically holding you hostage so he cant look bad but is forcing decisions on you whether you like them or not so he can do as he wants. Yea, he definitely doesn't feel bad anymore.

"I want you." It's a simple statement but it has you whipping your head to look at him and the serious face he has that somehow also looks like he's bored almost.

"What?"

"You asked who'd want you since time has passed and stuff, right? Me. I do." Your eyes widen as he continues. "I think you're fuckin' gorgeous to be honest. Inside and out. You're funny and sweet when you're comfortable, you've got a good heart and 's all bundled up in this lovely, lovely body o' yers." He starts to smile mid way through his declaration as he notices your dace get more and more flustered. His accent seems to get just a bit thicker as he talks faster towards the end, enthusiasm radiating from him as he closes that tiny 2 inch gap between you two on the couch so your thighs touch. You're shocked honestly. It felt like he liked you but your self doubt said it was just pity, but you also felt there was nothing wrong with being a bit delusional and taking what you could get from a nice man giving you attention. You stutter, trying to get something out about how you feel but he hold up his hands and leans back a bit, never scooting away from you though. "If ya don't feel that way about me, i understand even if it hurts a little. But I would love to show you how a proper man should be treating someone as beautiful as you." He's laying it on thick but you feel he's being honest about your ability to back out if you want.

You still can't manage to figure out the words you want to say to him. You don't really think you'd know where to start, being the way he didn't seem judgmental towards you or the fact he apparently had actual, genuine interest in you. So you hug him instead. He's surprised for a moment but quickly hugs you back, finding that you're so much softer, warmer than he expected this close. He nose catches whiffs of your soap and shampoo, you even smell gorgeous. And your husband didn't want this? Fucking idiot. You pull back after a while, just enough to look him in the eyes. "Thank you, but... You don't..." You start how you want, but you cant seem to find the correct way to finish. Atsumu understands from the way you avert your eyes, flustered and shy in a way he finds all too cute on you. He puts his hand under your chin to gently redirect your gaze back to his, confident smirk still splayed across his face. It's a reassuring look really, one that says he really does want to do what he said.

"If you don't want to, that's fine. I understand, but don't think that i don't want to. Because i really fucking do." His voice is low due to his proximity, leaning his forehead against yours as he searches for any sign of you pulling away or rejecting his advances. It's like a little game behind your eyes plays out before you opt to say fuck it and close the small gap between your mouths. He reciprocates immediately, moving his hand from your chin to the back of your head as your hand begin to wind themselves in his soft blonde locks. The kiss goes on for what makes your lungs feel like eternity, but your brain feel like mere seconds. When the burn in your chest is too much, you pull back and take a deep breath, letting the oxygen take your brain through thoughts of this really being a good idea. Your eyes scan Atsumu, from the lidded gaze to the slightly swollen lips to the heaving chest and from what your eyes take in, your brain says it's a great idea. I mean, if he's willing to give you what you're missing, why deny yourself?

He stands up and holds out his hand to you, letting you take it as you ask about where he's leading you to. "Well i did say i'd be proper bout it, right? Can't take you on the couch first time around, that comes later." You note how confidently he said later, as if he's assured a next time. And while normally you'd say that was a bit presumptuous of a man, you couldn't help but think of the kiss you shared and allow him to have his confidence. He smiles when you don't deny him too. He leads you to a room that's cleaner than what you'd expect from an athlete if you're honest. The room smells of lingering cologne and linen air freshner as he closes his door. He comes behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and placing his face into the crook of your neck to kiss and nip at the skin as you tilt tour head to give him more space. You giggle as he kisses at certain spots, whimpering when he finds that particular spot that has you slightly buckling in his grasp.

His hands play with the hem of your shirt and pants, gently tugging as he sucks and bites at the spot that has you depending on him more to help you stand. "You can still back out now, (y/n). I really don't-" you wind up snaking your hand back into his hair, turning your head to bring his mouth to yours.

"I want to, Atsumu. Please, lemme have this." The way you whine has his eyes rolling in a good way this time, gently pushing you to his bed before he opts for turning you toward him and tossing you on it. His grip firm as he halfheartedly flung you onto the soft sheets as if you weighed nothing and without a single complaint either. He's quick to crawl over you and place his lips back on yours, tongue slipping in before you can fight him on it. You don't fight with him too much for dominance, more so to just be playful. He takes it, sliding his hands higher under your shirt than before to touch your skin as you fingers dig into his shoulder. He takes time to pull away every so often to ask if he can remove some piece of clothing from you, seeming as if he truly couldn't get enough of you. First your shirt, then pants, then his own. He barely detached his body from yours as he stripped you or himself, wanting nothing more than the feel of your soft, pretty skin on his. When he inevitably did have to pull himself up onto his knees to take off your bra, he couldn't help but take in the sight in front of him.

You're underneath him, as he's wanted for a bit now, neck only slightly marked up from before, lips swollen and a little of the mixed saliva from him keeping your mouths together making Its way down your cheek from the corner of your mouth. Your chest is heaving from him giving you minimal time to breathe between kisses, and to top it off you're basically half naked, the pretty body he's seen clad in various workout clothes finally exposed properly for his eyes to drink in. His staring to you on the other hand, has you feeling self conscious. You take a breath and start to move to shield your body from him, crossing your legs and bringing one of your arms over your chest to hide. He quickly stops you, whining at you, gently smacking your hands and thighs to get you to move them. He settles himself properly between your thighs and moves to pin your hands above your head with one hand. "Don't hide, beautiful. 'M only staring cause i think you're pretty." He smiles at the flustered look that comes back across your face and trails his free hand over the too of your bra. "I can take the rest of it off, right?" He asks, eyes still glues to your chest.

You hum and nod, so he wastes no time before reaching under you to unhook the only thing keeping your chest from his mouth. He almost drools at the sight of them when he moves his other hand from your wrists to toss the garment to the floor. There's quiet fuck that slips from him as his eyes catch on your tits the same way yours did earlier, and under such admiration you can't really tell when, if ever, your husband looked at any part of you with such genuine hunger. If feels nice to be looked at like this, so you try not to let your hands fall from where they rest above your head. His hands smooth down your sides, gripping every so often at the soft flush under his fingers til he gets to the hem of your panties, pulling and letting them snap against your hip as you yelp. He's tempted to rip them in all honesty but decides against it, simply sliding them down and off you to the floor as his eyes rake up and down you to figure out where to start.

His hands reach for your chest, kneading your tits and watching how responsive you are to him tweaking and thumbing over your nipples. He takes in every tiny whimper and breathess noise you make before taking your left nipple into his mouth and moaning at the taste of your skin. Your hands come down then, rethreading through his hair and unconsciously pushing him just a bit more into your chest. They're more sensitive than he thought, and you seem to love the way he flicks the hardened bud with his tongue before he takes a teasing bite and pulls it with his teeth just a little. He's not one to show favoritism in the bedroom, so he swaps to lavish the other with the same attention, biting just a bit harder to get you to make more noise for him. It all has him rutting his still clothed cock against your center, the wetness quickly seeping through the thin fabric and driving him to take his open mouthed kisses down your torso, leaving marks here and there to show his pathing until he's kissing the top of your mound. You tug his hair and he lets his drunken gaze float up to yours, mouth still kissing around between your thighs.

"You... Don't have to, if you don't wanna... Just so you don't feel obligated or something..." His brows furrow as his mouth sticks to one spot just above your clit as he takes in what you just said. His foggy brain has a moment of realization when he sees that you aren't just flustered, but embarrassed. He sits up a bit more as you gulp and raises his eyebrow at you.

"Did that fuckwit tell you he didn't like eating pussy?" He asks so bluntly it makes you curl up a bit as you avert your gaze, hands stroking his head still.

"He said it wasn't his favorite part but he did it because it was expected so I'm just- ah!! Fuck!" You're abruptly cut off as Atsumu opts to dive head first to your center, tossing your legs over his shoulders and running his tongue from your hole to your clit before sucking it into his mouth. Atsumu eats pussy for his own enjoyment, for fun. Your husband had you at home all the time and didn't constantly want his face between your lovely thighs? He didn't want the warm soft earmuffs and the, to Atsumu, gentle pressure of you squeezing his head with them? Because to Sumu, this feels like heaven. The muffled squeals as he slides his tongue from lapping at your clit to fucking your slippery hole and nudging his nose against your clit to keep the cute little button stimulated have him rutting into his mattress. You're overwhelming his senses and he's in love with it, it's a contender for being his favorite part of it in competition with how you taste. One taste and he's actively trying to devour you, as if he hadn't eaten dinner maybe an hour or so ago.

His hands grip onto your plush thighs and encourage you to clamp them even harder than you are now around his head as you whine and keen under him. Your fingers tug at his hair as you halfway guide his mouth where you want him, also grinding your cunt against his face and breathlessly moaning everytime he hums in pleasure against you. He opens his eyes when he feels one of your hands leave his head and lets them trail up you see your head tossed into his pillows and the hand you freed from his locks grasping at your chest, kneading your breasts as he did earlier and he can't help the way he basically growls into you. "Atsumu~ mmphf! Fuck, Sumu!" Oh god if he wasn't determined to get you to cum from the dumb shit you told him earlier, he was now.

He keeps his grip on your thighs, sluring and lapping feverishly at your pretty pussy, making sounds you'd truly be embarrassed of if you could find yourself thinking straight. He lets you use his face, lets you tug and pull his hair in a way that would be damn near painful, if he could think straight either to, to let you throw yourself off that cliff. He's only focusing on the moans clawing their way from your throat, getting higher and higher in pitch until you feel like you're about to crush his skull between your thighs. You call his name over and over, louder and louder until you go rigid and squeal as he helps himself to your sweet release, guiding you through wave after wave of pleasure.

Once you begin to paw and push at his head, he pulls himself up to look down at you with a wolfish smile and drunken gaze. His chin and lips shine in the daylight that floods through his bedroom window, the subtle warmth that still enraptures you keeps you from being as embarrassed about the sight. He moves his hand to swipe your juices from his chin before placing those same fingers into his mouth and humming at the taste. "You're husband has absolutely no taste, does he?" You giggle and move to sit up, a hand reaching to trail down his abdomen to the hem of his boxers but are stopped short by him pushing you back down and crawling to blanket you with his body. He kisses you deeply, sharing the taste still on his tongue with you and swallowing the little whimpers you give.

"Are you not gonna let me reciprocate that?" You ask when he finally parts, moving to trail his mouth down your neck and shoulder as he shakes his head.

"Uh uh, at least not this time. Next time." He assures, and you laugh softly in his ear at his confident insistence on this not being a 1 time thing. It makes you giddy, a man desiring you in a way that seemed so fairytale lately even tho you were supposed to be happily married. He nips at your shoulder and hums when you don't respond. "You'll let there be a next time, right darlin'?" He mumbles against your shoulder. You nod, dreamily humming as you turn to kiss his temple. At your agreement, he grinds himself against you, letting your slick completely soak through his underwear as you both moan into each other's skin. You grab hold of his shoulders as he keeps going, his grunts heavy on your neck as he tries to keep from going overboard. He does sit up, chuckling breathlessly as you whine at the loss of his heat.

He quickly slides off his boxers and when your eyes meet again, or rather when he looks at your face, the smile that crosses his face is smug. Your eyes were glued to between his legs, your lower lip caught between your teeth. He was bigger than your husband, longer and thicker though you'd say they were similar heights. Impressive sure was one way to describe it, the tip pink and glossed over with his arousal that began to run down his length. He trails his fingers from his abs to wrap around his dick, giving it slow stokes which catches your attention. You let your eyes follow up from his dick, soaking in the way the muscles under the skin of his tummy ripple and quiver, taking in how his chest rises and falls with his labored breaths. From his chest, you look to his face, catching how his eyes are intently glued to you as he seems to fight the urge to fist himself faster. Your grip on your lip becomes bruising, the wet plaps of his hand around himself causing you to twitch and pant.

He smiles as he stops, bringing his wet hand to your mouth with a slightly raised brow, a tiny gasp escaping him as you eagerly take his hand in yours and run your tongue over his palm and between his fingers. It sets him off, as he's quickly over you again, freshly licked hand guiding his hardness to your weeping center and mouth on yours with the full intent to make it hard to breathe. He lets his cock slide through your folds, swallowing your moans every time his tip rubs your swollen clit. "You ready, sweetheart?" He slurs against your mouth. You nod, clasping your hands together at the back of his neck, desperate mutters of "Please, Sumu..." spurring him on as he slides his way into you. He was happy at how easy it was; despite how tight you were, your pussy was wet enough give give him little resistance. He only pulled away from the heated kiss to watch your eyes roll into the back of head and listen at the drawn out noise you gave him.

When he feels you hike your leg over his hip and push him into you, he almost giggles at your eagerness. He moves his hands to the sides of your head, starting a steady rut into you before both of you whine at the feeling not being enough. "Please, Astumu.. Gimme more~" you ask so sweetly, how can he deny you? His hips begin to snap into yours, drawing out pretty high pitched moans and grunts from both of you. He moves his face to mark your throat and shoulder as he pumps into you, hands moving to grab your hips to prevent you from scooting up the bed as he starts to thrust faster and faster. He keeps his moth on your throat, grunting at the feel of your sounds on his lips and your nails digging into his shoulders as you wrap your other leg around his waist.

"Feel .. s'good baby. Y'er grippin me soooo fuckin tight- shit!" He curses into your neck, mindless babbles being all he receives in return. The smile on his face never seems to leave, even as he sits up to sit back on his haunches and starts using your hips to bring your velvety pussy onto him, your ass propped up just a bit by his thighs underneath. The angle has you keening, arching your back and grasping at his wrists as a way to ground yourself as he pistons into you again and again. The sticky wet squelch between you drags Atsumu's eyes down to where you both connect, rolling and threatening to close as the sight of his pelvis all glossy, pretty white ring encircling his base and shaft completely coated. The feel of your walls convulsing and clentching as your hips buck against his in a futile effort to keep up with his brutal pace is mind numbing, dragging almost whiny moans from his chest as his hands garb onto any bit of you they can and please.

When he does manage to tear his eyes away from your swollen cunt sucking him in, he lets his gaze lick up your body. From your tummy that he can see bulge with every pump in, to your tits that bounce so nicely, to your pretty face and the adorable fucked out expression that's plastered across it. He genuinely thinks you're so pretty, he can't wrap any part of his mushy brain around how someone could have you and not want to worship you all the damn time. You deserve so much. And he's damn sure gonna give it to you. "Y'er- so- fuck-in pretty!" Every syllable is punctuated with a harsh kiss to your cervix, just bordering on painful but still adding to the pleasure that has your eyes glued to the back of your skull. Your whines and moans are broken as they hit his ears, one large hand moving from your hip to your front, letting his thumb rub your clit and his other four fingers press above where his cock hits inside.

You shudder under his hands, twitching as you let out a weak warning of your impending orgasm. Though teary eyes, you see him nod. "C'mon darlin, cum nice an' hard f'me." He grunts, leaning up onto his knees just a bit more for leverage to throw you over.

And he does.

Your eyes clamp shut as you basically scream, his name tumbling out again and again as he fucks you through it. He's honestly a bit disappointed in the fact you didn't squirt, but there's always next time, right? He does fall over the edge after you do, your gorgeous climax having a domino effect on him as he grunts out your name like a mantra until he can't. The after shocks of yours guiding him through his own overwhelming haze of pleasure, and he finds himself drooling slightly by the time he comes back to earth. His body collapses next to yours after he pulls out and watches your cunt twitch and clench, letting his cum seep out and admiring it as it follows the curve of your ass onto his bed. He pulls you to him and you let him, snuggling into his chest.

He lays there for a bit, basking in the afterglow with you before getting up to get a wet towel to clean you up with as a bath runs. "Oh, you don't have to-" The stare he gives cuts you off as he wipes down your lower half, eyes narrowed at what you saying that now implies about how you were treated at home.

"I just fucked your pretty little brains out, sweetheart. I am not only obligated to clean you up and take care of you, but i want to. As any real man should." He emphasizes what shouldn't need to be said as he finishes wiping you down and goes back into his bathroom to finish up your bath. He carries you, despite protest, and sets you in as he says he's going to change his sheets. "Do... Do you maybe wanna stay over?" He's suddenly bashful, and it makes you wonder if the man who just made you cum harder than you have in years just a moment ago and this sweet, shy, country boy who can't seem to find your eyes is the same man. You nod, saying you'd like that. He finds your eyes then, dopey smile out in full as he hops off to clean his room.

He comes back just when you're clean and about to fall asleep, calling for you as he helps you out and dries you off, admiring your sleepy form as he slides a clean tshirt over your head. He guides you out this time, you smacking his hands when he tries to pick you up, his bed now dressed in a pretty deep grey color as he lets you lay down and get comfy. He's about to walk into the bathroom when your phone rings from the floor, you sucking your teeth at the ringtone. He rummages through your pants to find it again and frowns at it being the man neither of you wanna hear from. He does not the lack of guilt he feels about what happened tho. He hands it to your grabby hand and listens from the bathroom as you answer.

"Hello?... What does it matter what im doing?... I'm not at home, your dinner is in the oven. Is that not everything?... What you do in that house, in that bed is none of my business. I don't wanna hear about it either, not like i sleep there..... I have an attitude because you're bothering me... That's not even fair, what for?!... Sure, whatever. Move it i guess.... No, im not. Can i go now?" He hears you sigh and groan, but you seem to be off the phone, so he quickly hops in the shower before coming to cuddle with you in bed. The evening sun has set, the sky it's deep inky black through the window as he flicks on the tv to something neither of you pay attention to. He wraps you tight on his embrace and kisses your head, asking what your legal partner wanted. "He wants to use the guest room I'm staying in to house his little tramp because she's having 'family issues, don't be such a bitch. She's going through a hard time.'" You grown and half flail like you're having a tantrum, pressing your face into his chest. He grips even tighter, his blood boiling. That man has 0 respect and it shows so much.

"You can bring whatever things you don't want him to touch here." He offers, and you turn your sad, puppy like eyes to him. Even in the dark, under the mild light of his tv, he can see how glassy they are. It hurts his heart. "You can come by whenever you want, too. I'll never turn you away." You open your mouth, voice raspy with tears as you tell him of not wanting to intrude or be a burden but he stops you with a kiss. "Im not him. You will never be a burden to me. I mean it. Whatever or whenever, you always have a sizable place here." The tears fall but you smile at his sweetness, sharing kisses and sniffly thank you's with him. He pulls you on top of him, letting your head lay on his chest as he soothes his hands over your back, telling you to get some well deserved sleep. He thankfully doesn't miss your mutters of how much you like him already and how thankful you are before you're out cold. He places another kiss to your head, smiling as his own eyes close from his own exhaustion. Be it from fucking you like that or from being angry at your paper-only lover, he doesn't know or even care right now. He knows he'll have to explain himself to someone at some point, but that's a task for future Astumu.

Besides, he's just doing what his mama taught him was right, right?

Comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated! Hope you guys enjoyed! ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

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