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roosterforme · 1 year ago

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Wrong Number | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley was planning on a quiet night at home with a beer and a basketball game on TV. When he receives a text from a wrong number, he's left looking at a beautiful photo of you. Now he just needs to persuade you to ditch the guy you meant to text and focus on him instead.

Warnings: Fluff, swearing, slight dirty talk, Bradley touching himself

Length: 4700 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written for Rocktober. Check out my masterlist for more. Banner made by @thedroneranger

Bradley had endured such a long week at work, all he wanted to do was change out of his uniform, grab a beer from his fridge and lounge around on the couch in his underwear without a responsibility in sight. Nobody should have to work until ten on a Friday night, but it had taken him that long to sort through the massive stack of paperwork from Admiral Simpson. At least now he had nothing planned for the rest of his evening.

His apartment was too hot, and the cold bottle of beer pressed to his bare thigh as he reached for the TV remote left some droplets of condensation. It felt good. He took another sip as his phone vibrated next to him. With a soft grunt, he abandoned the remote in favor of the phone and unlocked it with his pass code.

There was a new text from an unknown number. And there was a photo attached. He grimaced, afraid of what he was going to find if he tapped on it. He read the phone number twice, but it didn't sound familiar beyond the San Diego area code. He let his head tip back as he recalled the time he pissed Nat off and she gave his phone number to a random sailor in retaliation. Bradley really hoped he wasn't going to have to kindly ask someone to stop sending him dick pics like last time.

Before he lost the nerve, he tapped on the message, and his screen was suddenly filled with a photo of a woman who looked just a few years younger than him. And she was hot. He paused with his beer bottle halfway to his lips before letting it settle back down to his thigh.

Hey, Alan. It's me. So now you have my phone number, too.

Bradley didn't know who the hell Alan was, but he wasn't mad about the mix-up. This photo was something else. It almost looked like it was taken in the bathroom at the Hard Deck. The lighting was bad, and there was a paper towel dispenser in the background, but whoever you were.... damn, you were stunning. All pretty features and smiling like you had a secret.

It took him a moment to stop staring at the photo and return to the previous screen and your message. He was going to have to tell you that he wasn't Alan and that you had the wrong number, but he just sat there and tapped his phone case instead. He didn't even like the name Alan, but damn if he didn't want to be Alan right now. That lucky bastard had you interested in him.

Bradley was wondering how the mix-up happened in the first place as he drafted up a text to you. Only some sort of fucking idiot wouldn't check and double check that he gave you the right number. "Amateurs," he mumbled as he typed with a little smirk on his face.

Hey, sorry to inform you, but this actually isn't Alan. However, I wouldn't mind one bit if you kept sending me the photos that are meant for him.

He hit send and tossed his phone aside, assuming you'd just block him and move on with your night. He brought his beer bottle back to his lips and enjoyed the way the drink helped cool him down while he contemplated taking a shower, but when he reached for the remote again, his phone vibrated.

There was another message from the same number. Intrigued, Bradley unlocked his phone again, and he was pleased to see another text and another photo.

Hi, Not-Alan. Sorry about that! I hope you have a great night.

This photo was similar to the first one, except that you were flipping him the peace sign and winking which made Bradley laugh. You seemed fun, even through this limited interaction. And he was sure that was the ladies' bathroom at the Hard Deck, which pissed him off, because he got out of work so late he didn't feel like going out tonight. Maybe if he had been there, you wouldn't have been talking to Alan in the first place.

"Damn it." He was intrigued. He wanted to know more about this.

My night is substantially better now that I have two photos of you. So where did Alan get off to anyway? And why is he trying to steal my phone number?

This time Bradley was dying for another response. But it didn't come. He stared at his phone for a solid minute before returning to his beer and downing the rest of the bottle. Still nothing. He stood and made his way into the kitchen, tossing his empty into the recycling bin before getting another one from the fridge and eyeing up the food situation. He should probably eat something, but he swore he heard his phone vibrating. When he looked over to the couch, the screen was lit up.

He slammed the fridge door and opened the new bottle before heading back to his phone. There was no photo this time, but there was a new message.

I actually lost Alan in the crowd, so really, the man could be just about anywhere. And I don't think he was trying to steal your number at all, Not-Alan. He wrote it on my palm, and it smeared before I could add it to my phone.

"Okay," Bradley said out loud. "Now we're getting somewhere." He sat down on the couch with his beer on the coffee table and started a new message.

Alan should learn how to write neater in the future, because he's missing out here. You have to double check that someone who looks like you got the number right. Everyone knows that.

Bradley decided that he was going to have no shame for the night. Not as long as you kept writing back to him. He was contemplating how to save your number in his phone when another selfie with a message came through. You were out by the bar at the Hard Deck with a smile on your face, and you were holding up your palm complete with Bradley's smeared phone number.

Does this number look familiar, Not-Alan? Still no actual Alan in sight, by the way.

Bradley supposed that the 7 could have been mistaken for a 1. Or maybe Alan's phone number had a 5 that got smeared into a 6. It didn't really matter. Bradley was going to shoot his shot and hope Alan didn't resurface.

Good, Alan can just stay lost. What's your name, pretty girl?

Then he saved your number as Pretty Girl, and this time he did manage to turn the TV on while he waited with his phone in his hand. He muted the Clippers game and picked up his beer before promptly setting it back down again.

Pretty Girl: Not so fast, Not-Alan. You tell me your name first. And how old you are. And your blood type and the last four of your social security number.

Bradley laughed and started typing. He realized he hadn't stopped smiling for the last twenty minutes as he hit send.

I'm Bradley. I'm 34. O positive. 2305.

On a regular night, the basketball game would have held his attention, but tonight he couldn't stop looking at his phone. "Come on, Pretty Girl," he muttered, running his beer bottle along his thigh before taking a sip.

Pretty Girl: Okay, Bradley. You have my attention. Send me a selfie exactly where you are, and I'll think about telling you my name. No changing into something nicer. No fixing your hair. Just a selfie. Right now.

Bradley looked down at himself in just his black boxer briefs and mumbled, "If you say so." When he set his phone camera to selfie mode, he looked at the screen and realized his hair still looked pretty decent from work. So he went ahead and took a picture where he was wearing a bit of a skeptical smirk, and he sent it before he could think twice.

And now his heart was beating a little faster. This was probably where you'd stop responding. Oh hell, at least he went for it, but a few minutes later, you still hadn't sent anything back to him. Maybe he could have tried to hide the scars on his neck and cheek, but what was the point? Clearly you were sending him actual selfies you'd taken tonight, and he did exactly what you'd told him to. Then his phone vibrated.

Pretty Girl: Do you really expect me to believe that you're not just googling "hot shirtless guy with a mustache", downloading a photo, and trying to pass it off as yourself?

He tipped his head back and laughed. There was just something about you. He didn't even know your name or what your voice sounded like, but he could already tell he was going to like both of those things. If you ever told him or let him hear you.

That's really me. Promise. Will you tell me your name now? Or do I have to keep calling you Pretty Girl?

He was wondering if you were still at the bar, surrounded by guys like Alan who would love to take you home while you were chatting with him. And he hoped the next text would contain your name. But you just ignored him when you wrote back a few minutes later.

Pretty Girl: Prove you're not just sending some photos of a random hot dude. Go stand by your open refrigerator and take a selfie. Then take another one with your toothbrush.

"She's a handful," Bradley murmured as he stood with a smile. He carried his beer into the kitchen, opened his refrigerator and snapped a selfie where the fridge light somehow accentuated his features nicely. Then he left his beer on the counter while he went into his bathroom. He was actively trying not to smile for this one where he had his red toothbrush hanging out of the side of his mouth, but he was on the verge of laughing at how ridiculous his night turned out to be.

He typed up a message and attached both photos and then sent them off while he finished his beer at the kitchen counter, Clippers game forgotten.

What is this, Pretty Girl? A hostage negotiation? I already told you, that's really me.

It didn't take too long for you to respond this time, and Bradley wasn't even letting his screen dim long enough to need to unlock it now.

Pretty Girl: Are you naked in these photos?

"Jesus," he muttered. Of course he wasn't. Did you want him to be? Shit, he needed to stop thinking about that.

No! I'm wearing underwear. You told me not to get changed or anything.

He felt flushed and too warm as he set his phone down on the counter and went to open some windows. Then he walked a few laps around his apartment in an effort to chill the fuck out. He wasn't even with you, and you were under his skin.

When he returned to his phone, there was a selfie and a message waiting for him. In the photo, you were sipping a drink, and the way the straw pressed to your perfect lips had him practically moaning.

Pretty Girl: My friend thinks there's something wrong with me. I'm at a Navy bar in San Diego at the moment. There are hot guys galore, and yet I'm glued to my phone.

"Shit, shit, shit." Bradley thought about getting dressed and heading out to the bar himself. Then maybe he could hear you tell him your name in person right before he pulled the straw away from your mouth and kissed you.

How much longer are you going to be at the Hard Deck, Pretty Girl?

Bradley started heading for his bedroom closet when his phone vibrated in his hand.

Pretty Girl: How do you know I'm at the Hard Deck? Do I need to smash my phone to bits and go into hiding?

"Fuck," he grunted, typing so quickly he had to go back and fix several spelling errors before he could send it. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable, so he paused before getting any clothing out of his closet.

Because I'm in the Navy, and I live in San Diego. And I recognized the inside of the bathroom from the first photo you sent me. I swear I'm not creepy. You can ask Penny, the bartender and owner of that fine establishment. I spend enough time there. Show her my photo.

Bradley collapsed onto his bed with his forearm over his eyes and his phone clutched to his chest. He didn't have to check the time to know it had been a while since he texted you. He also didn't have to look at his phone to know it was after midnight now and that you and he had been chatting for almost two hours. Bradley jolted when the phone vibrated against his chest.

Pretty Girl: Okay. Alright. Penny is a sweetheart, and your story checks out. Also, she told me your call sign and then told me to have you verify what it is for my own peace of mind. So what is it, Bradley? And how do you know what the ladies' restroom here looks like?

Oh, he was going to owe Penny big time. He typed away as he lay sprawled out on his bed.

My call sign is Rooster. And as for your bathroom question.... are you really going to make me answer that?

Bradley closed his eyes and thought about the girl who had taken him into the bathroom with her last year. He was pretty sure she had brown hair, but other than that, he couldn't really recall. But he did remember looking at that paper towel holder on the wall and the framed photo of an F/A-14 that was hanging over it while he was in there with her.

He wouldn't mind taking a trip there with you, that was for sure. Or maybe you and he could skip the scandalous bar hookup and just go right to dinner or a movie. For some reason, he thought he might actually prefer that.

Pretty Girl: Be back soon. I'm getting a ride home.

Bradley mused out loud, "It better not be from Alan." Shit, he could have offered to go pick you up and make sure you got home safely. He'd only had those two beers all night, and now he was picturing some faceless guy named Alan driving you home and pawing at you.

He texted you back.

Let me know when you get home, okay? And you can always just call me.

With a sigh, he got out of bed and plugged his phone in, not sure what to expect at this point. He went back into the bathroom and used his red toothbrush. And then he went back to the living room and closed all the windows. When he was in his room again, he had no new notifications as he climbed in bed. He was about to text you again and check in when his phone rang.

CALL FROM Pretty Girl

Bradley was smiling as he answered. "Hey, Pretty Girl."

A soft laugh preceded your voice, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek as you said, "Hi, Bradley with the O positive blood. Are you trying to tell me that you were in that bar bathroom with a girl?"

He found himself laughing. "Can I plead the fifth?"

When you moaned softly, he dropped his phone onto the pillow and had to scramble to get it. "Oh, my god. Even your voice is sexy."

Okay. He should not be on the verge of touching himself after you spoke three whole sentences to him. "You make it home safely?" he asked, trying to play it cool as he thought about those photos you sent him.

"Mmhmm. A very nice man named Alan drove me home. He's right here next to me as I get changed for bed."

Bradley thought for a beat that he had met his match in you. "You better be lying. You know what, put Alan on the phone."

Your laughter filled him up as you said, "He's not really here. I had to ditch him, because he doesn't even have a mustache. Apparently that's a deal breaker for me now?"

Holy shit. Bradley was in trouble. He was getting turned on, and you weren't even really saying anything dirty. "You're killing me. You gonna tell me your name, Pretty Girl?"

"No. I think I'm going to hold onto it a little longer."

"Fine. But please explain to me how I've never seen you at the Hard Deck before. I'm certain I would remember your face."

Your voice sounded a little softer now as you said, "I just moved to Coronado. It was my first time at the bar."

If he hadn't worked so late today, Bradley would have probably been there tonight as well. "You had fun? You think you'll go back again?"

"Probably," you replied casually. "When do you think you'll be there?"

Bradley was so warm he was starting to sweat. "Pretty Girl, you just say the word, and I'll clear my whole damn calendar."

Your little sighs and soft giggles were going to be the death of him. "You know, I still have Alan's, or rather your phone number on my hand."

He imagined himself kissing your palm and rewriting his phone number. "Should be in my handwriting. I'll make sure I always bring a pen with me to the bar."

You cleared your throat softly, and Bradley imagined you climbing into bed. "Penny told me to watch out for some of the other guys. But she said you're okay."

"Just okay?"

"Actually, she called you a big, brown eyed puppy dog."

Bradley laughed. "I've been called worse."

"I'm sure you have," you replied quickly. "You deserve some sort of punishment for daring to look good with a mustache."

"It's a blessing and a curse. Now, are you going to send me another photo? Or are you going to just agree to meet me tomorrow night?"

He heard a rustling noise and then you softly said, "Alan is not going to like this one bit." And then another photo arrived, and this one had Bradley's mouth hanging open.

"Now it's my turn to ask if you're naked in this picture." He was taking in every inch of your exposed skin and your bedding tucked up to your collar bones. You took your makeup off for bed, and you looked cozy and intimate. And you were talking to him. You were letting him see this. Bradley had to actively think about not touching himself.

"Totally naked."

"Fuck."

"Send me another one?"

"Yeah," he grunted, swallowing hard as he tried to pose for another selfie just how he was, sprawled out on his pillow with his left arm bent and tucked back behind his head. But his cheeks looked flushed, and his eyes looked darker than usual. He was turned on.

Fuck it. He snapped the photo and sent it. And about ten seconds later, he was greeted with the strangled sound you made.

"It should be illegal for someone with that mustache to look so good. It's rude, honestly. Bradley, you're kind of rude, because now I want to know...."

He was hanging on your every word. "Know what, Pretty Girl?"

The call went completely silent before you said softly and sweetly, "What your mustache feels like...everywhere."

A soft, startled laugh escaped his lips. You were on the verge of some dirty talk now, he could just tell. And his cock was hard as he replied with, "I'd love to let you find out. But before you respond, I need to know how much you've had to drink tonight. I don't want to take advantage of anything here."

You whimpered on the other end of the call. "A mustache, brown eyes, and a gentleman? All Alan did for me was buy me those two Long Island iced teas."

Bradley grunted and said, "That's enough about Alan. Why don't you go ahead and tell me where you'd like to feel my mustache first, Pretty Girl."

You squeaked and said, "I want to feel it rough along my skin right below my ear while you whisper to me. Oh my god, I can't believe I said that out loud. I should just go to bed."

"Don't hang up," Bradley said, panting with need now. "Tell me more."

"Okay," you sighed with another little squeak. "I want to feel it on my lips. While I'm sitting in your lap, licking the taste of that beer you drank from your mouth."

"Holy shit," he groaned, palming himself through his boxer briefs.

"I know," you whined with need. "And I want to feel it on the back of my neck while you do filthy things to me. And I don't even know you!"

"You will," he guaranteed. "Please, tell me what time I can meet you tomorrow."

Bradley listened to the rustle of your sheets as he waited. Then you finally said, "Seven o'clock? At the Hard Deck?"

"I'll be there, Pretty Girl. I can't wait to see you."

--------------------------

It was barely even 6:30, but you were already at the bar all made up and wearing a cute dress. Penny recognized you right away, which was kind of nice and kind of embarrassing. When she asked if you wanted another Long Island, you waved her off and said, "Nothing yet. I'm meeting someone."

Her eyes lit up as she asked, "Is it Rooster?"

You'd barely slept all night, preferring to look at the four selfies he'd sent you after you ended the call around two. There was a little more dirty talk, sure, but you and he also learned a bit more about each other. And now you were going to meet this naval aviator who was originally from Virginia but loved the Los Angeles Clippers face to face.

"Yeah. It's Rooster."

Penny looked truly delighted. "You have nothing to worry about. He's very sweet."

"Tell that to the butterflies," you muttered as you placed one hand on your stomach for a beat, willing the nerves to dissipate as you walked away. You'd told Bradley you wanted his mustache on your body. In several places. And then he told you he thought you were so pretty and fun that he wanted to kiss you everywhere. And right now you were just mystified as to how this could have possibly happened only a week after you moved to this neighborhood. And you still didn't know what happened to Alan after you went to the ladies' bathroom and saved the wrong number in your phone.

You laughed when you thought about it, and then you ran your hands along the fabric of your dress. You were so antsy, your palms were sweaty. You looked down at yourself and just got more nervous. Bradley hadn't seen much of your body in the photos you'd sent to him. You'd seen plenty of his though, and he looked tall and muscular even next to his damn refrigerator. And his face was gorgeous, right down to that sinful looking mustache.

And you were just... you. Alan was really more your speed with his nerdy glasses and messy hairstyle and his lack of ability to even grow any sort of facial hair at all. You just hoped that Bradley wouldn't take one look at you in person and walk right back out of the bar.

You were about to tell Penny that you thought you needed a drink after all when the door caught your eye, and Bradley strolled into the bar like he owned the place. "Oh...fuck," you whispered, gaping at him as he ran his fingers through his hair. The photos hadn't even done him justice. He had to be over six feet tall, and he was so broad and muscular, he looked like he could pick you up and toss you around a little bit. "Shit." He was wearing some snug fitting jeans and a tropical print shirt like he just knew he could pull off the most ridiculous look. "Damn." He was glancing around, trying to find you while you started scouring the room unsuccessfully for another exit.

You were trapped in here, and he was walking further into the bar now. And you didn't think you could hide halfway behind this couple who was making out for very much longer.

As Bradley's eyes scanned the crowd again, he looked a little apprehensive. His brow was scrunched, and he checked the time on his watch. You knew it was almost seven. So you took a deep breath and let it out slowly, and then you scooted one step to your left. When his gaze came your way again, his eyes landed on you. And then his face softened. The apprehension melted away, and he smiled a cute and somehow sexy little grin that made you whimper.

Now he was heading your way, his gait sure and steady. And then he was just a few feet away and you could see the scars on his face that you'd studied all night in the photos. And you could see the flecks of gold in his eyes that somehow the selfies didn't capture. And then he was talking, and his voice was even better in person.

"Pretty Girl."

Okay, so he'd seen you up close, and he wasn't running away. That had to be a good sign, right? You managed to say just one slightly breathless word. "Hi." And then his smile grew, and he was closing the space between your body and his. He was reaching for your face and running one rough thumb along your cheek. And then he kissed you.

And the soft scrape of his mustache was even better than all of the ways you'd spent your night imagining it might feel. You couldn't help but return his kiss, and somehow your hands ended up pressed to the front of him, sliding up to his chest.

When he broke the kiss, he stayed close, his lips not far from your face. He covered your hands with his, keeping them on his body. And then he leaned close to your ear, his mustache scraping along your soft skin there as he whispered, "Tell me your name, Pretty Girl. I'm dying here."

Soft laughter bubbled out of you as he pulled away from you a bit, and those butterflies were going wild. His eyes were fixed on your face, begging for an answer this time as he stroked your hands with his thumbs. And then you told him, and he tried your name out on his tongue a few times with that grin that you liked so much. He kept saying it softly until you kissed him this time, and then he guided your arms around his neck.

"Listen," he said in that raspy voice that you'd love to focus on all night. "I have no problem staying here for a while if you want to. I bet you could even persuade me to join you in the ladies' room."

"Sounds tempting," you told him with a smirk.

"It really does. But we could also just ditch the bar and grab dinner instead? Maybe watch the Clippers game and have a drink at my place? I'm a little worried Alan might show up here and try to lure you away, if I'm being honest."

You practically snorted with laughter. "I can't even really remember what Alan looks like. He was totally gone from my mind after the first selfie you sent me. Let's get out of here."

He took you by the hand. "Anything you want, Pretty Girl."

-------------------------

I love dreamy loverboy Bradley, and I love Pretty Girl too. Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

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just-an-enby-lemon · 9 days ago

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I have a small draft of an Gravity Falls/The Owl House au where Eda and Stan bond while trying to find a way to divorce without making the autorities aware of their location and decide to became a two people (later three for Raine reasons)/two realms rock band.

Featuring:

- Stan being way too unafected by the weirdness of the Demon Realm.

- Raine Whispers failing their task of remaining only friends with their ex after joining her band and instead getting back together (she opens up about her curse and now they just can't find a reason not to). [Look Raine fully got involved because a) Raeda is my OTP and more importantly b) Stan is just a really good wingman]

- Fiddleford complicated journey where he abandons his wife (and lowkey his son) for a scientist; does not tell the people involved (including the scientist); gets friendzone because of a triangle; gets a crush on a rockstar; does not question the fact the rockstar looks like mullet Ford sans glasses until he introduces his favorite band to his partner/bff/guy who chose a triangle over him; discovers Pines Twin drama

- Stan tries to sing a "hey we could be best brothers again it was an accident and I'm sorry" ballad but Ford is too distracted by the fact Stan bandmates are witches.

- Ford in the Demon Realm. Ford in the Demon Realm. Ford is living his autistc dreams in the Demon Realm. Ford has glyths now look out. Ford in the Demon Realm.

- Bill in the Demon Realm. He is pissing off a bigot and being a bad influence to an infant god. Do I hear a hurray?

- Please please please see my vision of Bill babysitting Enzo Gabriel... I mean The Collector.

- Baby King enters the picture at some point.

- Hooty meeting Bill. (Also at some point Hooty HAS to met Soos, I can not explain why this is important to me but it is).

- Sibbling drama featuring Lilith and Eda and Stan and Ford.

- Raeda wingmans Fiddlestan.

- The Collector accidentaly wingmans Billford somehow.

- At some point in history the band devolves from a hit band to a footnote on the history of indie rock 80's bands (basically they just hit BIG in the Demon Realm and end up negleting the human realm) and everyone forgets it until the day ten year old Luz Noceda creates her first AMV using one of their songs and decides that's her favorite band ever.

- Dipper is also a fan. Mabel isn't exactaly a fan as much as she love like one specific song and also thinks 90's Raine is cute.

#gravity falls #the owl house #band au #toh #raeda #fiddlestan #billford

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c0smiclatt3 · 4 months ago

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SATORU GOJO: SAY DON'T GO

i said 'i love you,', you say nothing back.

☾₊ ⊹ TAGS: angst no comfort, friends to lovers, reader and satoru were classmates, reader defected, post-suguru's death, not proofread yet pls be patient w me i just had this in my drafts for too long

after ten years, you meet again; only this time he's here to kill you - whether he can bear to face you or not.

wc: 4.3k (woah)

You look the same as you did the day you left, and Satoru really wishes you didn’t. Maybe this would be easier for him if your days as a curse user and Jujutsu Tech defector somehow disfigured you beyond recognition. If you’d taken advantage of some other curse user you knew and donned some glamour or disguise.

But no. You look the same as he remembered you. Your name rung in his ears when he saw you from his vantage point atop the abandoned school building, echoing just as it had haunted him since he left.

She’s here. She’s here. She’s—

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“She’s gone.”

Satoru felt like he was going to choke. The door to your dorm was ajar, Shoko standing beside it somber, an unreadable expression on her face.

The door hinges squealed as it slowly slid open. Lo and behold: A half empty bottle of tea on your desk. Empty bags of your favorite chips in your desk trash bin. The curtains fluttering in the open window like they always did because you liked the breeze while you slept. Your bedsheets made, just as they were every morning when you four set off for the day’s missions and drills for the last few years.

And your uniform, folded neatly on your bed, unworn.

Satoru’s mouth went dry, his hand went slack, uncurling from the fist he’d locked it in as he stormed over moments prior. “No. She’s coming back, she left her tea—“

Shoko interrupts him, "Satoru."

“She wouldn’t just up and leave, she—“

“Satoru-”

“Did Suguru rope her into this? Shoko, you haven’t seen them talking have you? Sure I was a bit preoccupied but maybe—“

“Satoru,” Shoko said, firm but resigned. “She’s gone.”

The longer he looked the more it set in: your bag missing from its hook. Your things missing from your desk. A photo of all of you Jujutsu sorcerers beaming at the camera unpinned from your cork board and fluttered to the floor, wrinkled at the corners from drops of water.

“I see.”

Shoko slipped a hand into her coat pocket.

Satoru turned on his heel and walked off down the hallway.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

Goodbye.

That’s a word he’s said so much of in the last few years that he doesn’t remember anymore how to say hello. What does he say? What does he say, knowing the reason he was here now — that he was sent to kill you for once and for all?

Satoru had tracked you all the way out here. You’d gotten sloppy after Suguru’s death. The higher ups didn’t think a dirty defector like you had the capacity to mourn like that - they were convinced it was bait. It's why they sent their silver bullet himself. But Satoru knew otherwise. He knew you were too careful, too sharp to make a mistake like that any other day, and here he found you - in an abandoned school building in a small town by the countryside.

You sat in the crumbling classroom, knees to your chest on a rickety chair covered in cobwebs, tracing patterns on the dust on the desk surface. You look up, your expression neutral. You weren't surprised to see him here, like you expected him, even knowing that meant certain death. It almost made him want to laugh.

So you were feeling nostalgic, huh?

It was sunset on a quiet late summer evening, the clouds streaking along the horizon like pink and golden brushstrokes against a violet sky. What a beautiful day to die, you think to yourself. Pink. Gold. Violet.

And there he stood, silhouetted save for his eyes.

Blue. Stunningly blue.

Perhaps this is mercy, then.

You speak first.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“It’s a pleasure to meet you!” Hands at your side, you bow deeply and snap back up to attention. Your mother coached you extensively before you departed for Tokyo on how to be respectful to the city folk, and you rehearsed the self-introduction she taught you to a tee. Fresh-faced, thirteen and bright-eyed, from the moment the train stopped at Tokyo station you put on your brave face.

The boy standing in front of you, however, was not terribly impressed. He stared at you blankly for a few moments.

“Right,” he mumbled, before turning on his heel to walk away.

“H-hey!” you go red in the face, “I wasn’t done-“

He holds his hand up. “Yeah, yeah. I’ve heard enough.”

You scoff at his bluntness. Well this was no way to start off a relationship with someone she was meant to call her classmate. “You’re not going to bother telling me who you are?” You call out after him. He stops.

“… You’re being serious?” he looks at her over her shoulder. His eyes flash blue - blue enough to rival the hue of the sky above them. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen eyes that blue before.

“… Well yeah-“

“Damn,” he turns back around, though rather than venom in his voice there's almost a sense of amusement and curiosity. “They weren’t kidding. You really are a country bumpkin.”

Regardless, you felt a burning in your chest as you clenched a fist. “I’ll show ya a country bumpkin,” you muttered.

“Huh? Couldn’t understand your accent, country girl,” he called out over his shoulder. You grit your teeth.

“Oi!” you call out after him, “At least give me your name so I know what to call ya while I kick ‘yer ass!”

There was something endearing to him about someone who actually didn’t know who he was for once. Who didn’t approach him like some god or some weapon. He mutters your surname to himself. He remembers Yaga-sensei telling him something about how you came from an insignificant family of sorcerers in the countryside. Out of your entire lineage, only you turned out with a technique that could actually be useful. Of course you wouldn’t know much about Jujutsu clan politics or the heavyweight names. Alright. He’ll bite.

“Won’t need it. I’ll have your ass in the dirt first, kid.”

“Who ‘ya callin’ kid!” Your fists clenched at your sides. He raised an eyebrow.

“You gonna punch me, kid?”

“I’m the same damn age as you, don’t act cocky!” In your twintail braids and with your tiny stature it was hard to take you as a serious threat.

“You’re a little thing. Why would I be scared of you?”

You threw a punch. You didn’t know what would be coming next - of course you didn’t. Your hand hit an invisible wall and you yelped, withdrawing your hand back and feeling the stinging pain in your knuckles. You look at him with a sense of challenge, but also a sense of amazement. Who the hell was this guy?

“You wanted my name? Well, here it is, kid—“

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“Satoru.”

As if understanding just how his name coming from your lips made him feel, the clouds parted to allow a stream of sunlight to illuminate you like a spotlight. The doomed antiheroine of today’s tale, in all her tragic glory, looking up listless like the soul had long been drained from her eyes.

Why, oh why did you have to say his name like that?

“I think we both know why I’m here.”

You nod. You look away from him. You’re not sure if you can bear to look at him now. “It’s been a while since we’ve sparred, Satoru.”

He swallows. “That it has.”

“Maybe today is the day I finally catch up to you after all these years.”

He shrugs. Somewhere in that nonchalant shrug is the unbothered kid you knew all those years ago. “You can try.”

But you both knew how this ended and somewhere deep inside you knew you deserved it anyway for your sins.

You can’t stop yourself from cracking a bitter smile. “Well, then,” you drop your satchel to the ground, laying out your knives before you, and as if pulled by strings they rise around you on guard. “One last spar. For old time’s sake.”

Satoru’s lips curl into a smirk.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“You’re on.”

You crack your knuckles. The other Jujutsu sorcerers may underestimate your technique, you remember your mother saying. Don’t let them. You put your hands on your hips and grin.

“Don’t underestimate me, though!”

“Can’t make any promises, country girl!”

You raise your fist and Satoru stands at the ready —

But your fist slams on the window behind you instead, shattering the glass. Satoru looks at you, confused —

And then the shards begin to levitate, forming a circlet around you.

“You think some stupid glass is gonna protect you?” Satoru scoffs. “You’ve got no idea what you’re up against here, squirt.”

You grit your teeth, close your eyes and concentrate. The shards go flying at Satoru. He’s got his eyes on you, his eyes on the shards —

And then your figure flickers. It flickers then it’s gone. He looks around, sensing that the cursed energy thrumming in the shards has grown stronger, almost humming with immense power. One shard passes just in front of his face, another just behind him, but rather than his own reflection in the glass he sees you.

You and a proud smile. You flicker behind him, and—

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

The first punch is thrown.

His movements are fluid. Graceful. Like conducting the orchestra of life and matter itself. He’s gotten even better since you left. You didn’t even know that was possible.

Your glass knives go zinging around him just as he remembered, but your technique was no match for a man who could see everything. All you had to do to try to keep up was to be faster. Faster. Faster.

But you were fighting a hopeless battle and you knew it. This was Satoru Gojo and at the end of the day you were a curse user. You knew how this ended. At this point the back and forth was just a formality.

His punches landed like they always did, the familiar blasts of red and blue that you learned to dodge all those years ago — only something was different. Something was off. His punches just barely you, just close enough to feel the breeze around his enclosed fists. He was holding back. You knew him well enough to know that.

Your grit your teeth, “Don’t go soft on me now, Satoru.”

“Who said I was?”

What a horrible liar.

“Terrible time for you to suddenly grow a conscience,” the quips are bittersweet in your mouth, rolling over your tongue like the tooth-rotting sugar of a childhood candy. Something in this back and forth felt nostalgic. Something in this back and forth made your heart lurch. Something in this back and forth made you feel as if any minute now you would dust the dirt off your pants, sigh in defeat, and walk off with him and. the rest of your class for a popsicle at the 7-eleven nearby. But this wasn't what this was. Suguru was dead. Yuu was dead. You defected years ago. And Satoru was sent with a mission that he was going to finish, no matter how much it pained him to. You just prayed it would be over quickly.

You grit your teeth, "I thought I was fighting the strongest!" Another blast just barely misses you.

"You are," his palm extends outward, a thundering force tunnelling along the concrete to your position, stopping just there before your feet.

God, this would be easier for you if he could just kill you like a cold-blooded killer. If in the last few years since you left the Satoru you knew had been successfully replaced with the sharpened knife the higher ups spent their whole life training him to be. But the hesitation in his attacks said otherwise in the most heartbreaking way possible. The words left unsaid over the last ten years came through in every missed attack, every pulled punch. Even now, even after everything, he was protecting you.

"Then hit me like you mean it!"

Like you mean it. If Satoru did anything right now the way he meant it this would be going a lot differently. If he could do this the way he meant it he would've stopped a long time ago. He would have extended his hand, flashing that arrogant smile he knew annoyed you to no end and helped you back to your feet.

But you want a fair fight and you'll get it. It'd be an insult to the sorcerer you'd grown into for him to hold back now at this crucial moment. All those hours, all those extra missions you took on while you were peers, all those promises and challenges, if you were going out you wanted to go out right. That was the least he could give you after all, wasn't it?

And so what did it mean when his attacks began to ripple through the concrete, forcing you to jump and weave around his blasts until you could feel your legs giving out? When his attacks forced you to concentrate all your energy into whizzing around between your blades, the sheer focus of reading his attacks and focusing your cursed energy draining your mind? That he acknowledged you. That he would fight you here and now as the sorcerer he respected. As the sorcerer he admired.

Your movements are angles, refractions, jets of blinding light and flickering reflections against his tremendous power. Slivers of light streams shooting between each blade - here, then here, then here - distributing your cursed energy across them so it would be more difficult for him to detect, David against Goliath. A battle of light against matter.

Until you shattered.

You lay on the concrete and hear the crunching of Satoru's shoes as he walks toward you. He walks slowly. He's giving you more time on purpose and you can tell, as if willing you to get up and fight, if only to prolong the inevitable. So he could avoid it for just a minute longer. He could have killed you long ago. But he hasn't.

The ground seems to simmer, rumbling with the sheer intensity of Satoru's cursed energy as the dust clears. He'd shot you down to the ground and here you were again.

"Barely even a scratch and you're on the ground already?" The quip is obviously meant to get a rise out of you but his voice is tinged with sadness. Get up. Get up, please.

You cough once. Twice. You feel something warm trickle from your lips and the taste of iron. "Cut the pleasantries, Satoru. We both know how this ends."

The sun sets below the horizon as he walks over, casting a shadow on your crumpled figure. You spit blood onto the concrete and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, lip stained scarlet. You're the picture of a pathetic and battered curse user, and you hope that the sight he sees before him now would be alien enough to him, that he wouldn't prolong this torture any longer. That his muscle memory would activate seeing something cowered before him and he would lift his hand and finish you off sooner or later. You hoped this way you wouldn't need to face him in this state, wouldn't need to get a torturously close look at the man you could have known in some other life had you chosen a different life.

The man you could have had.

To your anguish, he speaks. "I didn't want it to end like this."

You look away. You can scarcely bear to look at him right now without your heart aching. "...I know."

"I always hoped you'd come back on your own."

But that was wishful thinking. A sorcerer like you, after all that you' had done, would never be allowed to waltz right back into Jujutsu society, to return to that world and it's secrets and privileges as if you had never done the things you did when you followed Suguru all those years ago. No matter how much you might have daydreamed about it on occasion, no matter how many times you found yourself stopping by those campus gates and wondering what would happen if you walked your way back inside. Whether the key you kept in your pocket, a useless memento now, would still slot into your old dorm room. If your pictures would still be up on the wall, the hung up receipts from weekends out at the mall with Ieiri and Iori, the sticky notes Satoru had thrown at you in the middle of classes, ticket stubs from past missions.

And Satoru would be lying if he didn't say the same, if he didn't spend the first few weeks you left stopping by the freezer on his 7-eleven runs to reach for your favorite ice cream before remembering there was nobody to hand it off to. If he didn't learn a new trick or technique and didn't run to the dorm building to show you before stopping himself. If he didn't watch his students sparring from the bleachers, wondering if you would have been sitting by his side watching them too.

"They'd send me straight for the execution chamber and you know that-"

"You never should've left," he speaks bitterly, regretfully, as if his voice was straining just saying the words, "You should've stayed at Jujutsu Tech, you should've been there with the rest of us, we could've-"

You cut him off before he keeps talking and makes either of you ache any longer. "It's over now, Satoru."

"It didn't have to be, I -" he looks down, his mouth fumbling for words he can't find. His mind scrambles for any idea he could possibly have for bringing you back, and just as quickly as they come they form they dissipate, like a fistful of powder.

He squeezes his eyes shut, his voice breaking. "What am I supposed to do with you now..."

Your next words are spoken with finality. "Exactly what you were told to do."

The words make your throat tighten, make your arms tremble and struggle to hold yourself up. You keep your head down.

After a few moments he finally mutters a few words. "You're making this difficult."

"I'm sorry."

"Why," he whispers, "why did you do it?" His voice breaks. "Why did you leave me?"

Your face burns. You don't have the heart to tell him that when Suguru spoke, he spoke so convincingly. That after you saw the dead eyes of Riko Amanai in her shroud, young enough to be your classmate, young enough to be your sister, then walked back out into the swarming Tokyo streets wondering what she died for you wanted to throw up.

When you saw Satoru walk around like a living corpse, when you saw him have to force himself back into his usual self, that life had to somehow go on after all that had happened, you felt sick - sick.

So in your youth you thought that Suguru had found an answer. Some way that would bring us anywhere but here. Some world where you and everyone you loved wouldn't have to live and die like this.

"I thought I was doing the right thing-"

"You were one of the few good things I had left."

A silence settles between you two. Your eyes meet his.

Once upon a time he looked at you with the twinkle of a challenge in his eye, waking up in the morning looking forward to whatever stupid shenanigans you and the rest of your classmates would get up to that day. The way he looks at you now, with ten years in between your last meeting, since the last time you saw those eyes truly full of light and hope, he looks at you with the eyes of a dead man.

You couldn't live. You shouldn't. Or those eyes would haunt you forever.

When people look into the eyes of Satoru Gojo, they practically look into the eyes of God. The man who holds the balance of life in his very sight. Jujutsu sorcerers and cursed spirits alike cowered under his icy gaze.

But just as you had all those years ago, when you looked at him you only saw a boy. A boy whose heart left with you ten years ago.

You reach your hand up, sliding your fingers between his, and before he can even process it, his hand gently squeezes yours.

Please. Please.

For a moment he is quiet. For a moment his pulse jumps in his throat. For a moment he almost believes all those delusions in his head, that there was some way for you to return to Jujutsu. Return to him.

Your fingers fold around his, sliding and twisting his hand into a point directed straight to your forehead. You close your eyes.

"Satoru."

His name sounds devastating on your lips, the way you speak his name knowing it may be one of the last things you say and, God, if there was the right final word let it be his name.

Your name passes from his lips like a whisper in return. You two refuse to say anything more. You know if you say what you want to you run the risk of cursing him, and your shadow has loomed on him for long enough. Yours and many others'.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

The words sit, shapeless on your tongue. You don't dare speak them - for his sake. As much as it will kill you. As much as it would kill him either way.

Those unspoken words hang in the air, and Satoru breaks the silence.

"I-"

"Don't."

"Please-"

"I said don't-"

HIs voice begins to rise. "Please just say it, say something, anything-"

"You know what would happen if I do."

"I do! And does it look like I give a damn?! Don't leave me again, God, don't leave, stay with me this time. Give me that much, just don't go-"

"No," you say firmly, and you want to crumble when you feel the way he winces at your interruption. "... Please."

Satoru's hand trembles.

He swallows.

・・・・☆・・・・☆ ・・・・

“Another win for yours truly,” Satoru grinned, his hand held out to you. “Seriously, you’d think in three years you’d learn a thing or two,” he pouts pitifully.

“I’ve learned you’re an asshole!” You cross your arms over your chest, rolling onto your side. You huffed, a puff of dirt rising as you did. You hated meeting his eyes when he was gloating, he was always so full of himself after a match.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” he throws his head back laughing as he leaned over you, nudging you with his hand, “get up and let’s to already. You’re covered in dirt, country girl. I mean look at yourself,” he picks up one of your glass shards and holds it up to your face so you can see your reflection. He sticks his tongue out and mock gags. “Uuuugly.”

“Shut up, Satoru!”

He laughs again, a sound warm like the sunshine itself.

“Come on, come on. I’ll buy you an ice cream.”

You turn onto your other side and huff again. He rolls his eyes, exasperated, but smiles at your stubbornness. He shrugs and lays down beside you. “Or is the dirt that comfortable?”

The two of you lay there for a moment under the setting sun, wrapped in the warm of the golden hour. His eyes meet yours and he’s stumped into a pause. It’s been three years since you arrived at Jujutsu Tech and you both have grown since then - him into a young man and you into a young lady of your own right. The light strikes your eyes just so, making them glitter like the sunlight on the sea. Had your eyes always been so beautiful? Had your hair always fallen perfectly around your eyes? Had the little sun freckles on your skin from your childhood in the fields always been so endearing to him?

His heart flutters.

His silence stuns you too. Satoru Gojo was never quiet. When you turn over you see his perpetually smug expression soften, lips parted, eyebrows relaxed, opening those famous blue eyes to you. A breeze passes, the wind rustling the trees above you, and you realize your so close that some of your hair could brush his cheek from here. His silence makes you feel compelled to whisper.

“Satoru?”

In that moment he almost feels compelled to say something stupid. So stupid. With your face this close to him his head is filled with stupid questions. Stupid thoughts.

Instead he flicks your forehead. You yelp and your hand flies to rub that spot.

“What in the world was that for?” you cry out.

“For making me lie on the dirt when it actually sucks.”

“I didn’ make you do anythin’!” There was that little accent slipping out again. He laughs to himself as he gets up and stands over you again, waiting for you to join him. You look up at him and look up at the sky.

"One day," you huff, "one day we'll settle this for once and for all. And I'm gonna win."

He smiles down at you. "I'll be waiting."

writing masterlist | bot masterlist

☾₊ ⊹ AN: omg about time i got this out of my drafts. i wrote like 80% of this on the plane and then had no idea how to actually end it, so i sat on it for a few days and hopefully this ended up working out idk. this is definitely longer compared to the other stuff i've done so i really appreciate it if you did end up reading all this way. byyyye!

#gojo #satoru gojo #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #writing by junie

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almostgenerallyalways · 2 years ago

Text

mamas (don’t let your babies grow up to be cowboys)

Pairing: Jake Seresin x fem!reader Category: angst / fluff / run-on sentences Word count: 3,1k CW: language, I’ve been to Texas once okay forgive me, divorce Author’s note: this was supposed to be a holiday fic but I got stuck on it and almost abandoned it, but here it is rescued from my drafts, shoutout to all the amazing tgm fic writers your writing truly astounds me

Summary: Every year around the holidays, you hear from your ex. This year when you don’t respond, he decides to show up at your door.

2022

Jake UT [November 23, 2022 at 10:24 PM]

Hey stranger

Visiting my mom for Thanksgiving

How’ve you been?

You ignore the message. How you’ve been in the last twelve months is not something you feel up to discussing with him.

You spend the next weeks dealing with crisis after crisis at work, leaning into the chaos like you have been all year. Your personal life? Garbage fire. Reconfiguring your entire pump setup two weeks before going to production, because the DoC slapped an import ban on one of your key suppliers in China? You’re on top of it.

But then, the week before Christmas, another message comes in:

Jake UT [December 17th, 2022 at 3:47 PM]

Hey

In town for the holidays

Would love to see you if you’re free

Brett welcome too, of course

A pang in your chest, but curiosity gets the better of you, so you text back:

Thanksgiving and Christmas? Judy must be thrilled.

You’ve met Jake’s mom all of one time, ten years ago, but she made a lasting impression. Fiercely protective of her only son, she’d been wary of you at first (you were, in order of importance: Too non-Texan, too vegetarian, and too focused on trying to rescue an almost-due group project for your sustainable water management class in which no one was pulling their weight).

And yet, over the Thanksgiving weekend you’d spent at Jake’s mother’s house in Colton, she’d slowly warmed up to you. You’d asked her endless questions about her job as a project manager at Austin-Bergstrom, and she’d poured you half glasses of wine (still exotic, to you, back then) at the kitchen island, shooing Jake back into the living room.

She’d even called you, after you guys broke up, to say she was sorry to hear it, and to tell you to call her up any time you needed someone to talk to. You’d tried your best to keep your voice even, not to break down in tears for the seventh time that day, and never called her again.

* * *

“Dude. Put your phone away for two minutes.”

Jake looks up apologetically at his friend, and pockets the device. “Sorry. Just expecting a text.”

Sandeep holds out his bottle of Lone Star, and Jake clinks it with his own. “It’s good to see you, man. Sorry I wasn’t around at Thanksgiving, we were visiting Jed’s family in NC. I didn’t expect you to be back so soon.”

Jake takes a swig of his beer, the cold liquid feeling like a balm to his throat. “Yeah, well. It’s been a big year, work-wise, so they owed me one. I wanted to spend some extra time with my mom.”

Bringing up his drink to toast again, Sandeep says: “Here’s to you, bud. And to getting that permanent assignment in California. At least we knew where to send our holiday card this year.”

Condensation drips down the neck of his bottle, and Jake spins it slowly in his hand, stopping himself from peeling off the label. He feels on edge, unmoored, despite this 6th Street dive bar being as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.

Sandeep’s got his number. “Seeing anyone else while you’re in town? I don’t know, Myers?”

Jake doesn’t look up, but feels his cheeks heat up fractionally.

His friend takes another swig of his beer. “I guess I should stop calling her Myers. You know, with the divorce and all.”

The bottle escapes Jake’s grip, and amber liquid sloshes across the table, into Sandeep’s lap. “Shit, Seresin! Grab some napkins, will you?”

* * *

2012

You’d always known there was an expiration date on this thing with Jake, which is why you’d been reluctant to meet his mom to begin with.

You wanted fundamentally different things. He, the Navy: Adventure, excitement, a chance to serve his country. You: Stability. A family. A place where you belonged.

Both of you: an opportunity to prove yourself.

It’s civil, as far as breakups go.

“You always knew I wanted to fly.” He says, over breakfast at Magnolia Café. There’s a hard set to his jaw that makes you soften in contrast, because of course you do, everyone who’s ever been near Jake Seresin for longer than ten minutes knows he’s always wanted to fly.

From your first date he told you about how Judy used to park him in her office at the airport when her summer childcare fell through; little Jake happily spending the day watching commercial jets taxiing and taking off in quick succession.

How her coworkers, the civilian engineers who’d stayed on after Bergstrom Air Force Base was decommissioned and commercialized, would regale him with stories about generations of F-4 Phantoms. Or the British Airways Concorde, one of only twenty of the ill-fated aircraft ever made, bringing the Queen to Austin in a little yellow hat. The Reconnaissance Air Meet bringing in the best fighter pilots from across all divisions of the military and abroad, to compete and show off their skills.

Jake would listen to them with stars in his eyes.

You pick at your migas, your appetite gone. “I know, Jake. I would never stop you.”

But you look at him, and you know your face mirrors his determination. “But I can’t come with you, Jake. I can’t start my career following you around from camp to base year to year. I’m forty-thousand dollars in debt getting this degree, and I need to follow my own plan.”

You haven’t moved in together, though Jake spends most of his nights at your tiny off-campus apartment, where you’ve made him countless cups of black coffee trying to fuel weekend study sessions. Where he would come in past midnight, back from the late shift at his part-time job at the H-E-B, and bury his face in your neck, waking you up even though you’d been asleep for hours. Where you would hold his sleeping head to your chest, his deep breathing somehow felt inside of you, and run your fingers up and down the bare skin of his back, trying to memorize him.

You’re twenty-two, you tell yourself. This is not the end of the world.

So you see him off at the front door, a box of his things clutched to his chest, and you force yourself to be strong. “You better be,” and you try to smile up at him, but you’re not sure you’re doing a convincing job, “You better be the best goddamn pilot the Navy has ever seen, Jake.”

For a second, he looks like he wants to say something, but then he just puts down the box, and pulls you into a last embrace. You sink into it, the fundamentally safe feeling of his arms around you, then make yourself pull away after a minute, pretending you don’t see the wet stains on his shirt.

Later you look at all the spaces in your apartment he is now conspicuously absent from (no dog-eared volume of Game of Thrones on the nightstand, no boots by the door), and it hits you then; the crevasse he’s left in your life. It may run deeper than you thought.

* * *

Jake had gone to Officer Candidate School in Rhode Island, then designator-specific training in Pensacola, Florida, and done his best not to think about you.

It helped that his days were intense and exhausting. It helped that, on liberty weekends, girls would flock to him and his friends in bars.

It helped to be several states away from you.

It helped to be living his dream.

* * *

There is a bit of a backslide, that first Thanksgiving after, where you both think it can’t hurt to see each other for one drink, for old time’s sake, which ends in him taking you up against the door in your new apartment, your legs wrapped around his waist because he does not have the willpower or presence of mind to figure out the way to your bedroom.

He knows it was a mistake, at about five AM the next day, when the blue light of morning starts streaming through a gap in the curtains, illuminating your tousled hair fanned out over the pillow, the steady rise and fall of your chest so familiar to him he could cry.

Untangling himself from you hurts, and he does perhaps the most cowardly thing he ever will: he sneaks out before you wake up. But next week he’s shipping out, and the thought of the same dead-end conversation over coffee made just the way he likes it is unbearable, so he makes himself walk away.

Somehow it’s worse, the second time around.

* * *

You’d met someone else, like he’d known you would. He sees the engagement announcement on Facebook, browsing on his phone between drills, and likes the post. It’s the third year he’s been away, and he’s at TOPGUN by then, so he has a lot on his mind. He has a girlfriend, even, a local: cute as a button, beats him savagely at pool.

It doesn’t fully hit him until the first time he sees you with your then-fiancé, at a little holiday reunion of college friends. He sees you with that ring on your finger, another man’s arm around your shoulders, and he gets an acute sense of the alternate reality that could’ve been his.

It feels a little like losing altitude too fast.

Your initial reception of him is understandably frosty, but you seem too genuinely happy to hold a grudge. By the third round, when he sidles up to you at the bar, you give him a quick hug, looking up at him with a smile that squeezes his heart: “I’m so proud of you, Jake.”

He nods, not quite trusting himself to speak, and pulls you back in, just for a moment, tucking your head under his chin. You smell like apple and magnolia, like nights spent with his nose pressed into your back.

You don’t invite him to the wedding, and he’s all too glad not to have to make up an excuse not to go.

* * *

Things settle, after that. Jake gets deployed and reassigned, breaks up with his girlfriend and eventually gets another. You get promoted to senior engineer, then project lead. You see each other, not every year but close enough, sometimes with your husband there, sometimes without.

He braces himself for the next Facebook post; that you’re pregnant, but it never comes. Over time, even that seems to lose some of its potential emotional impact on him.

Until three weeks ago, when you don’t text him back.

* * *

2022

You kick your shoes off in the entryway, then head into the kitchen to pour a glass of water. Before you can reach the tap, the doorbell rings, and for a second you think somehow, some way, your terrible Bumble date has followed you home.

Grabbing the biggest kitchen knife you own off the magnet strip over the sink, just in case, you creep back to the door, barefoot, to press your face up to the peephole.

You don’t really expect to see the guy you just left, the ice in your glass not even melted before you were thinking up excuses to get out of there, but you sure as fuck don’t expect to see Jake either.

The door feels heavier than usual as you slowly slide it open, or maybe you’re just a little stunned. The night air hits your skin, and you can make out the sound of dogs barking in the distance.

For a long moment, Jake just looks at you, but then he says: “What were you planning on doing with that, sweetheart?”

You follow the jut of his chin down the line of your arm, and contemplate the knife for a second, Jake’s sudden appearance having made you forget all about it.

“I thought someone might have followed me here.”

“Ah.” He says, a spark in his eyes, clearly suppressing a smile. “If you were going to defend yourself in hand-to-hand combat, a knife is a terrible choice. I could give you some tips, though.”

Putting the damn thing down on your entryway console, you turn back to look at him. It’s not cold, exactly, in December in South Central Austin, but he looks underdressed: a long-sleeved light grey t-shirt, hands shoved in the pockets of a faded pair of jeans.

He looks good, you can’t deny it: he’s always had an immediate effect on you.

Jake, your somewhat gangly, sweet college boyfriend had it. Jake, ten years of military training later: older, filled out, fine crinkly lines starting to appear at the corners of his eyes (helped along by the California sun and God knows what far-off places), irrevocably still does.

You shake your head, trying to clear your thoughts. “What are you doing here, Jake?”

At that, his expression sobers, and he looks at you for a long moment before he says:

“You didn’t tell me.”

* * *

Fucking Sandeep, you think, rubbing the back of your hand across your eyes, because that fucker has not been subtle with the hints lately, tutting like a Victorian matron while you pass the time evaluating your Bumble matches with his husband during Monday night football’s ad breaks.

The granite of your kitchen countertop feels reassuringly cool beneath your thighs, and you take a deep breath, keeping your eyes on the tile below:

“I wasn’t ready.”

Jake huffs, or so you assume by the little sound that escapes him, as you determinedly face only his sneakers: “It’s been a year. You sure told everyone else we know.”

That makes your head snap up, emotion rising in your chest in a way you don’t like, have always had to tamp down when it comes to him, these last ten years. “Fuck off, Jake. You know it’s different when it comes to you.”

He leans back against the fridge, arms folded, just slightly lifting his right eyebrow at you in that irritating way of his: “I could’ve been there for you.”

Fuck it, you think, all cards on the table then. “I was heartbroken, and embarrassed, and trying to figure out how to exist on my own again after being married for five years to someone who didn’t turn out to be who I thought he was, Jake. Sorry my first impulse wasn’t to come cry on my hometown hero ex-boyfriend’s shoulder.”

His eyes soften, and he pushes off the fridge to come stand next to you, running his fingers over the edge of the countertop. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice quieter than a moment ago. “I’m being a dick. It’s just, you have to know, I would’ve been there for you.”

He pauses for a second, takes a deep breath: “It’s always been different when it comes to you too, sweetheart.”

You start to shake, a little, or maybe it’s your imagination. But your voice wavers as you say his name, everything about your tone a warning: “Jake.”

He closes his eyes, shakes his head: “Our timing sucked, and I don’t regret our decision from back then. I’m proud of who I’ve become in the last ten years, and I’m proud of you. You think I don’t keep up with what you’re doing? The articles you’ve published?”

This stuns you, momentarily. “No, Jake Seresin. If I’m completely honest, I didn’t think you gave a shit about the latest advances in Texas drought management.”

Just being near him, the familiar smell of him bringing up memories you’ve had years to unsuccessfully repress, is overpowering.

He makes it worse by turning to you, face so goddamn heartbreakingly earnest as he says: “I couldn’t give you what you deserved, ten years ago, but I always told myself, if I was ever in a position to…” He swallows. “I tried to forget about it when you got married, I tried to root for you and Brett, I swear.”

His hand settles next to your thigh, not quite touching, and your hand comes down on its own accord to cover his. He straightens almost imperceptibly, uses his other palm to wipe a tear that’s made its way down your cheek.

Cupping your face, he draws a deep breath. “I have a permanent assignment now, in San Diego. I know it’s…”

“Jake.” You interrupt, squeezing your eyes shut, grabbing the hem of his shirt. “I’m not remotely the same person I was back then.”

He moves to stand in front of you now, and you draw him in between your thighs. Suddenly it seems imperative that you feel him, that he holds you.

Dipping his head to yours, you can hear the smile in his voice, watery, tentative: “Then let me get to know you again. Get to know me again.” He leans one hand on the counter, the other tracing your cheekbone. “No pressure. I’m totally very cool about this. Whatever you want.”

You laugh, a little choked up through tears, but genuine. It feels liberating. “What if I say yes? How does this work?”

His smile broadens, eyes crinkling at the corners, and he’s so goddamn close, nudging your nose with his. “Come visit me, for a start. I’ll show you the sights.”

You draw him in a little closer still, legs wrapping around his waist, one hand finding its way into his close-cropped hair, and you could cry for how familiar he still feels after all these years.

But when you close the gap between your lips and his, it’s like coming home and yet not at all: he’s different and rougher and sharper and it floods you with emotion, something big and terrifying and old and new.

He leans into the kiss, grinning, cards his fingers through your hair before he moves to cover your chin, your brow, the space next to your ear with kisses, and you remember this with a jolt to your heart – how singularly intense it is to be the focus of Jake Seresin, like the strength of the sun is aimed at you, how he never does anything by halves.

You take his chin in your hand, kiss him again for good measure, before saying, into the stubble of his jaw: “One visit. No pressure.”

The grin he gives you in return could power half this city: “One visit. No pressure.”

He dips his head to yours again, kissing the skin behind your ear as he tells you: “Southern California has a lot of drought problems, you know. I’ve actually been reading some really scary articles about it.”

i hope you enjoyed :):) - if you liked this I hope you’ll check out some of my other work:

where the wild things are (rooster x reader)

cross my heart (hangman x reader) masterlist

#tgm fic #tgm fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x you #top gun maverick fic #why am i like this i stg

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slytherinboysappreciation · 8 months ago

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Adoration - T. R. x fem!Reader

A/N: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while so I figured I’d post it. It’s unedited and my first time writing a sex scene so please be nice 💛 No use of Y/N. Reader is Dumbledore’s daughter. Tom is in his seventh year for this fic

Infatuation, the second part, is here

CW: Angst, so much angst; religious trauma, I guess?; Dumbledore bashing; mentions of devils; mentions of past physical abuse; trauma related to masturbation; crying, nausea, shame, and self-hatred related to masturbation; hurt/comfort kinda; praise kink; uhhh I think that’s it. Please let me know if I missed anything!!!

Does contain mature content so NO MINORS PLEASE!!! Just keep scrolling!!

999 words

Tom hated Dumbledore. The professor reminded him too much of the priests at the orphanage. The ones who smile and pretend to be your friend, but are never there when you truly need it.

Tom hated Dumbledore. The way he so obviously played favorites while blatantly denying doing so. Slughorn was an annoying professor, but at least he admitted to his favorites.

Tom hated Dumbledore. The way the man looked as if he knew something Tom didn’t. It got under his skin; made him itch with discomfort.

But no matter how much Tom hated Dumbledore, he hated his daughter more.

You’d been his first true connection to the wizarding world. You’d been there that first day, when Dumbledore had come to visit Tom in the orphanage.

You’d stood quiet and docile as Dumbledore told Tom about his magic. Tom had listened, of course. But it wasn’t until he was alone with you later that he truly believed.

You’d sat on the edge of his rickety bed, while your father had gone to discuss things with the orphanage nuns.

“They call me a freak,” Tom had said quietly. “They say I’m possessed by the devil.”

You’d looked at him. You, with your lovely wide eyes and sweet trusting smile. “What’s a devil?” You’d asked, so earnestly. “Your magic is special. See? I can do it too.”

You’d held out your hand, concentrating. A small flower had bloomed in your palm, sprouting from nowhere. And Tom had finally believed.

Believed you and your stupid smile. Your darling sweet manner. Your soft-spoken words.

All the things he despised about you now.

Despised… and adored.

Tom could not get you out of his head. You haunted him. Hounded him. It was maddening.

Every morning you’d smile so sweetly at him. You’d laugh or say something silly and inconsequential. And it would stick in Tom’s head all day long.

He couldn’t stand it!

You were nothing compared to him. He was Tom Riddle, the newly discovered Heir of Slytherin! The future ruler of the wizarding world! Voldemort!

You were the daughter of a half-witted buffoon who’d abandoned Tom as soon as he’d gotten to Hogwarts.

And yet, he could not get you out of his head.

Like now.

He’d been in the library, trying to study peacefully when you’d approached him with that smile of yours. You’d needed his help getting a book down.

Of course he helped; he could never truly end up saying no to your smile. Just another fact he hated.

But he’d stood too close to you while getting down the book, and he’d accidentally brushed up against you.

And now he was in his room, angrily trying to will the erection you’d unknowingly given him away.

It doesn’t work. Not after five minutes, not after ten. The memory of your blush and sweet smile was too much.

Tom can’t stand this. He has a meeting with one of his teachers in an hour!

So there’s only one thing to do.

Tom settles back into his bed, exhaling heavily. This has rarely been a pleasurable experience for him. The nuns at Wool’s were strict in their devotion to chastity. Even with the boys.

Tom’s been beaten more times than he can count after being caught trying to get some relief. So he avoids it until absolutely necessary.

And now he’s having to do it, all because of your horrendous smile.

Tom unbuckles his pants, glancing at the door to double check it’s locked. It is.

Tom takes his time pulling out his cock. Rushing feels too much like being back at the orphanage.

He grimaces at the sight. Too many bad memories are associated with what he’s about to do.

With a deep breath, Tom closes his eyes and clears his mind and wraps a hand around his cock.

The self-loathing hits after the first few moments. It’s strong enough that he falters, wanting to vomit.

But the need for release is stronger than his hatred. He continues on, swallowing down his nausea.

Every moment is like torture. His mind conjuring hateful words about himself, while his body aches with pleasure.

He starts to cry; silent tears pooling in his eyes. It’s too much. The hatred. The disgust and shame.

Just as he’s about to let go and give up, a new thought enters his mind. A smile…

His frenzied mind attaches itself to the thought like a rabid dog. Before he can even comprehend the switch, Tom’s breath is taken away.

There you are, in his mind. Sitting at the edge of his bed, smiling.

He stills immediately, but your smile isn’t mocking. It’s… peaceful.

“Silly boy,” you murmur, in his mind. “What are you so worked up about?”

Tom swallows, shaking. “You,” he whispers.

You laugh, soft and teasing. The sound makes Tom ache.

In his mind, you reach out, fingers feather soft. You grasp his cock, that ever-infuriating smile on your face.

“Silly boy,” you coo. “It’s as easy as this.”

As your imaginary hand glides along his cock, his own hand does the same. Tom whimpers. It feels incredible.

He starts to speed up, panting as your imagined self murmurs encouragements to him.

“That’s it,” you whisper to him. “That’s my good boy.”

“Your good boy,” he repeats, breathless.

You laugh again, your voice so achingly soft. And Tom cums so hard his ears ring.

He hunches over, gasping for breath. You’re gone now. His thoughts flit around aimlessly. What had just happened?

He lies back, gazing up at the ceiling in shock. He’d just— You’d— You.

He’s made a mess of his pants and bedsheets. But this time, the shame and self-hatred are overshadowed by a sudden rush of annoyance.

Of course it would be you. You, with your smile and laughter. You, who he cannot rid from his brain as much as he tries.

You.

He cleans himself up, too busy plotting how he can get his revenge to feel ashamed at the mess.

#tom riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x you #tom riddle smut #reader is from an unspecified hogwarts house #please don’t be mean to me over this #divider by cafekitsune

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codenamesazanka · 2 months ago

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Saw some Spinaraki kid OCs so I decided to try my hand at it too. Though it's less happy family kidfic and more resentfully making Heroes and Deku face consequences post-canon. Sorry.

the Spinaraki lovechild:

Shirakata Masanori | 白方正憲

Age: 15

Appearance: Lizard heteromorph. Black hair, pink eyes, white scales.

Quirk: Adhesion. Decay's spreading effect + Gecko's sticking trait. Anything object Masanori touches and remain in contact with will adhere with anything the object is also touching. If he touches a sidewalk, everyone on it will be stuck and trapped, unable to move their feet.

result of Spinner and Shigaraki getting together post-Deika/pre-surgery. super unexpected.

three months after Shigaraki went in for surgery, Spinner pops out an egg (please go with it)

During Heroes' raid on the PLF Villa, Spinner entrusts egg to ReDestro. Unfortunately, when everyone got arrested, egg gets swept up in custody capture of MLA kids.

With no one to claim the egg, it is placed in orphanage; all contact is then lost.

Egg hatches after war, at end of August.

Spinner was never able to tell Shigaraki about their kid due to the possession.

He decides not to say anything to the Heroes either. Doesn't trust them after Shigaraki got killed, and better that the kid doesn't grow up stigmatized for having terrorists as parents.

But Spinner does leave a letter with his court-appointed lawyer, hoping that one day it will reach the kid, when they come of age.

Spinner dies early due to effects of having multiple quirks; dies ten years after war

The lawyer, deciding to just finish up this assignment cleanly, finds the kid 4 years later and delivers the letter despite the kid not reaching age of majority.

Despite half-assed mild societal change efforts, Masanori grows up an orphan in the system, with the additional stigma of being an PLF raid kid (and therefore very likely the child of dead/arrested Villains/criminals)

Abandoned, unnamed babies in Japan are named by the city/town's mayor. Masanori was named with the kanji "white-direction correct-law" in hopes that he would become a law-abiding citizen (unlike his unknown parents). The Mayor is an asshole.

(Though Shirakata is a real surname, and chosen because kid has white scales)

Early on, Masanori looked out into the world and realized it doesn't want him, made it clear he doesn't belong. So he accepted it.

However, he knows the path of Villainy only leads to doom.

His caretakers drilled that into the PLF raid kids. Quirk counseling emphasized it a lot. So did teachers. Everyone.

He’s (reluctantly) played the ‘Villain’ in enough playground games that ends with the ‘Heroes’ pretending to smash him to pieces or explode him to nothing, because everyone has seen the war footage.

And he’s known too many people who salivate over the satisfaction of proving his blood is irreparably criminal.

So he won't be a Villain.

He just wants to leave - leave the orphanage, leave the city, leave Japan. Maybe travel the world alone forever.

Masanori is: very solitary, utterly disinterested in people, self-reliant, pragmatic, opportunistic, clever enough but can bite off more than he can chew

Masanori doesn't really have any sentimental feelings about his parents; or rather, he feels there's no point to dwell on it

He always knew he was the son of criminals. Discovering that he's the son of the most notorious criminals is somewhat cool, but Spinner and Shigaraki are long dead and gone.

When Masanori first received the letter, there was a satisfaction to finally knowing, nearly a sense of destiny. So he read the League of Villains memoir. He read the manuscript drafts that he inherited from Spinner. He did a lot of research.

(In the letter, Spinner admits that the kid was a surprise, that Shigaraki never knew, and Spinner himself doesn't know anything about the kid and will likely go to his grave not knowing.

They dealt the kid a shit hand.

Saying something cliche like they loved the kid they never knew would be hollow; and besides, Spinner and Shigaraki were twisted and distorted people. Villains. So the truth is, the kid is likely better off without them.

But.

Spinner wishes he and Shigaraki could've known the kid, and he regrets that neither of them were able to stay alive and free.

Spinner also writes that if Shigaraki knew about the kid, he knows Shigaraki would've tried to give them the world.)

But eventually, for Masanori, the end result of all that is realizing that there's nothing to be done with this information. Spinner and Shigaraki don't know him, and he doesn't know them; never will. They were criminals, they were young and stupid, they picked a fight and lost, and they left him behind.

All he has is still just himself.

...and this new knowledge he might be able to use to his advantage.

Which is why Masanori decides to confront the Hero Deku and demand compensation for the death of his parents and other hardships

Age 15, Masanori arrives at Deku's agency, carrying Spinner's letter that is his only proof

But just looking at Masanori convinces Deku. Kid's appearance is basically Tenko in lizard heteromorph form, but even his demeanor reminds Deku of Shigaraki - aloof but intense, determined. (tho he is still younger, less hostile, a bit stiff in nervousness)

Deku is shocked, guilty, suspicious, already wants to help, appalled at the extortion attempt. Ready for a conflict.

At least until he hears Masanori's demands:

Guaranteed admission to UA's General Studies Program, a recommendation letter, as well as a stipend all three years that Masanori is in high school.

And that's it.

Masanori has only an okay school record.

He did not have an enriching school life.

He's been accused of delinquent behavior - mostly suspected small theft and 'incidents' with other students

(They could never actually prove he stole anything; and the incidents he get into are always with the more aggressive classmates. They're not so much fights as pranks, and the bullying usually ceases immediately afterwards.)

High school is not mandatory in Japan, and minors legally can start work at age 15, so Masanori has been "asked"/expected to leave the orphanage after middle school. Jin Scenario

Not a very bright future. But he was ready for it... until he received Spinner's letter.

Suddenly.

If Masanori gets into UA High School, an elite national school, with recommendation from a world-renowned and beloved Hero, it's leaving the orphanage, leaving his hometown, starting a new life.

(General Studies program because he has zero interest in being a Hero.)

Graduate and better prepared to leave everything behind and travel the world alone forever.

Opportunity of a lifetime. He will shamelessly seize it.

Masanori's not blackmailing Deku or anything - nothing to blackmail, since no one cares Deku killed Shigaraki, and admitting he's the son of terrorists is social death. He's relying entirely on Deku's heroism.

Even if his Shigaraki was a Villain that Deku had to kill for the good of the world, that was still his father. Deku will feel compassion and guilt for Masanori.

Because Deku is a hero.

Manipulative? Yes. Is he unqualified for UA? Yes. But Masanori wants a chance at having more to life.

And Deku has to face what he (and All Might, and OFA) never actually did: resolve the continued rejection and ostracization problem in quirk society, and the cycle of Shimura tragedy

Because it's quickly obvious Masanori is just like his parents: given up on the world, given up on people. He's just not dangerous about it.

But his heart is empty. He has never been saved. And he no longer wants to be.

In other words: this time, Deku has to truly save someone that's been failed and rejected by this society he upholds. even if easy mode too because Masanori is not a villain. but is less receptive than a seven-year-old. or someone already having Pro-Hero aspirations

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shybunnie20 · 8 months ago

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The Decorative Divide

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

(sort of) enemies to friends

★My Masterlist

Summary: Dustin and Suzie request that you and Eddie work together to organize a special dinner for them.

Author's Note: This has been collecting dust in my drafts for a year but I didn’t want to abandon it.

Kind of angsty with a happy ending, no use of y/n, Eddie and Reader are around 28 since Dustin and Suzie are 23, implied that Reader is single, self-indulgent mentions of midwestern food, not polished & was proofread to an extent.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: bickering, both Eddie & Reader have quite an attitude and get a little mean, self-deprecation, instance of fainting, includes swearing

As a close family friend, you’ve had the privilege of knowing Dustin for years. Despite living two towns over from Hawkins, you often babysat him once you were old enough to be responsible, given your age gap.

Alongside your friendship with Dustin, you have also come to know Suzie. Dustin and Suzie met during their summer at Camp Know Where. Dustin and Suzie's love has stood the test of time. As young adults who have graduated college and built a life together, they have reached a significant milestone in their relationship.

To celebrate their joyous engagement, the pair has decided to host a casual dinner at their place and they’ve called on you to help. While you would typically be thrilled to take on the task of planning such an event for them, there's a catch. You’re co-planning it with Eddie Munson.

Dustin has spoken highly of Eddie over the years, but your brief encounters with him have left you with a different impression. Contrary to the caring, creative, and devoted individual Dustin has described, you see him as loud—bordering on obnoxious—and overly sure of himself.

When you were first introduced, he showed no interest in getting to know you beyond your face and first name. He appeared closed off and cynical, by the way he shook your hand. You felt as though he’d already decided who you were and what you were about just by looking you once over.

While it was rather impolite, it didn’t bother you all that much at the time. You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt since some people take time to open up. Even so, you were disinterested in engaging with someone so dismissive. The indifference toward each other’s existence was mutual.

Dustin saw this party as an opportunity for you to get to know Eddie better. To the best of your ability, you’ve mentally braced yourself for the likelihood that he doesn’t have a clue about organizing a dinner party. By his looks and demeanor alone, it seems obvious that he hasn’t had many opportunities to even attend one.

Maybe you’re being a bit unfair, relying on assumptions, but you have to have a backup plan in case it’s your intuition guiding you, not your cold judgment.

Having arrived not long ago, you’ve been in the small kitchen of the couple’s apartment for about ten minutes, busily preparing the space. You search the cupboards and retrieve the items you need, like a cutting board and casserole dish.

Your heart stammers when the front door slams shut, the reverberation shaking the thin walls. Just as you were starting to worry that Eddie might not show up at all, he has, albeit with a pulse-stopping entrance. You’re relieved he’s here, despite the mini heart attack he’s just given you.

There’s a brief silence as he moves through the living room toward your direction. Shortly thereafter, you wince at the distinct squeak of each sneaker as he steps onto the linoleum floor of the kitchen.

With an air of nonchalance, Eddie is holding a heavy paper bag of groceries, appearing unfazed by the fact that he’s fifteen minutes late.

Rising slowly from your squatted position in front of the counter cabinet, you release a subtle huff. Glancing down at your watch before directing it at him, you remark, “Jesus, where the hell have you been? Dustin said you’d be here at 4:30.”

“Well, you see, I had this stupidly long list I had to tend to first,” Eddie retorts as he carelessly plops the bag onto the island that separates the two of you. A glass jar at the bottom of the bag clicks against the granite upon contact.

“Of course, you waited until the last minute to go to the store,” You suppress an eye-roll, but the tone of your voice carries the same effect as if you’d done one. Removing the items off of the top of the bag and working your way further in, you mentally check off the list. Tater tots, ground beef, canned green beans, pudding mix, Cool Whip, Snickers… “You forgot the apples,” As you near the bottom of the bag, you glance up at him before withdrawing the one remaining item.

“Nah,” Eddie gestures to the medium-sized jar you’re holding while wearing a confused expression. “Just got that instead.”

“I specifically wrote down one bag of apples. Why the hell did you get applesauce?” You hold it out to the side while you question him, the tension in your body language growing increasingly rigid.

“I figured it would make your job easier. Now you don’t have to waste your time mashing whole-ass apples. Duh?” Eddie pulls a stool out from under the lip of the island and perches himself on it. Oblivious to your irritated stare, he begins to fiddle with the stack of paper napkins that he blindly threw into the shopping cart, neglecting to grab regular white and instead carelessly opting for ugly patterned ones.

“Why on earth would I be mashing-” you begin, pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and index finger. “This is useless to me!” You set the jar down a bit harder than necessary, causing it to thud rather than clink like it had before. “If I’d known you were gonna bring me baby food, then I would’ve just gone to the store myself.”

“How was I supposed to know what you need apples for? Nobody told me shit.”

“You don’t need to be told anything, all you had to do was follow the list,” you round the island and snatch up your car keys and purse. “Don’t burn the place to the ground while I’m gone, please?” You storm out of the kitchen, muttering to yourself all the way to your car.

You have to drive halfway across town and back before you can even start properly preparing dinner, which is beyond frustrating because now you’re even more behind schedule. Once you arrive back at Dustin and Suzie’s apartment, Eddie is lounging on the couch tossing a baseball in the air, not having been tasked with anything since you left.

You put him on the job of tossing together the Snickers salad. It’s just three ingredients, there’s no reason he shouldn’t be able to handle that. All he has to do is mix Cool Whip with chunks of apple and Snickers—it’s not rocket science.

You’ve been so focused on browning the beef for the hotdish that you haven’t been checking in on him. When you finally look over your shoulder to do so, you notice that Eddie is chopping the apples and Snickers bars into rather large chunks. “Eddie-”

“Oh my god, what?” he snaps, setting the knife down noisily and turning to you. “What’s your problem now?”

“You have to cut those smaller, or else all of our friends are going to choke and die. We’re celebrating an engagement, not planning a mass funeral.”

Eddie’s head throbs with how hard his eyes roll back. He bites his tongue and shakes his head. “As you wish, Your Highness,” he mutters sarcastically. Albeit loudly, he does as you asked and dices the pieces. Under his breath, he adds, “Royal pain in the ass, if you ask me.”

As you finish up the main course and put it into the oven, Eddie is in the dining room on a short step ladder hanging up streamers. You step into the room to inspect and it’s immediately evident how crooked they are. The sound of your sigh prompts him to drop his head and take a tense breath, his arms still outstretched above him.

You stand there, arms crossed, eyeing him from below. “It’s not straight. You’ve gotta go up by like three inches on the left. Are you even trying to make this look good?”

“I am, actually!” Eddie barks, dropping the side of the streamer he was holding. It floats to the floor, only attached to the wall on one end. He backs down the ladder and turns to face you. “Just because I'm not obsessed with every little fucking detail like you doesn’t mean I'm not trying. If you stopped being a control freak for five minutes, you’d see that it’s fine the way it is.”

You scoff, your crossed arms tightening. “Control freak? I just want everything to look nice. Is that a crime?”

“No, it’s not. But you’re nitpicking and micromanaging every fucking thing I do.”

You jut out your chin as you speak, standing your ground. “It’s a special night. If it were my dinner, I’d want everything to be perfect.”

“Yeah? I bet. Except it isn’t yours. Who would even propose to you anyway? You’d probably tell them exactly how to do that too,” Eddie pauses, his gaze hard and fixed on you, watching for a shift in your expression that’ll indicate whether you’re even listening to him. “If you want it done a certain way then just do it your damn self.”

“At this rate, that’s the only choice I have. Move then.” You motion for Eddie to step out of the way, and he promptly stomps out of the room. Before you can climb up the ladder in his place, the phone rings. You answer, and it’s Suzie.

She adds a few more tasks to your already extensive list, leaving you feeling utterly overwhelmed with the level of upset you’re already at. Despite how much your head is spinning, you’re adamant that you won’t ask Eddie for help. You’re convinced that he’ll just continue to half-ass everything all while hurling insults at you.

After you promise Suzie that everything will be taken care of in an upbeat tone, you hang up and suppress the frustrated tears pricking your eyes. You return to the streamers and bend over to retrieve the abandoned string. The weight of exhaustion sets in as you climb the ladder, determined to see the job through.

Your palms feel clammy and the thought of holding the sharp thumbtack makes you nervous, but you push the worry away. Persevering, you reach high above your head and try to position the streamer even with the opposite end. You have to lean on your tiptoes a bit, and that’s when the light-headedness swarms. You’re not taking deep enough breaths, and your balance begins to waver.

You’ve been so dead set on ensuring that everything goes smoothly tonight that you’ve neglected to take proper care of yourself. Just as you’re securing the streamer to the wall, you lose your balance entirely.

Amidst patting himself down for his pack of cigarettes, Eddie’s attention is abruptly stolen by the loud thump in the dining room. “What the fuck was-” he peeks into the dining room and he spots you lying on the floor. “Oh, shit,” Eddie rushes over and drops to his knees beside you, his features etched with concern. “Are you okay?” At first, he’s unsure of what he should do. But when he sees that you’re attempting to sit up, he hesitantly guides you. “Did you hit your head?” Once you’re seated upright, Eddie leans in to inspect the back of your skull, as if expecting to find a cartoonish goose egg.

“I don’t know, but I’m fine,” you groggily dismiss his concern, adjusting your position so that you can slouch against the fall. “I just missed a step, that’s all.”

“When was the last time you ate or drank anything?” His brown eyes are wide and shining with concern at your drained appearance. “Say the word and I’ll bring whatever you need.”

“I said I’m fine,” you insist, tears brimming in your eyes as you pull your knees up to your chest. “I just- this dinner is so important for them. If I can’t give them a simple party then-” You try to take a deep breath but it stutters—a tearful hiccup. “You were right. I’ll never have my own party like this. I guess I just want to give them a night I can only dream of.”

Eddie’s frown deepens as he looks down, picking at his cuticles. He’s kicking himself for the hurtful comment he made earlier. At the time, he didn’t realize how deeply that would cut you; he hit you where it hurts. Right now, he wants to reach out, hold your hand, and apologize. Eddie wants to tell you that you’re doing a good job.

You should be taking care of yourself instead of piling all of the pressure onto yourself to satisfy Dustin and Suzie’s requests. He wants to express that, but he can’t. Not after what he said.

In the awkward silence, a humorless laugh escapes you, your embarrassment palpable for exposing the vulnerable side of yourself to him. Harshly, you swipe at your tears, a sting following soon after. Both of you jolt at the timer ringing in the kitchen. You squint through your tear-blurred vision at the clock on the wall. “Fuck, it’s almost 6:30 already.”

You rise unsteadily to your feet, leaving Eddie uncertain, unsure of what to say or if he should even offer to give you a hand at this point. As you fix your hair and try to even out your breaths, you steel yourself for what’s to come. You head back into the kitchen, slipping seamlessly back into work mode.

Eddie gets to his feet a few beats later, but his movements are slow and cautious as he follows, almost as if he’s afraid to intrude. Sheepishly, he enters the room. You’re taking the casserole out of the oven and gathering plates and flatware rather hastily. Despite there being plenty of time and no need to rush, you’re still being hard on yourself.

Twisting the silver bracelet on his wrist, Eddie steps closer to the island. “What can I do to help?” he asks softly, almost cowardly. “I’ll do it the right way this time, I promise.”

You pause. He was right twice over; you were being a control freak, bossing him around. With far less frustration and impatience, you look at him. Though, there’s still a hint of hurt and weakness in your voice. “Would you mind setting the table? I’ll be there in a sec.”

Eddie nods eagerly, a relieved grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He’s grateful that you’re letting him participate even though he’s fucked everything up so far. He gathers the plates and silverware and carries them to the dining table, setting down a plate in front of each chair.

However, he stops in his tracks, realizing that he doesn’t know how to formally set a table. Lost in thought, he mentally searches for the information that he doesn’t have archived, not knowing where the fork and spoon are supposed to be placed.

You enter the room and tilt your head at his trance-like state. “Daydreaming?” You quip, your voice playful and carried with softness, a far cry from the previous tenseness.

“No, I uh- ” Eddie starts, then looks over at you. “Where do you want me to put these?” He holds up his fistful of the silverware.

“Wherever you think is best,” You reply, offering him a small grin—the warmest he’s ever seen on you.

A warmth spreads in his chest and the apples of his cheeks go rosy. He breaks eye contact and murmurs, “Okay, cool.”

When Dustin and Suzie return home, they’re ecstatic with how the place looks. During dinner, everyone is seated around the table—Mike, Lucas, Max, you and Eddie, Steve, and Robin.

Amidst the intermingling conversations, Eddie rises from his seat and clinks his cutlery against his drinking glass. Voices fade off and all eyes turn to him. His gaze sweeps around the table, a kind smile playing on his lips.

He clears his throat, rolls his shoulders back, and raises his glass. “To the happy couple,” Eddie begins, his voice carrying easily through the small room. “And to this little lady beside me, who worked so hard to make tonight as great as it is.”

You shy away when he winks at you. The chorus of agreement and praise overtakes your senses. When you chance a look at him, his focus hasn’t shifted. He’s still looking down at you, but this time with a dazzling smile. Your eyes meet, and for a moment, everything stills.

In his chocolate gaze, you see something different—no longer disinterest, but instead, gratitude and genuine admiration. Raising your glass, you join the collective toast. Dustin mouths “thank you” from across the table, and you nod in acknowledgment.

As Eddie sits back down, you bump his shoulder with your own. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He snorts and gives you a playful look. “Sure you could’ve.”

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t have to,” You say sincerely, tilting your glass toward him.

He responds by tapping his glass against yours, a silent acknowledgment of the forced collaboration. If it weren’t for that, he might have never gotten the chance to uncover your dedication and selflessness. The swirling warmth in his belly sparks curiosity about what other qualities he might admire in you.

One thing is for certain, Eddie is eager to find out.

★My Masterlist

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things 4 #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson fics #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson au #eddie munson x y/n #dustin henderson #stranger things au #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction

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mins-fins · 4 months ago

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".