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luara had got home about an hour ago, and changed out of the dress she was wearing to booty shorts. even though it was gone midnight, she'd decided to message neymar, having forgotten about their lack of communication from his loss, and having forgotten about the loss in general.
she'd sent him a picture of her breasts, but she hadn't bothered to look when she heard the buzzing of his replies on her phone. she'd left her phone in her bedroom, and was in her en-suite bathroom. she hadn't managed to find a shirt she wanted to wear, so she was stood in the mirror, topless, wiping the rest of her lip gloss off, holding onto the sink so she didn't sway as much.
she paused when she heard her front door slam, followed by silence, then heavy footsteps in her bedroom. it was quiet for a moment, just luara staring at herself in the mirror, a confused expression on her face, with a makeup wipe halfway across her bottom lip.
the bathroom door swung open, an angry-looking neymar staring at her in the reflection.
"you're–" his voice was loud, but he sucked on his teeth, clearing his throat and lowering it to a normal level, "you send me a picture of your tits after not calling me for days?"
luara resumed wiping her lip gloss off, hiccuping and leaning forward over the sink so she could see herself closer in the mirror.
"i fucking lose the world cup, and i don't get a text, a call, nothing, not even when i got to brazil. and the first time i hear from you, you've sent me a picture of your fucking tits." he scoffed in disbelief, kicking the door shut behind him. he was seething. he'd been grieving one of the biggest losses in his career, and the one person he wanted to hear from didn't even bother asking if he was okay even if he was obviously not.
luara wiped the rest of her lip gloss off, dropped the wipe in the bin, and turned back to the mirror, not without almost falling though, caught by neymar.
"are you–" he grabbed onto her chin, tilting her head and used the pad of his thumb to open her mouth, smelling the alcohol on her breath, "you're a fucking joke, luara."
"that's a bit mean." she pouted, scrunching her brows at him and turned back to face the sink, turning the tap on.
"luara, i– you're a fucking whore, you know that, no?" he gripped onto the sink, leaning forward so he could look at her face, "you haven't even looked at my messages."
she quirked a brow, "don't play, neymar. you love me."
"i wish i didn't," he laughed in self-mockery, "i wish i fucking didn't."
he turned and leant back on the sink, arms folding across his chest, "you told me that a week ago. then you left, watched me fucking lose, and didn't even bother to call me. a text would've been enough."
he tilted his head back, laughing at himself, shaking his head, before facing her again, seeing no expression on her face. all she did was use a small fluffy damp towel and wiped her face with it.
"i did text you." she muttered, not bothering to look his way, not even in the reflection.
"yes, luara, a picture of your fucking tits when you're drunk." he turned back around, leaning on the sink and gazing over at her, "not even sober."
"but you love my boobs, baby."
he blinked at her, shaking his head in disbelief. he had only seen her drunk a handful of times, but he'd never argued with her whilst she was drunk. it was as if he was talking to a robot with animated responses.
"fuck, luara." he rested his elbows on the marble surface, running his hands through his hair in frustration.
she put down the towel and turned the tap off, finally turning to face him. she inched over to him, resting her arm over his shoulders and letting her cheek fall on her arms. using her free arm, she rubbed over his bicep, staring at his covered face in the reflection. still in a drunken daze, she didn't know what she did wrong, and she didn't know why he was upset. she could barely even comprehend what was going on.
he moved his hands from his face and let them drop down on the surface, staring back at her hazy eyes in the mirror, "i wish i never fucking met you sometimes, luara."
she moved her hand from his bicep to the side of his face, cupping his jaw in her hand, "i love you, neymar."
he exhaled heavily through his nose, turning his head so he could look directly at her, "you can't just solve every problem by telling me you love me."
she frowned, a saddened expression on her face, "don't you love me, baby?"
his eyes flicked over her features. her hair was messy, some of her natural curls taking back over her normally straightened hair. her eyes were heavy and hazy, boring into his, her lips pouty and raw from the makeup wipe she'd just used, "you know i love you."
she rubbed his cheek with her thumb, before using her index finger to gently trace the outline of his own features, from his brows, to his nose, to the shape of his lips.
he let her do it, the anger he previously felt draining from his body, relaxing his tense muscles, despite how angry he still was with her.
she licked her lips, leaning forward a bit, and pulled his face closer to hers, placing a gentle kiss on his plump pink lips. he relaxed even more underneath her, and captured her back with his lips when she pulled away slightly.
she pulled back, resting herself back against him, kissing his clothed shoulder.
"we're not good together." he whispered, lifting one of his hands from the marble to rub the pad of his thumb over the soft skin of her cheek.
"but i want you."
he kissed the back of her hand that was resting on his shoulder, "i want you."
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a/n
couldn't find a good pic of the bathroom i wanted so that's gonna have to do
jus pretend it's bigger or wtv and that the sink is bigger and the door is behind it lol xx
