#and would’ve saved us a lot of heartbreak!

[lynlovesspn]

i think if dean had just taken an am i gay quiz he would’ve figured it out

[kooyabooya]

FREUDIAN

m reader x rosé // 24k words

They always say: never make a deal with the devil. Even when all fronts of temptation have you where you’re most vulnerable - you can’t afford to give in, especially if it’s the howling calls of the past whispering out. 

So you take a bite of the forbidden fallen apple anyway. Give into the fabled rumor of Judas’s betrayal. Because that’s all you’ve ever known yourself to be: gullible, foolish, naive. 

None of that has changed. Even as you’re staring at her, taking the fall. 

A look over her shoulder, furry scarf encapsulating her neck. The flash with her eyes sends you reeling, pulling your heartstring to the thinnest strand, nearly tearing it. She’s playing her role so innocently: the heartbreaker, your antagonist, a divine sin. It’s a losing game; one where you know very well, the kind of game where it was deemed unwinnable from the start. 

But when you’re holding her close, feel her face buried into the space of your neck, all of the memories come flashing back - each one feeling more right than wrong. 

“Maybe in another life,” Rosé tells you, and you’re shushing her, because the break in her voice is already destroying you on the inside, whatever she says next doesn’t even register in your ears; since she’s said the same tale before, and you’re agreeing with her regardless. 

To you, Rosé is a lot of things. A scrapbook filled with endless memories. The person to sit at your doorstep late into the night just to have a meaningful conversation. A half that’s been ripped apart. You can go down the mental checklist time and time again, and end up in the same spot as before. 

In another life, or some universe for that matter: you and her get that fairytale ending together. 

–

The incident, quite literally, comes fast in the dead of the night. 

It doesn’t hit you on the nose all at once. What does hit you is your tossed phone right onto your face, squinting at nothing when you sit up before looking down to the bright flash of your phone screen along with the number resting at the top. 

“I thought I told you to put your phone on vibrate, you idiot,” your girlfriend huffs sleepily, clearly annoyed at the random call during these late hours when slumber is the only option. Your vision is still coming about, looking over to the window where it’s still dark outside, then over to the alarm clock on your nightstand, struggling to even get a glimpse of the time - no point in looking at your phone too since you would be seeing white well into the morning. 

Like anyone else in this particular situation (not really), you pick up: “It’s three in the morning, why would-” 

“Did you plan an anniversary trip for us?” The girl’s tone on the other end is a bit on edge, looking for answers. “When the fuck were you going to tell me and why the hell did it have to be now?” 

You’re still half asleep, half awake; but the timbre in the voice sounds all too familiar - she’s got the same drawl stemmed off from you, not to mention the flurry of questions in the opening five seconds. There’s also that sense of bubbliness you’re imagining, the way that you can easily picture her sitting with both knees up, her head tilted in a way where it shows that she’s very uninterested. Or, the other form where she’s leaning forward, leaning into her phone, constantly looking down at the ground and nowhere else. 

She hates the fact that she had to make this call, and you can easily tell. You, on the other end, are trying to put the bits and pieces of the story together to the best of your memory, scratching the back of your head, trying to rattle your slow-working brain. Hanging up would’ve been the best option to follow, save this conversation for later when you can think straight. Typically, you should’ve just ignored the call entirely. 

Tragically, that’s not your style, so you answer, “Hey Rosie, been a while since I’ve heard your voice.” 

A sigh sounds off from the speaker, “Don’t ‘Rosie’ me. I just need you to confirm my suspicions.” 

“On?” 

“Pfft, stop being stupid. I’m not gonna repeat myself here.” 

You breathe out a soft laugh, and hang your head into your chest for a second, collecting your thoughts. “Yes, I did plan that out as a trip for us. Right before we, uh-” 

Silence fills the call immediately after. Despite being on separate paths, the tension still stings like a tightening noose around your neck. Not even a simple grind of your teeth and a clenched fist can serve as the probable testament to the amount of pain you and her suffered together on the tail-end of your relationship, the hope of salvaging lost long before calling it quits. 

“Still there?” Rosé asks, snapping your attention back to her voice. 

“Yeah,” you reply, hiding a sniffle through a quick cough, “I just- yeah. Details can come later.” 

“Okay,” she says, carrying on. “I got that reminder email from the travel organizer.” And at this point you’re cursing yourself and mentally facepalming as many times as you possibly could (seriously, why would you think it was a good idea to set up a reminder through that stupid auto-email service to notify her too as well?), thinking of every contingency to weasel your way out of this conversation. Rosé, however, had no idea of your present thought process, “Went through reading the fine prints of the agreement and…well.” 

“And?” You practically prayed to God that she’d not been this quick to read into the lines and decode the information. 

“Says here that the trip is non-refundable.” That is what Rosé ends with. 

“That so?”

“We can’t cancel it.”

“Too late for us to do that, no?” 

The comforter ruffles behind you, a small hand tapping the lower back of your shirt. “Babe? Who’s that on the phone?” 

You press the switch near your nightstand to put the room into an ambient lighting setting, turning over to see the lovely ruffle of bed hair and one eye open. She then snuggles herself back into the bed, covering herself with the sheets as you’re palming the side of her face to put her back to sleep. “Sorry Jennie, it’s a-” and here is where you’re throwing caution to the wind, ensuring that you don’t trip up on your words at this moment, “late night work call.” So far it’s good, and Jennie nods with a soft hum, lazy smile at the touch of your palm. She’s a bit dazed, but one good measure for insurance, you tell her, “I’ll explain in the morning.” 

Jennie blinks once or twice, dropping her eyelids while you rub your thumb across her cheek, the soothing touch sending her away to dreamland. There’s a warmth here; one where you feel safe, at home. You’ve struck out in getting with a girl like her, and the timing of it couldn’t have been more impeccable: you and Jennie were both at low points in life when you found each other, building up until the feelings couldn’t be suppressed any longer. 

(That story’s for another time. Though, a very heartwarming memory to look back on.) 

Your name, rolling of Rosé’s tongue, drags you back down. “Hello? Oh- yeah, yeah. I’m still here. What were you asking?” 

“So we’re going? Is that what I’m getting at here?” 

The inquiry lances your heart and mind, filling it with an endless plethora of uncertainties. “Wait- what?” 

“Well for one: it’s my ticket. And two: I want to go. If you were going to morph this trip with someone else, I’d understand.” Rosé’s reason is plausible, and you’re seeing a way out of this less and less. “But considering that we had the plans under our names, we’d-” 

“Rosé-” 

“It’s my ticket.” Rosé doubles down and you wince at the fact. “I can imagine you scrunching your face right now, stop that.” 

“Okay, you win.” 

“Good.” 

“I’ll get everything arranged prior in the next few days and pick you up for the airport. Talk to you later.” 

–

At the airport, not to anyone’s surprise, there is an essential bomb rush of families on top of families arriving and checking in and boarding to their set destination. Pro tip: plan the flights ahead of time (especially if it’s during the holiday season), just to avoid any sort of commotion or potential setback on your end. If the flight gets delayed, rescheduled, or relocated to another gate, that’s not your fault. 

God forbid that any of those happen since it would only prolong the amount of time you’d have to spend with Rosé. 

Very small words were exchanged when you picked her up from her apartment, on the way to the airport, and even when you did most of the work getting all of the travel plans for this ‘anniversary gift’ finalized and confirmed. As expected, honestly. Sharing a car ride with your ex was not on your list of places to get stuck in no matter what the predetermined events or circumstances are, but all the more reason to keep your eyes on the road at the time, go figure. 

Rosé’s sitting on the opposite end of you at one of the benches near the boarding gate once everything’s been checked in and settled; along with the security wing gauntlet handled by the TSA, but you’re finally here - waiting for all of this to finally be done and over with. She’s bearing no ounce of attention towards you, mindlessly scrolling on her phone with earbuds in, hoping that you wouldn’t take notice, but you do. And when she does flash a quick look of her eyes in your direction, a millisecond is all you get to dart your eyes elsewhere that isn’t on her. 

Still, you can’t help yourself when you’re mentally rolling back the years. 

Her styling is strikingly the same as it was before. A leather jacket finely pointed at the edges and crooks where it looks like the wrinkles aren’t even supposed to be there in the first place, those flowy pants that make it look like it was ripped off of a parachute and sewed up by a designer as this one-of-one piece. Then, there are the rings, and her pair of shades resting above her forehead; she’s bundled up into the seat like a little kid, an arm holding her phone as it rests along her thigh, both of her shoes are off and she’s got these cute, pink fluffy socks leaving you genuinely confused since the choice practically contradicts the other choices of clothing entirely. Really? Out of all those socks, you chose to go with that pair?

That doesn’t stand out as much compared to the other thing: her hair. 

Maybe God’s rolling the dice on you for this one. Hell, you’re even wondering if God ever rolls dice in his free time upstairs. Purposeful or not, it isn’t doing you any good the more you look at those golden, heavenly locks; braided up and tied back into her head where it doesn’t give any issue for her neck whatsoever. Not to mention her side profile, the shape of her nose, and that jaw. 

The pout she purses with her lips. It’s anything less than innocent. 

On schedule, there’s about roughly an hour or so before your flight to Paris takes off, and you’re not willing to drive yourself insane with very few word phrases spoken. So you make conversation: 

“You dyed your hair again,” you say, clutching your hoodie when Rosé’s attention falls back to you, “Gotta say, I like the color.” 

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Thanks.” Rosé says, pulling an earbud out and sliding both feet off the seat. The phrasing alone is still good enough to pass as awkward, sighing as she turns her head to look out the window - nothing but cloudy skies for miles while a plane touches down on the tarmac. “Blonde’s been such a comforting color for me, so I thought why not roll with it again for fun?” 

“Does bring back memories.” You slide your palms under your thighs, and cross both feet on the floor. “You had this platinum shade back when we first met.” 

“Did I? You still remember that?” Rosé grins at the sudden recollection, folding her glasses and sliding them into her handbag. 

“What do you want to get out of this?” You suddenly ask again, quickly running a hand across your chest to rid of the sweat riddled along your palms. 

“By this, you mean-”

“Our trip,” you amend. Here you’re pulling yourself back a bit - the duo of your luggage and hers acting as this barrier, hoping that the bags can serve as this proximity limiter for the time being. “It’s supposed to be for a week, with an option to extend for another day or so.” 

Rosé tugs the tied bun, scratching her neck to where you notice she got her nails trimmed and done. “A week in Paris doesn’t seem that bad, but planning it during the week of-” 

“Christmas was a bit of a stretch,” you wince with a hand to the back of your head, “It’s still a nice setting to think about, though. Cold weather, snowing, the cups of cocoa we’d drink together at a cafe? What else did I not think about while planning this?” 

Rosé just blinks at you, flabbergasted. She takes a second or longer to get a better look at your face, studying the shapes and curves of your frame as if it were some long-lost art piece that she had a vague familiarity with. Her breathing also slows for a bit when she drops her shoulders a bit, the discarded earbud now hanging as her eyes finally make contact with the floor, diminishing the gaze entirely. 

“Sorry. I had everything thought out for our stay,” you say casually, defeated. “I honestly wish that-” 

“Does Jennie know?” Rosé asks, leaning back into her chair. A premonition bubbling when she shares the same raised eyebrow directly back at you. 

You nod, which you’re half-right about. 

(“A work order in Paris?” Jennie asks you the morning after the first contact via phone call. She’s well aware of your passion for artistry and architecture, so playing the white lie of being ‘assigned’ to study in an attempt to further the progress of the team’s project was an idea worth rolling with. “How long are you going to be there for?” 

“No more than a week,” you answer, confident for no good reason. “Maybe a day or two more.” 

And that’s that.) 

But you zone out for a second too long. “You’re not very convincing,” says Rosé.

“She does,” you spit out again, nodding at a faster pace. “Jennie knows the surface level of this whole thing, at least.” 

“Hah,” Rosé breathes, stretching her neck with another glance. God, even the slightest sound of her laugh sounds the same as it was before - licking the rim of her lips where it meets her teeth, treating herself to the pulled cup of yogurt she bought as a snack to kill the waiting time faster. “Should’ve been honest with her,” she tells you, “I think there wouldn’t be anything wrong if you said my name in the first place instead. Lessens the risk of the possible conjecture.” 

The audacity, it makes you scoff as Rosé carries on with her meal, fixing her lips along the plastic spoon, carelessly nodding and humming while you’re twisting your attention to the passing planes in the air and the trucks rolling along the taxiway. You’re trying extremely hard to not fall into the conscious habit of looking - when the eyes are zig-zagging their way from the ceiling and to the distance of the nearby gate. Somehow, it always falls on her. Always. She’s got her jacket off to compensate for the stuffiness, honey skin radiating, the sleeves of her shirt pooling over her arms, foot underneath her other knee, delicate and unbothered. She’s a time capsule - the kind where you bury deep into the ground and never even think of uncovering years later. 

You thought you could move on, but here she is: within arms reach.  

–

If you thought sitting across from her waiting to board was torture, being next to her was extremely worse. 

Luckily, the aisle seat opened up next to yours and hers, only for it to be taken at the last possible minute, destroying any chance of creating that space between you and Rosé. This part here gets juicy: Rosé opted for the window seat and considering that the aisle was already taken, this puts you right smack in the middle of the row. She also raised the armrest set between you and her, making your final line in terms of creating a temporary vicinity practically nonexistent. Nothing will happen in a fourteen-hour flight, right? Rosé gives you the quick rundown of what she wants for her in-flight meals when she can put her legs onto your seat while you go to the restroom (and wished to stay there for the rest of the flight, but you know damn well enough that you can’t), even when she’s saying to not freak out if her head falls on your shoulder while sleeping - also, don’t mind if I grab onto your arm if I’m watching some scary movie. Every excuse seems like a death sentence added on to prolong your suffering. 

The man sitting next to you weaves the discussion about the cold air from outside being brought into the cabin, some aerospace thing about the insulation and great air conditioning, but all you can give is a forced hearty smile and these nods of agreement as his wife says something embarrassing to butt herself into the talking bubble, rolling your eyes at the pair out of spite. 

You’re giving your two cents about how you liked cold weather (out of all things to discuss for God knows why), and the couple takes your opinion well with open arms and minds. The wife leans over to see Rosé, glancing over before turning her head back to the window, putting two and two together: 

“Are you two also going to Paris for your honeymoon?” She asks, the man also taking the hint with an ‘o’ shaped mouth. 

“Uhh, that’s a bit of a tough question to answer,” you chuckle nervously as the wife makes the quick inference, carrying on with the long conversation (which was very one-sided from this point on) about how she and the man sitting next to you are so in love, their plans for their honeymoon and anniversary. You can’t help but be intrigued and infatuated with how you’re able to see love bloom right in front of your eyes. They ask you if there are any recommendations and you being the goody-two-shoes that you are, it only gets them to keep talking still. In the midst of all of this Rosé peeks over your shoulder, hand to your elbow as a sign to shut you up, but you send the same elbow back to make her stop. 

Eventually, when the plane does move onto the runway and up in the air, the couple continue their monologue of how they met, their dreams, their occupations, what they like to do in their free time, the names of their cats, where they see themselves in the next five to ten years. Rosé then looks over again, lending her ears to listen to the lovely story candidly as you see her eyes filled with so much awe and wonder; she finds it funny too, and you’re seeing what she’s seeing: because that would’ve been the case if you and her had not split. 

All the infinite possibilities you’re thinking off, it’s spilled right in front of you, and it gets you thinking. 

–

(Midway through the long flight, you’re not even getting a wink of sleep when Rosé’s tossing and turning in the seat next to you. Some are watching assorted movies, you could hear a kid cry a few rows back, the usual experience. 

Her knee hits your thigh as you’re scooting your butt away from her, unwilling to make a shape with her body, pulling the complimentary blanket up to her neck. 

“Did you ever think of getting first class for the trip?” She asks, irritated. “My seat’s getting kicked from behind, and I can’t put my feet on the ground.” 

“I’d be paying an additional two hundred or more to get it reserved,” you tell her, making yourself as comfortable as you can, leaning the seat back. “The next best thing was econ, so deal with it.” 

She rests her head on the upper part of your arm, eye mask on and everything, falling asleep soon after.) 

–

Upon the arrival gate, you do manage to get a few hours of shut-eye, backpack in hand and a trailing Rosé behind when crossing over the inside of the airport, voice conveniently drowning out the same kid who was crying not long ago during the flight. 

“I can’t believe you let me sleep for six hours. Six hours.” you’re complaining, and rightfully so. “Look at you, who managed to sleep for pretty much the whole time. I had to take it on the chin, listening to their entire life story when I could’ve watched whatever you were watching while you were snoring away.” 

Rosé has her shades on, hiding a bit of her puffy face and eye bags. “So? What’s it to ya? I’m not the one who decided to lean over and eavesdrop on their lovely conversation.” 

“I was checking if our row was in the correct spot.” 

She chuckles. “Yeah yeah, keep coming up with the lame excuses buddy.” 

“You-” 

“Try every alibi you’ve got in the book, but I know you well,” says Rosé victoriously, sideswiping her way in front of you on the auto walk, rolling her small hand carry around to sit on, taking a breath. She rolls her neck around, stretching - an arm at a weird angle facing down, extending her leg between your feet. Personal space was going to be an issue, you’ve already drawn up that conclusion; considering that you sat with her for roughly about fourteen to sixteen hours with the occasional retreat to the bathroom and the awkward indulgence with one of the flight attendants, you dread how the living situation will be once you and her get to the hotel room. This might be hell for you, but only time will tell which circle you’re finding yourself in. 

“That should not have taken you that long to get our thing set up together,” Rosé lightly berates, handing over her luggage to you once you’ve hailed the provided ride accommodation from the travel company. “If I were the one handling this trip, I would’ve hit points x, y, and z in less time than you. Do you not know the basic cues to kill a conversation?” 

You don’t answer. Because arguing isn’t gonna get you anywhere with her. 

(Telling yourself lies was a strength, but also your curse as well. Somehow you keep getting away with it.) 

You roll your eyes at the rhetorical question, placing all the bags into the trunk of the cab. “C’mon, don’t play the bad cop here. You know damn well that I’ve always been terrible at getting myself out of situations like those. It also didn’t help that she and the couple on the plane sounded so upbeat and enthusiastic.” 

“It’s okay,” Rosé says, patting your shoulder as a form of truce. “Besides, that’s how you met me technically.” She gets into the cab soon after, settling into the backseat. 

And you take a second to internalize the said phrase, scanning the horizon of the cityscape in the backdrop. 

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” you’re muttering to yourself, getting into the cab with Rosé, with most of the ride pretty much quiet as you’re both looking out the opposite windows. 

–

For some added context, Rosé waltzed into your life on a random Tuesday morning in the first week of fifth grade. 

It’s something straight out of a coming-of-age movie or slow-burning romance novel: up until that point, you’ve had boys as your deskmates through the grades with one of them being your close friend going forward. 

She would change all of that - a bit pathetic now that you’re looking back at it: her being the first girl that you would ever talk to let alone sit next to you for the entire school year - but you didn’t mind though, since she was easy to get along with. 

As the days turned into months and into years, you and Rosé shared everything and in between with each other. From exchanging your favorite cartoon shows on a Saturday afternoon when there was no homework, which subject was the favorable one to learn, favorite colors, why she didn't like playing sports compared to you, the blown-out-of-proportion drama over who was the popular girl in school at the time, the score you got on the last math test, what were you going to do over the summer break. There was never a moment where you or she filled in on anything worth sharing. 

Rosé knows everything about you inside and out. The same could be said for your end of the table. 

You’ve created the progressive drawn-up schematic well into high school. Her occasional gossip debriefs, the endless rants about that one teacher who would always give her a hard time, whether or not she should go to the dances (dragging you as her plus one, where she came extremely close to back in junior year), worrying about her near-perfect grades to the point she would overcomplicate every single minute detail that pops up with every last check before turning in an assignment. Then, there’s the crushes. Her occasional flings - to which, she had multiples of them, telling all of the unnecessary details of what she did with the guys on every date, sharing with you all the pros and cons of what her ideal type is. 

But here’s the thing. 

She was giving you all the signals for you to not notice. All the boxes in her list where you checked off nearly every single one of them. The realization itself came to you on a late night when she was passed out on the coffee table, papers on top of papers of notes before college admissions being submitted, turning a blind eye away from the few bottles of soju she consumed to power through even when you said that it was a terrible idea. 

The small intake of alcohol helped you connect the dots right then and there: you were in love with her. 

Playing it safe was the name of the game. And on your part, it was justified to keep yourself at a distance from Rosé, not putting any sort of risk in ruining the long friendship you’ve built with her. Why lay everything on the line with someone who occupied half of your brain already? 

“You won’t know unless the leap of faith has been made,” Lisa says to you at the time, and that's probably the only source of assurance you ever needed to hear. 

So, you make that leap.

A simple line or two is all you said where Rosé’s eyes go wide when you see her off at the front of her house, nothing else to be said when her weight collapses on top of you for an overdue hug. Talk about romantic confessions, am I right? 

Once word went around various friend groups the both of you were in, it didn’t come off as much of a surprise. Most people had already made that conclusive pairing long before you started to read into the social cues and fast glances without you knowing. What mattered in the end was that you were finally with her after all this time. 

It could’ve been written in ink right there and then: she was your first crush, first girlfriend, first kiss, first relationship, first love. 

That should have been the end of the story. The greatest score you could ever pull off in your life. Job done. 

–

(Until it wasn’t. She would eventually be the first terrible heartbreak you would ever have to endure. 

First time for everything, remember?”)

–

“You’re kidding.” Rosé deadpans, walking into the open space of the hotel room, scanning. Her first reaction then shifts once she drops her bags right where they are, walking around the singular king-size bed, showered in rose petals formed into a heart with two towels folded up into quaint but cute swans resting with both of their beaks touching at the top. “You can’t be serious.” 

Your hands go straight into your pockets, the corners of your lips pulled flat, indifferent. “Isn’t it the thought that counts?” 

Rosé bears no mind to your bland answer. Granted, she’s partial to the fact of going through this whole trip with you, patting the head of the towel swan before turning her attention to the table at the corner of the room, a bottle of champagne kept cool in an ice bath. “I’ll give you points for the effort,” she sighs, “Care to tell me how much you paid for everything in this room?” 

The cork goes flying once you lay your bearings, approaching her as she pours the golden liquid into the arranged champagne flutes, handing it over before she spills some of it over the counter on her own.

“I put in a request, that’s all.” She nods in acknowledgment while you take a nice, quick swig of the beverage, hoping to let it sting in your throat as you try to ignore the insane price tag, gazing past the window and to the nearby buildings. “Some of the stuff was extra, well, perks and all.” 

“That so?” Rosé breathes, chuckling. You watch her down an impressive amount, humming at the taste. There’s an old film happening here, impossible to ignore. Her hair’s a little messed up, eyelids dropping low. You have to stand down here, don’t get any funny ideas, tilting your head slightly when the glow of the streetlights below hit her face, radiating, see her lip pulled back between her teeth-

Snapping your attention back to the city skyline was a good mental call. Clearing your throat was even better; anything worth grabbing to consolidate. 

You look over again to see a smile from the side, “It’s so beautiful at night.” 

A pretty sweet view to turn back on, and you agree with her. 

“I’ll go shower first,” Rosé says after clearing her throat, “We’ve had a long day anyway.” 

“Yeah, go on ahead.” 

She then puts her flute back on the table before walking back to her suitcase. You keep your body forward and your feet where they’re at, looking out into the city some more until you eventually hear the shower running. The thought crosses your head again, thinking about all of the things you did to get into this position - moments where you failed to think logically, it’s a mess in your head at this point. 

(Of all people, why did it have to be her? Being practically stranded in the city of love is one thing, but, maybe this is God or the universe trying to make good for your sake - who knows, only time will tell.)

–

This journey may be an ascent to a refined sense of closure or a descent back down into hell; how you look at it is entirely up to you. 

“Do you think I’m contagious or something?” Rosé huffs out in annoyance, tossing a nearby pillow in your direction, forcing you to look up at her sitting upright on the bed - you on the couch at the other end, hoping to create some distance in whatever way you can possible. “The bed’s big enough for the two of us.” 

“I find it better to not entertain that risk.” 

“You slept on the floor in my room multiple times.” 

“Okay I- you- well,” you stutter, words bouncing all over the place as your fingers grip tight into the book in your hands, “that’s different.” 

Rosé then folds her legs up, knees resting underneath her chin. You’re lucky that the reading light hanging over your spot is enough to hide the growing heat of red rising to your cheeks. Ever since she was the one to end things four years ago, contact with Rosé had been pretty much nonexistent, and for good reason. It was already hard to lose your best friend and past lover in one go, but here she is again acting like nothing had happened between you two. Maybe she’s doing what you did: engaging in conversation - though every dreadful second has been painstakingly difficult, looking back to see her head go sideways, an inquisitive gaze written all over her face, the small quirk at the corner of her lip every time she smiles - in your eyes, she’s still the same as before, there’s no difference. 

“It’s not a risk,” Rosé says, placing her head back up against the headboard, “I’m just saying that the couch over there looks uncomfortable.” 

“I’ll manage. Thanks.” 

Rosé then grabs another pillow within her reach, and places it beneath her forearms, straightening out her legs on the bed. “Idiot,” she hisses, the tone almost as a projection. 

That catches your attention: her attitude. She looks away when you twist your head towards her again. “What was that?” 

“Nothing,” she pouts, “I was just trying to get some talking going.” 

Look, playing defensive isn’t wrong by any means. Tactically, that’s the best way to approach things that you’re unfamiliar with. Rosé’s mannerisms, her habits, the quirks she does, you have every trick from her in your personal playbook. You can try to run and hide all you want, but sometimes taking things head-on is the only way to go. 

Rosé here is just- existing. You can tell that she’s far removed from creating any sort of effort into talking; aware of the lingering tension and awkwardness she left all those years ago. Above all that, she carries on with her one-sided conversation - which is sort of relieving to listen to, just hearing her voice, rambling about anything and literally everything that she could bring up. There’s that quick recollection of all the instances, all the times where she would tell you about the countless things where shutting up wasn’t an option. Her outlook on life hasn’t changed, and you admire that she’s bright and passionate about how things work in the world. 

“It’s a bit relieving,” you tell her innocently, “you here reminding me of those days.” 

Nostalgia was something worth decoding between the lines, and Rosé knows this. There’s nothing wrong with filling in what you’ve done in the past year or two, moving on after what you originally thought was the toughest period of your life. Protecting your peace, prioritizing your health - that kind of thing. 

“I know that I left you in a really bad place for so long,” she implies, coming to terms for her actions. Hoping to not open up the old wound, sugarcoating it. 

“We were at different points in our lives,” you console. You’re not so entirely sure of yourself if it’s the alcohol talking or the foundations of your inner walls crumbling. “I just thought that-” 

“Don’t.” Rosé commands, crossing her arms over the pillow. “Don’t.” 

“Okay, but still - I just wished that it didn’t have to end that way.” 

It goes and it goes. Rosé keeps her gaze fixed on you as you’re nodding, mindful of what the words are but not saying it. Instead, you keep it lighthearted and put it in a positive perspective and it may be worthy of a few snaps of her fingers.

The late-night convos are a little relaxing, so you’ll take that as a plus. 

–

The first ‘actual’ day of the trip is pretty uneventful. 

Nothing too substantial to report other than the fact it was a mix of cloudy skies and rain from time to time. 

Rosé insisted on following the itinerary, walking around the streets, and trying out various cafes handpicked by her. Then there’s the usual landmarks within walking distance too: the Arc de Triomphe, the Grand Palais, and no point in going to the Eiffel Tower since there was zero visibility at the top, so you divert to the Notre Dame Cathedral and try again a different day when the weather clears up. 

(Without a care in the world, she runs up the sidewalk and turns around, arms wide open: “We’re not in Kansas anymore are we?

You give her a face of genuine confusion, “What?” Her face falls flat and you’re left there saying: “What.”) 

Aside from the good food and everything around you picturesque and as ‘fresh inspiration’, Rosé takes this opportunity to capture whatever stood out to her: candid pictures of you on film, other city goers doing their everyday routine, in addition to the photos she took at the different landmarks. She has you taking pictures of her, not as a possible memento. No. But you can’t turn her down whatsoever - you just can’t. 

–

(All of that is about to change, and the rain starts to pick up well into the evening. In the figurative scheme of things, you could put this as the heart of the storm; the moment where lighting can strike twice in the same spot. It could happen.)

- 

Somehow the sim card in your phone keeps bugging out every few hours or so. The reception around the city hasn’t been that bad per se, but trying to get some calls back home has been a bit of a pain - so you had to work with what you got. Texting was the second best option for reaching Jennie, hoping that you can keep the act up by keeping her in the loop of this whole getaway. So far the messages have been casual, typical fill-ins of her day since you left, missing you. 

To compensate for the international phone rates, you managed to find a payphone. An odd surprise at best and you suppose that it shouldn’t take forever in the booth, but the pitter-patter of the droplets hitting along the glass gave a small indication that this might take longer than expected. 

The line continues to ring for a second or two longer, and then- 

Click. 

The silence becomes a slight worry, fingers gripping the phone, hoping that you could hear a hum - or that lovely violet voice that sends your heart thrumming right from the first letter. 

Instead, you hear her laugh, and a sigh soon after. It might’ve been a moan as well, you know that much. 

Another voice picks up at the end of the call, one that you’re very not familiar with: “Hel- Hello? Who’s this? Jennie, I think it’s your-” 

There’s no fucking way. 

Everything around the booth starts to fade in and out of focus. Rational thought was still in play, but barely - trying to put all of the little pieces together in a short amount of time. It’s not enough. Your jaw tightens, fighting the blood simmering through your veins. There’s too many questions to be asked, but only a few answers to take. You’re not entirely sure what these wave of emotions actually are - and it could be a lot of things: anger, fear, rage, sadness? 

“Shit. Give me the- hello?” Jennie’s voice tries to calm you, but it’s already too late for that. “Wait, it’s not what you think it is, I swear-” 

“I think I’ve heard enough from you.” 

“Babe, if you just let me explain-” 

You don’t think twice about hanging up. Your mind doesn’t even register the pain being imbued into your hands when you’re punching the glass furiously in quick succession. Hell, when you leave the booth, the realization has slowly started to set in, but the tears simply won’t come out. 

I thought you were different. 

The rain falls a lot harder now that you’ve finally stepped outside and look up to the dark sky, as if the universe is sharing its sorrowfulness as well. 

You were supposed to be different.

–

If you had the chance to put all of your thoughts and feelings from your past relationships into a bottle or glass, you’d drink it down until there’s absolutely nothing at the bottom; the pain might’ve been tolerable then. No matter how many shots it’s been, it’s still not enough. 

You don’t even remember when you first walked into the bar, but you order another shot anyway. The coat next to you still needs a few more minutes to dry up as it is. 

The alcohol stings when it travels down your throat, mind working way past overtime - thinking back of all the times when you’ve been duped, deceived, exploited - but to no avail. It's a bit pathetic that the worst kinds of people show up when you least expect it, even if it's those who you hold close dearly to your heart. Relationships and commitment to you have always been complicated; an unwritten cosmic law etched into the stars. 

In hindsight, it just really fucking sucks. 

It’s gotten so bad to the point where you’re being woken up after passing out for maybe five or ten or so minutes. You don’t remember. Your memory is in these black patches - rough blots of ink with no detail underneath as your vision slowly forms. A girl is next to you; a calm, soothing voice bringing you closer to the light. Everything’s still blurry, but you can barely make out the silhouette: dark hair, fine skin, smooth palm holding your face. It’s comforting, you start to question if this was the present reality, but you take a shot in the dark:

“Jennie?” you say, mind buzzed and speech slurred. 

“No. Dingus.” 

Ah, it was worth a shot. You can see things a lot more clearer now. Instead of the shaded dark hair, it’s the opposite: hot blonde. The texture of the jacket too is also familiar, her hand is surprisingly wet from the rain, and she sounds out of breath - like she ran here. 

Rosé. 

“What the hell happened to you?” She asks, distressed, holding your face before lightly shoving it away realizing what she was doing.

You try your best to explain the situation; but considering the plethora of drinks you had on the tab along with the alcohol in your system, you don’t actually explain anything at all. 

She could only hear the sniffles coming out of your nose. 

Rosé then takes a second look, and puts another piece of the damage together. It’s all over your face: the puffy eyes, bloodied knuckles, your irises once filled with light now an empty, deep void - like something sucked the life right out of you. 

“Something happened with Jennie, no?” The name pierces your heart at the guiltless inquiry.

“Kinda,” you answer with a hiccup at the end. “It’s all the same between me and love, honestly.” 

Rosé then draws back, your face still in her hands, internalizing the present state. You think she might’ve realized a thought right then and there, an instance where she's been before not long ago. It doesn’t take that much more for her to learn what you had done to get here; let alone who managed to hurt you in the first place. Because she’s been here before, and she now knows what her mistake was two years ago. 

So instead of running away, she pulls you in for a hug. You break down a little harder for a moment. No point in hiding. 

She doesn’t say anything after leaning back. The best form of comfort she could give were both palms to your cheeks, wiping the dried-up tears off as best as she could. Somehow you barely even manage to make eye contact with her again, afraid to even look away in the first place. 

You’re not sure if you leaned in or if she pulled you back to her, but your mind clears up instantly the second she kisses you. 

Her lips are the same way as you remember them: nice and soft and undeniably comforting. Both of her hands keep you in place, the wistful inhale of her nose matches yours, wanting more of this rising heat spreading across your faces. She kisses like she missed you and- in a partly true way, for all the wrong reasons. Gripping and clutching wherever she can, afraid to let go of you again like the last time. You or her could practically melt in this little pocket created and recall sometime later and try to decipher every little individual action leading up to this, whether or not to write this off as an act of grace or an admission of cruelty - one or the other will have you sinking at the end. 

Rosé stops herself, eyes half-lidded, pulling her swollen bottom lip like some sort of warning. 

“I uh-” Crap. You should’ve known better, but you can’t help or blame the drinks for making you like this. “I-I’m sorry. You didn’t have to-” 

“It’s okay.” 

“But-” 

“C’mon,” she persists, holding your hand and nodding her head sideways, “let’s get out of here.” 

–

You’re more aware of your actions now, in the late hours of the city - where anyone could get away with anything. With that taken into account, this is the perfect time to hide away; out of anybody’s sight and the risk of getting caught is the least of your worries. 

Rosé’s nose bumps yours when you’ve pressed her against the brick wall in some alley - calming every form of impulse as you could, but it’s futile. Her arms wrap around your neck and you’re cupping her face, tilting her head up to elicit a gasp between her lips. 

“Fuck,” she rasps, and it’s pretty when she curses. Her hands go everywhere, haywire. A last act of desperation she does is dig her fingers into the back of your head, only making your arms pull her in closer, hindering the purpose of what she’s trying to achieve. You’d let her, and that’s exactly what she’s going for here. 

“I’m a bit drunk still,” you admit, feeling the tips of her fingers graze along the nape of your neck. “So don’t beat me up if I can’t remember everything after tonight.” 

Rosé’s hand shifts to your jaw, kissing you again so easily; giving you little to no time to react. Like she’s coaxing you into thinking differently that’s better than your common sense. A few more smacks here and there happen, the cool air surrounding both of you trying to flush the heat out. 

The press of her face is anything out of the ordinary, humming into your mouth that deepens the sinking pit happening in your stomach. It isn’t anything new. 

Because that’s the impending phase of her slowly coming back to light. She was always vocal and forward with how she took on the world; leaving a mark of what she had done not far either. Her hands cup your face so tenderly, and each longing touch of her lips against yours sends a tidal wave of memories flooding back - this entity that’s all-consuming where you could only handle so much, a hand to the side of her throat where the kiss deepens, surrendering your mind to hers

Maybe it was the timing of everything, a thought to theorize with once it’s all said and done. 

“You’re broken again,” she whispers between your lips. 

“Among other things,” you darted back, sighing slowly and head lowered. But it’s the truth. “Yeah, won’t say any more.” Your eyes meet hers as you slowly retreat. 

“It’s okay.” Rosé concludes, eyes filled with so much care and empathy into them, thumb grazing along your cheek, cleaning another dry trail from the tears. “You have me.” 

My god, this woman- 

“I honestly convinced myself that you’d already moved on,” her gaze goes crestfallen, pulling her lips inward. “To think that I left you there by yourself, after everything we’ve been through. It ruined me too since - it wasn’t even your fault to begin with.” 

You swallow your pride and turn yourself over on the wall. 

Most of your mind is drawing blanks - bits and pieces of the picture caricatured through a warm mouth and fingertips. The draft in itself is a bit fucked up, sketched at the last possible minute; hands ghosting your jacket, tracing a line or two into the fabric of your shirt, trailing lower along the waistband of your pants. “You’re kidding, right?” 

Rosé snorts at the whisper, lowering her eyelids when she’s peppering your neck again with kisses. “We’re not having a problem here are we?” She says that as she’s descending to her knees, looking up so innocently like some angel incarnate - contradicting the current action she’s presenting right now.  

“Look. Rosé, we really shouldn't-” 

She pays no attention to the pleading when she’s palming your length through your underwear, thumb sliding up against the underside while your other hand settles with hers set at the side of your thigh. “Okay, I mean - like this is just wrong - you don’t- god, why are you even-” 

Rosé here, doesn’t give you any chance to breathe or recuperate the fast flow of thoughts. Her eyes remain unimpressed with a tilt of her head, closing in with the newly uncovered area at your waist, and the twist of her lips brings forth a sense that’s been lost to hidden waves of time. 

She inhales, coaxing you much to the point where you’re looking up to the sky above for some safe passage. 

“Mmmmm.” 

You might as well be fucked from this point on. At least you’ll play into the game Rosé’s putting up with her mouth all over you. 

“Oh, oh fuck-” 

It’s all in the simple movements and adjustments - the hair being pulled back to the cuff of her ear, the way she bottoms your cock down to the base and rests for a second, the graze of her teeth across the topside, sending your hips chasing for more of that addicting bite. She hollows out her cheeks to the right pressure of suction, bracing her hands on your thighs as she begins to pick up a steady rhythm. Down, side to side, then up. Down, side to side, then up. You could picture her lashes fluttering with every slide down your shaft, humming right along the skin as if she’s proffering a way of reflecting, praising with little to no words but with plump lips and a warm tongue. 

“Gotta say,” Rosé starts, after reeling back for a second, “I remembered why I loved this cock so much.” 

You’ve got her hair in the grips of your fingers, thrusting your cock back past those pretty lips, hoping to shove her words right back down her throat - which works so much better than you initially expected. The brain is working triple the amount of overtime to register and compensate for the endless rush of stimulation your body is getting; the buzz of the alcohol fading with every new layer of spit lathered across the length, watching Rosé’s head continue to bob at a faster pace between your legs. She doesn’t let you off that easily when her hand coils itself at the base, the other cradling your balls with the right amount of pressure - prompting you to use both of your hands to grip her head, making the motion as seamless as possible. You could feel her throat go slack, opening up the edges to where your cock can fill in the space - the gags alone break above the audible ambiance of rain hitting the ground beneath the both of you. 

“Fuck me.” And at this point, your level of thinking is so thrown under limbo. The sounds alone are music to your ears. A lost tune waiting to be heard again. Wanting. “Rosé, you-” 

“Ummphgh,” is all you manage to get out of her, the spit and slippery slick of her mouth the only point of contact. You look down and see it in her eyes: glassy and welled up; like was meant to be used like this, a vessel to provide and clean up the mess of every lap her tongue makes to your underside and the seam of your balls. An angel like her, her wings clipped after committing a damming act, hoping to earn them back in any way she can. When you slide your cock out of her slack mouth - slap the member across her swollen lips, eyes closed and jaw lowered as you’re leaving behind the sloppy and unmarked territory that you’ll come back to not long after.  

She nods and gags. You want to make her fucking choke.  

All of this should be drawn up as a one-off, never to be spoken of again. She didn’t have to go this far, being on her knees for you like this. Neither of you owe anything to each other. Some of this might have some meaning carried with the way that Rosé speaks with her eyes, mixed with a concoction of want and sorrowfulness, opening her mouth so wide for you to take with no remorse.

And when you cum deep into her throat, it’s all in her eyebrows - the way she accepts, poisoning your morality just like that. 

The pulses do die down eventually, and Rosé tilts her head to the side to give you a better look at her swallowing your release; wiping her lip in a slight relishment, damp hair falling in front and her fingers dancing along the line of her jaw - internalizing the rewarding ache. Her eyes shimmer in the low lighting, her skin covered in this spreading glow of pale and glistening. Most of her lip gloss is gone, now mixed with the layer of smeared spit all over your cock. You’re cradling her head delicately, thumb grazing the temple and some of the ends of her hair, giving you a list of things to fix. 

Rosé smacks her lips, and runs her tongue against the upper profile of her teeth. “Well then,” she starts, “hope that was enough to calm your nerves for the time being.” 

You’re trying extremely hard to slow your breathing, watching while she brings a wrist to her face, wiping up the damage. 

“We’re so fucked up,” you barely say, clearing your throat. 

“Between us?” Rosé implies, finally rising from her knees and patting your shoulders down as an out-of-touch way to comfort, “That’s old news, buddy.” 

You pull her in a bit again, placing the distance of her face to yours a little over the double digits. There’s no point in ignoring her gravity, the way that you find yourself a tad magnetized, bringing out a side where it was for her and only her. She could be an entity of a higher being, probably God’s given gift from himself which you once had lost. A blessing and curse that’s managed to find their way back into your arms again. 

“Now that I think about it,” you’re saying, combing some of her blonde locks before ghosting your hand just above her head, “You’ve always been the same as before.” 

Rosé’s eyelids dip, peculiar, curious. That sly grin at the corner of her lip laced with the dimple trailing not far after, it’ll do you numbers. It’s happened before. 

But she puts a hand to the side of your face, a soft smile to seal the whole act up as she starts to peel away. “Think you can walk to the hotel in a straight line without my help?” 

“You’re gonna leave me outside if you get there first.” You answer jokingly. 

She might as well if she wanted to, and you won’t be that far behind. 

—

Hangovers. They’re the worst. 

Normally in times like these: you’d lie in bed facing up to the ceiling, playing back all the events and instances in your mind to the best of your ability, and then get washed by the feeling of regret or questions of why you did actions a, b, and c. Fuck around and find out they say, that’s how the learning experience goes. 

Although this would be the exception- 

“That’s all it took for you? Just the voice by itself?” Rosé asks you the morning after, tending to the wounds on your hands, easily stacked at the wrists, and caring for them with a mother’s touch. “If it were me, I would’ve hung up by the first five seconds of silence.” 

“Here’s the thing: I’m not you.” 

Rosé rolls her eyes and puts the attention back to your knuckles. She grazes them with her fingertips once the dried-up blood has been washed away and sealed with a bandage. Her hands alone may look small, but the size has been apparent compared to yours. “You broke the glass from that payphone booth, didn’t you?” 

“If I kept retelling you what I did, would you believe me by then?” You ask flatly. 

“I’m just-” she stutters for a second when she zips up the first aid kit, “-surprised, honestly - and don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen you angry before. I didn’t expect it to be that serious.” 

“Wow. Way to beat around the bush I guess.” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I know you are. Slightly.” 

Rosé leans back to get more of you in view, examining the new patches to cover the temporary pain left because of your actions. The repercussions don’t have to be said when it’s already shown. Good thing you brought gloves for a reason - a proper excuse to keep your hands warm when the weather gets colder. 

“Are you okay?” She asks after a brief period of silence. 

Your head twists back towards her. “Hm?” 

“I’m being genuine. Are you okay?” she says to you again, this time leaning to place her elbows on the table. “When I picked you up from the bar, you looked wrecked.” 

“Which I was. So, you’re not entirely wrong here.” 

Rosé then curls her fingers, resting her chin on top of them. Her eyes were full of concern. She doesn’t have to do all this - the nice, good girl willing to reconnect and rekindle even though you and her both know that things ended in a rough patch prior. She didn’t have to agree to go on the trip with you, but the intentions here are good - for the most part. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” The inquiries from her keep on coming. 

“I think we should come back to this topic when I’m in a better headspace,” you tell her, and she doesn’t bother asking anymore. “What about-” 

“Huh?” 

“I was gonna say something about, well-” you clear your throat before wiping the lower half of her face before finding the right words to deliver the next topic, “last night when we-” 

“Don’t expect you to remember much. Being drunk is a valid excuse,” she tells you, crossing her arms together with a little furrow in her brows. “One-time thing. No strings attached. Got it?” 

“Are you sure?” 

She nods convincingly. “Yeah, I’m sure.” 

“Okay,” you murmur, massaging your temple. 

“Okay,” Rosé echoes, knocking on wood twice for good luck. “I say we go out then.” 

“What? Where to?” You dart back while she stands up from the seat, shuffling away to her luggage. “Uh, hey-” 

Rosé snorts a bit, lets out a hearty laugh, one full of pure mischief. “I’m hungry. And we can put off room service for another time.” 

–

“How many cafes have we been to in the past hour?” you’re asking Rosé, jaw dropped at the abundance of people waiting for their coffee orders ahead of you two. “Jesus, with this amount of caffeine, you’re gonna give me a heart attack.” 

Rosé’s head turns, sipping the last bits of her beverage from the previous place you two were at, shaking the cup now full of ice. “Don’t give me that.” She laughs. “Jisoo was the one who recommended the places to me.” Her head leans back to get a few ice cubes in her mouth since the crunches are satisfying to her. “If anything, it’s your fault that you can’t keep up with-” 

“I’d rather prioritize my health than drain it all away with a lot of drinks and a heart condition.” you sigh, taking the hint of her waving the cup in front of you to throw out, looking back out to listen for the number of your order. (They’ve been alternating from counting into the high forties and low twenties. It’s all confusing how any of this is efficient.) “Though the pastries and drinks have been amazing to try, so I thank you.” 

She looks up at you again, flipping some of her back over her shoulder, flaunting a little shimmy of her shoulders. Like she’s aware of the praise, the compliments, the credit, and everything else lying underneath the verbal nuances. “Perks of having me as your foodie guide for the tour.” 

“You’re so stupid,” you say, gaze dropping down to your feet in disappointment. 

A nudge to your shoulder is all she gives before turning her body away. “Such a bitch.” 

“Preaching the truth,” you reply - a hum in the timbre, playing into the banter. “That’s why they paired both of us together: toothbrush and toothpaste. peas in a pod-” 

You flinch a bit when she raises a hand, but you can’t help yourself to laugh as she surrenders the idea of making a scene in public. It’s all good fun in the end, a breath of fresh air. 

Then the matcha order gets called up, perfect timing. 

–

You and Rosé do celebratory cheers with the clear plastic cups, swirl the tea inside before drinking a good third of it down, nod, and acknowledge the amount in addition to the taste. She then asks you to give it a rating - where you place it pretty high on the given scale. 

“That’s really good,” you say, wetting your lips for another sip. 

“What’d I tell you?” Rosé asks after, all comfy with her drink in both hands, watching you take in another swig because why not? “This place might be the best one on the list.” 

“You mean Jisoo’s list,” you tease. “But sure, you can claim this list as yours since she’s not here to protest against it.” 

“Right. I’ll do exactly that.” 

You take notice of the same gaze that she’s been holding for the past few minutes now. It’s probably too late to realize that it's a honey trap: the more that your curiosity gets the best of you, the more likely that you’ll forget about everything else. A good look at her rosy cheeks, the stray strands of blonde hair sticking out because of the fuzziness that her scarf is emitting, much to the point that you can’t even see her neck beneath all of that. 

“Sorry,” you’re saying, leaning your head sideways more to get a closer look. Nobody’s falling for it, especially not her. “There’s a stain right about-” 

Rosé keeps her hands right where they are in holding the drink, eyes glued to your hand ghosting her face, the slightest touch where you’re cupping her jaw to keep it in place. You do manage to get the small mess off but make no other move. 

She turns her head slightly towards your hand, parting her lips; and a part of your head starts to flip internally. 

“What are you thinking about right now?” Rosé proposes, you think it’s intentional like she wanted you to do that. You can see it in her alluring shade of whiskey, clouded with mystery, shrouding a burning sensation behind those irises, blinking prettily. 

“If I told you, it won’t happen later.” 

“Oh yeah?” Rosé tuts, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth, and dips her head a few inches. “I’m intrigued,” her voice is a witch’s spell. She scoots herself towards you, closing the bubble away from the world, the moment alone stretched longer than usual. 

“I shouldn’t kiss you,” you tell her, practicing caution. A last reminder thrown up in an imaginary white flag. 

“But you could, right?” Rosé says in the sheerest hint of innocence, but the message says all sorts of corruption, "Where's the harm in that?” 

Setting yourself up for the mind-meld was always a tall task, especially with a girl like Rosé. You could rationalize how the universe has managed to put you on this tightrope, with no hope of making it to the ends; the only choice would be to embrace this fall from grace, and feel every emotion. 

She inches closer, the intent clear as day. “Y’know,” the tension is already hanging low amongst the both of you, “I’d be okay with it.” 

–

(Look. Saving yourself the embarrassment was always going to be a lost cause. Consider it as a premonition, the tug of anticipation of playing things out the way they are, rewind the clip or recording to catch something new every take; a wish to alter the cause and effect. No matter how you look at it, what’s done is done.) 

–

The intimacy itself gets thrown out the window, and finding a proper hold would be a lesser worry to think about. Rosés frantically slithering out of her overcoat, biting your lip in what you assume is an accident, and pressing her into the wall catches her off guard and she bumps into your face. Your thumbs are at her cheeks, holding her face in place, and the hooded eyes get pulled away; you’re thinking, she’s thinking -  and all she can say is, “don’t start having second thoughts now.” It’s another green light from her to pick up where you left off, feel her arms have no sense of direction until they finally rest around the crooks of your neck and shoulders, quick draws of air passing through each other’s lips until you and her eventually fill in that space once more. 

Even if there’s no label between you two now, the knowledge is already present there in the low lights. 

“Let me remind you,” you’re telling her, smiling as her tongue clashes with yours, scrunching up your neck as her hands are working fast to slip you out of your top. “You started this.” 

Her chin tilts up, grazing the peak of your jaw, lips trained on yours and kissing like it’s second nature; since she exactly remembers how to wind you up, unraveling. The scrunch of your neck goes away once the top falls along the floor, making out with you for what feels like it’s been forever. 

“Maybe I did,” says Rosé, landing another kiss on the line of your chin, hand caressing the back of your head, unwilling to let go of you. “And can I be honest? I don’t hear you complaining about it.” 

“Now why would I?” 

She leans back against the drywall, arm up as if you were holding her by the wrist, but you aren’t - at least, not yet. Puffs her chest up with the help of the arch behind. “That’s the question,” she answers, hand palming the seat of your pants, fingers curling slightly, “That’s always the question.” 

A window of opportunity is here. You can see it. She could lay out all the hints in front of you and you wouldn’t need all of them to figure her out, because you know: she loves being so forward, only for her to be held down, give her little to no wiggle room where her hands can leave major damage, the teasing; you’ll shut her mouth up with a pillow to her face or your hand and watch her eyes crunch together until she breaks. There’ll be times when she wants to rush, and you’d go slow, then vice versa. The grip you have on her hip isn’t nice, and you’ll keep kissing her, be very meticulous in the approach, and make her go insane. 

Her muscles, let alone her body tense at the touch, shying a smile away as if she’s afraid to admit it herself. “But I gotta say,” Rosé whispers, her breath canvassing over your lips. “Doesn’t this feel nostalgic? Like old times?” 

And here is where you’re practicing plausible deniability: since she’s right. A brief flash of all the times; all the instances that occurred in the past. She’s got her shirt off, and it helps jog the memory a lot more too - how you’d hold her down and just revel in the whimpering noises that escape her mouth, embracing every acre of her body; it’d be so easy to mold into her, you know from experience. 

“Okay seriously,” Rosé’s saying, the rush of bliss spilling all over her face when your hands trail up and down the sides of her waist. The smile she’s bearing is a whole lot more apparent now the more your mouth is left slack open, eyes ogling without doing a single blink. “I forgot how you like to take your sweet ass time in adoring me - fuck, it’s even worse when you’re not even saying anything, like, at all, I swear to God, please, just-” 

You’re paying no attention as you’re scouting out the different pieces that need peeling away off her figure. The shirt’s already off from the start. You manage to stop your hands from dancing along the waistline of her pants, hold her leg up as you’re pulling from the cuff at the bottom, keep her second-guessing with a few kisses to her stomach, brush your nose along the lace of her panties and scrape a bit of your forehead into the line of her bra. There might be something wrong with you; but hey, she’s on the same boat as well. 

Once all of that’s off and disregarded, you’re claiming long lost territory - marking up everywhere to be examined at the scene of the crime when it’s all done and dusted: her chest, her neck, the collarbones, her nipples already primed to the point, the subtle hint of muscle in the abs, you’re finding a way back. 

Rosé’s breathing is heavy with heat over your ear now, palming her pussy folds now exposed to the open air. “Yes - okay. Okay. I get it- jesus,” she’s stuttering as the reaction starts to traverse throughout her body. Your fingers are dancing along the dangerous area, playing with fire. You can remember the nerves being so responsive, and electric, it’s beautiful to watch in real time. “Look- you win, I’ll help. Whatever you need. I’ll do it.” 

“That so?” you ask. She’s holding herself in place as best she can along with your hand, an acknowledgment, take account of the slick soaking the grooves of your fingers. You kiss her and smile against her lips - teetering on the edge of cruelty and excitement. “Jokes on you sweetheart, I knew you’d always be good for me.” 

The devil is already in the details: pinning her to the wall and burying your fingers into her cunt. She keens when you slip in one finger, then two. Her sighs, singing this harmony that urges this need for it to be silenced; so you get your lips to the line of her collarbone - or, her lips resting right above the cuff of your ear, leg curling to the backside of your thigh, rising to the end of your ass. You let it slide when she pulls you in deeper into her body with her arms, the weight of your front crushing her chest a bit, which she’s okay with. 

“There.” Rosé does a mix of a bob and a shake of her head, “yes, oh-” 

You’re building an idea. One that hasn’t seen the light in your mind ever since the preceding one was ripped apart from you so suddenly. She keeps on gasping as you find the spots - the familiar ones where you’ve killed her before, pressing deeper and deeper into the stretch of that satisfying warmth spreading into your hand. The trembling in her body is already a stark implication of your craft becoming true. A little of a wiggle here, the push of the stretch, opening her wide. Her eyes fixate on yours, and her mouth loosens with each parting breath. 

“Y-you-” 

“There she is,” you murmur, the lower half of your face twisting into a sinister smile. 

All she could do was nod, like she was admitting; almost as if she wanted this. 

“Hold still for me,” you’re instructing, and the tone in the phrase is so gentle that she agrees to the request easily. She’s surrendering herself to you. An unspoken truth in itself. You can see the twinkle behind the rings of her irises, her shoulders drop as a result of all the muscles and bones finally relaxing after being so pent up. Something shifts in you, maybe an act of desperation; a moment where your ego is fractured. It happens when you’re pressing your cheek against hers, whispering into her ear as you put your fingers back into her cunt: “You’ve missed this, so much, haven’t you?” 

Rosé winces. You can feel the clamp in her pussy and jaw. 

Her nose scrunches as well, doing everything she can to not unfold the stricken nerve, so she mouths instead. “Yes. God, yes.” She can’t focus at all when her head hits the back of the wall and you’re leaving your lips into her neck. “I regretted it - so much, so fucking much. Wanted you to forgive me, to come back and-” 

Shit. She got you there. The honesty alone might come as a shock to you. 

“I tried so hard to move on. To forget,” she barely breathes, her voice clearer than ever, like she’s ignoring the fact that you have two curling digits inside that unbelievable cunt of hers, gripping, thighs pressing together into your hand and keeping it there; a makeshift shackle. It didn't take much to push her buttons and rile her up, get her cursing and spilling out incoherent nonsense since she can’t think straight due to the rubbing from the bottom of your palm. “The apology was there, but you were already gone-” 

The more she speaks, the more she sends your common sense down into a spiraling cyclone. Your hand keeps working her leaking slit while the other hikes up her leg - let her carry the weight in holding your body as she’s mindlessly humming against your mouth; even though she’s still trying to speak, that’s fine as it is. Maybe you’re doing yourself a favor jumping face first into this hell, or Rosé herself is just helping you get there faster- 

She knows what she wants. It’s a bit pathetic, a contrast to her condescending attitude that’s been peeling away little by little. Her slick is so smooth around your fingers, twirling and sliding with no care for her responses at all. You could kind of hear her say ‘I'm sorry’. Almost, you’re not entirely sure, but the endless nods and welled-up tears prove that there’s a psychotic factor occurring in your mind. 

“Gonna cum for me?” you ask, and she puts on this faint smile before her head lolls up and back towards the wall. “Your hips are shuddering by the second.” 

Rosé doesn’t say anything except for the staggered breaths from your hand working her and giving no care to fucking with your fingers. She tries to grip onto something; a hand, shoulder, the back of your head - whatever she could try to get her mind to not focus on you. It’s pointless. The precipice and final peak of her high is there in her eyes; locked to your face, focusing and unfocusing. 

She cums. And she looks strikingly astonishing when she finally melts down. 

“Cat got your tongue?” You ask again, expression slightly satisfied as the arms around you hold her down, pinning her. “That’s too bad, ‘cause I was gonna say that you look good like this-” 

Her hips buck forward, pussy gushing a bit more on your fingers, wetting them. “God, y-you- fuck-” 

A pinch of her clit is all you give her and she’s practically not there anymore. 

The cries coming out of her reverberate around the room. Her mouth is still hung open when you relieve some of the pressure of your face on hers, eyes slowly trying to blink through the orgasm as much as possible. The front of her body falls forward, her cunt piping hot - or well, that’s just the final part of the warmth washing over with the need for another outlet to take it all in. 

“Maybe I should just let you have it, huh?” you tell her as you get your hands to her waist and thigh again. “Do you think you deserve my forgiveness after what you did?” 

“Yes, yes.” Rosé answers. You’re finding it hard to be convincing - as if she couldn’t say it any other way when you’re hovering her over to the bed and the nodding starts to become more frantic, desperate. 

When she finally lands back first on the bed, you don’t give her any room to breathe as her body naturally arches when you’re pressing your weight on top of her again. And that’s the venom working its magic through your mind and body; she’s managed to get you craving for more without doing much. 

This is her checkmate to you. She wants you so fucking bad that if you don’t get your dick inside her in the next few minutes, the damage to follow after would honestly be catastrophic. 

In all fairness, you want her. It’s that simple. You’re willing to hold her down and fuck her senselessly, give her no care until she’s a pure puddle of mush. The hand holding you is calculated, precise; palm to the side of her face as she sighs at the touch. Gentle, yes. Her head tracks yours as you admire the winding mess that’ll get worse eventually. 

“I want you to say it,” you tell her, accidentally leaning down to bump your nose with hers. “To be sure. Rosé, I-” 

“Need you-” Her body tenses while her mouth drops to a new low, the sudden shift in her body too much to bear. You manage to wrap yourself around her, sliding slowly; spreading her legs wider until that ache rests on your muscles and hers. The drag of her fingernails on your back keeps your attention on her, zeroing in on the tightness of her waist when you’re adjusting to the right angle and depth, suspending you not to think about anything else besides her. “Like this- oh, yes- right there, fuck it’s so big, holy shit-” 

“Christ,” you hiss; Rosé’s front rises to where your stomach is, squirming until you get a proper hold of her hips at the crease where the top of her legs are, putting her in place. You’re shaking your head here, trying to stay conscious; Rosé’s eyes fall to the back of her head, blinking lethargically. Her cunt’s smoothing out all the ridges and veins, clinging with a melting grip that you’d want to bury yourself in for as long as you’re with her. 

She bites down a cry, and the whines can only be covered so much when she’s eating away at your face, hips snapping up slowly. 

You use the adjustments wisely, watch as her expression carefully unravels right in front of your eyes, until you have a proper hold of her legs where it’ll hurt, pulling her into your cock. The first smack of skin and drive up her spine snaps - like a cable cut, a live wire - the thread of curses and the cauldron of praises fall out so nicely past her lips. She locks her arms around your back, get her pussy in a position where you can take it deep and wreck her like clockwork- 

“Okay, okay. I get it now- jesus girl,” you moan out, the sound partly broken, “You win. I, fuck-” 

So you manage to bury your dick inside her, saying her name and it freaking destroys her. Some of the slaps of skin match your heartbeat from time to time, the pace nice and consistent, kissing to comfort as she swallows down the first wave of sobs.

“Yeah, yeah. You know - you’ve always known,” Rosé groans. “Ugh-” 

“Talking too much,” you mutter right back at her, breath hot and all over the skin of her cheek, pressing, a slight grin forming between your lips. “You don’t sound sorry enough.” 

Her face then matches the same lazy smile, tugged at the corners. You’ve barely made a dent into her and it isn’t enough. The focus is clear; right in her eyes, lidded and glossy. But she flutters her lashes shut, nodding profusely again, when you’ve nudged your cockhead into the spot where you’ve killed her before, another move made. “Yes I- I am. I am, I am, I am.” 

There’s not much to follow up on. The pace is already set. The one-two; slide out and drop the pin right back where it belongs. Rosé pulls you in with her lips, ankles linking to the backside of your thighs, holding her by the middle of her waist. It’s a natural transaction of sorts, the opening of old terms - matching what one wants along the other. 

Maybe you’re returning the favor in a way with her - which you are. Your vision is already becoming hazy, the clamp of her cunt all over your cock the only point of focus and consciousness keeping you sane. Nothing else outside you two mattered at this moment, hidden away within these very walls of the room as Rosé’s hips started to stutter again when you bottomed her out. 

And when she whines, a high pitch rather than a lone note, the part has never been made clearer. 

You remember how you’ve fucked her in this fashion: burying your face into her chest, nails digging into the scalp of your head, holding you so close and tenderly - like she was afraid of losing you again, powering through the second time she cums all over your cock, the mixing of her sobbing and sniffles when you’ve pushed her over that edge once more, urging you to keep sinking into her willingly - even when the precision starts to lose its fine touch. 

Even when her body starts to go limp, you play the nice gesture of raising her legs a little higher, getting her ankles planted right to the small of your back, opening up the deep, melting hollow of heat underneath you. 

“Rosie. Oh, Rosie- my Rosie-” you mumble softly beneath the repeating hymn of your name on her tongue. “My god, you’re fucking crazy.” 

“I want it- want you,” she sighs, palm to your cheek as her eyes lock with yours again. Christ, she knows what the fuck she’s doing, you need to fuck her properly, get your cock embedded right in her cunt where the warmth is at the hottest, filling her up and sliding smoothly along her slick walls to the point where she’ll have to repeat in the request - will you? Please, you fuck me so well - I swear, right there, this pussy’s always been yours, nobody else’s- 

“How I’ve missed this,” you confess. The drag of her fuckhole is that lethal, and reverts you to old ways. The regret will cross your mind again soon, you’re sure of it. 

“Cum baby.” She tells you, basically letting you do so. The velvety walls are just too much for you to handle. You could feel the coil tighten in your abdomen, the grip of her legs in your hands now leaving their red marks across her pale skin, cock hitting the same spot of her cunt over and over, relentlessly pounding and grinding her lower half into a mere puddle. “I want you to cum.” 

The air within you gets sucked right out of your lungs, boiled over to a stream of strained groans and heavy exhales - two more strokes inside her creaming cunt before you grasp on the last bit of energy to tug yourself out, painting all over the fine plane of Rosé’s waist, pumping your load out. A hand gets planted to the side, holding you upright, her voice also in its high octave, begging and speaking in tongues as the ribbons of white find their place across the blush ambered skin. 

“Fuck- holy fuck,” she sighs again, eyelids lifting up as you hobble over from the sudden blood loss from your head, bumping into hers as you tap the numb of her clit with your tip once, twice, the loose sobs sounding heavenly, pulling you back to your senses. “Oh god - it feels so good all over me. Yes.Yes. It’s so good, keep teasing my pussy like that, I know you love it, shit-” 

Even after getting her brains properly fucked out, the slurs of her words spilling out are still coherent. You take a moment to breathe, calm down the irregular heart rate as best you can, and watch as Rosé takes a fingertip to her stomach and collects some of the mess left by you. She’s so shameless, tattered, reaping the reward in all of its glory. 

“Satisfied?” You ask, rubbing her lip. Her blush is amazing to look at, a slut like her owning the part as if she’s meant for it. It’s true. The afterglow makes her ten thousand times more alluring than how she was back at the cafe when she planted the idea of those dirty thoughts slowly formulating in the back of your mind. All you have to do is just look at her- 

It’s easy to read and take a step back; because giving her more would be a guarantee on the cards. Her palm lands on the left side of your chest, feeling your heartbeat. You indulge in pulling a wisp of her hair off from her forehead, those doe eyes looking up at you while she treats herself by licking up your load off her fingers. 

She hums. It’s only the two of you. Everything you or her ever needed is trapped in this space. 

Rosé teases with the tip of her tongue, showing the evidence being down into the space of her mouth - in her throat, seeing her neck bob up while her head tilts to this sultry gaze, a damming smile forming again, hinted with a small peek of her teeth. She then manages to get a hand around your length - fingers still soaked with your cum, languidly pumping without care - since the reaction could be substituted as a reflex. “I think you have more to offer for me.” 

“God, Rosé-” you say, and she just laughs; the sound alone is impossible to ignore, but her snark, the words and things she tells you from time to time - it alters your brain chemistry. She’s always been like this. 

“What? Am I wrong?” She asks, ghosting your upper profile to give you the hint that she needs some breathing room, rolling herself over where her back is now in view, and not to mention her fucking ass- 

“No, you’re not,” you answer, hovering over the nape of her neck, pressing a few kisses down the curve. “If anything, you’re doing a terrific job of keeping my mind off of certain things.” 

Her knees dig into the mattress, lifting her backside to the front of your hips, her slick still there, smothering the top of your length. You hold her down from the shoulders and slide your knees up to the proper placement. She’s giving an offer, alright - one that you simply cannot refuse. 

“Good.” Rosé chuckles, breathing low as you’re grazing the head of your cock over the pucker of her ass, teasing it around her folds. “I hope I can keep up the work for you. Make you not worry about any other thing besides me. God that would be amazing. Can you? For me?” 

“Make me fuck your brains out as my only worry,” you concur. “Doesn’t sound that bad to do again.” Her head dips down into the sheets when you’ve got your cock slowly working its way back into her creaming pussy, hips becoming flush with yours, relishing in the perfect fit - the gorgeous press of those walls, it does something to a man. 

You’re imagining the widest smile on her face, knowing that she’s won you back. It doesn’t make sense yet, the bits and pieces of your mind not lining up with the actions. Rosé’s yelp gets muffled, in response to the press of her lower half into the mattress, hands pressing both asscheeks together, tightening the noose around your length, letting the drag make your cock throb even harder. 

“I’ve fucking missed this,” she rasps, the last exhale shoved out of her once you’ve managed to nudge your cock back inside her. The latter of everything is this: the steady breaths, the audible slide of slick, and the slap of skin. 

A hand reaches out to her hair, holding her head down to the mattress along with the rest of her body, arm slithered to the underside where the waist is, a placeholder as your hips snap forward. The whimper she lets out is a clear implication that your bag of tricks is doing a number on her. 

“Taking me so well. God, Rosie. This pussy is amazing. Look at you,” you praise, growling as she continues to babble beneath your touch. 

And the innocent giggles can hide so much of the absolute pleasure she’s enjoying. She’s a real-life venus fly trap: pulling you in with her smile, her eyes, and her charisma; only for you to be wrapped around her little finger and quite literally, her leg. “How cute. You were full of shit not that long ago. For a second I figured you’d be having second thoughts.” 

You smack her ass and grab both sides of cheeks on her face. A statement. A warning. 

“Watch your mouth,” you grit, and you swear that you’ll stay true to your word. 

“Alright, just- ah, fuck me, like that. Your cock hit that same- hngh! Please, just fuck me like you mean it. Rail my ass until I’m on my knees apologizing. I promise, just dick me down-’ 

The pace picks up and you’ve lost all remorse. You’ll bounce her cunt on your cock regardless if she’s asking for it or not. In the present case that she is, giving it to her was an easy decision. Her pussy is the missing piece of a puzzle that you always wanted to complete anew, and it’s right in your hands and on your hips. 

Rosé’s face twists over her shoulder, eyes fluttering in unadulterated pleasure, tensing and unraveling each passing stroke you have on her. The secret’s already out: you missed her, and she missed you. You’ll have the desire to take this moment away and put it in a chest, only for it to be tossed to the bottom of the sea, where no one else will know of its existence. 

“Have me over and over,” she says, “if that’s all you ever wanted, I’d let you.” 

You weren’t sure what you were getting yourself into, and when you’ve made her cum the second time, and third soon after - she’s a sobbing mess, voice wrecked, you’re also there with her, she’s got you by that much. 

–

The first snowfall meets the cloudy skies when the light peeks through the drapery. Or at least when your vision is coming around while Rosé’s posture straightens when she sits up - clutching the comforter from the bed close to her body as she looks over her shoulder to you. Her friz of bed hair is apparent at the ends, not to mention her bare back, the first hint of red marks at the bottom of her neck - you’re drawing the assessment up as you go. 

“Cold?” you ask, leaning your head back into the pillow behind. “That’s a shame.” 

“Says the one who doesn’t have anything on along with me,” Rosé chuckles, swirling around facing you. You’ll be left there to just observe and stare more times than you can probably count on your own ten fingers. 

Then she lets the blanket fall; her version of a curtain raiser. 

It isn’t anything new really, but you catch yourself blinking a lot faster than usual; the blotches of red spread across her chest, mixed with the paleness of her skin. Her waist emulates this hourglass shape that almost looks unreal for one to have; there’s also neck and collarbones, and you’re looking everywhere from her face to her hips - lustful would be an understatement of her efforts. 

“You could give me one of your hoodies again,” she’s saying, sliding her hands into the crease beneath her shoulders, looking down to the crimson marks. 

“Tempting.” 

She tilts her head the other way, a soft hum reflected off her smile. The rosy blush is a highlight; the reruns of all the moments with her keep coming back, and you’re certainly here for all of them. “You can’t turn me down.” 

“And if I did, it would be a tragedy,” you say, pulling her into your embrace as she spins around again, her hand scratching the side of your head, nose buried into the curve of her neck, “thankfully, that won’t happen with you.” 

“Let’s go exploring the city today,” Rosé proposes, back arching to the adjustment of your hold. “I can put in a reservation for that one restaurant with the fancy snails and seafood.” 

“Isn’t that like-” you snort, “eighty percent of the restaurants around here anyway?” 

“Only if you’re not looking deep enough.” 

“Your call,” you agree, turning your head to put a proper kiss, tasting the sweetness of cherry or strawberries. Her fingers trail across your forearms while yours are grazing her waist, her breasts - you’re one for physical touch, a little too much for your liking but in this case is it justified? Absolutely. Who wouldn’t? “I can carry you to the shower if you’d like.” 

Rosé’s eyes close, fluttering. Lips pulled inward to a smirk. She’s enthralled with the notion - the affinity of how you treated her before. “Mmmmm. I think: yes please.” 

–

(So you do carry her. Frankly, your fingers digging into the plush skin of her ass, sinking her back onto your cock; palms holding the tile, then slipping - her back to the wall as her feet dangle past your backside. Rosé’s moaning into the shell of your ear one second, kissing you the next - like the world would end at any given moment, hands pressing your face deeper into hers in the wash of rain above, encouraging you to give in. 

She was doing whatever it took to creep herself back into the nook of your mind, and so far it’s working; rewriting your nerves and synapses, corralling with her tongue and lips in all the ways that swept off your feet before, her grin against your chin all the easier to bite down and swallow. “You swear not to tell anyone about this, promise me.” The only telltale point of accountability laid out on the table, in the space opened between your lips and hers - a brief pause, stalled negotiations, ending with an everlasting proposition that you’ll submit to when she finally says: 

“Not a soul. Promise.”)

–

You’re shrugging your shoulders up to your ears, hoping to keep in some of the heat trapped in your body. An instinct; and with the right amount of layers of fabrics, it makes the job a whole lot easier to do. Simple as that. 

Rosé eventually did manage to steal one of your hoodies from your luggage. Not that you were complaining about it. As much as you hate to admit it, the girl did have a knack for styling different articles effortlessly to the point where you can’t even tell if she’s wearing your clothes or her own. She’s got a red scarf for today’s outing, properly complimenting the other shades below while she’s fixing her appearance in the mirror of the restaurant, patting down her hair with you coming right behind to transfer some of the warmth onto her. 

You’re getting a few whiffs of her perfume. Cinnamon and something rustic, cozy, and she just gives you a beaming smile off the reflection in front of you. Her hand goes into the pocket of her overcoat: a small digicam, turns it on and points it to the mirror - telling you to act candid or cute, whichever one happens to come first. The pull of your arms brings her closer to you, a familiar movement and rhythm when you leaned over earlier while getting ready, talking all sly and prettily as she creams all over your cock. She’s thinking about it also, even while the camera clicks. 

“Would you look at that,” she exclaims, capturing the photo as a personal keepsake, and showing you the photo on the screen soon after. “We look good in this for once.” 

Rosé notices your whole body freeze, rolling your eyes, “Uh, was that supposed to be an insult?” 

Her face shifts to a quick scowl, taken aback by the question suddenly. “Why? Would you rather have me tell you that you’re fucking ugly instead?” 

“Not true. But, hah. That does sound a lot more like you.” 

Your gaze goes back to the glass, and Rosé takes another funny photo for the memories, looking over to the corner of your eyes as the snaps from the camera continue for a few seconds. “How’s my jacket?” 

She pulls the hood to her nostrils, eyelids snapped shut, and inhales. The grin she has all over her face proves to be a clear indicator that the signs are all pointing towards positive. Her figure is still in reach of you, her front opposite to yours. “Comfy, for one,” she then looks up to your chin, syrup eyes looking up with a gentle gaze. “It’s a distinct smell. A one-of-one.” 

“Corny.” 

“And?” 

“Pretty,” is what you end off with, petting her hair which earns you a nose scrunch. “Want me to add on?” 

“You could tell me that I’m special, your angel, or something. Maybe say that I look good, y’know - to boost my ego. You being my one and only, the dream guy I’ve wanted for as long as I liv-” 

“Don’t push your luck,” you’re grinning, because she’s planting the idea so well, the keywords and points of inference to decode and analyze. She’ll inflate your ego so much that you’d have to hold her down in your hands and fuck some proper sense into her - ‘cause it’ll happen again -  probably because she deserves it, which is true. 

–

Later, and by her arm linked to yours, Rosé pulls you into this music club. A jazz bar, or- just a place where they were having an open mic night, the songs having the earworm effect to the point where your feet are following hers. 

The place opens up inside where the seating arrangements are segregated in pairs in the middle from the stage and outwards with the usual booths set at the sides. Some people are sitting, others are dancing, and then there are a few who are just casually conversing and really having a great time. But the wave of nostalgia is hitting a little harder than usual as they’re all riding along with the music. 

“This place is nice,” she tells you, gently bobbing her head along to the cozy ambiance of the band playing on the stage, tugging the cuff of your sleeve towards some open seats to rest your legs and take a breather. 

When you do finally settle your bearings, the seat under you becomes a lot more comfier, taking in the sights and sounds of the live music being performed right in front of you. It wasn’t that long also for the drinks to come flowing in; only this time, you’re more in line with your inhibitions and common sense all because there isn’t any impending stress plaguing your mind. 

Once the setlist’s been played through, the main lead of the band calls out to the audience for anyone who would be interested in singing on the open floor. Pretty straightforward: just name the song for the band members to play and give them a few minutes to get adjusted to the demands of the piece; gotta say, they’re pretty good at what they do. 

“I’m gonna go up there.” Rosé snatches your attention with her spontaneous plan. “It’s been a while since I sang in front of anyone” 

You chuckle, because you remember how she was back in the high school choir years ago. “You’re serious?” The question comes off as rhetorical alone, but you sense that burning passion inside her that fuels everything in her enthusiasm. “By all means, go for it.” 

“Got a song in mind?” She asks, hand resting on your forearm. 

“Don’t have anything in particular,” you answer with a shake of your head. “Surprise me.” 

With that, Rosé shoots her hand up high into the air. The band leader spots her out instantly and calls her up to the stage. Everyone’s eyes are drawn towards her - a mix of applause and whistles to solidify the encouragement, and here you are stuck in your seat hoping that nothing goes wrong while she’s up on stage. You have faith, and it’s just enough to stick by. 

Her introduction is cute to watch; the way that she sounds sends your heart flipping for a millisecond: “Hi my name is Rosé. I’m not from here, but I’m super excited to perform for you guys tonight and I hope that you guys enjoy it. Thank you.” 

You’d have to admit, she does look good when the lights are all on her. 

She picks two oldies that you remember vividly because of your parent's music taste, and the final song catches you off guard, because of the way that she presented it- 

“I’d just like to dedicate this last song to the number one that I hold most dear to in my heart. So if you’re listening to this, wherever you are, I hope you know that I will always root for you - even from afar.” 

-being a classic Bruno Mars song since that’s been one of the few artists she’s been playing on repeat for the entirety of the trip. Her head moves and tilts in alternating directions, really just feeling out the music. 

Once the final chords of the song get played out, the club erupts with a mix of cheers and claps, congratulating her for providing a wonderful show. The gratitude comes out naturally and she gives her thanks, occasionally landing her gaze over to you before looking elsewhere. She realizes the yearning, like how she sensed it while examining the art pieces up close as you were a few steps away. 

It really gets you thinking, just how much you’ve fallen deeper back into the abyss with her. 

–

At some point, you realize that you aren’t getting enough sleep as you’d like. 

And no, it’s not because of the exhaustion of burying your cock deep into Rosé’s cunt, the slide of her folds becoming a relapse of an addiction long locked away. The lines become blurred between right and wrong, considering the incessant begging she keeps putting towards you where you give her exactly what she wants. 

She’s laid on top of you, skin touching skin. You make do by clinging onto her small body since she likes that. 

Rosé looks up, palm to your cheek, thumb canvasing the surface. She leans down for a peck - you lean up to meet her in the middle. Everything about this feels safe; your heart’s beating with a rise in tempo, every move of her hand and head an electric current across your body, the quick blitzes of craving for one another, pulling her close, wrapping her in your clothes, blowing air in the sensitive spots that get her going, whimpering. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: the ex.” She says to you, both hands now to the sides of your face, holding you like an award - a trophy. 

“First of all, ouch.” 

“Don’t take it to heart since you dicked me down not too long ago.” Her face turns over, listening to your heartbeat, legs tangling underneath the sheets. “It sounded a whole lot better in my head, so I thought why not say it out loud,” her tone filled with relief. “I’ve always spoken from my mind anyway, so how is this any different?” 

“That’s-” 

“I’m kidding,” Rosé laughs, “well- partly. I didn’t mean to hurt you again if that’s what you wanted to hear,” in a way she’s right; what also doesn’t help is her hand slithering down your front, to your hips, fingers coiling your length in record time. 

You gasp, tensing up all the muscles in your body. “Fuc- Rosie-” 

“These thoughts that I have, they’re the worst,” she’s telling this like some gospel - a fabled story or prophecy from an oracle, twisting and jerking your hardening shaft while sharing the madness of her hippocampus. “Well? What are you gonna do about it?” 

When she slides you right back into her volcanic heat, your mouth drops. “I think we can figure that out together.” 

She sighs, pressing her lips against your cheek, grinning. Her lower half has a mind of its own: grinding down and settling, where she stays. 

–

You make love with her again. And she screams; it could be heard far and wide past the walls. A guarantee, you said. A promise. It's only you and her, after all.

–

There are multiple ways for one to sign off on their death sentence: a contract, a hearing, a proclamation; where one’s resolve is pushed to the brink where everything that transpires after has to be seen to the end until the lingering thoughts and repercussions are nothing more than just a distant memory. You knew what you signed up for when this trip had its inception, what’s to come when you’re put face first with someone who was supposed to be part of the last chapter in your story. Things like these can be rewritten on a new page for starters, but still keep all the details intact. 

Rosé could be your judge, jury, and executioner for all you know - and still be the one to lure you into the dangerous pits of temptation. 

“Holy shit,” you grit, voice tattered; Rosé’s head dips down as she plants both of her hands on your waist, and adjusts her legs until her heels are rooted into the mattress, testing the angle with an unprompted thrust by you. 

“Don’t move too much,” she commands, the slide of your cock in her pussy slow enough to make you want to rush into it. “I’ll ride you like this. You don’t even have to do a thing.”

“God-” and the giggle she lets out in tandem with her devilish grin serves to be too much for you to bear. A lift up in her squatting position, and her petite ass slams on top of your balls - the deadly pin drop. “Fuck- you’re so good at that.” 

A rise and fall. A one-two in stopping and gyrating. She’s riding you so delicately - in contrast to your style of holding her close to your chest and impaling her upwards. You feel the edge of her palm at your chin - to your bottom lip - and you bite down gently into her hand. 

“I wanna feel it - all inside me,” she’s telling you, a phrase projected into existence, a claim. “Want your cum,” her confidence brightens so much when she’s the one in control, “so fucking bad.” She slides her feet out from under her, grinding harder against your hips, laying her body flat against yours, raising her ass again and back down; the angle is much more deeper than you anticipated. “Using this pretty cunt all for you. I know you like it.” 

“For fuck’s sake,” you growl, and it’s a swear in itself, “can’t get enough of you - this pussy is a dream.” 

“Uh huh,” her face crinkles when she ups the pace. “Tell me all about it. I’ll be your good little girl for you, babe.” This role isn’t her forte, but if the opportunity presents itself, she’ll own the part with flying colors. You could hear and feel the slick spread up to your waist; every gush, smack, and dragged-out moan was all part of a symphony created by you two. She effortlessly bottoms your cock out, and she whines. 

Your arms slither around her back, keeping her in place. She whispers a ‘yes’ in your ears, and licks your temple. 

“Grab me, fuck me. Make me yours,” she murmurs, happily kissing along your cheek as you spread yourself wider, getting the proper measurements right to ruin her. 

The rest of the world fades out as Rosé’s breathing fills up your brain. “Rosé- I’m gonna- fuck-” 

“Oh god- Yes! Baby, I’m close- keep going-” 

When you inevitably cum inside her - filling her up, you’re coaxing through her sobs. Driving your shaft deep where each exhale is a staccato. Your lips find her neck, marking up skin, drinking in the sweat, fucking through her orgasm to the point where she’s pliant and quivering - tiredly nodding in approval and satisfied. 

–

You’re no diplomat, but the advisable action of keeping your phone on do not disturb, limiting contact with anyone other than Rosé was entirely justified. 

(By common sense, how could anyone keep in touch with their significant other after the heinous acts that they’ve committed? Our lives are not defined by any one action, but rather the sum of our choices. Everyone has their reasons - more or less - and sometimes, some don’t even need a reason at all.) 

The messages do pile on throughout the week. Various texts at different times, all on different days. Each one is more desensitizing than the last. 

jen: can you please call me? 

jen: i’ll explain everything 

jen: i’m worried sick 

jen: pls just come home

You’ll deal with clearing out the notification bubbles sometime later when the time is right. 

Rosé’s in the bathroom, door open to slip some of the excess steam out, towel to her bust. Most of the water is soaked into the cloth; her hair is half dry - half damp, combing a little at the ends with a brush, leaning on the door frame. “You think you can help me with something real quick?”

“Hm? And what would that be?” you ask, slipping on a shirt. 

She’s in the middle of the walkway now. 

“Just need some attention in a few spots,” Rosé says, very nonchalantly. Pulls apart the towel from the two folds, lets it pool at her feet. Her being naked isn’t enough to sway you into pushing her back into the shower and well- yeah. She knows it’s gonna take a lot more than just that. “Preferably the ones where you didn’t touch earlier, to be more specific.” 

“Could’ve said you wanted more,” you laugh. “Didn’t have to sugarcoat it.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Rosé asks, deadpanning. She sways her body where her bare ass is now in view, hips moving side to side on the balls of her feet, looking over her shoulder to solidify the image. “We got a little more time on our hands and besides, it’s Christmas Eve.” 

You’re back following her in a heartbeat. 

–

You may be sloppy and shameless, but you are also very intricate in how you approach things. It’s in how your mouth moves: precise, calculated - licking down her slutty little waist, to her clit, getting everything you’ve ever needed between those glorious thighs of hers. 

On your knees like you’re in reverence, you’re worshiping Rosé’s pussy; hoping that she could give you the blessing of eating her out like it’s your one-way ticket to heaven. The insides of her thighs press inward, her fingers in your hair pulling you exactly where she wants. 

Rosé almost slides off the bathroom counter when she finally cums. She’s yelling her heart out, hissing through her teeth. Neither of you are thinking about the possible noise complaint that you’ll get for the sixth time this week. 

“Fuck, yes,” she huffs, pressing your head harder with her legs. “Yes- yes, just that.” 

You raise yourself and give your fingers the fill, nipple between your teeth while the knuckle curls inside- 

She grasps at your neck - like you’re going off to war and she’s bagging on the chance she’ll never see you again, “Baby, I can’t say this enough,” she rasps, whining a high pitch when you hit her favorite spot, “I literally need you to ruin me,” and you nod, because you will. 

Doesn’t take that long for her to cum again soon after, figuratively off the cliff face first. Her body goes limp, eyes glossy, panting as if she’s dehydrated. She keeps her legs closed, your hand caught in the crossfire, hoping that you’ll stay once the sun shines after the storm. 

Once the clouds of lust finally pass the both of you: 

“Good use of our time actually, what do you think?” 

Rosé looks up to you, hand on her cheek, wiping the dry stream of tears. 

“We can still go,” she sighs. “I just need a few more minutes because, fuck, can’t think straight when you’re staring at me while I’m like this.” 

“Saying that I went too far?” 

“No- but,” her groan makes you chuckle, “that’s not it. It never is, I-” 

“I?” you carry on with the overhanging thought. 

“I know that you have different sides, but this- this one is just- I don’t know, to me, it just feels right.” 

She manages to get herself up from the edge of the bed, legs a bit wobbly but manageable. You’re patting down her overcoat and adjusting the scarf around her neck, cupping her face. Her hands find yours stacked on top. 

“Not letting me go, hm?” Rosé asks, humming. “That’s not very kind.”

“Want me to carry you? ‘Cause I can most definitely do that, if it makes it easier,” and it comes off so casually. You’ll stay true to your good intentions, worrying about the punishment for the crime later. 

Rosé nods, and looks down, kissing the crown of her head. She’s entrapped with this spell of desire, unsure of who got it first. It’s boundless, even when you’re hugging her. Boundless, and you’ve concluded that it’ll stay. 

–

(The muddled wet-suck of her cunt. The grip. Her listless sighs and whimpers of praise plague your brain. You're having your fill; filling her up with your cock like old times. Like it's meant to be.

You fuck her again, and all it takes is one look, and she knows. It's plastered in those rosy pink cheeks at that lip bite that makes you crave her more - it's maddening.

An untethered devotion: you could give her everything she ever wanted.

If it takes the space left open in her heart, you'd pledge yourself to get her back without a second thought.)

–

The time’s ticking; the sands in the hourglass are almost at the bottom. Part of you is torn between finally getting this trip over with and stirred that you and Rosé will probably never see each other again in the coming days. Aside from the rough, raw sex, you also realize that it’s been pretty refreshing to reconnect with the girl that you shared a good third of your life with and fall into old habits as if nothing had ever happened between you two. 

You’re starting to reminisce on how it had all gone wrong. 

Rosé, without a care in the world, stares up into the deep blue sky. The Eiffel Tower still has some guests visiting, sightseeing, and enjoying the present company that they have. You have your phone in your hands, taking pictures of everything within distance. Each click that’s pressed is a reminder of what little you will have to cling to once this fever dream is all done and dusted. 

She’s a bit out of arm's reach from you, enjoying the brisk weather and the overall ambiance that’s happening with the people around her. Her digicam in one hand, phone in the other. At some point she’s recording a guy that’s playing with his accordion, going down his list of Christmas carols, happily nodding along to the joyous tunes. She keeps on snapping photos wherever she happens to see or notice first. Canvassing the area, like a lighthouse with her phone in hand- 

Until her camera finally lands on you. She’s snapping a photo of you. You’re snapping a photo of her. 

(It’s a gunshot without the smoke. Yours and her version of Halley's comet flying over you. The realization settles in: you both fucked up.) 

You stand there motionless - phone lowered and you just look at Rosé. She does the same. Time halts to a standstill as the both of you just admire one another. Your expression is stoic while her’s is filled with an expression that’s told by her glossy eyes and uneven breathing. 

She moves without fail, running towards you; before you know it, she’s jumping in your arms, clinging onto you so hard that it’s nearly suffocating. Her sniffles are a lot louder now, and you start rubbing the back of her head in the same motion that you know brings her comfort. 

“Hey-” Rosé stutters, burying her face into your collarbone. “I- I just, God, I’m such an idiot-” 

“There’s no need for that,” you whisper, “I know. I know.” 

Like always, Rosé’s face is in your hands yet again; wiping away the tears and cradling her as if nothing else had mattered. You chuckle at the sobs she lets out, and she hits your arm. “Can we-” you’re rubbing her head still to help gather her thoughts, “can we go back to the hotel now? I think we’re good for today.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll do that. Okay. Let’s go back.” 

–

(Midway on the walk back, you decide to bet it all on the line. If it doesn’t happen now, the chances of it happening later become less likely.

“I need to stop by somewhere for a sec,” you’re telling Rosé with a sudden clutch of her hand to stop her. “Wanted to surprise you with a gift.” 

Rosé furrows her brows together, but shakes her head, smiling. “Promise you’ll meet me back at the hotel?” 

“Won’t be long, I promise.” You reassure, kissing her and her hand soon after.) 

–

You’ve never been so fast to come back to someone in your life, bouquet of roses in hand like those tv melodramas that always milks the simple moment for absolutely no reason. This might feel like one of those moments, all honesty considered, but who’s really to judge when you’re preparing for the inevitable. 

The keycard slots itself in, followed by the click of the lock once closed. You notice that the lights were already dimmed - the actual preference you and Rosé agreed on after the first night, the only difference was the trail of undergarments leading to the open area of the room. 

And that’s when you see her. 

She’s knelt on the bed, a singular rose in her hands. Her outfit is uncovered by the layers of pants, hoodie, and scarf - revealing a lingerie set on her that you’ve never seen before, painted in scarlet red. It highlights her natural complexion, not to mention her hair - she’s the literal image of your long-lost wet dreams come to life. 

“Like what you see?” Rosé asks, staring while you remain motionless. 

You drop the bouquet in your hand, not for dramatic effect of course, but in utter shock at how well the fabrics meld onto her clad body. 

She takes the hint, moving herself closer to you, on the edge of the bed while your hands ghost her figure - unsure of where to even begin. 

“I’ve said this countless times before,” you say, heart rate spiking when her palms land on your chest, “but you look amazingly good in that.” 

Her hand pulls you by the neck, and gives you a quick kiss after that. “Why thank you,” says Rosé, lip caught to her teeth when your hands slide across the lower plane of her back, resting above her ass. “I had a few other options in mind, but I always knew that your favorite color was red.” 

“Aw. So thoughtful.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“I will.” 

Rosé laughs at that. Aside from the figurative meaning, she’s aware that you can back that up. 

“Do you know why? Why I broke up with you then?” Rosé asks, face shifting to a wistful gaze. Your body freezes at the sudden question, wide eyes locked with hers as open as they can be. She twirls the rose in her fingers for a few seconds, places it at your middle, finding her words. 

“Still can’t put all of that together, you know.” You’re telling her. 

“We were young back then. We still are.” She confesses, palm to your chin as you’re doing the same. “I thought that you didn’t care how we were - like you didn’t love me anymore. Even at first now, you were such a fucking dick-” 

“Ros-” 

“Shut up, let me finish. It made me realize at that moment where I- I tho-” her words are becoming more and more shaky, you can tell in the irregular breathing, “I thought you fell out of love with me.” 

The harsh sting of truth still hurts when you’re thinking back on it for a second. It wasn’t a one person show, however, but you contributed to most of the downfall of the relationship in the past. You’ll own up to the mistakes somehow, someway; if you had the chance, you’d do it without a second thought. 

“It made me realize, this whole trip, I saw the old you,” Rosé confesses, keeping her emotions at bay as best she can, “Like how did you know that I’ve wanted a dream trip to Paris for the longest time? How long did you work on this before we- oh, right.” 

You’re laughing a bit here. Could be the psyche of trying to not come to terms with the feelings. “Use your words, it’s okay.” 

“You treated me so well this past week, putting up with my shenanigans and such, forcing you to walk wherever I go but I’m just- fuck. It fucking sucks with how we are now.” 

“I’m still hurt too,” you admit, wiping a tear off of Rosé’s cheek. “I hoped that us being here would give us some closure - which is working, but I also hope that we can still be happy as friends once all of this is over.” 

Rosé nods, sniffling. “Won’t be easy, but we can try.” 

You seal your lips with hers, finally breaking the dam of longing that you’ve been holding back until now. Her mouth burns a hum down her throat, hands weaving across your shoulders, the passion instantly infectious. 

She pulls away with a heavy sigh, “Prove it.” The words match her eyes of determination and urging. “Make love to me.” 

You’re not far from her, and you’ll follow no matter what. 

Her face is hot: scorching and engulfing at the same time. She’s quick to slip you off of your jacket - your hands fiddling with the lace decorated all over her body, pulling on your bottom lip, giving you no chance to regroup and re-hit the areas that you want to take; she’s prioritizing in keeping you close, unwilling to loosen her arms once the grips have been set. 

The fingers find the small latch of her bra, feeling her chest rise in your other hand. 

She’s peeled you off of your shirt, claiming scratches on your skin. 

You’ve got an angel within your reach - from the echelons of heaven and earth above. She’s gracing her presence onto you to the point where you will do anything to prove your devotion to her, hoping that she’ll grant you your deepest wishes - and make you forget about your darkest regrets. 

Rosé’s so responsive and you love it. Her octave goes up a key when you’re fondling along lone breast; dividing and conquering in two places at once with your other hand palming the dampness of her panties. She pulls you onto the bed, a lasso of truth that you’ll always submit to. Whispering sweet nothings, begging you to keep going; telling you more, more, and more. 

Your eyes, no matter how many times you’ve dozed off into the distance, have always landed back on Rosé in some way or form. Amidst everything, you’re magnetized to the way her eyes looked now: dangerous, wanting, hooded - as if the shades of lust have completely taken over her thoughts and with her as the vessel to carry all of those bad deeds out, as if you were the only one who could control this growing feeling. 

When she finally settles on the pillows, the heat’s already become too infectious, her face flushed and lips generally parted, waiting for your return. You go for her neck, and her body tenses, back arching and heels sliding up the sheets, unsure of where to rest as you’re catering to her lovely neck. 

“How bad do we want this?” you start, fingertip to your lip before wetting it. “You up for it?” 

Rosé bites her lips as always and nods. “Fuck,” she gasps, taken off guard by your lips to her collarbone again. “I want it.” 

A press deep into the slick center of her panties only solidifies what she’s implying. 

Her hands work with yours, sliding her out of the last piece like clockwork, her tongue clashing against yours as she shuffles herself up against the headboard, but you lean down to keep her in place. The sooner you pin her down to reach her soft spots, the more likely she’ll break within minutes - it’s all part of the plan. 

Giving her a heads up wasn’t an option, and that’s proven so when your fingers slide up against her slick folds, getting a feel for what’s to come when you eventually push inside and spread her open, teasing by dipping no more than your fingernail into her cunt, rubbing her clit to up the sensitivity. 

“You fucking tease, I know- ah-” she spits, squirming at your touch, the friction becoming a necessity. Her inner thighs press together, holding your hand hostage. That only prompts you to traverse your fingers deeper into her pussy, and she moans. “R-right there.” 

She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, or her legs, let alone her entire body in this state. The pleasure is too much to bear, and the snowball effect keeps on building. You kiss her again to keep her mind off the finger fucking you’re doing to her; she digs her nails into your forearm, pulling you by the neck to deepen the lip lock. As much as you’d love to eat her out into the night, the way that she is right now is just enough for your satisfaction. 

“God, yes- fuck-” 

You know that she’s almost there; all it takes is a little push. She’s grinding her hips against your hand, the three digits inside her too much to handle. Each whimper and moan and sigh she lets out is nearly bittersweet to hear and witness - pitiful that she got herself like this for you, and there’s nothing that she can do about it. 

“Gonna make you cum so much,” you say huskily, pressing your forehead against hers as you feel her eyebrows mesh and rise, unsure of what to focus on. But you know exactly what it is, and it’s that euphoric rush that she won’t admit to having a craving for. “Can you do that for me? Be my good little girl and do as I say?” 

Her bobbing goes frantic; she doesn’t care either way, it’s happening regardless. 

“These fucking fingers,” Rosé grits, her first words that aren’t an ‘mmm’ or ‘ah’ or ‘hah’ in a while. “Baby, baby, holy shit, you’re fucking me so well with your hand, I’m so close- shit, I’m so fucking close.” 

“Yeah? Let go, Rosie. I want to see you cum for me.” She pulls you in to keep her mind off of your hand, hips bucking at an insane rate. You could feel the shake in her thighs, sliding in and out of her cunt - the press of your thumb on her clit an additional point of pressure. Her eyes open and close, lazily matching the pace of your fingers and steadying. 

All it takes is one more slide; one more press, and she’s fucking gone. 

The sight is the holy land you’ve managed to see time and time again: watching her cum on your fingers. It’s in the rosy blush spread on her face, and you’re pretty sure that she’s squirted a bit onto your arm, but you bear no mind to that. 

“There we go, would you just- look?” You’re enamored, amazed. Your Rosé is so pliant and willing to let you have control so easily that it shouldn’t be this straightforward to do. 

“God, the fucking mess. Rosé-” 

And the sigh is just heavenly. 

She’s shaking her head in disbelief. Your fingers are still inside her, hauling past the edge of her orgasm that she can’t do anything about it. 

You eventually give her a minute or two to breathe. Because she deserves it. 

Unfortunately: one thing was never going to be enough for someone like Rosé. 

Because she’s the kind of person who will always want to see things to the end. Usually, there’s a pause, a breather, probably the overhanging thought of what you’ve done to her again for the thousandth possible time on this trip - in these four walls - a glass of water would also suffice, or a bathroom break, but not tonight. 

Rosé’s fingers are fast around the button of your pants, and you get the hint right away. You can easily tell from the glint in her eyes that if you don’t take her cunt and fuck her apart the way that she wants, there’s certainly going to be irreversible damage. This is all you are doing. It’s the match of madness that you don’t want to admit but accept wholeheartedly. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re insane?” You ask, hand coiling her waist, pulling her close, thumb at the edge of her belly button. 

“Hmm, I think someone has, but I might need a refresher of sorts,” Rosé replies, a sultry smile as she watches you lick up her mess spread across your digits. “Add that to the number of things you’re willing to fix.” 

“Who said anything about fixing?” You dart back, reining her in by the waist, listen close to the stack of laughs, break down with every rumple and fold you do to her arms and legs. 

She glances at your throbbing cock waiting at her entrance, slipping the tip right in as a test, the rest to follow along until the noises coming out of her are broken, relieved. 

“Okay,” she’s saying, shimmying down your length, and raising her hips. “Impress me.” 

So, you get one thrust in for good measure, her hands braced around your back and legs finding a foothold around your hips. “How’s that so far?” 

Rosé’s fucking arch. Her pussy grips around you like a fist - hot and tight. She looks up and then at you, softer, prettier, and you’re beginning to wonder if it was ever worth getting stranded with her for a week and not ending up like this. It’s in the sound, the feeling; fucking her in this fashion: sliding yourself in and out of her so nicely. Clinging. Dragging. Every night after the first has always been like this. And the things she says: 

“Bet that feels good, right?” Pulling you from the back of your head, leaning down. “Just keep- keep, fuck, baby, like that. Holy shit, I fucking can’t-” 

Here she goes again: the praising. She’s scratching your scalp, patting your back. Nails down your spine. The tempo has her gasping in a sweet tone. “Have you like this and fuck, goddamit,” you sigh, and she looks at you like she knows what the fuck you’re talking about. 

You snap into her hips a little harder the next stroke. Pounding deep in her cunt was the eventual endgame. Her stomach dips with her next breath. Sucks her lips in. 

Oh, and that whimper; that bubbling whimper mixed into a wail of some sort. She’s looking at you; deep into your eyes where she wishes to see that part of that universe she knows she should’ve never left in the first place. Her smile is lazy. She’s got that fucked-out gaze written all over her. 

“Too much?” you say, diving into the curve of her jaw to where she moans at the contact. 

“Never,” she mumbles, cock drunk at the continuous pressing you’re doing inside of her. 

“Good,” you rasp. 

“Baby, baby, baby,” Rosé purrs, nails clawing away the skin and sweat off your back, clutching, “Please keep fucking me.” 

You bite a patch of skin away from the underside of her chin. You would rather be on the back foot here - dialing it down, but she won’t utter a complaint; she wants to feel this, how hard you can be with her. She’s taken you plenty of times before, getting her so wet at the thought of fucking her raw and dumping your load until it’s dripping down her inner thigh, watch her gasp and beg for the taste when you pull yourself out and she’s almost at the edge too. 

“Not leaving you until I’ve had enough,” you’re panting, carving your dick down to the base, thumbing her clit, a twisted evil smile painted across your lips when she’s wailing out of her mind - the mere image and sound of it is obscene. 

The pace is unrelenting, it wasn’t long until she’s cumming over your cock again, and again, and again - cutting off all the tension that’s building up in her spine as you’re holding the shivers spread across her body, unable to fight back but let you take her pussy so fucking well that the noises are bouncing off the walls, mix the heat into the open air, slide yourself out and slap the head of your cock on her swollen folds before letting her walls clench around your shaft. She might be fucked out, but you know that she still wants it. 

“Please-’ she’s pleading, and you know. You can tell from her face and body alone that she’s not done yet. 

You’re leaning down on top of her again, hooking your arms underneath her shoulders that makes the upper profile of her back fold at a ridiculous curve, and fuck her down that you’re hitting all the right places-

Her chest is heaving, nothing more than just sputtering pants - something that Rosé doesn’t register in her head right away; the air gets trapped at the bottom of her throat, swallowing, her eyes crinkle as there’s no sound coming out. 

You land your lips on hers to ease her mind. “In your nose, Rosie. Like so. There we go. Leave your pussy to me. You’re so good, you’re so so good.” 

Rosé’s head knocks into yours; a fierce wail pierces your ears. You can feel the clench a little tighter when you bottom yourself out; her stomach is moving in a concerning motion. Her gaze on you is almost a mix of shock, tears welling up in her eyes. 

You’re kissing her again, swallowing her cry. “Shhhh.” you comfort her. “It’s okay. It’s okay,” you hush, wrapping your arm to her lower back so she can stay close. “You can cum again baby, I won’t hold you back.” 

Her head goes sideways, the first domino to fall. You can see her mouth shape into something coherent - probably a dragged-out wheeze, okay, fuck, just, yes. 

“More, please, give me more,” she says. “Your cock, its- fuck, baby- I-” 

“I know sweetheart,” you croon, impaling your cock deep in her cunt. “I’m working with you here. You’ll let me use your pretty little pussy whatever way you like, huh?” 

It’ll be seconds before Rosé cums again, the wear and tear your minds and bodies are having are reaching its peak. The other times of fucking were just a competition of who can get off the other first. This time it was different; now it was getting someone over the edge first over the other - no telling how far this has gone on the scales of fucked up. 

She mouths a ‘yeah’, and the situation has never been more clear. You have to fuck her. You can’t help yourself. The nodding is only prompting you to keep going, her voice completely shattered. “Just- use me.” 

Right in the clamp of her melting cunt. In the tightening of her legs. 

“Fucking-” she’s sobbing at this point; you’ve got yourself in the prime position to where your cockhead hits the deepest spot of her cunt. “s-so good. That’s so fucking good, you’re pounding me so well-” 

She shrieks when you’ve pushed her past that brink. You’re entirely certain that it was your doing. 

This was the swan song you’ve sought out to hear. A hymn played in a time of reflection - collecting your thoughts and offering them to Rosé, hoping that she can accept your blessings and absolve you of your crimes, ordaining yourself to all good actions from this point moving forward. You’ll take this liturgy for as long as you’d like; worshiping her body and listening to all the psalms that are coming out of her mouth, holding her close as she rides out the lasting remnants of her orgasm - your name as a saint’s prayer and one that she’ll keep on speaking in tongues with over and over and over until she believes it to be true. You confess, through these harsh thrusts into her cunt with your cock, choking on the vice with a vicious finesse at the angle. 

(You’d wish you stayed at the cathedral a little longer than you did that day; confessing your sins was always going to be easier than pouring a heart out for someone who ripped it right out of you.) 

“Amazing,” you praise, and Rosé does this mix of a smile and a wince when you’re wiping a tear from the corner of her eye. Her hands guide yours down to the crease of her hips, enabling you to rock her cunt down like the lovely woman that she is. 

Her voice is rattled, helpless. Like she’s been chopped up, the cracks clear as day where the faults formed. “Want- want it- I want your cum, so fucking bad, please-” 

You grin when she grins, finally reaping the reward when you tug yourself up and splatter your cum all over her body. Her chest does this circular motion, arms digging deep into the mattress beneath her, wanting her skin to be soaked so well with your release. She can’t stop moaning. She doesn’t want to stop moaning. 

“Finally,” she sighs, whimpering, mouth twisting to a satisfied smile at the corners. “God, it’s so fucking much.” 

Her hand picks up the mess spread across her waist, wraps it around your cock in no time flat. The laugh she lets out when you groan is just sinister. 

Two can play that game.

She freezes when you slide your cum-soaked cock back into her dripping cunt; listen closely at the mere gush as you slide in once more. 

“Babe-” 

You push. 

“Think I can give more, just for good measure,” reassuring, and you hold her down so hard that the next load you give is caught deep inside her cunt. 

Pushing it all back in, where it stays. 

Her eyes pinch - and there’s no voice to be heard. All that’s shown is her slacked jaw, the air in her lungs passing through, soon filled with the shape of your lips pressed against hers. 

"It's so- it's so fucking warm inside me, baby-"

"Yeah?"

Rosé sniffles again as her body tries to shudder out the cum leaking from her slit. You don't let it happen though.

You keep breathing her in; she brackets your hips with what little strength she has left. It doesn’t take much, and you know. 

Because Rosé’s got you right where she wants, to the point where your bodies are so well molded into one where each heartbeat and thought are the same, feeling the suction of her pussy wrapped around your cock like it’s the missing piece. Half of ones together make a whole. Your cock fits so well. Above the soreness and debauchery. Once the mess is finally made. Where you’ll want to keep your cock warm and settled until you or her have finally had enough. She’s speaking nonsense still; and you just- keep- fucking going. Fucking into her cunt like it's the only thing you know how to do. Even when the throbbing subsides. 

Until you decide to fully embrace her. 

The heat’s still present where it stays; you don’t even make a move to clean yourself up - it’s too early for that. Instead, the sheets are pulled over you and her, take her fingers in your hands, and hold them right as they are. 

You look at the clock on the nightstand; a little before midnight. “We’re showering together, right?” Rosé pouts her lips, burrowing her head into the space of your collarbone, hand held up and over scratching your hair. 

“Yeah,” she says, nestling her head further up against your chest. “A few minutes here, please. With me. Stay with me.” The disarm is already in effect, and you wonder if you’re at the right place and at the right time; where your heart should be, it’s a brief period of pensiveness. 

–

You blacked out. When your vision comes to, there’s nothing much for your eyes to see except the endless void of darkness that stretches over the room until the glow from the streetlights below breaks through the window. Each blink you do makes you wonder how much time has passed - along with the countless questions of what’s to come next. The thrum of your heart pounds heavy against your ears, but you’re breathing, and alive. You also notice that the space on your right side is a lot lighter compared to earlier, the quick rush of anxiety plaguing your mind. 

That all changes when you look out the window again, specks of white floating down gracefully. 

It’s snowing again. 

“Oh, you’re up,” Rosé’s voice instantly reels you, towel wrapped around her neck and in some comfortable clothes. “I was just about to wake you.” She crawls back on the bed to your side and kisses your cheek. The moment alone holding your heart in limbo. “Sorry, I thought I’d get ahead and use the shower first. You looked so peaceful sleeping.” 

Only she would be the one to blame for that. 

“Why are you dressed up?” You ask, fixing your posture and leaning into Rosé’s face for another quick kiss. She draws away playfully, wagging her head a ‘no’ that makes you lean back as a result. “We would’ve saved water if we went together.” 

“It’s fine,” Rosé tuts, ruffling your hair. “Go shower and get dressed. I wanna go for a walk.” 

“Really? Why? Right now? It’s late.” 

“But it’s also Christmas,” Rosé adds, walking away while you’re finally sitting on the edge of the bed. “We won’t be out for long. And besides, what’s wrong with a little more cardio?” 

You give her a smirk at the end in agreement. Her feet are cemented in place until you reach forward with an arm, pulling her in. Once reeled she tilts her head in surrendering because she knows that you'd be clingy without explicitly saying it.

She's back on your lap. She's yours. She can be yours again. A wish that you want to make true.

"Gonna let me go?" Rosé asks, giggling, and you kiss her.

"Maybe," you answer, leaning up for another peck since it's not hurting anybody. "Just wanted to tell you Merry Christmas."

–

When the snowflakes hit your skin, part of you on the inside is jumping for joy. It’s even better as your ears are filled with Rosé’s contagious laughter, running up the sidewalk and picking up clumps of snow in her hand. 

You make sure to be right behind her, for as much as you can.

–

“This whole thing has been a blast,” she says, slowing her pace when you and she are on the edge of a bridge. In the late hours in the city, where anyone could get away with anything, it’s just you and her - five feet apart from each other, walking along, wandering wherever your feet go. “An absolute dream come true for me. For us.”

The snow starts to land on your head along with your shoulders. 

“Part of me makes me wonder,” Rosé continues, hands wrapped around her long scarf, keeping her neck warm, nodding her head side to side when her eyes eventually land on the sea of locks put on the fencing of the bridge. She knows exactly where she is. You know exactly where she took you. “Would any of this be different if we didn’t go our separate ways?” 

“It’s a pretty good thought,” you tell her. Your exhale shows your warm breath dissipating into the cold air, causing you to bunch up your shoulders to your ears to make the heat stay. “Makes me wonder if you’d put it in your old diary back in middle school.” 

“Hey. Fuck you.” 

You shrug your shoulders with a smirk and walk closer to her. “I know you. You would.” 

Her feet stop at a random padlock just underneath the railing. She slides it into her palm, examining it. It’s not anybody she knows in particular - just the fact that what stood out to her was the neat handwriting of the initials drawn up in a Sharpie. You feel her gaze on you when you approach her side, taking a closer look at what’s in her hand, slotting your palm underneath. 

She keeps staring at the lock, leaning your face into your chest. You bury your nose in her hair, thoughts trailing to someplace where you don’t want to think about anything else. 

You point at another fancy lock decorated with gems. She points out an old-fashioned one next to you. 

‘Hey,” she says once more, looking up. The lift in your eyebrows serves as the appropriate response. Silence starts to grow between you two, the gust of wind blowing through your bodies. 

Rosé tries to read into your expression: stoic and mysterious. She knows that you’re not one to vocalize your thoughts out loud - instead, you stay quiet and listen obediently, waiting for your turn to speak when it’s the right time. A soft smirk spreads across her lips, knowing exactly what’s going on in that brain or yours. 

You wrap your arms around her and rest your chin on top of her forehead. “I think you have a general idea of what I’m thinking about right now.” 

She’s laughing into your chest, unable to look up. You look down to see what was taking her so long, only to realize that she’s hiding her tears away from the world. 

Somehow, like before, you know exactly how to comfort her when the emotions are starting to boil within her. “Rosie.” You’re saying her name softly, clutching her tighter now, the grasp of your fingers reaching to where you wish for them to stay. 

“I just wished that maybe-” and her voice breaks. Composure is starting to weigh down on your shoulders; heart rate rising in uncertainty. “Maybe if weren’t such idiots back then, we-” and the sentence doesn’t even get finished there. She’s trying so hard to put her thoughts into words, “like maybe in another life we weren’t like- well, this.” 

Her face is back in your hands, the tears building and spilling all at once. You give her a look of sorrowfulness - hopelessly, desperately, longing to make her realization a reality. 

“Memories, Rosé,” you’re telling her, “they’re all just memories. We don’t need the memories. Depreciating yourself isn’t gonna make anything better because we both grew.”

The tears well up in your eyes, too. You may be broken, but she’s also the same.

"I hope you can forgive me for a lot of things; for cutting you off and leaving you in the dark," she tells you, jaw twitching - unable to make eye contact, linking her fingers with yours, "but if there's one thing you choose to never forgive me on, my dear, is the fact that I wasted all your precious years."

(I know, you’re saying to her, in tandem with a verse that you’ll recite as penance once you and her part ways. I don't care. I don't care. I don't care about any of that. I just want the both of us to be there for each other, no matter what happens in between.) 

–

As of now, you’re mentally checked out from all the logistics once everything’s been checked in at the airport, waiting to board. Rosé’s dozed off on your arm. She thought that it was a good idea to get less than the usual six hours of sleep and her current state serves to be the consequence. The scarf draped around her shoulders was yours, adamant in wanting to save another keepsake from you; she claims that it looked better on her. (Which is a bit of an insult, you think. Though it’ll do the job of covering up the bruises along her neck just fine.) 

But, things are played out differently in the final act of the return trip. 

You hear her flight announce the boarding phase and tap her shoulder to wake her up. She shoots up instantly, blinking. Everything else falls into place: gathering her belongings, rolling up her luggage to where she can grab and go, fixing up her appearance with that one pair of sunglasses that she likes so much, but doesn’t wear just yet. You walk with her to the main walkway of the gates, getting all of the last looks you’ll possibly have in these last few moments. 

The familiarity with distance affects the healthy human mind to think of it as some sort of curse rather than a luxury - depending on the situation, you’ll take it with a grain of salt. 

Her arms are folded with her handbag and jacket, staring at you so eagerly. “So, you just gonna stay quiet this whole time or-” 

You scoff, because it’s the truth - and so like you. “Uh- well, I was just wondering,” you say, scratching your head shamelessly. “Are you sure you want go forward with this?” 

Rosé bobs her head for yes. The decision’s already been made; no point in changing it. “Unless you want to create a shit storm with our friends when we get back, then by all means go for it.” 

“Right.” you deadpan. “Just for accountability.” 

“If things do go south, you know where my flight’s headed. And given the present situation that you’re in, I’m in no position to make that choice for you,” she says, looking over to the tv board to see where her boarding gate was at. “Guess this is it, " she declares, sighing, "any last things or words you want to do or say?” 

You say something. And you do something. You pull her in for a hug, get the last whiffs of her coconut scented shampoo in her hair; she kisses you. You kiss her forehead as her eyes flutter shut; you hold her a bit too long for your liking, but tells you that she doesn’t mind. Don’t be far away, okay? At least let me catch up for once. 

She tells you: never. It’s a running inside joke. The classic game of cat and mouse, an old fabled goose chase; you’ll keep going after her even when you don’t expect it to happen. She’ll lure you back in so easily that all it doesn’t sound terrible as it seems. 

–

When you do settle on the plane, you have your moment of getting the window seat. Your eyes are getting familiar with the arraignment, how cramped the leg room is, the assortment of movies you know that you’ll sleep through. There’s a lot of things circilng around your head; either one at a time or all at once. This fever dream is coming to and end, and you’re left torn to not tell the tale. 

You check your phone and turn off do not disturb, taking in all the notifications that you missed the past few days. The work messages, fill-ins with coworkers and friends; then there’s Jennie’s messages. 

“I’m so fucked.” You manage, muttering under your breath. Tongue tip to your teeth to mentally prepare youself for what’s to come. 

–

(You keep thinking about that night on the bridge, holding Rosé in your arms - in midst of the cold weather hitting you. She tells you that this getaway was everything to her, and it’s the simplicity in the delivery that makes you want to share those snap-shot moments with her even more. Nothing else mattered to you: managing to fall in love with her all over again. 

We can try, you’re saying, we can always try again, and she smiles through the tears. You and me. Together. Properly.

“I’ve always loved the idea of starting over. It’s exciting. All of these things. All of these moments we spent together, it just felt right,” and her gaze goes crestfallen. “Never really thought that I’d come back to you, and I couldn’t be more proud.” 

And once you’re way up in the sky, it does feel like some sort of whirlpool back into the reality of life, the final fade to black shot - you look out the window and ponder: a choice can be made still. All of the stars have to align at just the right time for it to happen. It can happen. You could alter the course of the story if you just made the right calls. Maybe you will. 

Your gaze falls down to the ocean below - and maybe it’s a long shot, winding into a pipe dream. 

You’ll never realize what you can do unless you take the chance.) 

[dreamwritesimagines]

Sunshine [11] - Blast

AN: My loves, thank you so so much for your wonderful support and lovely comments and HCs! ❤️ You’re amazing! ❤️

I hope you like this as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! 🥰

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Female!Reader

Summary: Every break up has an aftermath.

Word Count: 4244

CW: Explicit language, angst, adult themes MDNI

Series Masterlist

The month after your brutal breakup hadn’t been so easy.

When Theo was around, you made sure he didn’t notice anything. His happiness was the most important thing for you, it had been that way ever since he was born, so you weren’t going to ruin it. Every weekend, you pretended you were incredibly happy and that nothing was wrong at all, despite the heartbreak you were going through.

Your friends were the only people who knew just how sad you were, and they had formed a very united front to change that.

“We have found the one.”

You pulled your brows together as you filled Jamie’s cup while Nik gave you a proud smile and Julie sat up straighter, repressing a squeal.

“You two are dating, so you’ve already found ‘the one’” you used air quotes, making Nik roll his eyes.

“Not for us!”

“And Julie would’ve told me if she found the one.”

“I’d also be shouting it from the rooftops, but this isn’t about me.”

You threw your head back. “I’m not gonna go on a blind date.”

“Hear me out,” Jamie said, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “This guy has been approved in the group chat.”

“What group chat?”

“Our group chat.”

Your jaw dropped. “You guys have a group chat without me?”

“Yes because it’s being used purely to find you your Mr. Right.”

“And we know it’s been only a month since you and Logan broke up but fuck Logan,” Julie added. “I’ve been carrying a magnet in my purse ever since you told me about your break up, just in case I run into him.”

Nik turned to look at her better. “You’re joking.”

Julie grabbed her purse and took out a small horseshoe magnet, making your eyes widen.

“I don’t play about my threats,” she told Nik. “That motherfucker broke my best friend’s heart, so I’ll point this magnet at his—”

“Where did you even get a magnet like that?” you cut her off and she shrugged.

“I googled it.”

“I’ve only seen these in cartoons,” Nik mused, reaching out to get the magnet from Julie before Jamie cleared his throat.

“Our point is,” he said. “You’re better off without Logan, and I think you’d really like this guy.”

You heaved a sigh, resting your elbows on the counter.

“Guys I really appreciate all the effort,” you said and stole a look at Julie. “And the magnet but—seriously, you know how much I hate blind dates.”

“Well does it count as a blind date if we show you his picture?” Nik asked, getting the phone from Jamie before turning the screen so that you could see the picture.

Even you had to admit, he looked cute. It was as if Jamie had decided to find you someone the complete opposite of Logan; he seemed younger than him -around Jamie’s age if you weren’t mistaken-, he had dirty blonde hair, and just from the picture alone, you could tell he was the type of person who liked to smile, a lot. Judging by his white coat, he worked in the same hospital Jamie worked in, and you stole a look at him.

“Your coworker?”

“He works in ER,” Jamie said. “Saved a kid’s life the other day.”

“And I’ve met him,” Nik said. “He’s like a cute puppy but also a badass.”

“And he is very handsome, you like handsome,” Julie sang tauntingly and you ran a hand over your face.

“I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not over Logan yet.”

“The best way to get over someone is good sex,” Julie pointed out. “We’re not telling you to move in with the guy. We’re just telling you to just…go on a date and see where things go.”

“And it could help,” Nik said softly. “You know, distracting yourself from your ex.”

You bit inside your cheek, then clicked your tongue.

“Ugh, fine,” you muttered, making them grin. “But if I don’t like him, I’ll leave and you guys will delete that group chat. Alright?”

“Deal.”

                                                 *

 One of the things you hated about blind dates was that you always got incredibly nervous right before. The urge to text them and stay in instead would always get the best of you—now to think of it, the only person you didn’t get that urge with was Logan.

Well.

Logan was out of the picture, and you had to deal with that.

But if anything, at least Jamie knew this guy and was friends with him, so the odds of him being an ass was pretty low.

You pulled over in front of the restaurant before checking your phone to see whether it was in fact the right place, then slipped a little in the seat. This was by no means your first rodeo but…

You really wanted to just go home and get under covers and listen to Julie’s break up playlist.

“Worst case scenario, you’ll just have one drink and go back home,” you muttered to yourself. “Come on soldier.”

You checked your makeup in the rear mirror, then got out of the car and locked it before you smoothed out your dress and made your way to the restaurant. The hostess greeted you and after you gave her your name, you followed her into the restaurant.

Oh, he was already there.

If Logan wasn’t at the back of your mind, you were sure that you would’ve been excited. He really was a good looking guy, the smile that appeared on his face upon seeing you looked very genuine, and the fact that he jumped on his feet to greet you was a great sign.

However—

Okay no, you were not going to think about Logan tonight, not at all.

“Hi!” he said and you smiled back.

“Hi,” you said and you extended your hand but he went for a hug before he paused and made a move to shake your hand but this time you were the one who went for a hug, so you gave him a curt hug before pulling back.

“Jesus—sorry, that was awkward,” he said and you tried to control your giggle at the look of slight regret on his face.

“No worries,” you assured him and he gave you a tentative smile.

“I’m Hayes.”

You introduced yourself as well before the waiter pulled your chair for you and you thanked him, then sat down. Hayes followed you suit, then motioned at his wine glass and the appetizers.

“I hope you don’t mind.”

“No no, not at all,” you said and looked up at the waiter who put the menu in front of you. “Can I get the same as well? Thank you.”

Waiter nodded and walked away from your table, and you turned to Hayes.

“Uh, hi again.”

“Hey,” he said with a chuckle. “So uh…blind but not so blind date?”

“Sounds about right,” you said. “I mean I saw your picture.”

“So have I.”

“Jamie showed it to you?”

“Technically no.”

You blinked a couple of times. “How’s that?”

“Jamie has a picture of you and your whole friend group on his desk,” he admitted as the waiter brought your wine and you thanked him. “I saw your pic there and I asked about you in a way that was very subtle in my opinion but Jamie disagrees.”

You raised your brows, smiling slightly. “You’re not serious.”

“It was kind of like Jamie was an app and I was fervently trying to swipe.”

A small laugh escaped from your lips and you covered your mouth. “Oh my God…”

“Am I giving off serial killer vibes?” he asked to no one in particular. “Because I swear I save people for a living, that’s not—it’s just that you are very pretty and I’m very rusty when it comes to all this.”

You lowered your hands to give him a bright smile.

“You’re very sweet,” you said. “I didn’t think you were rusty.”

“No?” he asked and let out a breath. “Thank God.”

“It’s been a while?” you asked him after a moment of hesitation and he hummed.

“Listen, rusty or not I know talking about previous relationships is a red flag.”

“I don’t mind,” you said. “Let me guess, you had a long relationship and…?”

“And walked in on her and my best friend.”

“Ouch.”

“Former best friend.”

“Still ouch,” you said with a grimace. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I mean—I changed cities but it has to be for a good cause. At least that’s what I’m choosing to believe.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

“How about you? I find it hard to believe you go on blind dates if I’m honest.”

“Oh I’ve gone on blind dates,” you assured him. “And uh—my friends have made it their life mission to matchmake me, they apparently have a group chat where they approve people.”

Hayes pulled his brows together. “Holy shit, I’ve been approved in the group chat?”

“Yes you have,” you said. “Congratulations.”

“I feel very validated,” he mused, making you giggle. “No seriously, knowing Jamie, this is the same as passing a very difficult exam with a jury.”

“Yeah he’s very protective, especially after—” you stopped yourself and Hayes shot you a lighthearted look.

“Hey, I talked about my ex.”

“Well, I got dumped,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “And Jamie never approved of him, so now he’s like extra careful.”

Hayes hummed and lifted his wine glass slightly.

“Well, on behalf of all men in this city, we’re all very glad that your ex is an idiot.”

You scoffed a laugh and lifted your glass as well.

“Yeah well,” you trailed off, trying your hardest to not let your thoughts drift to Logan. “So you’re an E.R. doctor?”

“I am,” he said. “And you?”

“Oh I…I’m just a waitress,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders, that feeling of inadequacy hitting you out of nowhere once again. “Nothing too exciting.”

“Do you like where you work?”

“Yeah, I’m friends with everyone there except my boss,” you said. “It’s pretty nice. And you? I heard you saved a kid’s life the other day.”

A bright smile appeared on his face. “Yeah, that’s why I like working in the E.R. I can actually make a difference in just seconds, you know? It makes me feel alive, like I’m doing something right with my life.”

You nodded your head. “I can imagine. Sounds wonderful, really.”

He sipped his wine.

“So tell me more about you,” he said. “Jamie says you have a son?”

“Yeah!” you said, your eyes lighting up at the mention of Theo. “Yeah I do. Theo. He’s the cutest kid in the world, and I’m very objective about it.”

That made him laugh. “At first I thought Jamie was a father, with all the drawings in his office…”

“Oh he still keeps those?”

“With all due respect, it’s like a shrine in his office.”

“You should see his and Nik’s fridge, they have like one picture there and the rest is Theo’s artwork.”

“Really?”

“He had his artist phase, now he’s—” you started but were cut off when your phone started buzzing. You gave him an apologetic look.

“Excuse me,” you said as you grabbed it out of your purse, but as soon as you saw the name flashing on the screen, your heart dropped.

Logan.

A part of you -the petulant part of you- wanted to reject the call but you took a deep breath, then licked your lips and then answered.

“Hello?”

There was a second of hesitation on the other line before he cleared his throat.

“Theo is fine,” he said. “But he needs you here.”

Your head shot up. “What? What happened?”

“There was a small accident—”

“What accident?” you asked, your heart leaping to your throat as fear crashed down on you. “What—is he—”

“Like I said, he’s completely fine, I promise,” he said, his deep voice soothing your fear as always. “He had a nightmare, his powers took over and he blew up the wall in his room accidentally but he’s fine and so is everyone else. He locked himself in the basement though, and refuses to come out.”

You could feel your throat tightening but you took a shaky breath, then nodded as if he could see you.

“I’m on my way,” you said and hung up before turning to Hayes.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, pushing your phone into your purse. “Theo is…he’s in a boarding school in the city but he—he had a nightmare and he locked himself in the basement.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” Hayes said, frowning. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah,” you said despite the anxiety churning your stomach, then stood up. “But I need to go, he must be terrified.”

“Of course,” Hayes stood up with you. “Would you like me to drive you there?”

“No no, I can drive,” you said. “I really appreciate it though, thank you.”

“Oh it’s nothing, really,” he said. “I hope he’s feels better.”

“Sorry, again.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” he said. “Is it okay if I get your number from Jamie?”

“Sure!” you said. “I’ll—I’ll see you around I guess?”

“Have a nice night,” he said and you gave him a curt smile, then made your way out of the restaurant, your heart beating in your ears.

                                                 *

If it were any other time, you would’ve been nervous to see Logan after a month, for the first time after your break up but you were so worried about Theo that it didn’t even cross your mind that Logan would be the one to greet you.

Which, of course he was the one to greet you by the door. He probably took your scent the moment you drove through the gates.

He looked almost frozen the moment you stepped out of your car but he recovered very fast.

“Hey—”

“Where is he?” you asked without so much as glance in his direction as you walked past him into the mansion and Logan easily caught up with you.

“In the basement,” he said. “Follow me.”

When you two got to the basement, Storm and Jean were already there.

“Hey, he’s totally fine,” Jean assured you the moment she saw you and Storm nodded her head.

 “We could’ve opened the door but we didn’t want to scare him any more than he already is,” she assured you. “He only said he wants you, and now he’s not talking to us.”

“But he’s not hurt in any way,” Logan added. “I don’t smell any blood or pain, and Jean already checked his mind.”

You raised your brows, then took a deep breath.

“Thanks,” you said and smiled at Storm and Jean. “Really, thank you so much. I can take it from here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you said and swallowed thickly. “It’s not the first time this happens.”

Storm and Jean exchanged glances before Storm turned to you.

“I’ll just go and check the other students then.”

“And I’ll fill Charles in,” Jean said, squeezing your arm in a reassuring manner before they both walked away and you ran a hand over your face, then walked to the door of the basement and knocked softly.

“Bean?”

The only answer you got was a sniffle, breaking your heart to smithereens. You could feel your own eyes burning but you frowned, forcing yourself to focus.

“Bean, are you there?”

“…Yes,” his small voice reached you and you took a deep breath.

“You think you can open the door?”

“I had a bad dream.”

“I know,” you said, nodding fervently. “Everyone has bad dreams, it’s completely normal. And what do we do when we have bad dreams?”

“We have hot chocolate because that makes them go away.”

“Exactly,” you said. “So can you open the door please?”

“People will be angry at me.”

“What? No!” you said. “No one will be angry at you, I promise.”

“Mommy, it was an accident,” he said, a hiccup escaping him and you rested your forehead against the door, squeezing your eyes before swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I know,” you said. “And so does everyone. No one is angry at you—Logan, is anyone angry at Theo?”

Logan came closer to the door so that Theo could hear him better.

“Not at all,” he said. “If anything I’m a little jealous. Blasting walls is so badass, I’d love to be able to do that.”

“You hear that, bean?”

“Really?” Theo’s hopeful voice reached you and Logan smiled slightly.

“Sure bub. And hey, turns out we’ll have to decide on your superhero costume sooner than you think.”

“There you go,” you said. “Superhero costume sounds fun—”

A meow cut you off, making you tilt your head.

“Bean, is there a cat in there with you?”

“…No.”

Another meow reached you and you raised your brows.

“Theo.”

“I found him here and we’re friends now.”

“Okay,” you muttered more to yourself. “Theo—”

“His name is Sir Bartholomeow,” Theo added as if it was imperative that you knew that information and you heaved a sigh.

“Very creative bean, but can you please open the door? So that we can drink hot cocoa and I can meet your friend?”

There was a momentary hesitation and another sniffle before you heard the lock turning and you took a step back so that you could see him better. Theo was still in his pajamas, his glasses slightly crooked over his face as if he had put them on in a hurry, his wide teary eyes looking up at you. In his arms, he was holding probably the grumpiest looking cat you had ever seen in your entire life so tight that it was a wonder why the cat wasn’t trying to escape. A breath of relief left you and you crouched down to get to his level.

“Hi bean,” you said gently. “How about we give your friend to Logan so that they can be friends and I can make sure you’re okay?”

Logan stepped closer. “Yeah bub, I can take the cat—”

“Sir Bartholomeow,” you and Theo said at the same time and Logan cleared his throat.

“Yeah, him.”

Theo sniffled again before tentatively handing Sir Bartholomeow to Logan, and you checked whether he was hurt anywhere before pulling him into a bone crushing hug. Theo was still shaking like a leaf and he mumbled ‘mommy’ before burying his face to your chest while you stood up with him in your arms.

“I’m here,” you said softly, still holding him tight. “I’m here, it’s fine. I swear everything is gonna be fine.”

                                                  *

Theo never liked being away from you and that turned into a whole different level whenever he had a nightmare. You would be lying if you said you weren’t relieved to have him in your sight so after he drank his hot chocolate, you had carried him to bed and stayed with him until he fell asleep, humming the lullaby he used to love when he was a baby.

There it was again.

Times like these, you always remembered just how utterly alone and clueless you were in this whole thing.

You could feel the tears pricking your eyes as you looked down at him, then leaned in to kiss his head and pulled the covers over him, and walked out of the room as quiet as a mouse.

 The mansion was mostly quiet, and even though you could still hear the voices coming from the kitchen, you desperately needed to be alone in case you burst into tears, so you walked through the hallway to step outside, the cold wind hitting your face. Heaving a sigh, you made your way to the stairs to sit down, and wiped at your eyes furiously before wrapping your arms around your knees, fixing your gaze on the stars glimmering in the sky.

You heard the front door open before the familiar footsteps came closer and you felt him drop his jacket over your shoulders before he sat down as well.

“Hi Logan,” you rasped out, sniffling and he offered you a hesitant smile.

“Hey,” he said, putting the bottle of whiskey between you two before he made a face. “Shit, I forgot to bring glasses.”

You scoffed a laugh. “We’ve done worse things than drinking from the same bottle.”

“Right,” he said after a beat and you grabbed the bottle to take a swig, grimacing at the burn before putting it down again.

“How’s your arm?” he asked and you took a shaky breath, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Healed,” you said and turned to look at him better. “I don’t even think about it anymore.”

He was too smart to miss the double meaning of your remark and his lips twitched for a moment.

“I’d bet,” he muttered. “Fun date then?”

You pulled your brows together in confusion and he nodded at you.

“I haven’t seen you in that dress before and you smell like someone else.”

You smelt like—

Oh. Hayes had hugged you.

“I don’t have the capacity to get into that bullshit right now,” you stated and Logan swallowed thickly, then nodded again.

“Right,” he said. “Of course.”

For a minute, the only thing you could hear were the crickets and the sound of the faint wind in the air before Logan take a deep breath.

“He’s fine, princess.”

You bit at your nail, blinking back the tears before you shook your head.

“No he’s not,” you said. “You and I both know that he’s not fine. Not really.”

“He’s too powerful,” Logan said. “Accidents like these will happen, you can’t really avoid them. What matters is that he hasn’t hurt himself or anyone else.”

You took another sip of the whiskey.

“Having you here helped a lot too,” he said. “He calms down when he sees you, that’ll be good for him.”

You clicked your tongue.

“Yeah, for now,” you muttered and Logan frowned.

“For now?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Until he grows up and hates me for everything I’m doing wrong as we speak.”

“That’s not true.”

“No no it is, I’m fucking up big time,” you said with a dry laugh. “Jesus, my mom said I had no idea what I was doing and I was too busy arguing with her that I didn’t even see it but it’s true. I have no clue.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re doing something wrong.”

“I’ve been doing everything wrong,” you told him, blinking back the tears. “He’s too little to see it now, but sooner or later he’ll see that everything that happened to him is my fault, even the fact that his powers showed up—”

You had to stop talking when your voice cracked and you tried to swallow the lump in your throat, sniffling again. He reached out for a second as if he wanted to wipe at the tears falling down your cheeks but then paused, pulling his hand back, his jaw clenching like he was in pain. You wiped at your eyes furiously, letting out a shaky breath.

“I’m terrible at this,” you said, nodding to yourself while Logan kept his burning gaze on you.

“I promise you, you’re not,” he said. “Theo adores you, and I think you’re the best parent I’ve ever seen in my life which in case it has escaped your notice, that’s a lot of years.”

You raised your brows, wiping at your nose before you cleared your throat and took off the jacket to place it into his lap, then stood up with Logan following you suit.

“I can drive you home,” he said and you threw your shoulders back, trying to pull yourself together.

“I had like three sips of whiskey, I can drive.”

“I can still drive you, it’s been a long night.”

“I’m fine.”

“No I want to,” he insisted and you tilted your head, giving him a questioning look. His eyes met yours before he took a deep breath.

“I just…” he trailed off. “I want to—I want to make myself useful.”

You frowned, staring at him. “Why?”

“No reason,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, I don’t ask for anything, just…like I said. I want to make myself useful. I need to make myself useful.”

Your stomach did a flip as a painful smile curled your lips.

Oh.

This. You were familiar with this.

You had been through the same. You were in fact going through the same right now, frantically looking for something to ease the pain. Your solution was to follow your friends’ advice and try to date around, ignoring the way it just felt wrong when you were still in love with him, and Logan—

Logan was dealing with it in such a Logan way that it was almost ironic how you didn’t see it coming.

“It’s not going to help,” you said, your voice a mere whisper and he gulped, his jaw clenching.

“It could,” he managed to say through his teeth and you sniffled, shaking your head.

“It won’t,” you rasped out. “I’m sorry, it won’t.”

The agony that flashed over his handsome features twisted at your heart but you managed to smile at him.

“Good night Logan,” you murmured and walked away from him, painfully aware of his eyes following you.

12- Wildfire

[realgansey]

Kevin and Jean’s love for each other is just SO. Kevin’s postcards and magnets to Jean; his learning French for him; the promise he made Jean make to him; his sending him to his favorite team, the team he knew was the kindest.

His inability to express it is also so heartbreaking to me. Like Jean said himself that they just couldn’t talk but he also said that “the best Kevin could manage was bottomless guilt.” And Jean saying that he once would’ve done anything for Kevin and, even worse, that Kevin knew just that and that’s how he managed to escape Evermore.

A lot of Kevin’s actions can be (mis)construed as selfish. He used French at Jean’s expense to try and get Riko to stop hitting him, he left Evermore without Jean, he let Neil keep playing for the Foxes despite knowing that it could cost him his life because he wanted to win, he didn’t tell Wymack he was his father until he absolutely had to.

Jean at his core is a giving person, conditioned to not know when to stop. He takes whatever happens to him and is convinced he deserves it, no matter what. He does what people tell him to do. He protects Riko even when he’s dead. He still loves the Ravens. He saved Zane’s life, Zane who betrayed him so thoroughly and deeply, without a moment’s hesitation or even thought. At age 14 and probably for years before, he protected and parented Elodie. He would do anything for Neil. He would STILL do anything for Kevin.

[zriasstuff]

Them asking you to be their Valentine

The Slytherin Boys x reader (just in time for Valentine’s Day :))

Valentine’s Day at Hogwarts always comes with a lavish ball, so go ahead and choose the white knight of your liking to accompany you :)

Mattheo Riddle:

Mattheo’s way of asking you to be his Valentine for the ball was very straightforward, yet effective. The second after the announcement dropped, he went to find you in the schoolyard, and approached you in front of all your friends.

“Hey, wait up!”, he’d shout to get your attention, already sounding determined.

“What do you say, you and me at the ball?”, he spoke out his confession, short and sweet.

Cheekily, he adds “I think you and I would be the best looking couple at the ball”. You notice him shyly tucking his head down as he said that, but he still sounded self assured.

Everyone was patiently waiting for your reaction, and you noticed how all your friends started gushing over him. Mattheo seemed unfazed by everyone else and only had eyes for you.

Even though you had only talked to him a few times in the past, you noticed that there was this easy-going chemistry between you two.

His profession certainly came as a surprise, but you liked guys who were direct. Besides, he struck you as a bit of a player too, who seemed to be used to asking girls out.

“Sure, I’d love to go with you”, you chuckle out, knowing you’d have a lot of fun with him.

He slickly throws you an air kiss, grinning from ear to ear, before all his friends start jumping on him to celebrate his win.

Tom Riddle (extremely delusional):

Tom definitely wasn’t one for the romantics, in fact he was strictly against the idea of a Valentine’s Day ball.

What he told you, when you asked him if he had a date already was:

“The ball is just an excuse for undisciplined students to commit shameful acts such as drinking alcohol and doing magical substances, when they should really be focusing on their education instead, which they are in desperate need of”

“I see, so you don’t have a date”, you sum it up for him.

Truthfully, you only asked Tom that question because you started catching feelings for him, and you wanted to know if you had a clear shot.

But clearly, he wasn’t interested at the moment.

He seemed to be carefully analyzing your reaction to his statement. Seconds later, he indifferently states “You want me to ask you out, don’t you”

You, shocked at first, embarrassingly nod afterwards. Full of curiosity, you wondered how he had managed to read you so accurately.

“Fine, to save myself from a week of listening to your heartbreak or potential soulmate, I am going to do you the favor of accompanying you to the ball. I am only doing this to save myself.”, he explains elaborately, which earns him an eye roll of yours.

You still wanted him to actually ask you and mean it, but for Tom Riddle, this was a big gesture already. Besides, you were aware from the beginning that you would have to deal with his peculiarities.

“On the day, be ready at 8pm sharp, and don’t you dare get drunk or high”, he lays down his conditions. Even if he wouldn’t say it, you knew that deep down he cared, otherwise he would’ve never even indulged in this.

Theodore Nott:

Theodore had found himself in a bit of a slump. Due to the excessive quidditch training, he didn’t have a date for the ball yet, which would be in 1 day exactly.

Subconsciously he fully believed that he'd find a date, no matter what time it was, which is why he took his sweet sweet time.

But now, with growing desperation, he ran around, asking out every girl he saw. And each time, the girl rejected him because they already had a date.

As he grew more and more frustrated, he asked you for the second time again, to be his date. You already told him that you had plans with a guy from Gryffindor, which he ridiculed.

“Come on, please ditch him for me?”, he’d repeatedly ask you with puppy eyes.

“Please just do me this favor, I don’t want to be the only guy in our friend group to not have a date.

You’d tell him that it was his own fault, but eventually you felt a bit bad for him. And you were indeed good friends, so maybe you could do him a favor. It wasn’t like the Gryffindor boy and you were in love. Surely he’d get over it…

“Fine, I’ll go, but you owe me”, you finally agreed. Truthfully, you found Theo much more attractive and charming anyway.

You had only agreed to the Gryffindor boy in the first place because you were afraid that no one besides him would ask you out anymore if you said no.

Theo, full of excitement and relief, cupped your face and kissed your forehead as a thanks when you agreed to be his date.

“I promise you, you won’t regret it”, were his last words before leaving you alone.

Blaise Zabini:

You only had one more tedious potions class of Snape's to go through, before you could finally enjoy the rest of your day.

As the clock ticked, you stared down on your blank parchment paper, counting the minutes to go.

Catching you off guard, you feel Blaise’s finger lightly tapping your arm. You needed a second to get conscious of the situation because you had zoned out.

He slides a small, blank piece of parchment paper towards you and points his head down, signaling you to turn it around.

When you do, your mood immediately lifts and you begin blushing. It was kind of childish, like something you’d do in year 1 or 2, but it was also cute.

The paper was filled with the classic “will you be my Valentine”, and there were three boxes to cross. The three being “yes”, “no”, and “maybe”.

Blaise observes your reaction delightfully, waiting for you to tick a box. As this was the highlight of your day, you decide to give the guy a chance and tick “yes”.

When class ended, Blaise waited for you to pack up and proposed a hang out at astronomy tower with you, which you agreed to with pleasure.

Enzo Berkshire:

It was a Sunday, exactly one week before the ball, and all the Hogwarts students were enjoying their time in Hogsmeade.

On this peculiar day, your seating partner Enzo from Transfiguration asked you to go to Madam Puddifoot's Café with him. The location was definitely romantic, and you already suspected where this might be going.

But—you didn’t want to get your hopes too high yet. Enzo was unquestionably a cute guy though.

During your coffee date, he didn’t drop any hints or said anything suggestive. You just talked, gossiped, and joked around, and you figured he’d be cool as a friend too.

Though nearing the end, the waiter came to your table with a small buttercream cake.

You shot a confused glance at Enzo, and he seemed clueless.

“I don’t believe we ordered that”, you tell the waiter, but he insists and puts the cake in front of you. After the waiter leaves, you keep eye contact with Enzo, but he tells you to eat the cake.

Still dazzled, you comply and look down, seeing that…

“Will you be my Valentine”, was written on the cake in cursive font with pink buttercream. Overcome by joy, you couldn’t be happier that your suspicions from the beginning were right.

“So what’s your answer”, he asks eagerly, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Of course I will, this was so sweet”

You believed that no girl could’ve said no to this.

Draco Malfoy:

You and Draco never slacked off on your prefect duties, which also included the nightly walks around school, to ensure that every student has gone to bed.

It is the perfect time to talk after a long day, and to exercise your power of course, but mainly the walks had brought you two very close, and you exchanged plenty of secrets already.

Although he could be a bit of an asshole, which you also told him, you still saw that he had a caring, more hurt side to him.

A week before the ball, he suggested a different route than the one you usually took.

He told you to close your eyes as you were walking, and led you by your hand. Innerly, he was as nervous and jittery as one could get, and couldn’t wait to see the reaction on your face.

When you got to the mysterious destination, he told you to open your eyes

As soon as you opened them, you saw the room of requirements, decorated with pink and red flowers, hundreds of candles, and a banner reading “will you be my valentine”.

It had been Draco’s plan for weeks, and he was so glad that he pulled it off.

He also made sure that you wouldn’t get a date, before he asked you out, which included cursing guys who got close to you.

“Oh my, yes of course Draco, I can’t believe you did this”, you’d say full of joy.

“You just made me the happiest guy in this school”, he’d reply and you knew it was true.

Immediately he brings you closer to kiss you, and you spend the rest of the night cuddling inside the room of requirements (insert the scene of Dean and Rory cuddling in GG if yk what I mean).

[jinkiezzsstuff]

LAYING NEXT TO ADAM IN HIS HOSPITAL BED AFTER EP 8 AND NOT BEING ABLE TO SLEEP SO JUST PLAYING WITH HIS HAIR??

LOVE YOU LOTS, FEEL FREE TO SKIP THIS IF YOU WANT 💗💗💗

yesssssssssss i love this it’s so cute, i did it a lil short sweet and lovelyyyyy sorry it took awhile but i hope you enjoy it!

warnings: none really, descriptions of injuries, swearing and that’s about it, short drabble! gn reader w no psychical description, a little bit of a weird ending? didn’t know how to tie it off

You and Adam have always had an odd relationship, you would have moments of really open closeness followed by acting like it never happened. You were comfortable with this because the idea of anything more serious scared you, it wasn’t like heaven was keen on hookups or lust, which meant any relationship led to marriage. So you would ignore your desires and longing, and instead focus on working alongside him.

Adam was of the same mind, he couldn’t hook up with you because it felt wrong to use you like some sinner when he actually liked you. You were always there to listen, telling him that he had every right to hate Lucifer for taking his wives; which he knew but always needed to hear from others, just to reaffirm. Of course he was too afraid to start anything serious with you when the furthest he got was some open communication and occasional dirty jokes shared between you two. There wasn’t any room for him to have a third heartbreak especially when he was now in closer proximity with the devil himself.

That’s why it was a shock when he watched you decend from above spear in hand, wings fluttering lusciously around you. You came back for him, you saw Lucifer and chose to protect him. As you sat alongside him keeping him alive while you could, Lucifer attempted to coax you on his end. “Can’t you see the things he’s done? He’s the devil.” Lucifer boomed holding his daughter. “Cmon we have a good cause here!” - “Saving him means killing others, that’s not very angelic on you.” - “The first man only uses women to fuel his ego and get him off, cocksleaves he uses and forgets. How’s it feel to be that silly little strumpet?”

No matter the harsh line the devil hissed out at you as you tearfully held Adam’s wound, using all the magic you had to keep him alive, and ignoring the taunts and tempts Lucifer spoke. Thankfully what felt like eternity ended, and now you sat alongside the man himself, staring at his paled face. You’d never seen Adam’s face before, Lute wasn’t as strict you’d seen her plenty, but Adam was always skeptical of letting you see him.

You never knew about the exterminations, and although you weren’t entirely pleased he lied, and killed, you justified it by reminding yourself of all the rapist, murders and weird child diddlers that he wiped out of existence. Staring at the side of Adam’s face you admired the ride burns that climbed down his face and the little patch of hair that accentuated his chin.

Leaning onto the bed, you softly and timidly brought your hand up to his cheek, enjoying the feeling of his skin against your hand. Gently you caressed his face, trailing all around and up to his hair. You carefully brushed your fingers through his spiked and messy hair, scratching his scalp gently as you did.

A sigh of content escaped you as you began to play with his hair, twirling it and brushing it back away from his pretty face. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you died, dumbass. I would’ve regret so much, but now that you’re here and okay I’m just as afraid to say.” You whispered to him quietly, watching his face as his muscle naturally moved and spasmed every once and awhile. He had been out a few days now, a medically induced coma until he healed internally, which was the hardest thing to witness.

Everyday you came and spent some time here with Lute, then Lute would leave and you would stay keeping him company. Sliding up on the bed with him, you situated yourself beside him, your wings curling around him like a safety blanket, head rested on his chest. You cradled his head continually toying with his hair while you gazed off into space, eyes watering as you did so.

You woke up to the doctor entering the room, scolding you for impeding on the patients space, and then happily explained the next plan of action. He was going to be weened off the medication and would hopefully be awake within the week then it was normal wound care from there.

The pattern for the week didn’t change, accept you found yourself enamoured with his hair and face in general, who could blame you, you’ve only seen it now after all these years. You waited everyday to see his eyes flutter open, pinning over the multitude of fantasies you had in your head when he did so. However it was as magical when the day came.

You had his wing over your lap one Saturday, humming a tune stuck in your head as you carefully preened his feathers. Some were still covered in char from the day, leaving a weird nostalgic feeling within you, but not the good kind.

You glanced over at him as his leg twitched violently, his wings puffing along with it. You watched his eyelids flutter just barely, his eyes moving rapidly behind them. Careful not to disturb him, you dragged your fingers through his hair, this time however, Adam’s skin prickled with goosebumps and his body twitched. “Adam?” You whispered, hope evident in your voice as you leaned in closer, investigating his facial expressions.

Adam shifted more at your voice his golden irises finally opening to meet your own. Your stomach lurched at the sight, tears gathering as you got overwhelmed by joy. “Holy fuck Adam!” You cried keeling over into his chest with a sob. Adam still lost, didn’t know what to do, and quite honestly couldn’t fully register who you were to him at the moment. After a second you pulled away gripping his cheeks softly between your hands, Adam looked at you eyes tired feeling sleepless. Finally it clicked, and the heart monitor kicked up with his beats, he nearly died.

“What the fuck?” Adam muttered confused, his voice hoarse and grainy from the lack of use. Tears continued to fall from your eyes as Adam cleared his throat, his own eyes manically hopping from object to object around the room. “You’re one dumb motherfucker yknow that? Fighting Lucifer!? God,” You shook his head gently to emphasize your anger with his decision. Adam only grinned lazily up at you with lidded eyes, his heart rate increasing as he did so.

“Woah, am i in heaven? Because you’re an angel.” Adam slurred out smirking smugly as he did. You gaped at him, he only giggle jubilantly his arms raising slowly to slowly pull you into a hug. You met his movements and fell into his hug with ease mind still trying to comprehend everything. “God you’re an idiot you know that?” You mumbled into his flesh, pushing yourself further into his chubby peck. “Yea babe but that’s why you love me.”

You let out a noise between a scoff and a chuckle before agreeing. “Very true, not even the devil could change that.” Adam tensed at the mention of Lucifer, but his brain tracked back to the day of thee extermination where you decended into hell just for him, to save him. Adam remembered all the things Lucifer was slinging at you, the snake was really trying his hardest to make you fall. “What’d you think of Lucifer?” Adam dared to ask, all the groggy wooze leaving him, focusing all his energy on you agaisnt him. “Nothing special, i was too busy tryna save you.”

Adam’s heart fluttered as did his wings, puffing out and subtly jittering happily. Pulling your head up from his chest you looked down at him positioning yourself over his lips. Adam thought he may have been kidding himself, still in his coma dreaming all this up. “Alright dickhead, i’m going to kiss you, then we’re gonna get the doctor in here and get your ass home, and you’re going to tell me why the hell you kept all that extermination shit from me.” You grit out strictly, a smile on your face as you did. He always secretly found it hot when you tried bossing him around, it stroked his ego when he could talk back to you and get into little competition for dominance and control.

However, Adam really didn’t feel like fighting, nor missing the option for a kiss, so with a smug smirk he puckered his lips and closed his eyes, almost expecting you not to actually kiss him. You smashed your lips against his, flattening his puckered lips and making him gasp with shock. Adam didn’t waste time to recover, messily mashing his tongue into your mouth, sighing at the feeling of you on his tongue. After a few moments of intertwined bliss you pulled away with a warm smile. “You really wanna fuck around with the original dick?” Adam urged a cocky look in his eye, but a part of you knew this was just his way of confirming you wanted him. “Yes i do, i have no clue why the others left for Lucifer when they had you. After all, without a nose, what supposed to bump your clit during head?” Adam sat up with excitedly, wincing at the pain. “Right?!” The exclamation made you grin, and with a pat on the chest you stood, ready to grab the doctor.

[puffins-muffins]

Control - The Attraction

Pairing: Jax Teller (AU-ish) x FemaleLawyer!Reader Word Count: ~10,370 Summary: Back in Charming, your return to TM and SAMCRO leaves you feeling a complex mix of nostalgia and anxiety. As Jax's trial approaches, you face mounting pressure from a relentless prosecution and your growing feelings for Jax complicate your focus. Warnings: 18+ only please, cursing, descriptions of anxiety/panic attack. Brief mention of character death(s), Jax (he's his own warning).

A/N: Ommmmgggg you guyyys!! I am blown away by all the love and support for this story! This one was an emotional rollercoaster. It kiiiinnd of got away from me, but with reader back in Charming now, there was a lot that needed to be explored. Feedback always appreciated. Beta'd by myself, all mistakes are my own. Please enjoy it as much as I do!! Part 3, here we go! 💜

Part 1 | Part 2

Sitting at the old diner, the one you and your dad used to frequent for dinners, you stared down at your untouched coffee, the bitter scent rising into the air, tightening the knot that had taken residence in your stomach. You had sworn to yourself years ago that you wouldn’t get pulled back into this world, into the familiar emotional storms. Yet, here you were, back in Charming, with Jax only a few miles away—and that ironclad resolve you once had was starting to fracture.

Your conversation from the interrogation room replayed relentlessly in your mind, Jax’s words as sharp now as when he first said them. “Maybe you’re afraid you’re not over me.” He looked right through you, cutting past your defenses. He had seen the truth in you, that you hadn’t really moved on. Not completely. With one look, he knew it.

You hated that he could still read you so easily, that after all these years apart, he still knew exactly which buttons to press. It was maddening, that sense of vulnerability. You were supposed to be stronger now. Smarter. But being around Jax, it felt like every wall you had built came crumbling down the moment you walked into that room. The way he looked at you—like no time had passed at all—made it impossible to pretend that you didn’t feel the same pull. 

Seeing him again brought it all rushing back. The way he used to look at you, the way he made you feel like the world outside didn’t exist when you were together. How he’d made you feel seen and understood, in a way no one else ever had. You spent years trying to fill that void, tried to find that connection with others, but it had never been the same. No one had never been Jax.

You sighed, rubbing your temples, the weight of it all pressing down on you. What was it about him that made it so hard to let go? After everything, after all the pain, the heartbreak, why did being near him still make you feel like you were tethered to him in some unbreakable way?

A familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts, warm and gravelly with a hint of surprise. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

You glanced up, finding Wayne Unser standing a few feet away, his worn face cracking into a smile. The knot in your stomach eased, replaced by a wave of nostalgia. You stood, offering a hug that he accepted warmly. “Chief! It’s so good to see you.”

He chuckled as he pulled back, shaking his head. “Ain’t the Chief anymore, darlin’. Haven’t been for some time now.”

You smiled, gesturing toward the empty seat at your table. “You’ll always be the Chief to me,” you said fondly.

He nodded, settling into the chair across from you. There was something comforting about having him here, someone who had always been in your corner and witnessed your life intersect with the club’s chaos.

“I was hoping we’d run into each other while I’m in town.” you said, your tone soft as you folded your hands on the table. “You really saved my ass with that character letter.” 

Unser waved it off, his smile fading as he leaned back in the chair. “Would’ve done a lot more if I could’ve. Jax may be in deep, but I’ve known that boy since he was runnin’ around on his tricycle. He’s a good man, even if he’s gotten himself tangled in a mess.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the conversation shift. Unser had always seen the good in Jax, even when others didn’t. And that loyalty was something you admired, but it also made you wonder how much of Jax’s actions over the years Wayne had turned a blind eye to, how much he excused for the sake of it.

“Jax’s world has gotten a lot more complicated,” you said carefully, not wanting to betray the growing unease you felt about the case. “But I think he’s still the same underneath all of it. I just hope I can do enough to get him out of this.”

Unser gave you a long, knowing look, his eyes scanning your face like he was searching for something. “I can tell this ain’t just about the case for you,” he said, voice low but steady. “I remember how you two used to look at each other. It was you and Jax against the world for a while there.” 

You glanced down, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks, but before you could respond, Unser continued, his tone softer now. “You know I care about Jax. Always have. And I care about you too. I ain’t tryin’ to meddle, but you gotta be careful. That world, it takes more than it gives. And once it gets its hooks in you, it’s hard to break free.”

His words hung heavy in the air, and you found yourself nodding slowly, the truth of what he said sinking in. But you had always known that. You experienced first-hand the toll the club took on people, felt how it could consume everything. 

“I know,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “I always promised myself I wouldn’t get pulled back in.”

Unser smiled gently, but there was a sadness in his eyes. “Sometimes life has a way of draggin’ us back to the shit we swore we’d never return to. You just gotta make sure it’s what you really want.”

You took a deep breath, the weight of his words settling over you. “I’m only here to keep him out of prison,” you said, and though you meant it, you could hear the uncertainty in your own voice.

Unser didn’t press further. Instead, he gave a slow nod, his gaze softening with understanding. “Just remember, there’s always a choice, even when it doesn’t feel like it. And I’m around to help anyway I can.” 

You offered him a grateful smile. Wayne Unser had always been more than just the town’s chief of police—he had been a guiding presence, a steady hand amid the disorder. And now, even though his health was failing and his role in Charming had changed, he still had that same calming influence.

“Thank you, Chief,” you said sincerely. 

He reached across the table, patting your hand gently. “You’re gonna be alright, darlin’. And your Daddy’d be real proud of you. Just keep your head on straight and don’t let that boy take you down with him.”

His words about your dad hit you harder than you anticipated. A familiar ache of loss surged in your chest, and you swallowed thickly, managing a small smile. If he were here, he would be proud of you; he lived and died by this club, loyal to SAMCRO until the bitter end. In ways you hadn’t fully comprehended yet, that loyalty ran deep within you as well. 

For a moment, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe you could navigate this, maybe you could keep the line between personal and professional from blurring. But as Unser stood to leave, his words stayed with you, lingering in your mind after he’d walked out the door.

You sat there a while longer, staring at your coffee, knowing that soon enough, you’d have to face the inevitable—Jax, the case, and everything that came with it.

That evening, you sat cross-legged on the hotel bed, your laptop balanced on a stack of case files, the screen glowing in the dimly lit room. The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the silence as you stared at the notes scattered around you, taking a deep breath before unmuting the conference call.

“Alright, Liz,” you said, your voice steady despite the mental whirlwind of information you were trying to process. “Let’s go over what you’ve found so far.”

Liz’s voice crackled through the line, sharp and focused, though you could hear the exhaustion creeping in. You both had been burning the candle at both ends. “First off, the witnesses—they’re falling apart. Like I mentioned earlier, one of them wasn’t even in town on the night of the murder. And the other? He’s changed his story three times now. The prosecution’s trying to hold them together with duct tape and hope.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of your mouth as you jotted down notes, but the situation was far from funny. “Good, we’ll shred them on cross. What about the arresting officer? Connolly?”

Liz’s tone shifted, growing more intense. “Connolly’s dirty. Filthy, actually. I tracked down a couple of large deposits made into his account, way beyond his salary. The timing of one deposit matches up almost perfectly with Jax’s arrest.”

Your breath hitched for a second, your pen pausing mid-note. “So he’s being paid off,” you muttered, processing. “We just need to find out who’s pulling his strings.”

“That’s where things get murky,” Liz replied, her voice lowering. “I’ve got leads tying him to a rival MC, but nothing concrete yet. It’s more like whispers. Still digging.”

The mention of the rival MC made your pulse quicken. This wasn’t just a murder case—it was layered with club politics and buried secrets. “If we can prove Connolly’s connection, it could blow the prosecution’s case wide open. Anything on the murder weapon?”

“No sign of it,” Liz said, frustration seeping into her voice. “The cops don’t have it, and no one’s talking.”

You leaned back against the headboard, tapping a pen against your knee as you reviewed your strategy. “We hit them where they’re weakest. Discredit the witnesses—tear their timelines apart. Then expose Connolly’s dirty money and ties to the rival MC. If we paint him as corrupt, we cast enough doubt to cripple their case.”

It was a solid plan, but your mind wasn’t entirely on it. Jax lingered in your thoughts, you hadn’t seen him since you dropped him off at TM, just a few exchanged texts. You knew you were avoiding him—avoiding the way his presence stirred up old feelings.

The case was slipping into something bigger, and you couldn't afford distractions. But no matter how hard you tried, Jax was always there, just under your skin, pulling you closer, and threatening to unravel everything.

Your phone buzzed, jolting you from your thoughts. It was Jax. It was as if he knew he was consuming your mind.

“Heard you’re back in Charming… avoiding me?”

Your stomach tightened. You’d forgotten just how small Charming was—news traveled fast, especially when it involved Jax. A mix of irritation and anxiety settled in as you realized that even without him realizing it, he was forcing you to face everything you’d been trying to avoid. Each moment brought you closer to the inevitable, and despite your best efforts to stay distant, you knew you couldn’t escape it forever.

You stared at the blinking cursor on your phone, but the weight of everything felt overwhelming. Not just Jax—the entire case. Connolly, the witnesses, the unexplained deposits. Something felt wrong. You couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was at play, something corrupt and insidious threading through the heart of this case. But whatever it was, it would all have to wait. First, you had to deal with Jax.

“Everything okay?” Liz’s voice cut through your haze, snapping you back to the present.

You cleared your throat, adjusting your grip on the phone. “Yeah, just a text from Jax. He knows I’m in town.”

There was a pause on the other end, and you could practically hear Liz’s raised eyebrow. “Wow, his ears must’ve been burning. You’ve been avoiding him, haven’t you?”

You let out a short, hollow laugh. “Yeah, you could say that. I’ve been busy with prep, but... it’s more than that.” You pushed yourself off the bed, pacing the room. “The truth is, seeing him again after all this time... it stirs up shit I’ve tried to move past. But I know I can’t keep dodging it forever.”

Liz didn’t press further, always knowing when to hold back. “You’ll handle it. You always do.”

You sat back down on the bed, staring at Jax’s message again. “It’s just… TM, this place, it’s like stepping into a time capsule. It holds all the memories from when everything was simpler. When things weren’t so... complicated.”

Liz was quiet for a moment, then spoke softly. “Do you think he’s changed? Jax, I mean.”

Her question hit deeper than you expected. You’d been avoiding that thought too. From the few moments you’d shared recently, it was clear that life had weighed heavily on him. The charm was still there, but beneath it was a hardness, a fatigue you hadn’t seen before. And yet, the pull between you, the familiarity of him—it was still there, almost as if no time had passed at all.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “Maybe he has, maybe he hasn’t. Part of me thinks he has. The other part knows better.”

Liz was quiet for a beat. “Well, if anyone can navigate this, it’s you. Just… don’t lose yourself in the process.”

You swallowed hard, her words hitting closer to home than you wanted to admit. “I won’t,” you said, more to reassure yourself than to convince her. “Thanks, Liz. You’ve done great work so far. Just promise me you’ll be extra careful. The people we’re looking into are dangerous.”

“Absolutely,” Liz replied, her tone serious. “Just remember, you’re not in this alone.”

You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you. “Thank you, that means a lot. I’ll call you after I meet with the club.”

Liz’s tone sharpened. “I’ve got my guard up, don’t worry. I’ll keep pushing on Connolly and the money trail. We’ll crack this.” she added before the line clicked off.

You set the phone down beside you, staring at it for a moment before typing a quick response to Jax.

“Let’s meet tomorrow. Noon. TM.”

You hit send before you could overthink it. There. Done. Now it was just a matter of facing whatever came next. You were confident in your ability to handle the legal side of things, but Jax... that was different. Seeing him again wasn’t just about the case; it was about the past, about unresolved emotions, and the complicated mess of history between you both.

But as you leaned back against the headboard, that familiar knot of uncertainty tightened in your stomach again. Charming felt like a minefield—corruption beneath the surface, power plays behind the scenes. And at the center of it all was Jax, pulling you into something that was about more than just legal strategy.

You weren’t sure what the next day would bring, but one thing was certain: this wasn’t just another case. It was personal, in more ways than one.

And you weren’t sure if you were ready for that.

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

As you pulled into Teller-Morrow, your stomach twisted with unease. You hadn’t even stepped out of the car yet, and already you felt the weight of the memories pressing down on you. Before you could even gather your courage, the office door swung open, and there she stood—Gemma Teller. 

Your breath caught in your throat. Gemma had always been more than just Jax’s mother—she was a force of nature. The history between you two was complex, a mix of respect, tension, and unresolved emotions. She had always wanted Jax to take his rightful place at the head of the club, and at times, you felt like she viewed you as a threat to that vision. She never outright said it, but you could feel it in her looks, her comments, that underlying worry you’d pull Jax away from the life she envisioned for him. In her mind, love was dangerous if it meant her son might stray from the path she’d set for him.

But things hadn’t turned out the way any of you expected. The decisions Jax made, the path the club took—it all happened regardless of your love.

Somehow, you willed yourself out of the safety of your car, and now, standing here in the parking lot, you weren’t sure how Gemma was going to greet you. Would it be the sharp-edged woman who used to see you as a potential obstacle, or the maternal figure who had, at times, treated you like family?

As she approached, her sharp gaze softened slightly when she saw you. There was a flicker of something—recognition, nostalgia maybe—but Gemma being Gemma, it was hard to tell what she was really thinking. She stood there for a moment, looking you over, as if assessing whether time had changed you—or if you were still the same woman she once had a complicated relationship with.

“Well, look who’s back,” Gemma said, her voice laced with that familiar mix of sarcasm and curiosity. Her eyes scanned you, and though her expression remained unreadable, you could feel the weight of her scrutiny. She hadn’t lost her edge.

“Gemma,” you said, stepping forward, trying to keep your voice steady, even though your heart was pounding. “It’s good to see you.”

For a split second, the tension hung in the air. Then, to your surprise, her lips curled into a half-smile, and she pulled you into a hug. It wasn’t warm exactly, but it wasn’t cold either. It was… familiar.

“You too, baby,” she said softly, her tone just a little gentler than you expected. When she pulled back, her eyes locked onto yours, searching for something, though you couldn’t quite tell what. “Missed having you around here.”

Her words caught you off guard, but you nodded, unsure of how to respond. The history between you both was too complicated for simple pleasantries. Gemma folded her arms, giving you another long look. “You still look good, kid. All grown up. Life must be treating you well out there.”

“Something like that,” you replied, offering a faint smile. You wanted to say more, but any words caught in your throat.

She raised an eyebrow, and you could feel her probing deeper, looking past your words to the things you weren’t saying. “I know coming back here ain’t easy for you,” she said, her voice lowering, all traces of humor gone. “Lotta ghosts, I’m sure. But Jax needs you, sweetheart.”

There it was. Gemma was always three steps ahead, and this time, she was trying to use your own feelings against you. She wasn’t just reminding you of your connection to Jax; she was weaponizing it. Like she always did when she wanted something.

But this time, you saw it clearly. Years ago, you might have let her play on the soft spots you had for Jax without even realizing it. Back then, you were less guarded, still figuring out how to navigate people like Gemma. But now? Now you were older, sharper, and you understood her game better than you ever had before.

Then again, with Gemma, it was always about Jax first and foremost. Beneath the tension, there was a quiet, unspoken respect between you—born from your shared loyalty to him. And you almost couldn’t fault her because of it.

Almost.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, instead forcing the sweetest fake smile you could manage. “I’m here to help,” you said, your tone flat but polite.

Gemma studied you for another long moment before she nodded, her expression softening just a bit. “Good.” She gestured toward the clubhouse with a tilt of her head. “They’re inside. Go on in, baby.”

You hesitated, feeling the weight of everything you were about to walk into. Then, with a deep breath, you headed toward the clubhouse, knowing that the real test was just beginning.

The door creaked open, and you stepped inside, feeling a wave of familiarity wash over you. The air was thick with the scent of leather, motor oil, and the faint tang of beer and cigarettes. It was captivating, pulling you back in time. Memories rushed in—laughter echoing through the halls, heated arguments by the bar, the camaraderie that once filled every corner. The nostalgia was almost too much to bear.

The room hummed with energy, a mix of business and brotherhood. Heads turned when you walked in, the club members greeted you with expressions that ranged from curiosity to warmth. Jax stood near the bar, flanked by Chibs and Tig. His body language was casual, but the moment his eyes locked onto yours, everything seemed to shift. That tension, the current that had always existed between you, surged again. You felt it deep in your gut, that familiar flutter that left you off balance.

"Look who finally decided to show up!" Tig's voice cut through the room, teasing and lighthearted, a grin spreading across his face. He approached quickly, pulling you into a tight side hug and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "Thought we'd have to send out a search party."

You forced a smile, trying to push down the knot in your chest. "Guess I couldn’t stay away forever, huh?"

Chibs was next, stepping forward with his usual warmth, his broad shoulders a comforting sight. "Good to see ye, lass," he said, pulling you in for a brief but solid hug. His embrace steadied you, easing the tension just a little.

"You too, Chibs," you replied, your voice steadying as you caught sight of the "Sergeant-at-Arms" patch across his chest. He was still looking after his brother, still his protector.

And then there was Jax. He hadn’t moved from his spot by the bar, his posture relaxed, but his eyes—those piercing blues—were locked onto you, unreadable yet intense. Something flickered in them as he watched you cross the room. Anticipation? Vulnerability? You couldn’t quite place it, but it made your heart race.

“Hey,” Jax said, his voice low and calm, offering a nod that felt almost casual—except for the way his gaze held yours, unrelenting.

“Hey,” you replied, forcing a lightness into your tone that didn’t match the way your chest tightened. It didn’t feel casual. Not with him standing there, the weight of his presence bearing down on you, making the room feel smaller.

Looking impossibly good in his leather kutte, worn and weathered, clinging to him like a second skin. His broad shoulders were more defined than you remembered, the white T-shirt underneath emphasizing the lean muscle that flexed with his every subtle movement. His jeans hung low on his hips, and at his side, the knife that once belonged to his father—a reminder of the life he was born into. But in contrast to the rough edges, his signature white Nikes were spotless, a small, almost ironic sign of the control he still maintained amidst all the mayhem.

With that familiar boyish smile tugging at his lips, and his gaze holding you captive, it felt like time hadn’t moved at all. The pull between you, always there, had only intensified. His eyes swept over you, lingering just long enough to make your breath catch, and in that moment, your carefully built defenses began to dismantle.

Jax didn’t need to say anything for you to feel it—the connection, the history. And as you stood there, caught in his gaze, you realized just how much power he still held over you.

Exhaling a shaky breath, a familiar towering figure stepped into your space. Opie stood before you, his presence bringing you back instantly. His eyes were soft but filled with gratitude, and though he didn’t say much, you could feel the depth of his emotion.

Without a word, he pulled you into a tight hug, his arms strong and comforting around you. The weight of everything seemed to ease as you leaned into him. There was something solid, unwavering about Opie—his presence had always been a source of quiet brotherly strength.

He pulled back, just slightly, his hands resting on your shoulders as he looked you over. There was no need for words between you. You could feel what he was saying in the look he gave you—a silent thank you, for being here, for standing by Jax. It wasn’t easy, and he knew it.

“Ope,” you said quietly, your fingers gently brushing over the VP patch stitched into his kutte. He nodded, his gaze softening even more. He didn’t need to say it; you knew he appreciated you more than words could express.

After a beat, he released you with a gentle pat on the shoulder, stepping back but keeping that connection between you.

You finished greeting the rest of the Sons, taking in Happy and Juice for the first time, while Jax stood nearby, arms crossed, his posture casual but his eyes sharp. He gave a quick introduction. “Juice is sort of our intelligence officer,” he said, nodding toward the younger man with a smirk. “Anything you or your girl need, he’s your guy.”

You gave Juice a polite smile, but your mind was racing, struggling to process everything around you. The room was filled with faces—some familiar, some new—each one stirring a different emotion. Jax’s voice broke through the noise in your head, steady and low as he filled you in on what you’d missed. He listed off Bobby, currently away in Vegas on an Elvis gig, Piney’s tragic death, and then, quieter, Clay’s betrayal and eventual demise. These weren’t just updates—they were the scars the club carried, and you could feel the toll it had taken on them.

Your eyes flicked to Opie, a silent understanding passed between you. Piney’s death wasn’t just a club loss—it was deeply personal, and you could see the weight of it in Opie’s eyes. There were no words needed. Just that brief acknowledgment of everything you’d both lost due to this life.

You glanced around the room as he spoke, the walls lined with mugshots and memories. There was more than you remembered, each one a stark reminder of the lives that had been lost or altered. Jax’s voice, though calm, carried the heavy toll of everything that had happened. “We’ve had to rebuild… but we’re still standing.”

You nodded, trying to absorb it all, but the sheer weight of the club’s history left you spinning. So much had changed, and yet, in so many ways, everything felt the same. The familiarity of it—the faces, the raw energy of the room—only made the losses hit harder. Processing Jax’s brief rundown of the club’s last decade felt like trying to catch your breath while drowning. The room felt entirely too small, the air thicker with years of grief, brotherhood, and blood.

Your chest tightened, and suddenly the noise of the room faded, replaced by a suffocating sense of overwhelm. The memories of your dad, the endless cycle of loyalty and sacrifice, the faces you used to know—it all crashed into you at once, relentless and unyielding. You could feel your pulse quicken, your breath becoming shallow. The walls felt like they were closing in, the weight of the past pressing down on you, and no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t stop the anxiety from bubbling up.

Your hands trembled as you pulled your phone out of your pocket, desperate for an escape. “Hey, do you guys mind? I need to check in with my office real quick,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant, though your voice was tight and strained. Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and headed for the door, the room suddenly too stifling.

The warm air hit your skin as you stepped outside, but it did little to calm the storm brewing inside. You hurried to the side of the building, out of sight, and leaned against the rough brick wall, your breaths coming in shallow, rapid bursts.

You pressed your trembling hands to your chest, willing your body to calm down, but the tightness only worsened. The faces inside, the ghosts of the past, the changes you hadn’t been there to see—it all swirled around you. And Jax, standing there like a god damn living reminder of everything you’d tried to move on from, only made it harder.

Your pulse pounded in your ears, and your vision narrowed as the panic surged through you. You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on your breathing, but each one felt like you were dragging it through quicksand. The edges of your vision blurred as you fought to keep from losing control entirely.

You pressed your back harder into the wall, as if grounding yourself to something solid would keep you from slipping under. One breath, then another. But the waves kept coming, relentless, and all you could do was ride it out.

Lost in your desperate attempt to control your thoughts, Jax’s sudden appearance startled you. “Jesus Christ, Jax!” you gasped, “Can’t a girl have a panic attack in peace!?”

The humor was your defense, but he saw right through it. His eyes softened, and he took a small step closer, his expression full of quiet concern, no judgment in his gaze.

“These still happening?” His voice was gentle, like he already knew the answer but needed to hear it from you.

You shook your head slowly, trying to reassure him—or maybe yourself. “It’s been a while,” you admitted. And it had been. The panic attacks hadn’t started until after your dad’s funeral, when the weight of everything had finally come crashing down on you. They had been rare since then, but being here—back in the thick of it—was bringing it all back.

Jax had been there for the first one. You could still feel the memory of his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing away your tears as he’d tried to steady you.

“Just breathe, Pep. You’re alright, baby,” he’d murmured, his voice strong yet soft, grounding you as you fought for air. His hands held you like an anchor, keeping you planted in the present, calming the storm raging inside you.

You could see in his eyes now that he wanted to do it again—grip your face, hold you still, remind you how to breathe—but he resisted, just watching you carefully, giving you space to pull yourself back together.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, voice softer now, the edge of panic slowly retreating.

Jax nodded, his gaze never wavering, his presence a quiet reassurance. He didn’t push, didn’t offer words that would feel too heavy right now. He just stood there, close enough that you could feel him, the steady hum of him calming the storm inside you like it always had.

As the tightness in your chest began to ease, you exhaled slowly, embedding yourself in the present. Jax stayed where he was, steady and familiar. You didn’t have to look up to know his eyes were still on you, watching patiently, waiting for you to be ready.

You shifted, pushing your hair back, trying to regain your composure. “So,” you began, your voice a little uneven, “that crash course in club history… it left out a lot.”

A small, knowing smile tugged at Jax’s lips. “Figured I’d save the rest for when you weren’t looking like you were about to bolt.”

You let out a breathy laugh, shaking your head. “You really know how to make a girl feel welcome.”

He shrugged, taking a small step closer. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

It wasn’t really a question. He had always been good at saying what mattered without actually saying it. You nodded, meeting his gaze. The air between you was charged, but somehow, it felt a little easier now.

Jax leaned against the wall beside you, his shoulder just close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. Neither of you spoke—just stood in the weight of all that had changed, all that remained. Despite the years and distance, there was a strange comfort in the quiet, a reminder of the bond that never really broke.

“I didn’t know it would be like this,” your voice barely above a whisper. “Coming back.”

He glanced over at you, his eyes softening. “It’s different now. A lot’s changed.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle over you. “Yeah,” you murmured, not elaborating because you didn’t need to. He understood. He always did.

Jax shifted slightly, his arm brushing yours in a way that felt intentional but not forceful. “But some things are still the same,” he said, his voice carrying a comfort that felt like home.

You turned your head, really looking at him this time. And in that moment, you realized nothing had changed between you, not really. All the ways Jax made you feel alive were still there, as intense as ever, threading their way through this version of you. The laughter you’d shared, the unguarded moments, all echoed in your mind, reminding you of why it had been so easy to love him all those years ago.

You were screwed.

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “Some things.”

Jax held your gaze, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart skip. He nodded slightly, then asked, “You ready to head back in?”

You took a deep breath. “Yeah,” you said, forcing a small fake smile. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

He straightened up, extending his hand to you. It wasn’t just a simple gesture—it was an offer of solidarity, a bridge between the past and the present. You hesitated. You knew what taking his hand meant. It wasn’t just comfort—it was an acknowledgment of everything that once existed between you, everything that still lingered.

And those hands, rough, calloused—the hands that had held you, commanded you, loved you. Memories surged, the way those hands used to move over your body, strong but gentle, leaving you breathless in ways that no one else ever could. Your pulse quickened at the thought, your body remembering what your mind tried to suppress.

You considered pulling back, keeping the distance you’d carefully built to protect yourself. But there was something in his gaze—steadfast, patient—that made you relent. Maybe it was the silent promise of understanding, or maybe it was the sense that, for once, you didn’t have to face it all alone.

As you slid your hand into his palm, the rush of contact sent a familiar ache through you. Like touching a live wire, the sensation both comforting and dangerous at the same time.

The years between you seemed to dissolve, and it felt like you were back to a time when holding his hand meant safety, when it felt like the most natural thing in the world. But now, that safety was bittersweet, tangled up with all the things that had changed, things you couldn’t undo.

As you walked back inside together, your nerves slowly steadied, but not entirely. The weight of what came next crashing around you—a shift from personal to professional that you weren’t sure you could make seamlessly.

The Sons were already moving toward the meeting room, a familiar rhythm as they filed in one by one. You hesitated for a moment as you approached the double wooden doors that separated the main hall from the room where so many decisions had been made. It was the heart of SAMCRO, a place where only full patch members were allowed, unless invited. As Jax walked ahead, he turned to you, his eyes locking with yours. An unspoken acknowledgment of that invitation passing between you.

You took a steady breath, following Jax’s lead as he gestured for the others to remove their electronic gear. Phones, watches, anything that could transmit or record was left behind on the counter by the door. A small but necessary security measure, one that reminded you just how serious things were.

Jax stepped aside, letting you enter first—a show of respect that didn’t go unnoticed. As you crossed the threshold, your pulse quickened, your thoughts rushing back to the task at hand—his defense, the case you needed to build. Yet despite your professional focus, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into something far more personal.

The familiar room unfolded before you: a heavy wooden table at its center, surrounded by chairs reserved for the members. The walls were lined with SAMCRO memorabilia, chronicling the club’s long history. Every detail brought back memories of the countless times you’d been outside those doors, waiting, wondering what decisions were being made. Now, you were stepping inside, reentering the world you once fought so hard to leave behind.

The door clicked shut behind you, sealing you in with the weight of the past and the uncertainty of what was to come. Jax pulled out a chair, motioning for you to sit. You took it, keeping your focus on the task at hand, even as the memories swirled around you. You knew this was only the beginning, both in the case and in facing what the two of you had left unresolved.

As Jax moved to the head of the table, it hit you all over again—he wasn’t just a member of this club anymore. He was the club, its leader, its heart, and its future. The sight of him in that spot—the president’s chair—was jarring, a far cry from the man you once knew who had always been just a step behind the power, always questioning his place in it. Now, though, he settled into that chair like he’d been there forever, like it was made for him.

Seeing Jax there for the first time sent a wave of emotions through you, some you couldn’t even name. He exuded authority, a quiet, undeniable control over the room. The way the guys around him, men you’d known for years, deferred to him without question told you everything about how he commanded respect—something he’d always struggled with when Clay was in charge. But this Jax was different. He had the weight of leadership on his shoulders, and it suited him, in a way that made you ache with want.

There was no denying the way his presence filled the room, his hands resting on the table with that same quiet strength you’d seen so many times before. He didn’t need to speak to demand attention; the sheer force of his presence did that for him. The patches on his kutte—his Reaper, President, Redwood Original—seemed to glow under the low lighting, a reminder of all he’d earned, all he’d sacrificed to sit where he was now.

You swallowed hard, trying to focus, but seeing Jax in that seat brought up more than just memories. It aroused something deeper inside you, something visceral and complicated, something you felt like you wanted to explore.

This was his world now; one you weren’t sure you could navigate the same way. But as his eyes met yours across the table, there was a flicker of the Jax you’d always known, the one who would burn the world down to protect the people he loved. And at the center of that, was you.

No matter how much time had passed, how much had changed, you could feel it. The invisible thread that tied you to him, pulling tight in moments like this. You’d tried to sever it, tried to walk away from it—but here you were, sitting across from him, feeling every bit as connected as ever. Jax might command the club now, but in that brief, intense exchange of glances, you realized you still commanded a part of him too.

The meeting was intense but productive. You stood among the Sons, the weight of their stares heavy upon you as you recapped everything uncovered so far. Tension and anticipation filled the room as you detailed the rival MC you suspected might be involved in Jax’s case and the corruption within Charming.

As you spoke, your voice steady and confident, you felt the atmosphere shift. The men leaned in, their focus entirely on you, absorbing every word. Jax watched from his spot at the table, his expression a mix of admiration and intensity. There was something powerful in the way you controlled their attention, the confidence radiating off you. In that moment, you were no longer just a part of this world; you were a force within it, and he couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride for the woman standing before him, unflinching and resolute.

With determination, you laid out the plan. The club would work their angles, gathering intel the way they did. “But,” you said firmly, your tone leaving no room for debate, “you guys have to stay out of trouble. Jax’s freedom absolutely depends on it.”

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

Weeks passed in a blur of pre-trial motions and legal preparation. You were constantly on the move—drafting briefs, reviewing discovery, and prepping witnesses for deposition. Every day felt like a strategic sprint, as you meticulously crafted arguments and counterarguments, anticipating the prosecution’s next move. Each court appearance was a balancing act, maintaining a sharp, composed professionalism—all while bearing the emotional weight that hung over everything. The late nights spent strategizing with Liz felt endless as she continued to uncover more leads, but the pressure mounted with each passing day.

Amid the whirlwind of legal battles, your connection with Jax grew deeper than you’d expected. Late nights over drinks became the norm—what started as case discussions often shifted to more personal conversations. You found yourself sharing pieces of your life beyond Charming, and Jax listened intently. The barriers you’d kept up for so long were starting to crack. Lingering looks, brief touches—each one drawing you closer. The tension between you was impossible to ignore, even if neither of you said it aloud. And quietly, you began to rely on him more than you ever thought you would.

As you and Jax grew closer, you struggled to keep your emotional defenses intact, fully aware of the dangerous game you were playing. Your heart was betraying your mind, and you understood the potential consequences. You had always been flexible with boundaries when the situation called for it—that’s what made you so damn good at your job. But getting involved with Jax beyond the attorney-client relationship felt like a line you couldn’t afford to cross. Every moment with him brought you closer to that boundary, and despite your reservations, the gravitational pull between you was undeniable.

The trial date had finally been set, but the initial relief quickly turned to dread when you learned about the judge—one notoriously known for his stance against offenders like Jax. His reputation sent a wave of unease through you. Renowned for being a stickler for the law, he rarely exhibited leniency toward defendants with ties to criminal organizations—alleged or otherwise, and you understood that this was a significant setback for Jax’s defense. It was clear that drastic action was needed.

As you prepared for the next hearing, the reality of the situation became increasingly daunting. The prosecution had seemingly stacked the deck against Jax, armed with an overwhelming trove of evidence that you knew was questionable at best. Witnesses had been lined up, all poised to testify against him, yet you sensed that many had been coerced or incentivized to provide testimony that would serve the state’s narrative. The prosecution’s strategy relied on the judge's reputation to sway the jury, and you felt the walls closing in around you.

In court, you stood confidently to argue for a change of venue, fully aware this was your last-ditch effort to tilt the scales of justice. Jax sat at the defense table behind you, his presence a steadying force as you gathered your thoughts. Despite the anxiety churning in your gut, you felt empowered, ready to make your case.

“Your Honor,” you began, your voice steady but laced with urgency, “given the high-profile nature of this case and the appointment of Judge Hartford—who has a well-documented history of issuing disproportionately severe rulings in cases of this nature—my client cannot be assured a fair trial in this jurisdiction. Furthermore, the prosecution’s evidence, while admitted, raises substantial concerns regarding its reliability. Key pieces of evidence rest on circumstantial foundations and are bolstered by questionable witness testimony, which has been accepted without the necessary scrutiny.”

You paused, gauging the judge's reaction as the courtroom remained silent. “This is not about deflecting responsibility, Your Honor, but about upholding the principle of impartial justice. Mr. Teller is entitled to a fair and unbiased trial, and the current circumstances of these proceedings threaten to undermine that right.”

The judge’s gaze hardened as he responded, his tone sharp and unyielding. “Counselor, while you present a well-prepared argument, your concerns do not rise to the level required for a change of venue. Your assertion that this court, or any court within this jurisdiction, is incapable of impartiality due to unrelated past cases is both unfounded and inappropriate. I will not tolerate further implications of bias. The trial will proceed here, as scheduled, and I expect you to adhere to the procedural standards of this court.”

The weight of disappointment crashed over you as the motion was denied. The trial would move forward under conditions that were not only unfavorable but also potentially unjust, given the prosecution's ability to present suspicious evidence without proper challenge. You knew that each piece of evidence they had, whether it stemmed from questionable chain-of-custody practices or testimonies that lacked verifiable credibility, posed a significant threat to your case.

Returning to Jax's side, you were left with the grim realization that navigating this battlefield required you not only to confront legal obstacles but also to expose potential ethical violations. The clock was ticking, and you needed to dismantle their narrative before the trial commenced, safeguarding not only Jax’s freedom but also the integrity of the legal system itself.

It was late afternoon when you finally emerged from the courthouse, frustration and exhaustion churning within you like a storm. The hearing had unfolded predictably, which was to say, not in your favor. You clenched your jaw, muttering under your breath about the judge’s dismissive demeanor and the uphill battle that lay ahead. Jax was waiting for you just outside, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his relaxed posture standing in stark contrast to your tight, wound-up demeanor.

As you approached, he sensed the tension radiating off you, an electric charge around you. His expression shifted from concern to mischief, a glint of playful defiance in his eyes. “You know, for such a pretty lady, you’ve got a seriously intimidating scowl going on there,” he teased, an easy smile spreading across his face.

You shot him a sharp glare, irritation bubbling to the surface. “Thanks for the insightful observation, Jax. I’m glad you’re here to help me manage my emotions.”

“I’m just saying, you might want to dial it down a bit before you scare someone.” He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, annoyance deepening. “God, you’re annoying sometimes.”

His grin widened. “I’d forgotten how adorable you look when you’re this pissed off.”

You snorted at that. “Adorable?”  the word felt strange on your tongue, a jarring contrast to the storm of frustration brewing inside you. “I’m not trying to be adorable; I’m trying to do my job.”

“Hey, doing your job doesn’t mean you can’t have a little fun along the way,” he teased, stepping back with his hands raised in mock surrender. “I’m just looking out for you. Can’t have you getting all worked up like this, Pepper.”

His charm only fueled your frustration further. “I’m trying to keep everything from falling apart here, Jax. There’s a lot of pressure—”

“And you’re doing a fantastic job of it!” he exclaimed, his tone light yet sincere. “Look at you, holding it all together.” He paused, letting the moment linger. “But if you want a break from holding it all together, I’m here for that, too.”

Your lips twitched at the corners, and you fought to maintain your stern facade. “Are you trying to distract me from being angry right now?”

“Is it working?” he countered, a confident grin plastered across his face.

You let out a reluctant laugh, shaking your head as the frustration began to dissolve. You resolved, playfully lying, “No.”

Jax walked you to your car, his bike parked just a few spaces away. The tension hung between you like a heavy fog, unspoken thoughts swirling in the silence before he finally broke it, his expression shifting. His usual easy charm was tempered by something more serious, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Are things really that bad? How worried should I be after that?” he asked, his voice lower, almost cautious.

You noticed the concern on his face—his jaw tight, eyes searching yours for reassurance. It was rare to see him like this, letting his guard down enough to show he was unsettled. That weight sat heavy between you, and despite the deepening connection, you reminded yourself that it was your job to protect him, to keep him steady when things felt like they might tip over.

Sighing, you offered a small smile, forcing yourself to sound more certain than you felt. “It’s not ideal,” you admitted, “but I’ve handled worse. I wouldn’t lose sleep over it yet.”

Jax studied you for a moment, a flicker of relief crossing his face. “Good to hear,” he said, his voice softening.

You saw the tension in his shoulders ease, though you weren’t sure if it was because of your words or his faith in you. Either way, you resolved in that moment—to keep him from worrying, even if it meant keeping some of your own doubts to yourself.

“Hey,” he said, a familiar glint of mischief flickering in his eyes. “Your hotel isn’t far from here, is it?”

You frowned, caught off guard. “No, why?”

“Well,” he continued, leaning in a fraction closer, “how would you feel if I followed you back there? You could change and we can go for a ride on the bike. You know, like we used to.”

His suggestion lingered in the air, tempting yet charged with unspoken implications. Your heart raced at the thought, memories of past rides flooding back—the exhilarating rush of freedom and the undeniable chemistry between you. The idea was thrilling yet daunting, nostalgia mingling with the weight of your current reality.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to conceal your intrigue behind skepticism. “And you think a ride will magically fix everything?”

Jax shrugged, his grin unwavering. “Not fix everything, but it could help clear your head. It always did the trick before.”

You hesitated, your thoughts tangled in the mounting pressure from the trial and the stress that had built over the past weeks. “I don’t know, Jax. I have a lot to review tonight.”

“I understand,” he said, his tone softening. “But sometimes you need to step away from it all. Just one ride won’t hurt, right?”

As your eyes met, the noise of the world around you faded into the background. The thought of escaping, even for a little while, tugged at something in you. You could feel the tension in your chest loosening, if only slightly. The familiarity of being with Jax was hard to resist, especially with comforting memories of the past washing over you like a warm wave.

Your mind recalled that Saturday afternoon, so long ago, when he first convinced you to ride with him. Each ride after had only drawn you closer, igniting feelings you still didn’t fully understand to this day. The thrill of the road had always served as a backdrop for something much deeper between you.

Finally, you sighed, allowing your frustration to slip away. “Fine. But just a quick ride.”

“Awesome,” he said, barely containing his excitement as he moved back toward his bike. “I promise to get you back before the next crisis hits.”

A smile broke through your frustration, a flicker of joy emerging. Climbing into your car, you felt a mix of anticipation and lingering anxiety. As you drove, you glanced in the rearview mirror, watching Jax follow closely behind on his bike, a feeling of calm and safety washed over you.

When you reached your hotel, you parked and hurried inside, your heart racing not just from the thrill of the ride ahead but from the possibilities it held. After quickly changing into a t-shirt and jeans, you grabbed your jacket and stepped outside, the late evening sun casting a golden hue over everything.

Jax was waiting, his eyes lighting up as you emerged into the fading day. The way he looked at you sent a thrill coursing through your body.

You noticed the way his gaze roamed over you, his eyes tracing every detail as you moved with effortless confidence, dressed casually, more like the woman he knew all those years ago. The soft fabric of your shirt hugged your curves in all the right places, accentuating the changes that time had brought—subtle hints of maturity that only made you more intoxicating. He couldn’t help but admire how you carried yourself, a blend of poise and sensuality that sent a rush of heat coursing through him.

Every glance at you stirred something primal within him. Your smile lit up your face, and the glint in your eyes held a promise of mischief and tenderness. The way your hair fell perfectly around you, the subtle sway of your hips—it all drew him in. In that moment, you weren’t just a familiar face; you were a vision that awakened his deepest cravings, leaving him breathless with anticipation for what was to come.

“You look amazing, Pep,” he said, punctuating his words with a low whistle and an extra charming wink.

You rolled your eyes, but the heat of arousal spread through you at his compliment and the way his gaze devoured you. “Let’s just ride, Teller.”

“Yeah, let’s do that,” he replied, a hint of playfulness in his tone. Climbing onto the bike behind him, excitement surged through you, a heady mix of nerves and joy. You wrapped your arms around his waist, feeling the heat radiating from him, grounding you in a way that was both comforting and exhilarating. The smell of him was almost dizzying, an enticing blend of leather and spice, wrapped in the warm musk of his skin, it was utterly captivating. It all felt instinctual, as if you had never truly been apart.

As the bike surged forward, the hum of the engine vibrated beneath you, its power rolling through your body in waves. The sensation was addictive. You’d forgotten how freeing this felt—how the road opened ahead, inviting you into a world where nothing existed but the rush of air, the growl of the machine, and the strength of Jax’s body in front of you.

Your grip around his waist tightened instinctively, your hands resting against his toned frame, feeling the flex of muscle as he controlled the bike with effortless skill. The wind whipped through your hair, tugging at the strands, as you leaned into the turns, trusting him completely. With every curve of the road, you were reminded of just how alive you felt on the back of his bike, a feeling you hadn’t allowed yourself to experience in years.

The exhilaration flooded your senses, making your pulse race, your skin buzz. There was something thrilling about the speed, the raw power beneath you—and about being this connected to him again. Your body molded against his in a way that felt too natural, too right. You had forgotten how good this was, how good he felt. The familiar heat that always simmered between you both seemed to flare to life like a spark catching fire.

Each time his hand drifted back to yours to give a reassuring squeeze, it sent a jolt through your chest, a shock that had nothing to do with the bike and everything to do with the man in front of you. The scent of leather and Jax enveloping around you—a reminder of what you’d once had, what you’d always been drawn to. His strength, his recklessness, his loyalty.

The road stretched out ahead, but all you could focus on was him—his presence, his warmth, the pull of gravity that seemed to bring you closer with every mile. There was a tension building, a storm brewing in the spaces between you, and it wasn’t just about the ride. It was about him—the way he made you feel alive, dangerous, wanted.

And as the miles flew by, the line between the past and present blurred completely. Jax had always had this effect on you, waking something wild and unrestrained. The longer you stayed on that bike, the more you realized that no matter how much you had tried to distance yourself from him, from this, the connection was still there—burning hotter and brighter than ever. And you weren’t sure you wanted to fight it anymore.

As he parked the bike and cut the engine, the world around you faded into a distant hum, the adrenaline from the ride coursing through your veins like molten lava. You climbed off, laughter bubbling up inside you as you pulled off the helmet, shaking your hair loose. The wind had turned it into a wild, tousled halo framing your face, and in that moment, you felt liberated from the weight of your worries.

Jax inched closer, his body radiating heat that contrasted with the cool evening air. His eyes roamed over you, a smirk playing on his lips, and then he closed the distance, brushing a few loose strands behind your ear with a lingering touch. The simple act sent a thrill racing through your body, his fingers lingered against your skin, an intense reminder of how easily you could lose yourself in him.

“You’ve got that wild look going on,” he said, his voice a low, sultry whisper, laced with playful mischief. “Like the rebellious girl I fell for when I was seventeen.”

Heat flooded your cheeks, a rush of desire surging within you at the memory of that time—free, untamed, and filled with reckless abandon. The way he looked at you now sparked a forgotten excitement, coaxing out a spirit you hadn’t tapped into in years.

“Sometimes I really miss her,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it aloud made it even more real. You felt a pang of nostalgia, remembering the thrill of those carefree days and the adventurous essence that had once defined you.

Jax’s body pressed against yours in a way that sent sparks flying. He leaned in, his gaze locked onto yours, smoldering with an intensity that made your heart race. The air around you thickened with anticipation, that irresistible force drawing you together, the world around you fading away.

“Just so you know,” he murmured, his breath mingling with yours, heavy with longing, “I’ve always thought you looked hotter with a little chaos in your hair.”

The tension hung thick, saturated with desire. As you tilted your head back, your breath quickened, every nerve in your body alight with need. Just as his lips hovered dangerously close to yours, your phone buzzed violently against your thigh, shattering the moment like glass. You instinctively pulled away, breathless and disoriented.

You fumbled for your phone, your heart pounding in your chest as you glanced at the screen. Liz’s name flashed, accompanied by an urgent message:

“The prosecution just entered new evidence. We need to discuss our strategy ASAP.”

The weight of her text crashed down on you, extinguishing the fire that had been lit between you and Jax. You felt the immediate shift in your mood, the walls you’d been trying to keep at bay rising once more as reality flooded back in, cold and harsh.

“Everything okay?” Jax asked, his tone shifting from playful to concerned, the light in his eyes dimming slightly as he took a step back.

“Yeah, just… work,” you replied, forcing a smile. “Looks like we’re going to have a long night.”

A shadow of disappointment crossing his features. “Guess the joyride is over then,” he said, trying to keep his tone light, but you could sense the frustration in his posture.

You felt a pang of regret for what had almost happened between you, a moment that could have shifted everything. The chemistry that hung in the air was thick, the desire still radiating through you both, but the reminder of your responsibilities loomed large.

“Jax, I—” you began, but the words faltered on your lips. You felt the weight of responsibility, reminding you to keep your focus on the case, but the yearning in his gaze held you captive, making it nearly impossible to look away.

“Handle it,” he replied, his voice steady yet laced with an undertone of something softer—an understanding tinged with disappointment. “I’ll be here when you’re ready for another ride, Pep.” His hand brushed against your cheek, leaving a trail of heat that lingered softly. The gentle caress sparked a rush of emotions within you, evoking the depth of the connection you shared.

His words carried a double meaning that made your stomach flip-flop. You turned away, feeling the heaviness in your chest swell. The exhilaration of the ride and the tantalizing near-kiss lingered, but now they felt like fading echoes, drowned out by the harsh reality of the battle looming ahead. The bond you shared with Jax was enthralling, yet the stakes of his defense demanded your undivided attention, pulling you back into the relentless world of law where every decision carried the weight of consequences.

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand. The unresolved tension of what had just occurred lingered in the air, heavy with potential and yearning for a resolution.

[roguelov]

Omggg imagine Morpheus and Hob saving their soulmate within an inch of her life, like if they were even a minute behind, Death would’ve come for her first. Like they were told by Destiny that they have another soulmate and that she is in danger and they must find her and save her🥺 They save her just in time and she moves into the Dreaming with them and they take care of her, Morpheus helping her through the nightmares and Hob helping her with the trauma because he’s had a lot of experience with trauma in his long life 🥺

Just full on angst?? I got you my love (also somewhat shameless plug of one fic I wrote very similar to this)

“Excuse me?”

“You have another -“

Morpheus cut off his dear brother, Destiny, “I heard you, but I am questioning as to why you decide now to give us such information now.”

Hob gently squeezed Morpheus’s shoulder. “Let him speak.”

Destiny eyed the pair with a neutral expression, the expression of a director watching his actors play out the scene he had seen multiple times. “As I was saying, you have another soulmate, however, they are in trouble.”

“Where?” Morpheus gritted his teeth. “And you still have no explained why you told us now?”

“Where, is for you to find out. And as to why for it is simply the right time.” Destiny slowly spun around, ready to take his leave. “Death lingers near, so I would suggest you to move with haste.”

Destiny disappeared, leaving the pair in an empty part of the castle, but worst of all, leaving them with their stirring thoughts and wild imagination.

Hob cleared his throat, “We will find them.”

Morpheus sighed, dropping his shoulders. His dear brother was infuriating with his knowledge and selective in what he will share. A soulmate? Another person to love and cherish? Yet, they now lay somewhere suffering alone. A sentiment he could share. Time, however, worked against them. Neither could dawdle. Morpheus straightened his back then peered over at Hob, “You are correct, we will find them.”

Now, how they found you was heartbreaking.

Morpheus knew you had to eventually enter the Dreaming, thus later in the day - more mindful in each mortal presence that entered - he found you in the darkness. You laid in between the embrace of sweet dark slumber however your mind continued to scream out with memories of pain and torment. His nightmares desperately tried to claw at you to sink their teeth and fangs into you. Your tortured mind was ripe for the picking. Luckily, the King of Nightmares swooped in. Morpheus gently coaxed you into the Dreaming away from any horrors and allowing you a safe peaceful night. And when this stranger whispered into your ear asking where you were and how he could find you, how could you resist? It was such a sweet dream to think someone could save you, a lovely glimmer of hope.

Death slowly walked up to your battered body. She frowned but then quickly put on a comforting smile. She began to crouch down -

“They are coming with me.”

Death’s smile grew. She stood back up, looking to Morpheus. Her eyes caught the cosmic pull of tethered souls. “Wonderful, lucky me I guess. One less soul to walk with.”

Her jokes did little to calm Morpheus. He simply walked towards you with his emotions steeled, scooped you up with ease, held you firmly to his chest, then left for the Dreaming.

When you awoke a man with shoulder length hair, that glowed like fire in the sunlight, was checking you over. His eyes - kind and warm like the earth - locked with yours and the world seized. Your heart skipped, but out of fear or -

The man’s expression went from shock yet immediately softened. He gently ran his knuckle across your cheek, and a warmth filled you. “You’re safe now, love, okay?” He smiled.

Safe.

“No one will harm you, nor will I allow any nightmares to bother you.” A new voice stated. The voice was deep and soothing, making the warmth from before intensify. Turning your head, you saw a man casted by the dark. Yet, his eyes shone like stars.

“Where - where am I?” Your voice cracked as you spoke.

“Somewhere safe,” the first man spoke.

You eyed the pair, “And who are you two?”

The man pointed to himself then to his partner, “You can call me, Hob, and that’s Morpheus.”

“What -“

Hob hummed, “Rest for now, we will take care of you, okay? You’ve been through a lot.”

Certain memories flickered in the back of your mind, all such painful memories. And although you just awoke, sleep still called out to you.

Morpheus chimed in, “All your questions will be answered, but in do time.”

Oddly enough, you trusted them. You knew in your heart they would never harm you. “Okay,” you mumbled, settling deeper into the bed.

Stay, you wanted to ask. Stay until I fall asleep.

However, you kept your mouth quiet. Although something told you to trust them, they were still strangers after all.

Kind, caring strangers.

I - I don’t want to be alone again.

“Rest,” Morpheus whispered as if sensing your bubbling distress. “We will be here when you awake and when you are ready.”

“Promise?” The question, filled with fear, tumbled off your lips before you could stop it.

“Promise,” they both answered.

Your eyes widened a bit at your sudden answer. There was no hesitation, no doubt.

Safe, the word repeated itself in your head. Maybe they are right. My kind strangers.

[monkeydluffy19920]

“I’m swimming in the smoke,  Of bridges I have burned,  So don’t apologize, I’m losing what I don’t deserve”

This  project was originally planned as a draft for the SaNami week 2021 (although the prompts were not even revealed yet back then *laughs* but then time came across and this was left to the drafts).  Later I happened to open this unfinished project after a long while and decided it should be done and frankly spoken it was left again to the drafts as a half finished “test” version because I thought it was missing something (like subtitles but my old and crusty editing program was not co-operating :d) but now I decided it’s meant to be like this *laughs*

One of the reasons to pick this certain Linkin Park’s song was because its one of my all time favorites plus these lyrics seem to fit so well especially for the Sanji vs Luffy fight and it’s aftermath. Although the focus is on Sanji, this also became a little mixed version of both SaNami and LuSan (since WCI arc offered a lot for both from shipping’s perspective).

The chorus resonates very well with Sanji’s inner struggle of mixed feelings during the Tea Party he was dragged into. Gladly, this arc offered a huge opportunity for Sanji to have character improvement that he indeed needed.

As seen from the clips, this amv has the focus on the chapters 844 and 851 which are pretty much the turning points of the Totto Land arc plotwise and places for Sanji’s character developments. As fans have pondered before, this ac greatly highlighted Sanji’s tendency of putting everyone else before him. Sanji sincerly believed for a long time that by sacrificing himself he could spare his crew (just like Robin did back in Enies Lobby tried to save Straw Hats by putting her head on the place).

Although it was heartbreaking to see Sanji being betrayed by the one he thought he could rely on this arc (Pudding who was also pretty much tricked into this mess) it really was necessary for him to realize it was all a vicious plan built by Judge Vinsmoke and Big Mom and that Sanji was just a pawn in all that. He also forgot that his captain is the most stubborn one in the whole universe but honestly all Sanji needed in this arc was this wake up call and a kick from a butt from Luffy to remind that he is much more worthy than he thinks.

The “reversed video”-effect  that was is Nobody it was easy (Luffy vs Sanji) amv made a little comeback and also I tried to draw focus some symbolism that Oda-sensei used as well in this arc i.e how the rain turned into a lightning storm and how he struggled to light his cigarette during his deepest moment of frustration (where he would’ve needed comfort the most) and in the end the rain ruins the fire and he realizes he hit the rock bottom and probably really thinks that “doesn’t deserve his nakamas”.

Gladly he did though and although this arc was great, it felt like it could stretch to have even more potential (i.e Oda-sensei could have given Nami and Sanji a proper reconciliation where they could have share their thoughts and explain each other). Shipwise this arc was very interesting from the beginning to the end and like in many reviews and posts, I think Oda-sensei did great work in general.

Not only by making Nami the badass fighter she deserves to be but also he did give Sanji and Nami potential to get their moments and even topped it up first with this dramatic emotional slap and later he made them reconcile by making Nami hug Sanji with teary eyes.

Shipwise Nami and Sanji have had a steady and balanced development throughout the series but the Whole Cake Island arc did give the vibe that although Oda-sensei wants to put the focus on nakamaship and chasing dreams, he does indeed tease fans with canon ship-material.

Anyway, shortly said, here you go, a new video. Hope you like it :)

[marvelousmagicalaura]

Thoughts on Mistborn: Shadows of Self

Shadows of Self is incredibly great, heartbreaking, and thought-provoking!

I'm hurt and confused. And I'm not sure how to feel, and I love it for that. Shadows of Self is completely different than its preceding book. It is different from even the Mistborn trilogy. There are themes of the stagnation of political systems, religious tension, the ethics and morals of what line God should, could, might have on interfering with the lives of his creations. After finishing off the book, I genuinely had no idea what to think about Harmony, Trell's puppeteering, Bleeder's campaign, or the state of Elendel.

Something that annoyed me about Era 2's books off the bat was the noble system. There's no state sponsored murder or rape, and the nobles are more like businessmen. But it still felt like nothing changed over the last 340 years. I kept thinking... wow, this is what Kelsier died for?! This is what Vin and Elend fought to protect?! I started off hating everyone - Harmony, the Senate, constables, Wax, even Spook - for not erasing the noble system. But while reading the book I kept thinking about Sazed's limitations due to wielding the Shard of Harmony, his stance on free will, his subtle maneuvering of Wax and Marasi... and kept thinking about real life. I came to the realization that being in the role of God comes with a lot of nuance on guiding mortals. I connected the stagnation of Elendel back to the history of the US... how even though centuries has passed, many abhorrent systems are masked by seemingly more human systems. Governments are still being controlled by nobles and aristocrats, just in a different flavor. Policing has so many issues it could take 1000 years to solve.

Even after finishing the book, I still think the noble system should've been completely erased. But now I'm thinking if that would've fundamentally changed things. The US doesn't have monarchs, nobles, slave plantations, or aristocrats. But corporations, billionaires, politicians, and the upper class get away with a lot, they find ways to obtain power and avoid accountability. Would Harmony be right if he gave the divine mandate of "I DECREE NO NOBLES FOR ALL OF TIME!" At that point is free will a choice?

I started off blaming Harmony for not making a democratic world with no nobles. Ended off having… weird feelings about him. Like... MeLann brings up a great point about the kandra impersonating witnesses to testify against people. If Harmony allowed that, that could be a dangerous precedent.

But then there's Bleeder. Bleeder is easily my favorite antagonist in the series. She's incredibly competent, her body horror is gruesome horrific, and her climax is depressingly tragic. May she rest in the Beyond. Poor Wax. This is the thing that has me feeling weird about Harmony. This hurts cuz of Sazed. Fuck Sazed. Fuck Sazed. I knew Harmony would’ve become a Chessmaster, but not like this. Sazed isn’t supposed to manipulate people. Sazed isn’t supposed to cause trauma to people 😭😢💔💔

But Sazed is, unfortunately, the Hero of Ages. Harmony seems to be foreseeing a great disaster caused by Trell. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to thread towards a future possibility that will save Scadrial from this disaster. He must think about the future of the entire world. It hurts that he moved Wax this way, but would there really have been any difference if he left Wax completely alone? The Set - puppets of a Shard of Adonalsium - would've subtly caused turmoil on Elendel. What if he told Wax he was hunting Lessie? TenSoon said it himself. Harmony saw the future, saw that Wax wouldn't go through with it. Bleeder - another puppet of a Shard - would've succeeded in her goals. Sure he could've maneuvered someone else, but it opens a new can of worms!

I love the hints of Trell being a far scarier antagonist than it appears. I love the advancements and possibilities of Hemalurgy Trell is responsible for. Shadows of Self does a far better job than The Hero of Ages presenting gray morality in the motives and plans of gods. It also does a far better job at presenting a smart and clever antagonistic deity. I think with the conflict between Ruin and Preservation, Sanderson wrote many things that made Ruin appear too much like "the bad guy." He can say Preservation has a dark side, but we never saw it. The one reprehensible thing Preservation could've been completely responsible for - the Deepness killing people - ended up being the result of his frayed mind. He could've been solely responsible for the Deepness covering the Sun and killing plants, but that ended up being caused by Ruin. Ruin spoke with too much malice and joy of killing all life and destroying everything. Apart from his attributes being fundamental aspects of life and the Universe, there was no possible way I could've seen his stance as having any sort of value. Sanderson also wrote too many things that made Ruin's planning so far behind Preservation's. Preservation felt like a Xanatosian genius even on his deathbed. Ruin was a petulant child. Ruin wasn't kind, or patient, or particularly clever, or have long-spanning schemes when Sanderson presented him in the spotlight. Don't even get me started on his futuresight lmao. And tbh I don’t get why Sanderson wrote a being of death and destruction as the opposite of stasis and stability. Is he trying to say in life and creation, everything either stays the same or everything dies?

I know that wasn’t his intent, but it came across that way. It’s haphazard in retrospect, and I don’t understand why that was the direction after the beauty of Kelsier’s rebellion. I still love the concept of Ruin and Preservation’s conflict, but I think it could’ve been much more developed. More nuanced. Ruin could’ve been far more of a Chessmaster or represented a different concept.

With Harmony and Trell... I'm not as certain who's the good or bad guy. And so far, Trell's schemes are genuinely complex, layered, and terrifying. Even the Set are scary.

Marasi grew a lot, as expected. Wayne didn't grow but he was still so much fun. Love the new dynamic of Wayne and MeLaan, who's also pretty great. ARADEL IS A MAN!!!

There wasn't much of Steris this book. But she vastly improved in such a short time! Feels like she hides a lot but is actually a warm person. Look at the ending 🥺

Well done, Sanderson. I give Shadows of Self ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️/5.

[psychedelic-ink]

𝑳𝑶𝑽𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑳𝑳 𝑨𝑩𝑰𝑫𝑬

** gif by the amazing @inklore who made this for me, love u bby thank you so much!!!

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

genre: smut, hurt/comfort

word count: 3.5k

summary: a retelling of the third episode but with you in it. Starts with Ellie reading Bill's letter.

warnings: spoilers for episode three, oral (giving), shower sex, piv, lots of emotions, hugging joel because he needs it, soft!joel

a/n: i'm still fucking crying tbh

“August 29, 2023,”

“If you find this please do not come into the bedroom. We left the window open so the house wouldn't smell. It will probably be a sight. I’m guessing you found this Joel. Because anyone else would’ve been electrocuted or blown up by one of my traps hehehehehehe Take anything you need. The bunker code is the same as the gate code but in reverse. Anyway, I never liked you. But still, it's like we're friends. Almost. And I respect you. So I’m gonna tell you something because you’re probably the only person who will understand. I used to hate the world and I was happy when everyone died. But I was wrong because there was one person worth saving. That’s what I did. I saved him. Then I protected him. That’s why men like you and me are here, we have a job to do. And god help any motherfuckers who stand in our way. I leave you all of my weapons and equipment. Use them to keep—”

Ellie’s voice trails off, making you look up from the corner of the wall your eyes were digging a hole in. She presses her lips together, eyes moving away from the heartbreaking letter. Joel’s eyes snap up, and without saying a word he snatches the letter from her hands and reads it for himself. You have the urge to come close and peer at the words as well, but you don’t dare. You zero in on his expression; the crease between his brows deepens, the corner of his lips pulling down. He swallows. 

“Stay here,” he croaks, heading to the door. 

It slams shut. Leaving you and Ellie inside, you turn to her, “What did it say?” you ask despite having a solid guess of what the answer might be.  

Ellie doesn’t look up. Her stance is relaxed but the tension tolling over her shoulders is visible. She sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and answers, “Tess,” she says. “Bill was telling Joel to keep her safe,” 

“Oh shit,” you whisper instinctively. Ellie nods. 

“My thoughts exactly,” 

You drop your bag, the sudden relief of it being gone making you feel lighter than ever. You know he’ll be mad if you try to talk about it. But you also don’t have it in you to leave him to wallow in his own self-pity. Joel is a protector. And from what you’ve heard, Bill was also one. Protector to protector. The message was abundantly clear and Joel had failed again and again. You hate to word it like that, but you know that’s what he’s thinking. He’s thinking about Sarah, about Tess. About Tommy who might be already dead. Now, he has to deal with you and Ellie. You, he found in Boston with Tess, covered in bruises and cuts, ration cards stolen and beaten to a pulp. 

You turn to Ellie one last time, she’s already staring at you, it’s slightly unnerving. “Wait here, don’t touch anything that might kill you. Stock up,” 

“Aye Aye Captain.” 

And you leave. 

The sun is shining, not a single cloud in the sky. Your eyes lock onto Joel as soon as you step over the threshold; his back turned, letter in hand, shoulders slumped. He looks around the neighborhood, then back down to the letter. He repeats the motion a couple of times as if he can’t believe what’s happening around him. You follow the path his eyes draw, looking around and back at him. You wonder if this neighborhood is similar to the one he used to live in. 

“Hey,” you finally call out, your voice sounding scratchy. Joel flinches, he crumples the piece of paper and stuffs it in his pocket. “Are you okay?” 

“We need to get out of here,” he answers, fingers tightening around the key, he heads to the garage. You follow. 

When the two of you are inside, you see his resolve finally starting to crack. He pops the hood open, looks inside, and slams it shut. Pressing his palms into the smooth surface, his head falls, body shaking with his every breath. Your steps are silent as you approach him, your eyes trail over the roundness of his shoulders, the dip of his shirt. 

You bite down the inside of your cheek, not stopping until you feel a sharp sting. Holding your breath, you place a hand over his shoulder, gently squeezing. 

He flinches, it’s the most minimal reaction, something you only felt because you were physically touching him. “Is this okay?” you ask. 

Joel nods, his swallow audible. “Yeah, it’s fine,” 

“Can I hug you?” 

He tenses under your fingertips. You don’t make a move until you feel the small nod he makes. “Sure,” his voice cracks. “If you want to,” 

Some part of you wants to ask ‘do you?’ but of course, you don’t. Of all the months you’ve known him, he’s never once verbally asked anyone for anything. If you give it, he’ll take it. Your hand smooths a path down his arm, the other rounding his waist. You take a deep breath as you press your forehead between his shoulder blades, you feel the steadiness of his heartbeat. 

Joel is still tense but less than before. Your fingers curl around his wrist, and your other hand lays right above his heart, nails softly biting into the fabric of his shirt. 

Much to your surprise, his hand covers your own, thick fingers lacing into yours. It gives you courage. It gives you hope. You press further into him, hug him with your entire body hoping that the warmth you provide is enough to soothe him, even for a second. 

“Sorry,” he grunts out, squeezing your hand, he brings it to his lips. His mustache tickles your skin, and he eases his lips into you, something between a kiss and a press of skin. “I don’t know what to do. I’m so angry all the time, there’s a weight on my chest that never leaves. You understand?” you nod and he continues. “I’m not like Bill. Not in the way he thought that I was. I’ve always been afraid—Even after…”

You feel him shaking his head, and your grip around him tightens. You do understand. You’ve felt it too, but he made it easier, help you lift that weight despite not being a man of many words, his presence gave you strength. 

You want to stay like this forever. Holding him, feeling him. He’s incredibly warm.

“I’m not strong enough,” he lastly says, whispering your name right after. “I can’t keep you or Ellie safe,” 

You feel the brush of lips over your knuckles. He allows you to cradle his scruffy cheek. It feels like a dream almost, which makes you acutely aware of how much he must be hurting right now. Your heart breaks. 

“You are,” you whisper, fingers moving along his beard. “We’re going to stock up, find Tommy, and get Ellie to the fireflies. Then we’re done. Maybe we can even come back here,” 

He scoffs, “How are you always like this?” 

“Like what?” 

“Hopeful,” 

“It’s because I have you.” 

You know he’s confused. You can feel it simmering under his skin, face heating up under your hand. He’s confused as to how something positive could be spurred from his existence. But it’s the truth. And he needs to hear it. He needs to know that it’s not only grief, and sadness, that follow his every footstep like a shadow. His strength gives those around him a chance to grow, a chance to be more human. Allowing them to live and relax while he carries the burden. 

His methods might be brutal, and the words he says might cut deeper than a knife ever could, but it comes from a place of a twisted sense of love. 

“We should head back inside,” he murmurs and pulls at your hand. “I’ll make the truck battery and we grab what we can while it charges,” 

“Okay,” you take a step back, already feeling the ache of not feeling him against your person. “I’ll go check on Ellie.” 

Joel doesn’t say a word, nor looks at you, he only nods. 

You still can’t fucking believe it. 

Hot fucking water. 

You’re impatiently sitting in one of the guest bedrooms, Ellie is downstairs, already taken her shower and Joel is still inside, a soft slow of steam slithering its way out of the cracks of the door. 

You sitting there and waiting for Joel to get out isn’t probably the most efficient thing to do but you can’t help it, you feel giddy. Your leg bobs up and down as you wait. The mere thought of having warm water rolling down your tattered skin makes your heart leap to your throat—

The running water stops and your eyes fly to the door. A couple of minutes later it opens. A wet, clothed, Joel makes his way through the steam. It looks mystical, almost. 

He stops when he sees you. 

“What are you doin’ here?” 

“Waiting to use the shower,” you grin, not shying away from openly raking your eyes up and down his body. “Looking good, Miller,” 

He rolls his eyes and pushes his hair back, your pussy bottoms out at the way his biceps bulge from underneath the flannel. “Well, I’m done now. Have fun,” 

Joel moves towards the door and you jump up barely in time to catch his wrist. He raises an eyebrow, eyes dropping to meet yours. His skin is still damp, if you were a cat you’d be purring by now. 

“Sit down,” you choke out. “I—fuck—This is hard. I want to—” 

“Don’t hurt yourself tryin’ to come up with words,” he teases and you look at him completely flabbergasted. Joel Miller actually sounds amused. It’s a goddamn miracle. He twists his hand so it’s him holding you instead, locking the door, he moves towards the bed, urging you to follow him as if this was his idea from the get-go. 

“What do you want?” he asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. You’re standing between his spread-out legs, a chill runs up your spine. He reaches out and touches your chin. “Tell me,” 

Instead of telling, you slowly sink down to your knees, fingers moving to unbutton his jeans. He spreads his legs wider as you tug them down, you trail your fingers up his thighs, feeling the soft hairs tickling the pads of your fingers. Joel’s breath hitches, muscles tensing under your touch. He’s semi-hard when you take him into your mouth. His hips buck up as you swallow, swirling your tongue around the head. 

He grows harder with every lick. Your chin strains as you attempt to swallow him whole. You manage to take only half of him, your eyes squeezing shut at the pressure.  Pulling up, you gasp for air. You kiss the side and flatten your tongue against it. Joel cradles your head, thumbs drawing slow circles, he guides you back down to his cock, pushing you further down. 

“That’s it,” he breathes out heavily. “Just a bit more, always so fuckin’ good to me,” 

He forces your gaze up, and his cock twitches above your tongue. You whimper at the way he caresses your skin, so tender, so gentle. “You are too good to me,” he repeats his words from before. “I want you to know that. I ain’t the best with words but…yeah. I’ll try to make right by you,” 

If it wasn’t for his cock in your mouth, you would’ve smiled. Your heart feels so full that it overflows, the muscles of your stomach taut as you sink down, taking him until you feel the soft curls against the base of your nose. Joel holds you there, flush against his pelvis, heavily breathing as you swallow around him again and again. Spit trails down the corner of your lips, nostrils flaring as it gets harder to breathe. 

When he releases you, you pull away with a pop, your lungs burning at the sudden influx of oxygen. You wrap your fingers around the shaft and start stroking him, he moans loudly, hips thrusting into your hand. 

“I want you to cum down my throat, Joel,” you purr. “Use me,” 

And he does. 

The more desperate he becomes, the more stifled his groans get. He thrusts into your mouth, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat. You can’t breathe, you can’t think. Joel fucks deeper into your mouth, balls heavy on your chin as his thrusts become shallow. Your eyes roll back, your consciousness teetering on the edge of blacking out completely. 

With a moment of desperation, you cup your mound, rubbing at your clothed clit. The friction isn’t nearly enough and you let out a moan around his length, the reverberations making his hips stutter. 

Joel spills down your throat with a grunt, he presses his molars together, rolling his hips into your mouth. You swallow greedily. He tastes bitter, but that doesn’t stop you from lifting yourself on your knees to push him deeper down. He hisses, cock pulsing between your lips. 

“Jesus Christ,” he slurs, head falling back. “Jesus fuckin’ christ,” 

He pulls you off with a sharp tug, looking down at you between heavy lids. “You good darlin’?” 

You slowly nod, lips parting with a soft sigh. Your mind is in a deep haze of lust, your body aching to be touched, to be filled. You want to say something, anything, but you’re lost for words. 

“Shit, alright come on— Up,” he grabs you by the arm, helping you to stand on your feet. You shoot him a confused look, which he answers promptly. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Is it alright if I help?” 

It takes you a moment to understand the question and answer, “S-Sure.” 

You stand in the bathroom naked with your arms crossed in front of your chest. Joel wraps his arms around you slowly, still hesitant to touch you. He rests his chin above your shoulder, his torso bare, you sigh blissfully at the skin-on-skin contact.  

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, moving his hand down your stomach. “I thought you were excited,” 

“I am,” you shudder when he drags his nose up the column of your neck, his lips following the path back down. 

“Do you want me to go?” 

You shake your head, “No.” 

He murmurs an ‘okay’ into your skin and gently nudges you forward so you get in. The tiles are cool and slippery. It feels absurd being in such a homey-feeling bathroom after so long. It smells like lavender. 

You stand there, too stunned to move until Joel joins you. He stands behind you, leaning over, naked body pressing into yours, he turns on the faucet, playing with the degree of the water until it pours warm over your skin. 

“How’s that?” he mutters. 

“Good,” a giggle falls from your lips. “It feels so fucking good. Unbelievable,” 

Joel starts washing your body, the touch of his hands has fear behind them. A fear that you might vanish at any second. His fingers trail over every inch of your skin, exploring every curve and valley. You close your eyes, relishing in the sensation of having him this close. He washes your hair, taking his time, massaging your scalp. He moves down to your back, running his hands over your spine, kneading out the tension from your muscles.

His hands move to your front, lingering over your breasts, sending shivers down your spine. He takes his time, leaving no spot untouched. The water cascades over your bodies, swallowing you and hiding you both from the tainted world outside. Wet lips trail the slope of your shoulders, fingers slipping between your folds. He drags them between your slit, circles your aching clit, and repeats. Your head falls over his shoulder, your soft moans drowned by the sound of water. 

Joel holds your chin and turns you until you’re facing him, he closes the distance, molding his lips into yours. His wet tongue follows the seam of your lips and you open up for him, he moves his tongue over yours, licking the inside of your mouth. He swallows your moans and whines as you start to grind down against his palm. 

His tongue presses deeper, and your legs tremble. He grinds the heel of his palm into the sensitive bundle of nerves, groaning into your mouth when slick gushes into his hand. His cock lays above the curve of your ass, hot and hard. 

He grinds into you, his cock pressing insistently between your cheeks. His hands grab your hips, pulling you closer to him, and his mouth moves across your shoulder and neck. His lips find your ear. 

“Is this okay?” he asks, his breath heavy and hot against your neck.

“It is. I want to feel you Joel, every inch of you,” 

His hands reach up, cupping your breasts, massaging gently. His thumbs circle your nipples and they harden beneath his touch, your breath catching in your throat. You roll back into him, your body craving more of his touch— of him.

Joel’s hands move down your body, his fingers tracing every inch. “Turn around for me,” 

You move without hesitation. He takes a step back, letting his hands trail over you. You take a step forward, closing the gap between you and he takes you in his arms, his mouth finding yours. His tongue slips between your lips and you moan into his mouth, lost in him. 

You allow your own hands to explore his body as well. He’s firm, arms strong and thick, hips narrowing as your fingers trace a path down within the water droplets that cling to his skin. 

Affectionately, you caress his stomach. You gently press the pads of your fingers into the soft flesh, loving the way his chest heaves. 

The water continues to pour down, creating a soothing background noise. He pushes his cock between your legs, moving through the slickness and sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

You move together, bodies entwined and breaths mingling. He lets out a low moan as you press your hips against his. His hands move to your back, his fingers tracing the line of your spine. He pulls you closer, his lips claiming yours again and again and again— He moans as he fucks your thighs. The bulbous head of his cock catching against your clit, the corners of your vision fade to black. Your head buzzes.

Joel continues to roll and grind, cock slipping between your legs with ease. During it, he slips into you, stretching you enough that the pain easily bleeds into the pleasure. He holds you, cock twitching as your flutter around him. You’re dripping and making a mess of him, he feels it. You know that he does by the way he bites into your skin, his growl vibrating across your body. 

“You’re so fuckin’ wet,” he says, licking the water off your skin. “Feels so good inside—Your pussy feels so fuckin’ good. I don’t think it’ll ever be enough,” 

“S-Shit Joel,” 

Your breath hitches in your throat, your hips meeting his with each thrust. He holds your gaze, fucking himself deeper, harder into you. Pleasure licks the bottom of your spine, heat rolling in your stomach. The water washes away the sweat but you still burn. Joel’s hand moves up to the back of your neck, his hand big enough to press his fingers into both sides of your throat. 

You nearly go limp at his hold, knees bucking at the pressure. But you trust him, and you aren’t at all surprised when he keeps you up, pounding into you as his lips slither down your neck. 

He moves his hand lower, skimming down your stomach and cupping your sex. His thumb circles your clit, and you gasp as wave after wave of pleasure wash over you. 

You’re teetering on the edge, ready to come undone, when Joel suddenly pulls out. His fingers don’t stop, pinching your clit. You cry out his name as your orgasm rips through you, he holds you close as your body jolts. Your body is left confused, empty, yet still clenching as if Joel’s cock is still inside. 

It’s so intense that tears roll down your cheeks, pleasure ripples over your skin, unfiltered whimpers falling from your lips. Your gaze drops to his cock, your eagerness to please loud in your mind. You notice that he’d already came, seed mixing with the water. 

“I got you don’t worry,” he mutters, lips brushing your forehead. “You’re alright, you’re with me,” 

You blink up, eyes finding Joel’s. A lazy smile spreads across your face, the water beating over your skin now cold. “Was that good?” you ask, kissing the bald spot on his chin. 

“You know it was,” when you give him a knowing look, he sighs. “It was good, thank you, darlin’” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” you grin, hands moving up his arms. “Now let’s get cleaned up one last time and get the hell out of here.” 

[briebysabs]

Okay I wanna talk about woosan in the ateez canon lore for a minute because they’re actually insane. Like sure, they’re a popular pairing so it’s natural to have them be the classic duo in MVs. But they’ve done it so many times that it has to be more than fanservice at this point.

For instance, the ending to Eternal Sunshine where Woo runs and takes San’s hand as they float mid-air. What was the purpose this has still not been explained. A theory I heard was that Eternal Sunshine is a collective dream Ateez is having but still. I get they were really pushing woosan in 2021 but I squinted my eyes, it’s sus to me.

I’ve heard the theory too that WY from Halateez might be a traitor. I think it stemmed from the Hala Hala video where he’s left standing with blood on his mouth, everyone else fallen. Sick ass shot btw but they did defeat the Z-world government in Crazy Form (though idk if that was Halateez or A-world Ateez). So I feel like if he was it would’ve been revealed by now but it’s still a possibility.

I’ve also heard that canon woosan (before anyone yells I said canon not irl) are an implied couple and that’s the subtle nodding to standing up against an oppressive government and Ateez’s whole themes surrounding freedom. Could be true but that’s also putting a lot of faith into a kpop company being progressive enough to integrate that into their storyline.

There is what woosan said at a fansign about their characters in bouncy:

I understand that they’re the Black Pirates in disguise but if WY was ever a traitor, his lack of caring what happens to San would make sense. What makes the angst is that San wholeheartedly trusts in WY here. But my personal theory that I have is at some point, one version of woosan is going to sacrifice themself for the other. Now, it is a leap to say Ateez would kill off a member in their storyline because it could upset some fans. But they can get away with it regardless if it’s permanent or temporary because they have multiple versions of themselves in their lore. So nobody is 100% gone forever but it’ll still be a loss.

And preferably I want it to be WY if it ever happens. Here’s why: idk about Z-world WY but A-world WY’s biggest obstacle or regret was being too late, lacking confidence, being uncertain and missing his chance. While San wanted stability and was tired of his life constantly changing, thus losing friends. So think about it.

If WY died for San, he overcame his wall. He took a chance, he didn’t miss it and would regret nothing bc he couldn’t lose San. While San now lost his best friend forever, the biggest change of his life. And I do know that their backstories in A-world are somewhat reflective of themselves irl. And WY has been described as really the glue that holds the team together, that they wouldn’t be as close as they are without him. Not that losing any other member wouldn’t be heartbreaking but like….if WY died in canon I feel like even the staff would be crying behind the camera y’know what I mean?

And San can go full “I gotta save him, I can’t lose another friend he means too much to me”. It’ll work bc even if you’ve only watched the MVs without knowing anything else about woosan, you know what San means bc you usually see them paired in the songs. So he may use the Cromer (if they still have it) to time travel somehow which will be bringing us to another dilemma because Yunho’s brother has been dead. And I’m pretty sure in one of the diaries they went back in time for some reason, Yunho saw this opportunity and tried to save him from the accident that killed him but it still happened anyway. So there’s 1. Yunho’s like hey San I love WY too but why should we save him and not my brother? Then 2. Yunho going uh I tried doing this before and it didn’t work and I had to relive my brother dying so San don’t do this. And then San just doesn’t listen so it causes a rift within the group.

I feel like this would also give an excuse to keep the story going because the revolution is over. I think the main thing that caused me some fear about this comeback was Mingi going on a podcast saying how 2024 was really their year and they want to end it with a grand finale. Terrifying words, I think the incoming comeback is gonna be lore and it’s gonna be big. Doesn’t need to be woosan-related, probably isn’t but it just spawned my inner worm thoughts of their place in the lore.

[mytragedyperson]

Thoughts I had while reading TCF chapter 10

The idea of little 5 year old Raon Miru being so desperate to escape his tormentors that he cuts into his own life force still makes me so incredibly sad. The idea that in canon there’s a world where Raon Miru not only died, but was killed by Choi Han. Can you imagine if Choi Han found out that this could’ve happened. I don’t think he’d ever forgive himself even if Raon 100% would. God this book has some sad moments, but even the novel within the novel is so sad. I know that’s a doomed world but this is actually insane. I also feel like this book does a really good job of exploring the butterfly effect or something similar. Literally one person changed, was transmigrated into the world, but because this Cale was different he made different choices, and each small choice he made, caused another change, some smaller than others, but all ultimately leading to their victory. Let’s talk about how him saving Raon changed a lot. For one thing, I don’t think, without him, he would’ve known Alberu was a dark elf. He might’ve been told or found out, but it would’ve taken longer, and he might’ve reacted differently. Because he had Raon, he knew Alberu was using magic to change his appearance, and had an aura or something that was different to the rest of his family. Then, in the forbidden forest, Raon recognised the dead mana or something, so when he next met Choi Han, he told Cale or something. Sorry, I’ve not gotten to that point in my reread yet so I might be misremembering but that was the gist. But his lack of a bad reaction to Dark Elves, allowed him to meet and form some sort of alliance and bond with them, while also improving the bond he had with Alberu. And there are so many other times where Raon or one of the kids were helpful, and The Birth of A Hero world didn’t have them. In fact, that could’ve been the start of the world being doomed, those kids, and Taylor, and Paseton dying. Just by bringing Kim Rok Soo to this world, things changed, but he had no real way of knowing, when he saved these people, the impact it would have, the knowledge it would give them. He just didn’t want to see kids, or anyone else, suffer. And just by refusing to let people suffer or die if he could help them, he gained allies, and resources, and information that they didn’t have in The Birth of a Hero, or if they did, they learned it too late. The fact that having one person change, the fate of the world changed. Each small choice, each small change, each time he does the thing he decides to do, it leads to a much bigger change and a much bigger impact later on, even if just because now all these people he’s helped have a common ally that they trust and respect. God I could and probably will go into more detail about this later on, but yeah. Moving on for now.

Also Choi Han was right that the dragon’s eyes being full of pain and sorrow but its mouth still smiling is sad. This is his first time being outside the cave he was kept on, he’s seeing the world for the first time, but he’s lost his rationality. He’s happy to be free but he hurt and lost himself in the process. And then you imagine Raon Miru (that means happy dragon, right?) the same adorable little dragon that threatens to kill everyone and destroy everything if anything happens to Cale. It’s heartbreaking, that’s heart breaking. Cale needs to hug Raon extra tight for me because he deserves all the love and affection, plus extra for the version of him that never got any.

I’m so happy Cale went out of his way to save Raon. Like, he didn’t have to do that, he chose to and it was the right thing to do, but so many other people would’ve probably not cared. This is another example of Cale being a good person and refusing to admit it. Let’s keep note of that, misunderstandings, every time someone just doesn’t question something, honestly everything, let’s just keep a note of everything. It’s not even like he can say this is selfish because he doesn’t plan to keep him, he literally gains nothing from this if everything goes according to plan, and he doesn’t care, he does it anyway. Also him saying that he can use the kids to justify adopting them will never not be funny, adorable and kinda sad, because he can’t admit, even to himself, that he just wants to keep them around.

I forgot this was still the interview scene. Damn, a lot of shit is mentioned in this scene, like from the scene with Hans before the interview to the end, we get a lot of information.

Also, the interview being about whether Choi Han can protect people and then the job actually not requiring him to. Beautiful. That thing I said yesterday about the interview scene being good for Choi Han because it gives him someone who believes in him and respects him still stands. But his first job more or less being an escort mission of find and bring these two people to me, with the two people being capable of protecting themselves? It takes the pressure off Choi Han to have to protect them and builds his confidence and belief in himself, while also providing him with a support system of some sort. And Cale doesn’t intend for this but it happens. And the fact that Choi Han, not only succeeds in the job, but also helps save the other wolf children? That probably did wonders for his confidence, for his belief in himself. Ugh, it’s so good.

Also, Cale claiming in his thoughts, to himself that he’s just gonna let Choi Han, Lock, and Rosalyn deal with the terror incident, only to make a whole plan to stop the attack. He’s so good at scamming people he even scams himself. That’s beautiful.

And then he makes it a secret between just them. He’s essentially telling Choi Han he trusts him with this more than anyone else. No wonder he can never get rid of Choi Han after this. And the best part is he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, he doesn’t know the impact it has on Choi Han.

Also Choi Han is just kinda precious in a way I can’t explain. Like he seems like he needs a hug, but specifically a hug from Cale and his kids and Rosalyn and Lock. Tbf the entire Calefam kinda needs a hug.

Also for some reason I just got the image of early days!Hans hearing from Deruth he has to give Cale more money and just cursing in his head the entire time he goes because what is he even doing with all this money? He’s not spending it all on alcohol, he’s not drunk enough for that? He hasn’t been back to Billos’ shop and then remembering hearing from someone that Beacrox saw him buying a fuckton of bread and medicinal herbs and going into the slums and being like did he really spaen that much money on bread? How much bread did he buy to be spending that much money? Also why does Deruth give him his allowance in gold coins and cheques exclusively? No wonder he doesn’t wait for change and just says keep it, that would be a bitch to figure out for everyone involved. Also I’ll be honest I don’t get how cheques work in general but, like, he goes to three different bakeries for bread, and I know he paid for that with coins, was that first gold coin for the rest of the week? It was, right? Because otherwise my question was gonna be how does using a cheque at 3 different places work but the answer to that is it doesn’t, right?

God I love Ron just tormenting Cale with lemon things. And then he gets Beacrox and I believe later recruits Hans to help keep it going even when he’s not there? Or maybe Choi Han? I can’t remember who but I know he told someone to do it while he was looking for information on Arm. Maybe one of the kids? That would explain why he didn’t just say he doesn’t like lemon things. I don’t know. I’ll revisit this when I rearead that bit and remember who it was. Ron’s already admitted he knows something’s up. I feel like this is an attempt to figure out why he’s changed at first and then it just becomes their thing.

Also his plan to foist everyone off on Choi Han has already failed because Choi Han already knows he’s not leaving Cale, not if he can help it. So, sucks for Cale but, sorry, you’re already stuck with the troublesome people. But in all seriousness that’s probably for the best because they all need each other.

I’ve finally finished this chapter. I’ll be back with my thoughts with my thoughts during chapter 11, if I have any.

[whiskeynwriting]

The way you write ghost is so genuine and realistic, he actually seems like a real person that i can clearly imagine in real life, i love ghost x bones!!

Would you ever write heartbreaking whump/angst for them? Literally bring me to tears, i’m ready for it

Love @sanfransolomitatm (that’s me) 🤍

Challenge accepted.

Also, thank you so much for the compliments, oh my goodness. The fact that he feels like a genuine person is so flattering to me, and I'm so glad he can be portrayed that way 🥹 I am also beyond thrilled to know that you love Ghost x Bones 🥰🥰🥰

Love Is a Sin (Part Two)

Simon "Ghost" Riley x OFC "Bones"

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Word Count: 10.2k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Lord… there’s a lot. Mentions of pregnancy/pregnancy tests, loss/death, injury/gore, battle, use of weaponry, angst, mentions of past abuse, mentions/discussions of funeral details, PTSD and therapy, brain injury, major grief. 

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A/N: Here’s part two! As promised, it’s much darker. My goal here was to pull emotions out of you guys, let me know how I did (;

Read part one here 🥰

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Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

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“Alright,” Price booms, stomping into the room. “Let’s circle up. We’ve got plans to discuss.”

Already, he hates this. The entire atmosphere has shifted from light and lazy to dark and perilous. Simon can feel his heart rate increasing, his breaths deep and dragging. The mere thought of you in the field makes him want to jump up and wrap you in his arms, drag you away and hide you somewhere safe. What he hates even more than the possibility of that happening is the fact that he allowed it, he’s allowed this to happen. It wasn’t exactly his call to make, but he would’ve made it, and he didn't. 

He’s made his bed, and this time, he’s got to lay in it. 

So, without much choice, he watches his men regroup in front of him, with his partner sitting up to join in. Price tosses out the maps, Gaz whips out the compass, and Johnny’s already pulling out snacks. Tugging down his mask, Simon releases a harsh sigh, nothing that really draws anyone’s attention, though. He’s pretty much always cranky, and with you here, that trait has grown tenfold. 

When Simon reaches for your hand on the couch, your eyes widen. What the hell is he doing? But before you can react, and before anyone else has a chance to see, Johnny tosses a protein bar at the lieutenant. 

“Johnny, what the fuck?”

“Don’t be dumb.” Johnny scolds outwardly, scowling at his closest friend. 

Price can feel something lingering in the air, an awkward silence, a secret. But he pushes it away. Glancing between his teammates, he clasps his hands together. 

“Alright, let’s get to it, then.”

Here we go.

“No man’s land.” Price’s raspy voice begins, finger pressing into the map. “Are we ready for that?”

Easily, the boys respond. Gaz’s simple yes, Johnny’s hell yes, and Ghost’s ‘course we are. And with a contented smirk, Price then turns in your direction.

“Are you?”

You can’t deny the feeling of anxiety surrounding this entire mission. Every time the plans are detailed and discussed, a sort of nervous bile rises in your throat. But you’re here for a reason, and you can’t let the rest of them down. You won’t.

“Yes.” 

“Good lass. Gaz, what’ve you got?”

Kyle had performed aerial surveillance before the mission began on foot, scouting the area for more details.What he discovered wasn’t easy to stomach, but was to be expected.

“Casualties by the dozens all throughout. The cadavers are mostly soldiers, troops that had gone in before us. Some had been taken hostage, maybe two or three, but the rest didn’t survive.”

“Bones,”

Instantly, your head shoots up, looking into the blue eyes of your captain. “You stay focused on us, alright? The five of us, that means yourself, too. There’s no bother in saving any of those dead men; am I clear?” 

Swallowing, you nod. Though his words are harsh, he means well, and he’s right. Any body on that field is just that, a body, an unfortunate result of war. You have to focus on who’s alive, and keeping them alive. 

“Yes, sir.”

More than ever before, Simon wants to hold you. The muscles in his hand twitch slightly, wanting to curl his palm around your thigh in a comforting squeeze. He knows this won’t be easy for you. While you’ve seen battle before, you’ve never gone into the field as a medic. Years ago, you focused on killing. It’s a whole different ball game when you switch gears to saving.

“The reason they all died,” Kyle continues, “Is because they didn’t have you.”

Looking his way, you find a reassuring grin. Returning his encouraging words is your simple nod, a small sense of pride shifting in your features. Your team believes in you. 

“When we get across to the building, and that is a when,” The captain clarifies, “Bones will find coverage. She will not be infiltrating with us. In hiding, she’ll wait for our radio. Once we’ve confirmed our kill count, we’ll leave the building… completely empty of souls.”

And when he adds that last little tidbit, the boys around you hum, a certain excitement flowing through their veins. But Simon’s adrenaline rush is also coupled with anxiety. Outside alone? He questions, it’ll be far too easy for them to reach her. But your captain is confident you’ll be able to hold your own, and Ghost needs to try his hand in having faith in that. 

*

*

*

“You need to be careful with her.”

“And you need to watch yourself!” Ghost scoffs in return, inching away from his friend. “I can’t take a piss in private?”

Johnny shrugs, “Needed to piss, too.”

With a heavy groan, Simon rolls his eyes, redirecting himself to the task at hand, literally.

“What do you mean, anyways?”

“You’ve gone soft.”

“For her.” He mumbles, and Johnny’s brows raise.

“Holy shite.”

“Shut it, Johnny. There’s nothing wrong with it.” It’s not just Soap he’s trying to convince. 

“But there’s something wrong with you.” The sergeant snaps back. “You’re never like this on missions.”

Now, he doesn’t respond. If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t know what to say; Johnny’s right. He’s too far in his own head to focus on anything else, the details of this mission fleeting tidbits in his brain.

“You need to get your head on straight before you get yourself hurt.”

Again, he’s right. Acting like this is dangerous. You’re an incredible distraction for him, you have been since day one. But this isn’t something he can fight. Last night was… something else. It was different, dare he even say special. It was the most intimate moment you’ve shared. There’s no denying it, Simon feels tied to you. 

“Simon,” He then says, truly drawing Ghost’s attention. “I’m happy for you, I really am. I’ve never seen you take such a liking to a person… aside from me.” With that, he nudges his shoulder, grinning.

“Get on with it, Johnny.” But beneath the mask, he’s smiling, too.

“I think you’d be an idiot to lose this, her.” He states, accent just as strong as his candid nature. “And anywhere else, it’d be a great thing. But not here, not now.”

At this, Simon turns his head toward his friend, eyeing him beneath the forest’s dimness. It’s grown dark out, the trees hiding the cabin well enough to be comfortable for another night. And he knows once he goes back inside, he’ll cozy up next to you.

“She’s a teammate out here.” Johnny says, ending his ramble. “Nothing more.” And with that, Johnny’s zipping himself up to head back inside.

That last statement rings throughout Simon’s head, barreling through any sentimental thought. He’s close with his teammates, would do almost anything for them. But for you, he’s wondering what he wouldn’t do. Johnny’s words were true, but it doesn’t really help his situation. He can’t shove down his feelings for you. Sure, he can restrain himself from being outwardly affectionate. But keeping you safe? That was a priority for him. 

Back inside, everyone’s picked a spot in the living room. A few blankets had been dragged out from the bedroom, one for each of you to lay on. And with your Mylar thermal blankets, you were more than warm enough for the night. Simon can see you huddled up beneath the shiny material in the far corner of the living area, right beside the couch. Your back is up against the wall and Simon can already see that you’ve laid a blanket out for him right next to you. 

Sometimes, your relationship feels like a school-age crush. Saving a seat for each other at the lunch table, pulling out chairs for the other, giving and trading snacks, all nonverbal gestures that are just… sweet, considerate. Evidence of an unspoken connection. 

“Thanks, love.” Simon mumbles, grunting as he lays down on the tattered fabric.

“No problem.” You’re laying on your side, already smiling at him.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that.” Settling on his left side, he faces you with his back toward the group. 

“Why? Are you blushing?” Teasingly, you grin, watching the corners of his eyes crinkle. He’s smiling. And you’d give anything to see it. 

“Shut up.” The roll of his eyes is such a tell-tale sign for him; he could never be annoyed with you, not truly. 

Turning slightly, Simon settles on his back. Within the cabin’s darkness, you scooch a little closer, nuzzling into his side. His bulking body hides you, too, his insides burning bright with affection when your lips press against his covered bicep, wet from the snowfall during his earlier outdoor excursion. But you don’t mind. You’re not as close as you were last night, or the night previous in your little tent, but this will do. You’ll take what you can, because you always sleep so soundly next to him. 

Simon can tell you’re sleeping well, your snores are evidence of that. And in the darkness of night, he almost feels comfortable again. There isn’t a single worry in his mind regarding the lads, he’d even grown the confidence to wiggle his arm beneath your head, pulling you into him. However, there were many worries brewing in his head about you. More than ever before, he feels a need to preserve this, to keep your relationship intact. He loathes the fact that this happened here, your expression of love for him. If anything, he wishes it’d happened back at base, somewhere truly safe and private. 

Guiding him away from such anxious contemplation is your soft, sleepy moan, and the movement of your hand. Lifting your palm, it slides up and over his side, resting on his chest. But you don’t stop there. Sleepy digits move around the neckline of his shirt, searching for something. And then he realizes - his dog tags. Once found, you cling to them, body curling into his side even more than before. Jesus, do you pull every ounce of sweetness from him. The simple motion makes him sigh, eyes closing as he revels in this. He hopes he never loses this. 

It was an action you’d done a few times before, something that’s almost become routine. Every other night, it seems, you like to play with them. Awake or asleep, you find some sense of comfort with the small, metal plates. They represent him, his existence, the man that he is. 

*

*

*

For some reason, you thought this would be… louder, scarier, more intense than it is. Although, it’s just the approach, just the simple shuffle of feet through the woods. Maybe you expected the enemy to be ready, to pounce on you once you were a foot outside the cabin. But it seems Price was successful with his planning. You’re going to surprise them.

With weapons up and at the ready, you move slowly, steadily, scanning the area as you approach. The air is still, a small chill moving through the woods. It holds you captive, steals your breath and haunts your bones. Something is coming.

Each of you are spaced a bit from the other, a few yards in between each of your teammate’s movements. With your rifles up and aimed, you wonder, what are you aiming for? Any man? A possible vehicle? Movement throughout the slightly rocky terrain? Jesus, it’s been years since you’d been at this. But you’re ready, you can feel it. 

Raising a fist, Price signals your halt. Each of your steps still, your breaths held while your hearts pound. What does he see?

As soon as you all stop, Ghost is looking to his right, assessing you. Your gun’s safety is off, you’re holding it properly, and your stance is right on. The sight makes him proud.

That’s my girl.

Through the comms, Soap’s voice comes through. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Five men, weapons in hand and flanking right.”

“Approaching?” Ghost’s gruff voice inquires, eyes narrowing.

“Not yet; they’re flanking to opposite sides of the building, crouching. They’re ready for us, lads.”

So much for the element of surprise.

“We’re crouching. Continue approach, and watch yer heads.”

“Sir.” Johnny responds, his voice firm. 

In unison, your group moves forward, scopes searching for this small group of men. Movement to the left of the building calls for your attention, and you wonder…

“Are we shooting?” Whispering into the comms, you keep your eye on a rustling bit of brush, the top of a man’s head clearly visible.

“Not yet. Stay out of their line of fire.” Price returns, stern with his command. 

Irritation courses through you, as you now have a clear visual of the enemy’s head. Still, you return with gritted teeth, “Aye.” 

“Boys, line up.” He then decides, “Left to right, we’re each taking a man. Bones, keep eyes on your current target, and wait for my go ahead.”

“Yes, sir.” 

With Ghost on your left, Price is directly to your right, and then Gaz and Soap. Each man walks on until they find their target within the group, sounding off into the comms once this first step is done. 

“We drop ‘em together, swift and silent.” 

“Aye.”

“Sir.”

“Yes, sir.”

And then, your turn. “On your signal, Price.” He can tell you’re getting agitated, and it humors him. 

Looking off to his left, Price can see you through the brush with his own eyes. Returning his gaze, you witness his amused smirk, an expression that aggravates you further. He’s such a father figure, holding you back before you make a wrong move, guiding you toward the correct path.

“Shoot.”

Just as he predicted, your targets drop in unison. A single bullet zips through each man’s head, penetrating their skulls and knocking them dead. On your own target, a spurt of blood shoots from his skin as he drops, the firm thud of his body heard even from your position. 

“Advance.”

Shuffling your feet, you roll your shoulders, breaths steady as you walk toward the building. The surrounding cover of forest you’d been using is starting to wear thin; when you’re on unmarked land, there’ll be close to nothing keeping you from getting hit. 

“Halt.” The word isn’t rushed or frantic, but demanding as all hell.. 

No man’s land is only a few yards away from where you stand, the bodies of dead men scattering the dusty earth. From the angle you’re at, you’re unable to see their wounds directly. But that’s just fine, the sight would only distract you. 

“Landmines.”

“Where?” Immediately, Ghost is speaking, having to actively stop his feet from moving closer to you.

“Surrounding the perimeter.” Price clarifies, heavy breaths coming through the radio’s static. “Retrieve your GPR’s.”

While the Ground Penetrating Radars in your packs aren’t exactly ideal, they’re still useful. Though smaller than the usual model, they can detect the electrical current of the explosive. However, it can also confuse any type of metal with a mine, too. Being that many, if not all of these bodies have dog tags around their necks, this could be difficult. 

As you continue on, you hear the occasional notification, the small sound from one of your teammate’s readings. And at first, it’s terrifying. Every time you hear a machine go off, you expect an explosion. But these aren’t rookies you’re dealing with; they have decades of expert experience. You thought that’d make this a piece of cake.

Propelled through the air, your body is flung into a pit. The shrill ring in your ears prevents you from accurately hearing the shouts of your team, eyes blinking widely as you regain your bearings. What… happened? Who set one off?

Before you can hear the words of your comrades, the quick zip of lead rushes through the air. The ringing in your head only heightens now, your first instinct being to duck. Shoving yourself further into the pit, your bruised body rolls down the multiple mounds of dirt, finally landing at the bottom. 

Cocking your gun, you almost can’t seem to get air in fast enough. You’re already bleeding from the side of your head, nothing extreme but it will definitely have to be looked at. For now, though, you need to come back down. Looking to your left, you’re relieved to see that you aren’t alone. That is, until you identify them. 

William Anderson

John Davis

Henry Miller

You don’t know any of them.

Eyes scanning the surrounding figures, they widen, breaths now coming all too quick. It’s like you’re seeing zombies; some eyes are open, black and bloodied and staring into your soul. Others are closed, having embraced the sweet release of death. Limbs have been blown off, flesh rotting as it mixes with the dirt. Legs and arms are twisted, distorted in otherworldly ways. Torn pieces of their uniforms, dog tags that have yet to be collected. Hair muddled and out of code, jaws open and broken. 

But the medic in you comes to. Regardless of the injury on your head, and the fresh bruises on your limbs, you move. Whipping out a pair of latex gloves, you scramble toward the dead men. Reaching for their necks, your fingers curl around the circular metals to grab and tear them from their chains. Blood smears across your covered fingers, flesh moving as you dig through clothes to find some of the identification. Hurriedly, you stash them away, using the inner compartment of your jacket. They deserve to be remembered. 

“Bones!”

“Copy.” Your voice is rushed, panting on the other end as you collect what remains of the lives now lying dead.

“Get to Gaz.”

“Location?”

“East of the building, along the treeline.”

Shit. Right now, you’re on the opposite end. Regardless, your response is, “Copy.”

Now that you’ve given yourself a moment, you can fully hear the surrounding commotion. You can also hear the way Ghost has been frantically calling your name through your personal comms. 

“Bones? Bones?! Fucking Christ, please.”

“Ghost, I’m here.”

And that scares you more than anything. You’ve never heard him so distressed.

“Where are you?”

As soon as you were out of sight, Simon was an absolute fucking mess. It took everything in him not to leap after you into that trench, doing his best to remind himself that you've done this before. You’re good at your job and you can take care of yourself but he needs to take care of you.

The field has never felt so chaotic before. And he usually loves this, the thrill is just too addicting. But right now, he can’t get his head on straight, not until he hears your voice.

“In a pit.” Replying quietly, you gain the courage to glance over the edge. From here, you can see the far east side of the building. That’s where you need to be. 

“Still?!” Simon replies, ducking behind a boulder before reaching over and taking a few shots. “You need to move!” 

“Heading for the building’s east side.”

Simon was still in the forest when the landmine went off, far enough away to not get hit with the explosion or any of its remnants. But he saw how hard you took the hit, and immediately wished it was him. 

“Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,  ba - Ghost. I’m fine.” Your correction makes him chuckle, even within this bedlam. 

“Ghost!” Soap screams his way, “Ya cannae just stand there!” 

Dumbly, Ghost blinks at him.

“Move!”

Taking his own advice, and that of his closest friend, Ghost switches his position. Johnny watches as he pushes forward, following his eyeline only to find you on the end of it. And concern fills the pit of his stomach. Clearly, Ghost isn’t advancing toward the building; he’s watching your six perfectly. 

Another group of enemies leak from the building, evidenced by the collective thud of their feet. But peeking out over the edge again might as well be your demise, as you’re immediately targeted by two men. 

Eyes widening, you duck back down, head running rampant with ideas. You can’t stay here, you don’t have any chance of survival in this pit. They have the advantage, higher ground. And you need to at least be level with them. 

Reaching for your gun, you’re suddenly hit with the realization that your rifle is gone. Head whipping in every direction, you’re unable to find it in your frantic search. It must’ve flung from your body when you were hit. Onto option number two, your pistol. But retrieving it from the holster does nothing for you; a large piece of shrapnel has blown right through it.

“Motherfucker.”

Frustration doesn’t come close to what you’re feeling, but you need to push that aside and find new cover. Scrambling up the side of the ditch, you aim for the forest, which is unfortunately even further away from Gaz. But as soon as you’re up, you’re turning, the two men now only yards away. Ducking away from two shots, you feel yourself stumble backwards a bit. Sweat drips down into the wound on your head, down your neck and chest. Reaching back, your hand finds a tree to rest on briefly, readying yourself for this fight. But then, seemingly out of thin air, one of them drops. 

“I’ve got your six.” You knew he did.

Your fixed blade has now become your best friend, quickly gravitating to your hand. They, on the other hand, choose to handle this with fists. The man isn’t much larger than you, allowing you to keep your footing as he swings. Your feet plant firmly in the earth, one further behind to keep your balance. A quick slice across his face surprises him, giving you the opportunity for a stab to the upper chest. The blade sinks into his skin, tearing through muscle to reach his most vital organ. Among all the adrenaline in your veins, you bare your teeth, raising your fists to break his jaw with your hand. Kicking him in the groin knocks him to his knees, allowing you to shift your stance. Standing behind his crumpled form, you grab a fistful of his hair, yanking his head up and back. Tugging the knife from his chest, you slide it smoothly across his neck, spilling a warm redness down his front before inevitably tossing him to the dirt.

“Damn.” 

Turning, you rush into the forest, doing your best to evade the current chaos. Ducking through the brush, you make your way back to the start point, searching for Gaz. He must be wounded, and in turn, hiding.

“Bones,” Crackling through your comm link is his voice, a big ragged. “Three yards ahead.”

Once you’ve followed his instructions, you find him lying behind a fallen tree. He’s used a good amount of brush to cover himself, which he pushes away once you’re close enough. 

“Can you just patch it up?”

In the moment, you almost breathe out your inner words, oh shit. But you don’t want to frighten him. The sight is gruesome, though, genuinely gorey. His left leg is mangled, three pieces of shrapnel in his stomach and two in his chest. Truthfully, you’ve never seen such torn, wet flesh on a living man. It’s hanging off the bone, tendons visible as they cling to what muscle they can. The shrapnel in his midsection oozes blood but not too much, and probably won’t fully spill until the metal is removed. However, you still retrieve your quickest blood clotting agent for the wounds. Gaz hisses through his teeth at the burn of it, the sensation sizzling through his body. Lastly, applying a good coat of saline to his lower leg will aid in reducing infection, as well as wrapping it entirely.

“Can you move?”

“Not anymore.” His voice is low, strained.

“Where is Price? Did he get hit?”

Nodding, Gaz applies a bit of pressure to his biggest wound. “Nah, he moved on.”

“He didn’t have any injuries?”

“He was too far ahead of the blast.

“Jesus.” No wonder Kyle is so badly mangled, he’s the only one that got hit.  

Glancing around, you begin to witness the small creep of fog covering the area. The nighttime air turns thick, and thunder rolls gently overhead. And you can’t see anyone else, the rest of your team is fighting. 

“We need to move you.”

“I have enough cover here. You couldn’t even find me.”

“Gaz,”

“Please just go,” Head lying back on the moss, he sighs. “Finish the mission, bring me home when you’re done.”

With a defeated and aggravated sigh, you concede. “Are you still armed?”

“To the teeth.” He confirms, now realizing your lack of weaponry. “Where’s your rifle?”

“Blown off when your dumbass decided to step on a landmine.” And the snarky remark makes him smile. “And my pistol was hit by some shrapnel.”

“Take mine.”

“Don’t be dumb.”

“I have my pistol, you haven't got shit.”

“Kyle.”

“You need it. Go.”

“Bones, cover me at the forest’s east edge.”

“Copy.” Giving Gaz one last judgmental glare, you snatch his rifle, heading off toward your captain.

Crouching low, you begin to crawl when you hear heavy fire again. Price is taking shots from behind a fallen tree’s trunk, watching you inch over to his side.

“How’s Gaz?”

“Alive.” Shrugging, you try to calm your breaths. Looking into John’s blue eyes does well in accomplishing that. “What’s the plan?”

Lifting a shoulder, he speaks into the comms while holding your gaze. “Ghost and Soap take the right. Bones and I will flank the left.”

“We’ve lost our GPR’s.” Soap’s Scottish accent shines through the static. 

“Bloody fuckin’ -  how?”

“Dropped mine during Gaz’s hit.”

“And Ghost?”

“Lost it in a fight.”

Price scoffs, shaking his head with a whisper of, “Children.” 

“Sir?”

“Just get it done. Use your knowledge, your experience, and tread lightly.”

When Price finishes his sentence, you feel an internal pull to your right. Turning your head, you’re met with a pair of strikingly dark eyes. Yards away, beneath the cover of shrubs, Simon’s stare penetrates your heart. 

“Are you hurt?” He whispers into your ear, stare holding firm.

All you do is shake your head, and he nods. “Good.”

“Let’s move.” Price then commands, moving toward the building’s right.

Creeping backwards, you swallow. You don’t want to lose sight of him, but you have a job to do. As you turn, you witness Ghost stand, his form towering over the dark green foliage. By the way he moves, you can tell he’s about to follow Johnny. But he stops to take one more look at you, before he grunts.

Sharply, the left side of his body jerks backward, feet staggering a bit. Eyes widening, you lean forward, watching the bullet go right through Ghost’s upper chest. The gasp that leaves your lungs is too loud for your liking, but before you can do much more than that, Ghost is pulling out another gun. With a loud grunt, he aims and fires, dropping a man not too far from you. And with rage now lighting up his insides, he steps forward, reholstering his pistol so he can grab his rifle again. Marching on, you watch as he shoots down five more men, clearing a path straight for the building. With genuine amazement, you watch him, peering over the edge of the fallen log to see every man now narrow their sights to him. But he’s a freight train of a man, listening to the men’s shouts and their weapons, ducking behind anything he can before reappearing with vengeance. Ultimately, though, it’s a dumb move. It’s left him out in the open. 

Going against Price’s orders, you set your rifle atop the fallen wood, watching his back. Aiming for the roof, you eliminate the targets up top while Ghost focuses on those surrounding him. And then Soap is appearing, stepping out from the treeline with his pistol out and ready. The way he stomps forward, the way his biceps bulge when he pulls the trigger, the look in his eye while he protects his teammate… it’s inspiring. 

“Did I tell you to stay here?!” Yanking you backward by the straps of your vest, Price hauls you off with him.

Like a bumbling baby, you stumble backward, finding your footing just as Price lets you go. Together, you advance toward the building’s right side. You can already see an area for coverage, a large cluster of rocks off the side of a steep hill. It’ll give you enough space to hide while waiting for the boys to get inside. 

For some reason, Simon expected you to stay back when he started mowing down a path through these men. He knows Price gave you an order, but in the back of his head, he thought you’d see that he had this handled. There wasn’t anything more you needed to do, he could do this for you. And that’s exactly why you stayed back for a moment, for as long as you could before Price pulled you back into battle, distracting Simon once again.

Head snapping to his right, he witnesses your eager lurch from the forest. You and the captain are ready for this attention, though, weapons drawn as you appear on the field. And it all seems to be going to plan now. Gaz is safe and handled for the moment, Ghost has an injury and so do you, but ultimately, you’re moving; you’re advancing, you’re winning.

Small trickles begin to drip from the sky, the product of the thunder you’d heard not so long ago. And for some reason, the moment freezes. You look up, witnessing the rain as it now freely falls; a moment of peace before your life’s most damaging event. 

Another explosion.

Ever the father figure, Price’s fingers once again curl around your vest. He’s tossing you around like a ragdoll today, and right now, it’s because you lunged forward into combat. Flopping to the ground with a huff, your breaths escape your lungs, the wind completely knocked from your chest. And still, you crawl forward, hyperventilating while your eyes search. 

At this point, even John is a little frazzled, neither one of you speaking until you hear the shouts of your sergeant. 

“Bones!” He’s screaming, voice full of emotion because, well… he never thought this would happen. “Get to Ghost! Get to Ghost!”

And now, your stomach drops into your fucking ass. They didn’t hit a landmine, Simon did.

This time, Price can’t do anything to stop you. You’re scrambling forward, eyes darting around the field until Johnny whispers breathily into the comms, “In that ditch.”

A few yards ahead, Johnny steps in front of you, guarding your body from the men approaching. Price does the same, knowing it’s just the two of them now. 

Dirt mixes to mud and smears across your hands, thick clumps sticking to the edges of your jacket. The wetness soaks through your knees to the entirety of your pants, the gentle drip now turning into a torrential downpour. Above your head, lightning strikes, thunder shaking the ground so fiercely that you end up slipping over the edge of the ditch. Falling headfirst into the crater, you land beside Simon’s motionless body. 

“Si -” With heaving breaths, you crawl over to him. Swallowing, you lay a hand on his chest. “Simon.”

This is different than before, different than when you dealt with Gaz. Your heart is beating out of your chest, and you could almost throw up from nerves. So far, you’ve done well at putting your emotions aside during situations like this, but not now. Not when it’s the man you love.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, it just doesn’t make sense. Not with your team’s experience and expertise, their strength and comradery; how did you find yourselves here? Each member was chosen for a specific reason, the best Price could get. Is that true? Have you really done your best? 

Lifting his head slightly, Simon looks in your direction. And what you see is haunting. One eye swollen, the other filling with red. His left arm is distorted, both legs twisted in ways that aren’t human. There’s barely anything left of his right thigh, but that’s not where the biggest injury is. Looking up, you see that it’s on his head.

“Simon.” Shuffling forward, your eyes widen, hands immediately reaching for his head. 

Crimson warmth soaks the side of his mask, a small indent visible. He has definite brain damage, and your heart sinks at that fact. What will he be like after this?

“Let me help.” You’re whispering to yourself, mainly, because you assumed he’d let you. But he protests. 

“No,” His voice is still low and gruff, trying to continue being the brave man he knows he can be. 

“I have gauze, and blood clotting agents.” Turning you shuffle through your pack, retrieving a fresh pair of latex gloves. 

Immediately, you’re dousing him in a cool saline solution, watching his body writhe softly from it. But before wrapping any of his wounds, you focus on his head first. Leaning forward, your hands swipe across the hard skull covering his face, sloppily wiping away the blood and dirt. But your actions become frantic, fingers sliding over your lover’s face in an attempt to see him again, to look into his eyes despite this misfortune. Simon listens to your gasps and pants, emotional huffs spilling from your lips. In your panicked state, the gloves break. And in any other setting, you'd care about this cross-contamination. But you don’t even hesitate. The mud sticks to your fingers, Simon’s blood caking beneath your nails as you continue to clean him. Seeing him laid out like this, body free of any movement, any sort of intention, it’s pulling at your soul. It’s not him, he’s leaving you. 

“I need to see.”

He just ignores you, right hand reaching down toward his belt. It’s the only limb that hasn’t been mutilated, and he uses it to detach his mags. Moving as best he can, he hands them to you, round after round of bullets without a single word leaving his lips. And what really breaks you, what finally does you in, is the sound of him gurgling quietly on his own liquid insides. It’s now that every emotion breaks free, every single feeling you’d been bottling up and pushing aside, each one obliterates the firm dam of your determination and pride. 

“Here.” He grunts, “Ammo.”

“Stop.” It’s all you can say because if you speak any more, you’re sure you’ll just embarrass yourself. 

“Bones.” He states firmly, the eye not swollen shut staring up at you with… something. He’s thinking. 

“Stop, Simon.”

“Please.” He pleads with you quietly, watching the first tear roll down your face.

“Simon… let me see, let me help.” Reaching forward again, you watch the rise and fall of his chest, you watch as it slows. He was right, the lungs give everything away. 

Squirming, his head turns to the side. “Simon, please. I need to - I need to take off your mask.”

The pain he’s experiencing is at a level he’s not felt in quite some time. His insides burn, feeling stiff around the shrapnel penetrating his muscle. And the injury to his head is making him feel fuzzy. Every time he looks up at you, you are surrounded by a black fog. His vision is leaving him, but he still sees you. 

A burst of memory overcomes him when he turns back in your direction, forcing breath after painful breath into his lungs. Replacing you is the vision of his mother, beautiful brown curls and dark brown eyes, the very eyes she’d given to him. The child in him wants to reach out, only to see her pull away. In her stead is now his father, fist slamming into him. Her neglect, her absence, while his father abused him like this, it’s all he can really remember. Trauma is funny like that, deciding which memories to banish and which ones to keep. It’s similar to the way he remembers school, the bullying, the loneliness that always seemed to chase his very being. Life was never something to be enjoyed, just motions to move through. 

But then he met you, and you made life exciting. Exciting in a way that wasn’t dangerous, exciting in a way that made him feel at home, at peace. Your love, your memories, are what’s most important to him now. The first time you met, the first intimate moment you shared. Smoking together, sleeping together, caring for and protecting each other. Simon can remember a specific moment now, one of his favorites. 

“It’s kinda funny,” He’d quirked a brow at you beneath the covering, listening to you continue. “I know you better than your own government documents.”

He’d laughed at this, because you were right. 

“Don’t get cocky about it, now.” Simon chastised lightly, eyes crinkling ever so slightly with a hidden smile. 

“I wish there was more, though.”

“How do you mean?”

“You do so much, so many important things. There should be more record of you, more details about your life, babe. You’re an impressive man, people should know about that.”

And while your words made his pride swell a little larger, he only sighed. “That’s part of the job, sweets. Anonymity.” 

Smiling, you leaned forward, slinking your arms around his neck. “Maybe, but not to me.” Kissing the tip of his nose, you whispered, “You’ll always be important to me.”

Simon never planned on being remembered. There was no one he was willing to give that burden to. But, selfishly, he wants to be remembered by you. 

“Baby,” When your voice cracks, Simon blinks, those dark eyes watching the flow of your silent tears. “Please let me.”

And he thinks, how is she going to remember me like this? A man without a face? And so, he decides to give this to you. There’s nothing left to lose. He knows you’re taking it off to help him, but he’s allowing it for different reasons; call it a parting gift. 

When he doesn’t respond this time, your fingers find the edge of his mask. With a great amount of hesitancy, they curl beneath the dampened fabric, lifting it slowly. One by one, each feature is revealed. His chin and jawline, his lips, all traits you’ve seen and openly admired many times before. But then there’s his nose, something you’ve never seen in its entirety. There’s a deep scar running right across the bridge of it, cutting down into his cheek. And as you continue on, you can barely handle the violent thump of your heart’s beat. 

Finally, the fabric falls from his head, revealing to you his identity, Simon’s true self. 

Surprisingly, you smile. His hair is blonde, straight and not too long. Absentmindedly, you lift a hand, fingers stroking carefully through the messy strands. A laugh leaves you, some sort of twisted happiness found in this moment. And then your eyes lower, finding his steadfast gaze. Languidly, he blinks, blonde lashes fanning over his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” He admits, coughing. “I’m sorry it had to be like this, seeing me.”

“You’re so perfect.” Leaning further in, your hands cup his face. He doesn’t even mind the tears that drip down onto his skin. “Simon.”

“Just know that I do…” Trailing off, Simon shakes his head, releasing an emotional breath. “Love you.”

“I love you,” Releasing any sense of restraint, you express, “I love you more than anything.” 

You’re choosing not to look at his head because you know it's bad, you know it. And there’s nothing you can do for him with what you have. He needs more than saline and wraps for this. 

“So,” Grunting, he again lifts his right hand. “Think you’ll be needing this.”

With a harsh yank, he rips one of the circular metals from the chain around his neck. And your heart sinks, pulse thumping in your ears. As best he can, he reaches across his body, holding it out for you.

“Give it to Price.”

“That’s not how this is going to end.”

“And then,” Continuing about his task, Simon sets the silver coin on your lap. “You can keep the other.” 

“Simon.”

“It’s not much but, if you want to remember me…”

“Simon Riley.” You want him to stop talking like this, you’d do anything to stop this. 

Barely, he nods, a single shift of his head as he tells you gruffly, “Yours.” 

His eyes stay open until the life seemingly leaves, stare going blank mere seconds after that promise. Without thinking, your fingers curl around the identification sitting in your lap, your other hand still holding his handsome face. But it then leaves, nails digging into the mask lying beside him as your head drops, hanging loosely over your chest. A guttural sob is then released, your insides tearing you open and leaving you emotionally defenseless. Sucking in a thick gulp of air, you know what you need to do. Preserving Simon’s dignity and anonymity, you slide the mask over him again, hiding his face from the enemy. And from you, once again. 

*

*

*

Simon,

I still wear your dog tags tag, I never take it off. It stays beneath my shirt when I sleep, when I go to work. It’s cold, like your mask. I still don’t know where that is, Price won’t tell me. But I stole your cologne, they didn’t get that. I think that would make you laugh. You used to make me laugh. 

I don’t know what to do now, or where to go. I just think of you. 

Strangely, it helps. You know he’ll never write back, but that’s not really the point. This is about you, and it does help… sometimes. Although, Simon never believed in an afterlife, you’re not writing to anyone. This was just something a therapist on base suggested, an exercise to help with your grief. Words you’ve begged life itself to say to him, to be able to speak to him again. 

At times, you’re angry. With yourself and with him. You were a distraction, Johnny knew it, Price probably knew it. You did this to him. And at the same time, your extended mourning is his doing, too. He didn’t give you anything, not a burial site to visit, no ashes to keep. Nothing that allows you to visit him, or at least visit his memory. Simon always wanted to be cremated, have his ashes scattered who knows where. Nowhere important, somewhere to forget. He didn’t get the chance to change these plans after meeting you, though, and he’d regret that. 

The funeral was small, smaller than it should have been considering he died in battle and with honors. There was no way of avoiding a celebration, though, no matter how much he’d protested to it in life. But if there was one thing Simon definitely wanted, it was to be as far away from Manchester as possible; he never wanted to go back there. And with each of you carrying his casket on your shoulders, you made sure of that. He was honored on the training field back at base, body tucked away in a coffin before being cremated. The ceremonial move of the reversed arms was performed, your heads bowed in respect. It was only the four of you with him, the closest thing to family he’d ever really known. The Union Flag covered the finished pine, and you thought, how many more layers of fabric would keep you from seeing him?

Taking your newest letter, you get to your designated Jeep and drive. Every time, you go back to your secret little spot, the place where you’d connected so many times. You even sit in the backseat, the one behind the driver’s side. That’s where you always sat with him.

The stare you give this hand-written note might as well burn holes into it, the edge of your cigarette threatening to do so if your eyes don’t. Packs of nicotine laced joints have found their way to you quite often since Simon’s death, more and more every day. It tastes like him, his lips.

Sometimes, late at night, the boys still hear you cry. You try to do most of it in the shower, drowning out your tears with the louder noise. Throughout the day, you’ll keep it inside, and they’ve all noticed. You’re blank, rendered nearly emotionless as you move through the motions of each day. 

But what’s more important during the night, is him. If you drink enough, you can see him - you swear it. His eyes staring down at you, blinking, body laying beside you on the bed. He holds you. He’ll kiss the back of your neck, tell you I do, I love you. His palm presses to your own, fingers intertwining before he pulls it to him, covered lips moving to the back of your hand. Everything is a memory, but you refuse this. Simon loves you, he comes back just to tell you. You’ll always be thankful you told Simon that you love him.

Johnny takes a sudden special interest in you. For weeks, he hesitates to approach your door when he hears you cry. But he finally caves when he passes by the washrooms one night, a night where the boys have gone for a drink and the base is all but empty. 

Initially, he thought you were hurt. With how hard you were sobbing, breaths tight and airy, he was sure you were injured. Bursting through the doors, he found you on the ground of one of the shower stalls. 

“Lass, wha - ” 

But there was nothing, no blood, no broken glass or anything that could have brought you harm. And then, he sees it, the pile of your personal belongings. Your shower bag and towel are sitting on the closest bench, with a few items scattered on the floor. And Johnny doesn’t know much about pregnancy, but he knows a test when he sees one.

“Bones…”

“He’s fucking gone,” Your voice is hoarse from your wailing, form crumpled and laying on the wet tile while water sprays over you. “Why couldn’t he have left me something? Anything?!”

It’s negative.

In a last attempt to save something, to preserve any part of him, you’d taken the test. Several, actually. But it’s futile; there’s truly nothing left of him. 

How could you feel so fucking empty? So lost? What was the meaning of life now? What was the meaning before you met him? There was nothing before him. 

Johnny picked you up off the floor that night, leaning in to first turn off the shower before bending at the knees to wrap you in your towel. You let him carry you; with the break in your heart you didn’t really have much strength left in you. So, you leaned on him, walking with his steps as he guided you back to your room. And he dried you, dressed you, and then he held you. 

Nothing was discussed, you didn’t speak about it, him. He just sat there on your bed with you, arms wrapped tight around your body, heaving chests pressed against each other as Soap’s eyes spilled over with tears, too. He let you bury your face into his neck, fingers pulling at the edges of his mohawk. It overtakes you, the grief. The all consuming power of it floods your body, greedy in its conquest as it watches you crumble in defeat. 

Johnny made this promise weeks ago, not exactly sure when but he knows it’ll hold true. He’s made a silent vow to Simon; he’ll take care of you. 

For a while, you refuse to let Johnny sleep in your room. He had nowhere to rest but your bed and that extra space was for Simon. But then he offered to sleep on the floor one night, admitting quietly that it wasn’t just for you. It was for him, too. So, you let him keep you company, opening up and giving in to your collective misery. 

Johnny watched the way you curled up with your pillows, watched your face scrunch as you twisted and turned, trying to find some form of sleep. It only came when your hand found your chest, clutching Simon’s last bit of identification. 

Your sergeant found comfort in reading, in literature and even poetry. Some written by war veterans and forever-changed soldiers. One poem in particular spoke to him, and he wanted to give it to you. And for some reason, it offered you incredible solace; it so deeply reminds you of Simon. 

If I should die, think only this of me:

      That there’s some corner of a foreign field

That is for ever England. There shall be

      In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;

A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,

      Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam;

A body of England’s, breathing English air,

      Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,

      A pulse in the eternal mind, no less

            Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;

Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;

      And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,

            In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.

Rupert Brooke

Waking up is difficult, but getting out of bed is actually pretty easy. It’s only because you've been running on auto-pilot, relying on your routines to keep you moving. Johnny said it’s good for you, consistency, and he’s right. He’s really helped keep you together these past few months. At times, Simon helps, but there’s only so much he can do. 

The nightmares come and go, and so do the terrors. You’ll wake up in a cold sweat, hyperventilating with tears running down your face and neck. But more often than not, it’s pure psychological torture. The nightmares occur far more often, and you know what? The meaning behind them is true. Some awful creature sitting on your chest, pressing down onto your body so you’re unable to breathe properly, staring at your face as its intentions wriggles inside your head, creating hellscapes you never otherwise could have imagined. That’s exactly what it feels like, it’s exactly what you go through.

Psychologists define it as post-traumatic stress, and you’ve come to accept that. At first, you’d tell them every detail, every new event. The occurrence of you taking a pregnancy test, that’s a new predicament, a new attempt at preserving him. Maybe one day, it’ll be positive. Nevertheless, you don’t tell them as much anymore. It’s all the same, anyway. 

There have been some changes recently, mainly toward the medical rooms. Courtesy of Captain Price, you’ve been given a private office. The room you’d been in originally, the one that overlooked the training yard, is now solely used for training-related events. Sprains and torn muscles, extra ice packs and wraps, water bottles and energy packs. Quick things for the boys to grab. 

Where do the injured men and women go?

Now, you have a full infirmary. One hall with several beds and then four private rooms for those with longer stays, too. That’s where you’re headed today, room number three, specifically. 

Tying your hair back and washing your face gives you the appearance of alertness, something you desperately need. Quite often, you find yourself lacking sleep. It also helps to not have sticky, tear-stained cheeks. You’re not sure when that will subside, but you’re not expecting it to happen anytime soon. Overwhelming emotions find you even when in his company. 

After breakfast and an entire bottle of water, you make your way to the hospital wing, readying yourself for the day’s work. It shouldn’t be too difficult, though; things are looking up. But before leaving the mess hall, you grab an extra orange. Simon always loved those. 

It’s quiet here, something you really love. It gives everyone the opportunity to focus on rest. Which is exactly why you open the door so quietly, peaking in to make sure you didn’t wake him. But he’s already up.

“Bones,”

“Hi, baby.”

The fruit in your hand is quickly made known, Simon’s reflexes ever-present. His right hand catches it with ease, setting it down on his lap so he can lift his mask.

“I can help, you know.”

“Uh-uh,” Already, he’s lifting it to his mouth and biting into the skin with his teeth. Using this method, he peels it.

“Savage.”

“Inventive.” He corrects, “That’s what you mean.”

It’s early still, and you’re the only one making rounds to him. You’ve given the remaining tasks in the hospital wing to your employees - you’re here for him. And so, you swing your chair over to his bedside, sitting and leaning forward to rest your arms and head beside him.

The hospital bedding has been shifted upward, allowing him to sit up as he eats. He’s shirtless, in nothing but boxers and his mask, with two dog tags on his chest.

“How are you?”

“Hungry as hell.” 

“They didn’t feed you?!” Sitting up, you immediately become appalled and enraged. 

“Sit down, soldier.” Simon laughs, shaking his head. “They fed me.”

“And you’re still hungry?” With a smirk, you raise a brow at him as he just shrugs. A sigh then leaves your shaking head. “Growing boy.”

“Yeah, thanks to all this.” He’s still grumpy about it, how could he not be? “Have to regrow an entire damn body.”

He’s being dramatic, but… not really.

Quietly, you admire him, allowing your love to eat in silence. You’re both used to it, the peaceful calm surrounding your interactions. It was something you always agreed on; why have meaningless conversation when you can just enjoy each other’s presence? 

His arm is wrapped, and both legs. The best surgeons the military could find enabled him to keep all four limbs, a true godsend. He hasn’t been able to move them much, though, as he’s only just started physical therapy. Easy movements for now, just wiggling fingers and toes. There’s also the task of his cognitive therapy, mainly exercises for focus and short-term memory. It’s been difficult, to say the least, but you’ve been with him through it, been to every appointment and therapy session. 

“You’re quiet.” He notes, still snacking. 

Timidly, you nod, not searching for his gaze. And at this he sighs, notes of sympathy in his breath. He knows what’s bothering you.

“More dreams?” Simon asks quietly, staring down at the woman he loves. 

Simply, you nod, tears welling in your eyes all over again. 

Simon’s recovery has been difficult, and for everyone involved. It took quite a few weeks of convincing both Price and your doctors that you were fit to care for him. Your mental state was just… shattered. And you’re still picking up the pieces. 

“Baby,” The way he says it makes your heart jolt with emotion, with an incredible sense of longing. It’s spoken so softly, so sweetly, that deep voice rumbling kindly. And just like always, it’s successful in requesting your attention. “What happened?”

Wiping his hand on the bedsheets (he knows they’ll be changed anyway), he reaches for you. Just like before, in the painful memory of your dreams, his fingers intertwine with yours, palm pressing to your own while dragging it up to his lips. And then he presses them to the back of your hand, eyes focusing on you.

“Talk to me.”

“You died,” Finally giving in, you speak. You’ve done this many times, and it’s never easy. But Simon insists that talking about these dreams will help. “Again.”

“Hm.” He nods, humming thoughtfully, giving you room to speak.

“Your funeral, ya know, the basics.” Rolling your eyes, you groan. These nightmares are everything you despise, everything you fear. “Johnny was there, too. I smoked a lot, just to remind myself of you. Wore your dog tag, held it at night. And that’s when you’d visit me; I had visions of you, Si. Laying in my bed, holding me, telling me you love me.”

“I do.”

“I know you do.” Lifting your head, your genuine smile is displayed to him. “I, um… I took a pregnancy test in this one.”

“That’s new.” 

“I know. It was negative though, and it was so heartbreaking. I just… wanted to preserve any part of you.”

The way your voice wavers forces his muscles to tighten, discomfort wreaking havoc on his body. Seeing you like this fucking breaks him. That mission should’ve never even happened, but at least it was successful in the end.

“I’m here, though, love. I’m still here.”

He knows not sleeping next to each other has been one of the biggest issues for you. Feeling his weight, it was a comforting thing that easily lulled you to sleep. And his absence often brought on these terrifying dreams. 

“I know, baby.” Nodding, you sniffle, doing your best to not release your silent weeps. He’s right, he’s here. Everything is alright, you’re both healing and you’re together. That’s all that matters now. 

Contemplating his next decision, Simon grunts, sitting up straighter on his bed. Releasing your hand, he then reaches for your chin. Your lips bloom into a smile as he tilts your head up toward him, his lips, jawline, and chin visible to you. And Christ, how you wish you could see more. You can vaguely remember his face, the features he showed you before what he was sure was certain death. But it’s traumatic to recall it, and he’s refused to show himself  to you ever since. The injury to his brain has made him… insecure, in a way. He hasn’t even kissed you since all of it.

“Have a surprise for ya.” He then reveals, smacking his lips while swallowing the last bit of fruit available to him.

“Really?” Doubt laces your tone. What could he have possibly done for you in this condition? 

“C’mup here.” Simon grins, pulling you in. Standing, you shift your position, now sitting on the edge of his bed. 

“What is it?” Giggling, you eye him suspiciously. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” 

Clearing his throat, Simon looks down, taking his hand away as he grabs the edges of his mask. You assume he’s going to pull it back down, now that he’s finished eating his morning snack. But you’re wrong, eyes widening as he does the exact opposite of that. 

Jaw dropping entirely, you stare in awe as he removes the soft skull, slowly sliding the black fabric from his head. It brushes through his hair, eyelids lowered as he refuses to meet your gaze for the briefest second. He knows he looks different than before, hair still trying to grow back in the spot of his injury. There’s a new cut that runs down his face, too, the upper left side of his temple. But he should know you don’t care about any of that, he’s hoping you don’t, anyway. 

And when he looks back up into your eyes, he can see a profound sense of love. Love and adoration, determination, true friendship and connection. 

“Miss me?” The cheeky bastard, lips pulled into a grin with his blonde hair disheveled and looking cute as all hell. But more importantly, his hair is clean, so much cleaner than the first time you’d seen him, no longer stained red and pink.

“You fucker,” Shaking your head, you lean in, holding his face and pressing your forehead to his. 

Simon audibly winces when his arms move, small grunts of frustration spilling from him. His right arm easily wraps around your body, firmly pulling you in. But his left barely budges, and it’s so embarrassing to him. But his struggles pause when you shift, lips pressing to his and melting away every single unpleasant sensation. It’s a distraction, you’re a fucking distraction. But it’s a good thing this time. 

“You know I did.”

The moment is broken when a knock sounds at the door, and you can’t hop off his bed fast enough. Moments later, Price walks in, a stack of documents in his hand. 

“Captain.” You greet, standing straight for him and trying not to look suspicious. 

Unmoving on the bed, Ghost just nods. “Price.”

“Good,” John steps forward, “You’re both here. Give these a look for me.”

Watching him drop the papers onto your desk, you frown. “What are those?”

“HR documents,” He begins, staring at the stack before turning his attention to both of you. “For workplace relationships.”

Your face couldn’t feel hotter.

He then points a finger at the pair of you, stating firmly, “Sign ‘em.” Before turning to leave. 

Well, there’s no hiding it now.

[acexspqade]

BSD SEASON 5 EP 11 SPOILERS!!!! Below the border

my rambling thoughts/grievances on a particular theory floating around about Fyodor and Nikolai and what happened in the last episode of S5

I see a lot of people theorizing that the yellow light that we see as Fyodor is “dying” is not the flames of the helicopter but actually Nikolai’s ability saving him from the wreckage. And while from a logistical perspective I have no issues with this theory; from a character perspective I find myself frustrated with it. 

It’s entirely possible that this was all a plan created by Fyodor and Nikolai in case of a situation like that, I personally feel like it completely undermines Fyodor’s character, specifically taking away his “fatal” flaw and leaving him as this invincible force and it also alters his dynamic with other characters in the series specifically Dazai and Nikolai.

My favorite Dazai and Fyodor conversation is their chess conversation they have while in the prison, because it finally establishes the fundamental difference between them. Dazai uses the unpredictability of humanity to his advantage, allowing himself to trust in his allies and their abilities rather than trying to predict and control their every action, while Fyodor looks at the unpredictability of humanity and attempts to control it, refusing to trust anyone else’s judgment but his own.

Simply put– Dazai trusts people and Fyodor does not. From that conversation, we as the audience are given the “ideal conflict” between these characters. Who will come out on top because of their way of operating? 

Fyodor or Dazai?

And Dazai coming out on top in this particular ideal clash makes perfect sense, given its an ideal that he himself evolved to possess. From how he interacts with people in Fifteen to his current self, we see Dazai actually learn to trust people and their decision making rather than trying to bait them into making the decision. 

[I can go more in depth about this change in Dazai’s character later if it’s wanted; this post is supposed to be about Fyodor and this does not need to be a dissertation].   

Fyodor had allies and he had a very particular ally in Nikolai. Yet instead of embracing Nikolai and such a companionship, he reasoned that he couldn’t control him and thus never allowed himself to trust Nikolai. There’s two instances where Nikolai’s allyship could have saved him both at the beginning of the prison break where we see a very visual representation of Dazai choosing to trust people in picking Sigma as his aid, while Fyodor chooses himself and his plan not once but twice with Nikolai giving him a second chance to change his mind and possibly even choose Nikolai as his aid.

We are all well aware that Nikolai wanted to kill Fyodor which was the entire purpose of the game Nikolai set up– but at the very least in choosing to trust Nikolai his chances of beating Dazai would have leaned in his favor. And at the helicopter, had Fyodor asked Nikolai to man it for him because of his injury, that vampire that he thought he had total control over would’ve never been able to impale him.  Nikolai’s want to kill Fyodor is a very valid reason for Fyodor not to trust Nikolai but his chances once again significantly improve if he simply chose to trust his closest companion. But he doesn’t and that is something I find so intriguing about Fyodor as a character. 

Another issue I have with the theory is what it does to Nikolai’s character. We see him grieve Fyodor and have a vulnerable moment parallel to the moment we get in his fight with Atsushi where he cracks and reveals his true nature before fixing himself and saying what should be in line with the persona he displays. Nikolai fights with himself about if he truly wanted to kill Fyodor, flipping between yes and no a few times when Dazai asks “You wanted to kill him, didn’t you?”. It’s such a heartbreaking moment for Nikolai’s character as he experiences the reality of the “freedom” he wanted. He has killed the one person who he felt understood him. He has killed his “best friend”. In what should be a moment where he is finally able to experience true free will unaffected by human emotions and feelings, Nikolai is the most emotional we have ever seen him. 

In one moment we see the literal destruction of two very flawed ideals crashing and burning to the ground because they chose to run from humanity instead of embrace it. So if it was all an act on the part of Nikolai, it just would reset any potential character growth he could have from this moment. 

Also people have pointed out the moment where Dazai is calling at Fyodor’s fatal flaw, saying that it’ll come back to bite him like Fyodor’s comments about the bond of sokoku came back to bite him. While I do think Dazai’s words will come back to bite him, it won't be his comments about Fyodor’s fatal flaw, more than likely it’ll be his assurance that Fyodor is “no doubt” dead as I highly doubt that is the case. The “vampire cosplay” bit by Chuuya and Dazai displays such a deep level of trust between the two of them that I just can not see being replicated by Fyodor and Nikolai because Chuuya and Dazai’s bond is very particular to their characters. Fyodor and Nikolai doing something similar would just feel like a cheap gotcha moment than an actual display of true bond that we get no build up to. We are shown moments in which Nikolai cares for Fyodor but it’s never reciprocated and even Nikolai’s feelings are clouded by his want to escape from them. 

So while I feel for the Fyodor and Nikolai fans in these trying times, I really hope Asagiri doesn’t take the route that Nikolai actually helped Fyodor get out of the plane and save his life. 

This is just my own personal opinion however so if you feel differently and would like to explain why I’m happy to have that conversation.

a/n: this is actually my first real post on tumblr so expect more of my ramblings about bsd and other animes i know way to much about.

[cancerian-woman]

For the ask game...

TVDU 2

Klonnie 15

Bonnie 7 and Lucy 8

TVDU: Bonnie: Twitches is one of my favorite movies growing up that's where it started. Bonnie embodies both of the twins. Camryn has this outgoing confident personality while Alex is stern and reserved. Both are determined through it all. I see all of this in Bonnie. She goes through a lot and still has this sense of light to the world, people and even magic or herself. There's so much fiery determination in her that allows Bonnie to persevere. Rebekah!TO: Seeing less of Rebekah in TO grew her up as a character. In TVD she and Klaus look petty for lingering around s4. I love that she doesn't yield with her emotions, and we see her fight back whether that be torturing Damon or fighting with her brothers. She was still bitchy in a mature sense that she'd only react if she felt threatened too that is. Which what another fave character of mine grows into (Brooke Davis & Hanna Marin). (Okay cause my next answer is long I’m going to leave this at 2.)

Klonnie: I have a longer answer for this one but I’ll keep it simple. If TVD wasn't filled with jealous and racist writers. I wished Klonnie’s relationship started late s2-s4. A slow burn enemies to lovers. Klaus is very arrogant but he isn’t stupid when it comes to strategy. His pride would’ve been hurt knowing a baby witch kicked his ass and almost killed him. Then saved his ass! Katherine and Isobel discussed Klaus taste in witches, tbh it would’ve been in character for Katherine to direct Klaus to Bonnie after Greta was killed. On the pretense that Elena would hate it. Katherine would take joy in that

In s3 after Jeremy’s cheating (should’ve been with Vicki) Bonnie would be reluctant to believe in Klaus advances. Klaus would be attentive to the little things people are missing with Bonnie. (Ex: he canonically mentions bringing Abby back for her after being abandoned again.) HOW did he notice that? Who told him. I’m dead ass serious WHO told him that?!😭 Pretty gowns and drawings wouldn’t be enough to keep Bonnie’s attention especially after heartbreak. Bonnie’s loyalty cannot be bought it needs to be earned that’s what she’d want. Klaus would’ve called out that Bonnie aligns herself with bad people all the time he isn’t any different. Bonnie would call out Klaus for ignoring his werewolf side.

S4 can keep expression!Bonnie but with Klaus making it know how he hates Shane? Or still offering his knowledge to magic. There’s more to say but I wish the writers listened to Joseph’s and Kat’s ideas. It would’ve been more compelling to see Klaus pull Bonnie onto his side. Bring in some seduction and a second chance at love. Bonnie’s just as desirable as her friends. Treat her like it. Period.

Bonnie 7: can’t remember the ep rn but s7 Bonnie tells Alaric she’d rather somewhere else making out with a good guy or not so good. Basically she doesn’t enjoy doing shit all the time. She wants to have fun! But survival comes first.

Lucy 8: bisexual or queer period. Since TVD never told us what Katherine did I assumed they fucked a couple of times💀

Thank you for the ask! Sorry this is wordy as hell! I’m a nerd and overthinker

Ask Games!