#i literally thought about it all night at work

[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.) 

[jeo9n]

INSTAGRAM

you’ve been texting jungkook on instagram non stop ever since he opened his account as a joke. but what you didn’t expect was for him to actually text you back.

౨ৎ

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: fluff, slow burn, friends to lovers, future smut

warnings: none

wordcount: 2k

you get woken up by your alarm at exactly 6am. like everyday, you open your eyes and the first thing you do is check your phone. catching up with everything that happened while you were asleep. texting your friends back that live in a different time zone than you.

you’re tired but you get out of bed anyway. you have to get ready for work. even if your body is screaming for you to stay in bed.

the first thing you do is make your bed so it prevents from laying back down. you already took a shower yesterday night, which you thank yourself as it saves you time this morning. so all you have to do is brush your teeth and wash your face.

when you’re done with that you make yourself a coffee and start to get dressed. you keep your outfit simple with some baggy jeans and a black long sleeve top because you’d rather be comfortable than fashionable. you always make sure to never leave the house without spraying perfume everywhere on your body. you forgot to but some on one day as you were running late, only noticing when you were already at work and someone might say it’s stupid but you didn’t feel good that day, you didn’t feel like yourself without your sweet perfume. you love to smell good, you love getting compliments on your scent, you love people smelling you before they even see you.

ever since that you never forgot to put perfume on again, but carrying around a travel size bottle of your favorite perfume in your bag just in case.

you pet your cats goodbye one last time before you leave your apartment. you hate leaving them home alone but thankfully they have each other so they are not really "alone" but it still hurts you.

you’re already on the way to the small coffee shop that you work at , as you remember you haven’t texted your boyfriend (jungkook) a good morning text yet. so you pull your phone at your pocket and text him right away. the chat is filled with hundreds of your messages texting him random stuff about how your day was and occasionally sending him some memes and reels you thought were funny.

y/n: good morning jungkoookkk!!

y/n: i’m on my way to work.

y/n: you’re probably asleep but have a good day.

you smile to yourself as you double text him. your not texting him in hopes to get a text back, cause that would be crazy. i mean, that guys is crazy famous of course he’s not going to text me back. you just think it’s funny, although sometimes you think it’s actually kinda weird and you should probably stop, but you never actually do.

as you open the door to your workplace you’re instantly greeted with the delicious smell of coffee, which reminds you, you still have your empty cup of coffee in your hands which you forgot to throw away. your coworker greets you good morning as she looks up from behind the counter.

"good morning. leslie." you greet back as you throw your coffee away. "ugh i really don’t feel like working today." you tell her, while taking of your jacket. she laughs and agrees with you.

"girl, i literally stayed up all night binge watching true crime documentaries." she tells me. "look at my eye bags! i can’t even cover them up with makeup." she says as she lifts up her hand to show me her dark eye bags. "but i guess it’s my own fault. i knew i should’ve turned the tv off after the first episode." she says in frustration and it makes me laugh. i can totally relate to her. you tell yourself one more episode and suddenly the sun comes up and you finished the whole show, wondering where the time went.

happened to me one too many times.

"yea…" you say, tying your apron at you back. "been there, done that." and she smiles softly in response. "should i make you a coffee? cause you really look like you need one." you tell her as you point to your eye bags, mocking her.

she laughs and kicks you jokingly "yes please! make it extra strong."

"will do." you say in a laugh, already on your way to the coffee machine. it’s definitely gonna be a long day for leslie today.

you put the coffee down carefully, not trying to spill the hot coffee all over the counter. "here you go, extra strong for you, your highness. " you bow to her jokingly while laughing like an idiot.

"you’re so stupid." she laughs with you, bringing the coffee up to her lips, trying to take a sip.

you worked a little longer today as usual since it was busy. but you don’t mind. working extra hours means extra money and you would never complain about that.

you take you shoes off and wash your hands as soon as you get home. after that you change into more comfy close just some sweatpants and hoodie and you already feel way better. you walk to your kitchen to feed your cats, who are acting like you leave them out to starve and never feed them. after your done with that you wash your hands again and make yourself something to eat since you only had breakfast today. you decide for pizza today as it doesn’t take long to be ready. you shove it into the oven and while you wait you brows through your phone. you lean against the counter and watch some tiktok’s to make to the time go by faster.

the pizza is done in under 20 times. thankfully. you cannot wait longer or else your stomach is gonna start eating itself. you sit down on your couch with your pizza on your lap. you try to take a bite but it’s still too hot so start browsing through netflix instead to find something to watch while your eating. when you find something your pizza has cooled down already so you start eating.

after your done, you get up and do the dishes right away so you don’t have to worry about it later. after that you decide to take a bath since you haven’t done that in a while and after that hectic day today you really need it.

the warm water hugs your body as you lay down in your bathtub. you feel your body start to relax enjoying the temperature of the water. your eyes are closed as you hear the notification sound from your phone, but you ignore it. you feel so comfortable right now you don’t want to move. so you stay put, enjoying this bath maybe a little too much.

after like twenty minutes you start to get bored and the water has gone cold, so you decide it’s time to get out. you quickly wash your body and get out. you do you skincare and brush your teeth while your body dries, after that you put some vanilla bodylotion on, quickly change into your pyjamas and head to bed, your cats joining you seconds after. one sleeps on top the pillow next to you while the one sleeps between your legs.

you go to grab your phone from your nightstand, checking it one last time before you go to sleep. your just scrolling trough your notifications not thinking anything by it. you stop at one particular notification and your hearts starts to beat faster. sitting straight in your bed, rubbing your eyes to make sure your seeing correctly. you cannot believe what you’re seeing.

jeon jungkook has fucking texted you back.

not only once. he double texted you back.

is this really happening right now?

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz: woww! how long have you been texting me for ? there are like a thousand messages lol

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz: i hope you had good day at work! i just woke up.

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz: i saw your message and there are so many. i felt bad so i texted back. looked like your were talking to yourself haha.

wait. i cannot believes this. am i dreaming?

your hands shake and you’re not sure what to text back. should i even text back? would he text back again?

i take a deep breath. my head is going crazy right now.

after you collected yourself , you text back.

y/n: lol this is awkward.

y/n: i wasn’t thinking you would actually text back.🫣

y/n: i hope my message weren’t bothering you or anything.

you struggle sending the message back cause your hands won’t stop shaking. but can you blame me? the love of my life just texting me back and my stupid ass ignored it because of that stupid bath i took.

i bite on my nails nervously, my heart is beating so fast it might jump out of my chest at any minute.

i wait for an answer back, which is stupid, i know.

just because he texted me back one time doesn’t mean he’s going to do it again.

you know he won’t. but still, you wait.

you wait for like an hour until you realize he’s actually not responding anymore so you decide to go sleep. or try to go to sleep i should say, since your mind won’t stop thinking about what had just happened.

after a while you eventually fall asleep after what felt like hours.

the next morning you get woken up again by your alarm. this time you grab your phone a little faster than usual. scrolling through your notifications with tired but curious eyes.

you eyes widen as you find his notification again.

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz: haha no, you don’t bother me. i read through your messages last night.

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz: you’re funny haha.

abcdefghi__lmnopqrstuvwxyz: judging by the time i usually get the first message from you, i should get a message soon right?

you read the last text and it says sent an hour ago.

okay wait. he texted again? and he thinks i’m funny?

im definitely dreaming because there is no way that this is fucking happening.

your thumbs moves fast as you reply to him.

y/n: no way!!!

y/n: am i dreaming?? please tell me im not

y/n: is this really jungkook?

y/n: no, it can’t be

y/n: is someone playing with me?

someone definitely must be playing with you. because what do you mean jeon jungkook texted me back not one, but twice?

you actually cannot believe it yourself. this is crazy.

you wait a little bit to see if he’ll respond again. but nothing comes so you start getting ready for work.

how am i going get through work today, when all i can think about is him. you think to yourself.

~~~~

i hope you enjoy this chapter because im definitely excited about this fanficton ahhh

[himbodruid]

Taking a break from Sylus fics to give yall some Zayne!

Zayne x Reader

Intended for 18+ readers. MINORS DNI.

Desperate -:- clothed sex -:- angst -:- possessive Zayne (kinda) -:- Zayne loses control (but not of his evol)

Desperation in Yearning

There was a certain excitement that came with danger, an addictive rush of adrenaline. Maybe that was why you kept throwing yourself into missions that could end in your death. Or maybe it was some sort of misguided sense of survivor’s guilt, seeing as you’d been quite literally throwing yourself into your work for the last 14 years. Since the explosion. Since your world came raining down in a rain of ash and embers.

Your bags were almost packed, even though the shuttle wasn’t leaving for another several days. Captain Jenna had given you and the rest of the deployment team a few days off in order to prepare for the arduous journey, but you felt unsettled. You needed to move. To do something other than hurry up and wait.

Cooking was a nice way to distract yourself, even if you weren’t very good at it. What you made was edible at least, if not very creative.

A hurried knock on your door returned you to reality on that first night, and you looked up with brows drawn down. You weren’t expecting any visitors, and the stirfry you’d been disassociating over was almost done (note: probably burnt actually). Shaking your head, you removed the pan from the heat and killed the stove so you wouldn’t start a fire in your distraction.

Zayne was there on the other side of the door. He was out of breath, as if he’d run straight from Akso Hospital. He also looked…angry, and you ushered him inside.

“Doctor Zayne? What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

He took a moment to compose himself. It was almost disturbing to see the usually unflappable Doctor Zayne in such a state, and you feared the worst.

“When were you going to tell me,” he demanded. His usually even voice held the slightest of tremors, and you didn’t understand why. His eyes held an intensity to them that made you look anywhere but his face.

“What do you mean? Tell you about what?” He sat heavily in a stool at your breakfast bar and you put a hand on his shoulder. He stiffened under your touch.

“When were you going to tell me that you’re leaving?”

“Oh. That.” You still didn’t understand why it was such a big deal to him. It was just like any other away mission before. You always texted him when you were heading out and he wished you a safe return. And then when you returned, the two of you would go out to dinner together. You always celebrated your wins with him, mourned the losses with him.

“Were you just going to send me some off-hand text again? Letting me know you’d be leaving and then leave me in radio silence for weeks on end? Leave me wondering if everything was going okay, if you were safe- alive, even?”

He stood and punctuated his words by crowding you against the counter. His hazel eyes held a predatory glint to them, a look you were so unused to in his regularly smooth expression. He wasn’t one to wear his emotions easily, and you always struggled to read him. Even now, when he had you pinned at your counter, you couldn’t figure out what he was so upset over.

“Doctor Zayne, it’s fine. I do stuff like this all the time, it’s part of my job.”

His hand slammed down on the counter, making you jump. “Purposefully throwing yourself in harm’s way is not part of the job, not when you constantly do it to the point of self-destruction!”

You stared up at him, eyes wide in wonder. His face was flush and you thought you could read despair in his expression. This was a man that was always calm, cool, and collected, and yet here he was losing his temper at you.

“I…didn’t think of it that way. I’m sorry,” you say to him, trying to appease him so he would relax. But your words only seemed to fuel his frustration even more.

“That’s the problem. You never seem to think,” he whispered, the tremble in his voice more prominent now.

“Zayne,” you say, dropping his title in favour of your friendship. “What’s all this about? I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this. Please, help me understand.”

He blew out a shaky breath and let his head drop to your shoulder. You froze. It’s not that you didn’t see Zayne as a man, it’s that you always thought he never saw you as a woman. You thought maybe he only ever saw you as a trouble-making younger sibling, seeing as you had been friends with him since childhood. But here he was, face buried in your neck while he struggled to maintain his composure.

“I’m tired of watching the woman I love run head-long into danger,” he said quietly. “And not knowing if you’re safe is a special kind of torture I wouldn’t wish on anyone.”

You felt your heart shudder at his admission. Oh how you’ve been so stupid, so blind to his true feelings. The only credit you could give yourself is that Zayne wasn’t the best at portraying what he felt, and you were even worse at picking up social cues.

Your mind dug through all of your memories with him. How he would always seem to hug you a little longer than necessary when you came home. How he would always use one excuse or another to call and check up on you. How his demeanor went from cold and distant to warm and welcoming as time passed. The clues were there all along, you just never picked up on them. Or you assumed they were just a natural progression of friendship.

“Zayne, I-“ you didn’t know what to say. How to finish that sentence. You felt like you were in shock and you didn’t know what to do. He lifted his head from your shoulder slowly, bringing those damnably beautiful eyes up to bore into your very soul.

“I hate not knowing if you’ll survive the next mission that takes you away from me. I hate not being able to clear my schedule fast enough to go alongside you as a medic. And I hate the very idea of losing you to your own stubbornness.”

With that, he leaned forward and his lips captured yours. It was hesitant at first, testing, but the last remnants of his control snapped when you returned the kiss in equal measure. He coaxed your mouth open with ease and plunged his tongue in to tangle with yours. He poured all his desperation into you in that single point of contact, his hand coming up to grasp the back of your head to hold you in place.

When he finally broke away to let you have some air, his face was flush with all that was left unsaid. His eyes pleaded with you, his breath mingled with yours. He searched you for the same kind of yearning he bore to you. And when your gaze flicked to his mouth and back to his eyes with a soft sigh, he knew he had his answer.

He hauled you up against him, holding you as close as he possibly could as if that act alone could prevent you from leaving him. As if that alone would keep you by his side and out of danger forever. But it was that threat of danger that made desperation all the more prominent, all the more sweeter.

Zayne carried you to your bedroom without hesitation and without trouble, as though you weighed nothing more than the pen he carried in his lab coat every day at work. Your legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his broad shoulders on instinct, hiking up the skirt you wore and exposing yourself to his chill touch. He plopped down on the corner of your mattress with you straddling his lap, not even taking a moment to break the kiss. You rocked your hips against him, lost to his every touch that drove you deeper into a needy mess.

You hated admitting it, but you knew that this is what you’ve been craving for so long. The realization that you were waiting for him to make a move so that your passion wouldn’t scare the normally reserved doctor away. Zayne was letting go of all those reservations and it was the single most attractive thing you ever experienced.

He devoured you. Touched you. The noises he made shot right to your core and your own noises rose to respond to him. The chill of his hands sent shivers dancing through you. You could feel the length of him hardening beneath you, responding resolutely to the grind of your core against him. One of his large hands found your thigh, smoothing along your skin until he was at your hip and his thumb ran along the edge of your underwear. You were subconsciously glad you wore lace, but it didn’t really matter when you were lost to him. And, gods, the cold metal of his watch pressing into your hot skin did something unspeakable to you.

The pad of his thumb pressed against your clit, making lazy circles as his tongue continued to battle with yours. You couldn’t stop the moan you released into his mouth, but the noise only seemed to goad him further. He absorbed the sounds you made and became drunk off you.

And then you were suddenly pinned underneath him. One hand held your wrists above your head while those elegant fingers of the other dipped into your slicked folds. When he found you wet and wanting, he groaned into your neck. He curled those fingers inside you, eliciting a gasp as he put pressure in the perfect place. You bucked your hips against his hand, chasing the release he was so graciously gifting you.

And when you fell over the edge, you breathed his name into the air like a chanting prayer. Your body arched into him involuntarily and your hands grasped at whatever they could while still restrained.

But Zayne wasn’t done with you. He was far from it.

He removed his fingers from you, bringing them up to inspect the result of your climax still slicked between them. And then he looked you in the eye, muttering ‘beautiful’ before he stuck those fingers in his mouth and savored the taste of you with a moan. And something about that damn watch on his wrist while he did it.

And, fuck, he still wasn’t done torturing you.

The buckle of his belt was loosened and his cock freed from his pants with hardly an effort. He did it all with one hand while still pinning your wrists together above your head. You wanted so badly to touch him, but all you could do was wrap your legs around his hips as his narrow hips nestled between your thighs. And then your underwear was brushed aside and his cock slicked against your folds, a gentle, testing nudge at first. Then pushing further at your moaned pleas.

You all but begged him to fuck you roughly like you wanted, and still he took the time to make sure your petite body could accommodate his size without hurting you. And, oh how he filled you. It was more than you could have ever dreamed, and still he remained infuriatingly still inside you while his mouth worked at yours with promises of what was to come.

You flexed your walls on him in silent revenge, and he hissed a moan into your mouth with an involuntary forward jerk of his hips. And that’s all it took for the dam to break on his control.

Before you knew it, he was slamming into you with reckless abandon, so hard you swore you could feel yourself being moved across your bed. His hand finally released yours and all you could do was cling to him while he basically folded you in half, trying to somehow get even deeper than he already was. His grunts, moans, whimpers were diffused by him burying his face in your neck. You chanted his name into the open air, punctuating it by kisses and bites against whatever skin of his neck and chest you could access.

He hooked his arms underneath your knees, giving himself the most access he could while he pistoned in and out of you like a madman. Every thrust slammed against that sweet spot in your core and you came undone around him more times than you could count before he’d even gotten close to his end. Each climax that swept through you was more intense than the last until you were all but screaming his name.

“So damn…good,” he grunted, his pace increasing as his own orgasm finally neared. His sounds were no longer muffled by your neck or mouth. He let his own pleasured cries rise with yours as he continued making a mess of the both of you. His words became incoherent as he lost himself to the rapture.

Zayne slammed so, so impossibly deep into you with a sound that came out like a mix between a shout and a moan. His climax steamrolled through him so thoroughly that all he could do was jerk his hips while trembling in your hold. Your walls quivered around his cock once more, milking him as he flooded you with his cum.

Zayne collapsed atop you, a sweating panting mess. You realized that the both of you were still fully clothed, so caught up in your frenzied coupling that you didn’t even take time to undress. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed at the madness that’d taken over the both of you. Especially when he was still shifting his hips in micro-thrusts that made you realize that he was still hard inside you.

Everything about this encounter sent a thrill through you, and it was something you would never forget. Though, your mind went blank when he suddenly rode you through overstimulation only to jolt you both through an unexpected mutual orgasm. His cock twitched and pulsed inside you as another deluge of cum filled you. And your body was all too eager to take him in. If it weren’t the sensations of his cock inside you, you were almost certain the sounds he was making would have sent you over the edge again. Or even the contrast of his cold hands on your heated skin.

It felt all too soon, but he pulled from you with a long moan. He kissed you and put his forehead against yours in an action so tender that it nearly brought tears to your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured to you with an embarrassed smile. “That’s not exactly how I imagined that would go.”

“Yeah?” You chuckled. “How was it supposed to go?”

“Slow and sweet. Definitely not horny and wild while clothed,” he grumbled. You couldn't help but look down and grinned when you saw the mess the both of you had made against his nice black trousers.

“Why not show me how it was meant to be?” You ventured. That soft smile of his played across his face as he leaned in and kissed you.

He proceeded to demonstrate what his first idea had been. Soft, slow, and sweet, bringing the both of you to climax over and over. He worshipped your body in a multitude of ways and you were grateful, then, for the days off that Jenna had given you. Because, aside from going home for a change of clothes and picking up some take out, Zayne hardly left your bed until it was time for you to go.

He walked you to the shuttle while trying to stoically hide the devastation in his eyes. Other hunters were already boarding the vehicle, but you turned to face him while your luggage was loaded, drawing him into a tight hug.

“I promise to be more mindful of missions in the future,” you say to him. You lean up in his embrace and kiss him in full view of anyone that cared to look. You knew there would be relentless teasing from Tara, but you didn’t care.

“After all, I have someone at home to look forward to now.”

[ellie722]

Sevika headcanonsᯓᡣ𐭩

𐙚 Hello!! This is not my usual type of post,and I’m not used to sharing the stuff I write for myself with others but my friend convinced me to!

𐙚 Warnings: None,just lots of fluff! I’m not sure what setting this would be in,but I guess you could count it as canon if nothing went wrong..?

ᝰ.ᐟ Sevika who literally DEVOURS books day by day,like one day you would get her a book she really wanted and the next day she’s yapping about how amazing the ending was,she didn’t have bad eyesight before but since she’s doesn’t drink as much she finds herself with nothing to do so she starts reading,something she always wanted to do,and after reading so much,day and night,her eyesight started to get damaged,it’s not just the books also the age and the stuff she’d been exposed to while working for Silco.

ᝰ.ᐟ Sevika who still has all her old clothes,all her teenage stuff is packed away in the wardrobe and sometimes she takes them out to remind herself what once was.

ᝰ.ᐟ Sevika who actually likes it better without the heavy metal arm,of course when she out and about she has no choice but to wear it,thugs are lurking around the corner everywhere,but when she gets home the first thing she does(after throwing her boots off) is detach her arm and throw it somewhere in the living room corner. She’s actually pretty good with her balance and can do almost everything with only one hand,of course the stuff she can’t do she’ll ask you for help.

ᝰ.ᐟ Sevika who has a pickup she stole from a music shop years ago,it still works and surprisingly well,after a while when you get bored of all of her jazz and sappy music she let’s you play your own shit on it,your vinyl collection isnt that big but she appreciates your taste.

ᝰ.ᐟ Sevika who’s not as neat and tidy as she could be,she tries her best,but folding clothes with one hand is pretty hard,so she just shoves them in her closet,and moping and vacuuming is pretty hard too,so she gets herself one of those ting vacuums that work themselves,she trips over it a few time but gets used to it.

ᝰ.ᐟ Sevika who’s eyes sparkle in the dark,majestically so. She doesn’t know how it happens or that it even happened before you pointed it out,she said it probably something to do with the moonlight and becaus her eyes are grey,but it’s so beautiful. Also kinda scary when you get up to get a glass of water and Sevika comes after you all quiet and when you spot her you have a little heart attack seeing those two big sparkles.

ᝰ.ᐟ Sevika who journals because she’s scared of age catching up to her. She writes down every little thought about you,and all the loving moments she has with you along,she also writes reviews about the books she reads in there,it’s not like anyone reads them.. but she enjoys writing her opinions somewhere.

Sevika who actually starts enjoying life alongside you. 😽

[pedrospookie]

it seems that the eldest daughters of tumblr all want Joel Miller to come and take care of them (dear god, please please please, my soul needs it). this inspired me to start writing a couple of little Joel tales but until then, i thought this might tide us over.

someone (I think it was @itsokbbygrl ) said in the tags that Joel is a fixer and is def into parental issues and i literally cannot stop thinking about that— cause you are RIGHT.

it’s not my best work but alas!

Joel Miller x eldest daughter!reader imagine

nothing wild, mostly fluff! Joel soothing an eldest daughter’s nervous system one day at a time.

Joel would wash the dishes every night just because he knows how much you hate washing the dishes. It’s the least I could do, darlin’ he’d praise, taking immense pride in seeing the relief fall on your face.

Joel would kiss you just to kiss you; in the comfort of your home as you pass in the hallway, or out at the stables while caring for the horses, even at the bar in front of all the folks who know you. It was his small way to show his unconditional love and appreciation for you. He’d spend all day kissin’ you if he could.

Joel would take the time to rub your feet and ask about your day. His genuine curiosity about the townsfolk you encounter or the adventures you have brought a warmth to your chest as he works on the knots along the arch of your feet. He would always remember the little details of where you’ve been or what you’ve seen, or the names of the people you mention in your stories. Joel wasn’t perfect and would often get confused between Jess, Jessica and Jessa, but he certainly would do his best to keep it all straight.

Joel would listen and hear you. If it was important to you, it was important to him. He didn’t care if it was about how you admired the pretty pink colour of the flowers you passed by on patrol or how you had to remember to mend your socks later. He listened and cared. So much so, that whenever he could, Joel would bring home a small bouquet of said flowers for you after his patrol.

On bad days, Joel would be there. He would hold you through your big, ugly feelings, and tell you that it is okay and that he’s got you. Joel would force himself to stay calm and to speak softly to you, keeping his own panic and worry at bay. He would tell you that he was proud of you and your “smarts”, and that the only thing that matters is that you made it back home to him. He would slowly and gently wash your body and hair clean of all the blood and guts from the nearly failed patrol, and would mend every scrape and wound, sealing each one with a kiss.

And on the nights where you were plagued with terrors, the kind that woke you in a panic, the cold sweat glueing your hair to your neck and forehead, Joel would be there. To hold you and coax you back to sleep, rubbing soft circles on your back, and softly murmur that it is okay, that you’re safe.

In the mornings, you always woke to the smell of coffee wafting it’s way into your room. Joel always made sure to wake up before you, to let you have those extra few minutes in bed because he knew you needed them. He’d greet you with a big smile and a kiss, the kind that made you feel like you were back in the early days of your relationship. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, he would say as he placed your meal in front of you. Joel never let you leave the house without something warm in your belly.

Joel knew that you were more than capable of caring for yourself. Hell, you had survived 20 years in that hellscape overrun by infected, raiders and god knows what else. You had told him time and time again, often through gritted teeth, I’ve got this. I can do this myself. I do not need your help. Can you just let me handle this, please!

Slowly, yet surely, with patience and kindness, Joel slowly broke down your walls until you were ready to let him in. To accept the peace and love he had to offer. Joel is not a perfect man, but he tries. Which is more than most. He tries his damnedest every day to keep showing up for you the way he knows you deserve. To show you and make you feel the love, peace and respect that you deserve. And that? Well, that makes Joel feel a deep sense of joy that he hasn’t felt in years. He will gladly do it until his dying breath and that is a promise he will never break. The easiest job he’s ever had was lovin’ you.

tagging some folks who may like this (if not/tags aren’t your thing, just tell me to buzz off! I wont be offended!): @slimybeth69 @itsokbbygrl @mrsmando @evolnoomym @sanarsi @marilovespedro @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal

[measuredingold]

i’d walk through hell for you

authors note: saw that best friend!noah is all the talk right now and decided to finally free this from the drafts. inspired by a walk through hell by say anything :) there will be a second part that’s already finished and will be posted next week ! i’m not sure about a third lol as always, i hope you enjoy and feedback is appreciated :)

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

divider: @saradika-graphics

word count: 3.1k

cross posted on ao3

cw/tw: angst, hurt/comfort, heavy anxiety, best friend!noah, Noah Is A Nightmare But He Can’t Help It, reader is a sweetie and loves their friend and wants to make it better, oh eventual friends to lovers btw, 18+ minors do not interact

You haven't seen him like this in a long time. You can't even remember the last time he allowed you to see him like this, on edge, snippy with fucking everyone, and down right a fucking nightmare. You thought he had gotten that under control, at least from what he’s told you, but the scene before you lets you know that may not be the case.

For the most part. He could be worse, you think.

You've seen him far worse than this plenty of times, yet it still makes your stomach turn in an unpleasant way, and there's a foul taste settling in the back of your throat as you step into his room.

“Hey.” You say quietly, making your presence known.

“Hi.” He doesn’t even bother looking up at you. Your chest tightens.

“Jolly says you’re being a nightmare,” Noah snorts at your words, but you know he doesn’t find it that amusing. “Wanna tell me what’s up?”

Your heart breaks as your best friend finally looks up at you, the bags under his eyes and the permanent frown on his lips feeling like a literal stab to the gut. You drop your bag by the door and slowly make your way towards him.

"I can't fucking..." He sucks in a deep breath as he throws his arms towards his computer setup in the corner in his room, eyes narrowing. "This one part in the song I showed you last week. It doesn't sound right. I've messed with it for days, even sent it off to Jolly and even he can't fucking get it to sound good and, " He rubs a hand down his face, "I have to send it by tomorrow night with like four other songs. The others are fine but this fucking one..."

"Sebbe. Breathe."

He does, one long shaky breath, and you're finally looking closely enough to realize his entire body is shaking. Your anxiety kicks in then, alarms sounding off in your head because you know where this can lead. You've seen it before. Your legs take you over to his bed that he's sitting on, joining him. You make sure to keep some space between the two of you, not wanting to overwhelm him more than needed.

"I just don't know what's fucking wrong with me. Like, why can't I figure this out? I did the thing, I took the break. Came back with a clear head or whatever but all I did was fuck up the song even more to where Jolly can't even fix it and-"

"Noah."

He stills at your voice, lazily dragging his eyes towards you. He looks so tired. You know him well enough to know the break was a good fifteen minutes before he sat his ass back in that chair and clearly worked himself to the ground. You know that he's probably only slept a handful of hours in the last few days, and you fucking hate that. He struggles with sleep as is, so you know the stress of this deadline isn't good for him at all.

"Listen to me, okay?" You say slowly. Noah just blinks at you. "Send it off the way it is. You've done your best, but if you keep messing around with it with this nasty attitude, it's not going to get any better. Make sure to make a note on why the song might sound unfinished, mention that you've been struggling."

"But-"

"I'm not finished." His mouth snaps shut. "Tell Jolly you sent it off and that you guys will work on it later. These are just supposed to be demos, right?" It takes a second but Noah eventually nods, somehow looking even more tired than he did seconds ago. "Then there’s no reason for it to be perfect, anyways. Just go on to something else and then go back to it when you don't feel so... negative."

The silence after your words makes your stomach turn, Noah slowly blinking at you. You know your words are registering in his mind, but they’re melting away. He's going to only hear one part of your speech, and it's the part about sending an unfinished song to his label. The unfinished and not perfect song which is unacceptable in Noah standards, and you can already make out the frown that's beginning to form on his lips.

"I have to finish it."

"No, you actually don't."

"Yes, I actually fucking do." He bites out.

You know he doesn't mean it, to be snippy with you, but that's what happens when he's like this. Irrational, says things before thinking about them. You can't stop the way you flinch, though, grimacing at the way it hurts when he throws his anger at you. His frown only deepens, sadness etching itself over his face.

"Sorry." He mumbles, head tilting down. "I just... I need to finish it. I can't just send it off the way that it is. That's not good enough."

"Demos aren't supposed to be good. That's why they're called demos. It’s the rough draft.”

"You don't get it." He groans out, resting his elbows on his knees and placing his head in his hands. "I just... I can't do that. You know I fucking can't. It's gotta be perfect, because if not-"

"You feel like a failure." You finish his words for him and watch the second his shoulders drop.

He doesn't respond, doesn't even take his hands off his face. Instead he just nods slowly.

"Noah..."

He remains silent next to you but you can hear the way his breathing has picked up, a lot shakier than it had been seconds ago. The hands that were sprawled across his face were shaking again and this time you don't bother keeping your space, scooting closer to him.

You're deliberate with your actions, hand reaching out to slide off the beanie on top of his head. You let it fall, hand now smoothing down some of his hair that was messed up by the hat. You're quiet when your fingers gently card through his hair and you do it a few times before your nails scratch at his scalp, slow and gentle.

It takes a second, a lot longer than you actually expected, but his breathing begins to even out. His hands are still shaky, though, and he still has yet to even pick his head up. You have a feeling of what's running through his mind, and you so desperately want to crawl inside there and throw it out yourself. Fill his head with better thoughts and rid him of the mean ones he's sifting through currently.

Your hand drops from the top of his head, instinctively pushing a fallen strand behind his ear before sliding your hand down to the back of his neck. Your fingers apply a good amount of pressure there, gently rubbing out the tension. You hear him sigh out, the noise muffled by his hand.

“Talk to me. What’s going on up there, bub?”

"This is all I have." He finally says after long minutes of silence, voice sounding strained.

You frown.

He continues, "The band. Music. It's all I have. All I'm good at. I can't... it has to be perfect, you know? If it's not..." He sucks in a shaky breath and your fingers dig back into his neck. "If it's not perfect, I don't know how much longer I'll have this. One fuck up and... and this all can be..."

He doesn't finish his words, but you know what he was going to say.

This all can be taken away from me.

Noah confided that fear to you so many times, but each time you're reminded of it it's like a part of you dies. His fear of losing everything at the snap of a finger is something that haunts him and has stayed with him for as long as you could remember. No matter how hard he tried to run from it, to know that things don't always end and can't be taken from him so easily, it always seemed to come crawling back.

"It's not going to be taken away from you." You say in a small voice, scooting even closer to him. Your legs are pressed together now and you don't stop rubbing at his neck, hoping to relieve some of the stress.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do." Your fingers stop but your hand doesn't move. "Noah, look at me."

A beat passes before he's finally removing his hands from his face, slowly turning his head to stare at you. Somehow the bags under his eyes have darkened in the few minutes you've been in here with him, and it seems like that frown on his lips is permanently sketched there.

"You've gotten this far without it being taken from you." You start slowly, thumb now brushing against the side of his neck. "You're good at what you do. Everyone knows that, and everyone knows that you're not perfect. You don't need to be perfect. We all have bad days. One song that isn't sounding like you wanted isn't going to be the be all end all of your career."

"But what if it is?" He sounds so small, voice shaking with fear of the hypothetical what if and all you want to do in this moment is gather him up in your arms and never fucking let go.

"It isn't." You press. "This has happened before and guess what happened? Nothing. Nothing was taken from you, and life went on as it did."

Noah just blinks at you. You stare back at him, pressing your lips together as you mull over your next words. You're not sure if what you're telling him is getting through that head of his and you're not sure what to do next. You think he needs to take a break, a much longer one, and needs to get out of his room. Probably the house, too. Away from the problem to clear his head.

"Hey," Your thumb keeps brushing against his neck and something warm spreads across your chest when you feel him melt into the touch. "How about you come over? For the day. We go back to mine and just watch some Naruto. I haven't finished it yet."

His blank expression is soon replaced with something similar to pain and his eyes dart from your face to the corner of his room, where his set up remains. You reach up with your other hand without much thought, cupping the side of his face to turn him back towards you.

"Noah."

"I..."

His eyes dart back and forth between your face and his computer, and you can almost physically see the battle happening in his head. The need for perfection. The need for control. His hands start to shake in his lap again and your thumb brushes against the top of his cheek, trying to pull him back to you.

"Just for a few hours. A couple episodes, that's all. Just to get you out of that head of yours, then we can come back here and you can finish up that song."

A compromise, but it's enough to have that pained look on his face to fall for just a moment, body relaxing under your fingertips.

"Okay." Noah breathes out, eyes fluttering shut momentarily. " A few hours."

You can't stop the smile that spreads across your face, that warmth from minutes ago settling across your chest again.

"Thank you."

He doesn't reply, just blinks at you again and gives you a weak smile, but a smile nonetheless. You're not sure you got through to him, but maybe he was exhausted enough to not care anymore. Whichever one it was you'll take it, as long as it gets him away from that computer and hopefully out of his mind.

He's quiet when gathering his things, lingering by his desk when he saves whatever song it was giving him a hard time before shutting the computer down all together. He doesn't say anything when you leave either, silently following you through the house and to your car. It worries you every time he goes quiet like this, but you know it's the exhaustion from his anxiety finally catching up. And probably the minimal hours of sleep he's gotten in the last few days. Still, you hate it.

The only sign of life from him was when he bopped his head to a random song in a playlist you two created together, adding random things in there from time to time. You can't remember the name, it's one of his songs you think, which is confirmed by him humming quietly in the passenger seat next to you, scrolling through his phone.

Noah still hasn't said a word by the time you reach your apartment, and doesn't bother saying anything when he gets out of your car, shuffling behind you. You try to hide your worry as you unlock your door, chewing on your bottom lip.

"Make yourself at home."

He makes a noise in response, a quiet hum, toeing off his shoes before making a beeline for your couch, sinking immediately into the cushions. You smile at that, watching as he gets comfortable in your space. It wasn't always like this, when the two of you first became friends, but after years of growing closer, your space was almost like his. It was nice to know he trusted you that much.

"Have you eaten?" You call out to him, making your way around your kitchen. He doesn't look up from his phone.

"No."

You glare at him, but he still isn't looking. "Noah."

"Wasn't hungry." He brushes it off before pausing and finally looks up from his phone, exhaustion evident in his features as he stares at you. "I'm kind of hungry now, though."

"Yeah?" That relaxes you a bit. "I got some leftover pizza in the fridge if you want some."

"Sure."

You try to ignore the way he still sounds so... small. Barely there, like he's off in some other world. You busy yourself with fixing a plate for both you and him and make sure to pour him some water in the biggest glass that you own, knowing damn well he hasn't had a sip in hours. You bring the plates in first, setting them on the coffee table in front of your couch before going back to retrieve your drinks. You hand his cup to him, narrowing your gaze.

"Drink."

You don't miss the way he rolls his eyes but takes the glass from you without a fight, taking a slow sip. You feel like you can breathe easier now knowing that he's drunk something, and is going to eat something soon too, and you finally settle onto the couch next to him, pulling your legs up under you.

The two of you sit in silence as you mess around with your remote, trying to figure out which streaming service had Naruto on it. It had been a while since you watched it, and you knew you had to finish it. Noah's been bugging you for months, maybe even years, so now's a good time as any to start it back up.

"I can't believe you still haven't finished." You’re surprised he’s said a full sentence, words muffled around the pizza in his mouth.

"I'm trying." You whine out before taking a bite of your pizza. "There's just so many episodes."

He snorts. "You haven't even gotten to Shippuden yet."

"...You're telling me there's more?"

You look at him, head tilted and eyes wide. Noah takes in your expression and laughs, the real breathy one he does when he thinks something's ridiculous. That warm feeling in your chest returns and suddenly you feel something similar to pride fill you, being the reason behind that laughter. His lips twitch into what you think is supposed to be a smile, shaking his head.

"Dude."

"You didn't tell me there was more!"

"Yes I did! I literally told you that this was part one, and then Shippuden was part two."

"I literally don't remember that at all." You grumble out, rolling your eyes.

"You could've already been on Shippuden if you'd just watch it."

"I forgot, okay?" You cry out, which only makes Noah laugh harder. "Fucking sue me."

"We're finishing this." He says matter of factly, relaxing back against the couch. "The goal is to finish both this and Shippuden by the end of the year." You give him a crazy look, brows furrowing, and he laughs again. "Okay. How about we at least start Shippuden by the end of the year?"

You think about it for a moment before nodding your head, taking another bite of your pizza. "I think I can manage that."

He smiles for real this time, small but it's real, and you smile back.

"Deal."

One episode turns into two, two turns into three, and somehow three turns into you almost finishing the season you'd been on for the last few months. You've finished your pizza by this time and Noah's been resting his head on your shoulder for the last three episodes now. The light from outside is dimming, and you know you should probably take him back home. You've kept him here much longer than he agreed to, but he hadn't said anything, just kept saying to play the next episode. He was finally relaxed and seemed to have finally forgotten about the song, at least for the moment.

And selfishly, maybe a part of you wanted to keep him here, pressed into your side for just a little longer.

The episode finally comes to an end and you go to ask if he wants to watch another episode, but a soft snore interrupts your sentence. You blink down at Noah asleep on your shoulder, face pressed against you and mouth open. You probably should be a little disgusted at the way he is most definitely drooling on you but instead you feel... endeared. He feels safe enough to sleep around you, and that feeling in your chest returns.

You reach for your phone next to you, typing out a text to Jolly that Noah had fallen asleep and you'll bring him back whenever he wakes up.

Thank fuck. He's been on nightmare mode for the last three days. He needs this.

A moment later another message from him comes through.

Thanks, btw. I don't know what he'd do without you, and quite frankly, me either. ❤️

That feeling in your chest blossoms into something you can't quite explain, a smile stretching across your lips. You send back your response before tossing your phone onto the couch and you rest your head against his, pressing your body closer to your best friends.

You're not sure what you'd do without him either.

[watarfallar]

They're gay your honour...

Grian: I feel like the world would be better if I'd never been born. Scar: Aw… that's not true. Scar: It'd be exactly the same. Scar: You're not important.

Scar: I couldn't do this without you, Grian. Grian: Sure you could. Not as stylishly, of course.

Grian to Scar: Turn that frown upside-down! a little while later Grian: What are you doing? Scar, trying to do a handstand: You told me to “turn that frown upside-down” but it’s not working .

Grian: Hey Scar, can I get some icecream? Scar: Only a spoonful! Grian: Proceeds to pull out a comically large spoon.

Scar: Why are you looking at me through a fork? Grian: I'm pretending you're in jail. Scar: Why? Grian: It's spiritually healing.

Scar: Grian, I need some advice. Grian: You need advice from ME? Scar: Yeah, frightening, isn't it?

Grian: Do you care if I take the skin off this Furby? Grian: I want to make him a god. Once he is free of his sinful flesh, he can begin a path towards enlightenment. He will take care of us. Grian: I also want to softhack his circuits. Scar: I literally could not care less but never say anything as frightening as that ever again.

Grian: makes Scar a cup of tea but puts salt in it Scar: sips tea Grian: Scar: finishes tea Grian: Didn't it taste bad? Scar: Yeah, but I didn't want to hurt your feelings so I drank it all. Grian, tearing up: Oh, okay.

Grian: I don’t even have time to tell you how wrong you are. Scar: Okay? Grian: … Grian: … Grian: Actually it’s gonna bug me if I don’t, so—

Scar: Happy Throwback Thursday! Here’s a throwback to when Grian ate an entire tube of lipstick. Grian, whining: But why would it be cherry-flavored if you can’t eat it?!

Grian: Scar, is that my mug you’re drinking out of? Scar: No, it’s mine. Grian: It… looks just like the one I have… Scar: You don’t have one like this anymore.

Scar: How does that even work? Grian, mocking them: hOw dO yOu UsE a cOmPUteR aNd KnOw wHaTS GoiNg oN iT DoEsNt mAke SeNSe?! Scar: Your face doesnt make sense.

Kidnapper: I have your partner. Grian: What? I don't have a partner… Kidnapper: Then who just called me a lowlife bitch and spit in my face? Grian: Oh my god, you have Scar.

Scar: Wait you like me? For my personality? Grian: I know, I was surprised too.

Grian: FUCK THE CHAIR. PARDON ME FOR MAKING MYSELF COMFORTABLE DURING A SINCERE HEART TO HEART DISCUSSION WITH A DEAR FRIEND IN NEED! Grian: BUT THE TIME HAS COME FOR ME TO CEASE STRADDLING THIS DEEPLY OFFENSIVE PIECE OF FURNITURE! AWAY WITH YE, FOUR LEGGED TEMPTRESS! DISTRACT US NO MORE WITH THE MOST BASIC AND UTILITARIAN FORM OF COMFORT YOU SUPPLY! Scar: Grian just threw a tantrum about a chair. Scar: I just won Grian Tantrum Bingo.

Scar: Grian, what if there are monsters? Grian: Don’t worry, we’re top of the food chain. Much later… Scar, lying awake at night: I am the monster.

Grian: "Go hang a salami" backwards is "I'm a lasagna hog". Scar: How did either of those sentences occur naturally for you to discover this?

Scar: I thought I told you to stop reading my emails. Grian: Well, I thought I told you to stop keeping secrets!

Grian: Tommorrow's garbage day. Scar: I can't believe they made a whole day dedicated to you.

Grian: on the phone with Scar I can’t talk right now, I’m doing hot girl shit. Scar: You’re pulling Oreos apart and saving off the frosting to make a mega Oreo, aren’t you. Grian: Maybe.

Grian: You’re so funny! Scar: Thanks; I’m desperate for people to like me.

[soohiefan13]

MOMOKARUN - roomies

ੈ♡˳ a continuation of my "roomies head cannons" post (if u haven't read it yet, you should totally go read it either before or after you read this bc it's fire if i may say so myself.

notes: 2.8k words. warning(s):

ੈ♡˳

music was thumping in their ears. they weren't at a party or anything. they were just in momo's new bedroom. well, not new new. momo had lived there a good three months already. with her (low-key fine) roomie.

the roomie in question was in his bedroom. no music of his own. he was mostly just involuntarily listening the fast bass line of whatever the hell momo and her friends were listening to. honestly, ken was getting a little irritated. this was his one night out of the week that he had to study and relax. every other day, he was practicing with his club or going to work. he liked living with momo, but times like these made him wish he had taken advantage of the roommate matching resources. he just sighed and grabbed his noise cancelling ear buds. if he had to listen to something, it was gonna be something he wanted to listen to.

"I don't know, girl! he's hot stuff!" muko said loudly while looking in the mirror and pulling her hair into different hairstyles. "y'all haven't ever even flirted a little?"

momo threw a pillow at her girlfriend and rolled her eyes. "dude. if you haven't noticed, he's a total nerd."

muko and miko both deadpanned and turned to momo. "girl. if you haven't noticed, that's literally your type." muko stated. then miko piped up.

"also, I don't know who you think you are! did you just forget that you two freaks are studying the same nerdy occult stuff!"

"well, yea! but he's studying aliens and all that UFO bullshit! i'm studying genuine stuff: spirits and the supernatural!" momo said proudly.

her friends deadpanned again. "right... right..."

"whatever. you two are studying- what is it again? dress up games?" she insulted.

miko whipped around. "bitch! I don't wanna hear that noise whenever you step out wearing something made by us two. and you'll look totally hot in it, too."

momo chuckled, applying a big false eyelash to top off her gyaru makeup look. all three of the girls were practicing their skills. since they were finally allowed to wear makeup out and about everyday. muko wore it anyway, but boy, did she stay in detention.

"honestly, momo. you could use more practice." muko blurted out, a plan flowering into her mind.

"um, rude! you couldn't have said that a little nicer?" momo whined, staring at her makeup in a handheld mirror and working hard to decipher what exactly she was doing wrong.

"i'm just sayin', it might help to practice on a fresh face..." muko said, raising her eyebrows at miko. momo just cocked her head to the side, confused.

miko smiled mischievously. "yea... maybe that cute roomie of yours would be up to letting you practice on his mug."

momo rolled her eyes, touching up her eyeliner. "yea right. okarun would never agree to that. he's kinda uptight."

the girls dropped their jaws. "okarun?! what the shit kinda name is that?"

momo blushed. "well, that's not his real name. it's just a nickname I gave to him since I can't stand to hear to stupid name." the girls stared at her, urging her to continue. momo sighed big and loud. "ugh! his real name is... ken takakura."

they busted out laughing, jumping on to the bed next to her. they shook her around and hit each other, trying to recover from what momo just said.

"girl, are you serious! you're living with a ken takakura and you're not asking him out already?!" muko shouted. momo shoved her hands over her mouth, afraid ken okarun would hear. "give him a chance!" she said, muffled.

"seriously, momo. don't sell yourself short. you're a cute girl and ken seems like a sweetie. start off easy. ask to do his makeup tonight."

"tonight?! but I thought you two were sleeping over..." momo pouted.

the girls grabbed their overnight bags and bedazzled phones, which had cute little charms hanging off of them. "not anymore! you've got a mission to accomplish tonight. see ya!"

and with that, the two girls left. momo was sitting on her bed, wanting so badly to scream and chase them down. but she didn't want to disturb okarun. her phone rang, causing her to jump. it was miko.

"what?!" momo grumbled loudly into her phone.

"if you don't call us back tonight with an update on how everything went down, we're totally coming back tomorrow and talking to ken takakura ourselves."

momo groaned out, slamming her phone shut and then throwing it down on her bed. it couldn't hurt to ask. the worst that could happen was that okarun would say no, then momo could go to bed. but what if he said yes? she would have to sit super close to him and touch his face a ton and stare at his super cute face. ugh! she really didn't want to do this, but at the same time... sitting close to him and touching him and staring at his super cute face didn't sound horrible. who was she kidding? it sounded perfect. momo sighed. she slowly got up and trudged into her bathroom. she spent a good ten minutes removing her makeup, washing her face, and applying some skincare products. she spent the silent time thinking about how to go about this in the least awkward way. asking wasn't super awkward, but actually doing the makeup would be. she couldn't handle his big doe eyes staring at her the whole time.

that's it! she would ask to practice eye makeup on okarun! that way, his eyes would have to be shut the majority of the time.

"alright..." momo sighed, her makeup bag in tote. "let's get this over with."

she stepped quietly through their common area and tiptoed down his hallway. she kinda hoped he was sleeping.

softly, momo knocked a few times on his door. no answer. confused, she pressed her ear against his door, and knocked again. still no answer. his lights were on so he couldn't be sleeping. was he just ignoring her on purpose? without thinking, she just pushed his bedroom door open.

there he was. laying on his bed. shirtless. of course he was shirtless. stupid muko. stupid miko. momo stared at him. he had his arm covering his eyes, a hand resting on his toned abdomen. he also had... ear buds in. seriously? momo groaned and shuffled toward him. she smacked him on the arm.

okarun jumped up. he pulled his ear bud out and sat up straight. putting his glasses back on, he looked up at momo. "hey miss ayase. did you need my help with something?"

she stood in front of him, head turned to the side and refusing to look at him. "um, no. well, yes, actually. would you be willing to let me practice some eye makeup on you? I know it's not super manly or whatever, but miko says i'll get better at it if I practice on a fresh face. it's stupid but you're the only person I could ask. those two bitches conveniently left right after making the suggesting it."

okarun took out the second ear bud and stood up, standing a little close to momo. she stiffened. "yea, sure. if it's important to you, i'd be happy to help."

"cool." momo mumbled. they stood their for a second in awkward silence. "um, could you put a shirt on real quick. i'll be waiting on the couch..."

okarun blushed and chuckled nervously. "yea... uh, sorry. i'll be a out in a jiffy."

miss ayase spun around on her heels after ken shut the door. once he was alone, he pinched the bridge of his nose, embarrassed. jiffy. what does that even mean? and why would he stand so close to this girl shirtless? he could've made her uncomfortable. that was the last thing ken wanted. they got along really well, other than the occasional argument over running shoes or stolen food. they spent a lot of time together, studying or sharing meals. sometimes it felt like the two of them were already couple in ken's mind. they did just about everything couples did, safe for the romantic stuff. of course, ken thought about the romantic stuff, more often than he'd admit. she was pretty and, despite being the most stubborn person on the planet, she was a good person to be around. she was extremely supportive and always made sure ken was taking care of himself. she would make him hearty dinners the day before he had a track meet and would stay up extra late to study with him if he was feeling academically insecure about a certain subject. and she was pretty. ken didn't realize it, but his gaze on her lingered. he adored her messy hair, the way it flicked up and the way her bangs shaped her face when she pulled her hair up. he also liked the way she dressed. very comfy and casual, but she just made it look good. she had a nice body, too. a little curvy, with long legs and a little more muscle than you'd expect. ken felt like she would fit in his hands just right-

god, ken! don't be a pervert!

he shook his head, as if he could fling the flush of pink off his cheeks. ken isn't sure if he can handle sitting so close to miss ayase. he was already getting worked up just thinking about her-

"okarun?" momo called, a little worried he fell asleep.

ken slapped himself on the face and sighed. be normal.

"sorry, I just needed to rinse my face off." he lied.

okarun plopped down next to momo. he turned the TV on and flicked through the channels until he got to their most watched channel- sci-fi. an alien invasion movie played quietly as okarun sat and waited for momo to get her makeup sorted. he watched her hands intently as she thumbed through different eye liners and brushes.

he wanted them to hold his face already.

"you ready?" momo asked.

"yes." okarun answered. he was a little quick with his response.

"alright." momo uncapped a black felt-tip eyeliner pen, giving it a small shake. her eyes flickered up to his, a small feeling of nervousness bubbling up inside of her. "try not to move too much. this would totally suck to get in your eyes."

finally, her non dominant hand cupped okarun's cheek, holding him still and positioning his head properly. she began applying it underneath his eyes. they were quiet as she mapped out a shape. then, she applied a thick line to his upper lash line. she took a moment to regain her composure since his eyes were finally closed for this part. his face was totally soft in her hands and the pout she was squeezing onto his lips was absolutely adorable. momo zoned out, staring at his cute features for about ten seconds. okarun, curious, opened his doe eyes, causing momo to snap out of it.

she snatched her hand away from his face, digging through her makeup bag to avoid eye contact.

"I didn't know you were so into makeup..." okarun said, trying to ease the awkwardness.

"uh... yea. I wanted to wear it throughout highschool, but I didn't want to go through all of the hassle of getting in trouble every other day. that was more muko's speed..." momo said, pulling out a white concealer. "look up for me."

okarun did as told as she applied the white concealer right under his eye. she fanned it with her hands so it would dry faster. he grabbed a mirror, curious to see what she was doing to him.

"this looks cool!" he encouraged. "is working on a 'fresh face' helping you?"

momo smiled at him. "yea... you're a good canvas."

they stared at each other for a moment before momo broke eye contact to grab some eye shadow. "wanna pick out your color?"

"sure. uh... how about blue?"

momo dipped into a pan of pastel blue eye shadow. he closed his eyes, and she dragged the pigment across his lids until she was satisfied. then she added some fake lashes to his top and bottom lashes and topped everything off with a little glitter. she popped the cap back on the glitter eye shadow and plopped a hand held mirror into okarun soft hands.

"what do you think?"

he looked at his reflection. "as far as I know, this looks pretty good. I don't know much about makeup but it looks nice to me. all though, when you replicate this on yourself, you should do pink instead." he paused, contemplating on whether not he should keep talking. "the pink would look good on you... just about anything looks good on you."

momo's eye widened, the eye shadow falling out of her hand and hitting the ground. okarun quickly picked it up for her.

"are you okay?"

"you think i look good?" momo asked.

okarun scratched the back of his neck, his face turning pink. "yea... i've always thought you were pretty, miss ayase."

her heart skipped a beat.

"thanks." she mumbled nervously, trying to think of something to say. "you're pretty, too."

okarun's eye widened this time, then he couldn't help but let out a laugh. momo shoved her face in her hands.

"no! I didn't mean pretty. I just meant, like-"

"any good looks of mine are thanks to you. you did me up nice." okarun smiled at her. momo blushed.

"not all of them." she admitted. "you have cute hair."

she brought her slender hand up to his head and let one of his curls wrap around her finger. okarun leaned into her touch unconsciously. she ran her fingers through his messy hair until she got to the undercut at the nape of his neck.

"i especially like this, here." her nails grazed the short hair, causing okarun to screw his eyes shut and shutter. he could sit and let her play with his hair all night. he kept his eyes closed and leaned more into her touch, his lips falling against her wrist. unconsciously, he wrapped his fingers around her arm, pulling her palm to his lips and planting a soft kiss there.

the two nerds froze. momo snatched her arm away and okarun scooted away from her entirely.

"i'm so sorry, miss ayase! I don't know why I did that." he shoved his face into his palms, muffling his speech. "I'm an awkward guy-"

"that's okay!" momo said a little louder than intended, trying to cut him off before she lost her mind. "here! there are some makeup removing wipes. i'm gonna head to bed. I'll see you in the morning. oh, um. don't forget to rinse after using these. ok. goodnight."

and with that, momo snatched up her makeup bag and scrambled into her bedroom. she tossed her bag to the side and plopped facedown onto her bed. after a moment, she dialed tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum. she couldn't have those too screwing up this awkward situation any worse.

meanwhile, ken stood in his bathroom, scrubbing his eyes of the makeup. why did he do that? what was he thinking? momo could've slapped him across the face, or worse; laughed in his face! he probably made her so uncomfortable. why did he have to screw up their perfectly normal living situation.

he made sure to rinse his face off, then crept into bed. he laid on his back, staring at the ceiling as if momo's reciprocated feelings lie hidden in it. okarun liked momo. he wanted to be with her- more than roommates. he wanted them to kiss, and cuddle, and go on dates. he wanted to pay for her meals and surprise her with cool hidden talents. he wanted to see her dressed up, her hair in that ponytail he liked so much. he wanted to sleep next to her; to hold her close to him, easing her restlessness and soaking in her warmth. he wanted to wake up next to her, plant a kiss on her warm cheek and then head into the kitchen and put on her morning coffee.

but did she want any of that with him?

momo tossed her phone to the floor, still processing the events. she stared at her palm, burning a hold into the spot where okarun's lips were only a little while ago. it tingled. she wanted more. momo wanted more of okarun. she wished he would've kissed her on the lips and that they spent the night on the couch together, a stupid sci-fi movie quietly in the background. she wanted play with his hair and see the way he melted into her touch again. she wanted to go on adventures with him, make memories and share experiences with just them. she wanted to make him meals everyday and attend his track meets, so she could be the loudest one in the audience, cheering him on.

but did he want any of that with her?

duh! these two morons. as book smart as they are, you would think they'd be decent at catching a damn clue. maybe they'd figure it out in the morning.

ੈ♡˳

[winwintea]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: thank you for @sungbeam for the tag, yours was so prettily laid out and i was in shock. ALSO THE TAG WAS SO SWEET EVEN THOUGH WE ONLY BECAME MOOTS AT THE END OF THE YEAR. even though i really only started writing fics towards the end of the year i did write more than i thought could so it’s fun to go over yknow…

no pressure tags: @chenlesfavorite @ddolbyong @fatalhoon @galacticseonghwa @hazyhae @jirsungs @lyvhie @odxrilove @polarisjisung @peterm4rker @sehunniepot @strrykais @thatsatricky1 @viasdreams @vanesycho @wonbin-truther @yizhrt

FIRST FIC OF 2024: yours for the night ◎ park jongseong (april 20th)

chat… don’t talk to me about this one ok. DONT READ IT 😐 i can see you wanting to read it DONT ISTG. but genuinely i re-read it and cringe cause wdym i thought this was good and posted it. it was kinda rushed though, cause i think i was trying to time it with jay’s birthday. kinda funny that i’m a mainly nct account and my first fic ever posted was an enha one

LAST FIC OF 2024: mutual affection ◎ park jisung (december 25th)

start the year with fluff end the year with fluff! 🤗 this one changed drastically from it’s original concept though. it was supposed to actually be professor x reader where y/n comes in during class to deliver lunch while his students tease him but then they go on a date, except @polarisjisung liked the idea of them passing notes to each other during class 😚

LONGEST FIC: wicked love ◎ na jaemin

y’all ate this one up i’m so glad it didn’t scare you guys away. the reaction was so positive and lovely, i was a bit afraid since i’ve never written a yandere type character before. plus 5k is definitely long for me, i’m hoping to write something longer next year so wait for me okay??

MOST POPULAR FIC: inyun ◎ mark lee

lowkey didn’t expect this to do well but somehow mark lee + past lives combo works well. also did not cave into the angst ending!!!! so i don’t have much to say on this one love u all mwah mwah

PERSONAL FAV: my apology letter ◎ zhong chenle

obviously i would have to choose between winwin or chenle for this one (no shit) but genuinely as much as i hate this man so much this fic just. i don’t think i could write anything like it again? maybe? don’t trust me on that i’m unpredictable. but the idea was just insane and i can’t believe i pulled it off well in writing.

i hate zhong chenle. i hate that man why is he so writeable. WHY (i got lazy with the banners don’t kill me)

NO. 1: Zhong Chenle (12,300+)

find him in: heart to heart, secure that once upon a time, stop posting about BALLER, my apology letter

NO. 2: Na Jaemin: (9,100+)

find him in: that’s okay, wicked love

NO. 3: Huang Renjun (can’t count cause smau lol)

find him in: the last dance, and belladonna!

if y’all couldn’t tell i didn’t start seriously writing fics until the later half of the year, and i also am a new writer 🤭🤭 i started writing around march/april of this year starting off with smaus. i was also lazy with my banner making abilities so i hated that but anyways we learn!

i plan to write more obviously, it was just so fun!!!! to pump out fics in the span of 2 months but i lowkey can’t keep neglecting my smaus i feel bad 💀 but on terms of what i have on my brainstorming/working on list rn!

- an angel reader x demon haechan fic (won’t give much details bc i don’t want to spoil but hehe 😛😛)

- super super lore heavy fic involving some modern retelling of alice in wonderland theming going on but make it romeo and juliet, and detective themed with some mystery. (😐😐 this one might be so long idk if i even have the ability to write it but i will try!)

- delinquent jaem smau (i’ve talked about this before but yall cannot let me start another smau i gotta finish underneath the tree and mark lee vs the world first okay)

- upstairs neighbor haechan smau except he literally crashes through the ceiling into your room and that’s all the plot details i can tell you rn

- secure that card (but better)

- a jisung smau that will tie in every single smau i’ve ever written together (guys the winwintea universe is real)

[10byten]

So here's part 2 of this publication ! The dinner with the rest of 127 and how you manage to charm them all over the course of one evening. I hope you’ll enjoy it. 💘

As soon as Jaehyun steps into the apartment, he’s hit by the most delicious smell teasing his senses. In the living room, a table filled with Italian dishes catches his eye. You’re standing in the kitchen, carefully spreading lemon glaze over a cake. He can’t resist. He slips an arm around your waist and pulls you close, hugging you from behind. You tilt your head slightly, giving him access to your neck, and he starts placing soft kisses along your skin.

“You’re incredible. What is all this?” “I wanted to do something nice for you… and make sure your friends eat well tonight.” He chuckles, looking at the food. “I’m worried they’ll start coming over too often after this.” You laugh, “Would that be such a bad thing?” In one swift move, he spins you around to face him, a playful glint in his eye. “Hmm, yeah, actually. That would be a problem. I wouldn’t get enough alone time with you.” He leans in, kissing you deeply, savoring your lips as if it’s been years instead of just a day apart. His hands wander lower.

“Mm-mm,” you murmur against his lips, breaking the moment, “your friends are literally going to be here in one minute.” “I’m starting to regret inviting them. Who even needs friends, anyway?” “That’s a great question. We could just pretend no one’s home. Let them get bored of ringing the bell.” Jaehyun groans dramatically, pressing his forehead against yours. “This is exactly why you’re dangerous. You’re always so perfect.”

Before he can pull you in for another kiss, the doorbell rings. You laugh softly, escaping his arms, leaving him pouting like a kid. He trails behind you as you open the door, his gaze still glued to you, stars in his eyes.

The night kicks off better than anyone could’ve imagined.

The boys are all immediately charmed. They compliment your cooking nonstop, their plates barely staying full for longer than a minute.

“I have to admit, I had my doubts when we got to the door earlier,” Haechan jokes. “For a second, I thought we’d open it to find Jaehyun standing there alone, and it’d finally be time to stage an intervention.” You raise an eyebrow, amused. “An intervention? For what?” “Well, we’ve heard a lot about you… like, a lot, and Jaehyun was so secretive about everything, we kinda started wondering if you were even real.”

“Oh, I see,” you tease. “Or maybe you’re all just crazy and have been talking to an empty chair this whole time.” The room erupts into laughter. Johnny raises his glass. “Damn, dude. Now I get it. She’s a keeper.”

Jaehyun grins, looking completely smitten. “You can bet I’m not letting her go.”

Yuta’s eyes light up when he realizes you know a bit of Japanese. You both slip into a quick conversation, leaving the rest of the group completely mesmerized.

“Uh, are we allowed to know what you two are saying?” Mark finally asks, looking between you and Yuta like he’s missing out on the most exclusive secret.

“Nothing all that exciting,” Taeyong replies for you, his tone a mix of intimidation and admiration as he glances at Jaehyun. “But, honestly? It’s impressive. Respect.”

Johnny leans back with a smirk, looking directly at you. “So let me get this straight—you cook, you’re funny, interesting, multilingual, and, no offense Jaehyun, you’re absolutely stunning. Are we sure he’s the one? I mean, if you ever start doubting or if things don’t work out, call me, yeah?”

You laugh, playing along. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the offer.”

Jaehyun shakes his head with a small laugh, his eyes softening as he leans down to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Not even a chance I’d let that happen,” he murmurs, his voice firm but full of affection.

When you stand to grab dessert, the guys erupt into dramatic gestures of approval toward Jaehyun—thumbs up, silent cheers, all of it. You giggle, shaking your head as Taeyong gets up to help you clear the plates, following you to the kitchen.

“That’s really sweet, but you didn’t have to,” you say as he starts collecting dishes. “It’s the least I can do. I know what it’s like handling a big table like that.”

You laugh, teasing him. “Yeah, I guess you’re kind of the dad of a huge family.” He nods, chuckling. “But I can’t cook half as well as you. Honestly, I think you’ve stolen everyone’s hearts—and their stomachs—tonight.”

“Hmm, not sure I’ve won Jungwoo over yet, though.” Taeyong laughs softly. “Well, before you, it was him sharing a room with Jaehyun. Just a little case of jealousy—it’ll pass, don’t worry.”

In the living room, the guys can’t stop talking about you.“Where’d you even find her?” Mark asks, clearly amazed. “And do they have more in stock?” Johnny leans back, grinning. “Honestly, I get why you hid her from us for so long. If it were me, I’d move her to some remote cabin in the woods and never let anyone else see her.” Doyoung, never missing an opportunity to tease, smirks. “Dude, I hope you know she’s way too good for you.” Jaehyun just rolls his eyes, grinning smugly. “I knew she’d blow you guys away.”

Haechan squints dramatically. “Unless she’s secretly, like, an assassin or something. You know, using you as a cover story.” Jaehyun smirks. “She can use me for whatever she wants.” “Yup, there it is. You’re done for. Completely whipped and hopelessly in love,” Yuta laughs, shaking his head.

Jaehyun blushes slightly, his confidence slipping for just a moment. It’s obvious to everyone in the room just how head over heels he is for you.

You and Taeyong return to the table, carrying the cake and a stack of plates. The moment Jungwoo takes his first bite, his eyes widen, and he practically lights up.

“This is amazing! You have to tell me the recipe,” he gushes, showering you with compliments.

You smile, feeling a wave of pride. “I’d be happy to make another one just for you, Jungwoo.”

And with that, you’ve officially won over the last holdout at the table. Taeyong gives you a knowing wink, as if to say, Told you so. You grin back, proud of yourself.

Jaehyun, watching the whole thing, can’t help but marvel at you. Seeing you charm his friends so effortlessly makes his heart swell. Somehow, he feels like he’s falling even deeper in love with you—if that’s even possible.

As everyone moves to the living room to settle down with some tea, Jaehyun puts on a vinyl, letting soft music fill the air while the conversation flows. The guys start shuffling around, competing to make space for you to sit next to them, but Jaehyun steps in, cutting through their suggestions.

“You’ll be just fine right here.” His tone leaves no room for debate as he grabs your hand, guiding you gently. His other arm wraps around your waist, pulling you onto his lap.

You settle in willingly, your arms sliding around his shoulders as his arm tightens protectively around your waist. His hand rests firmly on your hip, just above your thighs, his touch possessive but comforting.

You’re too wrapped up in the conversation with the guys to notice, but Jaehyun doesn’t take his eyes off you for a second. Watching you laugh, hearing your voice, and feeling you this close—it’s driving him crazy.

The self-control he’s been clinging to all night in front of his friends is wearing thin. His thoughts drift to everything he’s been wanting to do since he got home. He leans into your neck, burying his face in your hair as he breathes in your familiar scent, the one that he’s absolutely addicted to. A wave of desire hits him, and you feel his hand tighten on your hip as the muscles in his thighs tense beneath you.

You know what that means—your man wants you, and he’s done hiding it.

Yuta, who knows Jaehyun better than anyone, doesn’t miss a thing. He notices the shift in Jaehyun’s mood, how his mind has clearly left the room and wandered to other plans for the evening. With a knowing smirk, Yuta takes charge.

“I think it’s time we head out,” he says, signaling the end of the night.

Johnny takes your hand and kisses it lightly. “Dear Y/n, I speak for all of us when I say—please, don’t break our Jae. We’ve never seen him like this with anyone.”

You smile at the heartfelt declaration, warmth spreading through you. Looking over at your boyfriend, you catch him walking toward you with that familiar look in his eyes. He wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing against you like a puppy craving attention.

All he’s waiting for is for the door to close so he can sweep you off to his room and make sure every bit of your focus is on him—and him only.

“I promise, I’ll do my best,” you tease, giving him a playful smile.

The guys thank you once more before heading out, leaving the two of you alone.

-

On the way back, the guys chat excitedly about you, sharing their individual impressions. They all gush about what they loved—how effortlessly you fit in with Jaehyun and how glad they feel that their friend found someone like you. There’s one, however, who stays quiet.

“Taeyong, what did you think of her?” Yuta asks, a playful curiosity in his voice.

“I agree with you guys,” Taeyong replies, his tone soft. “She’s... unique.” Guys keep talking on.

But Doyoung, ever observant, notices Taeyong’s distant expression—his eyes unfocused, as though lost in thought. He starts to wonder if maybe one of them has been a little more taken by you than the others.

For the rest of the night, and even the days that follow, Taeyong can’t get you out of his mind. He finds himself replaying your interactions. And in his head, the same words keep echoing: It’s just a crush. It’ll pass…

-

As soon as the door shuts, Jaehyun’s lips are on yours like he’s been starving for days. Between each kiss, he whispers, “Thank you, my love, for tonight.” When his lips trail down to your neck, you take the chance to reply.

“It was my pleasure. I really loved meeting the guys. I’m so happy you introduced me to them.” “Hmm, yeah, but now I’m worried they’ll want to see you way too often.” You laugh softly. “What, afraid you’ll have to share?”

That’s when he pulls back slightly, just enough to look you in the eye, his expression darkening in the most delicious way. He presses you gently against the wall, his voice dropping. “I don’t share. Not when it comes to you. You’re mine. Completely.”

Your knees practically give out at the serious tone in his voice. Everything about him in this moment—his gaze, his touch, his entire presence—screams love and desire.

“I’m afraid you’ve made me selfish,” he murmurs, brushing his lips along your jawline. “And maybe a little too possessive.” You shiver at his words, at the heat they stir in you. “I’m sorry for that.” “Don’t be.” His voice is low and rough now. “But you’re gonna have to deal with it.”

“I think I can manage,” you whisper back, breathless. “Good,” he growls softly, lifting you effortlessly into his arms.

In no time, he’s carrying you to the bedroom, intent on showing you exactly how grateful he is for tonight—and how much he adores every little thing about you.

-

[guiltyasdave]

things that i wrote

i saw @secretelephanttattoo & @jolapeno do this and really loved the concept, so here’s my review of 2024!

of course, the man occupying the main part of my brain has been DAVE YORK (we are all very surprised), as i finished not one but two series about him this year— the dress series and wildest dreams, which i wrote with my love @joelscurls and i’m still so incredibly proud of this project!

there have also been countless oneshots, which can all be found here, but my two faves are when we go crashing down and the road not taken.

another man living rent free in my head was JOEL MILLER, who i didn’t write that much for but i’m so so proud of the things that i did write. i still think about no one can hurt you now very often and of course there’s safe and sound waiting to be continued. the love i’ve received for that series in particular has been one of my favorite things of the year.

then of course we have JAVIER PEÑA and one of the best writing experiences i’ve ever had: nights are so starry, blood moonlit literally flew from my fingertips and lowkey i’ve been chasing that high ever since 😭

…and, really surprising to me personally, i became obsessed with OBERYN MARTELL this year. it started with delicate, which is another piece of writing that i’m so so proud of, then came gold rush because who knew how badly i needed a threesome with oberyn and dave in my life, and finally i wrote peace, which was so far out of my comfort zone and now i’m so happy that i did it.

and theeeeen i branched out because LOGAN HOWLETT demanded a seat at the table, and my forever love, the logan x kitten universe was born <3

looking back, i wrote way more than i thought this year, and i’m actually pretty proud of all of it :)

i have already talked at length about the things that i read and loved the most this year, which you can find here! the pedro fandom is an incredibly talented bunch of people and i’m so grateful for all the amazing writers who share their stories on here <3

another thing that i loved in 2024 was my 1500 kisses challenge and all the beautiful creations that came out of it. thank you for celebrating that one with me!

a few other highlights from my year:

as most people know (i think) i had to stop working last winter due to severe burnout and depression and it took me a while to get my life back together, but i got medication, i got therapy, and two months ago i was able to get back to work and am in a really good place right now, which i’m eternally grateful for, because honestly, this time last year i wasn’t sure if i’d make it another 365 days.

i got to meet @sizzlingcloudmentality this summer and not to be dramatic, but life hasn’t been the same since. i didn’t know i was looking for you but i’m so glad that i found you <3

all the amazing friends i’ve made this year. if we’ve ever dm’ed, or just interacted on here, i’m talking about you! this community has been my safe space (despite the occasional horrors lol) and i love it here.

i’m gonna stop before this becomes more sentimental than it already is, but i’ll tag a few people who might want to share as well: @sizzlingcloudmentality @catchallfangirl @beardedjoel @burntheedges @murder-wife @iamasaddie @almostfoxglove @sceletaflores @schnarfer @moonlight-prose @eupheme

[jolapeno]

things that i wrote

tagged by @secretelephanttattoo, here's my review of 2024.

[please note my tootathon can be found here with everyone's lovely additions]

FRANCISCO MORALES remains the top written guy over here at home pepper.

we had not one, but two series throughout 2024: do me yourself [thank you every day to @secretelephanttattoo for this one.] with me creating the ig pieces to complement it here. AND, the new brainrot with no strings attached - with season one now complete and a sequel planned for 2025.

i also wrote a ton of oneshots for him, some found here, but notable faves include fifteen hundred and one (for @guiltyasdave challenge), 24 hours and festive encouragement.

it wouldn't be me if JAVIER PEÑA didn't get some love. we have an undercover/fake marriage wip called let us pretend (which WILL finish in 2025, i promise). but we also had oneshots like: epistolary sex diary 'the man who returned home', there's nothing blue about you (a personal fave because of how beautiful the moodboard from @studioghibelli was), in my room and my wonderful vamp!javi three-part in bite me nicely plus lots of others.

for JOEL MILLER i experimented more with no-outbreak, meaning we had the lovely him.he.joel, don't move honey and bar!miller in give me a sign. my little five-part series honey stained hands also finished and while this was purely an indulgent thing, i loved every second of it when i rambled to lots of you.

i also began writing NEW people this year with DIN DJARIN planet hopping in this collection and LUCIEN DE LEON with his girl who just won't admit she likes him in meets in sequence, a third part is also planned for 2025.

outside of all of this, i finally TAUGHT myself to properly GIF and i began making more moodboards, whether for myself here or for others. you can find all my creations here.

but, on top of all of this, here's some fave 2024 moments:

i had the chance to wrap my arms around @thetriumphantpanda and @luxurychristmaspudding

@goodwithcheese talked me off many ledges (literally, her voice is so nice you lot), had virtual coffee dates with me and also spoilt me rotten. she also cares so little when i send her podcast-length things.

@secretelephanttattoo plotted a DIY guy that ended up taking over our lives for six months?!

i pushed myself with writing more of WHAT i wanted to write

@fuckyeahdindjarin's beautiful creations from pencils to post-its to a journal sit pretty on my desk

i survived the summer 2024, and i am still waiting for my t-shirt

i partook in so many fun fandom challenge, ones of them being pedroscouts and summercamp by @goodwithcheese, and because of that experience i got to know so many people and become good friends with @jennaispunk

i read SO much wonderful things, and all of that is here organised as beautiful as possible

for work, i studied and passed an exam, wrote an assignment and have one more to complete in 2025

my mental health hit a new level of rock bottom, but we were brave and got help and now i AM THRIVING

i fell out of love, back in, then out and back in love with my writing a lot, but continued on because i do actually really love writing

i began writing an original, got to 40k, realised my heart wanted it to be something else (hehehe) and began writing a NEW original that is so hauntingly beautiful and is about a woman handling grief

i laughed a total of three million times with friends, i smiled when i never thought i could and i felt so impossibly full of love from you all here

i kissed my corgi a billion times (which still doesn't feel enough)

i sang in my office, i danced alone, took a thousand walks to plot ideas and i spent several, many nights hunched over my laptop doing what i love: writing.

2025, let's be havin' ya

if you've been tagged, feel free to do your own. and I'm tagging some more people:

@milla-frenchy @pedgito @mothandpidgeon @yopossum @whocaresstillthelouvre

[flowerwiththemachinegun]

Alright alright, this might be about someone I know, who knows? So I know I should be writing other things than typing out what kind of ex Sephiroth would be, but here I am. With nobody to stop me. Not that they could.

This was supposed to be longer than this, but somewhere along the lines I began accidentally writing a Yandere!Sephiroth and I didn't want that...not right now at least.

He probably won't talk to you for a couple of weeks following the break up. If he can even stay away that long(I give him a week at most). The “I can’t sleep without you ex.” and he means it to the core. Knocking at your door in the middle of the night, his eyes unable to focus on you. Sephiroth’s eyes locking onto the floor as he expresses the lack of sleep since you’ve separated, he needs you nearby to feel the slightest bit of comfort. There’s no way you can say no when Sephiroth asks to stay the night with you. Of course this starts a routine and it’s like the two of you never broke up. On the rarest occasion he’ll try sleeping at his own place. Not that he’s successful at all, instead Sephiroth calls only to fall asleep on the phone with you. 

Spends his off days with you. It’s what he would typically do. Why stop just because of some pesky title? He’s yours still, forever in dire need of your presence. Did you expect him to find something to replace all of that time spent with you? You’re the crazy one if you thought that. Seeing how you’ve been the center of his universe, constantly making sure your needs were put above his own, it’s impossible for Seph to shift focus. 

Gifts? He’s always been a giver. Partially due to Genesis teaching Sephiroth how they’re a great display of affection without being verbal. Considering Sephiroth is not great at vocalizing emotions at all, it’s the easiest route to take to express himself. Still sends you the weekly bouquet of flowers with a cute note attached and his beautiful signature attached to it. Usually a few words of appreciation along with an “I love you.” He’s going to keep soiling you, taking you out on dates, there isn’t anything Sephiroth changes after breaking up. He’d much rather keep the pretence that you’re his baby. With what’s already been stated, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Sephiroth was at your door, dressed for your usual date night. Of course he has questions upon realizing you’re not ready to go. It’s just so cute, Sephiroth would seem hurt by it in my opinion. All you can do is shake your head, telling him “You really don’t get how this works do you?” Inviting him in while you get dolled up. Of course you’re going out with him, don’t be silly.

Mr. “Why didn’t you tell me you wouldn’t be home?” Like, I beg your finest pardon? Didn’t know this was a requirement, especially when you’re single, but Sephiroth expects you to still keep him filled in in regards to your life and whereabouts, down to your dental appointments. It’s not in a toxic manner per say, he just needs to know where you are and that you’re safe. If he’s your usual form of transportation around Midgar, he expects this to stay the same. Will get very pouty because you caught a ride to work or wherever else you need to go. Please don’t do that again, he’ll pout for another two days over it. 

How’s this man just gonna move on so easily? He’s not. He is fucking not. You literally taught him how to kiss, you thought that was going to smooth over well? So sleeping with new people won’t be an option nor is it something he’d be comfortable doing. But you, his oh so beloved significant other(purposefully without the ex part in mind) will still absolutely be railing this man. There’s not a chance in the world he’ll create a bond with someone to the point of singing songs together or randomly shouting military cadences. 

I know what we usually say about SOLDIERS not getting drunk. This one will make sure to drink himself into thinking calling you during a night out with Angeal and Genesis despite their protest telling him to give you some space. Imagine the distaste on the other SOLDIER's face as Sephiroth rolls his eyes, whines at you, and insults them in the process “I miss you, these guys are lame.” 

Any new friendships are met with a side eye and questioning on who your new companion is. Would be insecure about it til he’s green in the face. That being said, fully expect him to be even more clingy. If that’s even possible. You’ll be spending quite a bit of time reassuring him that nobody can come remotely close to replacing him. Getting any texts? Calls? Shall be met with “Who is that?” Probably won’t go through your phone, but will get increasingly paranoid if he senses any sort of deceit in your answer. Don’t even give a pause in between answering his questions, Sephiroth is instantly going to overthink and watch you like a hawk. 

Will I do more with this? Maybe, not anytime soon though.

[katerinaaqu]

Hello :) firstly I wanted to say that I love your analyses and I love all the information and knowledge you’re able to give us, thank you soo much for that.

Secondly since you know so much especially about the odyssey and Odysseus and I’ve recently seen a post where you explained the calypso situation I wanted to ask if you’ve made such an in-depth analysis on the Circe situation? I’m convinced the whole thing wasn’t consensual but there are always ppl saying stuff like “what Hermes said isn’t important” “Circe was at his mercy when she asked him to do the deed with him so he tricked her into doing it” “Odysseus was invulnerable to her powers so that means he wasn’t in danger meaning he willingly slept with her” and since I haven’t read the odyssey in a while I wanted to ask you .

Tysm for your time and I hope you have a wonderful day

Hello and you are very sweet! I really feel happy you do enjoy them and I am also grateful to receive comments and thoughts from you under my work 🙏 it always means so much when people get interested in the ancient texts much more when they honor me with their trust on tye matter.

I believe you are referring to my latest answer then where I re-analyzed the Calypso matter.

OF COURSE I can! I would be happy and delighted to especially since their relationship is so complicated and fascinating to begin with. The way in which it evolves in a very interesting degree and the way both characters share common traits is also fascinating. Circe is called also wily or with tricks which also seems to correspond to the essence of Odysseus himself. A power couple no doubt. But indeed so misunderstood by the media and their interpretations.

So here goes sorry if this is long:

I find it so interesting how far selective interpretation goes 🤔 😆 I find it interesting that indeed there are people out there that read the passage where Hermes SPECIFICALLY mentions how Odysseus has no choice and say that "oh it doesn't matter really!" Hahaha so to be more precise the passage goes as such;

Then you shall not refuse the goddess's bed if you want her to release your comrades, and she shall offer entertainment to you

(Translation by me)

The passage is clear. Hermes tells Odysseus he has no choice but to accept the bed of Circe's if he wants to save his men and see them again in human form. I find it quite interesting that people ignore that or they claim it is unimportant to the plot. This is literally the reason why Odysseus is there. What is more I find the notion of the moly immunity funny because Circe was not a force to be reckoned with only with her magic. In fact Homer also writes afterwards;

However make her swear a sacred and great oath that she will have nothing else bad in store for you so that she won't hurt or unman you when she has you stripped naked.

(Translation by me)

Hermes clearly states that Circe does not need to turn him into an animal to be dangerous. In fact as someone else said before me, it almost seems like Circe might as well kill or castrate him while she has him naked and vulnerable. Hermes clearly states that Odysseus is not safe even if he is immune to her power at that specific moment. It also shows that Circe could harm him at every moment and the only reasons she didn't were this promise that he extracted from her and perhaps her own feelings for him (curiosity or other). Throughout the passage Odysseus was speaking on the fear he was feeling even from moment number one;

And she opened the fine doors calling me in and I followed her with a heavy and grieving heart

(Translation by me)

Odysseus was literally frightened. All the time. As he said he had a grieving heart (ἀκαχήμενος ἦτορ) and he continued to be distrustful of her and afraid even if he had extracted that oath from her.

However my heart could not be pleased for I was distracted as my mind was always thinking on dark thoughts

(Translation by me)

I adore how Homer uses the word ἀλλοφρονέων (=to think differently, to be distracted) but the word αλλόφρων also used in modern Greek to speak on someone who is mad or crazy and is also used as a phrase to indicate someone who is not just worried but someone crazy in fear. Odysseus has extracted the promise, he has accepted the attentive care of Circe and her handmaidens in the bath and he is now sat before a real feast and he is crazy in fear and doubt. His continuous sense of anxiety is obvious in the passage. So to say that Odysseus was just fine and that the whole adventure with Circe was a breeze and that he was safe against her just because he had eaten the Moly at that time seems to me funny since every part of the passage shows how he was afraid. What was more, there is no guarantee that the Moly would protect him forever from Circe's magic not to mention that as we said before, even without her magic Circe had plenty of aces up her sleeve starting from her animal entourage till a potent knife at the time that she had Odysseus under her mercy (thus the need for a promise on her part).

Also even if we say that Moly would keep him immune forever, what about his men? His men had not consumed Moly and it was obvious that the only reason that Odysseus was there was to rescue his men. What guarantee did he have that Circe wouldn't enchant his men again if he misbehaved? Quite frankly as I said above, Circe's likeness for his boldness or potentially his mind plus the oath he extracted from her seems to be the only thing that prevents Circe from using his men as hostages once more. Quite frankly the whole adventure with Circe was a very big hostage business. Odysseus was thinking on his men's safety (not to mention the rest of them waiting by the ship) apart from his own and as you see he was already very much afraid as it was.

I also find it interesting that the reason why Circe seems to be getting Odysseus immediately to her bed is that she knew he would come. Just like Polyphemus knew by a prophet that Odysseus would blind him (although she didn't know the nature of the person that would blind him) Circe says that she knew from Hermes that a certain Odysseus would arrive at her isle on his way back from Troy. So in one way someone to say that Circe was out of options seems at least funny as a notion. It seems that she knew who was coming she just didn't seem to know the conditions that would bring him there.

Now was Odysseus attracted to her?

In my opinion there is no doubt about it as he describes how beautiful Circe was. Would he consider to sleep with her if it weren't of Hermes's advice? In my opinion no. Odysseus would absolutely be finding Circe attractive given her beauty and her divine nature, which is no surprise there but finding attraction to one person and act on it are two different things. In my humble opinion I do not think that Odysseus would act according to that attraction. Would he be curious on the experience with an immortal goddess? Absolutely. He is a naturally curious person and he wants to gain knowledge from other experiences in his life. Would he act up that one? Again I think not.

The reason why I think so is that the essences of loyalty in marriage are not as cut and clean as we usually think of in modern times. True if we judge from Hera myths, it was not preferable for a man to have extramarital affairs but it was generally tolerated. Agamemnon speaks on the affairs he had and many others had affairs. Odysseus would have no reason to hide his actual attraction towards Circe (and he doesn't given how he does speak on her very warmly eventually). Throughout his narration he mentions many things negative about himself including but not restricted to; the conquest and enslavement of Ismarus, his mistake to insult God Poseidon, self-destructive thoughts, feeling of fear towards Circe or Calypso, his moments of sadness and isolation etc. All of these things would be considered embarrassing or even diminishing for him. Why would he hide affairs at a world that was more tolerant towards the affairs and instead say all these others that would make a king or a warrior embarrassed?

Now there is an interesting question of course as to why did Odysseus remain there for a year?

It is indeed food for thought to think about it because once his men were back to human form in theory he could leave right? That in my opinion is not cut and clean like that. For once he had to wait until his men were back to good health and spirits to travel and he might as well take advantage of Circe's hospitality to refill their batteries. However there is also the moment where in the Odyssey his men arrive personally and scold him that he forgot about their country and their homeland for the arms of Circe. So one can think indeed; did Odysseus indeed forget himself?

In my opinion it is possible. His men are not the only ones who wanted to refill their batteries. So was Odysseus. In fact he has MUCH MORE in his plate than the average human already. He has already been at war, he has the war crimes on his mind anyways and he has also witnessed most of his men dying in horrifying ways (Cicones, Polyphemus, Laestrigonians etc) and he has just witnessed the results of his actions as well with the Curse of Polyphemus and the way that the sack of Aeolus fiasco happened. Odysseus already was suffering a lot. Regardless of the fact that he was always afraid of her, the hospitality she offered was very much needed. He could rest and enjoy some safety of dry land for a change after everything he had been through and Circe kept her promise and was a very good hostess to them. Odysseus too needed that break. It is possible that he forgot himself at the care of Circe and quite frankly Circe seems to be also wishing to keep Odysseus by her side so she does seem to make it as easy as possible for him to stay.

So Odysseus enjoying some nice rest after so long, even in the arms of a goddess that scares him makes it cheating? In my opinion no. What is more it seems that the fear of Odysseus was always apparent. It seems that he was avoiding requesting from Circe to let them go the whole time. It almost felt like he was putting the whole thing off out of fear for her anger and refusal. He almost seemed to be gathering off the guts to tell her. When his men straight out demanded it he didn't seem to have a choice but to comply. So it shows how scared he was when he literally BEGGED Circe to let them go by falling on her knees.

And then I climbed onto Circe's beautiful bed and hugging her knees I begged her to set us free with a cry.

(Translation by me)

So basically Odysseus felt helpless before her and he had to do the employing ritual to her (you can see my other post about this ritual) so that he would be sure that Circe wouldn't refuse him or be angry at him. That same fear continued later for when he came back from the Underworld, he preferred to stay by the ships. He was literally brought back in by Circe herself who gave him some advice.

But while most part of the text in the Odyssey indeed implies the lack of free will or lack of options etc someone would think why would Odysseus be considered a cheater in the hands of Circe?

I think the answer lies to the general idea that many people have that we should consider Odysseus as an unreliable narrator and that all the details he lists are lies to cover his cheating.

Although as a logic seems to be very generalized, and it COULD hold some water in regards to some details, I still am not convinced as mention above that Odysseus is lying here. For starters he was already very emotional when speaking to the Phaeakes and an emotional Odysseus is the most honest Odysseus (we saw his emotions betraying him with Polyphemus, with his revelation with the Phaeakes or later with Penelope). Odysseus was already in a very strong emotional state so I do not think his narration is inherently doubtful. What is more, he does seem to have so many details in his narration about himself that are not positive about himself. He would have no reason to hide the specific one. And Odysseus mentions how Circe never had his heart before (see also my other answer here). I cannot find much of a reason for him to lie about that when he has literally admitted everything else that could paint him in an unpleasant light (especially his hubris with Polyphemus).

So to sum up yes I think he was being forced. His men were held hostage and he had to save them. Circe was never helpless regardless of the situation and she had many different ways to kill him if she wanted to. Would he be curious anyways? Absolutely. Would he act according to that curiosity? In that case I think not. He does say so himself and his imprisonment in Calypso's island in his narrative was supported by other characters and the poet so why would he lie for Circe either. One can definitely think about his emotions and how strong they would be about Circe but I think regardless of that, he wouldn't have necessarily act towards that curiosity given how his psychological state was originally

But I guess this is everyone's guess.

I hope this helps. It definitely it is up to you what you want to interpret and I will be happy to offer more passages inside the future reblogs and such! ^_^

[trevengersprincess]

Could we please get a continuation of the chifuyu one shot where it’s not just a dream I’m dying for it omg <3 I love your work

𝑀𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝐼𝓉 𝒜 𝑅𝑒𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓉𝓎

c.w: f!reader, cream pie, unprotected sex, pet names (kitten, princess), breeding, lemme know if I missed anything

a/n: this is part two of the 'Dirty Thoughts' fic! omg im so happy you love my work dear 🥹 that makes me so happy I hope this lives up to your expectations also please bear with me on the beginning, I don't know how like pet shops work so sorry if that's not how it goes

w.c: ~ 1.5K

Ever since the dream you had, you cannot get him out of your mind. Just about everything reminds you of him. The worst part of it was that you had agreed to help Chifuyu during the week at the pet shop. You agreed for the extra money and just to spend more time with him. But after that dream, you don't know how to act around him anymore. All you can think about is how you want him to bend you over the counter and make you his. But you have to restrain yourself.

"All we have to do is just make sure all the pets are in their cages before we head out. We can't have them leaving in the middle of the night and destroying the shop, you know?" Chifuyu said with a small chuckle as he led you around the shop. After checking all the cages, you both were getting your things, locking up the back doors, planning on exiting the front door. He's behind you, getting a good look at everything and at your figure. He's biting his lip, restraining himself from taking you.

He, too, was finding it difficult to be around you. Although, he was able to hide it better from you. Throughout the day, you couldn't stop stuttering, tripping over stuff, and almost dropping anything in your hand when his fingers brushed against yours. He was making it difficult for you. But you were equally making it hard for him, painfully hard. That dress you were wearing, just barely reaching your mid thighs. Any time you bent down, his fists clenched. He could see the pretty panties you wore, almost like they were teasing you.

"Oh shit, god, I've been dropping everything today." You say, snapping him out of his thoughts. He watched as you bent down, for the billionth time that day, and he snapped. He can't hold back anymore. His hands are already on your hips and you instantly stand up. You feel him and gasp.

"God damn it Y/N. You've been teasing me all day. I can't do it anymore. I need you now." He says, dragging you with him to the backroom. But you stop him, right at the counter when your hand slips out of his grip. He looks back at you, eyes full of lust all for you.

"W-Wait, Chifuyu. I-I'm literally your best friend's sister." You explain but everything is going in one ear and out the other for him. He moves closer to you, trapping you between his body and the counter. He leans down, right in your ear whispering the next words that make you risk it all.

"I don't give a single damn. Y/N, I can't take it anymore. I've loved you since the day Takemichi introduced me to you. You've flooded my mind every single damn day from when we were in our middle school years to now as adults. I can't let you slip away from me anymore. I'm claiming what's mine, right here, right now." He nibbles on your earlobe causing you to moan. 

Chifuyu kisses you, his hands cupping your face, and you kiss him back. The kiss is messy and desperate, but both your feelings are being poured into the kiss. Your hands move to the end of his shirt, tugging at the end of it for him to take it off. He's quick to discard his shirt, slipping off yours as well. He swears, he almost moaned from the sight of you. Even if it was just your top off, it was almost enough to make him cum right there.

"God you're so gorgeous, can't believe I waited years for this." He mumbled as he kissed down your chest, biting and sucking leaving his mark all over you. You whimper at his words, fingers tangling in his jet black hair. The rest of your clothes fly off, scattered around the shop floor. This felt so wrong, but neither of you cared anymore. Both your feelings are coming out tonight. You can deal with your brother's tears another day.

"Chifuyu please..." You moaned, his face buried in between your thighs. Your legs are over his shoulders, sitting on the counter of the pet shop. He's lapping at your wet pussy, savoring the taste of your sweet juices. He feels like he could stay in between your thighs forever. He sucks on your sensitive bud, your hips bucking into him.

"Mmm~ come on kitten, just once. Need you to cum on my tongue before I ruin this pretty cunt with my cock." He says before diving back into you. His head shakes side to side, slurping sounds of your slick and his spit mixing together and dripping down his chin. He's determined to make you cum once on his mouth before breaking you completely. His finger pushes past your entrance, a fast pace as he curls them to hit that sweet spot inside you. Your thighs clench around his head, hips bucking into his face.

"W-Wait! C-Chifuyu! Gonna cum! Slow down!" You say, trying to push his head away but he growls at you. He sucks harshly on your clit, fingers moving faster as he's massaging your g-spot. You gasp as a whine leaves your lips, walls clenching around his fingers, cumming undone. He drinks up your juices, not letting a single drop go to waste. He pulls away, lips glistening with your juices as he pulls his fingers out and taps them on your lips.

"Suck." He says and you do so. Your lips wrap around his fingers, sucking softly as you hum softly. He gently pulls his fingers away from your lips, leaning down and kissing you. His tongue slides into your mouth, wrestling with yours before pulling away.

He flips you over, bending you over the counter and teasing your twitching hole with the tip of his cock. You whine as you wiggle your hips, begging him to just fuck you already. He chuckles lowly at your desperation before slowly inching his way inside your tight heat. His hands grip your hips tightly, moaning at the feeling of your walls clenching around him.

"Fuuuckk..." He groans. His hips are flushed against the plumpness of your ass, savoring the feeling of you. He leans down, chest against your back as he kisses softly on your shoulder, a distraction from the brutal pace he set. All the pent up feelings he's held back for the respect of you being his best friend's sister is all flooding out of him. Hearing you, a moaning mess calling out his name, makes him forget everything. He bites your shoulder, groaning as his eyes roll back from how tight you are.

"Chifuyu! Yes just like that please! Ngghh~!" You moan loudly, fingers gripping the counter to steady yourself from his powerful thrusts. He can't help himself though. He's been wanting you for so long. He has you in his hands and he can't stop himself. He gives into his desires and takes you completely. Chifuyu's hand trails up the back of your head before gently pulling you back. He kisses you, it's sloppy and messy, drool pooling past your lips. The wet smacking of your make out session and the slapping of skin against skin from your intense coupling. You're first to pull away from the kiss, lips swollen with your mixed saliva.

"C-Close 'Fuyu. So so close. Please please please. Wanna cum. Lemme cum on your cock please." You beg for him. His thrusts grow sloppy, a sign he was just as close. He nods his head, biting his lip at the sight of your broken mess underneath him.

"Go ahead princess. Cum all over this cock. Mark it, claim it, it's yours and yours only. Just like I'm going to claim this pussy as mine, all mine. No one will ever make you feel the way I make you feel." He whispers possessively. You can't help but whimper at his words. They send you over the edge, creaming around his cock. He's not far behind, slamming one last time into you before stilling his hips against your ass. Pumps and pumps of his hot seed flood into your wet cavern, claiming you as his. You mewl at the warm sensation, breathing heavily. 

Both of you stay still for a moment, catching your breaths before he slowly pulls out of you. Your mixed essence drip down your wobbly thigh. He goes to the back quickly, grabbing a warm wet towel and cleaning you up. Both of you get changed back into your clothes, not able to hide your red faces. Once dressed, Chifuyu gently cups your face in his hands, staring directly into your eyes.

"Y/N, I know you are my best friend's sister, but god, I can't ever get you out of my mind. Please be mine, princess. I love you." He whispers, hope laced in his words. You nod happily, kissing him softly.

"I love you too." You mumble against his lips, smiling happily. This time, it wasn't a dream. It was your reality, finally being able to have the man you've been crushing on for years.

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[scorchedserpent]

Noticed u reblogged homestuck stuff and I've been reading summer vacation so I must ask...if the two main charas had classpects, what would they be? And do u know ur classpect (sorry for classpect questions I'm autism)

NEVER BE SORRY THIS IS SUCH AN INTERESTING QUESTION. i love using classpects as a form of media/character analysis so:

marion is a maid of doom. she causes doom, i literally can't elaborate more because i would spoil the WHOLE COMIC. she's also very pessimistic in most aspects and tends to be a reality check for kaz. i'll be honest this was a REALLY HARD pick for her-- other options i was considering for her are sylph and rogue. marion is also quite literally doomed to fail-- low grades, a lack of motivation and anxiety about growing up dooms her to never leave her home, even though the choice is hers to leave. she also dooms others in the comic, caused by her choices. marion's moon is derse.

kaz is a knight of breath. she uses her personality and flexibility to get what she wants. she quite literally breezes through life without much struggle, and tends to be personable and easygoing. she's good at making friends wherever she goes because she's pretty perceptive and adaptable in social situations. she is a protector for spoiler reasons. she also visibly weaponizes her upbeat side to get marion to drop a negative topic multiple times in the comic already. kaz's moon is prospit.

i'll give you a freebie too-- kirby is a bard of hope and he's prospit. take that as you will JKFHDJSKF

i'm personally an heir of time! thank you for the ask !!!