#if I try pulling for anyone else they never show up this fast

[therooknook]

Alright, I’ve been saving my keys for months now and this is an SSR. Let’s hope he’ll show up for the hundredth pity and- he’s here in the first 10, isn’t he.

…Hooray!!!

[maskedbyghost]

cw: manipulation, possessive reader, suggestive language

You told him you didn’t do casual.

You didn’t make it a big deal. You just said it like you meant it, not trying to sound dramatic or emotional about it. Just honest.

“I don’t do casual,” you said, eyes on your drink. “It always ends up messy, and I’m not built for that.”

Simon leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “That’s alright,” he said eventually. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”

You nodded. No reaction on your face, no shift in tone. “Then we can just be friends.”

He raised an eyebrow like he was trying to figure you out. “You sure?”

You smiled a little. “Yeah. I like hanging out with you. We don’t have to fuck.”

“…Alright,” he said, after a pause. “Friends.”

And that was the start.

Except friends don’t show up to his gym when he’s meeting a girl for a workout date.

Friends don’t slip him a text during his Tinder dinner like,

“you left your hoodie here again. i’m wearing it. smells like you.”

Friends don’t show up to the pub when he’s got plans with someone, all dolled up like you just rolled out of a damn music video, giving his date a once-over and offering a tight smile that says run, babe.

You’d always act surprised when things didn’t work out. “Oh no, she ghosted you? That’s so weird.”

And Simon? He wasn’t completely oblivious. But he was tired, and lonely, and honestly kind of lazy when it came to trying to figure women out, and you were just so easy to be around, so warm and funny and low-maintenance and somehow always around when he needed someone.

So when he started seeing you more than anyone else, it didn’t feel weird. It felt right.

He told himself it was just friendship.

Even when you leaned against him on the couch. Even when you started sleeping over. Even when he started feeling a little sick thinking about you with anyone else.

The night it finally changed, he had just come back from a shit deployment — nothing too dangerous, just long and annoying and cold, and you’d been waiting at his place (with your own key, because somehow that had happened), and you were in his clothes, curled up in his bed with takeout, and when he saw you like that he just… stopped thinking.

“You’re perfect for me,” he said quietly, almost like he was talking to himself.

You blinked, looking up from your phone. “What?”

“I was so fucking stupid,” he muttered, dropping his bag, walking toward you like something magnetic was pulling him in. “I didn’t see it. I don’t know why.”

You didn’t say anything right away. You just looked at him for a second, then smiled, slow and easy, like you’d been waiting for him to finally figure it out, like none of it really surprised you, but you were still happy to hear it out loud.

From there, it was easy.

The relationship happened fast. Slipped into place like it had always been there. He’d gone from “I don’t do serious” to leaving his toothbrush at your place, to falling asleep with his face buried in your neck, to holding your hand in public without even realizing he was doing it.

He was happy. Stupidly happy. The kind that made his friends suspicious and his coworkers tease him. The kind that made you look like the hero of some cozy domestic fantasy where nothing ever goes wrong and love is enough.

It wasn’t one big moment. It was a bunch of little ones that slowly added up until he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Like how you always just showed up when he had plans, how his phone would buzz with a text from you right before he left for a date. Or how you’d casually mention how certain girls “weren’t his type,” even when he never brought them up to you.

And then one day, while you were going through an old playlist together, you said, “God, I remember this song. I used to listen to it every time I thought about you with someone else.” And you didn’t even blink after saying it.

And the more he thinks about it, the more it starts adding up.

You’d played him. You’d baited him.

And now he’s sitting on the couch, watching you walk into the room in one of his old T-shirts, holding a bowl of snacks, looking like home, and he honestly doesn’t know whether to laugh or be pissed off or bend you over the arm of the sofa and remind you who he is.

You plop into his lap like you do it every day (because you do), nestling in like you’re settling into your rightful throne, and he wraps his arms around your waist automatically, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder.

“You know what I realized today?” he asks, voice low.

You hum. “What?”

He tilts his head like he’s thinking it through. “We’re together because you manipulated me.”

You pause for like… half a second. Then?

“Yeah,” you say, nonchalant. “And?”

He squints at you, mouth twitching like he can’t decide if he wants to smile or frown. “You sabotaged every girl I tried to hook up with.”

“I did,” you say, and lean forward to grab the remote. “Most of them were trash anyway.”

“You tricked me into thinking you weren’t interested.”

“Mhm.” You don’t even look at him. “Worked, didn’t it?”

There’s this long silence, and then Simon groans and lets his head fall back on the couch dramatically.

“I should be mad,” he mutters.

“You’re not,” you say, smiling down at him like he’s your prize. “You love me.”

“Fuck, woman,” he breathes, eyes locked on yours. “That turns me on.”

You grin, shifting your weight so you’re straddling him properly, hands sliding up his chest slowly until your fingers curl around the back of his neck. You squeeze—not hard, just enough to make him feel it.

“You belong to me,” you whisper against his ear. “Always have.”

He shivers. Actually shivers.

“…Jesus.”

You kiss his jaw, slow and smug. “Say it.”

“…Yours.”

“Good boy.”

And yeah. He is.

PART 2

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@daydreamerwoah @kylies-love-letter @ghostslollipop @kittygonap @alfiestreacle @identity2212 @farylfordaryl @rafaelacallinybbay @akkahelenaa @lovelovelovelovelove987654321 @wraith-bravo6

[kooyabooya]

FREUDIAN

rosé x m reader

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.) 

[bernardsbendystraws]

ೃ࿔*:･ Snow .ᐟ Reader x FWB.ᐟ Matt

Matt is selfish and jealous…

⚠︎ angst, mentions of smut, lying, and more

You should be mad, but you're not. This was obviously a set up. After building the lego set, Matt insisted on cuddling. He held you in his arms tightly, tracing the rim of your ear lightly. It's a trick he's learned makes you fall asleep fast. He promised himself he'd never abuse that fact, but his heart is forcing him to be selfish.

Waking up, you blink your eyes open to see him staring down at you. He tries to make his eyes flutter slowly, acting like he's just woken up, but you can tell he's been wide awake. And he has been. He's been trying to take the slowest breaths possible, attempting to synchronize his heart beat with yours as if it will somehow make you feel his emotions as your own.

"Shit, I didn't mean to fall asleep, sorry," he says, his tone soft and soothing, the complete opposite of his gruff voice when he first wakes up. The words seem sweet, but his eyes are avoidant. Matt's not bad at lying, but he's awful at hiding guilt.

Looking over to the clock on his bedside, you huff at the time. It's been an entire hour since you were supposed to go on your date, showing up now would just be awkward. You didn't even necessarily want to go on the date. It seemed like a chore.

"It's okay," you mention, bringing your hand upward to pet through his hair softly. He sighs with relief from the touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he worships your gentle caress. His stubble tickling against the palm of your hand makes you more aware of the warmth crawling through your body from the contact with his skin, your heart thumping in your ears as you swallow thickly.

Deep down, you know it doesn't add up. Matt builds legos all the time, he didn't have anything against participating in that task alone. He shows no signs of sleep. Even in your subconscious state, you swear you remember him tracing the rim of your ear to keep you pulled into your dreams.

Matt knows what he's doing is wrong, he knows that this isn't okay anymore, he knows he should be saying something. The truth is necessary at this point, but the truth hurts, the truth is cruel.

He just can't. Not when saying the truth might mean losing all of you. Even though your current circumstances aren't enough to satisfy his heart, the thought of not having you at all makes him sick.

Nobody is you. No matter how many girls he tried to talk to, none of them could even mimic a fraction of the things you made him feel. He gets excited planning 'dates' for you two, he feels happy in a way that he can't even pretend with anyone else.

It's selfish on both ends. He knows it's wrong, he knows he should be honest. But deep down, you can see the words he's refusing to say, you just can't find it in yourself to confront him. You don't have it in yourself for anything to change for better or worse.

A/N: Pls don't cuss me out !!! I'm sorry if I make your heart hurt, but just remember, I can also make delicious smut so like...pls don't be mad lol. These two hold a really firm place in my heart and it does make me happy to see you guys liking this au since I was really hesitant to do it for a LONG time. Please feel free to ask any questions or give me prompts about them! I know this is a different concept from my typical vibe and I'm trying my best to make sure it's not confusing!

·˚ ༘ ʚ 𝑾𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒃𝒊𝒈 𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒔, 𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒆 𖧧

꒰ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ๑ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ๑ 𝐂𝐎𝐏𝐘𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 ꒱

[yokohamapound]

Bungou Stray Dogs characters responding to you answering their question with, "Don't worry about it, Kitten."? 😆

You always have the best asks. 😂

Characters: Dazai Osamu, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke, Nakahara Chuuya, Nakajima Atsushi, Edogawa Ranpo, Fukuzawa Yukichi

Contents: gn!reader

Dazai Osamu

Dazai has to stop his lazy chatter or his whining for a second to try and parse whether he heard that correctly. He lifts his head from where it's slumped on a cushion, the rest of his gangly body splayed out on the couch. He mentally replays the last few seconds and yeah, you said what he thought you said.

A slow, sly grin creeps its way across his face as he sits up, eyeing you where you're making coffee in the kitchen. His brown eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief. He's not used to his own brand of flirting being directed back at him and he's delighted.

Long arms wrap around your waist from behind, and the point of his chin comes to rest on your shoulder.

"If I'm your kitten, shouldn't you be petting me and hand-feeding me crab?" he wheedles.

You scoff, lifting a hand to ruffle his warm brown waves. He gives a pretty good impression of a purr, at least until you flick his nose, retorting, "Don't make me get the spray bottle."

Fyodor Dostoevsky

Fyodor doesn't react immediately.

His question was likely not something related to his plans or any major operations, or you wouldn't have answered him so flippantly. Perhaps it was a casual enquiry as to your day, or just asking what you were doing.

He leans slowly back in his chair and turns to look at you, his eyes glinting violet-red in the dim light of his screens.

A soft huff of amusement cuts through the quiet hum of electronics. His gaze takes you in from head to toe.

"You do like your little games, don't you, myshka? Just remember, that if I am the cat, you are the mouse."

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke

You'd better be his s/o if you're going to pull this, because he has killed people for less.

When your words register, Akutagawa's eyes widen, white showing all around the grey. A blotchy flush appears on his pallid cheeks.

"What did you just say to me?" he asks, venomous.

If there is anyone else who was close enough to hear it, they are probably dead. Akutagawa's black coat ripples, Rashoumon stirring in response to his anger and embarrassment.

Akutagawa slaps a tendril of Rashoumon over your mouth.

"...never say that again, fool."

He stalks off in a huff.

Nakahara Chuuya

Chuuya has a moment of BSOD, where he's not sure what he just heard. His head whips toward you so fast that his hat almost flies off. His eyebrows crash down into a scowl, while heat creeps up his neck and turns his ears crimson.

"Oi, what'd ya just call me?"

"What's wrong, kitten?" you repeat.

He sputters, annoyed and flustered and not entirely sure how he should react to that. Chuuya, being Chuuya, he aggressively adjusts his hat and straightens his shoulders, as if he can shrug off what you just said.

"I ain't no damn kitten."

Don't try and attach a bell to his choker.

Nakajima Atsushi

Completely clueless.

He just stops what he's doing, the earnest, cheerful look on his face melting into one of blank confusion.

"Um, did you just call me...?"

He's too embarrassed to say the word out loud, his cheeks pink.

"Call you what, kitten?"

You're enjoying this far more than you should, you sadist.

Atsushi swallows, looking around to make sure no one else hears you call him such an embarrassing nickname. He'd never live it down.

"Uh, is this because of the tiger thing?"

Edogawa Ranpo

Ranpo is leaning back in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk, a lollipop lodged firmly in his mouth. He's a little bored because there are no fun cases to solve, but he has candy, and you're nearby, so things aren't too bad, as far as he's concerned.

He doesn't even bat an eyelid when you address him as "kitten". He's halfway toward being a cat already.

Taking the lollipop from his mouth and waving it through the air, he declares, "Meow."

You should also get him a pair of cat ears. He'll wear them without a trace of shame.

"Hey, if I'm your kitten does that make you my Discord daddy?"

Fukuzawa Yukichi

I doubt anyone has ever had the balls to say something like that to Fukuzawa before, so first I must congratulate you on your cojones (metaphorical or otherwise).

He turns toward you, his stern face expressionless. After a moment, one of his eyebrows quirks up.

"Not in public, dear," he intones.

You're left spluttering, the tables so neatly turned on you. Never underestimate Fukuzawa.

[intoanotherworld23]

All Fogged Up

Summary: Joel is a man that can get jealous very easily, and it doesn’t matter where you are Joel will show why he’s better than anyone else, and a car is the perfect place

Warnings: explicit content, mature themes, smut, unprotected sex, public sex, sex in a car, minor spanking, dominant Joel, submissive reader, praise kink, teasing

A/N: hello my lovelies! Hope everyone has been doing good! I can honestly say I’m getting more and more excited and anxious for the new season of The Last Of Us! Can’t wait to watch Pedro on replay, and read and write all kinds of fan fiction about him! Let me know what you guys think of this one I love to hear from y’all! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated and highly encouraged! Thank you everyone again so much! XOXO

Hall Of Hunks

Tag list for everything: @iam-laiya @rosie-posie08 @madzleigh01 @alwaysclassyeagle @mytbel0st @shanimallina87 @marvelstarker-mha98 @powellssugarbaby @lora21 @kmc1989

Tag list for Pedro Pascal: @pedrohoe04 @k-k0129 @livingdeadmaria @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @milly-louise @kittenlittle24 @trisaratops-mcgee @subconsciouscollapse @hooked-on-penapascal27 @red-red-rogue @fellinfromthetop @drewharrisonwriter @vickie5446 @millerfan @lover-of-books-and-tea @bbyanarchist @justajoelsreader

Joel Miller was never the type of guy to show his jealousy when it came to you. Until when he saw one of the guys from the village flirting with you all he saw was red. Wasting no time in pulling you into his truck. Ripping your clothes off so fast you could feel the fabric burning your skin.

"Were you trying to make me jealous princess?" He hissed into your ear as he gripped your cheeks in the palm of his hands. Using all the muscles in your thighs to bounce up and down on his cock. "Nobody can fuck you like I can."

"Oh my fuck." Whimpering into his shoulder biting on the flesh so much his hand came down and smacked you on your ass cheek.

"That all you got to say to me?" He taunts as he moves a hand up to grip your chin to look at his red face with sweat dripping down his forehead. He looked absolutely sexy like this, and you were the main and only reason he looked like this. It was such a turn on.

"Joel please." Crying out to him as you took notice he stopped your movements completely.

"Please what sweetheart?" Smirking as he looked up at your pathetic state, and licking his lips. Joel loved to tease you whenever he had the opportunity, and this was one that he wasn't going to let pass him by.

Joel knew he was in complete control over you, and he was becoming drunk on power. He wanted so much more of you he couldn't get enough. It was one of his favorite feelings with you.

"Please fuck me harder." Grinding your hips back and forth in an aggressive manner he couldn't help but laugh at how desperate you were becoming.

"What? What was that baby? I couldn't quite hear you over the sound of your wet cunt." His words had you squeezing around his cock just wanting nothing more than to feel him move. Driving you wild with lust at how provocative he could talk to you sometimes. "Come on, use that pretty mouth and tell me."

Running his hands up and down your body as he waited for your response. His fingertips felt like fire running across your skin, the sweat just dripping down your back. Almost like you were in a sauna just soaking in the heat.

"Fuck me harder please Joel." The air in the truck was so thick you almost couldn't breathe for a second. Your mouth was becoming so dry you could've chugged a bottle of water. The windows in the truck were fogging up nobody would be able to see the two of you engaging in adult activities.

Joel was pounding into you relentlessly and with no mercy. Nails digging into the headrest behind him scratching along the leather. His firm grip on your hips as your body aligned perfectly with his. Cries of pleasure escaping past your lips just for him and him alone.

"You fucking like this don't ya?" He demanded with a devilish glint in his eye as he mocked your pleasure. "That fucking pathetic excuse of a man  could never make you feel like this?"

All you could manage was a rapid nod and pathetic moans. A low chuckle rumbling in his throat as he took in your disheveled state knowing exactly how close you were. Well and the fact that your pussy was squeezing him like a python wrapped around its prey was a clear sign.

"Your ass looks so fucking good like this baby." He coos as he looks around you watching you bounce on top of him your cheeks jiggling with each motion only to slap your flesh. The smack is so loud and obscene you good that nobody heard it. Joel didn't seem to care cause he did it over and over again.

"Shit." Your muffled voice curses as the sensation goes all the way down to your toes. "Right there Joel."

Joel could feel you slowing down as you rest your head on his shoulder. Not wasting anymore time he clasped his hands behind your back, and bucked into you violently it made the whole car rock.

"I want to feel that creamy cunt cum around my cock." Crying out as you gripped onto Joel's body like your life depended on it. Toes curling as your whole body shook into a crumbled mess on top of him. Chest rising and feeling with each trembling breath you took. "That's my good girl. Such a good fucking girl for me."

His lips find yours with a fleeting taste of pure bliss before his sultry voice commands you to surrender to him. Leading you to make a complete mess all over him as you explode with ecstasy.

Stomach trembling with the resounding orgasm you had just experienced. It was so intense and hot you felt like you could pass out any second. Your cunt was puffy and sore from the beating that you just took. Joel couldn't have been more proud of himself right now. A huge smug look on his face as he panted heavily taking in your facial expression.

"Fuck I will never get tired of that feeling." He chuckled his hands running up and down your sides in a soothing and such gentle matter you almost forgot what he just did to you. "Only one I know who can fuck me like that in a truck."

"Shut up." You giggled as you covered your face into his chest feeling slightly embarrassed at his teasing you. His lips finding yours again in a sweeter and tender embrace. Only to be interrupted by hard knocks on the truck.

"When you guys are done fucking your brother is looking for you Joel."

[heyimkana]

Currently thinking about... how break-up sex would go with JJK men...

Like what if, even though you're both so in love with each other, the situation you're in right now forces you to break up with them. They'll try to fight about it, of course, you're crazy about each other, after all. But you insist on breaking up, even going as far as to tell them that you don't love them anymore just so they'll believe you. And before you say goodbye, you ask them to hold you one last time.

Satoru would be quiet. Sex was always fun with him. rough, fast, exhausting, but never boring. Sex with him was always filled with laughter, giggles, and playful kisses that would end with gasps and moans but your last time with him would be quiet. So quiet, in fact, that you could probably hear the sound of him gritting his teeth while he was fucking you from behind, all because he was trying to stop himself from saying, "This is a joke. This must be a joke. We play tricks on each other all the time. You're just trying to get back at me, aren't you, baby? There's no way you don't love me anymore. But even if you do, I don't care. I had let someone go a long time ago and I'd spent years of my life regretting it. I'm not letting you go, not now, not ever. You're staying. No, I'll make you stay." He wouldn't look at you when he fucked you, not once, as he was actually scared that you truly hated him then. But it wouldn't matter if you did. He was never going to let you go.

Suguru would listen with his stoic face intact when you told him that you wanted to break up with him. And softly, he'd ask you why, and you'd lie and tell him that you just didn't love him anymore and his eyes would turn cold as he looked at you, trying to read between your lies and you were scared that he'd know the truth. And if you told him that you wanted him to hold you one last time, he would smile and say, "Sure." but it felt so eerie that you had goosebumps breaking on your skin. Suguru would drag you out of the bed, tear open your dress and his grip was hard enough to leave bruises on your skin but he would still be smiling, even when you flinched in pain. "You like it better like this anyway, right?" he'd say as he fucked you standing up from behind with his fingers wrapped around your neck. He'd have you stand in front of a mirror, making sure to see the pathetic face you made every time he fucked you stupid. He'd show you that you were his in every way possible, making sure you understand that you were going to fucking regret it if you decided to leave him.

Yuuji would be so confused. He'd be confused when you kissed him after you said you didn't love him anymore. He'd be confused when you still hugged him afterward, and kissed his neck, and tugged onto his shirt before you pulled it over his head. He'd be confused when you asked him to hold you one last time, and he wouldn't say anything when you pushed him down to the bed. It was only when you sat on his lap, trying to slide his cock inside that he'd stop you. "No, wait, I can't do it," he would say, unable to look at you because suddenly, tears started to brim in his eyes. "If you're going to leave me after we're done, I can't do it. I love you. I don't know why you suddenly changed your mind about me, but I'm still in love with you and I don't think I can love anyone else but you. You'll break me if you do this, so please..." His voice would break and he would hug you close, his chin placed on your shoulder, his voice, sketched with the tears he was trying to hold back, reverberating right in your ear. "Please stop and tell me. I'm an idiot so I'm very slow at figuring things out and I don't know if I hurt you and I'm sorry but... I want to understand... Why...? Why are you leaving me? Am I... not enough for you?"

Megumi would not do it. He wouldn't kiss you. He wouldn't touch you. He'd only clench his jaw and ball his fingers into fists the second the words "I don't love you anymore" flowed past your lips. And when you tried to kiss him, he'd take a step back, his voice deep when he asked you, "Have I done something wrong?" You'd shake your head no, saying "It's not because of you, Megumi. It's me—" and he'd cut you off with a "Don't give me that bullshit." He'd raise his voice, but only because he was shaking inside. "If that's true, then tell me what it is! Whatever you did, I'll forgive you. If it's a part of you that you think is the problem, I'll accept it. If it's the situation we're in, let me know so I can fix it. Don't just show up and tell me you don't love me anymore, don't—" he took a breath, his voice breaking at the end. His face would twist in heartbreak when he finally gathered the strength to look at you in the eyes. His voice would soften when he continued, "Don't tell me you're leaving me. Please."

Yuuta would feel a thousand emotions at once. For the first few minutes when you told him you didn't love him anymore, he'd keep asking you, "Why? Was it something I said? What did I do wrong? How can I make this right? Please. Tell me. Tell me so I can fix everything." And you'd see tears glazing his eyes and he would look so frightened, so heartbroken, unable to believe that the love of his life was slipping out of his fingers. When you told him, "It doesn't matter, Yuu. I just can't do this anymore." Yuuta would panic, colors leaving his face and he'd start begging, "No, please, you can't leave me. I don't know what I'd do without you. You're my everything, please don't do this to me, please tell me how to make things right," and it was breaking your heart seeing him like this so you'd try to distract him by kissing him.

He'd whimper against your mouth, cupping your face with both hands, still whispering, "Don't leave me" again and again. He'd slowly regain his composure, his body melting under your kiss and when you started touching him, he'd respond with as much passion, love, and desire as he usually offered you, not knowing that it was going to be his last time with you. It was only when he was holding you in his arms, your legs tangled around his waist, his mouth slicked with your cum, his hips thrusting slow but deep, that you told him the truth, "This is going to be our last time."

Yuuta would freeze, his eyes turning round in both surprise and horror, but after that... You'd find your body folded in half, your head trapped between your knees, your jaw hanging low on your face, unable to even scream his name as he was fucking the breath out of you. His usually delicate moans would turn into heavy grunts, and he'd bunch the sheets under his fingers before he grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the bed, holding them with one hand as he used his other one to grip firmly onto the back of your thigh, pushing you up even further so he could bury himself deep inside you.

"You're not leaving me," he'd breathe out. "I won't let you. We promised each other we'd be together until we die. I won't let you break it." He'd kiss you, rough and messy, smothering you with it. He'd see a hint of fear written in your eyes, maybe you'd even cry a little from how rough he was being with you, but he'd kiss the tears away, his smile looking both beautiful and terrifying when he said, "Don't worry, Sweetheart. There's nothing to be afraid of. No one will love you better than me, I promise you. And if anyone dares to come between us," he'd angle your face to the side, lick a stripe up your neck before he let his smile graze your ear.

"I'll fucking kill them."

[glamourscat]

ㅤ✮ Jason Todd (n)sfw headcanons ㅤ✮

SFW

24/25 years old, 6ft3, Latino (from his father's side), half Italian from his mother. Tallest and heaviest of all the kids with a muscle mass higher than Bruce’s. Tan skin colour, faint old scars —especially near his hands/back/chest. Green blue eyes, black curly hair with the white stripe at the front from the pit. I personally hc that he still has the Y autopsy scar. He has tattoos, a chest one at that, and one on his thigh particularly, that covers some of the biggest scars he has. Probably the most “hairy”— his hair grows fast. Long eyelashes, faint beard that doesn’t get too long. Chest/leg hair. HAPPY TRAIL

He uses the all blades

I see him as someone who after all of the shit he faced, he finally went to therapy and is maybe one of the first of the family who took the step to do so.

On the asexual scale and unlabelled? Vibes of “I like who I like despite of the gender but bc of their mind”.

brave, impulsive, loud-mouthed, and street-smart and emotionally smart. He can read your body language to filth. Kind of a loner. Prefers to stay in, enjoy life for its quietness after everything. He likes to keep things in order. His apartment is modest, despite having enough money he chooses to decorate it with second hand stuff. Hard to open up but once you gain his trust you have a loyal friend by your side. Someone that will literally come and see you at 3am if you need

Rocky relationship with the batfamily. Doesn’t attend galas, barely shows up at the manor but will make his appearance for family holidays. He still sees them as family, and families are complicated

A reader and lives mostly in his books thus in his head.

Theatre kid—but the one who loved watching it, never had the chance to take part in it. Lover of metal and rock music. A good chef, the best out of the guys. He was the academically inclined kid, not Tim. Jason LOVED school, to the point of skipping patrol to study because that’s who he is.

The first to retire from being a vigilante. And you bet your ass once married this man will pack you and him up and leave Gotham City with flash’s speed lmao. The most likely to live a peaceful, low life somewhere in a rural area, in a cottage with his spouse, 2 cats and 2 baby girls

Most likely to date a civilian

This man, WILL be a husband and a father one day. He just has this hidden nurturing side that not many get to see but it’s there. Biological or adoptive, stay safe, he will create his own kids army. Also dad girl all the way. 

NSFW

I see him as asexual, like I have said. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t have nor craves sex, being asexual is a spectrum. For me jason is demisexual, someone who craves a sexual connection only after having established a deep intellectual and emotional connection with the other person. 

With that said, I cannot see him as some brute who will toss you around and have his way. I mean, objectively speaking, he has some traumas relevant to being emotional/intimate and sex is such an intimate act. It’s scary. As the relationship progresses, i can see him being more comfortable in initiating, trying new things, being more spontaneous and maybe a bit more rough. But gun, knife kink? The same guy who uses those everynight to hurt criminals, using the same objects on you? yeah, no. not to mention being restrained, after the trauma he faced with his death. 

So, sex with him it’s extremely intimate. He is trusting you to see a part of him he never shows to anyone else. He is most likely a virgin when you two meet, with only going as far with foreplay w past partners

Likes to be on top, but i wouldn’t say he is a dom. Switch leaning

Breeding kink… yeah, i said it lol. He does that thing of thrusting and just before finishing he pulls almost all out, leaving just the very beginning of the tip. As he starts to come he will thrust in one last time

Initially not a very big talker, but as time goes by and he becomes more comfortable, he would be more comfortable in showing his moans and grunts. Though, he definetly swears

Praises are more reserved for aftercare, soft, gentle words whispered in your skin as you two cuddle

Definitely a fan of cowgirl. I see him as a boob and thighs guy. So, fav position to hold for sure. 

He might not use many words, but his actions speak for himself. From the gentle kisses that linger on your lips and skin, to the eye contact, to the caresses… 

This man will eat you out like a starved man. Nothing else to add

His fav nights are when you two have a full on romantic night, although you dont explicitly say so. You two are more softer with each other, thrusts are less frantic and more deep than usual, making you feel every inch and vein of his. He is quietly moaning in your neck, as your legs are wrapped around his lower back, holding him so close to you that there’s basically no space left in between

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[ceruark]

what do you want from me?

[fem! kaiser x fem! shy! reader. university au.] synopsis: kaiser’s just a mean girl who’s found amusement in picking on you, as if this is high school and not college. what else could it possibly be? wc: 4.5k cw: explicit smut: fingering, oral sex. MDNI. a/n: wrote this with one hand, my bad guys

kaiser terrifies you.

you would say her reputation precedes her, but her striking looks come before even that: uneven yet perfectly styled blonde hair with the ends dyed blue, piercing eyes outlined in bold red eyeliner, and of course, the blue rose tattoo that starts at her neck and spans the entirety of arm. 

her appearance alone is enough to intimidate everyone she comes across, but her attitude wards off anyone bold enough to still try to come close to her. cold, condescending, and mocking, kaiser is notorious for her scathing comments and superiority complex, so it’s not odd that you—and most everybody you know and talk to—steer clear of her. 

so when she plops down into the seat next to you during the first class of the term, you involuntarily freeze, the pen you’d been twirling between your fingers going still. your heart sinks into your feet, and you can feel yourself break into a cold sweat as she unpacks her laptop from her bag and settles in. 

surely it won’t be that bad. all you have to do is not speak to her—not too difficult, given that it’s a large class and this professor doesn’t really do small group discussion. if you just keep your head down and mind your business, everything will be fine, right?

wrong. 

kaiser doesn’t like to be ignored. not that you’re ignoring her—you can’t really do that when she hasn’t spoken to you at all—but it’s obvious you’re avoiding her. you sit as far away from her as possible, always avert your eyes and busy yourself with something when she enters the classroom, and you never glance in her direction the entirety of the lecture, scurrying out of the room the second it’s finished. 

you don’t realize that such meek behavior is what will catch a predator’s attention in the first place.

it’s the start of the third week, a few minutes before class starts, when kaiser leans halfway across the table and into your space. 

“hey, maus,” she says, angling her head so she’s right in your line of vision. 

you startle a little, and she snickers at your reaction. 

“jumpy little thing, hm?” she tilts her head to the side in a way that feels mocking. your stomach twists with anxiety. she nods at your laptop and asks, “do you have a charger i could use?”

“oh, uh—” you glance at her laptop, checking if it’s the same charging port. “yeah, sure,” you answer, and rummage through your bag to get your charger out. “here.”

her fingers brush over yours in a way that’s too precise to be accidental when she takes it from you. you pull your hand back just a little too fast, earning another laugh from her. 

you grit your teeth as you stare at the front of the room, where the professor is getting set up. it’s going to be a long semester. 

by the sixth week, you’re fed up with her toying around with you, and you decide to show up to class a few minutes after the time she usually shows up—and sit in a different spot, all the way across the classroom. 

a bold move on your part, one that you’ll surely pay for.

now you’ve turned it into a chase. it’s a constant guess of when you should show up, and eventually, it reaches the point where you’re sliding into a seat with mere seconds to spare just so you can avoid her showing up after you and sitting beside you. 

by the eighth week, she breaks the unspoken rule of your little game and approaches you outside of the classroom.

you’re scrolling through your phone and loitering in a hallway close to your class, waiting for minutes to turn into seconds before the bell rings, when you feel an arm wrap around your shoulder. you can see the black-ink vines wrapping around it in your peripheral, and immediately go rigid in response.

“fancy catching you here, maus,” she says in that tone that sends chills down your spine. you glance up at her to see her smirking down at you. “how about we walk to class together?”

you stop trying to avoid sitting next to her—it’s inevitable that she’ll find you, somehow, no matter where in the building you’re hiding. 

but it’s far too late to undo the damage your decision has done, as it seems you’ve opened pandora’s box; kaiser continues to pester you anywhere on campus, no matter who you’re with or what you’re doing. she even shows up in places you know she really has no business being in, and you start to feel like you’re being hunted for sport.

you might be, with the way she looks at you like she wants to kill you. your friends give you a pitying look when you express this to them, some even looking at you like you’re a little dumb, but you don’t really get why. kaiser’s just a mean girl who’s found amusement in picking on you, as if this is high school and not college. what else could it possibly be?

you seal your fate—the one your friends have seen coming from a mile away—when you somehow end up helping the blonde out.

now, kaiser is more than capable of holding her own; this much is obvious, given her reputation around campus, and her displayed behavior toward you.

but if there’s anything you hate more than a mean girl, it’s a man with a massive ego who can’t take a hint.

some guy has his arms propped up against the table, standing in front of kaiser and leaning into her space. her face is fixed in cold neutrality, but her eyes are blazing with irritation and barely contained fury.

“c’mon, baby, don’t be like that,” you hear him say as you draw closer to your spot next to kaiser.

“not your baby,” kaiser says dismissively. “get out of my face or i’ll make you regret it, you worthless clown.”

“oh, yeah?” the brunette leans even closer. “is that a threat, or a promise?”

kaiser’s eyes narrow, and she’s sneering now. “you don’t wanna find out.”

the guy laughs, cocky and grating. “already did the last time you spent the night, but i could go for a refresher.”

you don’t like kaiser—you can’t stand her most days. but you’d sooner keel over and die before you stand by and let this happen.

you loudly set your laptop onto the table, drawing both of their attention to you. you lock eyes with the brunette as you sit down, and tilt your head to the side as if deep in thought. then, you gasp softly and hold a hand to your mouth, widening your eyes as you turn to kaiser.

“is this the one you were telling me about?” you say, quiet enough to pass as a whisper, but loud enough for the guy to hear. “the one who couldn’t make you come?”

the person on the other side of you coughs loudly into their hand. it sounds suspiciously like a laugh.

you watch as the brunette flushes bright red in fury.

“stupid bitch,” he spits at kaiser. “you’re ran through, anyway.”

he storms out of the classroom just as the professor is entering, leaving the poor bespectacled man confused as he nearly barrels him over in the midst of his dramatic exit.

kaiser whirls on you the second the professor starts his droning. she leans into your space, a common occurrence at this point, and coos at you as she balances her cheek against her palm and tilts her head at you. “was my little maus worried about me?”

“worried? no, you can take care of yourself.” you huff, “i just thought it would do him well to be humbled.”

“oh, you don’t have to lie to me, pretty girl.” the name is enough to catch you off guard, but the pen that twirls a strand of your hair around it has you jumping like you were at the start of the semester. “it’s clear you care about me.”

you look at kaiser, and though that same dark look you’ve gotten used to seeing is present, you no longer think it means she wants to kill you.

and you don’t think whatever feeling is settling in your stomach is dread anymore, either.

and of course, because nothing in this world can ever go your way, the professor does something unprecedented, something he’s never done for this class: he assigns a partner project, where you and someone else in the class will have to write a paper and present on the topic in class.

kaiser latches onto you before you can even finish processing how totally, utterly fucked you are. you two spend the class period settling on a topic and doing preliminary research. by the end of the period, you’re exchanging numbers and planning a meeting outside of class.

“we can meet at my apartment on friday,” she says, “it’s on this side of campus, so we can just head there after class.”

“i was actually thinking the library would work better,” you suggest, impressed with how you keep the desperation out of your voice.

“it’s a late class, we’ll probably want to eat dinner, so my apartment will work fine,” she says in a tone that leaves no room for argument. then she tilts her head at you in that calculating way, gives you a once-over, and asks, “you wouldn’t deprive me of a meal, would you?”

you spend the rest of the week mentally preparing yourself for whatever friday is going to bring.

it starts off fine. normal, even. she sets you both up in her room, claiming that her roommate might be back with some friends soon, so they’ll need the living room. you both sit criss-cross on her floor, laptops before you, and you actually manage to finish the essay and finalize your notes for the presentation.

you’re timing yourself on your part of the presentation when you sigh in frustration after stuttering over your words for the umpteenth time.

kaiser raises a brow at you. “what is it?”

you sigh. “i’m not good with being in front of people. surprising, i know.” you roll your eyes at her little smirk. “i just—if i look at someone when they’re looking at me, i freeze up. it’s distracting.”

kaiser hums. “so you have trouble presenting because of… distractions?”

you don’t like the way she said that, but she’s not exactly wrong. “i mean, i guess so.”

your stomach flips as she shuffles closer to you, sitting so close that your thighs are pressed together. “we’ll just have you practice with a distraction, then.”

she leans around you to start the timer on your phone, her chest brushing up against your arm as she does. you feel your mouth go dry.

“go on,” she says, staring at you. she still hasn’t leaned away from you. “you’re wasting time.”

clearing your throat, you begin reading from the script pulled up on your laptop. you’ve barely made it through three sentences when kaiser reaches up and begins trailing her fingers along your collarbone, occasionally snagging them on your necklace and giving it a tug.

after a mere minute of this, she unclasps the jewelry and sets it to the side.

then, she leans in and presses a kiss to your pulse.

you stutter to a stop, stiffening at the contact.

“so nervous,” she chides in between the quick kisses that she trails up and down your neck. “how do you expect us to pass if you’re going to freeze up like this, hm?”

swallowing down the want mounting within you, you continue reading, fighting to keep your voice steady.

you manage to get another uninterrupted minute in before you’re gasping as she presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss against your jaw.

“keep going,” she whispers into your ear, her hot breath fanning across your cheek.

your voice trembles as she grips your waist and tugs you closer into her side. she trails her mouth low, lower, until she’s sucking loudly at the junction between your neck and shoulder. the end of a word trails off into a needy whine as she bites down, and you can feel her smirk into your skin.

you’re halfway through the presentation when her hand moves from your waist to your jeans and begins undoing them. your voice gets a bit high-pitched as she slips a hand down them and trails it along your thigh, voice getting higher the closer she gets to the wetness building between your legs.

your breath hitches when her fingers graze over the wet spot on your panties.

“you’re not finished yet, maus,” she croons into your ear. “let me hear you, hm?”

you get a minute more into the script when she finally applies pressure to the area, expertly rubbing circles into your clothed clit. you keen and buck up into her hand, your words coming out breathy and each sentence punctuated with a light moan as she continues petting you.

“okay, i—” you release a shaky exhale as kaiser begins sucking at your neck again. “i’m done.”

kaiser hums into your skin, then pounces on you fully. in a flurry of movement, she takes your pants and panties off in one go, leaving you barren on her floor. you squeak as she forces you into her lap, spreading her legs wide and hooking yours around hers to leave you split open for her.

“wait, i—” you grab her hands before they can make it to your dripping cunt. she gazes down at you, voracious and impatient. “i’ve never done this before.”

she laughs—a little demeaning, and also low and amused. “i know, maus,” she says before grabbing you by the jaw and pulling you into a deep kiss. when you part, she strokes your cheek with her thumb. “let me take care of you, okay?”

you nod slowly, and she presses one more kiss to your lips before forcing your face forward.

you flush bright red when you realize she’s positioned you both in front of her mirror. you can see yourself dripping onto her floor, your clitoris puffy and pink from being teased.

“we have to get you to overcome your fear of audiences, hm?” you squeak as she bites at your ear, which is quickly followed by a moan when she brushes her fingers against your clit. “don’t move your head. i want you to watch.”

she traces slow, agonizing circles into your clit with one hand, slithering one finger into your hole with the other. you seize up at the intrusion, not used to the sensation, so she sets a slow pace, working you into it before picking up speed and, eventually, slipping a second finger in.

by the time the third makes it in, you’re a panting, writhing mess. watching her fingers thrust into you, coming out coated in even more of your essence every time, just makes the heat pooling in your gut even worse.

“‘s too much,” you slur out between whines. “too full.”

“don’t complain,” she commands, lightly smacking your clit and causing you to jolt. “you’ll take what i give you, hm?”

she curls her fingers cruelly, causing your thighs to jerk and a loud moan to rip itself from your throat. “answer me,” she says.

“yes,” you whine. “yes, i will, i will.”

“good girl,” she hums, then starts scissoring her fingers in and out of you at a breakneck speed. she moves her other hand away for just a moment to wrap her arm around your waist and adjust you in her lap. your ass is planted firmly against her crotch, and she starts rocking her hips against you as she continues fucking you on her fingers. 

it's not long before the last thread inside you unravels and you’re throwing your head back, crying out as you come undone on her fingers, hips bucking up into her hands and thighs shaking erratically. she fucks you through your orgasm, not easing up until you go slack against her, slumping against her chest with soft whines leaving you.

she pulls her fingers out of you and holds the digits in front of your face, spreading them wide. you watch, entranced, as your cum fills the space between them in stringy, sticky lines.

“what a messy girl,” kaiser says lowly, “you should clean up after yourself.”

she presses her fingers to your closed lips. in your haze, you open them without protest, allowing them to enter your mouth and tasting yourself on them.

you lock eyes with her in the mirror. her gaze is dark, and you wonder how you ever thought she wanted to do anything besides devour you whole.

“suck,” she commands.

your cheeks hollow out around her fingers as you obey, and the shaky breath she exhales goes straight to your core, lighting it up again.

when you’ve sucked them clean, she takes her fingers out of your mouth and rises to her feet. swiftly, she unbuttons her own shorts and tosses them to the side, her panties, bra, and shirt following them. 

she sits down on her bed, then beckons to you with the fingers still wet with your saliva. “come here.”

on wobbly legs, you move to join her on the bed. she grabs you by the hips when you reach the edge, digging her nails into your flesh and squeezing at the plushness there.

“on your knees,” she instructs as she guides you into a kneeling position on top of the bed. she holds you by the waist so that you’re suspended in the air while she slips a thigh in between your own. her legs interlock with yours, and you bite your trembling bottom lip at the sensation of her bare pussy pressed against your thigh, and yours against her thigh.

her hands slide up your waist, fingers hooking into your shirt and tossing it off the side of the bed in one fluid motion. with one hand, she unclips your bra and discards it in the same manner. 

with both hands cupping your face, she pulls you in and kisses you deeply, rocking her hips and grinding down on your thigh. your soft whimpers are muffled by her tongue as she shoves it down your throat and traces the crevices of your mouth. she pushes you flush against the headboard with her body, the feeling of her breasts pressed and bouncing against yours making warmth flood the area between your legs.

hesitantly, you reach a hand up to cup one of her breasts, experimentally running a finger over her nipple. with a soft grunt, she places her own hand over yours and squeezes, encouraging you to be rougher. after only a few minutes of groping and pinching her nipples, she’s moaning into your mouth, her thrusts now faster and harder as she chases after her own satisfaction.

suddenly, she pulls away from your mouth, and you barely have a moment to process the long trail of saliva between you two before she’s grasping the back of your head and shoving you toward her chest.

she doesn’t need to say the command a second time for you to know what she wants; you part your lips and latch yourself onto her, sucking as much of her breast into your mouth as you can and running your tongue over and around her nipple.

a deep moan leaves her, reverberating through her chest and against your face. she snakes one arm around your waist and pulls you as close as she can, to the point where you feel like you’re going to be suffocated by her breasts. she ruts against you mercilessly, drawing low whines out of the back of your throat.

“fuck,” she groans breathily, scratching lightly at your scalp as you continue sucking. “you make the sweetest sounds, maus.” her hand untangles itself from your hair and suddenly she’s kneading and pinching at your chest, escalating your whimpers into soft, fast moans. “sing for me, hm?”

you keen loudly, and the sultry laugh she lets out in response is almost enough to tip you over the edge on its own.

after a particularly harsh suck that’s more teeth than lips and tongue, kaiser hisses and bucks her hips once, before a string of moans spill out of her mouth as she erratically spasms against your thigh. her hand flies up to the back of your head and she grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls as she rides out her high.

with one last groan that peters out into a huff of air, she slackens her hold on your hair and waist, coaxing you off of her breast and allowing you to rest against the headboard. you feel your face flush when you see the angry red, already purpling marks left all over her breasts.

kaiser chuckles, running her fingers along them. “hungry little thing, aren’t you?” she teases. she lifts herself off your thigh, and you get even hotter at the stickiness that momentarily stays suspended in the air between her cunt and your thigh as she does.

she grabs one of the pillows from the other side of the bed and slips it beneath your hips. your breath hitches when she trails her fingers along the inside of your thighs before grabbing them and pulling them apart. you begin to tremble again as she lowers herself between your legs, leering up at you from beneath lidded eyelids as she does.

“it’s only fair if i eat, too, right?”

you gulp as she presses a kiss to your clit. your whole body jolts with a mewl when she parts them and sucks the bud into her mouth, the pressure sending shocks up your spine.

“ka—” you break off into a moan as she slips two fingers into you and sets that ruthless pace from earlier, the pleasure mounting into something that is entirely too much, too fast. “kaiser—”

she pops off your clit suddenly, her hot breath teasing the abused area. “michelle,” she corrects. “say it.”

“michelle,” you whine. “please.”

“please, what?” she takes her fingers out of you and begins rubbing her thumb in slow circles over your clit. “use your words.”

“please,” you say, nearly a hiccup. “please make me come.”

she hums in approval, cooing, “well, since you asked so nicely.”

she increases the pressure she rubs into your clit, and any confusion over her finger placement is immediately cleared up when something else enters your hole. you squeal in surprise as she slithers her tongue into you, moving it into your gummy walls as far as she can and swirling it around. your stomach and chest heave as you moan her name out in loud pleas, your hand coming down to stroke her hair as you involuntarily jolt your hips up against her face.

you’re close, so close—walls fluttering and the pitch of your voice crescendoing into high-pitched whimpers—when she suddenly pulls away from you.

“michelle?” you whine in confusion. she smirks at you as she tilts her head to the side, resting it against your thigh. your leg twitches involuntarily as she traces a tantalizing finger up and down your clit.

she calls your name, the syllables of it dripping off her tongue like honey. “it’s almost the end of the semester, you know. will you forget about me once this class is over?”

as if you can forget her after everything she’s done to you this afternoon. “i won’t,” you whisper.

she sighs, all faux sorrow. “but how do i know that? after all, you were trying so hard to get rid of me earlier.” you hiccup as another finger begins teasing your entrance. it distracts you from the harsh edge her voice takes when she asks, “you’ll just toss me to the curb like trash like everyone else does once you’re satisfied, won’t you?”

“no,” you whine. “don’t wanna.”

michelle takes in your needy expression with dark eyes. “don’t wanna what?”

“don’t wanna with anyone else,” you say, too dazed to try and stop yourself. “only you.”

the teasing movements suddenly stop, causing you to whine. she ignores it as she asks, “do you mean that, maus?”

that snaps you back to reality enough to give a better response. “i wouldn’t be doing this with just anyone,” you say, averting your eyes to the floral patterned bedsheets. you blush as you admit, “you’re my first because i wanted you to be.”

after a long moment of silence, she calls for you again. “look at me.”

you feel your breath hitch as you meet her eyes again. she’s always intense, but her gaze is sharper than you’ve ever seen, downright predatory and something else that you can’t quite place.

she licks a slow, agonizing strip up your folds before she says, “i’m going to make you come, then you’re going to be mine, got it?” she kisses your cunt again. “no one else is ever going to see you like this.”

before you can respond, she’s shoving her tongue back into your hole, fucking into you with a ferocity that wasn’t there all afternoon. her fingers expertly pinch and prod at your clit, rapidly working you back up to the point you were at when she stopped.

“michelle,” you cry out, “‘m gonna— ah—”

she moans into your pussy and gives one harsh pinch to your clit. with one last jolt, you throw your head back and devolve into a mess of whines and spasms as michelle works you through your orgasm.

you’re so out of it that you don’t even realize she’s pulled away from the space between your legs until she’s settling herself on top of you, straddling your waist. she takes a moment to admire your fucked-out expression before bringing her thumb to your lips and forcing them apart.

she presses her lips to yours, and you whimper as she shoves her tongue into your mouth, still coated in your come. after spitting and transferring most of it into your mouth, she pulls away, guiding your lips shut with her fingers.

“swallow,” she orders. she’s so close, her blue eyes taking up your entire vision as you gulp down what she’s given you, what she’s fed you so tenderly.

after watching your throat bob, she presses another kiss to your lips, surprisingly soft.

she pulls your head to rest against her chest, running her fingers through her hair. “so good for me,” she whispers. “you’ll stay right here, hm?”

you hum in agreement as your eyes flutter shut, exhaustion beginning to weigh down on you.

“good.” the feeling of her lips brushing against your ear has your eyes flying open again, your heart rate quickening.

“because i’m just getting started with you.”

[sun-kissy]

sunlight | j.p.

james potter x reader

summary: james is your best friend, and you tell him you love him as more than that

a/n: just a little something for fall!🍁 i apologise for my tardiness with requests, and trust that i’ll be getting to all of them soon <3

Brown leaves were scattered all around you, seemingly golden by dint of the warm sunlight. They continued to fall, fall, fall the same way your heart drummed louder, louder, and still louder yet.

The feeling of James’ hand in yours felt new somehow, like it was the first time your palm fit snug against the curves of his calloused one. James was your best friend; and he showed his love through his actions — an everyday thing like holding his hand shouldn’t have made your heart swell, but it did.

Maybe it was the way the wind whipped across his face, wild curls framing his features. Or perhaps it was how fast he was talking, the fact that he had so much he wanted to tell you — it may have been about silly things like what he’d eaten for breakfast, or how boring his class was today — but it was all for you.

“Hey.”

You blink dazedly.

His gloved hand is squeezing your own, smiling bemusedly. “Hey, you with me?”

“Sorry,” you laugh clumsily, feeling the heat rise up your cheeks. “Sorry, just — nevermind.”

James cocks his head to the side, looking so much like an adorable puppy that you’d pull him into a hug right then and there if you could. “Say it.”

“It’s nothing, James.”

His eyebrows bunch together, then, and you hate it. You’d hate to see anything but a smile on his face for the rest of your life. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

That much was true, the two of you knew everything about the other — down to the parts of your soul you’d never show to anyone else. But not this, you could never tell him this. You would be risking ruining the friendship that had so lovelily bloomed over the years, the friendship that felt more like family than anything else.

A sigh escapes your lips, forming a small cloud in the air. “I know, but it really is nothing. I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not,” James’ voice is softer now, coaxing like honey. “You’re not okay, you’ve been in your head this whole time. Please tell me what it is so I can make it better.” He’s frowning.

So I can make it better. His earnest care had your cheeks heating up again, and you quickly duck your head to hide it.

His expression morphs into something slightly more amused, and he crouches down to catch your gaze. “Jame-”

“Are you blushing?”

“James!” you chide, your skin growing warmer by the second as you turn your face away. He laughs softly and stops walking, tugging on your hand until you halt right next to him. You continue to train your vision on his shoes, feeling your heart slamming against the walls of your ribs.

You can practically see the grin on his face as he hooks a finger under your chin, encouraging your head up until you bashfully meet his eyes. It’s not often you get flustered around James, but he’s been noticing it more than ever as of late. He can’t get enough of it.

“Why are you all red?”

“I’m not all red!”

“Y/n —”

“Fine, I’ll tell you,” it comes out annoyed, but you’re desperately trying to keep the lovesickness out of your voice. You knew he wouldn’t be an asshole about it. He’d reject you kindly, glue together your fraying edges and fix everything up like he always did. Even a rejection from an angel like him sounded better than the voices playing devil’s advocate in your head.

“I love you.” It comes out in a quiet rush, like the diffusion of a tornado after months – no, years – of strong winds. It felt like the world had been lifted off your shoulders, yet your heart was being clawed out of your chest.

You had no idea if your voice really was that soft, or James was being his usual playful self. His face scrunches up like he can’t make out a thing you’re saying. “What?”

“James, don’t fuck with me –”

“I’m not fucking with you,” his expression lets up and he laughs softly, shaking his head. He runs a gloved hand through his locks as a grin creeps up his face. “Fuck, did you just – what did you – you love me?”

You groan and press the heels of your palms to your pink cheeks, covering your eyes embarrassedly. He laughs louder, reaching out to wrap his slender fingers around your wrists and tug them away from your face.

You hold them in place stubbornly. “Please don’t make this harder than it is,” you grumble.

“I’m not going to,” he grins, rubbing your wrists fondly. “Look at me, sweetheart. Let me see that pretty face.”

You shake your head, and he sighs. It’s one moment when you feel his warm breath on the back of your palms, and the next when he’s clawed your hands away from your face to press his lips to yours.

A small squeak escapes you, but his fingers wrap gently around the back of your neck, fingers slipping into your beanie, before you can pull away. That one fluid movement had you leaning into the kiss, melting into him. His lips tasted like everything sweet in this godforsaken world; like honey and caramel and sunlight, so bright and loving that it would’ve melted you into a puddle if not for the way he was holding onto you. You’d be Icarus if only to get a glimpse of the sun that James was, a taste of the sunshine oozing from every inch of his skin.

The way he kissed was better than you’d dreamed it to be, mouths moving together like they were melded to fit with the other. Your heart felt like it was about to burst out of your chest, your mind a blur of frenzied emotions and thoughts and so much love.

When he finally pulls away, the absence of his lips on yours is scalding, and your mouth unconsciously falls open. He’s grinning at you, cheeks flushed and eyes full of warm affection.

“So, you like me, too?” you blurt out stupidly, mind muddled by the feeling of his mittens on the skin of your cheeks, thumbs drawing hearts onto your face.

“Love, you idiot. I love you.”

The smile on your face only gets wider each time he leans down to kiss you on the way home, messy pecks to your cheek not unlike the haphazard pitter-patter of autumn leaves to the ground.

[xxxnightcorequeenxxx]

PSA To the Phantom, we have a Troll/Stalker!

Those who know me know this is somthing I won't typically resort to this, but today, I've reached the end of my long patience. ( one and half a year of patience) There is a Stalker/ Troll whose whole stick is trying to get people to draw Dani and Danny fan art. Thir asks will look like this. They will delete them as soon as you answer. I mod on a few Discord servers, so when I informed people on Discord that I had a digital stalker, someone reached out to me to ask me if this was them, as they didn't want to deal with what I had to put up with. That's how I got a hold of this:

On Deviantart, they try to get into people's good graces by subscribing and donating a dollar. (it's a tip you can do on DA, not required) They ask you to do art, and if you bite, They won't stop pestering you about it. Like you didn't do it fast enough, or you didn't do it. And if you do, they have a new request lined up the minute you post the last. So it's never good enough. They will try to monopolize your time, and you never get time to draw what you want to if you try being kind at first. One telltale sign that it's them is that if you reply to them, they will delete all their messages with you after your reply to avoid detection by moderators.

So here are the usernames I know them by; Usernames of them on DA; DanielFentonPhantom DannyFenton2 DannyFenton3 DannyPhantom11 JacobFritzsching1 JacobFritzsching2 JacobPhantom1 JakeFritzsching JakeFritzsching1 The username of the stalker on Tumblr: JacobFritzsching1 & JacobPhantom

I've tried to block them multiple times, And I suspect DA staff have banned some of their accounts.

They don't understand no and stay away or that people have boundaries. I've reported them multiple times. They have been suspended multiple times (I was lucky enough to get this screenshot for a suspended account)

They have been bothering me since Aug 28, 2023 and the latest block for this person was today.

This is me reaching out to others in my discord communities over time for help, showing what it did to me mentally and why I no longer take art requests. (For the privacy of the other users, I've only included what needed to go in there with their usernames hidden.) The only other user by name than me is the stalker.

I lay myself bare to you phandom community so that you may not suffer silently by JacobFritzsching1 hand. I know I'm not his only target. I've stayed quiet and done what I could for a year and a half. They have not let up, and I fear they are driving good people out of the community through their behavior. I will confess to thoughts of wanting to permanently delete my stuff just to escape this stalker. But I'm not letting them win. I am a Phandom elder, I have been a phan since the show since it aired back in the day; some of you may know me by my old username Jeanette9a, some of you will know I'm sited as one of the earlier ones to keep DP ship names list that now exisits on Ao3, and I have to use my every connection and pull to see this troll/stalker not mess with more of my fellow Phandom community. That so be it. I will pull out my megaphone and scram their misdeeds to heaves, so they may never walk anywhere without people knowing who JacobFritzsching1 is in regards to the phandom. You wanted attention well, here you go may I hope you enjoy what you have sown.

---- If anyone else has more receipts about this person feel free to reblog with a me too and show the phandom just who JacobFritzsching1 / JacobPhantom is. Because I'm just one person finally speaking up. I don't expect people to believe me outright. Not without more people who can attest to their character. Here is another post about the same user that is by someone other than me:

[gloomwitchwrites]

congrats on 1k!

would you be able to do something with ghost and pda? like when he’s with the team being all intimidating but completely changing when he’s with you?

Oh, anon! I would be happy to! Do I believe that at work Simon is an intimidating and slightly scary individual? Absolutely I do. Do I also believe that outside of work Simon is literally the opposite? Yes. Yes, I absolutely do. This is written with a gn!reader in mind!

Content & Warnings: fluff, brief mentions of canon-typical violence, brief suggestive themes

Word Count: 535

A/N: Thank you to everyone who sent in requests for the 1k follower event. This is just a reminder that the event is closed and I am not taking any more requests. Thank you!

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // 1k follower event masterlist

Simon who is always a stoic and intimidating individual while on the job. He is relatively calm, cool, and collected. He is excellent under pressure. He is confident in his skills. And like his callsign, Simon is exactly that—a ghost.

Simon who can slit throats, break necks, and unload his weapon without a second thought. He doesn’t blink when it’s not one of his own. Some find that scary. Others admire him. Simon accepts the praise quietly and keeps going.

Simon who starts to shift when it’s finally time to come home. The team notices but doesn’t say anything. Simon always appears a bit anxious. His foot constantly taps like he’s impatient and can’t get out of there fast enough. They don’t blame him. They all have someone they want to return to.

Simon who knows that he can’t drive too fast or speed his way home because he knows you’ll be upset with him. And he always arrives late in the night when you don’t expect him. Simon is quiet. He undresses quietly. Sets all of his stuff down. Curls up next to you in the bed. Immediately falls asleep.

Simon who is soft and tender with you when you finally awaken to him. He wants to rebuild that connection, repair what might have been lost, and that starts with the physical. Once that’s done, Simon only wants to rekindle the romance.

Simon who never wears his mask on dates. Never. Ghost is for work. The mask is for work. There are only two people in this relationship. You and Simon.

Simon who never stops touching you. If he’s not holding your hand, he’s resting his chin on the top of your head, or he has an arm slung over your shoulder. If he’s feeling a little possessive, it might be a hand on the back of the neck, or a firm palm on the ass.

Simon who doesn’t care if anyone sees him kiss you. If people stare, he’ll put on a show even if you protest and try to slip out of his arms.

Simon who absently finds himself touching you even in the most generic of places. Grocery store, pharmacy, or standing in line. His body is always physically near. He can’t help it.

Simon who speaks softly and gently to you. His gruff voice is for the bedroom or when you’re irritating him.

Simon who looms behind you (sometimes menacingly) just because he likes to show everyone around the two of you that you belong to him and no one else. People get the message rather quickly.

Simon who loves to pull you in by the waist and kiss you in corners when there isn’t anyone watching. He won’t put on a show. He just wants a little moment with you.

Simon who is always reaching for you when the two of you are out at a restaurant. Sometimes it’s a hand on the thigh. Sometimes it’s reaching across the table because he wants to hold your hand.

Simon who always tries to kiss your knuckles whenever you try to hand him something.

Simon who hates shutting out your love for a bit when he returns to his work.

taglist:

@km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath @sapphichotmess

@saoirse06 @haven-1307 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @lialacleaf

@unhinged-reader-36 @miss-mistinguett @ravenpoe67 @tulipsun-flower

@sageyxbabey @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @umno-yeah

@mudisgranapat @ninman82 @webmvie @blackhawkfanatic @contractedcriteria

@talooolaaloolla @rogerrhqpsody @sadlonelybagel @cinnabeanz @aykxz98

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @daemondoll @iloveslasher @yawning-grave81

@voids-universe @itsberrydreemurstuff @azkza @ash-tarte @sammysinger04

@certainlygay @soapyreaper @hantheconqueror @dakotakazansky @jaggersinclair

@suhmie @kidd3ath @lovely-ateez @marispunk @glitterypirateduck

[stove-top96]

Rockin’ Around The Christmas Tree

Y Batfam x Gn Reader

Synopsis: With your family all in town, they decide it’s finally time to decorate the Christmas tree.

Featuring: platonic Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne

2.1k words

Something I whipped up while I shoulda been studying for bio. All advice is appreciated!! Supposed to be a one-shot but I might make a part two who knows?

9 months, you’ve been here. Sure there have been other holidays like Easter, birthdays, and Halloween, you just “weren’t adjusted enough” to celebrate them with Bruce and his family. it still feels wrong to celebrate Christmas even if you’re “adjusted”. Years Before you haven’t really had anyone to celebrate it with, but you still had the choice to celebrate how you wanted. In all honesty you preferred being alone, away from Dicks clinginess and anger issues. Jason’s protectiveness was insufferable and you always get caught in the middle of his and Bruce’s fights. Tim’s stalking and creepiness is so unsettling. Damian’s intense stares and demand for your attention drive you crazy. Bruce’s overall presence is just way too intense for you to handle.

Sitting in your room, eyes fixed on the book you're reading. There’s a fast knock, and your door swings right after. “Everyone’s at the manor today, so we decided now’s the perfect time to decorate the tree” Dick’s voice filled with excitement. You never got a say in this decision, but then again when have you ever. “You sure it’s not kinda early?” You question, carefully with the wording so you won't get in trouble for having an “attitude” whatever that means. Looking up you can see his grin, he’s clearly excited and you're almost jealous. It'd probably be a lot easier if you felt like them. “It’s already December” he answers dismissing your objection, now there’s no way you’ll be able to get out of decorating this tree. “And when is everyone in the family all here together at the same time” you do see his point, much to your disdain. Jason could never tolerate being in the same room as Bruce, only showing up when he was on longer missions or to whisk you away for the night. Damian had started to take on longer missions as well, although they only took about a week. Dick and Tim had their own teams to run, taking up a good portion of their time. These facts really made you jealous, being stuck here because of their selfishness while they still get to see the world made you hate them even more. “I guess you have a point” you agree, following Dick down the long hallway.

Holding your hand he led you to the living room. You want to pull away, but he’d probably just get upset and cling to you even more this evening. Grinding your teeth you’ll just have to bare it until you get to the living room.

Clearly they’ve planned to do this for a while. boxes of decorations already clutter the big living room, Bruce is currently following Alfred’s instructions on how to set up the tree, Damian and Tim are digging through boxes, and Jason is untangling lights. It’s honestly a very uncharacteristic scene of your “family”. this is probably the closest thing to normal you’ll get tonight, might as well play along hoping no one will bother you too much tomorrow.

Dick makes his way over to some box, labelled ornaments. Still not letting go of your hand you try not to roll your eyes too hard, opting to help him sort through the box. “These all gonna fit?” You mumble to yourself absentmindedly as you unwrap the ornaments, and gently set them on the table. “We’ll make it work.” Jason pipes up, finishing the lights. He motions you over, you assume part of the reason is to help him the other part to get back at Dick for something. Why else would he have such a shit eating smirk? Dick sends Jason a quick scowl in retaliation. God, all your doing is helping him with the lights, it really isn’t that deep.

“Kay Bridie, all you gotta do is wrap them ‘round the back once I pass them to ya.” Bridie is his nickname you know he knows you hate. He's obviously trying to get a rise out of you. Why else would he talk to you like your five. Bruce sends him a warning look, telling him not to push it. You roll eyes and nod your head giving him a response is probably the worst thing you could do right now, it’ll just raise his ego and he’ll tease you for the rest of the evening. As you and Jason pass the lights back and forth, it never really occurred to you just how tall this tree was. Wincing at the thought of how long this will take to decorate, let alone spending it with these people. Like everything else you don't have a choice, so you keep passing the lights forward. “Sure you’ll be able to reach the top?” He knows the answer, once again he’s just trying to get a reaction. “We’ll see” you know you won’t be able to reach, but there’s a chance if you go on your tip toes and reach real hard. “I can always lift you if it’s too hard” Jason’s comment makes the family briefly pause what they are doing, Damian even shoots Jason a glare. Anything’s better than that. So you stand on your tippiest of toes and reach as hard as you can, and you’re actually able to make it to the top. Much to the families relief, if Jason got to carry you like that it’s likely he won't let the others live it down

Dick seems done with unwrapping the Ornaments. Truthfully you’ve never decorated a Christmas tree before, and all though you’d rather be anywhere but here there’s still that inner child who has always dreamed of decorating their own tree. “You gonna help me put them on babybird?” Dick asks, saying no will do more harm than good so you opt for a different excuse “What if I drop one though?” You ask, hoping he’ll take the bait, knowing he'd never fall for it. “We’ll just clean it up then, no big deal.” Like always he doesn’t fall for it, although you admit the excuse was kinda dumb. “If you say so” he has his grin from earlier, as he passes you the colourful ornaments. Looking closer at them it’s clear they’re expensive, rightfully so they’re beautiful with red and gold accents. As you look for the right spot to place them Dick comes up beside you, “don’t think to hard about it babybird, just put them on it’ll all come together” he can sense your growing anxiety and doesn’t want to spoil your mood so early, so he keeps his space and offers words of encouragement. You're thankful at least he somewhat knows when to back off “I don’t know, I’ve never done this before”, you step closer to the tree not really knowing where to put it, so you just place it next to Dick’s. Pride swells in Dick’s chest, “just like that” he encourages smiling to himself. Placing various ornaments on the whole tree you lost track of time, maybe because Dick was giving you some space to enjoy yourself for once. Whatever the case, as you decorated the tree your smile brightened the room, and was appreciated by everyone.

“Why don't you put the star on top this year?” Bruce’s voice calm and content, his lips slightly upwards, which is the closest you’ll ever get to a smile. “I won’t be able to reach the top though” you were barely able to reach with the lights no way you’ll be able to place the star on the very top. “Don’t worry about that” Bruce says, passing you the gold star. it’s beautiful with intricate carved designs, it’s a little heavy. You wonder if it’s made of gold or not? “What do you mea-“ before you can even finish your sentence you're hoisted up into the air by Bruce. You're a little mad he gave you no warning, but you're willing to let it go. Bruce probably won’t mention it again he’d probably just keep the memory for himself, he definitely would never tease you about it. As he holds you near the top of the tree, you secure the star on top. Smiling that bright smile as he brings you down, any earlier feelings of unease washing away as you let yourself get carried away with all the decorating.

“What candles should we light?” Tim approached you, holding three different candles in his arms. Grabbing the first one, dark green in colour it smelt like pine. “That one’s nice” you note passing it back to him. The second a deep red smelled like peppermint and made you feel just a little nauseous. “I’m not into that one” passing it back to Tim who just sets it on the coffee table. Grabbing the last candle a light brown one, it smelt like a warm cozy cinnamon, you figure it’s the one that will make the room feel most welcoming. “I think we should light this one, what about you?” You ask, wanting to make sure he’d be okay with your choice. “I agree.” Tim says, not even bothering to smell the other candles. He leads you away from the tree and towards the mantle, the box still full of decorations beside it. Why is nothing done? What were they all doing while you and Dick were decorating the tree? “I kinda don’t have a vision for the mantle” Tim admits, you're pretty sure he’s lying and just wants this opportunity to be close with you. Although you're kinda getting into this whole decorating thing, it’s even starting to feel a little fun. So you're not as mad as you want to be. “Okay, I guess I can try”. Finding fake greenery, pinecones in the box, even some red ribbon. you're starting to get a vision of what you want to happen. Too tired to get up and do it yourself you start bossing Tim around. It's kinda fun, he’s good at following your instructions, always knowing how exactly you want the ribbon draped over the greenery and the exact spot you want the candle holders. Tim knows what he’s doing, he likes seeing you smile and hearing your voice even if that means you’re bossing him around, he’ll gladly follow any order you give him.

“We must hang up the family's stockings.” Damian states, motioning towards some sort of metal rack he put together. At least he did something. The rack is fixed with 7 hooks, they must have bought a new one to hold your additional stocking. “Sure” you smile “what box are they in” you ask, “that is the issue, someone did not label the box they put them in last year” he grumbles, shooting Dick a glare. You giggle “we’ll find them”. The family pauses for a beat, it had been months since they heard you laugh. Today truly is a day worth celebrating in their eyes. After about 15 minutes of searching you finally found them. “I found them!” You exclaim, and Damian turns around to sort through them with you. The stockings are actually kinda cute, red knitted socks with everyone’s names on them. Your stocking was the exact same. You wonder how far in advance they had yours made? As you and Damian hung the stockings starting with Alfred’s and working your way down, you didn’t expect yours to fit in so well when hung on the hooks but it didn’t bother you, it’d be more weird if yours was out of place.

“It actually looks kinda good” you hate to admit, but the warm lights radiating off the Christmas tree bring a nice ambiance to the room, the colorful ornaments adorned on every branch, and a sparkling star that rests on top. The Cinnamon scented Candles flicker on the mantel, draped with red ribbons and greenery. Each family member's stocking hanging in front of the fireplace waiting to be filled, the crackling fire really completes the look. Taking a step back to really appreciate the room you feel a sense of pride bubbling in your chest. “Why wouldn’t it, we’re the ones who’s decorated it” Damian states matter of factly, clearly also somewhat proud of his work. “I think this is the best it’s ever looked” Dick’s excitement still present from earlier. “You got a point,” Jason agrees, with a small smile on his face. “It’s been a while since I got to relax like this” Tim states, smiling soaking in the view. “Alfred informed me dinner will be ready in about 10 minutes, why don't we start to head over”. Oh god, you’re way too exhausted to deal with a family dinner.

[sagittariusmarz]

Their 18+ thoughts for you (pac)

Pile 1

I see that they think about going out with you on a nice date where you guys dress up, they think about flirting with you the whole time during the date and giving you flirty looks or touching you whenever they can. They think about having some food and a lot of drinks so you guys can be comfortable with each other then they want to go home with you or to a hotel so that you guys can have sex and spend the night together. They think about how they want you guys to be patient and do some foreplay before having sex, they want you both to be really turned on and horny when it’s time to have sex. They want to have passionate sex and show you how much they care for you/love you, they want you dominate them or tell them what you want in the bedroom. Once they have you alone they would want to kiss you passionately and take your clothes piece by piece and feel your skin along the way, they would want you to feel how turned on you make them. They would have passionate and fast paced sex with you because it would be hard to control their desire for you, they would want to do multiple rounds with you and I see that the more rounds you do the slower they would go it’s just the first round or two would be more energetic. I see that they think about having a few passion filled nights with you but they don’t want anything long term or serious. Signs- Pisces, Scorpio, Virgo. Initals- Y, O, U, D

Pile 2

I see that they think about your voice or hearing you moan and scream with pleasure, your voice is very attractive to them and helps them cum during sex. They think about masturbating to you while your masturbate or masturbating to your voice, they think about pulling your hair and kissing you or making you submit to them, they think about your lips and how good you are at kissing. They think about your back/butt or how good you look when your arch your back, they think about doing stuff with you that they’ve never did with anyone else or they think about fulfilling your fantasies. They think about how experienced you are in the bedroom or how well you know their body, they think about how they want to show how experienced they are and that they can make you feel good anytime. They can tell when you’re thinking about them or they feel like you know when they’re thinking about you, they feel like you have a good intuition and you know stuff about them without them having to tell you. They think you’re very attractive without showing off too much skin, they think your face is very alluring and you look innocent/sweet in public but you’re very different in the bedroom. They think that they’re more attracted to you than you are to them, they think you have a hold on them sexually and whenever they see you they think about doing naughty things to you. They know you bring out a more primal/dark sexual energy from them and you make them act kore dominant or obsessive over you, they try to control their feelings/attraction for you but it’s hard. They think about touching you or kissing you all the time and they may have a fantasy of doing sexual things in public or in front of people, they want people to see that your theirs or that they want you. Signs- Scorpio, Sagittarius, Taurus, Pisces. Initials- X, B, G, N

Pile 3

I see that they think about spending more time with you and talking to you more, they think about being on good terms with you. They think about being friends with benefits because they want to build the connection slowly but they want to have sex with you or do sexual things with you. They think about playing with your boobs or sucking on them, they think about feeding you or partying with you and then doing some sexual things together. They think about how you act when you’re drinking or under the influence, they fantasize about your reciprocating their feelings for you. They think about spending more time at your house or you going to theirs, they think about cuddling with you and touching each other’s naked bodies. They just think about being around and working towards being something more, they think about being more understanding of your feelings and trying to be more respectful of your boundaries. Signs- Libra/Gemini. Initials- H, R, T, K, Z

Pile 4

(Angel number 9/99/999) I see that they think about how you guys aren’t on good terms or they see that you’ve moved on, they reminisce a lot about the good times they had with you. They think a lot about the times they’ve kissed you or had sex with you and they compare it to other people, they feel like you guys had more chemistry compared to others in their past. They’re trying to manifest you back into their life but your defensiveness makes them feel insecure, they think about closing the distance between you guys or fantasize about traveling with you like going far away and just enjoying their alone time with you. They fantasize a lot about touching your skin specifically your legs and thighs, they may fantasize about your feet as well. They think about giving you a handjob or fingering you, they want to spend the night with you or just see you more often. They fantasize about you reconsidering your thoughts and feelings about them, they want to change your mind by showing you affection and doing new things together. They fantasize about exploring new fetishes or the fetishes that they already have but they may be insecure about them, they fantasize about you being less guarded and more open/receptive to them. They fantasize about you being more comfortable/ open and showing them what you really desire in the bedroom so they can make it come true, they fantasize about you both being more honest with each other. Signs- Taurus, Aquarius, Sagittarius. Initials- D, A, W

Personal readings always available// TIP JAR

Divider by @crylynnluv

[bloomries]

y-you're too close!

includes : lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, and belphegor.

summary : they get a little too close to your face— and how are you supposed to ignore their mesmerizing eyes or kissable lips?

warnings : gn! reader. kissing (lucifer, satan, belphegor).

LUCIFER

Lucifer had, of course, went to visit you- and you just so happened to be in an empty classroom at the time. He found you rather easily, almost having a sixth sense for your presence. Standing behind you, he watched as read some words from a textbook before writing down an answer.

He then leans down to whisper in your ear, to teasingly praise you for your hardwork, when you turn your head to the side at just that moment— your lips brushing over his.

"L- Lucifer!?" You squeak, before falling out your seat from trying to pull back much too fast. His eyes widen, and he swiftly catches you before you can cause too much of a commotion.

"Are you alright?" He holds back a laugh, meanwhile you're trying to not have your heart explode.

"I'm fine- I just- you were- why were you so close!?" You manage to get out as he puts you back in place, your homework long forgotten by now. He tries to hide the quirk of his lip, but you see it and know he's preparing to tease you.

"Well, I wasn't expecting you to turn your head and try to kiss me." He says, touching his lips and shaking his head. "You must conduct yourself in a more respectful manner."

"You know I wasn't trying to- you just snuck up on me!" Lucifer frowns, still putting on an act special to you. He'd never act in such a silly manner to anyone else.

"But you still kissed me. You'll have to be held accountable." You groan, looking up at him with a dismal expression. You make him almost take pity on you, but then again he was never known as merciful.

"And how do you suppose I make up for my mistakes?"

"Hmm, perhaps kissing me again? On purpose this time, of course."

MAMMON

"Mammon, knock it off," You groan, pushing him away from you. He had been bothering you for the better half of the day, clinging on to you. You don't normally mind, but Mammon also doesn't normally poke your sides and pinch your thighs.

"Noo," He whines, and this naturally leads into you two play wrestling, Mammon ending up with his face perhaps a little too close to yours when he pins you down against the bed. Your eyes widen when you realize just how close he is.

"Hey, let up." You struggle in his grip and he huffs, getting all smug.

"No way. I won fair 'nd squa...re.... ah," That's when Mammon realized just how close to your face he was. "Uh..." He doesn't pull away from you, though his grip loosens. Now you're both messes. Mammon's hot in the face, and you're trying hard to ignore how sweaty your palms have grown.

After a few seconds on bashful staring at each other, Mammon finally pulls away and lets out a shaky loud laugh. "Ha, well, I won. So... I get to stay."

You're still too flustered to deny him, so you just nod wordlessly. However, the tension in the air is thick, and Mammon is like a statue from how he barely moves.

Both of you painfully aware of the obvious affections you two have been showing nonstop over the last few months, but none of it being really faced until just now- when you two were basically a inch away from kissing.

"Should we, uhm, y'know, talk... about what just-"

"I just remembered I have to do, uh, dishes!" Mammon stood up abruptly. "I- I'll talk to ya later!" Oh, this is definitely going to cause a few awkward days in the House of Lamentation.

LEVIATHAN

Leviathan and you had been up for hours on the new game he got, collecting items, ravaging villages, defeating enemies, and it all lead to now— the final boss. Through sweat, blood, and tears you two managed to defeat the final boss in a total of four minutes and fifty six seconds.

"Y- Yes!" You both shouted, cheering and jumping up from your seats, clinging on to each other with damn near tear in your eyes. "Yes! We did it!" Levi cried, squeezing you tightly.

You laugh with joy, pulling away from the hug only to be met face-to-face with Levi.

"Didn't doubt us for a second," You smile, a flirty lilt in your tone that has Levi sudden very conscious on how close you two are. Your eyes flicker down to his lips and he gasps- were you- no, no way! he was a gross otaku! you must be mistaken! yes, that's it!

And thus, Levi is quick to push your face away and accidentally push you back into your gaming chair. "Ow," you pout, and Levi gasps once more.

"S- Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay, Levi, really," You chuckle, and he awkwardly laughs with you. He sits down back in his seat, letting the end music play as he messes with the hem of his shirt.

"I thought, I thought you were going to kiss me for a second," He admits bashfully, chuckling as if that was impossible. You quirk a brow, leaning back in your seat and eyeing him.

"I was."

"Haha, yeah exactly you weren't- wait, what!?"

"I said, I was. I was going to kiss you, Levi." You push yourself forward, your face once again impossibly close to his and he chokes on his own breath before squeezing his eyes shut, lips puckering forward a little.

You press a finger to his lips, and he peaks an eye open- disappointed. "Aw, too bad you missed your chance today, how about you try again tomorrow?" Ah, he most definitely would- if he didn't talk himself down by then!

SATAN

"Wait, so, forward, right- uhm, oh!" You had asked Satan to teach you how to dance upon getting the invitation to Diavolo's upcoming ball. Apparently demons love ballroom dancing. However, in your attempt to learn, you've come to realize that you're dancing skills are possibly a little rusty.

"Sorry," You chuckle, you had tripped over your own feet for the umpteenth time, but at least it was Satan's? You sigh, looking up at him as he looks down at you, and oh. Oh wow.

It was quiet, except for the classical music playing softly in the background. Your heart is racing, and you fear that in your close proximity he might be able to feel it. He fears the same, his grasp on you tightening. He has that charming smile resting on his features, despite the storm in his mind!

How desperately you want to kiss him- and had his eyes always been so green?

Your certain your cheeks are on fire, and you want so badly for the ground to swallow you up. You can't form any words, just staring like a lovesick fool- and Satan is doing no better. He's at a loss for words, truly. How could he even begin to form a sentence worth interrupting this moment?

Then, a book falls to the ground with a loud thud- a mischievous tabby meowing and stretching somewhere. You both pull away, Satan's cheeks growing a rosy color as he clears his throat.

"Maybe we should take a break? I'll... I'll go get us some waters," You say, about to leave, however Satan can't help himself and pulls you by the waist towards him.

"Please forgive me," He whispers, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

"Kiss m-" With that, he kisses you deeply. A kiss that certainly will make itself into your dance routine with Satan at the ball next week.

ASMODEUS

"What do you think?" Asmo asks, scooting closer to you, showing off the new look he was attempting- and obviously he was nailing it. He looked perfect, but that wasn't unusual in his case.

"Pretty as always," You say, not really looking at him. He was always showing off looks that were amazing, so you already knew that it was perfect. He whines, shimmying closer to you.

"You're not looking!" He pouts, and you sigh, turning your head abruptly- not expecting him to be so close. Oh. He did look very pretty. And now your cheeks are warm. "Thank you! So, how does it look?" He asks, as if the close proximity wasn't bothering him.

"You look nice- good- you look... good..." He frowns. Well good wasn't good enough. He pulls back and checks in the mirror, but finds not a single product out of place. He whips back around towards you, getting even closer to your face.

"Just good?"

"You look beautiful," You say, and he blinks in shock at your earnestness. He's glad the make up is covering up the blush that surely spreads on his cheeks.

"Oh my, are you falling for my good looks?" His teasing comment ruins the moment, and you scoff, shaking your head as you turn to look back at your phone.

"You wish, princess." You say, pushing him away by the shoulder. You ignore the heart palpitations as you scroll through your DDD.

BEELZEBUB

"Oh, Beel, you got something right there..." You say, pointing to your cheek to where Beelzebub had some sauce. Beel looks down at the food in his hands- both hands were pretty occupied, so he leaned in for you to wipe it away for him.

"W- What?-" It seems he underestimated how small the table was, though, as he leaned in way too close! Face hot, you lift a shaky hand to wipe away the sauce with a napkin and then he shoots you the biggest, most kissable grin in the world.

"Thanks!" He chuckles, before leaning back and taking another bite of his food. You can only stare at the table now though, lest you wish to continue your rather romantic thoughts.

Beel notices this, and once again leans in close— Damn it, is he trying to give you a heart attack!? He furrows his brows as he inspects you, before frowning. Shit, did he realize that you were having definitely not friendly thoughts?

"Are you okay? You look a lil' sick." He says, leaning back. You let a silent breath of relief before nodding.

"I'm fine, just... just a little hot, that's all." And technically, you weren't lying.

BELPHEGOR

"Shuddup," Belphegor groans, rolling over on to his side to face you, before grabbing your waist and pulling you into him. You gasp, not from the action- honestly, this is a rather typical evening with Belphegor (he claims he "sleeps better" when you're near him) but you gasp due to how close your face is to his.

Usually you land near his chest or vise versa, but this face-to-face view was definitely making you grow quiet. Belphegor was pleased with this, before he realized it took quite a lot to usually shut you up. He peaks an eye open with a frown.

"What's your deal?" When you don't respond and instead try to wiggle out of his arms, he tightens his grip and gets even closer. "Hm? Trying to get away?"

"Yes! Let me gooo!"

"Nah," He grins, realizing what's happening. "I think you don't really want me to let you go anyways, right? You wanna stare at my face longer? Wanna kiiisss meeee?" You groan, wishing to strangle the annoying demon. He laughs when you don't deny him.

"I knew it," He flutters his lashes close and pouts his lips out a little, trying to appear 'pretty' or... something? You just shake your head, done with his teasing. Grabbing his collar, you admire his natural beauty for a second— after all, who knows when you'll be so close to his face again— before catching him off guard with a kiss

Letting go of you out of shock, you're quick to run away, leaving Belphegor in a stunned, blushing mess. Stupid humans...~

[mysticalcrowntyrant]

Yan bully had me in a chokehold. Could we possibly see their relationship progression? Pretty please?

Yandere Bully x Reader (Part Two)

An: This has actually been sitting in my drafts for a couple days. :D I hope you like it!!!

Part one

The empty locker room smells like sweat and old linoleum. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering slightly, as if trying to escape the weight of the silence. The air is thick and sticky outside, but the room is cool. Dean slouches against the metal lockers, the sharp scent of blood mixing with the stale air.

His face is already bruising. The knuckles of his right hand are split, blood oozing from the cuts, dripping onto the floor. His shirt is torn, sleeves shredded, and there’s a small tear on his jeans where something sharp must’ve caught him. He’s not entirely steady on his feet, but you can tell by the way he keeps glancing at the door that he's still ready for whatever comes next.

You don’t say anything for a long moment, not because you don’t want to—there’s just no point. There’s nothing to be said. You’ve seen this before. He’s been like this for as long as you’ve known him, and yet, this time, it feels different. He’s more… nervous than usual.

"You’re gonna bleed out if you don’t let me do something about that," you mutter, stepping forward cautiously.

Dean doesn't respond, but you know he hears you. He always does. His eyes follow you as you pull out the first-aid kit from the corner. The one that’s been sitting there untouched for years. It's dusty, old. A few of the bandages are frayed, but it’ll do. Everything with Dean is always a little bit broken, a little bit secondhand.

You kneel down in front of him, pulling his hand closer so you can clean the cuts. He winces, but he doesn’t pull away. He never pulls away, not from you. It’s as if the pain doesn’t matter when you’re close enough to touch. When you wrap the bandage around his knuckles, your fingers brush the rough edges of his skin. His grip tightens around your wrist, and you don’t flinch, not even when he digs his fingers in a little too hard.

"Stupid fight," you murmur under your breath, more to yourself than to him.

He grunts in response. "Didn’t start it," he says quietly, the sound of his voice gravelly, rough. "But I sure as hell finished it."

You glance up at him then, and for a second, the world outside seems to fall away. Dean’s face is almost childlike in that moment—eyes dark and wild, lips pressed in a thin line, but something in him is different. There's a vulnerability underneath it all that he never shows anyone else. You can see it in the way his chest rises and falls too fast, the way his shoulders stiffen every time someone walks past the door.

You focus on the task at hand, wrapping more gauze around the worst of the wounds. His skin is warm under your touch, like the heat from his body is soaking through you. You don’t think about it. You can’t. The weight of his presence is already too much. And yet, there's something you can't quite shake. The way he looks at you, the way he always has.

When the cuts are bandaged, you look up again, meeting his gaze. For a long time, there’s only silence between the two of you. The buzz of the lights. The rhythmic sound of your breathing. You don’t know how to speak past the suffocating tension in the room, how to bridge the gap between what you both want and what you both need.

"Why do you do this?" you finally ask.

Dean doesn’t immediately answer. His gaze shifts to the locker across from him.

"I don’t know," he says quietly. "I just... don’t like the thought of anyone else touching you."

You feel something in your chest tighten at his words, a mixture of butterflies and dread. Because you know Dean—his actions are never just about protecting. He doesn’t protect anyone. He controls. He manipulates. He consumes. And yet, there’s something in his gaze now, something raw that makes your breath hitch.

You finish bandaging him up, standing slowly, stepping back. Your eyes lock for a long, unbearable moment.

"Next time," he says, voice low, "I’ll finish it faster."

You nod, but you don’t say anything. You don’t know what to say. Maybe there’s nothing left to say.

He’s already made his point.

Masterlist