#say whatever the hell you will about this game
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yanderenightmare · 15 hours ago
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Can you write more for naoya zenin? Your writting is soo good omg, i was thinking about ex husband naoya
Naoya Zenin
♡ TW: toxic relationship, toxic family, arranged marriage, obsessiveness, possessiveness, denied divorce, abuse, kidnapping
♡ FEM reader
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Ex-husband Naoya, who refuses to sign the papers as there’s no such thing as divorce in the Zenin clan—who says it’s shameful and that you should know better than to think you can just walk away from him just like that.
Ex-husband Naoya, who is very clear about it—how if you leave, it will be with nothing to your name—nothing but the clothes on your back, and barely even that—because everything you have is owned by him—and the only reason he’s ever been willing to share it is because you’ve paid for it in his bed.
Ex-husband Naoya, who can’t believe it when you leave him anyway—who’s certain he’s coming home to a dutiful wife, all silly ideas put to rest, sweetly apologetic for ever having raised the thought—but instead comes home to a quiet, cold, and empty house—divorce papers the only trace you’ve left behind.
Ex-husband Naoya, who immediately has the Zenin clan shun your clan and makes sure all other clans do the same, completely cutting you off—telling your clan leaders that until they deliver on their side of their alliance and have you return to your rightful place, their clan is to be held in contempt.
Your family begs you to go back to him, to stop this rebellion you’re so childishly insisting on. Your father even commands you, but you’re done taking orders from men—and their brainwashed wives. You don’t owe them anything—they’re the ones who sold you off to that misogynistic madman in the first place. Serves them right to suffer the way you have.
And so, you go off on your own. 
But with his resources, ex-husband Naoya’s always able to find you—and make your life hell. Any job you manage to get fires you only a few weeks later for reasons unknown—encouraged by a silent donation—and realtors will suddenly tell you that the apartment you’ve been interested in is off the market.
Ex-husband Naoya, who comes to collect you from the woman’s shelter you’ve taken refuge at, fed-up and beyond ready to put an end to whatever it is you think you’re up to.
“I don’t have any more time for this nonsense of yours,” he says— patronizing tone making him look ugly and nothing like the great man he thinks he is. “You’re out of money, and you’re out of places to run. Come with me now, and I will still allow you a gracious return.” 
Ex-husband Naoya, who really must be the most entitled man in the world.
“Make me waste any more time, and I’ll—”
“Fuck your gracious return,” you cut him off, continuing with a sneer, “Only way I’m going anywhere with you is kicking and screaming. Now get the fuck out before I call security and have you arrested.”
Ex-husband Naoya, who looks at you as if you’ve gone mad, then proceeds to feel driven insane himself—laughing at your threat like it was all a really funny joke.
“I’ve been lenient enough with you, humoring this little rebellion of yours, allowing you to come home on your own,” he says, his voice whispy with breath, just shy of unhinged—then dead and cold come his next words, “But I see now… I’ve been too indulgent.” 
Ex-husband Naoya, who meant it when he said he was done playing games.
Ex-husband Naoya, who doesn’t have an issue with your kicking and screaming.
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♡ NAOYA ZENIN masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist
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kooyabooya · 4 hours ago
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FREUDIAN
m reader x rosé // 24k words
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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. 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 me, 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.) 
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bueckersg1rl · 17 hours ago
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i forgot i wrote this when i was DEEP into my pazzi phase so enjoy i guess 😭😭
this is unedited and my first and last time writing this shit is not for the weakk
how many drinks? (paige bueckers x azzi fudd)
warnings: underage drinking, suggestive, angsty? idk what to tag lol im not a writer
“paigeee” azzi whined, tired of the constant badgering from her best friend.
“bro come on azzi! it’s only one night and you literally never go out” paige quickly retaliated, pacing around the younger girl’s room.
“not when we have finals next week! you, out of all people should know how much work i need to catch up on. plus, my dad’s literally going to kill me!” azzi complained, fidgeting with the silver ring occupying her middle finger. with a smirk creeping up on paige’s face, azzi could already predict the words that were about to come out of the blonde's mouth.
“we can always sneak out..” she giggled, finally coming to a halt infront of azzi, lips slightly pouting as she put on a frown.
“please?” she gazed into azzi’s eyes, lips tugging into a smirk when azzi started to tilt her head back, eyes darting into every direction but paiges.
“madison im going to kill you one day i swear to God” azzi groaned, sitting further up her bed.
“so.. is that a yes?” paige squealed, unable to contain her excitement anymore. with a sigh, azzi rolled her eyes and threw a pillow at the older girl, before finally sighing with a yes.
“bro azzi youre the best! you know theres gonna be a dj right? and so, so much vodka!!” paige trailed on, while azzi simply fell back into the comfort of her bed listening to her best friend talk.
******
two hours had passed, and the pair couldn’t contain their excitement anymore. azzi was dressed in a tank top and a cute black miniskirt, the hem of the skirt settling just below her ass. paige, who wasn’t that concerned of what she was wearing had a flannel shirt and a pair of skinny jeans on. however, azzis outfit had definitely caught her attention. the way her tank top hugged her curves perfectly and the skirt that wrapped around her ass, it was impossible for paige to take her eyes off azzi, but she wasnt meant to feel like that about her bestfriend. mumbling something under her breath, she was quickly refocused on their plans of sneaking out of the fudd residence. azzi dashed down the corridor to triple check her parents were asleep, before signalling to paige that they were ready to leave. carefully, paige opened the window and started to climb out, shortly followed by azzi. the cool air hit their faces, the warmth and comfort of azzis room washing away. paige quickly got the address of the party up on her phone, only a short 10 minute walk. skipping and giggling their way to the party, they quickly arrived, buzzed off nervousness and excitement. azzi nervously glanced at paige,
“are you sure we can be here? what if the cops pull up? what if we get banned from basketball?”
“chill out azzi. you know i wouldnt put you in that sorta situation.”
"and if you do, i am literally going to kill you.” azzi bit back, tagging behind paige as they walked into the house.
*******
“look azzi! they’re playing 7 minutes in heaven! let’s go pleaseee” paige slurred, after four too many shots of straight vodka.
“are you serious? paige i haven’t had my first kiss yet and it sure as hell isn’t gonna be at this party.”
“you can always just say no… and plus, if not now, then when?”
“can you at least lemme get more wasted first?”
“yeah yeah whatever!” paige dismissed, grabbing azzis arm as azzi swiftly downed a shot and chaser and pulled her towards the crowd. the pair sat down in the circle, paige’s arm wrapped tightly around azzis shoulder. the game began, and one by one couples would disappear into the closet and reemerge, hair messed up and cheeks flushed. after 5 rounds, it was finally azzis turn. as she spun the bottle, she silently wished the bottle would break. she shut her eyes for a moment, preparing herself for the outcome. all of a sudden, a series of cheers and whistles erupted, as she felt paige’s arm that was wrapped around her shoulder grip onto her hand, leading her towards the closet. pushing themselves into the closet, azzi spoke up first.
"hi paige!" she giggled, playing with her fingers that were still firmly wrapped around her own hand.
"hi azzi," paige whispered, "you know you look really good tonight."
"only tonight?" azzi teased, stepping in front of paige so they were meeting eye to eye.
"you know you look good everyday azzi, dont play."
paiges eyes were slightly glazed, darting from azzis eyes and lips, indecisive between the two. azzi leaned in, closing any remaining gap between them. paige immediately cupped her hand on azzi’s flushed cheek, feeling the heat radiating into her hand. she couldn’t help but pull away and breaking into a smile, taking in what just unfolded before her.
“did i do something wrong? oh fuck i totally misread this didn’t i paige im so sor-“
before she knew it, paige’s lips were attached again, this time with more force and emotion. the older girl’s arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her even closer. azzi, unsure of where to place her hands, figured around the waist was the safest option, but as her cold fingertips came in contact with paige’s warm body, a spark ignited in both of them, fervently making out, hands exploring each other’s bodies. after what felt like a minute, a series of knocks pounded at the door. the slight giggles sneaking into the closet cut through the tension, with voices of girls outside the door squealing,
“7 minutes is up get outttt lovebirds!"
almost instantly, paige shoved azzi off her, hurriedly running her hands through her hair and straightening out her top.
“bro fuck what did we just do? oh my god bro this wasn't supposed to happen” azzi, still in shock of what just happened, mindlessly gaped at paige until she could form coherent words. the brunette was able to muster out a single word, fuelling paiges panic.
“what?”
paige started cursing again, to herself, to azzi, who knew? she pushed past the younger girl, out the door, and back into the party. azzi however, was still managing to collect her feelings.
"what the actual fuck just happened?" she asked herself, fixing her miniskirt which had ridden up to her hips. after a few minutes, azzi pushed the door open, to be met with some of paiges friends that she met earlier.
"azzi! oh my godd girll you look soooo good" one giggled, the other trying to balance on her two feet. azzi gave a polite smile, asking if both were okay, before she pushed through the crowd to find paige again. when she finally saw a glimpse of her blonde hair, azzis jaw dropped to the floor, her eyes in a trance at the unbelievable audacity paige had. there she had been, making out with azzi 10 minutes ago, but now sliding her toned arms across another brunette's shoulders, the girl giggling at whatever paige was saying. paige looked up, directly into azzis long-lashed, beautiful brown eyes, but before she could even blink, azzi was gone.
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soohiefan13 · 1 day ago
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MOMOKARUN - roomies
ੈ♡˳ a continuation of my "roomies head cannons" post (if u haven't read it yet, you should totally go read it either before or after you read this bc it's fire if i may say so myself.
notes: 2.8k words. warning(s):
ੈ♡˳
music was thumping in their ears. they weren't at a party or anything. they were just in momo's new bedroom. well, not new new. momo had lived there a good three months already. with her (low-key fine) roomie.
the roomie in question was in his bedroom. no music of his own. he was mostly just involuntarily listening the fast bass line of whatever the hell momo and her friends were listening to. honestly, ken was getting a little irritated. this was his one night out of the week that he had to study and relax. every other day, he was practicing with his club or going to work. he liked living with momo, but times like these made him wish he had taken advantage of the roommate matching resources. he just sighed and grabbed his noise cancelling ear buds. if he had to listen to something, it was gonna be something he wanted to listen to.
"I don't know, girl! he's hot stuff!" muko said loudly while looking in the mirror and pulling her hair into different hairstyles. "y'all haven't ever even flirted a little?"
momo threw a pillow at her girlfriend and rolled her eyes. "dude. if you haven't noticed, he's a total nerd."
muko and miko both deadpanned and turned to momo. "girl. if you haven't noticed, that's literally your type." muko stated. then miko piped up.
"also, I don't know who you think you are! did you just forget that you two freaks are studying the same nerdy occult stuff!"
"well, yea! but he's studying aliens and all that UFO bullshit! i'm studying genuine stuff: spirits and the supernatural!" momo said proudly.
her friends deadpanned again. "right... right..."
"whatever. you two are studying- what is it again? dress up games?" she insulted.
miko whipped around. "bitch! I don't wanna hear that noise whenever you step out wearing something made by us two. and you'll look totally hot in it, too."
momo chuckled, applying a big false eyelash to top off her gyaru makeup look. all three of the girls were practicing their skills. since they were finally allowed to wear makeup out and about everyday. muko wore it anyway, but boy, did she stay in detention.
"honestly, momo. you could use more practice." muko blurted out, a plan flowering into her mind.
"um, rude! you couldn't have said that a little nicer?" momo whined, staring at her makeup in a handheld mirror and working hard to decipher what exactly she was doing wrong.
"i'm just sayin', it might help to practice on a fresh face..." muko said, raising her eyebrows at miko. momo just cocked her head to the side, confused.
miko smiled mischievously. "yea... maybe that cute roomie of yours would be up to letting you practice on his mug."
momo rolled her eyes, touching up her eyeliner. "yea right. okarun would never agree to that. he's kinda uptight."
the girls dropped their jaws. "okarun?! what the shit kinda name is that?"
momo blushed. "well, that's not his real name. it's just a nickname I gave to him since I can't stand to hear to stupid name." the girls stared at her, urging her to continue. momo sighed big and loud. "ugh! his real name is... ken takakura."
they busted out laughing, jumping on to the bed next to her. they shook her around and hit each other, trying to recover from what momo just said.
"girl, are you serious! you're living with a ken takakura and you're not asking him out already?!" muko shouted. momo shoved her hands over her mouth, afraid ken okarun would hear. "give him a chance!" she said, muffled.
"seriously, momo. don't sell yourself short. you're a cute girl and ken seems like a sweetie. start off easy. ask to do his makeup tonight."
"tonight?! but I thought you two were sleeping over..." momo pouted.
the girls grabbed their overnight bags and bedazzled phones, which had cute little charms hanging off of them. "not anymore! you've got a mission to accomplish tonight. see ya!"
and with that, the two girls left. momo was sitting on her bed, wanting so badly to scream and chase them down. but she didn't want to disturb okarun. her phone rang, causing her to jump. it was miko.
"what?!" momo grumbled loudly into her phone.
"if you don't call us back tonight with an update on how everything went down, we're totally coming back tomorrow and talking to ken takakura ourselves."
momo groaned out, slamming her phone shut and then throwing it down on her bed. it couldn't hurt to ask. the worst that could happen was that okarun would say no, then momo could go to bed. but what if he said yes? she would have to sit super close to him and touch his face a ton and stare at his super cute face. ugh! she really didn't want to do this, but at the same time... sitting close to him and touching him and staring at his super cute face didn't sound horrible. who was she kidding? it sounded perfect. momo sighed. she slowly got up and trudged into her bathroom. she spent a good ten minutes removing her makeup, washing her face, and applying some skincare products. she spent the silent time thinking about how to go about this in the least awkward way. asking wasn't super awkward, but actually doing the makeup would be. she couldn't handle his big doe eyes staring at her the whole time.
that's it! she would ask to practice eye makeup on okarun! that way, his eyes would have to be shut the majority of the time.
"alright..." momo sighed, her makeup bag in tote. "let's get this over with."
she stepped quietly through their common area and tiptoed down his hallway. she kinda hoped he was sleeping.
softly, momo knocked a few times on his door. no answer. confused, she pressed her ear against his door, and knocked again. still no answer. his lights were on so he couldn't be sleeping. was he just ignoring her on purpose? without thinking, she just pushed his bedroom door open.
there he was. laying on his bed. shirtless. of course he was shirtless. stupid muko. stupid miko. momo stared at him. he had his arm covering his eyes, a hand resting on his toned abdomen. he also had... ear buds in. seriously? momo groaned and shuffled toward him. she smacked him on the arm.
okarun jumped up. he pulled his ear bud out and sat up straight. putting his glasses back on, he looked up at momo. "hey miss ayase. did you need my help with something?"
she stood in front of him, head turned to the side and refusing to look at him. "um, no. well, yes, actually. would you be willing to let me practice some eye makeup on you? I know it's not super manly or whatever, but miko says i'll get better at it if I practice on a fresh face. it's stupid but you're the only person I could ask. those two bitches conveniently left right after making the suggesting it."
okarun took out the second ear bud and stood up, standing a little close to momo. she stiffened. "yea, sure. if it's important to you, i'd be happy to help."
"cool." momo mumbled. they stood their for a second in awkward silence. "um, could you put a shirt on real quick. i'll be waiting on the couch..."
okarun blushed and chuckled nervously. "yea... uh, sorry. i'll be a out in a jiffy."
miss ayase spun around on her heels after ken shut the door. once he was alone, he pinched the bridge of his nose, embarrassed. jiffy. what does that even mean? and why would he stand so close to this girl shirtless? he could've made her uncomfortable. that was the last thing ken wanted. they got along really well, other than the occasional argument over running shoes or stolen food. they spent a lot of time together, studying or sharing meals. sometimes it felt like the two of them were already couple in ken's mind. they did just about everything couples did, safe for the romantic stuff. of course, ken thought about the romantic stuff, more often than he'd admit. she was pretty and, despite being the most stubborn person on the planet, she was a good person to be around. she was extremely supportive and always made sure ken was taking care of himself. she would make him hearty dinners the day before he had a track meet and would stay up extra late to study with him if he was feeling academically insecure about a certain subject. and she was pretty. ken didn't realize it, but his gaze on her lingered. he adored her messy hair, the way it flicked up and the way her bangs shaped her face when she pulled her hair up. he also liked the way she dressed. very comfy and casual, but she just made it look good. she had a nice body, too. a little curvy, with long legs and a little more muscle than you'd expect. ken felt like she would fit in his hands just right-
god, ken! don't be a pervert!
he shook his head, as if he could fling the flush of pink off his cheeks. ken isn't sure if he can handle sitting so close to miss ayase. he was already getting worked up just thinking about her-
"okarun?" momo called, a little worried he fell asleep.
ken slapped himself on the face and sighed. be normal.
"sorry, I just needed to rinse my face off." he lied.
okarun plopped down next to momo. he turned the TV on and flicked through the channels until he got to their most watched channel- sci-fi. an alien invasion movie played quietly as okarun sat and waited for momo to get her makeup sorted. he watched her hands intently as she thumbed through different eye liners and brushes.
he wanted them to hold his face already.
"you ready?" momo asked.
"yes." okarun answered. he was a little quick with his response.
"alright." momo uncapped a black felt-tip eyeliner pen, giving it a small shake. her eyes flickered up to his, a small feeling of nervousness bubbling up inside of her. "try not to move too much. this would totally suck to get in your eyes."
finally, her non dominant hand cupped okarun's cheek, holding him still and positioning his head properly. she began applying it underneath his eyes. they were quiet as she mapped out a shape. then, she applied a thick line to his upper lash line. she took a moment to regain her composure since his eyes were finally closed for this part. his face was totally soft in her hands and the pout she was squeezing onto his lips was absolutely adorable. momo zoned out, staring at his cute features for about ten seconds. okarun, curious, opened his doe eyes, causing momo to snap out of it.
she snatched her hand away from his face, digging through her makeup bag to avoid eye contact.
"I didn't know you were so into makeup..." okarun said, trying to ease the awkwardness.
"uh... yea. I wanted to wear it throughout highschool, but I didn't want to go through all of the hassle of getting in trouble every other day. that was more muko's speed..." momo said, pulling out a white concealer. "look up for me."
okarun did as told as she applied the white concealer right under his eye. she fanned it with her hands so it would dry faster. he grabbed a mirror, curious to see what she was doing to him.
"this looks cool!" he encouraged. "is working on a 'fresh face' helping you?"
momo smiled at him. "yea... you're a good canvas."
they stared at each other for a moment before momo broke eye contact to grab some eye shadow. "wanna pick out your color?"
"sure. uh... how about blue?"
momo dipped into a pan of pastel blue eye shadow. he closed his eyes, and she dragged the pigment across his lids until she was satisfied. then she added some fake lashes to his top and bottom lashes and topped everything off with a little glitter. she popped the cap back on the glitter eye shadow and plopped a hand held mirror into okarun soft hands.
"what do you think?"
he looked at his reflection. "as far as I know, this looks pretty good. I don't know much about makeup but it looks nice to me. all though, when you replicate this on yourself, you should do pink instead." he paused, contemplating on whether not he should keep talking. "the pink would look good on you... just about anything looks good on you."
momo's eye widened, the eye shadow falling out of her hand and hitting the ground. okarun quickly picked it up for her.
"are you okay?"
"you think i look good?" momo asked.
okarun scratched the back of his neck, his face turning pink. "yea... i've always thought you were pretty, miss ayase."
her heart skipped a beat.
"thanks." she mumbled nervously, trying to think of something to say. "you're pretty, too."
okarun's eye widened this time, then he couldn't help but let out a laugh. momo shoved her face in her hands.
"no! I didn't mean pretty. I just meant, like-"
"any good looks of mine are thanks to you. you did me up nice." okarun smiled at her. momo blushed.
"not all of them." she admitted. "you have cute hair."
she brought her slender hand up to his head and let one of his curls wrap around her finger. okarun leaned into her touch unconsciously. she ran her fingers through his messy hair until she got to the undercut at the nape of his neck.
"i especially like this, here." her nails grazed the short hair, causing okarun to screw his eyes shut and shutter. he could sit and let her play with his hair all night. he kept his eyes closed and leaned more into her touch, his lips falling against her wrist. unconsciously, he wrapped his fingers around her arm, pulling her palm to his lips and planting a soft kiss there.
the two nerds froze. momo snatched her arm away and okarun scooted away from her entirely.
"i'm so sorry, miss ayase! I don't know why I did that." he shoved his face into his palms, muffling his speech. "I'm an awkward guy-"
"that's okay!" momo said a little louder than intended, trying to cut him off before she lost her mind. "here! there are some makeup removing wipes. i'm gonna head to bed. I'll see you in the morning. oh, um. don't forget to rinse after using these. ok. goodnight."
and with that, momo snatched up her makeup bag and scrambled into her bedroom. she tossed her bag to the side and plopped facedown onto her bed. after a moment, she dialed tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum. she couldn't have those too screwing up this awkward situation any worse.
meanwhile, ken stood in his bathroom, scrubbing his eyes of the makeup. why did he do that? what was he thinking? momo could've slapped him across the face, or worse; laughed in his face! he probably made her so uncomfortable. why did he have to screw up their perfectly normal living situation.
he made sure to rinse his face off, then crept into bed. he laid on his back, staring at the ceiling as if momo's reciprocated feelings lie hidden in it. okarun liked momo. he wanted to be with her- more than roommates. he wanted them to kiss, and cuddle, and go on dates. he wanted to pay for her meals and surprise her with cool hidden talents. he wanted to see her dressed up, her hair in that ponytail he liked so much. he wanted to sleep next to her; to hold her close to him, easing her restlessness and soaking in her warmth. he wanted to wake up next to her, plant a kiss on her warm cheek and then head into the kitchen and put on her morning coffee.
but did she want any of that with him?
momo tossed her phone to the floor, still processing the events. she stared at her palm, burning a hold into the spot where okarun's lips were only a little while ago. it tingled. she wanted more. momo wanted more of okarun. she wished he would've kissed her on the lips and that they spent the night on the couch together, a stupid sci-fi movie quietly in the background. she wanted play with his hair and see the way he melted into her touch again. she wanted to go on adventures with him, make memories and share experiences with just them. she wanted to make him meals everyday and attend his track meets, so she could be the loudest one in the audience, cheering him on.
but did he want any of that with her?
duh! these two morons. as book smart as they are, you would think they'd be decent at catching a damn clue. maybe they'd figure it out in the morning.
ੈ♡˳
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silverselfshippingchaos · 1 year ago
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so... what's the best m.axi look and why is it s.c5 /hj
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royalarchivist · 1 year ago
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Fit: This is actually kinda fun. Ok, so: Cucuruchito, what is your favorite food?
Cucuruchito: Oh darling, as an entity I don't eat, however, I am quite partial to the idea of a charming quesadilla. They are the star of my home, Quesadilla Island, after all. Now, what about you, sweetie? What tantalizes your taste buds?
Fit: I mean, Cucuruchito, you keep talking to me like that, I mean uh... [Laughs] Called me "sweetie," I mean, I dunno what's gonna happen. Um, my favorite food is probably... steak. [He shrugs] Maybe that's why I like Brazil so much.
Cucuruchito: Oh, Fit, you've got me blushing like a ripe tomato! I can see that you're the steak to my sizzling hot plate. Don't you think our conversation has more sizzle than a steak on a hot grill? Perhaps we could have that steak together next time and add more spice to this little rendezvous. Winking face.
Fit: [Dying in the background, trying to compose himself] WHAT THE FCK. WHAT?! [Shouts]
Cucuruchito:
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Fit: [Runs away and laughs] Fck it, I can't I can't, I can't do this, I can't do this, I can't fcking do this. I cannot do– [Laughs]
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ayrennaranaaldmeri · 23 days ago
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Deeply sorry (not really though) to say this but there is no way in hell EA told Bioware to put all the stupid shit they put into their stupid game or interfered to the extent that the game has all these aggressive flaws because EA.
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sukunas-wife · 2 days ago
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HAH BACK IN TIME FOR CHRISTMAS! I was working on a little Christmas piece but ran out of time it’s 11:55 so have a little foot ball Sukuna head canon 🤍🤍🎄🎄🌟 and-
MERRY CHRISTMAS
Sukuna is the kind of player who if you’re talking to him when he needs to go change in the locker room, will drop his helmet on your head and rip his jersey off and throw it over the helmet and guid your blind into the locker rooms and you’ll just stand there yapping and all his teammates are spilt between hating it, or smiling because “No way in hell Sukuna brought her in here”
On away games, it’s a given that for your boyfriend you make him a little care pack, and I don’t mean a blanket a pillow and lip gloss and all that stuff, he was confused at first when you said you wanted to give him something, he was ready to roll his eyes and say “No I don’t need your Hello Kitty keychain bullshit to remember you, I’ll literally be backing in the morning” he actually does hang your Sanrio keychain on his duffle bag and flexes it hard and flips off his teammates for trying to bully it, but some of them low key think it’s cute and kinda funny so some of them end up getting funny little plush keychains for their own bags- but that’s not what happens, he’s actually surprised when you give him a little bag with icy hot patches, Gatorade, little snack protein bars he carries around, candies he usually steals from you ZzzQuill, he actually cracks a small smile and laughs amused, nodding as he tied the bag taking it away with him
When it’s a long day, and he’s groaning in aches and pains, he’ll lay face down shirtless in bed, and just hand you a bottle of Icy Hot, Tiger Balm or Cortisone cream, he showed you how to wrap a gauze so you can rub him down and wrap up his achey parts, sure the room smells and your eyes water a bit, but he loves you all the more, he’ll hug you into his side and order takeout and let you choose a movie more often than not, he’ll fall asleep in the weirdest positions if he’s not crushing you with his weigh
Your purse, bag, book bag, pockets (if you have em) sometimes even your jacket hood will have one of his snacks stored away in it and you won’t even know, there you are talking to him and he casually pulls your purse from you opens it up and there’s a magically a protein bar he starts eating, he walking with you as you complain about your bag being heavy and he gives you a weird look and leans back to look ah your bag, “Oh, that’s where I left it” and he’ll pull out a blender bottle full of whatever drink he chose that morning, not his favorite as when you run up to hug him during the winter, he’ll wrap an arm around your shoulder, look down and use his free hand to drop something into the hood of your jacket and once again at the most unexpected time he’ll reach behind you, pull it out and offer you some as if he didn’t just shake you around by your hood just to get a snack out of you
Games: if he doesn’t see you immediately and it’s not play time yet, you can see him just yawning and looking around bored, but internally he’s looking for your face and mumbling “Where’s that woman at?” It’s a related process, as he stands and walks around, just looking, the same sentence reworded, “Woman, where are you?” Where’s my woman? “I can’t see her, where the hells she a- oh there she is”
People think he’s a flirt, and likes the attention, the truth is, he doesn’t care much for female or male attention, he’s doing it all for the chance to make it big and make big money, so when women are crying out for him, he just seems uninterested and says “let me introduce you too” and drags whoever is closest to him to deal with whoever was trying to touch him
When he’s making impressive plays, in the moment he doesn’t dare look at you, he says if he wants to see you smile it’s not going to be a sympathy smile because he fucked up, it better be a smile because you saw the complicated shit he just pulled
When he lands a touch down, he doesn’t gloat or look at cameras, he looks directly at you with a hard stare (it’s not intentional, he’s just in the zone) and he point at you, that’s it, no heart or air kiss, no you just need to know, that’s his way of saying ‘That’s for you short stack’
Winning games, go one of two ways, he loves to just go home and groan and lay on the bed or sofa and doesn’t even shower just stretches out all his sore muscles and just relaxes with you i til he decides you can get up and shower and order in whatever food, or he showers and changed in the locker room and takes you out to eat, he actually hates bars, he hates fast cheap drinks, even at expensive bars he feels like his drinking experience should end in 5 minutes, so he takes you out to dinner in a nice place, sit down and just celebrate his win slowly unwinding the day
Losing game, if he’s angry, it’s best to just sit in silence with him and let him think over it and process it. What went wrong, what did he do wrong. Where does he need to improve, sometimes he just needs to rant it out and figure it out himself so he can understand. If it’s a sad loss, there are just some times where you’ll go home in silence, he’ll walk straight to shower, you’ll have to fix his bed and get him clean clothes, turn on the ac and leave something running on the tv, he’ll come out the shower, quiet, staring down laps in whatever thought clouds his mind, lay down and let him play between your legs with his head on your chest, hold him and let him rest, run your hand through his hair gently and run your hand over his back, let him have his moments of peace and just be with him <3
I know nothing about American football but picturing college bf!sukuna all sweaty in an American football uniform makes me feel things
bonus if he gives you his college jersey to wear at his games for good luck, he likes to show off on purpose for you
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ganondoodle · 7 months ago
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kind of expected that the ability breakdown wouldnt get that much traction (especially on twitter bc if it doesnt do well in the first few hours it might as well be dead) but what i didnt need to wake up to was looking at my twitter notifications and thinking there was a long comment on it at first but then i read it and it turned out to be some guy having dug up one of my old totk tweets where i talked about how zelda was treated-
and if a quote retweet with a thread attached already starts with "this entitled brat didnt understand that zelda was being a history nerd by being in the past and getting to experience it herself" with two screenshots attached of the end of totk with zelda staring at the cam all uwu (which has ??? to do with their point??) i dont even want to know what else was in that thread
if thats how the majority of the fandom is then im even less surprised that nintendy doesnt even have to try to write anything good :I
ah yes, i am a game nerd, and by putting me in a game where i stand around doing puppy dog eyes while being shoved around by NPCs is me being a game nerd OBVIOSULY
#ganondoodles talks#zelda#sorta#like ok im not saying you cant like the game ffs#but acting like everything is perfect and anyone who dares speak something critical is a heathen and must be PUNISHED or PROVEN WRONG-#-is so godammn annoying#just went on their profile to block and of course it was all screenshots of totks ending with uwu zelda and shirtless cool guy link#also find it interesting that zelda has always been a history nerd now#didnt know interest in shiekah tech and ... frogs? counted as historian#and dont get me wrong it would fit her being interested in that too but the way it was done in totk felt so artificial#like doesnt she say she read in a book that the king who founded this hyrule was called rauru and all that?#like ........ how did that even happen#a book that mentions him BY NAME surviving for WAY OVER TEN THOUSAND YEARS just convenietnly materializing or what#how the hell did that survive when next to nothing did of the ancient shiekah#(granted you can make the argument that the -other- ancient king of hyrule that persecuted them destroyed most of their stuff-#-which would make sense and im rolling with that too but you get my point??)#but raurus shit was even older than shiekah stuff like ......... ok???? how convenient she now suddendly is interested in nothing but#-that and also read a book about it!!! somehow!!#also how does something like that exist but then the sonau where pretty much non existent and irrelevant at all in botw#and even what we had was ACTUALLY done ..by hylians as a tribute to rauru you seeeeeeee#and the botw sonau style was the hylians work .. even though the totk sonau style aligns more with hylian than botw sonau..#if the hylians were so grateful to rauru they built giant stone monuments as a tribute for him that didnt even fit their style-#-why was that the only stuff that survived on the surface ... wouldnt it make more sense that they would maintain the og sonau stuff instea#sure the temple ... castle .. whatever went up into the sky and whatver SOEMEHOW but not everythign did and it was everwhere#but then the stuff left on the surface crumbled away while everything left to rot in the underground and sky is just .. fine#what#also ... where did their castle go anyway#like ... we only see the -new cooler sonau- temple of time on the plateau but its interior doesnt match at all with the throne room#so where was all that#funny it wasnt in the same place as hyrule castle
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southern--downpour · 1 month ago
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okay first thoughts. i dont HATE the ending i just feel like it needed more time in the season to reach the conclusion it did
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restinpeacesensei · 4 months ago
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suggesting something,,
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basilsnotemo · 3 days ago
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I like both, you got the golden boy jock that’s quarterback of the football team, in my au, Stan does football, basketball, soccer, and baseball but the only one he’s really passionate about is football, he just does the others because it’s good for his mental health, it keeps him moving, gets him outside and if he’s busy thinking about basketball then there’s no room in his brain for all the dark thoughts he’s trying to avoid.
With the band I think that started around middle school, and it probably starts as an emo/early 2000’s pop punk cover band. But then I think around middle school is when Stan actually starts getting treatment for his mental health issues but I think he’s really opposed to opening up all his thoughts and feelings to a complete stranger (plus he’s really afraid that if he opens up too much he’s gonna end up in the psyche ward) so they have many silent meetings at first, until she hands him a blank notebook and a pen and says “ok, if you won’t talk to me will you at least write it down? It will feel better to get it out of your head I promise” and stan being a super depressed, asshole 13 year old is like yeah whatever but then after awhile he’s like, that’s actually not a bad idea, and then eventually he opens up and starts actually talking in therapy but he goes back and looks at the notebook one day and he’s like huh, these could make good songs, so he rewrites a few things and Crimson Dawn was born.
Then imagine, him going sitting in his room listening to fall out boy while writing music, or coming up with a new DND campaign or learning the rules to a new board game he just got
He’s also buff as hell, not only from doing every sport ever, but also from working on his dads farm (which he avoids like the plague) so stan always has a crazy tan going on.
After his parents get divorced (around middle school) stan mostly lives with his mom in town because it’s closer to the school and also fuck that farm. Stan and his mom have always gotten along very well, she’s not always the most helpful when he has a problem, and she really doesn’t understand his mental illness, but she does make an effort to learn and tries to help him the best she can which is what really matters, she actually took him to the doctor, got him set up with a therapist, and on medication and genuinely tries to help him, unlike somebody else (his dad) who just pretends it’s not happening because “boys don’t cry” going so far as to say stan was faking it for attention after stan got hospitalized. Stan and his dad have never gotten along, it only got worse as he got older, and the second he turned 18 he cut all contact with his dad and he’s never been happier
My Stan’s outfit of choice would be ripped baggy black jeans, black high top converse, some sort of band tshirt (with a long sleeve shirt underneath when it gets cold) some sort of earrings in, black hat. I do think he gets his lip pierced (by Kenny in the school bathroom, very goth) out of rebellion and as a fuck you to his dad, but I don’t think it lasts past high school
He’s got a heart of gold, will help anyone but himself very big on activism for animals and the environment, strictly vegetarian he cares so much about his family and friends, when they found out that Kyle was diabetic, the first thing stan wanted to do was learn how to take care of him, so he learned how to do Kyle’s insulin shots, and check his blood sugar and what all the numbers meant so that he knew what to do just in case, because that’s his best friend/future husband, and his dogs are the most spoiled babies on the planet let me tell you.
When he gets older stan will just find stray dogs and cats on the road and bring them home, he’s like a magnet for this stuff and kyle just shakes his head but lets it happen (he’s very much a “whatever makes my princess happy” type of guy) even though they already had 2 dogs he just likes to see Stan be genuinely happy and smile, which doesn’t happen that often. Stan calls his mom and is like “this is peanut, your new grandpuppy :)” (and Kyle makes fun of him for naming a dog after something he’s allergic to)
He’s got a wicked sweet tooth, of it’s got sugar, it’s going in stan. This man barely drinks water he practically lives off of Dr Pepper, after he quits drinking for good he replaces the alcohol with Dr Pepper, so he did create a different problem for himself, but a much less damaging one in the long run.
He tends to have an ok diet, as a habit from his football days + being married to a type 1 diabetic, Kyle is pretty good about nutrition and keeping them fed a balanced diet. But this guy goes crazy for Taco Bell, late night after football? Taco Bell. Road trip? Taco Bell. Day off and don’t want to cook? Taco Bell. You get the idea, get this man a black bean Crunchwrap and a Baja Blast and he will be your best friend for life. Just don’t forget the diablo sauce, this man douses EVERYTHING in hot sauce it’s never spicy enough.
Oh god i just realized how much I wrote, anyway merry Christmas here’s a character study of stan, specifically from my au but this is the core of how I characterize stan
if you vote you are REQUIRED to comment why or ill make sure you get coal in your stockings 😈
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northwest-cryptid · 6 months ago
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You know what, no I'll go on record and just say that;
Mabinogi hands down IS the best MMORPG.
Now sure, you can immediately call me bias; and I can literally tell you that is an overused argument. Truth is, yes I have a bias, I have a bias as someone who has played literally hundreds of MMOs, and has never found one that can hold a candle to Mabinogi. Yes this includes games like WoW or FFXIV, and even lesser known but still popular titles like Path of Exiles or Warframe or even Tree of Savior.
But why exactly do I say that Mabinogi is the best MMORPG on the market? Well I think a good MMORPG does a few things, firstly I think any game that wants to be an RPG that lets you make a character needs to give you a sense of identity. Second, I believe an MMO needs to create an interesting environment for playing alongside others; whether they're directly in your party or not. Lastly, no good RPG is complete without going on a grand adventure with proper noticeable growth.
Now, before we begin to really dive into this essay of a post, I want to cover something real quick because I think it's important. When I say Mabinogi is the best MMORPG, and I'm saying that I've played games like WoW or FFXIV. I'm not trying to say those games are bad. I will concede that direct translation and definition would suggest I believe they are "worse" than Mabinogi, and yes I do believe that. However I'm not trying to tell you that your favorite MMORPG is bad or garbage or whatever. Please do not take my personal opinion to be slander of your favorite game. For a lot of players, an MMORPG can be special to them, the characters and the world can mean something to them; and I don't want to be some hater when it comes to your favorite place on the internet.
I'm not coming into this as someone who's naive about the world of MMOs, I know the good and the bad of them, not ALL of them; but a good lot of them. However I want to make something clear; if I went into why other games were "worse" than Mabinogi I would immediately be ignored. Let's say you really like FFXIV, that's fine; it's a good game, I play it myself and am excited about the latest expansion coming out in a few days. Now if I tell you that I think it's kind of ridiculous how much they've simplified the game to the point no class feels truly unique mechanically, or how I used to like AST more before they took away our card's uniqueness and such. It's entirely possible you would stick with me and understand that, even if our opinions differ; what I'm saying is true to me even if it's not to you. Sure maybe you hated having RNG in the RNG healer class, maybe you disliked having to decide if you wanted to spread that buff to the whole party, or enhance that buff for one person, or extend the buff. Maybe you like it more now that everything sort of does the same thing. I'm not talking down to you or being sarcastic when I say, that's fine. We just feel differently about it. Thing is, I've very likely lost you; It's unlikely you hear all of that and not think I'm just some FFXIV hater. I'm not, but it's unlikely you think that way after hearing all my gripes with it. I wouldn't blame you for thinking someone who just tore into a game likely dislikes the game, that's a fair assumption.
If at any point I do sort of dig into a game for it's changes, mechanics, or just how it works. I want you to understand I only feel that way because I do enjoy those games and wish they didn't do things that made playing them feel less fun to me. Those last two words are possibly the most important there; this whole post is strictly opinion, it's my opinion. We don't need to share that opinion, but I hope you find what I say to be at least interesting. I don't see much reason to sit through the whole thing otherwise.
Oh... and one more thing, if you follow this link and download the game now it should be done roughly by the time you finish reading this, probably; maybe? <- That's not even an affiliate link; I'm not sponsored to say anything I'm saying here, I wish I was though.
Game Website Link -> Right here, if you need to make an account.
Now without further delay, let's get into my first key point of why Mabinogi is the best MMORPG on the market right now.
The first order of business in any MMORPG will also be the first thing we talk about here, creating a character. You can't step foot into a world of fantasy without having an avatar to represent yourself. If this individual is to be your fantasy self then the game better have enough customization options to really let you be you. Mabinogi has plenty, from skin color, player weight, and even age; to the colors of the garments you wear.
Let's start with that first bit I mentioned in the introductory paragraph, creating an identity. Mabinogi is a game that truly allows for a diverse cast of characters, when you first make a character the system will unfortunately be fairly limited. Yet when you're released into the game proper and complete the tutorial you will soon find that it's extremely open ended. Your character will start at an age between 10 and 17 (but can go to 25 and even further if you wish), which you'll be able to select once per day, or once per week depending on your level. Age has a very slight almost non-existent effect on your stats, but will mostly determine how tall you are. As a quick example, here is my human main at 18 (left) alongside 2 other players. While I cannot see their age, I can tell their race is human; which allows me to at least guess one is roughly 10 - 13 (middle) and the other is likely anywhere between 15 - 16 (right).
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When it comes to skin color, Mabinogi is one of the few games that has a great selection. From the realistic to the fantastical; there's almost certainly something for everyone here.
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I've seen light skinned characters, dark skinned characters, tanned and red skinned characters. I've partied up with fantasy demons and zombies. I buy my dyes from a player who's literally pure black with blinding white eyes; a small imp-like character who's style I absolutely adore and who's dyes are top quality. While it doesn't even begin to cover the extensive list, I thought I'd take a few screenshots to help show what I mean.
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Now I understand a lot of you may feel like your character doesn't truly reflect you as a person unless you can be the right weight for you. Mabinogi has you covered here as well, albeit with a slightly convoluted system. I will openly admit that this game is flawed, it is by no means a perfect game; but I take this as a sort of "better than nothing" approach. Food in Mabinogi will grant slight stat bonuses, but underneath those stat points and flavor text there's a hidden mechanic.
Food provides players with Upper and Lower muscle gain or loss, as well as a Weight gain or loss. While food is not the only method of gaining or losing both weight and muscle, it is the most common, and arguably easiest method. Players have many guides on the internet that explain which foods to eat in which order to gain the body type you want, this even includes the wiki.
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It's also important to note that weight does not effect your stats, the food you eat absolutely does give a small temporary bonus. However your character can be as fat or skinny as you'd like without ever effecting your ability to perform any task.
I would be remiss not to mention another feature of creating an identity, and it does feel like this is an appropriate place to do it. Every day, or every week (depending on your level) you can preform something called a Rebirth, your level will return to 1 and you will be allowed to change some things about your character or leave them as they are.
This will unfortunately readjust your weight settings, which is why we see so many guides on how to get the ideal weight you're looking for. Thankfully it is by no means difficult to achieve this weight gain once more and will take no more than a few minutes after rebirthing.
As a quick note I won't spend too much time on, for my fellow genderfluid and NB friends out there; you can actively change your gender whenever you rebirth (though obviously you don't have to be NB or Genderfluid to enjoy this feature) and there is a good amount of items specific for crossdressing if that is something you'd prefer. That list of items is far more than your generic maid outfit for men; including everything from dresses to common skirts, with women getting suits, hoodies, and everything in between. If you switch genders you will even get an achievement specifically titled "Genderfluid" which I genuinely appreciate quite a lot.
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Speaking of clothing, Mabinogi allows you to use a Style Tab when putting on gear. Your style tab won't give you any stats, but allows you to use the look of whatever is equip to the selected slot over the actual gear worn under it. The Style Tab is free for all players, so you can look your best no matter what you might be doing. Though I suppose those clothes wouldn't really be your own unless you had some kind of say over how they looked right?
Thankfully Mabinogi features a robust dying system in which you can actually use hex coded colors on just about any part of an outfit. You can also preview these changes directly on your character prior to using a dye.
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There's a specific, and short; list of items that can't be dyed. Otherwise it's common for every item in the game to have at least one or two dye slots where you can customize their colors however you'd like.
You can do the same for your weapons, even giving them skins to change how they look; and then dying those skins to look just how you want them. A good weapon should match your best outfit after all, right?
Clothing items additionally come in the form of helmets, gloves, boots, main body, robes/back slot, face accessories, and then two more accessories that typically float to either side or behind you. This means you can mix and match everything you wear. You're not stuck trying to make some minor hat fit the entire rest of your armor that came as one solid piece, and you're certainly not struggling to match colors when only a small part of your armor actually dyes to the color you want.
Your identity in Mabinogi is what you see fit to make it, and while it would make this segment incredibly long, more so than it already is; the customization doesn't even end here. To give you an idea of what I'm talking about, you can actually customize how often and how many times your character will blink. There is no other game on the market that lets you create a character the way Mabinogi does, not while still being an entire world outside of your character for you to explore. Speaking of that world, before we get to exploring just what this game has in store for you on your adventure; I'd like to talk about the characters who aren't you. No I don't mean the NPCs, I mean the other players, and how they impact the game you play even when they're not in your party.
Speaking of other players, to really hit home just how different everyone can look I ran around and took a few pictures of players I found in just this one small town.
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You may be wondering how much these other players actually matter, in a lot of MMORPGs other players are merely there to fill out the party for dungeons or assist with world encounters. In Mabinogi they do that as well, however there is a constantly evolving economy both on the player ran Auction House, and for things like the Commerce system. Players can also run their own shops, join you for a jam session to play some music together; and even burn some items for a campfire spirit summoned at a group bonfire.
While the NPCs in this game are fantastic, the players are the lifeblood of the game, as is the case with any good MMORPG. From guilds and parties running content together, to the occasional camp you'll come across while exploring the world. Players populate Mabinogi and their effects are felt whether or not you're actively a part of their game.
One of the features most effected by this is Commerce; a trade system which lets players transport trade goods between major cities and towns. If an item is being traded to a town more than others, it's price will drop and you may find better deals by taking it to far away cities. Though you'll encounter bandits on the road, and due to carrying heavy trade goods you'll be a good bit weaker than you usually find yourself. This makes traveling in groups much easier, with those who use air travel particularly; in need of parties thanks to the dragons who will come after your hoard of trade goods. If a bandit is to steal your loot, you need not worry; as other players can take up the role of bounty hunters and track down these bandits at their hideouts to get your stuff back. Bounty Hunting is an easy way to make some cash and also help out your fellow players who may have been wronged by a poorly placed bandit or two.
What about production? Surely I don't need anyone to assist me with making my goods. Though, a second opinion never hurts; you will actually get a boost to production success rate while in a party with other players who also have production skills. In fact, this is a great way to make some strong gear; as products you make will get bonus stats over those found in stores. This does mean that the player economy is largely populated by products made by other players. If you do a good enough job on the item you're making, you'll even leave a signature behind which can be seen by the individuals who buy and use that gear. This is a minor touch, but it's one I greatly appreciate. Anyone can have a really cool demon sword, but only I have a blade forged specifically by my good friend; in hopes it would aid me in my quest. The connection between myself and my party is ever so slightly more apparent, even when they're not around; I always have a small piece of them with me.
Players attending the banquet, an event held weekly that awards free EXP and a lottery raffle at the Tara Castle; can actually donate their food to the catering tables. This is a great time to hang out with fellow players, get some free levels; and of course eat significantly too much food.
Surely that's all, right? Well no, believe it or not players actually have a hand in many things. If you want to enchant some gear but you don't have the enchanting rank to do it yourself; you can request another player to assist you. Perhaps you're an alchemist needing to create alchemy crystals of special magic skills; another player can cast that magic nearby and let you synthesize it into a crystal. If you're using the Jam Session action other players can join you with their own instruments when you play music; automatically matching whatever song you're playing. There's a fashion contest where the winner is put on display in full costume right in the middle of the major cities for all to see. There's even mechanical changes to things like magic, if you're casting Ice Bolt while I cast Fire Bolt next to you; we instead both gain a charge of Fusion Bolt. This form of magic combines the properties of your Ice Bolt and my Fire Bolt into a more powerful version of our respective magics, all because we happened to cast at the same time nearby each other.
If you enjoy music then you might find yourself reading through the Bard Bulletin Board, where players can post the compositions for their custom music. You can transcribe this music yourself and play it whenever you wish, though you can also use the MabiNovel Bulletin to read books written and published by your fellow players as well. This does in fact mean that you too could become a composer, or even an author and post your works to the respective boards.
Players can also obtain their own small piece of the world via Homesteads. These function as a sort of player owned housing system, and they allow you to do everything from growing farms to hosting your own production stations with boosted success rates. Of course the owner of the Homestead can allow either friends, or anyone; to come and gather from their herb patches, farm animals, and various logging, mining, and production sites. Meaning that other players not only offer you an expanded world to explore, but potentially gathering and production spots that may not otherwise be available at your current location.
While Homesteads start quite small, they're nothing to scoff at when fully upgraded; allowing for even a proper house, pets, and partners; to be placed on the fully customizable property. Some items will even passively grant you bonuses to your stats or provide your gathering and production stations bonuses to gathering and success rates.
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Alright great, so you have a character who's uniquely you; you even have a place in the world among other players. However what good is that if you don't have a world worth existing in. You're here to play an MMORPG, if you wanted to simply dress up an avatar and exist in a space with others; you'd play something like VRChat or Second Life, or maybe you'd go download that Sims multiplayer mod. You want an RPG! An adventure! A living world to explore and be a part of!
Well Mabinogi's got you covered there as well believe it or not. Now where you fall in terms of enjoying the story is fairly up in the air; I know some people who love it and others who could take it or leave it. That's entirely fair and I don't blame them for feeling that way. To avoid potential spoilers I will be saying up front that if this has been enough for you and you're willing to trust me that this game is worth your time. Skip ahead to the Q and A if you think you need it, or go download and play the game now if you didn't already do that. Hell you can even add me in game if you want some people to play with who are going to be chill with newbies. If you need a bit more though, then keep reading because you might just like what I have to say about this game's journey.
When you start Mabinogi you'll be told you're this being from the stars, something that cannot die; and therefore has importance here. You may literally be an immortal entity, but you won't feel like it. You'll start with only a handful of skills, and with this game having no real class system it's not so straight forward how to get more of them. You'll stumble upon a few while just exploring the world, but others might require you to actually engage with the world around you. If that sounds exciting, don't worry; we've only just begun to explain the whole system of interacting with NPCs.
See the game of Mabinogi is before all else, the story of you; your character the journey you go on. So it's fitting that you keep notes in a Memo, this Memo is written in the perspective of your character; and will keep tabs on what you've been through. Each entry in the Memo is given a Key Word; and these key words will be given to you as you experience new places and things. Whenever you engage with an NPC you can start a conversation, this allows you to flip through your Memo and select a Key Word to speak about with them. Asking them about their private story will reveal this character's lore and backstory, at least; if they like you enough to share that information with you. NPCs do actually contain a system of trust with the player, and if you befriend an NPC they'll even let you access a secret shop where they sell exclusive items. Other Key Words include things like Nearby Rumors where you can obtain gossip and quests; or perhaps you want to ask about Part Time Jobs. Whether you're working for the town blacksmith to deliver some refined ore, or you're gathering wool to make bandages for the town healer; Part Time Jobs offer you fitting rewards for the work you perform, and allow you to even unlock various skills down the line if you perform well enough. Which brings us to another Key Word, the Skills Key Word. Skills is a Key Word that will ask an NPC if they believe they could teach you anything, if you see a knight you can ask them about Skills and maybe learn a new technique for your swordsmanship. Asking a chef about skills may result in them giving you a quest that has you running out to make flour and bake some bread. These methods are meant to immerse you in the world and teach you how the mechanics behind these skills works, rather than just saying you're level 16 so now you can bake bread.
Some NPCs will even react to your title, thanking you for the deeds you've done or perhaps judging you for why you'd do such a thing. This is because every NPC in the game, no matter how minor; has a story to tell. They all have unique theme music that contains a name referencing something about the character and their story. The more you talk to these NPCs and they open up to you, the more you'll learn about the world you're a part of.
However, small NPC stories don't amount to much in the grand scheme of an epic adventure do they? Well don't worry, now we're getting into the main scenario quests, and the lasting impact they have on you as a character. Have you ever felt like you should have maybe gotten a new power, or been recognized for the deeds you've accomplished after you literally save the world; only to return to business as usual? Well Mabinogi actually considered all of that, not only do you get a title that NPCs might react to, as I mentioned previously; but the Main Scenario Questline actually gives you everything from transformations to special unique items. This is again the last chance to not have spoilers as I will be covering at the very least Generation 2: Paladin and Generation 10: Goddess of Light through Generation 12: Return of the Hero.
Okay now that everyone who doesn't want spoilers is gone, allow me to tell you about just a few of these MSQ rewards; of course jumping right to the good stuff without context makes it meaningless. So let's start with a quick summary of Generation 1 that's roughly spoiler free.
Generation 1: Advent of the Goddess starts with The Goddess asking you for help, then you save her. See I kept it spoiler free! You're given the title "[Player name] Who Saved The Goddess" for doing this which grants you some nice stats, but the real reward is that you get to move on to Generation 2: Paladin. Well wow, that's kind of an underwhelming title isn't it? You just finished Advent of the Goddess and now you're on... Paladin? Huh okay, well this quest line is all about a Paladin of legend. You spend the generation becoming someone worthy of the Paladin's armor, searching for his old armor, and even reliving some old memories of his. All to figure out who he is and solve the grand mystery that sparked this whole generation in the first place. The political drama of a potentially puppeteered prince who may actually be dead from the start... Okay yea listen it's more interesting when you actually play it. The real plot twist of this whole generation however is when you figure out who that old Paladin actually is, and more importantly that they're still alive. In the final dungeon of this generation when you face off against the final encounter he is not the one who saves the day. Rather it is you who gets to don the armor of the legendary Paladin and in a moment I love, you get to save him. This transformation is actually a fairly minor stat boost at first. You're not some overpowered god, you're still you; just powered up. When you complete the generation you will find yourself with a wholly new power available to you, the power to become that very same Paladin; now with it's own skills to rank to make it even stronger than it already was.
Yes, just for clearing Generation 2 you now have an entirely new power unlocked for you. The power to, once a day in game time; transform into your Paladin form. If you're an Elf you transform instead into a Falcon, and Giants transform into a Beast. These new forms come with their own unique skills and properties. However you don't lose access to the skills and abilities you already have. This will be a running theme throughout Mabinogi, you only get more; you don't get locked out from being you. If the Paladin aesthetic isn't your deal, and you want things a little different, don't worry; Generation 3: Dark Knight might be more your style. However, this begs the question; are Dark Knights and Paladins the same thing flavored differently? Nope. Sure they are both the same Transformation at the end of the day, but their inner workings are very different. To give you a quick example of what I mean, Paladins always get the same stats every time, but they have no specialized skill they can use while transform. They're essentially your generic stronger form, with buffed stats and nothing more, dull but reliable. Dark Knights instead roll for their stats every time they transform, meaning sometimes you're going to have much stronger physical defense, and other times a much higher magic damage stat. If you're interested in the specifics, here you go:
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Dark Knights also don't get forcibly removed from their transformation when their timer is up, rather they go into a state called "Disarmed" where they will take heavy damage over time, but this can be healed if they wish to power through it and keep fighting in their transformed state. They additionally obtain Control of Darkness which lets them tame an enemy to fight for them for a short time.
The Generation 2 transforms (Paladin, Dark Knight, Falcon, and Beast) all have 4 tiers of their transformation, dependent on the skills rank. Each boasting it's own unique title and appearance that builds on their central aesthetic and motif. This means a player who's max ranked Paladin will transform into a Champion, or for Dark Knights, they'll become an Infra Black. I do enjoy the morals of the game being muddier than to just say Paladin is bright and shiny and good, and Dark Knight is well, dark and edgy and bad. As you go through the game you'll learn a lot about the politics of the gods, and understand their moral values a lot better. Which leads us to our next major upgrade.
In Generation 10: Goddess of Light, we take the fight to the gods, and between Generation 10 and Generation 12, we'll even obtain the Sword of the Gods, a then usable sword weapon which ironically may not even be as powerful as some of our own gear by the time we get it; but more specifically we'll decline godhood and become a Demigod. However it's a bit deeper than that, as you'll find that at the end of Generation 10 you're confronted by your doppelganger. Upon defeating it, you gain the power to assume the form of a Demigod; which yes, you can in fact transform into while also transformed into your Generation 2 state. Not only does this form regen your HP, MP, and Stamina; but it additionally allows the use of special skills that depend on which of the gods you're allied with. Those who are being supported by the Goddess Neamhain will obtain skills such as Spear of Light, and Fury of Light; however if you decide to be supported by the Goddess Morrighan you instead obtain Wings of Eclipse, and Wings of Rage. Of course you won't have a choice right away, when you first obtain the ability to become a Demigod, you'll be defaulted to working with Naemhain's skills. They're not bad, but Morrighan isn't going to just give you her skills so easily so if we want options we'll need to get her to work with us. Once we clear Generation 11: Sword of the Gods; we in fact obtain the Sword of the Gods itself. This is important since we'll need it if we're going to fight the gods. Now in Generation 12 we are asked to fight alongside Morrighan to bring down the King of the Gods, Nuadha. For clearing this generation, you'll obtain the right to be supported by Morrighan; which is kind of funny since if you're a Dark Knight it shows you've actually betrayed her by giving up the path of the Paladin in favor of following Dark Knight. I guess she can overlook that given you just helped her defeat the King of the Gods.
Surely the upgrades stop there right? Well no, actually; but you probably knew that already. See there's actually currently, up to G25, with G26 on an active countdown to release as I make this post. With even more transformations, special skills, and some really incredible upgrades that change even the way we engage with crafting; the generation quests are more than worth your time and leave you feeling more powerful with each completion.
Mabinogi isn't just having you go through these quests to complete the story, it's also actively making you more and more the proper image of this immortal hero of legend. It's giving you a power boost on par with some silly shonen anime. As much as you may cringe to hear me make a stupid joke from the early internet; yes the Milletian could beat Goku. Sorry I had to make the dumb joke after making the shonen anime reference you know? These powers aren't ever restricted from you either; it's not as if you suddenly can't use your Paladin transformation in a dungeon, nor are you locked out from using Demigod to regen some stamina just to pick some flowers. Mabinogi is the story of your character, and it gives you so many upgrades and power scale boosts because it genuinely wants you to feel like a powerful hero going up against powerful enemies.
Now I will admit there's something to be said about the balance in some of the later Generation quests, especially because you can skip over a lot of them. They absolutely do plan for you to have the full arsenal of Generation specific skills by the time you reach Generation 20+ but dare I say, I think that's fair. We actually see this in other games too, it's just more allowed from other games because they do a better job of hiding their barrier to entry.
What I mean is that FFXIV is like Dark Souls 3, it's not going to let me go somewhere I'm not actually ready for, because it knows I won't have any fun getting my ass kicked but it's really linear. While Mabinogi is like Elden Ring, it looks at me saying "I'm ready I'm ready put me in coach!" While facing down against an actual god well before I'm... you know, actually ready. Yet it just says "go get 'em champ!" Only to watch me become a pancake two seconds later and think "yea this balance is garbage." Truth is, if I go back and do the content I'm suppose to do first; I will be more than ready for this content when I reach it. However I might actually be able to clear this content when I'm not supposed to yet, and Mabinogi; much like Elden Ring, lets me try. We see this same type of barrier to entry in how FFXIV says "hey man you can't run this until you're Item Level 280 sorry." That feels boring when you just want to run the thing, you don't want to go back and "grind" for item levels, but in reality it's just stopping you from trying and failing repeatedly. Which makes sense for the type of game FFXIV is, where other players are a requirement, and you don't want to hold them back because you thought you could do it with less.
The other truth is, with Mabinogi; not every path to success is going to look the same. I might spend my time training my combat skills, slowly saving up the small stat gains to get to where my base strength is at 500 and I can deal some nice damage. My friend who doesn't want to touch combat skills can absolutely focus on his cooking, slowly but surely becoming a master chef as I've become a master warrior. Now he can make a catering dish that boosts his strength to 500 all the same. We're not going to be dealing the same damage since things like weapon type, and skill ranks will come into play; but this does mean he could achieve the same goals as me in a totally different way. Personally I'm a huge fan of this, it lets every single character feel unique; you can truly become your own kind of player here.
Whether it's weaving your magic skills into your archery gameplay, or becoming an apothecary bard who uses musical buffs and potions to level the playing field. Perhaps you want to train your Ninja and Chain Blade skills to keep you at a distance, debuff enemies, and set explosive traps. You could even just play the game with life skills, relaxing by the pond as a master fisher; before tailoring a new outfit. All of these methods are entirely valid ways to play the game, they all give the necessary stats to enjoy whatever content you wish to, and yes they all give you levels.
It is for these reasons, and honestly; many others. That I have played this game since it's beta, for literally half my lifetime; and why I believe this is genuinely hands down the best MMORPG on the market right now. I urge you to give this game even 15 or 30 minutes of your time, don't get caught up on the old dated graphics, don't fret if you don't understand everything right away. The game is complex, it has a ton of mechanics that mix and intertwine to create a unique experience. The things you might find troublesome at first are exactly what makes the game so fun and unique when you understand them. Given the average internet speed and size of Mabinogi, should you have downloaded this game at the start of this reading it should be about done by now. If not, you've got the Q and A down there for any potential follow up questions you may have. So go ahead and jump into the world of Erinn, if you stop by Dunbarton on Channel 9 you might catch someone from the Landsbetween guild, feel free to stop and say hi; we're a friendly bunch.
A quick Q&A for things I've been asked frequently and might answer some questions or possible concerns you have about the game.
Q: I see a weird banner with P on it, does that mean I require a premium account to use that skin/hair color? A: No. That symbol signifies that it would cost Pon. A cash shop currency that is given to the player fairly regularly. You in fact get a gift box with about 20 Pon when you reach an early level milestone such as 50 or 100. It costs anywhere between 3 - 5 to change eye, hair, and skin color. Of course it only costs you to change to a color that uses the P banner, if a color you would like doesn't have any symbol (either a P for Pon or a B for a Beauty Coupon) then it's completely free. Q: I see a lot of cool characters, how much of a grind is it; or do I need to pay real money to customize my character? A: You can play Mabinogi entirely free to play, gacha boxes do contain high end loot and good in-game items. However the Auction House easily allows you to buy these items from players using entirely free to play gold when a new gacha comes out. While it might seem intimidating to make 1m at first. You'll quickly learn you can make 1m passively per week + any actual activity you do in this game earns you quite a lot. A single run of a dungeon will net me between 50k - 350k depending on drops and my actual in game luck stat. This is on top of the 160k I can make for free just logging in and doing Fynni Blossoming for the day. Of course, the higher your skills and total level; the easier it will be to make money. Q: I don't want to do a specific part of this game, can I still enjoy the other features? A: Yes. Entirely, in fact; I'm doing a challenge run on a character who's not allowed to rank up any combat or damage skills. I've already completed the first major questline of the game without any problem. I will say that your ability to play the game will directly reflect how much knowledge of the mechanics you have. This isn't to say you should scour the wiki for days on end, unless you're into that. However I would argue that having a few friends to play with, or perhaps actually taking the time to read through skills and practice with what you do enjoy doing; will help you to get by not doing the stuff you don't want to. You really can play this game however you want, it just may require you to have a better understanding of it's inner workings. You're always welcome to ask me about stuff whether that's here on tumblr or in game.
Q: My UI and HUD are this weird plastic blue color and I kinda hate it. Can I fix that or am I stuck with this? A: In the settings menu the game allows you to change the color of the UI and HUD to fit your liking. You can also enable various hotbars and disable others. Additionally you can change the game's resolution, and even pick out which version of the OST you'd like to use of which there are three distinct versions.
Q: Does this game have a meta I should worry about?
A: Yes and no, yes it has a meta; no you shouldn't worry about it. If you're really concerned I recommend picking Giant as your race and Close Combat as your starting Talent. I didn't go over Talents in this essay but they're sort of specializations, not classes. They don't limit anything you can do, but rather give you 2x EXP towards the skills they govern. Giants have a fair bit more strength and HP, they're your standard tanky race. While they may not be as fast on their feet as nimble Elves; they can take a good few more blows, and even have racial skills specific to gathering up enemies. Close Combat doubles down on what Giants are already good at, giving you more HP and Strength. Start out by ranking your essential basics, those being Defense, Smash, Counter, Windmill, and honestly throw Assault Slash in for good measure; since you'll want to often combo these skills together. DO NOT SLEEP ON DEFENSE, it is a heavily overlooked but extremely powerful skill. If you feel like you're struggling in combat, grab a shield and rank your shield mastery; even light armor mastery will be more than enough so long as you have a decent shield and the necessary ranks in the skills. You'll soon feel like a steel wall of defense that not even major storyline bosses can put a dent into.
Q: What are the differences between Elves, Humans, and Giants? Can I change my race after I make my character, since I can change my gender?
A: First off, no; sadly you cannot change your race after making a character. This is become of the racial differences. The major ones are as follows...
Elves can use invisibility to hide themselves, they'll fire 2 arrows as opposed to 1 when using archery; and they obtain a unique poison arrow that spreads to nearby targets when fired. They move faster than other races and have stats better geared towards Magic and Archery; though that won't matter too much. They become a Falcon after Generation 2 letting them use Elven Magic Missile, and cannot use 2 handed weapons nor can they dual wield.
Giants can use stomp which is a fairly week AoE ability, they also get Taunt, Stampede, and Wind Guard as unique skills. They can use two handed weapons in one hand letting them use a shield with them, and can dual wield blunt objects. They have stats geared towards a close combat play style, though again that won't matter too much later on. They become a Beast after Generation 2 letting them use Giant Full Swing, they cannot use bows but have thrown spears instead.
Humans cannot learn the specific racial skills of the other two races. They can dual wield swords; and don't have equipment restrictions outside of not being able to dual wield blunt objects and not being able to use the throwing spears. They have stats geared to an all around play style, which as you know; doesn't really matter much. They become a Paladin after Generation 2, or they can become a Dark Knight which gives them the active skill Control of Darkness which lets them tame an enemy to fight for them.
Q: Is this game Pay to Win?
A: Is any MMORPG not Pay to Win? Alright, real answer; let's break it down. Does Mabinogi have Pay to Win properties? Absolutely it does. Most if not all MMORPGs do. FFXIV has the paid level boosts just like Mabinogi has paid gacha boxes with end game loot. I'm not trying to pick on FFXIV here, it's just what I'm familiar with because I also play it. Truth is, Mabinogi gives you a lot of gold for just doing content, whether you're a crafter who can sell your wares for millions, just doing daily Fynni gems for 1m a week per character, or combat focused and running your Lord missions with boosts for a few million in a couple hours. So while I'd argue that it absolutely is pay to win, not only do you not need those minor boosts from the gear until long into the later generations; you also will have the money to buy it off players long before you actually need it. That's if you need it at all, since you can easily get ahead in this game by just engaging with the many skills and mechanics. If I had to give this a simple yes or no, the answer is yes; but I really don't think it's nearly as bad in Mabinogi as it is in other games. Especially considering how small the PvP scene in this game is. You don't need to pay to win when someone else in your party absolutely did, or maybe you just pay in gold to win. However I'd argue that it's pay to win FASTER than others. Just take it slow and enjoy the journey. Every game is pay to win, Mabinogi handles it better than most.
Q: Is there any reason for me to not like this game?
A: Yea the devs haven't hired me to write articles like this for their marketing. Boycott worthy honestly; they should pay me for this, or at least make me a soul streamer, you know? (┬┬﹏┬┬) ^ This last one is a joke, you know; in case reading comprehension.
#mabinogi#mmorpg#fantasy rpg#rpg#yes I'm putting a bunch of tags I want people to play this game.#Fantasy MMORPG#Okay I lied that's all the tags I can think of actually.#Wait are you actually reading the tags on this? After reading ALL of that?#You're ALSO gonna read the tags? Wow okay hi I guess lol uuuh you're pretty cool if you made it this far#I hope to see you in game :D#I have too many characters so I'm serious when I say just swing by Dunbarton on Ch9 and find the Landsbetween guild#That's the guild my partner and I run#So yea like... that's kinda all I got#Man I didn't even talk about the skill books and stuff#man I love this game so much#Man I Love F-antasy Games like Mabinogi... You thought I was gonna put that tag here?#Nah but I'd probably die if she ever played this game not gonna lie#especially if they did what they did to Ironmouse and stuck her with a Soul Streamer who doesn't care#it was physically painful to watch that guy completely ignore Mouse and she shit she enjoyed about Mabi#like genuinely I could have done better but like I'm not a soul streamer so you know whatever lol#My partner and I watched that whole stream just screaming at that guy like I'm not gonna name names but good lord#He outright ignored her several times despite and then dragged her through high end content as a newbie what the hell man#Regardless I hope YOU reading this come play Mabi because I think you'd really enjoy it#come find our guild and hang out some time#I'll be glad to be your guide through this really bizarre and fun game
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cerealmonster15 · 16 days ago
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i forgot grunt meant like henchman or whatever for a second i thought they were like yeah leonas bitch ass grunts and growls are partial proof to savanaclaw being an athletic leaning dorm lol
#well they also say that in the game not just the manga jkdlfhsdkl like in azuls union bday card#ace was like oh yeah ok you dont wanna be in savanaclaw cause theyre more athletic oriented right#and azul was like NO IM TALKING ABOUT THE SUN SHUT UP!!! jsdklfhsdklfj#anyway i was on the wiki cuz i was trying to remember what their dorm's trait thing is like according to the mirror but i DONT SEE IT.#i rememeber i get it confused with pomesiores . like i think one of theirs is tenacity . but idr which one LOL#the other is maybe endurance...????#that doesnt sound right. i feel like it was broader than that#WAIT I LIED IT DOES SAY IT AT THE TOP i just. missed that part. it IS tenacity lol#what the fuck was pomefiore then....#oh ya theirs according to the wiki is UNRELENTING EFFORTS which i think i did see sometimes written as like endurance or fortitude or smthn#anyway. savanaclaw and pomefiore's ~core value~ always felt similar to me. but also maybe i just dont know what words mean <3#not in a 'theyre too similar' way like i do think theyre different. i just think it's INCH RESTING when things r like#theyre similar. theres overlap. but theres enough distinction to put them apart#actually them being similar in some regards does feel reinforced by the rook hunt situation like he went from one to the other#and seems to be thriving regardless.... we're onto something here...#hmm what were the others.. i think heartslabyul was strictness...#ok the wiki says severity i think ive seen either eng or a translation that called it strictness lol but severity i feel like is maybe#better word choice.. just a lil... nuances nuances whatever anyway idr the others. actually wait no i know octavinelles is like#benevolence bc azul keeps mentioning it- the wiki says compassion. lol. idk if i just keep remembering close enough or like#remembering fan vs official tls. i think the wiki is doing its own direct tl and not engtwst but moving ON#scarabia is deliberation... ignihyde is diligence... diasomnia is elegance???#why is diasomnia the only one that didnt sound familiar At All LOL i dont REMEMBER THAT ONE#i remembered vaguely what scarabia was bc they make a point of mentioning it in like end of 4 or start of 5?#when they were like yeah we value foresight or w/e in scarabia so jamil hasnt been ousted right away. i like scarabia their#way of showing the different ways deliberation works with like jamil vs how it does in kaliim vs the npcs#like theyre all different ppl but still fit that criteria in their own unique ways.... hell yeah...#anyway yay i got ONE right on the nose [as the wiki has it listed anyway lol] thanks savanaclaw
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tricoufamily · 10 months ago
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no ok we finished episode 2 what they have done to katara is unforgivable. they have completed zapped every ounce of her personality away. why. why. look how they massacred my girl
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rivvytrick · 5 months ago
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waiting for mechposters to get into racing games: eleven months and counting
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