#this is literally me coming back from the dead

[kooyabooya]

FREUDIAN

m reader x rosé // 24k words

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“On?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That so?”

“We can’t cancel it.”

“Too late for us to do that, no?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Rosé-” 

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

“Okay, you win.” 

“Good.” 

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“By this, you mean-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that’s that.) 

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

“You-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

But here’s the thing. 

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

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

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

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

So, you make that leap.

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

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

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

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

–

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

First time for everything, remember?”)

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah, go on ahead.” 

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll manage. Thanks.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

- 

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

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

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

Click. 

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

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

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

There’s no fucking way. 

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

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

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

“Babe, if you just let me explain-” 

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

I thought you were different. 

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

You were supposed to be different.

–

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

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

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

In hindsight, it just really fucking sucks. 

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

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

“No. Dingus.” 

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

Rosé. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s okay.” 

“But-” 

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My god, this woman- 

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

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

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

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

“Look. Rosé, we really shouldn't-” 

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

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

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

“Mmmmm.” 

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

“Oh, oh fuck-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

Hangovers. They’re the worst. 

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

Although this would be the exception- 

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

“Here’s the thing: I’m not you.” 

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry?” 

“I know you are. Slightly.” 

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

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

Your head twists back towards her. “Hm?” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?” 

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

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

“Are you sure?” 

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

“Okay,” you murmur, massaging your temple. 

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the matcha order gets called up, perfect timing. 

–

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

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

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

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

“Right. I’ll do exactly that.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

“Now why would I?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y-you-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Tempting.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

“Not a soul. Promise.”)

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Corny.” 

“And?” 

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

“First of all, ouch.” 

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

“That’s-” 

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

jen: can you please call me? 

jen: i’ll explain everything 

jen: i’m worried sick 

jen: pls just come home

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

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

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

She’s in the middle of the walkway now. 

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

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

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

You’re back following her in a heartbeat. 

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Saying that I went too far?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

And that’s when you see her. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aw. So thoughtful.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“I will.” 

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

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

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

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

“Ros-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, yes- fuck-” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God, the fucking mess. Rosé-” 

And the sigh is just heavenly. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good,” you rasp. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Two can play that game.

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

“Babe-” 

You push. 

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

Pushing it all back in, where it stays. 

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

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

"Yeah?"

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

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

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

Until you decide to fully embrace her. 

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

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

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

–

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

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

It’s snowing again. 

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

Only she would be the one to blame for that. 

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

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

“Really? Why? Right now? It’s late.” 

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

“Hey. Fuck you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

[dwarf-vader-of-middle-earth]

I worked at a drugstore in a city with tons of gangs. One woman came in with the teardrops tattooed below her eye and everything, but was trying so hard to help find her dying mother an oxygen tank, and my store didn't sell those. But the specialty pharmaceutical shop in the city did, and I got her an address.

The woman was broke. She had a dead phone that couldn't use GPS as a result. And she had no money for a charger, only for the oxygen tank which was life or death for her mother, nor did she know what type of charger she needed. She was terrified and didn't know what to do, and her mother could barely stand.

I knew tech well. I love tech and so I asked her to show me her car. I found she had the cigarette port type charger, and type C phone charging port. I said to gimme a second, ran inside, and used my scanner to damage out a port charger, plus the cord, which is like $25 right there.

That was against the code of the store. I didn't care. A strong woman who endured gang life was sobbing over hardly being able to care for her dying mother, and I brought the charging equipment out to her car, hooked it all up for her, and told her to go get that oxygen tank.

She was sobbing and hugging me as she loaded up and went off to the store.

And another time, there was a woman, a sex worker, who was in the area but her phone broke. She needed to call for a ride back home, and our store sold burner phones and the ones you could purchase a card for to add minutes to it.

The woman only had enough money for the phone itself but not for the minutes. She was so distraught and stressed, unable to get a hold of anyone otherwise.

I told her to pay what she could for the phone, then I took the minutes card from her. After she purchased the phone, I brought out my card and bought the minutes card for her, handed it over, and told her to be safe.

That woman was sobbing and grateful.

I did the same with a stranger who couldn't buy the last $10 for her kids' Christmas gifts one year.

I helped jump the cars of random folks who broke down in the lot during my shifts.

During my last month working at the store, my mother was preparing to go for open heart surgery. I was going to be on my own for weeks following this, needing to buy my own food and cook it and everything, and I was on a very limited budget at that point. I was terrified of going hungry.

A lady broke down in the lot just a few days before my mother was set to go in, and she was from 11 hours out of state. It was below freezing, she didn't know where she was, and seeing as it was almost midnight, no place was open for repair.

I went out and tried to jump her car. When it wouldn't work, I figured out the alternator was dead and told her to give me a second.

Then I physically pushed her car out of the way and to the side of the store. I was trained to do this in MMA as one of my exercises where I pushed my teacher's pickup around the giant dojo once each month at least for years.

The woman was SO grateful, she got her daughter from an hour north to come get her for the night, but that lady was so thankful she gave me $20.

And I cried. That covered my meals for the next 4 days. I knew I was going to be hungry and struggling to get my food for a while, and this stranger gave me enough to get meals for 4 days worth.

That meant the wold to me, and I meant the world to her.

My first job ever, I barely passed as a man. Living in this area is hard because judgment is rampant, and relentless, especially with such a bigoted populous. And one day I received so much hate and anger from customers that I literally almost walked out of the store and quit right there. I had unsolicited photos taken of me, people pointing and laughing, you name it.

But one lady walked to my register and smiled. "I was at Stonewall! I marched for YOU! I threw bricks FOR YOU!!" she said enthusiastically.

She was a dyke lesbian who was there during the Stonewall riots, and she gave me so much love and acceptance that I broke down sobbing as I walked out from behind the register and hugged her. The kindness of that woman saved me because I didn't think I wanted to make it home that night.

I drove home safely that night, and I'm now 7 years on testosterone with full support of my friends, and I'm planning my last surgery for late 2025. :)

Humanity is a broad experience of emotional connection and happenstance. An opportunity for kindness is an opportunity to change a life for the better in every way.

Be kind to one another. Help that stranger. Feel emotion to the fullest extent, and share that with others.

Be human.

“People are inherently terrible” no!!! Have you ever seen a child wait for their friend while they tie their shoelaces? Have you ever known someone who would bring hurt squirrels and rabbits and mice to the nearest vet just so it doesn’t suffer? Have you seen someone grieve? Have you ever read something that hit your heart like a freight train? Have you looked at the stars and felt an unexplainable joy? Have you ever baked bread? Have you shared a meal with a friend? Have you not seen it? All the love? All the good? I know it’s hard to see sometimes, I know there’s pain everywhere. But look, there’s a child helping another up after a hard fall. Look, there’s someone giving their umbrella to a stranger. Look, there’s someone admiring the spring flowers. Look, there’s good, there’s good, there’s good. Look!!!!

[wonderjanga]

combining people hitting on ace marvel with Billy having total control over the magical champion body, plus Billy having terrible conflict resolution skills on account of being a child and Solomon not having any answers regarding turning down someones affections. So if someone is hitting on marvel he escapes by acting like hes being attacked or cursed. The magical champion version of "uhh my shoes are untied... OVER THERE!" A person tries to kiss him and he just.

Marvel: *inching away from a lady who keeps coming near him and trying to kiss him*

Lady: “Oh you’re my hero!” *tries to kiss him again*

Marvel: *dodged and sees a nearby drain*

Billy then proceeded to do the only thing he could think of in that moment. Melt.

Marvel: “Ah… I’m melting! Ahhhhhh…” *terrible actor but is trying his best to sound like he’s in agony*

Lady: “Oh my God! Someone call an ambulance!”

Marvel: “NO no… no. Don’t do that.” *still melting and now trying to melt into the drain* “But yeah- Ah… I’m in so much pain!

Billy didn’t really like having to find a way out of the sewers. Nor did he like smelling like sewage after. But, it did get him out of that situation, so he’ll take it.

or

Marvel: *flying*

Lady: “Captain! Captain, could I have a word with you?”

Marvel: “Of course, miss! Is there a problem?”

Lady: “Not really.” *puts her hand on his chest and bats her lashes* “I just wanted to have a little chat-”

Marvel: *makes his own chest cave in away from her*

Lady: *stares for a solid sec* “OH MY GOD??”

She was absolutely horrified because she could literally hear his rib bones snap and he somehow didn’t flinch at all.

or

Marvel: *backed up against a wall in a lady’s apartment after he helped with a small house fire*

Lady: *tries to kiss him*

Marvel: *looks absolutely mortified and turns his head away*

The worst part in Billy’s opinion about that situation was that he couldn’t really escape. Like, he couldn’t let himself fly up because there was a roof and if he did, the rubble might fall on the lady and injure her. He can’t go down because they’re on the second story of a building and the rubble will land on the people down below. And he can’t go through a wall because there are other rooms full of people in the other rooms. So what does he do? He explodes. Literally. Not metaphorically.

Marvel: *literally lets his head explode into confetti*

Lady: *stares*

Marvel: *blindly feels around the room because he can’t see and stumbles over a bunch of stuff as he leaves*

He fell down the stairs multiple times, and ran into what he was pretty sure was a trash can. (He can’t be too sure considering he can’t hear or see) He ended up somehow getting to the street and wandering before a JL member came out of nowhere, was horrified, and made him sit down on a bench. As for how he knew it was a JL member, he literally let his hand palm their face so he could feel who it was. It was Flash. Anyways, he regrew his head.

Flash: *talking with someone on his comm* “Dude, I think Marvel was decapitated-”

JL member: *says something that Billy can’t hear*

Flash: “No, I don’t know how!

JL member: *says something else*

Flash: “No, he’s not dead. Somehow. He was walking around before I found him. I got him to sit down.”

Marvel: “Flash, who are you talking to?”

Flash: “Spooky.” *pauses and slowly looks over to him now registering Billy said something* “Wha- dude! You have head again!”

Marvel: “Yeah?”

Flash: “Jesus, man, you had me worried-” *looks back to his comm and speaks to it* “Cap just grew his head back.”

JL member(Now known as Batman): *says something else*

Flash: “I don’t know! It just grew back!”

Batman: *probably says something about how he expects a report or explanation or something*

Flash: “Yeah, yeah I’ll fill more details later.” *hangs up and looks over to Billy* “Dude. How did you get decapitated?” *sits down with him* “I thought you were supposed to be super durable like Supes.”

Marvel: “Oh uh… I blew my own head up.”

*silence*

Flash: “What?”

[allpiesforourown]

I'm sorry but omega harem member Shen Yuan AU now has me in a choke hold-

Like,

Binghe is trying to find the perfect way to seduce Shen Yuan, because god knows he needs a miracle to unfuck up his entire 'I don't care for you, its just political' situation

Universe does its thing and sends a wife plot, Shen Yuan gets poisoned with some fuck or die plant when helping one of the wives meet with their family in a very dangerous section of the demon realm.

Binghe hears about his omegas poisoning and jumps at the chance to finally get closer to his A-Yuan. this! This is familiar to him, he's saved his wives from all kinds of poisons and aphrodisiac fueled heats before, he'd fuck him so good and show how great of an alpha he could be to him.

Only when he makes it there, Shen Yuans already been serviced by his bodyguard Liu Qingge. (its LITERALLY his job to save and service this omega, of course he fucked the poison out of him)

Turns out the news had reached Binghe far too late to be put to any use, partly do to Shen Yuan begging the wife he had been helping when he was poisoned to not bother Binghe with it. He just doesn't want to force Binghe to take care of him! (Binghe had just gotten back with a new wife too! Imagine how pissed he'd be if he interrupted them!)

The wife takes Shen Yuans insistence and worry as him being terrified of Binghe so of course she couldn't bring herself to tell the demon emperor (as should have been protocol). And if she actively helped hide his condition then it wasn't like anyone would rat her out for it, at least not after she told them how scared Shen Yuan had been of his Alpha husband. (Cue them believing that Shen Yuans wedding night must have been traumatising or something) rumors only spiral when an omega will take dealing with a deadly poison over fucking their literal husband.

So by the time the news reached Binghe it had already been a day. Bonus points if he walks in on Liu Qingge still inside his husband who's completely out of it from being throughly ravished for 12+ hours on and off to get the poison completely out of his system.

The stand off would be prime tea for the harem but absolutely terrifying to anyone who actually witnessed it. Binghe seething as his temper flairs to record levels.

"under what authority did you decide you could take such advances with MY omega."

"It's my job."

"No. its Mine."

"I was told you wouldn't be here"

"Well clearly I'm here now."

"Now is too late. he'd have been dead by now."

"...What?"

"He was poisoned yesterday. He'd have been dead by now."

And Liu Qingge isn't even being judgemental, I mean why would he be, this is a part of his job and a very enjoyable one at that. But Binghe is crumbling mentally as he tries to piece together how things went so wrong: Why wasn't he informed immediately? How had this been kept from him? Was someone trying to kill Shen Yuan? And now he wonders HOW exactly had his omega gotten poisoned?

The impulsive thoughts come too, he wants this bodyguard fired. But if he fired the man who saved his omega now, it would only seem like he'd wanted Shen Yuan dead.

An even uglier, more desperate part of him wanted to purposefully poison Shen Yuan with a poison only HE could cure, to have Shen Yuan need him.

POISONING YOUR HUSBAND AS FOREPLAY .... God I love binggeyuan and liushen, just the most emotionally dense people imaginable falling for each other

[brucedefender4eva]

Re your Bruce can't cook post, I TOTALLY agree that Bruce SHOULD be wholly capable of being able to cook for himself like hello, he is literally Mr Capable, BUT!!!! Crucially, I think that food is one of Alfred's primary love languages and being able to provide in that specific way for his family is very important to him so I think he's likely responsible for ushering everyone out of the kitchen. This is why my personal headcannon is that the first time Bruce attempts to make a full meal after he comes back from his training, the look of quietly reserved heartbreak on Alfred's face prompts him to act clueless about the recipe "Oh Alf, could you tell me what to do here,," etc.

Awe!!

It’s like when you realize you put your child down for the last time. You don’t realize in the moment that they’re too big and you can’t pick them up anymore.

You can pry the fact that Bruce can cook from my cold dead hands, but whether or not he chooses to cook depends on how he feels

Letting Alfred cook for him allows him to keep a piece of his childhood still alive. Bruce would never tell Alfred he didn’t like his cooking, even if he didn’t particular like a meal that he made.

Whenever Bruce forces Alfred to take a break saying the he works too much (hypocrite) that’s when he’ll cook for himself and his kids.

But he just can’t stand the quiet devastation on Alfred’s face when he’s able to make his way around the kitchen. It’s his way of showing his dad Alfred that he will always need him, no matter what.

On really good days, Bruce can convince Alfred to let him help bake. Never full meals because Alfred takes claim and pride in that, but sweet treats. It reminds Alfred of when Bruce was just a little boy, barely coming up to his knee, baking together and making a mess in the kitchen.

What an absolute beautiful headcannon that I will be stealing for myself

[spicyycarrot]

back in S1 I really gave the writers the benefit of the doubt, choosing to believe they weren't libs or centrists. that they didn't really think Vander collaborating with cops was good for Zaun, that they knew characters like Jinx aren't fundamentally broken and irredeemable but a result of trauma caused by systemic oppression.

I believed they knew about and understood real life systems of oppression but very cleverly and subtly told their story, trying not to spoon-feed the audience & shove political messages down anyone's throats.

but then season 2 being so rushed and fast-paced really showed me where their priorities lied, what they chose to focus on and it wasn't insightful social commentary or exploration of any character's psyche or whatnot (aside from ep 7 which was peak) - it felt like they were trying to elicit emotional responses out of the audience more than anything. Isha gets introduced and oh I'm sure they'll subvert expectations and keep her alive & give Jinx hope that she can change for the better and isn't a Jinx to the people she lov- oh nvm Isha's dead. oh Vi has a mental breakdown after betraying everything she once stood for, becoming an enforcer and subsequently falling into a depression & self-harming for possibly months, I'm sure they'll explore this inner conflict in more detail after this montage- nvm it's LITERALLY JUST THE ONE MONTAGE? ok this Maddie girl is sleeping with Caitlyn but she doesn't seem to have any logical reason or motivation to betray he- never fucking mind??? I guess there was just no reason?????

whenever I thought they'd subvert expectations, they just kept doing the most. fucking. obvious. thing. it felt like the writers were constantly really insecurely asking me "are you crying yet????🥺🥺🥺 isn't this sad omg🥺🥺😭💔💔 ARE YOU CRYING??? OMG THE ANGST🥺 TRAUMA🥺🥺🥺"

it felt like they were very trying way too hard and trying intentionally to replicate S1's organic feeling of loss, longing for "what could've been", palpable and relatable pain, empathy for fleshed-out and human characters.

and also, whenever something kinda obvious would've made SENSE, they didn't do it. e.g. Vi & Jinx reconciling in the end would've made for such a beautiful finale where the story comes full-circle, but they chose not to do that because framing their relationship as "doomed" is more tragic😔💔 I guess? despite the fact that we see them getting along like they used to and Jinx saying "I'm always with you, sis", they still make her (supposedly) stand between Vi and her happiness so they make Jinx, the suicidal character, fucking FAKE HER DEATH??

hey remember in S1 Act1 that one scene where Vi & Powder look at the skyline and Vi says "one day, this city's gonna respect us" and in that moment it feels hugely impactful and like it's setting up something important for later down the line and then NOTHING EVER COMES OF IT? by the end of S2, the former GOAT Vi is washed and a lapdog to her oppressors and Jinx is branded an irredeemable terrorist and as far as anyone knows, she died as such.

the creators/writers have always said they knew from the beginning how they wanted the story to end but I find it hard to believe this is the exact outcome they wanted. Arcane was always the story of two sisters in conflict, framed by a larger conflict between the Sister Cities. neither of those stories felt like they came to a satisfying resolution or natural conclusion. S2 abandoned the heart of the story in favor of the eponymous "Arcane" storyline and you can really tell that it made this season weaker.

what makes this all particularly upsetting to me is that I expected better of Arcane of all shows. I guess it's on me for having such high expectations but I wish season 2 hadn't been as disappointing as it was.

No actually I need to add on more to this. Arcane very unfortunately suffers the same issue that a lot of "progressive" shows suffer in Western media, where they go like "here are some real, systemic issues that exist and look at the consequences of these issues", and then either (1) forget to continue with the theme, and/or (2) don't do anything about it beyond slap on a half-hearted Band-Aid solution that never addresses it.

Caitlyn gassing civilians; lack of accessibility for Viktor which created barriers for him due to his disability; enforcers as oppressors, going hand in hand with Noxian imperialism; Jayce weaponzing hextech, and him already having killed a child because of it; not a single moment is really spent on any of these in S2. If anything, the enforcers are really flattened at the end of this season with little nuance, the complexity that shone in characters like Marcus and Grayson disappearing. Many Piltovan characters do not get even a single second of introspection as to how their actions actively contribute to the oppression of Zaun.

[your-hockey-mom]

I'm having a shit day, I need Quinn to fix it

Please and thanks

Rain, rain, go away, come again...when you didn't have a hundred errands to run and were short on time to do them. Naturally, it would pour the entire time you were out and about, and your umbrella had decided to break the first time you went to use it. It really set the tone for the rest of the day; a terrible foreshadowing you had hoped wouldn't be the case.

The only reason you were out running those errands in the first place was because you had taken the day off to make sure everything was nice for when Quinn got back home. You knew he was going to be exhausted after finishing another six straight games on the road. Plus, you wanted to enjoy the evening with him knowing nothing would be looming in the back of your mind that would take away from your time together. However, since the minute you got up it was like everything was stacked against you. You had slept through your alarm, getting up almost two hours later than you had intended. You thought you had plugged in your phone but hadn't make a proper connection so your battery was at 12% to start the day. And to add insult to injury (literally), you had dropped a glass while in the kitchen and had cut your hand while trying to pick up the pieces.

Today was proving to be one of those days that were best spent at home, but unfortunately, that wouldn't be the case for you. By this point, your phone was now sitting at 6%, because you realized, after you had left the parking garage, that the charger you left in your car was in Quinn's. You just hoped it would hold on long enough to get you home.

You would be stopped at a red light, mid rush hour, when a message would ding in. It was Quinn and the dreaded text you didn't want to come across your phone until you were already back at his apartment.

"Hey baby, we just touched down. I'll see you soon. I love you."

"I might not be there when you get home. Stuck in traffic. </3 I love you, too. <3 <3 Also, phone is about dead. >:("

"Just be careful. I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too."

- - -

Getting everything out of the car had been hard enough, but carrying them with your cut palm was the worst. Being half asleep and dealing with broken glass was not a good combination, something you would note for the future. Sure, you couldn't have texted Quinn to see if he would help you, which you knew he would have, but you were determined to get it done yourself.

When you stepped into the elevator, from the parking garage, all you could think of was "please don't break down. I do not want to walk up the stairs. I do not want to be trapped in an elevator with a dead phone." Thinking it was a bad idea to put such thoughts into the Universe, you'd just count floors instead until you reached Quinn's.

It was a struggle to unlock the door but you had managed though your hand was burning and you were pretty sure you were bleeding again. Just something else that would get tended to later. Once inside, you'd drop everything at the door and Quinn would come from the bedroom to greet you.

"Oh sweetheart, why didn't you tell me you were downstairs? I would have helped you with all of this." He wrapped his arms around you and you melt into his body. "I have missed you so much."

"I'm so glad you're home." All of a sudden and without warning, you begin to cry. Likely a culmination of trash sleep, stress, no food, and pain. Your body and emotions were just fried; not to mention you hated when he was gone for so long.

"What's wrong, baby?" Quinn would say softly, gently tightening his hold on you. "Are you alright?" Anytime you were having a rough day, he was the first person to notice and always did everything he could to make you feel better.

"No," you said, hiding your face in his neck. You weren't ready to have him see how much you were struggling.

"Why don't you go sit, hmm? I'll get this."

"I wanted to have everything done for you but today has been awful."

Quinn pulls away from you just enough to tip your chin up towards his face. You can't escape him now and the look on your face makes his puppy eyes heavy with emotion. "Oh, baby~"

He kisses you several times, each one of them sweeter than the last, yet the tears still continue to fall from your cheeks. "Come on, this stuff can wait."

Taking your non-bandaged hand, he ushers you to the sofa where he insists you sit in his lap so you can be as close to him as possible. You loved moments like these just on better circumstances than today had given you.

"Baby, you're bleeding. What happened?"

You had reached up to brush some hair from your eyes when he caught sight of the bandage now tinged bright red in the center. You dropped your hand to your leg and shook your head. "It's nothing. Just a clumsy accident."

"Let me see."

You refuse, sniffling and trying to hold back the welling tears.

"Please?"

Damn those eyes of his; damn the tone of his voice that just took your breath away. You could never truly tell him no and this was no different. You'd turn your palm upwards when you presented it to him, scared it was worse that you thought it was initially.

"May I look at it?"

You just nod, before laying your head against his shoulder. You didn't want to see it and you knew him pulling back the adhesive of the bandage was going to hurt, even though he had the softest touch.

Quinn was always so careful with you; always asking for permission especially if it would potentially cause you pain. Slowly he'd remove the bandage and you would wince against the discomfort even though he did everything he could to make it easy on you. "How did this happen?"

Quinn's tone conveyed deep worry and hurt and that didn't give you the reassurance you were hoping for.

"This morning. I got up late, and was half asleep taking my vitamins and I guess my hand just stopped working and I dropped it. It shattered everywhere. I didn't realize I had grabbed the raw edge until it was too late and I cut myself."

"Oh sweetheart," Quinn whispered laying his head against yours. "Want me to fix you up?"

"I'll get it."

"Please?"

Twice now, he had used that word with (that) tone, and twice now you would fold without another chance to resist. Again, you would silently nod, letting him slip out from under you while he disappeared into the bathroom for a few moments. You remembered how you had left it and it made you feel worse, but when he returned, the only thing that mattered to him was making sure you were alright.

"You said today was awful, how come?" He talked to you while he worked so to keep you from focusing solely on your hand and the pain. Everything he did was so thoughtful.

"I stayed up too late watching The First 48, then I slept through my alarms this morning, so I was two hours behind. I guess I hadn't clicked my charger into my phone fully so it didn't charge. I dropped the glass. I didn't get the apartment cleaned. I didn't get the laundry put away. I forgot my charger was in your car. My umbrella broke." With each added reason for the bad day it made you more emotional to the point that he had to stop cleaning the cut to lay a hand on your leg and try to calm you.

"Shhh, baby, baby, it's okay. None of that matters now. I didn't expect you to be waiting for me at the door. I'm just glad you're here now, but I'm sorry you had such a hard day. The apartment is fine, please, don't worry about it."

"But...I left the bathroom~"

"I don't care about it. Honest. I want you to feel welcome here; I want it to be your home. Home should feel lived in." Quinn leaned forward to kiss you yet you frown. You still felt so bad for everything not being done like you wanted it to be. "If you're here, that's all I want."

"You're so nice," you squeak out, hiding your face with your free hand. You don't realize you were breaking his heart, feeling so bad about missing your self-imposed marks.

"Sweetheart, will you look at me, please?"

Dropping your hand, you let your eyes be exposed though you keep it pressed to your lips.

"You're the only thing I care about when I'm here. If you're okay, I'm okay."

"But I'm not okay."

"And I'm not either. May I finish this for you?" His smile was so sweet, so heartfelt as he held your injured hand in both of his. When you answered "yes, please" Quinn brought it to his lips before finishing what he had started. With each new step of the process, he'd check in with you before continuing. He didn't feel that you had any glass in the wound or that you needed stitches, but he didn't want you to do too much the next few days.

"Alright, babe, all done."

"Thank you."

"Of course. Anything for you," his smile continues. "How about you go change your clothes, get into something comfortable and we'll have a lazy evening in bed. I'll get the groceries put away and we'll order take out. How's that?"

"Do you want some help?"

"No babe, I can get it. It won't take me that long, but thank you. I'll meet you in there, okay?"

"Okay." You give him a kiss as a thank you, later apologizing for your mild breakdown earlier.

"It's alright. You're only human, sweetheart and you had a bad day. I can't say I'd do much better. I'd never judge you for anything like that," Quinn replies, holding your face for another kiss. "I promise."

[angstywaifu]

Secret Relationship - Brennan Sorrengail x Reader Riorson

A/N: You guys seem to really want Brennan in a secret relationship with an older sister of Xaden. I literally have 4 requests for this. So I’m just gonna mash them all together. So for the 4 of you that requested some Brennan with Xaden’s older sister. Enjoy.

Prompts/Requests: Brennan and Xaden older sister who have a relationship while at Basgiath and reunite in Aretia and she finds out he's alive. Xaden walking in on Brennan and his older sister. Warnings: Mentions of death, Fluff and minor smut.

Masterlist | Support Me

Home. I hadn’t been here in so long. But it feels like a day hasn’t passed since I was last here. Thankfully most of the damage from all those years ago has been repaired, only a few spots not looking quite how they use to. Part of me was annoyed Xaden had requested my help and appearances elsewhere, but it needed to be done. And now, after all these years, I was home.

My dragon turns and banks downwards towards the clearing below where a few people await our arrival. I can easily spot Xaden amongst them. Even from here I can tell how much he looks like our father. Gods, I could even mistake him for him if I looked quick enough.

As soon as my dragons feet touch the ground I jump from their back, rushing towards Xaden who is already heading towards me. Immediately he pulls me into his arms and crushes me into a hug. I swear he’d grown again since I’d last saw him. His head easily resting atop my own. So much for being the little brother.

“You need to stop growing. You’re meant to be my little brother.” I joke as I step out of his arms.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Wait till you see Garrick then.”

I go to respond, but as Garrick’s familiar face appears from behind Xaden i stand their shocked. He’s easily a few inches taller than Xaden. Last time I’d seen Garrick was just before the rebellion had started, and back then he wasn’t that much taller than me. Now I just reached over his shoulder.

“Bloody hell. I’m going to need some heeled boots to stand next to you guys, I don’t like this feeling short thing.” Both of them laughing at me.

”Don’t worry, Xaden’s girlfriend can make you feel tall.” Garrick teases, earning a glare from Xaden.

”Girlfriend? What happened to Cat? Weren’t you engaged to her or something?” Least that was the last I’d heard from Xaden. Though we didn’t really talk about it much.

”Don’t get me started about it.” Xaden says with a sigh. “And she’s not my girlfriend. It’s…. Complicated.”

I shake my head. “What did you do?”

”What didn’t he do.” Garrick jokes before stepping out of Xaden’s reach as he goes to shove him away.

Gods, I’d missed this. I hadn’t been alone while I was away, having a squad of my own who had chosen to pretend to be dead and do anything Xaden and the rebellion needed of us. But nothing beat the feeling of being around the ones you called your family. The ones you loved. The ones you would do anything for. I push down the feeling of sadness that wants to creep its way in. Push down the urge to look over my shoulder at the spot I last saw them that day.

“Come on, let me take you to your room.” Xaden says, ignoring Garrick who is currently chuckling to himself before turning away and walking towards the our home.

I quickly hurry after him despite the fact I know the way without him. We fall into a comfortable silence as we walk together. Neither of us needing to speak as we take in the feeling of being back here together for the first time in a long time.

It was odd walking these halls with Xaden. It felt familiar, but also not at the same time. Last time we both did this we were a lot younger, a lot was different, and a lot more people were alive. The usual commotion of the house no longer there. Least not the commotion I was use to.

Xaden pushes open the door to my bedroom, holding it open for me as I walk past him. Not a single thing had changed. It was exactly as I’d left it. Except for the bed. I’d left it in a mess last time I was here. Hopefully who ever made it had also changed the sheets. I hated to think how gross they’d be after all these years.

“You doing ok?” Xaden asks after a few moments of me walking around the room.

I nod. “I will be. It just feels…. Weird. Being back here I mean. Everything is so different now, but this place still looks the same.”

”You get use to it after a few days. I felt the same when we first got back here properly a few weeks back.” He tells me before a soft knock sounds at the door.

I furrow my brow in confusion, who could be knocking at my door? It can’t be Bodhi, he would have just barged in here, pulling me into one of his hugs, which I had a feeling would be a lot more bone crushing than they use to be the last time I saw him. I hated to think how much he had grown since I’d last seen him if Xaden and Garrick were anything to go by.

”Promise to not get angry.” Xaden says as he looks back at me, as he walks towards the door.

“Why would I-“

My words die on my tongue as Xaden opens the door revealing who had knocked. The same curly auburn hair, shaven on the sides just as I remember. Same amber coloured eyes, now just with a few lines at the edges. Same indent from where his dimple sits when he smiles. All I can do is stand here and look at him.

There’s no fucking way he’s there. I have to be hallucinating. He can’t be here. I watched him die. Watched Naolin try to save him. Watched Naolin kill himself trying to save him. He steps into the room, nodding at Xaden in greeting who nods back as if this is normal. Why is Xaden not shocked like I am? How does Xaden even know him? What the hell is going on?

I’m jolted from my thoughts as Xaden steps out of the room and closes the door behind him, leaving Brennan and I alone for the first time in years. Brennan cautiously walks towards me, almost like he’s approaching a dragon during threshing.

“Hi.” He says as he stops a few feet away from me, fidgeting with his hands ever so slightly.

“Hi? After all these years of making me think you’re dead, all you say is hi?” I say harshly, watching as he swallows nervously.

”I didn’t really know what else to say. How to explain what’s happened.”

”How about starting with how to hell you’re alive?” I snap at him.

”Right, that might be a good place to start.” He says quietly before walking over to the bed and sitting on the edge, resting his arms on his knees as he leans forward and looks down at his hands. “Whatever Naolin did worked. Clearly not straight away, but it worked somehow.”

”Least he didn’t die for nothing.” I add, Brennan nodding in agreement. “Have you been here this whole time?”

Part of me wants him to say no, to make this a little easier. But as I look over at him and meet his gaze I already know the answer.

”Yes. The rebellion took me in, healed me and looked after me. All without knowing who I was. And when you’re brother came back, he put me in a leadership position, help run things while he was at Basgiath.”

All this time Brennan had been the one calling the shots in Xaden’s absence. Keeping everything running while Xaden couldn’t. He’d been the one giving me my orders and updates.

”Lieutenant Colonel Aisereigh. That’s you isn’t it?” I ask, even though I know the answer.

Yet again he nods. I shake my head in disbelief, racking my head for any sign or hint that it was him in those letters. But I know there wasn’t. Otherwise I would have picked up on it. Seen something that hinted it was him.

“Trust me when I say I wanted to tell you.” He says as he stands and walks over to me. “So many times I wanted to give you some sort of hint that would make you realise. But I couldn’t risk it.”

I take a step back and avert my gaze. He’s right. I hate that he’s right. But it doesn’t stop the hurt. The betrayal I’m feeling. Even though there’s a larger part of me that wants to jump into his arms and never let go. Even though it had been years, there was a part of me that could never get over him.

“I get it. I understand.” I say, trying to hide the hurt in my voice.

I gasp as he reaches out and grasps my hand in his and pulls me towards him. I try to pull away but he just grips my hand tighter, his other hand coming to rest on my hip. I keep my eyes lowered, focusing on one of the buttons of his jacket.

“Mo Chroí, look at me. Please.” He pleads as he pulls me closer.

I can’t help but look up at him as he addresses me with the Tyrrish phrase he use to use all those years ago. The same one my father would use when I was little. As my eyes meet his, he smiles down at me, his dimple becoming more obvious at the movement.

“There she is.” He whispers, his hand letting go of mine as he cups my cheek.

I’m not sure what comes over me, but I grasps his jacket in my hands and pull him down to me. His breath hitches, warm against my skin as his face hovers just inches from mine. For a moment, time slows. The sound of our breathing fills the space between us, and I can feel his heartbeat racing beneath the layers of fabric.

He opens his lips, but I silence his words by pressing my lips to his. The world falls away, and all that remains is the heat of the kiss, the way his hands move hesitantly to my waist, then quickly righten as if he’s afraid to let me go. Afraid to lose this moment. I don’t know if this is right, or if I’ll regret this later, but right now, none of it matters. Right now, he’s here and alive, and so am I, and that’s enough.

I loosen my grip on his jacket, reaching up to push the material from his body, Brennan manoeuvring his arms to let the clothing fall to the floor. I feel his eyes on me, his presence commanding every inch of space between us. I can feel the heat radiating from him, an intoxicating warmth that wants to draw me in.

”Are you sure?” His voice is low, husky, and laced with something that feels like both desire and restraint.

I now, swallowing hard, my own voice barely above a whisper as I grasp the bottom of his shirt in my hands. “Yes.”

My heart races as I fumble to pull the material up his torso, Brennan releasing me from his grasp to reach down and pull the fabric from his own body. I don’t know what I expected him to look like, but it wasn’t this. With the material now gone, it reveals the sharp lines and smooth planes of his chest, freckles dotted here and there from training outdoors more than likely.

Brennan reaches out and pushes my jacket from my arms, throwing the clothing to the corner of the room before quickly grabbing my shirt in his hands and pulling it up my body. His lips capture mine again, this time tentative as though testing the waters. But the second I respond, threading my fingers through his hair and pulling him closer, something shifts. The kiss deepens, a fire igniting between us, burning away any common sense or anger I had left.

I push him back towards my bed, Brennan stumbling backwards as his knees hit the edge, grabbing my hips and pulling me into his lap, my legs sitting either side of his as I straddle him. I can feel the heat of his breath against my skin as his lips trail down my jawline, grazing the sensitive spot just below my ear, sending shivers cascading down my spine.

”Gods, I’ve missed you.” He mumbles against my skin as he kisses down my neck causing me to arch into his touch, a moan escaping my lips.

He turns his head back up to me, his lips ghosting over mine as the door to my room swings open.

”You better not have killed my-” Xaden starts as he walks into the room, stopping in his tracks as he sees me straddling Brennan on my bed, both of us half dressed.

Seconds tick by as he just stands there and looks at us as we both stare back.

”Well least you haven’t killed him.” He says with a smirk.

I growl at him before grabbing the closest thing to me, which happens to be a pillow, hurling it towards him as he dodges it with ease as he closes the door behind him, his laughter echoing in the hallway.

”Least you don’t look like you want to murder me anymore.” Brennan mumbles against my jaw as he presses soft kisses along it in an effort to get my attention back to him.

”Don’t push your luck.”

[deadsetobsessions]

Am back! For a bit!

-----

“Your eminence! We have offered you the blood of virgins! We honor your presence with our offerings! Please, descend!”

In the thundering roar of “High King” being chanted throughout the dank basement, the floor opens up with a screaming split of the earth. The awe-

"Ew, no. I want enchiladas, not blood. I'm not a vampire, weirdos."

"... Pardon?"

"Not a vampire," Danny repeated, frown as prominent as the ice crown around his temple. He lazily floated about the summoning circle, puttering here and there to check the sub-par offerings. "I don't drink blood or whatever. Knock it off."

Danny glared, eyes glowing toxic green and pointed slowly at every member of the cult. "You ever spill blood again, innocent and/or unwilling, I will make sure every wound you inflict will be returned tenfold on your loved ones."

"Yes, your majesty." They trembled. Danny nodded.

"Then... what would be an acceptable offering, your majesty?"

"I literally just told you. Enchiladas and make it spicy." Danny looked around, understanding that an enchilada for payment would make him an underpaid Ghost King. "And... cash." Danny nodded decisively, turning sharply to the leader of the cult in order to make his kingly cape billow out dramatically. "Yes. Cash. I want a lot."

Hopefully this'll deter them from summoning him too much. There's only so many excuses he could give to his parents about his disappearance before they caught on. Then again... it was his parents, the Drs. Fenton, so they're never gonna catch on.

The cultists remained silent, until a young voice tentatively piped up. "There's a really good food truck two streets down. I can go get something...?"

"Good thinking, Initiative! Keep it up and you'll be a Sworn Member in no time!" The woman on the left of the cult leader praised and shooed the brightly smiling Initiative away.

"...How much money do you require, your majesty?"

Danny held up his hand in a claw shape, gloves sparkling with the cosmos themselves. "This much. No, yeah, this much."

"Is it me or does the King have a midwestern acce-ow!" Another initiative hissed as his friend elbowed him in the gut.

The leader cleared his throat. "Yes, well. I shall promptly retrieve it."

Danny dismissed the leader, patting himself for a trick well played. If they didn't want to get scammed, maybe they should have thought of that before spilling people's blood. He turned to the woman, the second in command. "So... why have you summoned me?"

The second in command began to give him a well-practiced speech. She was quite convincing, if only she wasn't advocating for the end of the world. When the two people came back, Danny made grabby hands at the foil covered plate keeping him away from his (free!) dinner. He shoved the wad of money into his chest (and enjoyed the cultists gaping at the storage he had, that's right, be jealous) and took a giant bite out of the enchilada. Delicious.

"Yew know wha' I thin'?" Danny mumbled around his mouthful of enchilada. "I'm the king o' the dead. Why make the world end faster if you're all gonna come to me anyway?"

"But- but we gave you the sacrifice!"

"You think a plate of enchiladas. a wad of cash, and some blood is worth the end of the world? This is the consulting fee. I happen to like living food. I kill living people; ergo, no more living food. Comprende?"

"But-!"

"You paid the consulting fee. I'm giving you the wise council of maybe rub your two braincells together and stop being stupid. And you-" Danny pointed at the second in command. "Maybe consider being a lawyer. Or a politician. Thanks for the food!"

With that, Danny disrupted the circle and go the hell out of dodge, cackling all the while as he took another bite of his enchilada.

----

Word got around- cultists are notorious yappers- and suddenly Danny got bombarded with summonings that ranged from murder to test materials.

"If you cheat, your afterlife is going to suck."

The high-schooler sighed. "Life sucks now, though."

"Valid. Tell you what. I'll help you study-" Danny crammed a handful of M&M's into his mouth, a twenty dollar bill tucked securely into the savings jar he's kept to carrying around in his ghost chest. "And if you pass, I'll let you see your deceased dog..." Dany squinted. "Uh, your dog...Potato Man..? again."

The teen straightened. "Fucking deal."

"Why Potato Man?"

"If I pass, I'll show you."

----

"You summoned me on Thanksgiving. Seriously?"

"You celebrate Thanksgiving, your majesty?"

"More like I celebrate the food." Danny mumbled. "Your consulting fee is that."

"What? But we just made that!" The family screeched in despair as he floated closer to the fresh mac & cheese.

"Too bad, so sad. Now, what did you want?" Danny asked as he pulled the foil pan closer and began munching. Delicious. And it wasn't becoming sentient to attack him!

"My mac and cheeeeese," the dad sobbed. "Why is death so cruel?"

Danny shoveled another serving spoonful into his maw. Delicious

----

"I- uh, brought this as an offering?" The person held up their box full of neatly organized cat toys. "Cuz... someone said you mentioned something about a demon cat?"

Danny twitched but gratefully took the box. "Thanks. It's my sister's cat. What can I do for you?"

"Uh. So. Is it like," the person waved their hand around, gesturing to themselves hopelessly. "Is it okay if I'm... you know..."

"Having no fashion sense isn't actually a crime."

"Hah! No, I meant. That I'm not cis?"

"Yeah. Why wouldn't it be?"

"So I'm not going to hell?"

"That depends. It depends on a lot of things, like murder or which religion you subscribe to, but it never depends on what gender you identify as. The gender dysphoria goes away when you're dead, by the way, because you're reverted back to your soul. Your identity is tied to your soul. Denying it is like denying your soul. Humans love to do that for some reason." Danny shrugged, idly playing with a toy bee.

"Oh." They look relieved. 'Thanks. For answering."

"You paid the consultant fee, right?" Danny shook the box, grinning as the box shook ominously with bells. The hell cat was going to hate him even more but Danny didn't give a fuck. "Any other life questions?"

"What's the meaning of life?"

"A different meaning than the meaning of death, duh." Danny grinned at their scowl.

"That's cheating!"

"Says the one who summoned the Ghost King to ask about the mysterious afterlife."

They flushed. "I had questions!"

"So do a lot of people, but you don't see them summoning the Ghost King about it, do you?"

"Okay, so I've got a bit of a dramatic flair..."

Danny pointedly looked down at the summoning circle drawn in glitter pen.

"...Just go."

"Yeah, I'm going, I'm going."

----

Danny was summoned into a pho shop. A good one. He knew, because there was a quiet kid doing homework in the booths and one manning the till.

"I want a train bowl, please. Extra lemons and coriander."

A bowl is silently handed to him.

"Thank you." He relished the soup.67 The summonings have been scarce lately, and he wanted to enjoy this giant ass bowl with no shame. "So, what's up?"

"Do you know Buddha?"

"Yes?"

"Does he watch over us?"

"Yes?"

The girl in the corner booth started praying. "Hi, Buddha. Could you make sure aunt Kathy minds her own business? I know you're all about virtue but-"

The presence of Buddha chuckled at the halfhearted plea.

Danny snorted. "Is that it?"

"Yes. Thank you."

As a current college student I refuse to believe Danny as Ghost King doesn’t answer summons. As soon as people start summoning him he starts demanding home cooked meals and fat wads of unmarked cash.

That they started off summoning him with the blood of virgins was a bit distasteful, but once he told them to knock it off (threatened to take whatever harm they do to innocents out on their skin, tenfold) they seemed to get the message and started giving him offering of home decor and kitchen appliances instead.

All things being equal, they don’t even ask for much in return. For most of them, just the confirmation that he exists and is “”watching out“” for them is enough. Although lately he’s started giving his cultists random junk (a nice rock he found, a handful of marbles, a piece of scrap metal from his parents lab) and telling them they’re sacred artifacts of great power, as a joke.

[thenewestxmen]

(Suicide warning*)

Wade has been acting really weird lately. When I come home from work every day, he’s on the couch, staring at the TV. Our TV is broken and doesn’t even work… he’ll just stare at the empty, dead screen. When I scoop him up in my arms, he’ll rest his head on my neck. Wade loves physical touch, but his returned gesture just seems so empty. Every time Wade returns from a mercenary job, he returns with more and more of his own blood smelling off of his clothes. Ive tried to ask him what’s going on, but being that little shit he is, he won’t tell me. One day, he walks in the door from a merc job. Today’s the day I ask Wade. I’m sitting on the couch, standing when I see Wade tremble through the door, holding his arms. Like, literally holding his arm that was cut off. Instead of cracking a joke, he just goes into the bathroom.

“Bub? You good? That looks like a nasty wound. Let me help you.” I say, offering some help. Wade doesn’t even look at me. He just continues to walk to the bathroom and locks the door behind him, running the shower. 

Yup, something’s most definitely wrong. He comes out a bit relieved, finally cuddling up close to me, rambling. But something he said stuck out to me.

“Logie bear, I love you. And no matter what happens, nothing you can ever do would ever change that. If anything were to happen to me, and I mean ever, it would never be your fault.” He continued on with his ramblings, I didn’t really think anything of it, I mean it was Wade, he said a lot. But that stuck out. We fell asleep in each other’s arms and I fell into a dreamless sleep, that is until I hear the window open. I flinch away, and turn to see Wade, sitting on the window sill, ready to jump. My heart sinks. I jump out of the bed and run after Wade, but he jumps. We live on the highest story in the entire apartment complex… he just jumped 6 stories. 

“Wade!” I shout after him. I hear a thunk below me and everything seems to fast. I run out of the apartment and race down the stairs. When I get to the bottom, the most sickening sight… Wade had landed on the bicycle rack… his limps barely hanging onto his torso. I freeze, unable to think about what just happened. Wade just killed himself. It’s like the X-men’s fate all over again. 

“Wade… Wade, no, no, no, no.” I say, finally moving towards wades limp body. I pull him off of the bike rack, holding him. His limps are in the moment regenerating themselves. That good. But what do I do? Wade just killed himself, he’ll do it again. I have no choice but to just carry him back to the apartment. Blood drips onto my hands and the smell of wades blood is overwhelming. I reach the apartment and set Wade down on one of the kitchen tables chairs. I don’t know what to do… do I restrain Wade so he doesn’t do it again, do I just talk to him?! All I can think of doing is watching him slowly gain consciousness and have him explain. I wait, and wait. As his limbs grown into being usable, Wade stirs. I perk up when I see his big brown eyes open.

“Logan? Oh… Logan, let me expl- -“

“No! You don’t get to explain! You just jumped out of the window and fell 6 stories! You tried to die, you left me here to watch you die! You…” the words flood out of me as I stare at wades eyes, glossy with tears. 

“Logan… you remember what I said to you earlier, that it wasn’t your fault?”

I nod. How could he do this…?

“I meant it. I love you so much and I didn’t want to hurt you. I’ve just been going through I rough patch. And honey badger, I can’t die, so good for you, you’re stuck with me.” He can’t be serious, can he?

“Wade… you tried to kill yourself. How could you? I love you and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you, even if you’ll heal… you tired to die and I was right there…” I say, almost trembling. Wades arms have gone from stubs to his usual length. He can tell I’m emotional and worried, so he stands (barely) and walks over to me, sitting on my lap, wrapping his arms around me. The first tear slips down my cheek, then the next. Why does everyone I love die? Why does Wade want to…?

Wade look down to me, “Logan. I love you. I’m going through a rough patch. That’s all.” I try and understand, but it doesn’t click.

“Let me help you… please. Please let me do something, anything.” I say. Not sure what else to do, but it’s all I can think of. How to help Wade. Wade nods, and gives me a gentle kiss on my lips, not minding the crying or the tears. The rest of the night, I can’t sleep. I make a coffee, drinking it with my eyes glued to Wade, sleeping. The next day, I have to work. The entire day, it’s filled with anxiety and I can barely focus. The second work gets out, I run home. Wade is reading some romantic book on the couch. He smiles when he sees me, he knows I was worrying based on how he looks at me. Although it’s probably obvious, I’m sweating from running home and the anxious line on my brow gives me away.

“Don’t worry Honey Badger, just reading some sexy romantic literature.” He says.

Good. I sit next to Wade, nuzzling his neck. 

“I can barely read though, not with my dyslexic ass.” Wade says chuckling. I start to read the book to him. I’m a little concerned about how dirty this book is, but Wade seems to enjoy the awful love tropes.

The next few weeks, I make sure to check in with Wade, making sure he’s ok. Anytime he isn’t, I cook him a nice meal, cuddle, and praise him like the gorgeous man he is.

authors note: This… this is what I live for; the drama and romance. Anywho, thanks for the likes and reposts and following and such:)

[raayllum]

An interesting thread in S7 that I noticed:

You are destroyed by the things you create.

The first time we see this kind of thread (at least I think, I might've missed something) is with Kpp'Ar and Viren in season 6. Kpp'Ar takes Viren on as his "most eager student" and teaches him much in the ways of dark magic, even eventually handing over the position of High Mage. And even once acquiring said position, Viren betrays him in order to take the Staff of Ziard, citing:

Then you have Viren being destroyed and creating the exact circumstances he didn't want. In corrupting Lux Aurea, he expelled the Sunfire elves, leading to Karim's increasing fanaticism, power struggle, and usage of Sol Regem. This led indirectly to Sol Regem bringing Viren's worst nightmare down upon Katolis.

We see this more directly with Aaravos as well, as he created Sir Sparklepuff and had Avizandum specifically summoned back from the dead in S7, both of which have a hand in his demise:

This also ties into Aaravos' desire to destroy the Cosmic Order, as they created the circumstances that led to his anger in killing Leola, and therefore his violence and great machinations:

This "you are destroyed/defeated by what you create" is also one of the things that won me over when theorizing about S7, as I thought that if Callum used dark magic to defeat Aaravos fully (rip Rayla's positive character development theorized there too), while it might have felt a bit thematically muddied, would've had a great layer of irony: Aaravos, being imprisoned/defeated by the very thing he created. Close, but no cigar!

Then, for the core protagonists, to a certain degree we have this theme with Viren and Claudia. Viren realizes his horror at what Claudia has become, as well as the path that he's pushed and led her down by example. This doesn't literally destroy him, but it does emotionally devastate him, and does end up destroying their relationship in a lot of ways.

Even Claudia gets a bit of this, as she stabs her mother in the back—a daughter killing her own mother—just as Soren stabbed Viren in 3x09. Children killing their own parents, even as illusions, fits the theme, don't you think?

Ezran also gets interwoven into this idea in a few interesting ways in season 7. In creating the circumstances that led to Ezran being king, and thereby creating the child king and his rage, Runaan could've become a victim of it, and indeed nearly was (7x01, 7x02).

The second way this could come to a head for Ezran is Project Ruby Fire, though we'll have to wait for future seasons. While the project is his and Aanya's brainchild to keep Katolis (Evrkynd now?) safe and safe from the threat of dragons in the future, it's unlikely that these weapons of destruction will stay unused, and could possibly lead to devastation and loss in their kingdoms and/or of their friends (Zym).

Last but not least, we have Callum and Rayla. While not a literal destruction (but close to), they were prepared to sacrifice everything for one another. Callum's death would've made Rayla an assassin, hardening her heart further than it already is; on the other side of things, Callum became a mage and a dark mage because of her (2x07, 5x08): "If you love her, you'll be the you who can save her," even if that means demanding she'd become the her who can kill him, and save him / the world from a fate worse than death.

At the same time, Callum only begins doing the dark magic spell because he trusts Rayla to be his safety net. I can see solid arguments for whether she would've actually gone through with it on either side, but it led to Callum re-corrupting himself and opening himself up to Aaravos' possession in the future either way.

Like with Ezran and Project Ruby Fire, I expect this plot thread to be more of a beat in Arc 3 / future seasons, but am still deeply interested to see how it may all come to pass - and how there could be more consequences (the Nova Blade?) even from trying to do good.

[circuitcircus]

-in response to this i'd like to say a lot of the art i see of labru has this very same "racialized" dynamic due to laios being kabru's actual boss by the end of the story. that is way more of a "master/servant" dynamic than having to take care of your loved one sometimes. and kabru's discomfort with laios's monster talk and monster food is always played for laughs or ignored at the same time in the fandom even when it's brought up every single time he interacts with laios in the story and in side comics. it doesn't make sense to only hold this sentiment against kabumisu.

-if you actually pay attention to the way kabru is emoting during the time he's with mithrun you'll see he isn't actually that upset about it after he's gotten over the initial surprise of having this new task, and people often ignore that mithrun plays a large hand in helping them both survive by teleporting them out of danger and helping to procure ingredients for food.

-he isn't just relying on kabru the entire time and kabru would be dead without him. kabru also gets all the information about the dungeon he's ever wanted thanks to mithrun freely sharing it with him when he asks, which leads kabru to change his mind about wanting laios to be the dungeon lord because of how much he loves monsters.

-the panel of kabru screaming in his head about how he doesn't want to become like laios when he realizes he'll have to eat monsters is often used as shipping material for some reason too despite his obvious distress.

-not to mention KABRU is the one who put the both of them in that situation in the first place by grabbing mithrun so they'd both fall into the hole after mithrun was about to defeat thistle. they would have had to work together to survive and kabru likely would have been helping mithrun on his own even without cithis's coercion. i believe kui put that blackmail aspect in because talking to the canaries through the fairy would mean they would threaten kabru for kidnapping mithrun and it foreshadows that they will meet up with the canaries again. it's not to make you hate mithrun for having needs that he can't fulfill himself. HE isn't even the one who blackmailed kabru.

-after the caretaker role of kabru's is over when the canaries come back and he's sure his friends are safe, kabru still takes it upon himself to make sure mithrun doesn't hurt himself when it doesn't benefit kabru at all like stopping mithrun from going after the demon when marcille becomes dungeon lord and, yes, the pep talk.

-in that same chapter kabru even goes out of his way to stop mithrun from using all his magic while he's slicing up meat. there was no one around to get brownie points from, he just cared about mithrun's well-being. your take on that shows how your perception of their relationship just drowns out the emotional weight these moments were supposed to have because you were apparently viewing it through a racial lens.

-as a person of color i can see why someone who isn't a person of color would jump to the conclusion that a dark skinned person in that kind of position might look inherently servile, but i haven't seen in that way at all. it's extremely exaggerated for the sake of hate and i've seen PLENTY of labru art of kabru subjugating himself to laios. there was even one art captioned "[laios] colonizing kabru's womb" are you fucking kidding me? do not put it all on kabumisu or just ignore the racial aspect all together and see them as people NOT by the color of their skin. i swear you're overthinking it. Kabumisu fans enjoy their dynamic in a myriad of ways.

-a ship isn't defined by its fanart considering fans ignore actual text when making it literally all the time.

-many labru shippers even overhaul kabru's entire character as being for the sake of getting in laios's pants and ignore his actual motivations of uncovering the mystery of the dungeon. as such they insist that kabru becoming an advisor in the castle after the story ended was to be close to laios, when it's more likely because he's always desired a position of power and he's just good with diplomatic stuff and acts as a perfect conclusion for his character because of all he went through to make up for surviving the utaya disaster.

don't try make it seem like it's morally disingenuous to ship kabru and mithrun when many of these complaints can be said for labru as well.

also the only genuine, soft smiles kabru has shown during the story are both aimed at mithrun.

this is meant to be informative and i'm tired of seeing this hypocritical take on kabumisu

A healthcare worker’s take on Dungeon Meshi shipping discourse

Hiya y’all! As someone who has become a fan of Dungeon Meshi (honestly one of my favorite franchises at this moment) I’d just like to give more of a nuanced take on a shipping discourse I’ve seen. I’d like to clarify this with I am an NA. I’ve literally been recognized by the country I live in through the sunshine awards system on my contributions to my patients lives. All this to say, I know a bit about healthcare. And I also think that. Personally, people should be allowed to ship whatever they please. They shouldn’t be made to feel guilty for what they enjoy, especially if it isn’t hurting anyone.

I’d like to clarify what I am speaking on, this being the controversy surrounding the ships Mithrun and Kabru, vs Laios and Kabru. Both of which are valid ships in my opinion! I think both are great! And whichever you like you should feel comfortable and happy to indulge in it.

I work mostly with geriatric and bariatric patients, as I work on a cardiac unit. So, by proxy, I witness a lot of disabled people come through. This to say that these people HAVE partners. And their partners care for them. Such as feeding their partners if they need help eating, helping their partners feel safe if they have dementia, I have even seen someone clean their spouse after they had soiled themself. All of which are examples of love and affection, as partners. Not as a provider doing their job.

The argument i see many a time against the ship of Mithrun and Kabru, is that it is unethical. As Kabru would be a “provider” in this case, and Mithrun would be a “patient” to this I say, is Kabru being paid in this hypothetical? Is he following training he has been given? Is he following a code of ethics given to healthcare workers when he helps Mithrun with his disability? Disabled people deserve love. And they deserve a partner that cares for them. So the argument that the ship is gross is kind of… weird. Isn’t it? Again. Mithrun and Kabru as partners do not have to be your cup of tea, but that doesn’t mean that anyone who DOES ship them is gross or immoral. Helping your partner because they are disabled is an act of love, and completely different from a provider helping their patient.

Statistically, everyone will either die able bodied or live to become disabled. It happens to everyone. Disabilities are almost as much of a fact of life as breathing is. I am new to the Dungeon Meshi fandom, but the insinuation that someone able bodied cannot have a disabled partner is kind of horrible to actual able bodied/disabled partnerships? The dynamic is so common, and so to say that it is gross, almost implies that the dynamic in a day to day is gross.

This post isn’t meant to be inflammatory, there are so many dungeon meshi ships I love with all my heart. Some that are rare pairs, some that are common within the fandom. I just think that people should be more friendly with each other. Kabru has two hands guys it’s okay /j /lh. Just please be more friendly guys. Both ships are valid. But the way the fandom gets so angry over it makes me scared. And I imagine it makes other people who are new to the manga/anime a little scared too.

[blackynsupremacy]

BEING THUGNIFICENT’S

NERDY GIRLFRIEND

HEADCANONS

pairing: thugnificent/otis jenkins x black!fem!reader

fandom: the boondocks (2005-2014)

summary: thugnificent wouldn’t be the type to easily settle down with anyone, but through your relationship, you shifted his perspective on many things.

contains: based on this request, fluff, comedy, swearing, use of the n-word, romance.

• if one could paint an image of the phrase “opposites attract”, best believe that you and thug would be the inspiration and the vision.

• thug was outgoing, flirtatious, confident, sometimes narcissistic and obnoxious, but he was real when it came it down to it. he had no shame about anything.

• no shame about his upbringing, no shame about his music, and definitely no shame about his personal life.

• he was the typical famous star that had surplus money and women flocking around. it was a fling here and a fling there.

• never a true, committed relationship.

• that all changed when he moved to woodcrest and met you.

• everyone greeted him with open arms—well, almost everyone.

• you were different from the rest of the women he met.

• you were cordial and polite, but a bit reserved. you didn’t really talk to him unless you had to.

• you heard his song “eff grandad” and you found it to be so funny.

• you didn’t throw yourself at thug and that had him piqued.

• he tried to get to know you by inviting you to a party at his mansion, but you suggested a different place. it wasn’t his style for a woman to tell him what to do.

• instead, you invited him to your favorite arcade and pizza spot across town.

• it was lowkey, so that no paparazzi would flash him.

• when it comes to any type of video games, you were competitive.

• “ahh, shit! you tryna make sure a nigga lose, huh? i got something for yo’ ass.” he’d tease as you competed in mortal kombat, maneuvering the controls to unleash an impressive power move.

• “hell, yeah! watch this.”

• you get your lick back when you pull a fatality on that man.

• he was shocked!

• you were talking all kinds of shit—which he found to be sexy. he thought you were just this shy homebody, but there’s a bad ass bitch in there.

• at that moment, thug had to lock you down.

• one time you were helping him out with his hair and you wanted to watch inuyasha while you did so.

• thug tried to ask questions, but you shushed him, so you could focus.

• he didn’t really understand it, so he just watched and it all clicked.

• “hold up, hold up! you tryna tell me that dog ass nigga is really a playa’? this man really wanted an alive and dead bitch. that’s some freaky shit. i respect it though—ow!”

• you thwacked his face with a comb at that statement.

• you introduced him to naruto.

• “so if that little blonde nigga become the hokage? is he gonna get all the hoes in his village?”

• dragon ball z is definitely his favorite. it’s a staple for him.

• he also likes sailor moon, but he sure as hell won’t tell you that.

• sometimes, you both binge watch, he’d invite the lethal interjection crew over to watch, or he’d do it alone.

• depending on the show, he prefers sub over dub.

• he loves to hear you spew facts and theories. he even has his own.

• sometimes you’d have debates on certain characters. ya’ll once had an argument on who could kick the most ass between superman and batman.

• got him so heated he literally made an unreleased diss track about superman.

• he spoils you with merchandise! if you even mention interest in a character, show, game, or comic, he’s going to buy stuff that’s related to it.

• hell, he even gets stuff for himself.

• he gets jealous when you simp over your fictional crushes.

• it cracks you up because you reassure him there’s no competition, it’s all for fun.

• “thuggie, don’t act like that. stop acting like you weren’t tripping over storm from x-men.”

• you clocked that tea really quick.

• he finds it sexy when you cosplay his fictional crushes.

• “hell yeah, baby! turn around for thugnificent, goddamn!”

• you like to spend quiet time with him by reading a manga or comic.

• it calms him when you guys watch studio ghibli movies.

• your best vacation spots are london, japan, universal studios, and disney world.

• you would randomly quote lines or make references, he’d just go along with it.

• he’d make references in his bars while in the studio.

• you’d be the first to listen and he’d respectfully ask for your feedback only, no one else’s!

• overall, he loves you and digs your overall vibe.

• you’re his nerd and he’s your thug.

[sass-ruby]

okay. HOLY FUCKING SHI-

Sun² (dark sun) looks like he's thriving LMAO 😭

Let me just say, THANK YOU MOON FOR BEING SO CURIOUS

I'm curious too, so this satisfied me so much

We got A LOT of information, and one VERY jaw dropping one

So.. sun² created a paradise for himself and others, most likely suns but not every sun. That- that honestly sounds so sweet 😭 I'm pretty sure by psychotic, sun² meant like- do things without thinking, go insane, kill for no reason ect ect.. since he doesn't like violence from what I've been able to gather. The violence he has probably committed, I am guessing was necessary because sun² thinks reasonably

But I wonder- do suns go there when they die? Like, heaven? There are already people there.. but are those people suns or random people??

His dragon is there to be a protector so, it's most likely dead suns I think..? To protect them? That'd be so sweet, I hope that's the case

Goliath died, oof 😭 I never cared much about him but that ONE THING he said to sun once;

"You..might be pathetic, but you're so much more than them."

The fact that EVEN goliath, someone so egotistical, sees sun's morals.. yet others cant and just see it as being cowardly

Our sun has been proven to be the most empathetic among all suns. He HAS done bad, but hasn't continued to do so, he tried his best to make it right. I love him sm I swear

But oh goodness. There is one MOST important jaw dropping lore we got out of sun².

Oh my fucking gosh.

Oh my.

The fact he chose this sun specifically.. BECAUSE HE COULDN'T HAVE DONE IT HIMSELF.

We already knew he was like sun, but moon broke him. Just like how it usually goes in dimensions, here's the thing, though. Even if he did the same back to him, he could NEVER kill him.

Now there's more space to understand why he did it. He couldn't do it, he wanted to give other suns a chance.

Holy shit. Holy shit.

This is too shocking for me I'm sorry

I did not think that SUN² COULDN'T KILL HIS MOON

I guess that was a thing that truly connected all suns before sun's² whole thing

The fact our sun was the first, THE FIRST WHO WAS ABLE TO AND THAT IT WASN'T AN ACCIDENT.

Finally. FINALLY IT'S BEEN PROVEN HE'S SPECIAL IN SOME SORT OF WAY

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR SO LONG

The "I hate him, but couldn't kill him" thing reminds me kinda of my mother and I, just with different context 😭 like- I hate her but can't hate her completely. I have mommy issues QwQ

I literally sometimes get so mad at how she treats me that I hope she dies.

Although- lets not get into that

The point I was trying to make is, even when you swear you hate someone close to you... ESPECIALLY YOUR OWN FLESH AND BLOOD, you can never completely hate them.

That is only what I've been able to gather from other things like that

ALSO ALSO ALSO aLsOoOoooO

Why did sun² sound so unsure.. at that one part.

"I suppose nexus could sure try, if he was still around. Mumbles if he was still around..."

WHY DID HE SOUND SO UNSURE.

I wouldn't be surprised if he said it like that because he's seen how many times villains come back in this dimension ☠️☠️

LITERALLY I WOULDN'T BE SURPRISED

But if nexus comes back, SHIT.

A part of me believes he will. It's after Christmas, and the new tradition is that shit happens after Christmas because the October takeover tradition ended

AAAAAAAAAA

I'll be kinda happy about it, ONLY BECAUSE THE ANGSTTT

YAYAYYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAYAYAAAAA

Another also and another woa!! >:D

"why does EVERYTHING have to be US"

"you think I have that answer? Heh, even with my intelligence.. I can never answer that one."

EVEN SUN² ACKNOWLEDGES IT

Because the show runners need to feed us, that's the answer <333

Their lives are something else 😭 they have to deal with something new everyday. They can never catch a break

That would be all. BUT HAHSHHDD I LAUGHED SO HARD SEEING SUN² FLY HELPPPPP

He had his "I was a fairy" moment 🎀 NDNDJSJMS

okay now it's all :3

WEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

[blubun0309]

[TW // SA mention] + EPIC: The Musical Ithica Saga Spoilers

Can we talk about Odysseus real quick because, dear god, this song is so beautifully poetic

Let's start by addressing my favorite detail: the chorus. The chanting of "Odysseus" in the background. You know why this is important? When have we heard a name being chanted by the chorus in EPIC before? In the songs of GODS and MONSTERS. He's not any man walking in that palace, he's the one who BUILT IT. The man who's survived 20 years of war and bloodshed, the only man who came back alive from a troop of 600 men who fought against Troy and literal Gods. He's the KING of this palace, and they WILL chant his name, wether in fear of him or not.

Odysseus has learned from his journey and how he single-handedly takes down 108 men in a five minute song shows it. He's applying every tactic he learned. He traps them like the cyclops, attacks in his palace like Circe, aims for the torches like Scylla, using ruthlessness like Poseidon. He's become the monster they created.

And the vocal performance is impeccable. Jorge's voice is so amazing, you can HEAR the anger Odysseus has towards these men, who planned to hurt *his* boy, and touch *his* wife. He snarls, he kills, he has no mercy towards these pigs, his mercy has long since died.

And let's address that: He rejects open arms from one of the suitors. Open Arms had been a consistent melody in almost every saga I believe, every time it was something to keep Ody afloat, a melody that reminded him of his best friend, and he clinged onto it in his lowest points. It's not just the melody, it's what it represents. The ideology Polites and, at one point, Odysseus stood by. That they could change the world with kindness and forgiveness. But Ody has gone through enough, and in no situation where he tried to be kind did it work out for him, as he was met with bloodshed and anger. He has no forgiveness left towards the people who've wronged him. But from a different angle, you can see why he rejected open arms from the suitor. After they planned to kill his son and rape his wife, they want MERCY? No. Odysseus won't give them the mercy. They don't deserve it. Killing their leader is not enough, he knows better now. How DARE they use the words of a dead man, his best friend, to save their sorry asses? They have no right to do so.

Odysseus' rage is so powerful because he has had enough. He won't allow these men, ANYONE, to hurt his family, not after everything it took to come back to them. He'll die a cold death before he allows that to happen.

And the suitors, oh they KNOW they fucked up. They know the story of Odysseus, they know how tactical he is, they know. And that's why they *fear* him. That's why they beg for forgiveness they won't receive. It's either beg or die.

However, they have a strong point: Telemachus. Oh, Telemachus, you couldn't have arrived at a worse time. I think it's a bit difficult to catch, but Ody wasn't the one who left the armory unlocked, it was Telemachus. He went in there to get gear and didn't backpedal to close the door. And for that small mistake, they got the upper hand against him. They held down, beat, and hurt him, all to get Ody's attention. Even though Telemachus begs for them to spare him so Odysseus spares them, to have open arms, they still decide to strike. A foolish choice, because Odysseus won't stand for it. How DARE they... How DARE THEY HURT THE YOUNG MAN HE FINALLY GETS TO BE A FATHER TO.

Let me remind you, Odysseus killing all these men is Telemachus' first impression of his father. After 20 years, he's here. In front of him. But he's not the kind and gentle man his mother described him as, he's not the man who spares first. Odysseus is filled with rage, and he doesn't even hesitate as he kills the monsters who have tormented him and his mother for 20 years.

Odysseus is no longer the man he was, nor the monster they've all created. He is the final battle. His theme is the one of a leyend. He's become the final boss. His heart is filled with rage of torment the past 20 years have put him through. And no one will want to mess with the King of Ithica again.

[myechoecho]

When the Phone Rings, ep 10

This show keeps on delivering and is making up for what has been an absolutely dismal year for kdramas.

I wonder how the assistant got mixed up with OG Sa Eon and how they never met up until the end. It's good to know that the assistant was not completely evil and was able to help Sa Eon, now the he knew he was not the one to who killed his brother. Interesting to note, that in some ways, Sa Eon considered Do Jae a friend. He tells him that he does not trust, yet the only one he trusted as Do Jae. When Do Jae saves him from being stabbed, he lets OG Sa Eon go and focuses on saving Do Jae. I weirdly hope that they can become friends (well not that much), though Do Jae does need some prison time.

OG Sa Eon underestimates Hee Joo because she was not going to just let him drive away with her leaving Sa Eon behind. No, she fights for her life and yanks his hair hard so that he crashes the car and can escape. I love the hug when she runs to him and then later her putting the blanket on him, patting his back to comfort him.

I simply cannot get over OG Sa Eon's mom. Look, I don't have kids so I cannot speak to the mother/child bond that most mothers have. However, I fell like a line would be drawn if my child killed small animals then progressed to killing multiple children when he was still a child himself.

What do you mean how could you still treat him this way? He became a serial killer as a child and I am pretty certain he would have killed you at some point without a second thought. OG Sa Eon's father is terrible but at least he recognizes that his son is a monster and will cut him off or work to capture him. BECAUSE HE IS A LITERAL MONSTER. Of all the terrible parents on this show, and there are four of them, I think she is the worst.

I love, love how In A and Hee Joo are working together to put all the pieces together. It's In A who realizes that the car accident was likely intentional, all because their younger brother saw the OG Sa Eon.

I cheered for Hee Joo finally speaking back to her mom. For finally realizing that her mom never loved her and her obeying her mom was not love. She will not be gaslit anymore. I have a feeling it won't be long before Hee Joo completely cuts her out of her life. And I love how In A stayed, partially to comfort Hee Joo but also to immediately let her know who she thinks sent the DNA results when memory was triggered by what Hee Joo's mom said.

Sa Eon was the one who sent the DNA report, which is a twist I did not see coming. For Hee Joo, it's one of the final missing pieces. He really did orchestrate their whole marriage. Because he loved her and wanted her to have her freedom, never believing she would love him back. The fact that Hee Joo asks him to marry her, while crouching before him in the dress he bought her is swoon worthy. But he says he will propose to her instead. They both want to start over properly. The kiss was amazing.

We get another piece of the puzzle - what the deal was with the Chairman. The Chairman was behind the car accident and Hee Joo's stepfather found out. However, the Chairman promises to kill his grandson to balance killing the stepfather's son. The Chairman would replace someone as Sa Eon, but the stepfather knew and would bound to secrecy with an additional guarantee of getting anything he wanted from the family as long as he kept his quiet. At the very least, it looks like he really needed Sa Eon to be dead and all deals were void if he was not, as we see him crash the memorial with a shot gun.

By the way, proof again the OG Sa Eon's mom is terrible since she knows he is there and does nothing.

Hee Joo the fighter and survivor that she is, makes good on her promise to protect Sa Eon. She tells Sa Eon that she loves him, floors it and drives straight off a cliff into the water below. How OG Sa Eon thought that letting Hee Joo drive was good idea is beyond me. Did he forget how she escaped the first time? She crashed the car. Did he forget that she nearly tore his hair out causing him to crash a short time ago? Hee Joo has repeatedly shown that she will crash a car if necessary to survive or protect. He never should have let her drive.

The press conference scene was hands down the best scene. Disheveled Sa Eon, revealing that his is not the Chairman's son. No, the one true thing is that he is a husband who loves his wife and she is missing. He reveals to everyone who Hee Joo is, nearly breaking down completely in the process.

The lack of promo sucks, though I get why there is not one.