hey friends! i’m gonna be changing the name i’m using here and offline ( because i wanted them to be the same lol ) and i’ve decided on Charlie so, please, try your best!!
ofc either Charlie or Josh is okay, but i definitely prefer Charlie!!
Aurelia rubbed the delicate veins of the purple petals between her thumb and index gently, feeling the thin lines run over her fingertips, a wisp of a deceptively serene smile upon her lips before she crushed it under her fingers, feeling it tear and weep.
“If this isn’t love, then I don’t know what is,” she insisted, crossing away to toss the flower away. “So be a dear, Matt. When you toss the garbage, take care to wrap that flower up -- it’s poisonous; it causes heart problems. I don’t want some poor animal to root in our garbage and come across such a cruel thing,” she said frostily, crossing back over and patting his arm, grabbing her phone and slipping on her heels.
“And anyway, if I wanted a lecture, I would’ve asked Gale for a programming lesson. I’m going out. My favorite flower is still a rose. Keep that in mind for next time,” she said, waving her fingers and grinning like nothing had happened, blowing a cheeky kiss back.
She shut the door behind her, her pace never slowing until she hit the lobby of the apartment complex, hesitating finally and letting everything that had just occurred wash over her. She closed her eyes, breathing speeding up, eyes pricking with tears she refused to shed. Taking a moment to regain composure and put the look of Matt’s eyes from her mind, she sighed and smiled forcibly.
Her fingers flew over the keys of her phone in a familiar pattern -- not Gale’s number, but Hope’s.
There was a possibility Matt was right all along.
Not that she would be willing to admit it to him or herself, more importantly.
There was something about her nature that was endlessly greedy and grasping, a tenuous balance of having too much and always wanting more and more and more.
She could occupy all of Matthias’ attention and still want more; it was something equally frustrating for both of them, a martyr who had no more to give and a girl who knew nothing but taking. When Gale came into their lives, it was a welcome break for the both of them as she turned the intensity of her focus unto another person -- and she got another colorful character to write into her life.
But catching her attention was another challenge to scale -- Aurelia ran her tongue over her bottom lip, deep in thought, tea steaming and untouched in front of her, Matthias similarly neglected as she pondered how best to get Gale to pay attention.
PDA always made the normal person look away -- but Gale hardly struck her as conventional, and so she reached over, laying her hand over Matthias’ to grab his attention, knowing that it would willingly be given, much like any other part of him.
She smiled in response to his questioning glance, a quirk of his eyebrows, a twitch in his set jaw, moving her hand up to catch his face and kissing the curiosity off his lips, lingering a moment too much to be considered decent in public, inhaling the neat cologne he had on, licking her lips once again after pulling away to taste the coffee he had.
He tilted his head as if to question her motives; no doubt also to reprimand her for trying to make a scene in a public space, but her attention was already directed elsewhere.
Her smile is unrestrained and positively gleeful, even as she touches her tongue to the roof of her mouth in a light tutting sound. “Language, Matty, can’t Jesus hear you fuckin’ everywhere?”
She’s pushing his buttons on purpose, delighting in the rise she’s already gotten from him. This is the Mattias she so yearns to see: unrestrained and raw, even if it’s in anger directed at her.
Anger doesn’t bother Gale, especially not his. His anger is electric. It makes her feel present, vividly alive in her own skin. It makes her feel seen, for how many others can boast that they’ve gotten to him so thoroughly?
Amusement dances in her eyes. She’s toeing the line here, and she knows it. “Throw in a please and maybe I will.”
“is it bad i really want to kiss you right now?” (':
Imperfectly-lined lips curled into a smirk; an instinctive reaction meant to conceal the way her heart was racing and her palms were so sweaty she’d have to wipe them off just to unlock her phone.
Gale couldn’t remember what they’d been arguing about, nor did she care. The what never mattered, not really. What mattered was the light in Mattias’s eyes, that glimmer of fire he spent so much time trying to stamp out.
This was…not that.
It left her on uneven footing, robbed suddenly of the upper hand as she found herself without experience or a witty comeback to pull from. Her eyes flickered down to his lips. She wondered, if he did kiss her, if that faint stubble giving him a five o’clock shadow would scratch.
“Probably,” she told him, her eyes flashing back up to meet his with more confidence than she felt. “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t, though.” It was a bluff. A challenge issued with an arched eyebrow that she didn’t expect him to rise to.
Though there was a small part of her that hoped – and feared – he would.
amuse me; break me; drink me [ Rosalie x Addison ]
i. amuse me – my muse trying to cheer yours up
“Addison,” Rosalie called, curling up her toes as she stood on the cold hardwood floor of their flat, wrapping her silk robe tighter around herself in a futile attempt to keep warm; she was still unaccustomed to the harsh Vancouver winters, missing the 50 degree Californian winters of her hometown desperately now.
Addison had her back turned towards her, facing the clock in their kitchen that read an accusatory 1:08 am, no visible response to her name being spoken. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes and padding over to where she was seated at the granite island, Rosalie ran her hands up her back and over Addison’s tensed shoulders, pressing a kiss to the base of her neck. Addison all but shrugged her off and she sighed in response, dropping her hands and twining herself around her figure before taking a seat next to her.
Addison had her head in her hands, an opened bottle of cabernet sauvignon and a dangerously full cup of wine just in reach, morbid carmine in the morning darkness, a far cry from the sweeter rosé she personally favored.
“Did you just get home?” She asked gently, leaning forward in concern, a low simmer of frustration starting low in her stomach when she only received a slight nod from her girlfriend.
She sighed, reaching for Addison’s hand and pulling it away from where it shielded her face from view, intertwining their fingers and bringing them to her lips. “Did they back out of the merger?”
A long pull from the wine glass was her only answer; it was the only one she needed to confirm her suspicions.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Look at me,” she implored, squeezing Addison’s hand.
Addison took another lengthy sip of her wine. She set the glass down carefully, as if to purposefully draw out the moment, her luxurious red lipstick staining the rim, before finally straightening in her seat and turning to face her.
A fledgling of a smile fluttered to life upon her lips for the first time tonight and Rosalie hopped off her seat, inching closer to Addison, surveying her expression (which gave away nothing, as per usual) for any indication she didn’t want her near. She saw no such tells, and pressing her luck, she gave her a brief peck, pulling away but still remaining in her space, all but straddling her. “Hi,” she whispered, pressing a series of butterfly kisses, dropping Addison’s hand to run her hands through her hair, reaching up and loosening the tight bun she wore it in, gently working her fingers through her dark hair.
“You work too hard,” she accused gently, quiet and tender in these early hours in a way she wasn’t during the day, pressing in to kiss a junction between her shoulder and neck, resting her head against Addison’s, just letting her breathing fill the silence. She let the moment sit and swell before she pulled away, tugging at Addison insistently.
“Come to bed,” she offered, pouting when she didn’t stand immediately. “Come on,” she continued relentlessly. “I have a surprise for you in the bedroom,” she said, a hint of mischief upon her lips.
“Oh god. Not like that,” she said, pinking. “It’s flowers. The surprise is flowers.”
ii. break me
Her mother didn’t approve of her current living situation, that much she made clear – come home, Rosey, you’re not a city girl; you can’t bear the winters there – every week. And she hated how true it rang, when the sun was hidden away behind foreboding clouds during lond winter days, when she missed color when everything was so white around her, when she missed having the familiarity of friends and family around her. She felt like a flower transplanted into a strange and foreign place; she only really knew Addison here – and she loved her, she did, but Addison worked long and strange hours and she was alone more often than not.
Rosalie hung up the phone when she heard Addison’s key turn in the lock, cutting her mother off mid sentence, checking the time - half past nine. It was a whole two hours after Addison had originally promised to get home; dinner sat abandoned and cold on the dining table. Her mother called again, her cellphone ringing loudly to herald Addison’s entrance into their apartment, and she turned to face her, declining the call, white knuckling over her phone.
“You’re late,” she said evenly, quietly – it threw Addison off momentarily; she must’ve been expecting a larger reaction.
“I’m sorry, Rosey,” Addison replied, genuine remorse in her tone as she slipped her heels off. “I didn’t think the meeting would run that late.”
She exhaled shakily. “You could’ve called ahead.”
Addison surveyed her warily, brow furrowing momentarily before smoothing back out. “I should’ve,” she acquiesced carefully. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Addison!” She yelled, frustrated, but unsure what sort of comfort she wanted to hear from her. “You shouldn’t have been fucking late! Thursday nights, we said. Thursday nights will be our night, you said – weekly standing date nights – no work!” She burst out petulantly. “This is the fifth time.”
“Rosey,” Addison said coolly, placatingly. “I’m aware of what I promised, and I am truly sorry that work got in the way of our night, but I have a company to run. I can’t just leave when I want.”
Rosalie scoffed, turning her back to the door and stalking over to the dinner table. “Rosey,” she mocked. “Some people have actual jobs to do – that’s what you’re trying to say, yeah?”
“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“Am I? Am I really, Addy?”
“Yes, Rosalie, you are.”
“You know what?” She spat back acerbically, hating that Addison always retained all sense and control over every situation. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I’m blowing it out of proportion at all, because you know what? I moved here for you. I uprooted my whole life for this relationship – my mother calls every week to remind me of what a mistake I’ve made, leaving everything I have back in California to move to this miserable fucking city for a woman who won’t leave a meeting early for me!”
“Rose-”
“No! I don’t want to hear it! I hate this city, and I hate the snow, and I hate the stupid fucking ice it turns into,” she spat, throwing her phone on the couch viciously as she stormed away into their room, wiping angry tears from her eyes, tearing her clothes from the hangers and throwing it errantly on a duffel bag in the corner of their closet. “My mother was right, and I hate that you’re proving her right– god, I–” she choked, finally running of steam and succumbing to tears, curling up at the foot of their bed, willing herself to sink down into herself. Sobs ripped their way up from her throat harshly; she heard Addison pad into the room but ignored her, flinching from the gentle touch on her shoulder.
“I can’t do this anymore,” she gasped in between sobs, tears running down her face, soaking into the arms of her sweater. “I have to go,” she said frantically, not noticing the way Addison pulled her hand back like she had been burned. “I can’t do this anymore,” Rosalie muttered, more to herself than anything, getting up and wildly shoving things into the bag.
“Where will you go?” Addison asked tersely after what felt like years of silent packing, neck straining with effort of iron clad control.
“Home,” she said, and for the first time in a year, it didn’t mean their apartment, it meant away from Addison, and she ignored the visceral hurt in Addison’s eyes. “California. Away from here. God, anywhere but here.”
She snatched her phone, fled the room, fled the apartment, ran to the street and hailed a taxi to the airport; she didn’t look back until she was up in the air, looking down on Vancouver as it shrank with each passing second.
iii. drink me
“What are you doing here?” Rosalie drawled lazily, peering over her shoulder, letting anger color her tone despite how her heart beat painfully in response to the smell of her perfume. “Aren’t you in… the wrong fucking country?” She sighed, rolling her eyes and knocking back the rest of her drink. “How did you even know I would be here?”
“As unpredictable as you think you are, you always come back to the same destructive habits, Rosalie,” Addison sighed, beckoning the bartender over and asking for shots of the bar’s top shelf whiskey.
“The same ones?” She asked, too drunk and too sad to muster up any whole-hearted vitriol.
“Are you dating Aries again?”
Rosalie gestured for a refill blackly.
“So, the same destructive habits,” Addison returned sharply, a smug hint in her tone; she hated that she still found it absurdly attractive.
“Did you fly to the states just to make fun of me?” Rosalie shot back bluntly.
“I flew here to convince you to come back,” Addison said smartly, a hint of vulnerability hiding in the corners of her eyes.
“I’ll drink to that,” she sighed, knocking her glass into the fresh shot lined next to Addison. “Now, convince me fast enough that my pride can blame the alcohol for crawling back to you.”
“Sit still,” Rosalie chastised, brows pinching and lips pursing, even as she tried to hold back a laugh.
She was sure that she was far from a threatening picture, what with streaks of paint in her hair from when she fussed with it out of pure habit – another streak on her cheek where Addison had run a spring pink over it just to tease her.
She held the paint brush tightly, pouting and brandishing it at Addison as she tried her best to suppress a laugh. She groaned, hand flying to her hair again, before remembering the paint still on it. “I don’t even know what came over me… I don’t know how to paint,” she grumbled, pointing the brush at Addison accusingly now. “You did some weird business psychology voodoo, right? The same neurolinguistic programming shit they use on people who are suggestible, didn’t you?”
Addison chuckled, the sound somehow managing to be as dark and rich as it was joyful and bright. “Rosey, have you any ounce of self-awareness? I think you may be the least suggestible person I have ever met.
Rosalie scowled, flicking paint at her face childishly, immediately remorseful and going to wipe the dots away with her thumb. “Whatever,” she scoffed, dropping a quick kiss onto Addison’s bare shoulder, one of the rare spots where the paint hadn’t made its way to. “I’m suggestible to you and your womanly wiles. It is what it is. Now sit still. Laughing counts as moving; do you want a masterpiece or not, babe?”
