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[writersipsteasstuff]

Happy birthday to my Queen! ❤️😍😍😍😍😍😍

[sujiii]

west coast escapades // blackpink jennie x gp! idol! oc

synopsis: jennie risks it all in the middle of the desert

warnings: 18+ smut, angst (not sorry), unprotected sex, being tied up, fingering, jen gets possessive and toxic at one point, mention of a man, oc uses she/her/hers

word count: 8.8k

[190419]

Flying out to the States seems risky and daring, especially when she is about to start promoting her idol activities again. Though, she is willing to do anything for her friend. 

It’s that time of the year when fans buy tickets as early as possible to see their favorite artists perform under the warm sun of the California desert. She had received an invitation from a particular person to attend the biggest music festival in the West. Her group was set to perform for two dates before they kick off their world tour. 

Unfortunately, Jinah missed the first weekend due to practicing all week for her upcoming comeback. There was not a single day or night she could miss; every single second was crucial. However, the team gave the idols a few days to rest before they could overwork themselves. Jinah took advantage of the free time, booking a plane ticket and flying out to Palm Springs. After a long and tiring flight, Jinah managed to arrive on Thursday night, the day before the grand performance. She regrets not attending the first one because she wanted to be there to witness the k-pop girl group making history.

When she arrives at the open area, she goes through a culture shock at how different California is from both her current and former hometowns. Sure, she has been in the United States for some events and a world tour, but she hasn’t been to this side of the state. Her friend had texted her some directions as to where her team awaited her backstage.

Now, this time, Jinah does not regret attending this performance. The girl group really took the world by storm, and even the locals fell in love with them. Music truly has no language or cultural barriers. The girls looked amazing tonight, but her eyes were focused on one idol in particular. When they come off the stage, the tall girl greets the group and chats for a bit. 

When everyone turns away to their own things, Jinah feels a hand creeping around her wrist and dragging her to the side. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out who is isolating her from the crowd. They successfully sneak away and walk through the night, just them two. 

“You’re a redhead,” Jennie points out the elephant in the room, threading her fingers through the newly dyed strands.

“Is that the only thing you have to say to me?” Jinah chuckles, glancing at the girl beside her who’s admiring her cherry-red hair. “Is it bad?”

“No! It looks nice on you,” Jennie exclaims. “Since you never dye your hair…”

“I can say the same to you.” 

“Sensitive scalp.” 

“Right back at you.” 

“But it fits you nicely,” Jennie compliments with a genuine smile. 

Jinah feels a tad better from her words. She’s been uneasy about the new hair color because it’s something out of her comfort zone. 

“You’re like a real fox now.” 

Jinah only chuckles. 

“Is it for a group comeback?”

“Subunit debut.” 

“With who?”

“My soulmate,” Jinah teases. When she looks at Jennie, she doesn’t miss her smile faltering at her answer. “The company thought Taehyun and I were the best choice for a subunit since we have the best chemistry.” 

Jennie doesn’t say anything; she just nods slowly. Jinah doesn’t think much of it and continues walking to wherever the path leads them. 

“I’m glad you came all the way over here,” Jennie speaks up after a few minutes of silence. “I feel bad that you had to travel in a rush.” 

“No big deal… I didn’t want the ticket to go to waste.” 

“Did you come alone?” 

“It’s obvious, ain’t it?” Jinah bites back. “Besides, it’ll be a short trip.” 

“So that means… you’re alone alone.” 

Jinah nods her head in confusion. “Yes, love.” 

After walking for a few minutes, it is time to end the night and go their separate ways.

“I’m heading back to my hotel,” Jinah announces as she fixes her sunglasses over her face. It might be nighttime, but it complements her outfit.

“Wait.” Jennie grabs her wrist before she escapes her. She ignores that heavy feeling of loneliness in her chest. “Don’t you want to explore the place some more?” 

“What’s there to explore? I’m still tired from the long flight,” Jinah replies. “We still have Saturday and Sunday to spend time together.” 

“I’ll show you later. Are you up for it?” 

Jinah shrugs her shoulders and reluctantly agrees to let Jennie be her tour guide for the night.

—

[11:08 pm]

Upon arriving at the location, the redhead pays the taxi and gets out of the car before it drives away. Her gaze lands on the large blue sign that reads ‘Rodeway Inn & Suites’ with mini palm trees and plants buried in the sand. The area gives her a feeling of old-school fifties in the middle of the desert. 

Jinah rereads the text message with special directions on where to meet this sly kitten. The second door to the right, near the vending machines, is the designated room. The crimson metal door stands out against the boring sandstone exterior, and the lamp in the upper corner flickers weakly as if the lightbulb will die any second now. She takes hold of the rusty golden doorknob and twists it, hearing the door hinge creak as it swings open. She’s never been here before, but it brings her a wave of deja vu of past experiences. 

Jinah came here for a reason, but she will have to wait until the end of the night to reveal it to her. 

The idol is welcomed by cream walls dimly lit by the mini lamp on the nightstand. The curtains are drawn over the only window in the room to provide privacy. Soft tunes are playing from a stereo through the wall of another room, which creates a comforting atmosphere. The figure on the bed quickly notices her arrival when the door clicks shut and a soft laugh fills the room. Her gummy smile alone makes the dim room a thousand times brighter. 

“A motel, huh? Why not your hotel or mine?” Jinah muses, discarding her black jacket and draping it over the nearest chair. 

“I dunno. People might think something’s up if we are alone together,” Jennie replies, turning her attention back to her camera with polaroids scattered around her. She shuffles through the endless pictures she took today and yesterday. Her favorite ones are of the redhead posing for her when they were walking around the festival. 

“It’s already dodgy with just us two meeting in a private location,” Jinah states in English, walking over to the table and emptying her full pockets—wallet, phone, keys, and spare change. 

“Didn’t bring a purse?” 

“I thought my pockets were enough, but I guess not.” Jinah places one last item on the table: a silver lighter.

Jennie’s gaze lingers on it a little longer, upset that the younger girl might have gone back to that horrible smoking habit. Jinah’s words of ‘all Brits smoke, so it’s normal’ are still imprinted in her mind.

“Why is it dark in here?” 

“The motel is having some issues with the light. Maintenance is working on it as we speak,” Jennie answers. “Only this side of the entire building works… well, barely.” She juts her chin towards the lamp slowly dying out.

The tall girl takes another gander around the room. It’s small but efficient since it is only them two and they would probably return to their respective hotel rooms after their time is over. There’s a small flat-screen tv and a large mirror mounted on the wall, a mini fridge, and a small chestnut wardrobe. 

Jinah turns to the older girl on the bed, who’s still busy with her camera. “Care to explain why you invited me a thousand miles across the Pacific Ocean when I’m in the midst of preparing for another debut?” 

“Damn, don’t get intellectual with me.”

Jinah’s fox eyes harden. “You’ve been ignoring me for the past month. Suddenly, an invitation to this music festival appears at my doorstep with a date and address.” 

“It was an invitation, not an obligation. If you didn’t want to come, I’d understand,” Jennie argues, tossing the camera aside and paying her undivided attention to the younger girl.

“And I’m supposed to let the ticket go to waste?” Jinah scoffs, rolling her eyes at her weak reasoning. She knows damn well that this girl wanted her to come and support her at this music festival. And being whipped for the feline-eyed girl, Jinah sacrificed a couple of her resting days to spend time with her on another continent while being jet-lagged.

Jennie stands up from the bed and advances toward the tall girl, wrapping her arms around her neck and pressing her body against hers. She feels Jinah tense at the sudden contact but soon relaxes in her embrace. A smile creeps up on her face when she feels Jinah’s hand pat the top of her head before she starts stroking her hair—Jinah’s special way of showing affection. 

“Are you mad at me?” Jennie asks in her small, cute voice.

The younger sighs, “No.”

With one last squeeze, Jennie breaks the hug and jumps back on the bed. She gathers the polaroids together in a stack and starts toying with the camera again.

“How’s the tour going?” Jinah asks as she fiddles with her necklace self-consciously.

“Very fun. Just hanging out with friends, meeting a lot of new people, and taking a lot of pictures. I love the weather here.” Jennie adjusts the settings on her camera as she points it at the redhead. 

“I can tell,” Jinah mutters, laying on the bed next to her. She looks at the stacked polaroids and goes through them one by one. 

“I’m trying to take as many pictures as I can to commemorate this trip.” Jennie traces her finger down Jinah’s jaw and tilts her chin up. Her hand neatly combs her red hair out of the way to expose her face. 

A flash makes Jinah go blind for a minute. 

“How about a bloody warning next time, yeah? Almost went blind here,” she snaps, rubbing her eyes to adjust her vision.

“You’re cute,” Jennie giggles. The camera prints out a polaroid, and she takes it out to wave it around.

“Why do you need more pictures of me? You can use Google for that.” 

“That’s Jinah of STELLAR—the Idol Superstar,” Jennie clarifies. “With me, all I see is… you. Or Nana, as your fans call you.” 

Jinah chuckles and shakes her head, difficult to fight back to smile at her comment. Jennie flashes her gummy smile that easily melts the latter’s heart. A small hand slides close to her own, with the tips of their fingers touching. Jinah spreads her fingers and clasps them together, giving a light squeeze. 

They stare at each other for a few seconds to take in the comfortable silence surrounding them. 

Then, Jennie pulls up the camera again and snaps another blinding picture. 

“Bloody hell, woman! Have you gone mad?” Jinah exclaims in her typical British accent, which makes the brunette cackle out loud. “Enough!”

“But we’re creating memories,” Jennie argues.

When Jinah’s vision returns, she sees Jennie taking the film and putting it with the rest on the nightstand. She takes the camera out of her hands and aims it at her now. “My turn.”

Instead of arguing like the younger girl, Jennie leans against the headboard and poses for the photographer. Being the professional model she is, the flash doesn’t affect the Chanel muse as she stares intensely at the girl behind the lens. Gray eyes catch the sliver of skin between her tank top and lavender sweatpants. The memories of touching her soft skin make her fingers tingle. Her curious hand runs along her waist, making her flinch and giggle. Jinah quickly snaps a picture of this perfect moment. 

It’s adorable; her squinting eyes, her full cheeks, her gummy smile, her dark brown hair falling flawlessly over her face. 

Jennie takes the camera out of her hand and sets it aside hastily. Her hand takes ahold of Jinah’s nape and urges her closer to her face, her expression turning dark and lustful. The younger idol knows what she wants, and that’s why she is here. 

Jennie pulls her in to press her lips against hers in a gentle manner. It’s savory at first, just taking in each other’s taste. Jinah is surprised that the older girl wants to take it slow at first since she’s always so desperate to taste her. Jennie adds her tongue to the mix and licks her plump lips. The hot kisses move down to her jaw and neck to mark every inch of skin, teeth nibbling lightly. Her hands eagerly pull at Jinah’s shirt to let her know that she wants direct skin-to-skin contact. 

Jinah slips her hand under the hem of Jennie’s tank top and pushes it up, and she slides down the bed until she faces her flat stomach. She places kisses all over it, making the older girl softly laugh at the ticklish feeling. Jennie’s fingers thread in red hair and pull at it lightly, letting her nails scratch her scalp the way she likes it. She tugs down the purple sweatpants and helps Jennie kick them off to have more access to her skin. 

Eagerly, Jennie’s hips jerk towards the latter to show her impatience, but the sly fox doesn’t care. Jennie takes matters into her own hands and takes her shirt off before bringing Jinah back to her lips again to give her a rough kiss. 

Jinah helps the brunette lay flat on the bed as she hovers over her body. She just notices the topless girl who’s tugging at her clothes. “You are very impatient tonight, love. Or should I say…” She leans down to lick her jaw before whispering in her ear, “…kitten.” 

A whimper escapes past Jennie’s quivering lips upon hearing her favorite pet name. A devious smirk taints the fox’s face once she realizes she has the kitten under her control. When Jinah presses down on her body, letting Jennie feel the hardened length against her center, a needy whine breaks out of her. The older girl squirms at the pressure and wishes to feel her inside already.

“Hurry up…!”

Jinah stalls a little longer by leaving small kisses along her neck and shoulder. It feeds her ego at how submissive and needy the kitten turns for her. 

“I wanna ask you… something.” Jennie closes her eyes in bliss when she feels Jinah’s hand grab her breast, rolling the erect bud under her palm. Jinah gives a curious hum as an answer without lifting her lips from Jennie’s skin. 

The words get caught in Jennie’s throat once the redhead’s mouth latches onto the hardened nipple. One quick suck has the brunette arching her back towards Jinah, a loud mewl breaking into the air. She is slowly losing control over the situation, which is the opposite of what she wants. Enough being the puppet, it’s time for her to take the upper hand. 

Her hand bunches red hair into a fist. “Can I… tie you up?”

Upon hearing the request, Jinah still doesn’t disrupt her wonderful work on Jennie’s chest. “Tie me up?” she muses breathlessly between kisses. The short scoff almost ruins the brunette’s brave front, as if she’s ridiculing her. 

Jennie blindly slips her hand under one of the pillows and pulls out a long, silky white ribbon with ’CHANEL’ repeatedly stamped across it. Jinah cocks a curious eyebrow at the ribbon, pausing her kisses and sitting back to face Jennie, who is dead serious about this. She doesn’t think much of it and agrees with a shrug of her shoulders. 

“Go ahead.” 

What a shocker. 

Well, Jennie shouldn’t be too surprised because the younger girl is lenient most of the time and goes with the flow, no matter the situation. Unless it comes to dancing, then Jinah will try to gain as much control as she can. 

Jennie pushes her off with force and pins her against the headboard. She commands the latter to remove her shirt before proceeding with the plan. Jinah reveals her torso and the gruesome bruises from the intense dance practices. Jennie straddles her hips and works on tying the ribbon around Jinah’s wrists through the little bars on the headboard. She loops and ties the lace delicately until Jinah’s wrists are secured together. 

Jinah tests it out by spreading her wrists apart to set herself free, but the tight knots prevent her from doing so. The headboard rattles at her strength when she yanks on it again, making Jennie a bit worried that Jinah might break the furniture. 

“Is this a new kink of yours?” Jinah muses, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. 

“I just wanted to try something new,” Jennie mutters, shyly looking everywhere but the fox’s piercing gaze. She’s supposed to be in control and put on a strong, intimidating facade. It almost displeases her how unfazed Jinah seems by the turn of events; she looks… bored. It looks like she’s forced to be here. Either way, that’s just her default face and personality. 

Shaking off any insecure thoughts, Jennie gathers as much courage as she can and begins the act. She lowers down to the redhead’s pelvis and smiles when she discovers how turned on she is. Her hips roll against her erection slowly to tease the latter. Hearing the younger girl quietly hitch her breath makes her feel more confident. Jennie runs her hands down her chest, lightly caressing her skin, and stops at her toned abdomen. Her gaze lands on the piece of jewelry on her belly button. She gives the piercing a quick tug, which makes Jinah’s stomach clench towards her hand. 

“You’re sensitive,” Jennie chuckles tauntingly. 

“I’m not,” Jinah bites back with a scowl. 

Jennie turns her attention to the black underwear peeking out of Jinah’s dark sweatpants. She quickly tugs the waistband as it snaps back against her skin. Jinah flinches and bites her lip to prevent a curse from slipping out. She fidgets around and turns her head away to not show any submission. Unfortunately for her, Jennie catches on as confidence surges through her veins. 

Abruptly, Jennie grinds down on the bulge through the thin fabric of her panties. She desperately wants to be taken by the redhead, but she would rather tear her down and see her at her lowest. “Eyes on me,” she demands in a very sultry whisper that sends a spark in Jinah’s stomach. 

When Jinah obeys her, the older girl leans forward so close to her that their breaths linger. She cranes her neck upwards to search for her taste, but Jennie licks her lips instead. Jinah clicks her tongue in annoyance. Slowly but surely, Jennie is gaining control over her. 

Finally, a soft kiss is rewarded to Jinah. The redhead immediately leans in to take in the taste as much as she can, however, Jennie pulls away too soon before Jinah is satisfied. A low growl rumbles in her throat, rolling her gray eyes at the teasing girl. 

Jennie slips her hand into her own underwear and drags her fingers along her slit to feel her wetness. The sultry moan leaving Jennie’s mouth causes Jinah to clench her jaw and breathe raggedly through her nose. And to add on the pressure, she continues to grind on the erection while her fingers rub her pussy. The sight alone is hypnotizing to watch, but it frustrates the younger girl that she cannot touch her heavenly body. She really wants to slip her fingers into her wet cunt and fuck her into oblivion. 

Finally.

Jinah’s wrists yank against the lace for the first time since this whole ordeal started. She jerks her hips upward to meet Jennie’s rolling hips and build the friction. She is getting really impatient and mad that the control isn’t in her hands anymore. 

“Kitten,” her deep voice almost sounds strained. She tugs her wrists again when Jennie continues to drag this longer than she should. 

“Look at how wet you made me.” Jennie moves her panties aside and exposes her wet folds to Jinah, who grunts and thrashes around. The headboard rattles roughly from the brute force, desperately trying to rip through the tightly knotted ribbon. “Want a taste?”

Jinah watches her closely as Jennie puts her middle finger into her own mouth. Jennie lets it rest on her tongue before sucking off her slickness. A smirk crawls on her pretty features when Jinah subconsciously opens her mouth and bites her tongue down. Jennie feels like she’s had enough of torturing the latter and decides to give her a taste. She dips her fingers in Jinah’s mouth and lets her suck them, feeling the vibrations of Jinah’s moan lowly against her hand. 

Once the redhead cleans her fingers, Jennie pulls them back one by one. Jinah’s arousal is so painful that the organ might explode with the slightest friction. With little movement, she can feel the stickiness caused by her precum. She is so close to losing her patience and breaking through the ribbon. 

“Jen—” Jinah grunts out, but the name gets stuck in her throat when a hand grasps her cock through her sweatpants. One painfully long, slow stroke along her length has her thrashing her wrists above her head. Now she hates this stunt. Her movements are limited, and she is not in control anymore. “Will you quit it?”

Jennie hums with a not-so-innocent smile, “Last time I checked, I’m not the one tied up.”

Jinah grows more restless when the kiwi continues to rile her up by prolonging the torture session. Her muscles tense while her breathing grows short and ragged. Jennie squeezes her hard cock so tightly that Jinah growls out a string of English curses.

Jennie is milking in the vulnerable sight of her prey; the scowl tugging her lips downward, her eyebrows furrowing to the middle, her jaw clenching, and her breath growing shallow when she roughens the pace. What makes her even more excited is how sensitive the fox is at the merest touch, barely keeping her hips from heaving upwards. She can feel her cock throbbing and twitching in anticipation through the cotton layers. 

“Do you want me?” Jennie purrs with a tilt of her head and a snarky grin. Her petite hand rubs her slowly, which shoots pleasure throughout Jinah’s body, and she can’t choke back the moan from slipping out.

Jinah’s fingers curl into tight fists and dig her nails into her palms. She doesn’t trust voicing her answer because an insult might come out instead, and the last thing she wants to do is hurt Jennie’s feelings. Her mind tends to go into creative mode when she loses her temper. 

“You wanna get inside me?” 

The fox sends her a death glare. 

“All you gotta do is say the magic word.” 

It hurts her pride, but Jinah needs to relieve this painful tension, or else her body will explode. For one last time, she tests her luck to see if the silky ribbon would rip after all that tugging and thrashing. However, it only ends up digging into the skin of her wrists harshly. 

Jinah heaves out a loud breath before muttering in the smallest voice ever: “…please…”

It’s not the exact tone Jennie expected, but she’s already put her through a lot, so she’ll take it. 

Jennie yanks both her sweatpants and boxers down to her knees, setting the swollen erection free from the suffocating confines. She quietly gasps when she sees how red and strained it is, drops of precum trailing down the shaft. It looks like it would burst if she gives one small touch. She brushes the pads of her fingers over the sore erection, causing the redhead to hiss through her teeth from the light touch. 

“Quit tormenting me,” Jinah snaps, raising her voice at her. It doesn’t fail to send shivers down Jennie’s spine. 

Kneeling up, Jennie discards the remaining article until she is bare and vulnerable in front of her. She crawls up higher to sit on her lap again. “I can do this all night, but I’m at my limit.” 

Jinah narrows her eyebrows in confusion. “Are you not going to untie me?” 

Jennie sees the neediness in her lust-filled gray eyes. “I didn’t say anything about untying you, just letting you inside me,” she states, spreading her thighs to settle her folds on the underside of her cock. The raw contact between their sexes has her craving for more. As she grinds against it, she is whimpering out of need. 

“If you weren’t being such a pain in the ass, you’d untie me and let me please you,” Jinah growls through clenched teeth, suppressing a moan down her throat. She silently curses at her body for responding to Jennie’s actions by bucking into her.

“Shut up…” Jennie leans forward to lay on top of her, soft breasts pressing against each other, and buries her face in Jinah’s neck. She inhales the sweet jasmine aroma that makes her lightheaded, losing her senses in the blissful pleasure. “Need to… get inside…” 

“That’s out of my control, love.” Jinah rattles the headboard with her handcuffed wrists to remind Jennie about her position. God, her arms are so sore from being held up this high. She isn’t sure if blood is flowing to her fingers. They feel so numb.

A gasp gets caught in Jennie’s throat as the pleasure builds up quickly. Her arms tangle around Jinah’s neck and cling to her like her life depends on it. 

“Can you at least untie me, so I can fuck you properly?!” 

One thing Jennie will never say out loud is that it turns her on to the fucking max when she sees the angry fox cursing out loud and losing her temper. It’s scary, but the fear gets her aroused. She bites her lower lip as her cheeks burn red upon hearing her frustrations and struggles. 

Feeling that she’s had enough, Jennie pauses her movements and sits up to face the younger girl. She digs her hands into the nest of cherry-red hair and brings her face forward to her chest. “Finish what you started.” 

Jinah does not oppose it and obeys her order by closing her lips on her breast and letting her tongue toy with the rosy bud. Jennie softly moans praises and encouragements, pushing her face closer. It’s hard to give her the best pleasure without her hands, but she tries her best with her mouth. She lets go of her breast with a loud pop before moving to the ribs and giving a deep red hickey.

“More…”

Jinah thinks she’s crazy for wanting more marks on her body. If anyone finds these blemishes, someone might think something is up. As requested, she gives a few more small marks on hidden areas on her chest. She may like giving her pleasure, but her own body is begging for attention as well.

“Kitten, untie me.”

“No,” Jennie groans.

“Jen—”

Suddenly, Jennie pulls her hair and forces Jinah to look up at her. Their sharp gazes lock, and the tension thickens between them. “Shut the fuck up and watch me.” She lowers on her lap again and feels the tip of her cock poking her entrance. “I want this night to be memorable for the rest of your life. I’ll show you that I am the only one who can do this to you, Son Jinah.” 

It kind of worries Jinah a bit at how dead serious Jennie sounded. 

Jennie holds her erection steady and positions herself over it, easing her way down its length. No matter how many times they have sex, she still needs to take her precious time to accommodate herself to the size. She is barely halfway there until Jinah suddenly snaps her hips upwards into her completely. Jennie arches her back like a bow and throws her head back, a cry of pleasure breaking into the air. 

Jinah has a cocky smirk at her reaction. She is about to say a snarky comment, but her velvety walls clenching around her makes her groan lowly in pleasure. 

After taking some time to adjust herself, Jennie leans forward and clings to her while staring down at her rebellious victim. She sets a slow rhythm of bouncing halfway up and down. Surprisingly, the fox doesn’t pull any funny tricks and surprises her with abrupt thrusts like before. Once she grows confident, she rolls her hips forward and grazes her clit, which sends an electric bolt of pleasure throughout her body. 

“Oh my god…” Jennie whimpers at the amazing sensation. She repeats the action of grinding on Jinah. Her head lolls back, and her eyes flutter shut, filling the room with her lovely moans. Her hands move to brace on Jinah’s shoulders and change her pace to rise all the way up until the tip almost slips out of her, only to drop back down. 

Jinah hits the back of her head against the headboard, her hands jolting at the euphoric feeling. She feels Jennie’s fingernails dig into her neck and shoulders and scratch at her skin every time her sensitive spots are prodded. Her vixen eyes watch her luscious curves, breasts, and hips bouncing on her pelvis. Her gaze trails up to find Jennie’s face reddening from the overwhelming pleasure. What a delicious sight for the fox.

The dim lighting from the lamp creates a blur of shadows on the walls. Their lewd moans and sharp gasps mingle together with the slapping of their skins. Their sounds can be mistaken for two people madly in love, creating an atmosphere of heaven. They forget they are in a random motel room in the middle of the California desert. 

Their little rendezvous will never get old. 

As they chase towards their peaks, Jennie caresses both sides of Jinah’s face and invites her for a loving kiss that steals her breath away. A low groan slips in her mouth when her walls tighten around the throbbing length. Jennie leans back a bit to stare into her gray eyes, hips stuttering in rhythm while the knot is coming undone, as she whispers, “You’re mine forever.” 

Ironically, Jinah feels naked under her sharp gaze, yet she responds with her own thrusts into the brunette. Jennie’s words continue to worry her as if they are making promises to each other like lovers would do. She tries to not give in to this illusion and ignores it for now, only focusing on chasing her own release. 

Jinah doesn’t respond as a curse word tumbles out of her mouth once she climaxes. Finally, she releases her essence inside Jennie after a long, torturous session. 

After they regain their breaths, Jennie sits up and unties the Chanel ribbon to finally set the fox free as her sore arms fall to her sides. Jennie picks up one of her wrists and inspects the redness welting on her skin. She feels bad for ruining Jinah’s beautiful skin and causing discomfort in her arms. As an act of apology, she plants kisses all around her wrist and hand, hoping it would make the latter forgive her. Jinah picks up her other hand and gently pats the top of Jennie’s head to let her know it’s okay. 

Silence is loud, but their actions are louder. 

Moments later, Jinah lays still on the bed while Jennie sits above her, busily drawing something on her arm. The black marker steadily rolls against her skin, making her softly chuckle at the ticklish feeling. Jennie is careful to make sure none of the lines are shaky and it’s symmetrical. 

“You should get this tattooed,” Jennie suggests, grinning at how well her drawing is coming out. 

Jinah’s fingers tap along with the songs that are still playing from the next room on Jennie’s thighs. “And why should I?” 

“Because my art is worthy to be tattooed on your body forever.” 

“Hm… I don’t know about that.” Jinah moves her hand to Jennie’s inner thigh and strokes her slit teasingly. 

Jennie whimpers and squirms around. “S-Stop! You’ll ruin my drawing!” She sends her a death glare, but the fox finds it rather cute than intimidating. 

Jinah moves her hand away and rests it on her knee. “I’m not sure if my boss will allow me to get tattoos.” 

“Well, tell them that Jennie of BLACKPINK made a special design just for you,” she says, carefully drawing straight lines on her skin.

Jinah scoffs, “Sure…”

“It doesn’t hurt to try.” 

Once Jennie is satisfied with the results, she sits back and smiles at the drawing. 

Jinah looks down and checks to see what the older girl has been drawing this whole time. She was expecting a cute design or a special symbol that represents her. Instead, she finds a circle with lines that resemble a snowflake. “What is that? An asterisk?” 

“A star!”

Jinah softly laughs. “I’ve never seen a star shaped like that, love.” 

She crosses her arms and pouts at her. “My star does. From now on, it’s called Nini’s Star!” 

“Why a star?”

She gives her a deadpan look. “For starters, you’re in a group called ’Stellar,’ which relates to a star. You have a necklace of the north star. And you’re a global star.” 

Makes sense.

“And last but not least, you’re my star who lights up the dark sky for me.” Jennie stares deep into her gray eyes and sends hearts through her gaze.

Jinah rolls her eyes and shakes her head at the corny line. “Good lord… this is a one-off.” 

“A what off?” Jennie’s face twists into a cute, confused puppy expression. 

“A one-off—something that happens only one time,” Jinah explains.

Jennie nuzzles their noses together before resting her face on her shoulder and clinging to her like a cuddly kitten. British slang can be bizarre but fascinating at the same time. “You’re so weird.” 

Jinah shifts their bodies so she can hover above the kitten, placing her forearms on either side of her head. She leans down to keep her lips close to her face. “I adore your cute cheeks,” she mutters, her hot breath tickling her soft skin. The latter whimpers when she gives her dumpling cheek a small nip. Her hand trails down Jennie’s stomach and applies a little bit of pressure to her clit. 

Jennie gasps at the sudden action, swallowing a snarky comment down her throat as her body instinctively jolts at the mere touch. Her eyes flit to the gray ones and connect with her strong gaze. She tries to hold it but fails miserably as her eyes flutter shut when Jinah’s long fingers glide up and down her slit, gathering the wetness she finds there. 

Jinah kisses her jaw once, then twice… and now she’s trailing kisses all the way to her plump lips. “How badly do you want me, love?”

Jennie doesn’t verbally respond; instead, she kisses Jinah hard with desperation like it’ll be the last time she’ll taste her lips. Little does she know. She clings onto Jinah’s arm and shoulder and presses her fingertips down into her flesh. She is in heaven once again when Jinah lays down against her body. 

Jinah slips her slender fingers inside and thrusts them in and out roughly, causing the brunette to break their kiss and move her face into her neck. The sensual pace makes Jennie gasp until they convert into low moans, and the puffs of breath against Jinah’s skin send shivers down her spine. Two of her long fingers rub pleasantly along her inner walls. Her thumb traces circles upon the swollen clit, toying with the bud to irk out the reactions she wants to see. 

When Jinah curls her fingers and touches a certain spot, a loud cry elicits from Jennie as she arches her back from the bed. She angles her wrist and abuses that spot until she has the girl squirming and crying for more. 

“God, just fuck me again! Fuck, please!” 

“You want me to fuck you again?” Jinah teases with a cocky smirk. Jennie rapidly nods her head, piercing her nails through Jinah’s flesh out of desperation. She finally pities the smaller girl and hooks an arm under her knee to spread her legs apart to accommodate more space for herself. A lewd moan squeezes out of Jennie’s throat when that familiar thickness fills her again with a hard thrust. 

Not wasting any time, Jinah starts at a fast pace without a single complaint from the brunette below her; her repetitive chants and high-pitched cries let Jinah know she’s enjoying this as much. Jennie wraps her leg around her waist while Jinah puts her other leg over her shoulder. Jennie’s own flexibility surprises her a bit, but her expression soon turns into one of bliss. A thrill rushes through her veins when Jennie’s teeth bite her collarbone. It boosts the speed of her thrusts until Jennie stops her with a hand on her neck. Jinah looks at her in confusion.

Jennie leans up to roughly press her lips against hers, just savoring this one minute of warmth and comfort. Her hands run down Jinah’s sides until they land on her backside to help steady her movements. The long, slow strokes evoke whimpers out of her into Jinah’s mouth. She’s beyond thankful that Jinah is an amazing dancer because the way she rolls her hips is so smooth and heavenly. Her form starts to tremble, which lets her know that she is close to reaching her peak again.

“Come for me, love.”

Her fingernails impale into Jinah’s back for support once her climax overtakes her. Jinah will never get tired of this gorgeous sight: her feline brown eyes roll shut as a loud cry tumbles out of her mouth. Jennie’s flushed, sweaty skin glistens beautifully from the dim lighting, and her disheveled hair still looks seductive and wild. 

Under her hooded gaze, Jinah thrusts slowly against her while maintaining eye contact. Jennie’s lips come in contact with her chin, so she holds her face in place to kiss her deeply. Jinah responds to her kiss with the same energy as she falls apart above her. Once again, she paints her walls white and fills her to the brim.

Weakly, Jinah delivers a chaste kiss on the corner of her mouth before pulling out. When she moves away, the room suddenly grows cold; it makes Jennie feel empty without her warmth. Jinah sits on the edge of the bed and bends her upper body down to gather her clothes. 

Jennie sits up abruptly as worry strikes her features when she sees Jinah put her clothes on one by one. “Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna get a drink from the vending machine,” Jinah replies.

“You’re gonna leave me, aren’t you?” 

Jinah looks back at the scared kitten in pure bewilderment, tilting her head and pursing her lips. Her thumb points in the direction where she saw the vending machine. “It’s right around the corner, love.” 

“No, you’re gonna ditch me…”

Jesus, this girl is really clingy. No matter what Jinah tells her, it goes in one ear and out the other. Jennie can be super stubborn, and it makes Jinah want to rip her hair out.  

Sighing out loud, Jinah reaches behind her neck and unclasps the silver necklace. She saunters over to Jennie and grabs her hand, carefully placing it on her palm. Jennie knows how special this piece of jewelry is to Jinah; it was given to her by her grandparents before she left London many years ago. Jinah has never taken it off or gone anywhere without it. Jennie can’t help but feel a great responsibility for holding it in her hand.

“I’ll be back,” Jinah says once again, eyeing the necklace for another few seconds. 

Jennie gives a meek nod as an answer and holds it closer to her chest. She watches Jinah pick up her wallet and phone off the table and leave the room as the feeling of dread settles in her heart heavily. 

It’s only Jennie and the necklace with the sounds of music from the other room.

Tension is thick with anticipation of doubting her return. 

It’s the longest minute ever.

Jennie perks up at the sound of the door clicking open. Jinah walks through with two water bottles tucked under her arm while closing the door behind her. She notices Jennie’s cute face light up with a smile when the redhead takes a seat next to her. Instantly, Jennie scoots over and invades her space.

“Did you guard my necklace?” Jinah asks, her gaze discreetly searching for it. 

“Here.” Jennie offers to clasp the necklace around her neck, leaving a quick peck on her cheek. Jinah can breathe freely after the silver jewelry is locked with her again. 

“Thank you, love.” She hands her a water bottle.

Jennie cracks it open and starts taking large gulps of water like she had been stranded in the hottest desert on Earth. 

Jinah fiddles with the bottle and speaks up first, “Jen, I think we need to talk.” 

The said girl pauses her drinking and cocks an eyebrow at her. “About?” 

“Us.”

“What do you mean?”

“This… this isn’t normal.”

“What isn’t?” 

“This,” Jinah points between the brunette and herself. “Whatever we have going on.” 

“Why? Is it cause we’re women?”

“It’s not just that… It’s complicated to explain, but what we have isn’t normal between ‘friends.’ I just want to live a normal life.” 

“But you’re not normal!” Jennie exclaims before she can even stop herself.

Jinah looks back at her with a slightly shocked and offended expression.

“Wait! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to say that! It came out wrong!” Jennie latches onto Jinah’s arm in a tight grip, fearing that the younger girl will run away and disappear forever. “I’m really sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Jinah mutters, petting the top of her head in assurance. She’s not the type to get offended easily because she is too confident in herself to have her ego bruised. In fact, it’s difficult to get under her skin because of her ‘I don’t care’ attitude. Though, the only person who can irritate her to the max is her best friend and group member, Park Taehyun.

But Jennie?

Yeah, she can get on her nerves sometimes for being too clingy and demanding, but not enough to make her explode out of anger. 

“Easy, love. I won’t throw a hissy fit,” Jinah says. “I still think we should take a break from this… arrangement.” 

“At least tell me why.” 

“I’ll be busy with my own schedule and activities. There won’t be any time for us. Besides, you’ll be on tour for the next few months.” 

“You can visit me.” 

“I’m not gonna be there to fulfill your needs in every city. This has to stop.” 

“It’s not the sex; I really enjoy your company. You make me feel so many things that no one else can do. Why is it hard for you to understand that?!”

“I hear you, Jen. I know where you’re coming from.” 

“Then?!” 

Jinah releases the older girl from her embrace and stands up to walk towards the chair to retrieve her jacket. She can feel Jennie’s deadly glare burning holes into the back of her head.

“You should give that lad a chance…”

Her cat eyes harden. “Who?”

“Harry, was it?”

Her heart sinks to her stomach. 

A million men share the same name, but there is only one who has a clear connection with Jennie.

“Harry Hudson if I remember correctly.”

“What about him?”

“Give a chance at being normal, Jen.” 

“But I don’t want him.” 

“He wants you. I can tell he’s interested,” Jinah sighs, sticking one arm in her jacket’s sleeves. She can remember earlier at the Coachella set when that man would take pictures with Jennie and speak with her as much as he could. Jinah isn’t the type to get jealous of men like him, but it irritated her how he stuck to her like a magnet. “It’s not fair if you keep leading him on and playing with his heart.” 

“I don’t like him like I do with you.”

“You shouldn’t,” Jinah scoffs, nervously scratching the back of her neck.

“Don’t tell me how to feel…” Jennie’s gaze falls to her hands on her lap.

Jinah sighs out loud for the nth time that night, turning her gaze to look at Jennie, who is sulking on the bed. She busies herself by picking at her fingernails and blinking back the tears burning her eyes. Jinah walks over and sits beside her again as the bed lightly dips from her weight. She strokes the side of Jennie’s head in a soothing manner in hopes of lessening the ache in her heart.

“You need to stop those thoughts and feelings,” Jinah says, softly smiling at her purr. “Before you know it, it’ll consume you and gnaw you down to the bone. Stop it while you can.” 

“That’s the thing,” Jennie mumbles, “I can’t.” 

They remain silent for a moment.

Just as Jinah feared, it’s too late. 

Jennie takes the wrist that’s petting her hair and interlaces her fingers with her own, letting it rest between them. All she needs is Jinah’s touch to console her. 

“We can’t keep doing this stuff,” Jinah says, though, she doesn’t pull her hand away. Her thumb softly rubs the back of her hand, which makes the brunette’s heart flutter. 

“Why not?”

“We’re not in a relationship.”

A look of hurt flashes across Jennie’s face at her realistic words. “It’s okay, no one has to know about this. That was our deal, right? Whatever happens between us, stays between us.” 

Words are easy to say, but when it’s time to act them out, they hesitate. 

“It was our deal, but now…” Jinah’s gaze drifts off to space. “Now, it’s complicated.” 

“What do you mean?”

“As I said before, it’s difficult to explain right now.” 

“So all of this—tonight meant nothing to you?”

“It did…” Jinah mutters in a whisper. “When we made this arrangement, I knew what I was getting into. I understood that this was strictly sex, nothing else.” She pauses a bit, tightening her jaw and evening her breaths. Now isn’t the time to lose her composure and break down. She knew this day would come when she had to end things before it could consume them both as a whole. 

Jennie’s wavering eyes stare at the redhead, anxiously waiting for her to continue speaking. 

“The decision we made was risky—too many consequences that I’m not sure we can handle.” Jinah swallows down the hard ache in her throat and clears her head of any second thoughts. She almost—almost—loses her front when her eyes meet Jennie’s pleading gaze. “We’re only human, right? We make silly mistakes, thinking we can deal with anything thrown at us.” 

“Jinah, what are you trying to say?” 

“I’m sorry, Jennie, but I want out.” 

Jennie stares at her blankly. 

The fact that her one and only wants to slip away from her settles in her brain. 

Jennie does not want to lose Jinah.

At all.  

“NO!” Jennie abruptly latches onto her and bites down on her neck to mark her as her territory. And when she bites, it’s not pretty. Her mouth sucks Jinah’s neck like a greedy vampire thirsty for blood.

If she can’t have her, no one can. 

“OW!” Jinah pushes Jennie off and gapes at her in horror, the most expressive she has been all night. Her hand touches her throbbing wet neck from her harsh bite. “Bloody hell! What the fuck is wrong with you, woman?! Have you lost the goddamn plot?!”

“Don’t leave me!” 

“Jennie—” 

“I’m begging you, please don’t.”

Despite freaking out on the inside, Jinah keeps her cool and speaks calmly to not fight fire with fire. She releases a quiet, deep breath to ease her anger. “What is the matter with you?” 

Jennie’s teeth sink to her trembling bottom lip, excessively blinking back any tears daring to spill past her lids. Her small hands clench onto the bedsheets tightly until her knuckles turn bone white. “You hate me.”  

“I never said that.” 

“Your actions show it.” 

This girl will be the cause of her upcoming headache. 

“It’s okay if you do. I’m pretty much used to it.” 

Just when Jinah opens her mouth to argue back, every single light in the room turns on, and a grainy grey image appears on the small tv. The power is back on. Right. It’s time to face reality once again. Jennie’s words echo in their heads to remind them that anything between them is temporary and secret.  

Their eyes flicker to the black and white screen with the distorting grainy image. 

“I’m gonna go shower,” Jennie sighs, breaking the awkward silence.

Jinah hums as her response, still not looking in her direction.

Before Jennie heads to the bathroom, she extends her hand out in front of the younger idol, who scrunches her eyebrows confusedly. “Your necklace.” 

Ah…

Jennie wants to keep Jinah locked down with her so she won’t be left alone. It’s her fear of being left alone in this room without the warmth and comfort of another human being. 

And tonight, Jennie had just learned that if she wants to keep Jinah tied to her forever, she has to obtain her precious item and hold it hostage. It’s evil, she knows, but she can’t help but be greedy and selfish when it comes to Son Jinah. 

It doesn’t take long for Jinah to figure out her intentions. It’s unbelievable that Jennie would rather live in a dream world than face reality. She should have known that coming to this motel and spending the night with her was a grand mistake. Now, it’s time to break this illusion and set herself free. A sacrifice is a sacrifice. And Jinah has made too many tonight just to make Jennie happy. It’s time to set someone else’s needs aside and focus on her own happiness.

If letting Jennie go means losing a part of herself, then so be it. 

Jinah unclips her necklace and hands it over to Jennie once again, seeing the way her lips curl into a satisfied smile. 

The brunette skips away and closes the bathroom door behind her, creating another barrier between them again. She leans against it and stares at the precious jewelry sitting comfortably in her palms. She has seen this necklace thousands of times, but never too closely. The pendant is a sterling silver north star, and on the back, there is tiny lettering engraved in the metal: 

Always together, never apart. Maybe in distance, but never in heart. 970317

No wonder it means a lot to Jinah. She had to separate from her only family to pursue her dreams in another country thousands of miles away from home. No matter the distance between them, Jinah always held them in her heart. Jennie herself can relate so much, especially now that she’s grown closer to the younger girl.

Jennie places the necklace on the sink’s countertop as she looks at herself in the cracked mirror. Her eyes are red and her chocolate brown hair is ruffled from the intense activity earlier. There are a few red marks littered on areas where nobody else can see, thankfully. It makes her feel owned and wanted. 

She enters the warm shower and starts singing out loud. The hot water washes away any doubts or regrets buried deep in her heart. She desperately wants to continue living in this fantasy forever because it makes her feel alive without worrying about other people’s opinions. That sly fox always brings out the best in her. 

When Jennie finishes her routine, silence becomes louder than before. No music from the other room, no white noise from the television, no human sounds—plain old nothing. Worriedly, she leaves the bathroom and steps into reality. 

The bed is empty.

White sheets are disheveled, and the pillows are thrown across the room. Her frantic eyes dart around the room, her heart dropping to the deepest parts of her stomach as a lump crawls up her throat. There is not a single trace of the younger idol anywhere in this room. All that is left of Jinah are the photographs and the necklace. 

This time, Jennie does nothing to stop the tears from bursting through her eyes like a waterfall. Her hand clasps over her mouth to silence any weeping sounds as she picks up one of the polaroid pictures with the marker next to it on the nightstand; it’s the one Jinah took of Jennie with her wide gummy smile. She turns it over and finds a message written in black ink: 

I’m sorry. 

I don’t want to fall in love.

an: FUCK this still makes me tear up ksdjkfskfjsh idk why i torture myself like this

[writersipsteasstuff]

“Watch Over Me” Jennie x reader (female reader)

Notes: Here’s chapter 3. Happy New Year!

Chapter 2 is here https://www.tumblr.com/writersipsteasstuff/801531633753849856/watch-over-me-jennie-x-reader-female-reader

Chapter 3:

“Will you quit touching your clothes? And your glasses too? You’re starting to piss me off.”

“You pushed this. I’m not comfortable wearing this.”

“It’s called normal clothes on a regular day. Knock it off Y/N! You’re too obvious!”

So-hee slapped your hand and gave you a warning look. You could only let out a deep sigh while shaking your head, immediately your mind wanders back to somewhere else. You would probably enjoy this day if you were working. Although, your mom assigned you here it doesn’t feel like an actual work for you. It felt like you were going to babysit someone.

“I can’t believe we’re actually going to work with Blackpink! It’s really nice to be here!” So-hee almost squealed as the elevator nearly reach the 20th floor.

“You’re the only one who’s happy.” You crossed your arms, face didnt hold any emotion. The elevator finally opened and some empoyees entered inside while the two of you stepped out.

“Yes but still we need to be on guard. Let’s meet the CEO.”

Arriving at the CEO’s office, you were greeted by a middle-aged man wearing a casual leather jacket. He looked like he had already been expecting you and So-hee. He smiled and stood up, welcoming you both.

“Please, have a seat.” He gestured politely toward the empty couch, and you followed suit. “I won’t make this long, but I’m sure both of you already know why you’re here, yes?” the CEO asked, smiling expectantly.

So-hee, grinning like a little kid, was about to speak, but you beat her to it.

“Yes, we’ve heard about it. But if I may ask—how serious is this threat to her?” You cleared your throat, part of you still not wanting this at all. “So we know what to expect and what to do during the tour. Just for preparation.”

The CEO sighed heavily, a wary look crossing his face. “Let’s just say there are death threats directed at her every single day.” He shook his head. “As much as Jennie has a lot of fans, the haters are just as many. We even tell her not to stay online for too long.”

“That must be depressing for her,” So-hee said softly, feeling sympathy for someone receiving that kind of treatment. “I’m sorry…”

You glanced at So-hee, a small frown etched on your face. Even though it sounded serious, part of you still thought it would never reach the point where Jennie’s life would truly be in danger.

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be that bad.

Jennie must be capable of handling things like this, right? Surely the company had already warned them before they even became famous.

“We’ll do our best,” was all you could say as you nodded.

“I’ll assign you as her new manager. Originally, you were only meant to be her assistant, but Mrs. Kim wanted you close to her so you could report to her daily.” The CEO handed you a piece of paper. “This is Mrs. Kim’s phone number. I’ve heard your mother and hers were close, so she’s trusting you with her daughter’s life.”

You took the paper and stared at it for a moment before pulling out your phone and saving the number.

He spoke once more. “One last thing—be discreet. Do not let her know about this disguise. Jennie doesn’t know, and she doesn’t like special treatment.”

“Uh, sir…?” So-hee spoke up suddenly, making the CEO turn to her. “What about me? I was also, um, assigned to accompany Y/N.”

“Oh, you’ll be joining the security team,” he replied. “You’ll lead it, and just make sure the last incident doesn’t happen again.”

The CEO stood up and shook both of your hands, his eyes gentle and full of trust. Something about it made you nervous.

“I’ll trust Jennie’s safety to you.”

⸻

You glanced at the floor numbers on the elevator screen, and it felt like it was taking forever to reach the ground floor.

So-hee kept sighing beside you, her breathing starting to get on your nerves.

“What’s with that sigh? Are you hyperventilating or what?” you scoffed, pulling out your phone. You thought it would be best to send Mrs. Kim a message, just to let her know you were present for the job.

“Nothing. I’m just worried—and kind of sad—hearing what’s happening in Jennie’s life,” So-hee said as the elevator stayed stuck on the 15th floor. “No one deserves that. The world is cruel.”

You thought about it. Even if you didn’t know Jennie Kim personally, So-hee was right. It must be hard to wake up every day feeling like the world isn’t safe anymore.

You didn’t say anything. You just listened in silence as your phone vibrated with a message from Mrs. Kim.

You opened it and read:

Thank you for helping my Jennie. I would like you to report to me after every practice, performance, or event. Make sure you always walk her safely back to her hotel room. Your mother tells me you’re good at this job. I’ll trust you with that.

Your fingers tapped on the screen just as the elevator doors opened to the ground floor. You stepped out without looking up.

As you exited, your ears caught the sound of soft voices echoing through the hallway—gentle laughter and a small squeal.

You looked up just in time.

And collided with someone.

Your phone slipped from your hand as the person in front of you lost their balance. Instinct kicked in immediately.

You reached for her wrist while your other arm wrapped around her small waist, steadying her.

Finally, your eyes met hers.

Pretty eyes. A small nose. Lips parted in surprise.

She looked… familiar.

Your mind raced as realization hit.

“Oh—Jennie? Are you alright?”

You were still staring when you finally snapped back to your senses, quickly helping her stand properly. You glanced toward the voice that spoke—it belonged to a blonde girl standing beside two others.

“Y-yes, I am,” Jennie said with a nervous laugh, glancing at Rosé before straightening her clothes and looking back at you. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

So-hee nudged you, giving you that look—they’re BLACKPINK, and that’s your Jennie.

“It’s okay. I wasn’t looking either,” you replied with a polite smile, your eyes drifting to the phone lying on the floor.

Jennie followed your gaze, and just as you bent down to pick it up, she did the same.

Your fingers brushed against hers.

Your cheeks warmed—not because of the touch, but because your phone screen was still open, Mrs. Kim’s message clearly visible.

“Oh—sorry,” Jennie muttered, still picking up the phone and handing it to you with a small bow. “You dropped your phone.”

You forced yourself to act calm as you took it. “Thank you.” You dipped your head slightly and smiled again—just as you felt So-hee tug on your jacket.

Meanwhile, So-hee smiled at Jisoo, Lisa, and Rosé, who had been silently watching the entire scene.

“It was nice seeing you girls! But I’m sure we’ll meet again,” she chuckled, waving as she dragged you along. “See you tomorrow.”

You let So-hee pull you away.

The four girls watched the two of you disappear until you were out of the building. Jisoo was the first to laugh, followed by Rosé and Lisa.

“Okay, that was new, Jennie. You looked shocked,” Jisoo said. “Do you know her?”

“That looked like a scene from a drama where you bump into someone,” Rosé giggled, covering her mouth as Lisa nudged her playfully.

Jennie stared at them, amused, before answering.

“Well, I was surprised. Those are new faces here, and it’s a little weird because one of the staff told me I’d be getting a new manager,” Jennie sighed, checking her phone again.

“Well, she looks pretty,” Lisa commented as they pressed the elevator button again. “The one you bumped into. But who do you think is your new manager?”

Jennie raised an eyebrow at Lisa. Compliments from her were rare—but she wasn’t wrong.

“Maybe the other girl,” Rosé said as they entered the elevator. “The one with glasses. She doesn’t really give off manager vibes.”

“Oh, the villain look?” Jisoo joked, making the girls laugh. “I’d rather have her as my manager. I don’t want someone who looks like they could snap me in half just by staring.”

Jennie shook her head, listening to their chatter, but her thoughts drifted back to you.

Either you or the other girl would be her new manager.

And for some reason, Jennie found herself hoping she’d get along with whichever one it was.

[writersipsteasstuff]

I need a little motivation for the next chapter 🙂

[writersipsteasstuff]

“Stay Alive” Jennie x female reader

Summary: In a world destroyed by a deadly outbreak, you are captured by a mysterious and ruthless woman who keeps you locked away instead of killing you. She refuses to explain why she spared your life, only hinting that you are important to her plans. As the infected grow closer and your fear turns into determination, you begin to wonder... what is more terrifying: the monsters outside, or the woman who captured you?

Rating: M (mentions of violence, read at your own risk)

This story is inspired by The Last Of Us game and The Walking Dead!

—————————————————————————————-

Part 1: Captured

A year had passed since the day the world ended.

At least, that was your best guess.

The calendar on your phone had frozen on the date the cell towers went down, a useless reminder of a life that no longer existed. Time wasn't measured in days anymore. Only in heartbeats, in narrow escapes, in the quiet spaces between screams.

The city had changed its face.

Once-bright billboards now hung in tatters, flapping weakly in the wind like torn skin. Cars sat abandoned in the middle of the streets, doors still open, windows shattered. Grass pushed up through concrete in stubborn green fingers. Nature was taking its world back, slowly but surely, painting over humanity's last mistakes.

You moved through the alley with care, every sense sharpened to a razor's edge.

Rust coated the walls, dripping like dried blood. The stench of rot clung to the air, thick enough to taste. Somewhere in the distance, something groaned—long and wet and wrong. You held your breath, waiting. Listening.

Nothing else answered.

Your fingers tightened around the metal pipe you'd found weeks ago, your only companion other than the knife strapped to your thigh. It wasn't much, but it had saved your life more than once. The grip was familiar now. Comforting. The closest thing you had to safety.

At the end of the alley, an old convenience store leaned to one side, windows smashed, sign hanging crooked above the door. You hesitated. Places like this were either empty or death traps. Sometimes, they were both.

Still... hunger made choices for you now.

You slipped inside, stepping over broken glass and sagging shelves. The floor crunched beneath your boots. Your heart hammered at every sound. Sunlight filtered through the broken ceiling in pale beams, illuminating dust that floated like restless ghosts.

You scanned each aisle carefully. No movement. No shadows that didn't belong.

Your lungs loosened just a little.

Crouching, you began to rummage through a half-collapsed shelf. Empty chip bags. A crushed bottle. Then—something promising. A can, still sealed, hidden behind a pile of decayed cardboard. Your mouth went dry at the sight of it.

Food.

Real food.

You reached out—

Click.

The sound was soft. Almost delicate.

But in the world you lived in now, it was louder than a scream.

A cold line pressed against the back of your head.

Metal.

A gun.

"Don't move."

The voice was calm. Low. Controlled.

And somehow... painfully familiar.

Your entire body went still. Even your breathing seemed to freeze in your chest.

"Hands up. Slowly."

You obeyed, lifting them inch by inch, careful not to make a single sudden motion. Your pulse throbbed in your ears.

Behind you, the gun didn't tremble.

Whoever held it had done this before.

"Turn your head just enough so I can see your profile," the voice commanded.

You turned slightly, heart racing, trying to catch a glimpse. All you could see in the dusty reflection of a broken mirror was a figure cloaked in practicality—dark jacket, boots worn thin, gloves tight around the grip of a gun.

A mask covered the lower half of her face.

But her eyes...

They were sharp and searching, like blades in the dark. Unforgiving. Alive.

"Are you bitten?" she asked.

"No."

Her finger flexed slightly on the trigger.

"Don't lie to me."

"I'm not," you replied, your throat dry. "If I was, I wouldn't be standing here talking. I'd be trying to tear you apart."

There was a brief silence as she considered your words.

"You wouldn't be the first liar," she said.

"I don't doubt that."

Another pause. A slow exhale from her end of the gun.

Then, before you could react, she moved with lightning precision. A gloved hand grabbed your arm and twisted it behind your back, forcing you to stumble forward slightly.

"Hands stay there. Don't move," she ordered.

Before you could protest, she pulled a strip of rope from her jacket and tied your wrists tightly behind you. The gun never left your back, never wavered. You were practically her prisoner. Every inch of your body was under her control now, and it was clear she didn't trust anyone—not you, not anyone.

"This isn't optional," she warned. "People lie. People bite. People kill. I don't make exceptions."

You swallowed, your stomach knotting.

"Turn around."

Footsteps approached carefully, measured. She was light on her feet but deliberate. Trained.

A gloved hand tugged roughly at your tied wrists, exposing your arm. You felt her eyes scan your skin, searching every inch. Then your other arm. The side of your neck. Your shoulder.

"I work alone," she muttered. "But for now... you're coming with me."

You had no choice. She moved like a shadow, leading you through the ruined store and out into the streets. The distant groans of the infected echoed through the city, but her focus never wavered.

The mask hid her mouth, but the intensity in her eyes left no doubt: she didn't trust you, and she had no intention of letting you out of her sight.

Yet the familiarity of her presence scratched at your mind.

"You sound like I know you," you said without thinking.

Her eyes flicked up sharply.

"No, you don't."

The answer came too fast. Too defensive. A lie.

"You famous or something?" you murmured.

"No," she replied, already turning away, motioning for you to follow. "Stop talking. Move."

Outside, the street had shifted from silent to restless. Shapes shuffled at the far end of the block, drawn by sound, by instinct, by the scent of anything still breathing.

She moved beside you, gun raised and steady, leading the way through the corpse of the city like she'd memorized its veins.

You followed, heart racing for reasons that had nothing to do with the infected.

You still didn't know her name.

And she still didn't trust you.

Not even a little.

-*-

"Don't you think this is unfair?" you blurted out, breath uneven as you struggled to keep up with her relentless pace. "You took my metal pipe, you took my knife, and you even took my food. Come on—I've been traveling for days... weeks. I need to eat."

The rope burned into your wrists, tied tight behind your back. Your shoulders ached from the unnatural position. She walked beside you, her hand gripping the back of your jacket with iron strength, her other hand keeping the gun trained on you at all times, the barrel never wavering.

"I said stop talking," she snapped, her voice low and firm.

She shoved you forward.

You stumbled, boots scraping against cracked pavement, nearly losing your balance. A flash of irritation burned through you, momentarily drowning out your fear. You clenched your jaw and glanced back at her, but she responded by lifting the gun higher—aimed straight at your face now.

Your glare faded instantly.

A short, breathless chuckle escaped you despite yourself.

"Something funny?" she demanded, still forcing you forward, still barking directions as if you were nothing more than an animal on a leash.

"Yeah," you muttered, your jaw tightening. "Can't believe a little girl's pointing a gun at me like this."

Her reaction was immediate.

She kicked your foot out from under you with brutal precision. Pain shot up your leg as you crashed hard onto your knees. Before you could even gasp, cold metal pressed against your skull.

"What the fuck did you just say?" Her voice was ice. Deadly. "Do I look like I'm joking? I won't hesitate to pull the trigger if you keep running your mouth."

A groan slipped past your clenched teeth. Your foot throbbed, sharp and unforgiving. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, pain and fear tangling together in your chest.

Damn...it hit you then just how strong she was. Stronger than she looked. And that fear—raw and real—came rushing back. The gun against your head wasn't for show. In this world, a trigger pull was just another sound in the silence.

"Please," you breathed out, voice cracking despite your pride. "I'm just... I'm fucking hungry, okay? I'm just like you, trying to survive this shit."

Slowly, she crouched down in front of you.

Up close, her eyes were unmistakable—dark brown, sharp, unyielding. They searched your face as if looking for a reason to hate you more. To kill you. To be done with you. There was no softness in them. Only suspicion. Hatred. Survival.

"I don't trust you," she said flatly.

The muzzle of her gun tilted up, gently lifting your chin so you were forced to meet her gaze.

"If you keep your mouth shut," she continued, "I might let you eat."

Her eyes narrowed.

"But say one more unnecessary word... and I'll feed you to the runners myself."

She hauled you forward, the rope biting into your wrists as she guided you through the skeletal streets. Every step was careful, deliberate—the way someone who had survived this long moved: quiet, precise, aware of every shadow and every sound. You stumbled once, but she pressed the barrel of her gun into the small of your back, and you straightened immediately.

The city had gone quiet. Too quiet. Broken streetlights flickered weakly, and the wind carried the smell of rot and decay. Occasionally, distant groans cut through the silence, echoing off ruined buildings like a grim reminder that the dead were never far behind.

You followed her, trusting the rhythm of her movements more than your own instincts. You wanted to complain, to beg, to demand answers, but the weight of the gun and the rope reminded you: this wasn't your world anymore. Survival wasn't about pride—it was about breathing another day.

Finally, she stopped at the entrance to a tall, crumbling building. Its windows were shattered, the walls streaked with mold and soot, but it was solid. It smelled faintly of ash and damp wood. She pressed you against it, her gun scanning the street behind you before she moved inside.

"Stay close. Don't make a sound," she ordered. Her voice was calm but firm, the kind of control only someone who had survived alone this long could have.

Inside, the air was different—cooler, still, almost eerily quiet. Sunlight streamed through the gaping holes in the ceiling, illuminating dust motes that floated lazily above the rubble. The hallway was littered with debris—broken chairs, tattered clothes, remnants of a world long gone—but there were no groans, no shuffle of infected yet.

She moved quickly, leading you past rooms she had cleared meticulously. Bullet holes lined the walls, and the faint smell of old blood lingered. You noticed the signs of her fights—scratches in the wood, remnants of barricades, dried stains that spoke of runners and clickers she had dispatched herself. She had turned this abandoned building into a fortress. A sanctuary.

"You're going to stay here for now," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I'll feed you if you behave. Don't try anything stupid, or I swear, you won't last a day outside this room."

She guided you into a small space at the back—a former office, stripped bare, barricaded with furniture and boards. It was surprisingly secure, the only light coming from cracks where boards didn't fully meet. She shoved you down onto the floor, crouched in front of you, and untied your wrists—only to bind your upper body again, this time securing you in a way that made escape nearly impossible.

"Consider this a courtesy," she said, her eyes scanning your face again. Dark brown, sharp, assessing. "You're under my protection as long as you follow the rules. One mistake, one wrong move, and you're as good as dead."

You could only stare at the ceiling, closing your eyes for a moment. If you could turn back time, you'd never went to that store. Hunger and exhaustion gnawed at your belly, but fear kept your voice down. You wanted to ask questions, to figure out who she was—but the way she moved, the way she fought, the way she survived, told you it was better to remain quiet.

She stepped back, surveying the room with the practiced caution of someone who had survived alone for too long. Every corner, every shadow, every sound was accounted for in her mind.

Finally, she muttered, almost to herself, "This is the only place I trust... the only place I'm safe." She then glanced at you, "Consider yourself lucky that I found you."

And for the first time, you realized: this woman—this fierce, dangerous stranger—had carved out a life in the ruins of the world, a sanctuary built on blood, fear, and survival. Somehow, inexplicably, she had chosen to let you step inside it.

But why? If she wanted, she could kill you now and be done with it.

Somehow, you found yourself looking at her warily, your own trust fraying. For now, you were trapped within her fortress—a prisoner of necessity, tied to her rules and her mercy.

Outside, the world roared and groaned. Inside, the room held a fragile, tense stillness. For now, that was enough.

-*-

You didn't know when you had fallen asleep. Perhaps it was the sheer exhaustion—a sudden, deep surrender as your body finally gave up the fight. Or perhaps it was the unfamiliar luxury of feeling truly safe for the first time in memory. Whatever this woman had done, the relief of a secured fortress was beyond amazing. You'd never known such stability, always ending up sleeping wherever you could manage, always vigilant, but never with an actual place to stay.

A slow, heavy shift stirred you from your sleep. Though still mired in weariness, the first sound that registered was a subtle, metallic rattling—the distinct sound of chains. Then, an unsettling weight settled on your feet. Simultaneously, a delicious, savory aroma of cooking food wafted into the room.

Your eyes snapped open, and you jolted upright, your heart immediately hammering against your ribs. The very woman who had captured you was knelt before you, securing a heavy chain to your ankle.

Where did she even find that?

"Wake up," she commanded, her voice low. She arched a brow at your wide-eyed, frightened-puppy expression, then shook her head dismissively. She rose and walked around you, her movements deliberate. Slowly, with a palpable pause of hesitation, she reached out and untied the ropes binding your torso.

Once free, you let out a deep, shaky breath of relief, immediately rotating your shoulders and massaging your tired, sore arms.

"Are you hungry?" she asked. You looked at her; her face was still obscured by the half-mask she wore.

"Yes, but how do I know you didn't poison it while I was asleep?"

"If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you in your sleep," she countered flatly.

"Fair point," you conceded, "but what if you want me to suffer slowly?"

You could practically feel the ridiculous irritation radiating from her eyes. She didn't bother to reply, instead turning her attention to the small can of beans she had just cooked. She was a lucky woman; she'd clearly managed to loot a functional camping butane burner.

"Go ahead and starve," she said, scooping up a spoonful. "I don't care. I'm eating."

-*-

You still couldn't let your guard down around this woman. She was a mystery. Even though she kept feeding you and, in her own strange way, showed hints of kindness, you could never forget that she had pointed a gun at you, kidnapped you, and even kicked your foot.

She was a complete enigma. You didn't know what her plan was, why she was keeping you alive, what her motive might be—what she truly wanted.

All you had ever wanted was to live on your own, to survive in this broken world until the day you finally chose to die.

And then, out of nowhere, this woman appeared... and took you.

Not that you couldn't fight back. You were good at it. You had killed several runners and clickers—and even a bloater. Those infected were far from easy to defeat, but you had survived them all.

You could plan an escape, apply everything you had learned just to stay alive in this hell of a world. But this woman... there was something about her that felt familiar.

As if you had seen her before.

If only she wasn't covering her damn face with that mask.

You watched her in silence as she organized the supplies laid out in front of you.

"Why are you keeping me in here?" you asked, your eyes tracking her every movement, waiting—hoping—for an answer.

But the woman ignored your question as if she hadn't heard a thing.

Your jaw clenched. Her silence was more infuriating than any words could have been.

"Hey. I'm talking to you. I don't know what your plan is, but I don't fucking care. Let me go. I need to leave." Your voice rose with frustration. You glared at her, your hands tightening behind your back. "Woman, I said I need to go—"

Then it happened again.

With one swift motion, she lifted her gun and clicked off the safety.

Click.

She walked toward you, slow and deliberate, before kneeling in front of you and pressing the barrel to your forehead.

"Go on," you taunted, forcing yourself to meet her fierce gaze. "Kill me. The world is dying anyway—so just do it."

"No." Her voice was calm, chillingly so, as she pressed the gun more firmly against your skin. "I need you alive. You're going to do something important for me. Soon enough, you'll understand why I'm keeping you here." She stood up and lowered the weapon, still watching you with those same unfathomable eyes.

"What makes you think I'm going to follow your orders—"

Your words were cut off by the deafening crack of a gunshot as she fired the weapon beside your head.

You flinched violently, a startled yelp tearing from your throat as fear seized your body. Your ears rang, the sound echoing inside your skull. Panic rushed through you—what if the infected heard that? What if they were already on their way?

"Because you will," she said coldly, retrieving her gun. "You will do what I say, or I will kill you in the most brutal way possible. If you wanted to die, you should never have tried to survive in the first place."

She gave you one last look, then gathered her things and walked toward the door.

A moment later, there was a sharp click as it locked behind her.

You swallowed hard, your breathing shallow, heart pounding violently in your chest. Footsteps faded away down the hall... and then—

Silence.

[w1w2]

Number One Girl

Part 2 of Stay A Little Longer

Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 10k

Synopsis: Two years after their painful breakup, Y/N and Roseanne cross paths again, reigniting unresolved emotions and a love they thought was lost.

Rosé - number one girl "Your one and only So what's it gon' take for you to want me?"

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

October arrived with a crisp chill, painting Seoul in hues of amber and gold. Y/N sat on the edge of her sofa, nursing a warm cup of tea as the sun dipped below the skyline, its fading light spilling into her apartment. The room exuded quiet comfort, the kind of space carefully curated to feel like home, but even its warmth couldn’t banish the faint ache in her chest.

Two years had passed since she packed her life into boxes and walked away from the only person who had ever truly known her. Yet, the memory of Roseanne lingered like a bittersweet melody, refusing to fade completely.

Y/N traced the rim of her mug absently, her gaze fixed on the framed photograph sitting on the bookshelf across the room. It was one of the few relics she hadn’t packed away after their breakup. The image was of Hank, Rosie’s dog, sitting between them on a bright summer day. Their smiles in the picture were carefree, unguarded. It hurt to look at it, but she couldn’t bring herself to hide it away.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, jolting her from her thoughts. She reached for it, her brows furrowing as a flood of notifications lit up the screen.

“Rosé’s New Single Featuring Bruno Mars Takes Charts by Storm!”

“Party Anthem of the Year: Rosé Dominates with Latest Release!”

Y/N clicked on one of the headlines almost reflexively. A glossy photo of Roseanne lit up the screen, her radiant smile and confident aura commanding attention. The article praised her electrifying performance and the catchy hook of her new single, calling it a global sensation. Y/N’s lips quirked into a faint smile despite herself. She could almost hear Rosie’s voice, layered over the infectious beat, as she read the glowing reviews.

Scrolling further, she found a video clip of an interview. Against her better judgment, she pressed play. Roseanne appeared on screen, her blonde hair falling in effortless waves around her face. She looked poised but carried a familiar warmth in her demeanor as she talked about the creative process behind the song.

“It’s a little different from what I’ve done before,” Roseanne admitted with a laugh. “But I wanted something fun, something that made people want to move.”

The sight of her, so vibrant, so magnetic, sent a pang through Y/N’s chest. She set the phone down, staring at the floor as memories stirred unbidden.

The nights spent in their tiny apartment came rushing back. Roseanne perched on the couch with her guitar, the melody of an unfinished song drifting through the room, Y/N’s attempts to distract her with jokes, or bribe her with takeout when the creative process ran long. The way Rosie’s laughter would fill the space, a sound Y/N once thought she could never live without.

Her chest tightened. She shook her head, willing the memories away. What was the point of dwelling on a past she couldn’t change?

The shrill ring of her phone cut through her thoughts. She glanced at the screen. Jennie.

Y/N hesitated for a moment before answering. “Hey, Jen.”

“Hey, stranger,” Jennie’s familiar voice chimed on the other end, cheerful and warm. The sound was a welcome break in Y/N’s otherwise quiet evening, and she couldn’t help but smile faintly. “Don’t tell me you’re working late again.”

“I’m not,” Y/N replied, sinking further into the couch and tucking her legs beneath her. “Just… having a quiet evening.”

Jennie hummed knowingly, a playful lilt in her voice. “You? Quiet evening? That’s code for sulking alone with Netflix and takeout, isn’t it?”

Y/N huffed a small laugh, shaking her head. “You caught me. Minus the takeout.”

“Well, I’ve got the perfect way to change that,” Jennie declared. There was a note of triumph in her tone, as if she had been planning this all along. “I’m hosting a little gathering this weekend at my house. Just a small thing with close friends. Good food, good drinks, no pressure.”

Y/N leaned her head against the back of the couch, letting the words sink in. She could already picture Jennie in her kitchen, effortlessly juggling appetizers and cocktails while effortlessly charming everyone in the room. The image was comforting, but the idea of being around people again still gave her pause.

“I don’t know, Jennie,” she said hesitantly, her voice soft. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone to something like that.”

“That’s exactly why you should come,” Jennie pressed, her voice dropping into that persuasive tone Y/N knew too well. “You’ve been holed up for way too long. Besides, it’s not a big party or anything. Just us, close friends, no drama, no stress. You’ll have fun, I promise.”

Y/N bit her lip, toying with the edge of the blanket draped over her lap. She knew Jennie meant well, and a part of her did want to go. It had been too long since she’d seen Jennie, too long since she’d let herself just… exist in the company of others.

After the breakup, Jennie had been a lifeline. She was the one who dragged Y/N out of bed on her worst days, who sent random memes to make her laugh, who showed up with coffee and snacks when Y/N needed them most. Jennie had been one of the few constants in Y/N’s life when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

Y/N sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Alright,” she said finally. “I’ll come.”

“Yes!” Jennie’s excited cheer was so loud that Y/N had to pull the phone away from her ear. “I promise you won’t regret it. And dress cute, I know you’ve been living in sweatpants, but this is a chance to remind everyone how amazing you are. Got it?”

“Got it,” Y/N replied, laughing softly at Jennie’s relentless enthusiasm.

“Great! I’ll text you the details. See you then!”

The call ended with a click, leaving Y/N staring at her phone. For the first time in what felt like ages, a flicker of anticipation broke through the lingering melancholy that had become her constant companion. She set the phone down and leaned back against the cushions, her mind already racing with thoughts about the weekend.

She trusted Jennie to keep things relaxed, to make the evening as effortless as she had promised. And though Y/N was apprehensive about stepping out of her cocoon of solitude, she also felt a small, hopeful spark at the idea of reconnecting with old friends.

What Y/N didn’t know, what Jennie hadn’t mentioned, was that Roseanne would also be there.

Jennie’s villa stood like a beacon of modern luxury in the heart of UN Village, its large windows spilling warm golden light into the cool October evening. Y/N approached the entrance with hesitant steps, adjusting the sleeves of her suit jacket. The outfit was simple yet striking, a fitted, single-button blazer in a deep charcoal gray paired with cropped trousers and a soft cream blouse left casually untucked at one side. Her choice of white sneakers added a laid-back edge, balancing the look between casual and elegant.

She paused to smooth her hair, inhaling deeply before stepping up to the door. The crisp evening air carried faint hints of autumn leaves and laughter from inside, a stark contrast to the quiet she had grown used to.

Jennie greeted her the moment she stepped inside, her sharp eyes immediately sweeping over Y/N with an approving smile. “Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence!”

Y/N rolled her eyes lightly but couldn’t help smiling. “You act like I’m impossible to get a hold of.”

“You practically are,” Jennie teased, pulling her into a warm hug. As she stepped back, her gaze lingered appreciatively. “But seriously, you look amazing. Who knew you could make a suit look that good?”

A flush crept up Y/N’s neck, and she laughed softly. “Just trying something different.”

“Well, keep doing it,” Jennie said with a grin, looping her arm through Y/N’s. “Now, come on. I have to show you off, and make sure you grab a drink before the others steal all my attention.”

The villa was alive with energy. Guests filled the spacious living room and spilled out onto the terrace, where a fire pit crackled beneath the night sky. Soft jazz played in the background, mingling with the sound of glasses clinking and cheerful chatter. Y/N recognized several familiar faces: Irene and Seulgi of Red Velvet chatting by the bar, Nayeon and Jihyo from Twice laughing over drinks, and the unmistakable presence of actress Hoyeon Jung, effortlessly stunning in a tailored suit.

Jennie guided her through the crowd, expertly navigating the lively buzz of the gathering. With each stop, she introduced Y/N to a mix of familiar faces and new ones, her effortless charm putting everyone at ease. “Help yourself to anything,” Jennie said after a brief introduction to an indie actor Y/N vaguely recognized. She gestured toward the lavish spread of food and drinks set up in the dining area. “Seriously, make yourself at home, okay? No standing awkwardly in corners allowed.”

Y/N chuckled and nodded, appreciating Jennie’s genuine warmth and the gentle nudge. But even as she made her way to the long table laden with delicate appetizers and sparkling drinks, the faint unease in her chest refused to dissipate.

The villa was alive with conversation and laughter, the atmosphere light and inviting. Yet, as Y/N reached for a glass of wine, her fingers brushed against the stem awkwardly, betraying the nervous energy she was trying to suppress. She scanned the room, the elegant furnishings and glimmering lights blending into a soft blur of activity.

She tried to shake it off, telling herself it was just the unfamiliarity of being around so many people again. But deep down, she knew it was more than that.

After browsing the appetizers, choosing a small plate more for something to do than actual hunger, Y/N slipped toward the terrace doors. The cool glass felt grounding beneath her fingertips as she stepped just shy of the threshold, a glass of wine in hand. She watched the guests gathered outside, their laughter rising against the backdrop of the flickering fire pit. The golden light danced over their faces, casting warm, moving shadows.

The open air and soft hum of conversation were comforting. She exhaled slowly, letting her shoulders relax for the first time that evening. Maybe Jennie was right. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.

Her mind began to drift as she sipped her wine. Flashes of memories bubbled up, late nights spent laughing in another cozy setting, another warm space filled with music and quiet intimacy. Y/N quickly shook the thoughts away, focusing instead on the present, the firelight, the soft glow of fairy lights strung along the terrace railing.

She was just beginning to let the tension melt when it happened, a subtle shift in the energy of the room.

It was almost imperceptible at first, like the faintest ripple in still water. A hushed pause in conversations, a collective glance toward the entryway. And then Y/N felt it, the unmistakable pull of a presence she had spent two years trying to forget.

Roseanne had arrived.

The air seemed to hum with her arrival, her presence magnetic even in a room full of stars. Dressed in an effortlessly chic ensemble, a fitted black turtleneck paired with a high-waisted silk skirt that shimmered faintly in the light, she carried herself with quiet confidence. Her blonde waves framed her face perfectly, and the soft glow of the villa’s lights highlighted the delicate contours of her features.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as their eyes met across the room.

The world seemed to narrow in that moment, all noise fading into a distant hum. Roseanne’s polite smile faltered, just briefly, as her gaze locked with Y/N’s. Her almond-shaped eyes held a mixture of emotions Y/N couldn’t quite place, surprise, maybe even longing.

Y/N’s grip tightened around her glass, her pulse quickening. She turned her attention back to the terrace, feigning interest in the view, but her heart raced in her chest. The ease she had begun to feel moments ago evaporated, replaced by the familiar ache she had been trying to bury.

Jennie greeted Roseanne warmly, pulling her into a brief hug before steering her toward the group by the bar. Y/N could feel her presence even from a distance, the hum of tension now impossible to ignore.

She took a steadying sip of her wine, willing herself to stay calm. This was just a coincidence, she told herself. A moment she could navigate with poise, no matter what emotions it stirred within her.

But as she turned her gaze back toward the room, the weight of Roseanne’s arrival lingered, like a chord unresolved.

“Y/N,” Irene called from nearby, her warm voice cutting through the haze of Y/N’s thoughts. “Come join us!”

Y/N blinked, jolted out of her daze. She turned to see Irene standing with few others by the bar, her hand raised in a beckoning gesture. Grateful for the distraction, Y/N forced a smile and made her way over, her steps steady despite the nervous energy swirling within her.

“Thought you were going to hide by the terrace all night,” Irene teased as Y/N approached.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Y/N replied with a soft laugh, raising her glass in mock defense.

Seulgi grinned, her relaxed demeanor immediately putting Y/N at ease. “Jennie would drag you back if you tried.”

“That sounds about right,” Y/N said, the corners of her mouth lifting slightly.

The group’s conversation flowed easily, a mix of lighthearted jokes and anecdotes. Irene shared a funny story about an ill-timed wardrobe malfunction during a recent performance, drawing laughter from everyone, including Y/N. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to relax, letting the warmth of the group’s camaraderie wash over her.

But no matter how much she tried to stay present, her focus kept straying back to Roseanne.

She was across the room now, standing near Jennie and Hoyeon. The soft rise and fall of her laughter floated over the hum of conversations, faint but unmistakable. Y/N’s eyes found her almost instinctively, tracing the graceful way Roseanne gestured with her hands as she spoke, the subtle tilt of her head when she listened.

Roseanne’s smile, polite and poised, reminded Y/N of countless moments they had shared, from quiet nights on their couch to bursts of laughter over shared inside jokes. It was a smile that had once belonged solely to Y/N, and the ache of seeing it from a distance now was almost too much to bear.

“Earth to Y/N,” Irene’s voice cut in, her tone amused.

Y/N startled slightly, realizing Irene’s sharp gaze was fixed on her. “Sorry, what?”

Seulgi smirked knowingly, glancing in the direction Y/N had been looking. “You’ve been quiet. Not like you.”

“I’m just… tired,” Y/N lied, taking a sip of her wine to mask her unease.

“Right,” Irene said, her tone suggesting she didn’t believe a word of it. But she didn’t push, instead steering the conversation back toward lighter topics.

As the group dissolved into another round of jokes, Y/N laughed along, though the sound felt hollow in her chest. Her gaze drifted back toward Roseanne again, unbidden, and she caught a fleeting moment where their eyes met across the room. Roseanne’s expression softened, a flicker of something Y/N couldn’t quite name crossing her features before she turned back to Jennie.

Y/N tore her gaze away, her pulse quickening. She could feel the weight of her unresolved emotions settling over her like a heavy blanket. No amount of light conversation or laughter could dull it, no matter how much she tried.

Their first exchange of the evening came unexpectedly. Y/N was returning from the kitchen with a glass of water, her fingers cool against the condensation on the glass, when she turned a corner and nearly collided with someone.

“Sorry—” she began instinctively, but the words caught in her throat as she looked up.

It was Roseanne.

Y/N’s breath hitched as her eyes met Roseanne’s, a rush of familiarity crashing over her like a wave. Roseanne stood close, too close, her floral perfume filling the small space between them. It was the same scent Y/N remembered from countless quiet mornings and shared embraces, stirring memories she had worked so hard to bury.

“Hey,” Roseanne said quietly, her voice low and tentative.

The single syllable felt like a thread pulling at Y/N’s carefully stitched-together composure. “Hi,” she managed, though her pulse quickened as if her body had yet to catch up with her calm tone.

For a moment, they simply stood there, caught in a silent bubble that felt removed from the laughter and music echoing through the villa. The air between them was charged, thick with unspoken words and emotions that neither seemed ready to voice.

Roseanne’s eyes softened, something unreadable flickering across her features as she looked at Y/N. There was a tension in her expression, a hesitance that belied the confidence she carried so effortlessly in front of others.

“You look…” Roseanne began, pausing briefly as if searching for the right words. “Good.” Her tone was careful, almost fragile, as though testing the waters of an unfamiliar sea.

Y/N’s lips curved into a faint smile, though her grip on the glass in her hand tightened. “Thanks. You too,” she replied, her voice quieter than she intended.

Roseanne’s gaze lingered for a moment longer before flicking to the glass in Y/N’s hand. She shifted slightly, stepping back enough to give Y/N space to pass. The sound of laughter from the living room spilled into the hallway, breaking the fragile stillness between them.

Y/N hesitated, her feet rooted to the spot for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. She wanted to say something, anything, to fill the silence. But her mind was a jumble of racing thoughts and emotions she couldn’t untangle.

Roseanne broke the moment with a small, almost shy smile. “It’s… good to see you.”

The words hit Y/N harder than she expected, a bittersweet pang settling in her chest. She nodded, her own smile faint. “You too.”

And then it was over.

Y/N stepped past her, her footsteps steady but her heart pounding in disarray. She didn’t dare look back, but she felt Roseanne’s gaze on her as she walked away, a weight she couldn’t ignore.

As she reentered the lively atmosphere of the living room, the hum of conversation and music felt distant, muffled against the storm brewing inside her. The brief exchange played over and over in her mind, a kaleidoscope of emotions she couldn’t sort through.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of half-hearted conversations and stolen glances. Y/N noticed Jennie watching them once or twice, her sharp eyes flicking between the two women with a knowing look. But Jennie said nothing, choosing instead to redirect attention when the tension threatened to become too obvious.

As the party began to wind down, Y/N found herself retreating to one of the smaller sitting rooms at the back of the villa. The cozy space was a stark contrast to the lively atmosphere outside, its dim lighting and soft furnishings offering a quiet reprieve from the noise and energy of the gathering.

She sank into a plush armchair by the window, her gaze drawn to the garden bathed in moonlight. The soft glow illuminated the neat rows of hedges and the faint silhouettes of flowers swaying gently in the night breeze. She tried to let the stillness calm her, but the ache in her chest refused to fade.

Her thoughts spiraled, unbidden and relentless, back to Roseanne. The way her eyes had softened when they met, the faint hesitance in her voice, the magnetic pull that made it impossible for Y/N to ignore her presence. Even now, two years later, Roseanne had a way of unraveling her carefully constructed defenses with nothing more than a glance.

The soft creak of the door opening broke her reverie. Y/N turned, her breath hitching as Roseanne stepped inside, her movements slow and hesitant, as though unsure of her welcome.

“Mind if I join you?” Roseanne asked, her voice barely above a whisper, fragile yet filled with something unmistakably raw.

Y/N hesitated, her chest tightening as a torrent of emotions surged within her. She wanted to say no, to shield herself from the vulnerability that Roseanne always seemed to bring out in her. But instead, she nodded.

Roseanne crossed the room, her steps tentative, and took the seat opposite Y/N. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick, stretching between them like a chasm filled with all the words they had never said, all the emotions they had left unresolved.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Roseanne said finally, her hands resting nervously on her lap. Her gaze lingered on her fingers, which fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, betraying her unease.

“Neither was I,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft but steady.

The corner of Roseanne’s mouth twitched, a faint, humorless smile. “Jennie invited me. I almost didn’t come.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering through her guarded expression. “Why?”

Roseanne looked up, her eyes shimmering with vulnerability. Her voice, when she spoke, was barely audible. “Because I wasn’t sure I could handle seeing you.”

The raw honesty of her words hit Y/N like a blow, her breath catching in her throat. She looked down at her hands, which were clasped tightly in her lap, and swallowed hard. “Rosie…” she began, but the words faltered. She didn’t know what to say.

Roseanne leaned back slightly, her gaze distant. “I thought it would get easier,” she said quietly. “You know… being apart. But it hasn’t. Not for me.”

The confession sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing over Y/N. She felt her chest tighten, her heart pounding in a chaotic rhythm as she grappled with her feelings. For two years, she had tried to convince herself that moving on was the right thing, that their love had been too fractured to fix. And yet, sitting here now, facing the woman she had never truly stopped loving, those justifications felt hollow.

“I miss you,” Roseanne said suddenly, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her words. They hung in the air between them, sharp and piercing, cutting through the layers of silence and unresolved tension.

Y/N’s breath hitched. She had imagined this moment countless times, wondering what it would feel like to hear those words again. But now that they were here, she felt unmoored, adrift in a sea of conflicting emotions.

“I—” she began, her voice trembling. She looked away, her gaze fixed on the window. The garden beyond blurred into a hazy smear of moonlight and shadow.

“I’m not saying it to make things harder,” Roseanne continued, her voice soft but firm. “I just… needed you to know. Even if it doesn’t change anything.”

Y/N closed her eyes, her chest aching as the weight of Roseanne’s words settled over her. Memories flooded her mind, of quiet nights spent wrapped in each other’s arms, of shared laughter, of whispered promises that had once felt unbreakable. She forced herself to speak, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Rosie, I…” she trailed off, shaking her head. Her fingers gripped the arms of the chair, as if anchoring herself. “I don’t know what to say.”

Roseanne nodded slowly, her lips curving into a sad, resigned smile. “You don’t have to say anything.”

The silence that followed was deafening, filled with the unspoken weight of their shared history. Y/N’s mind raced with everything she wanted to say but couldn’t, words of longing, regret, and a love that refused to fade no matter how hard she tried to let go.

Finally, Y/N stood, her movements deliberate but heavy. “I should get back to the party,” she said quietly, the words feeling like a lie even as she said them.

Roseanne’s expression fell, her hands tightening briefly in her lap before she nodded. Her voice was small, almost broken, as she replied, “Yeah. Of course.”

Y/N hesitated, lingering for a moment longer than she should have. She wanted to reach out, to touch Roseanne’s hand, to say something that might ease the ache in both their hearts. But the weight of the past, the wounds they had inflicted on each other, kept her rooted in place.

As she turned and left the room, her chest ached with the weight of what had just transpired. The conversation played over in her mind, raw and unresolved, as she rejoined the others. Her steps felt heavier with each stride, as though she were walking away from more than just the room.

And behind her, Roseanne sat alone, her gaze fixed on the empty chair Y/N had left behind.

November brought with it the icy chill of Seoul’s late autumn, the sharp air cutting through Y/N’s layers as she returned home one evening. She had spent the day busying herself with errands and work, the usual distractions that helped her keep her thoughts at bay. But as she set her keys down on the kitchen counter, her phone buzzed on the table, breaking the silence.

Her brow furrowed as she glanced at the screen, an unfamiliar number lighting up the notification. Hesitantly, she picked up the phone and opened the message.

“Hi, Y/N. It’s Roseanne. I’ve been battling myself since the party, wondering if I should send you this. But I just released a new song, and I wrote it thinking of you. It says everything I wish I could say to you.”

A link was attached to the text. Y/N stared at the message, her heart thundering in her chest. Her mind raced, a thousand thoughts swirling as she debated what to do.

Her finger hovered over the link, the urge to ignore it battling with her insatiable curiosity. After a moment that felt like an eternity, she tapped it, the familiar interface of her music app opening.

The title stared back at her ‘Number One Girl’

Y/N pressed play, the first delicate notes filling the quiet room. The melody was hauntingly beautiful, wrapping around her like an embrace she wasn’t sure she could accept. Her chest tightened as the vulnerability in the music seeped into her.

And then Roseanne’s voice broke through, achingly familiar, raw, and heartbreakingly sincere.

“Tell me that I’m special, tell me I look pretty Tell me I’m a little angel, sweetheart of your city Say what I’m dying to hear, ‘Cause I’m dying to hear you”

The first line hit like a whisper of the past, bringing with it an ache so profound that Y/N almost couldn’t breathe. Her breath caught in her throat, her fingers trembling as she set her phone down on the table, afraid that holding it might somehow shatter her already fragile composure.

Each word unfolded like a confession, pulling at the threads of emotions she had spent two years trying to suppress. Y/N blinked rapidly, her vision blurring as her heart began to pound in her chest.

And then the chorus rose, swelling with a desperation that mirrored the turmoil inside her. “Isn’t it lonely? I’d do anything to make you want me I’d give it all up if you told me that I’d be The number one girl in your eyes”

The room seemed to tilt, the raw longing in Roseanne’s voice cutting through Y/N like a blade. She closed her eyes, gripping the edge of the table for support as waves of emotions crashed over her.

Memories surged, vivid and unrelenting.

She saw Roseanne standing in their kitchen, her hair tied back in a loose bun, laughing as she tried and failed to flip a pancake. She felt the warmth of Roseanne’s hands cupping her cheeks, the softness of her whispered reassurances on nights when Y/N doubted herself. She heard their shared laughter, the sound ringing in her ears like a melody she thought she’d forgotten.

But just as quickly, the memories turned darker, cutting deeper. She remembered the arguments, the way Roseanne’s voice would crack with frustration, and the empty space on the couch between them that seemed to grow wider with each passing day.

The next verse hit with a different intensity, each line unraveling another thread of Y/N’s carefully constructed resolve. “Tell me that you need me, tell me that I’m loved Tell me that I’m worth it, and that I’m enough”

Y/N’s fingers trembled against the table, her vision swimming with tears. Roseanne’s words felt like a mirror to everything she had longed to hear during their relationship, the words that could have bridged the growing distance between them but had always remained unspoken.

Her chest ached as she let the lyrics wash over her. The raw yearning in Roseanne’s voice wasn’t just an echo of the past. It was a reflection of Y/N’s own buried feelings, the ones she had been too scared to admit even to herself.

“I need it and I don’t know why This late at night”

A sob broke free from her chest, unbidden and raw. She pressed a hand to her mouth, as if to stifle the sound, but it was no use. Her tears fell freely now, each lyric prying open the wounds she had tried so desperately to heal.

The vulnerability in Roseanne’s voice was overwhelming. It wasn’t just a song. It was a plea, a confession, a love letter written in melodies and aching words. Y/N’s heart twisted painfully, caught between the sweetness of what they had shared and the bitterness of what they had lost.

By the time the bridge arrived, Roseanne’s voice softened into a near whisper, as if speaking directly to Y/N. “The girl in your eyes, the girl in your eyes Tell me I’m the number one girl I’m the number one girl in your eyes…”

Y/N clutched at her chest, the weight of the lyrics pressing down on her until it felt like she might break apart. The words echoed in her mind, intertwining with the memory of Roseanne’s gaze at the party, the vulnerability in her eyes, the quiet longing in her voice when she had said, “I miss you.”

As the final note faded, the silence that followed felt deafening. Y/N sat motionless, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breath. Her phone screen dimmed, leaving the room bathed in a faint glow, but the echoes of Roseanne’s voice lingered like a ghost, haunting and inescapable.

The lyrics repeated in her mind, intertwining with the memories she thought she had buried. “I’d give it all up if you told me that I’d be the number one girl in your eyes”

It was too much. The dam of emotions she had held back for so long had finally burst, and Y/N found herself sobbing into her hands, her tears falling hot and fast. Roseanne’s words, her voice, her love, they had stripped away every wall Y/N had built, leaving her raw and exposed.

Y/N stared at her phone, her chest heaving as she tried to steady her breath. Roseanne’s message replayed in her mind “I wrote it for you. It says everything I wish I could say to you.”

A part of her wanted to ignore it, to leave the song and the emotions it stirred behind. But the truth was undeniable, she couldn’t escape the feelings she had buried, the love she had tried so hard to let go of.

She stood abruptly, pacing the length of her kitchen as her thoughts raced. Her pulse thundered in her ears, her mind replaying Roseanne’s voice over and over. She thought of the party a month ago, the way Roseanne had looked at her, the quiet vulnerability in her words.

Y/N stopped pacing, her breath uneven as she gripped her phone tightly. Her heart pounded in her chest, the echoes of Roseanne’s voice still ringing in her ears. She couldn’t avoid this anymore. She didn’t want to.

Her thumb hovered over her screen, trembling as she scrolled through her contacts. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, and for a moment, she hesitated, her finger pausing over Jennie’s name. What would she even say? The weight of everything she was feeling threatened to pull her under, but the thought of letting this moment slip away was unbearable.

She pressed the call button before she could talk herself out of it. The line rang twice, each chime a painful reminder of the enormity of what she was about to do.

Jennie’s voice came through, warm and tinged with curiosity. “Y/N? What’s going on?”

Y/N exhaled shakily, her words spilling out in a rush before she could second-guess them. “I need Roseanne’s address.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, the kind that felt heavy with unspoken questions. Jennie’s voice softened when she spoke again, now laced with concern. “Wait… What? Y/N, are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Y/N admitted, her voice cracking as the vulnerability she’d been holding back spilled over. She ran a hand through her hair, the motion almost frantic as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. “I just… I need to see her, Jennie. Please.”

The words hung in the air, raw and desperate. Y/N’s chest ached with the weight of them, as if saying them aloud had made her emotions even more real.

Jennie sighed on the other end, her usual playfulness absent. Instead, her tone was calm, understanding. “Alright,” she said gently, her words like a lifeline. “Give me a minute, and I’ll send it to you.”

The line went dead, leaving Y/N alone in the silence of her apartment once more. She lowered the phone, her fingers trembling as she stared at it. A mix of fear and anticipation churned in her stomach. What would Roseanne say? Would she even want to see her?

A soft chime broke her thoughts, signaling Jennie’s text. The notification lit up her screen, and there it was. Roseanne’s address. Y/N stared at it for a moment, her heart pounding so loudly it drowned out everything else.

She didn’t hesitate. The moment her resolve solidified, she grabbed her coat and keys from the counter. Her movements were hurried but deliberate, each step toward the door feeling like a step closer to something she couldn’t let slip away.

As she reached for the doorknob, a million thoughts raced through her mind, what she would say, what she hoped Roseanne might say, the fear that this might all backfire. But none of it mattered. She had to see her.

It was time to face Roseanne.

The drive to Roseanne’s apartment was a blur. Y/N barely registered the passing city lights or the soft hum of the radio. Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions, the weight of what lay ahead pressing down on her chest.

When Y/N arrived, she parked her car along the curb and turned off the engine. The street was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of streetlights that reflected off the sleek facade of the building. She gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white as she stared up at the familiar structure.

The sight of it brought a wave of bittersweet memories crashing over her, each one more vivid than the last. She remembered the first time she had stepped through those doors, her heart fluttering with nervous excitement as Roseanne had shyly handed her a set of keys. She remembered lazy Sunday mornings spent on the balcony with coffee and laughter, and quiet evenings where they had shared their dreams and fears in whispers.

But she also remembered the silence. The heavy, suffocating silence that had grown between them toward the end. The fights that left her feeling like a stranger in her own home. The day she had walked out for the last time, her heart breaking as she closed the door behind her.

Why would Roseanne still live here?

The question gnawed at her, twisting her stomach into knots. She had expected Roseanne to move on, to leave this place behind along with all the memories they had created together. It would have been easier, wouldn’t it? To start fresh somewhere else, away from the ghosts of what they used to be.

And yet, she was still here. In the apartment they had once called home.

The thought both comforted and unnerved Y/N. Did it mean Roseanne hadn’t let go either? Or was this just another sign of the emotional mess they had left behind, a mess Y/N wasn’t sure she was ready to face?

Her chest tightened as the lyrics to Roseanne’s song replayed in her mind, soft and haunting. “Tell me that you need me, tell me that I’m loved…”

A lump formed in her throat, and she blinked rapidly to hold back the tears threatening to spill. She had to pull herself together. Turning back wasn’t an option, not now.

With a deep, steadying breath, she pushed open the car door and stepped out into the cool night air.

The lobby was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the elevator. The familiar scent of the polished floors and the soft lighting triggered another wave of nostalgia. She hesitated as she reached for the elevator button, her hand trembling slightly.

What if this was a mistake?

The doors slid open with a soft chime, and she stepped inside, pressing the button for Roseanne’s floor. The ride felt interminable, each floor passing with a low hum that seemed to echo her racing heartbeat. Her reflection stared back at her in the polished metal doors, her wide eyes betraying the nerves she was trying to suppress.

Her thoughts raced as the elevator ascended. What would Roseanne say when she saw her? Would she be angry? Hurt? Would she even want to see her at all?

Y/N’s breath hitched as the elevator came to a stop. The doors slid open, and she stepped into the hallway. Her footsteps echoed softly against the carpeted floor as she approached Roseanne’s apartment.

When she finally reached the door, her breath caught.

She stared at it, her hand hovering just above the wood. Her chest tightened as a flood of memories washed over her.

This was once her home too. She could still remember the countless times she had walked through this door, arms full of groceries, laughing at one of Roseanne’s jokes. She remembered sneaking in quietly after a late night out, trying not to wake Roseanne, only to find her sitting on the couch, waiting with a teasing smile.

The familiarity of it all stirred a mix of dread and hope, a potent cocktail of emotions that left her feeling both exhilarated and terrified.

Her hand lingered over the door, her fingers trembling as she fought the urge to turn back. But then she thought of Roseanne’s voice, soft and vulnerable in her message. “I wrote it thinking of you. It says everything I wish I could say to you.”

Y/N closed her eyes, inhaling deeply as she tried to steady herself.

With a shaky exhale, she finally knocked.

The seconds that followed felt like an eternity. Each heartbeat thundered in Y/N’s chest as she stood frozen, staring at the door. Then, she heard the faint shuffle of footsteps on the other side, the sound growing louder, closer. The door creaked open.

Roseanne stood there, her eyes widening in shock. She was dressed casually in an oversized sweater and leggings, her hair pulled back into a loose bun with a few stray strands framing her delicate face. She looked softer than Y/N had remembered, her usual polished elegance replaced by something quieter, more vulnerable.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt heavy, electric, charged with surprise and the weight of everything left unsaid.

“Y/N,” Roseanne finally said, her voice soft and trembling, laced with disbelief. Her lips parted as though she wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words.

Y/N’s breath caught. Seeing Roseanne this close again, seeing the faint shimmer in her eyes, the way her features softened with emotions she couldn’t hide, was almost too much. The lump in Y/N’s throat made it difficult to speak, her voice barely above a whisper as she managed, “I needed to see you.”

Her words hung in the air, tentative and raw.

Roseanne blinked, her lips pressing together for a moment before she stepped back, silently motioning for Y/N to come in. Y/N hesitated for a fraction of a second before stepping over the threshold, her chest tightening as the familiar space enveloped her.

As the door clicked shut behind her, Roseanne turned slowly, her movements deliberate, as if trying to gather her composure. Her expression was a mix of confusion, hesitation, and vulnerability. Her voice trembled when she spoke. “Why now?” she asked, the faintest crack in her words betraying the storm beneath her calm.

Y/N’s eyes darted around the room, taking in the remnants of a life they had once shared. She finally looked back at Roseanne, her own chest tightening as the weight of the moment pressed down on her. “Because I heard your song,” she admitted, her voice raw, barely above a whisper. She took a shaky breath, her emotions spilling over as she continued, “And it made me realize I can’t keep running from this. From us.”

Roseanne’s breath hitched audibly, her eyes softening with a mix of relief and longing. “I wasn’t sure if I should send it,” she confessed, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides. “I didn’t even know if you’d listen.” Her voice broke slightly on the last word, and she quickly looked away, as if afraid of what Y/N might say next.

Y/N stepped closer, the storm of emotions inside her building with every second. Her voice was steadier now, though the tears threatening to fall betrayed the fragility beneath. “How could I not?” she asked, her gaze locking with Roseanne’s. “Rosie, that song…” She trailed off, shaking her head as tears began to well in her eyes. “It was everything I’ve been feeling. Everything I couldn’t say. Every word…” Her voice broke, and she lifted a hand to wipe at her cheek.

Roseanne’s composure cracked at the sight of Y/N’s tears. Her own eyes glistened as she whispered, “I never stopped loving you.” Her voice broke completely, her vulnerability laid bare. “I couldn’t let you go, Y/N. I tried, but I just couldn’t.”

The words hit Y/N like a tidal wave, each one crashing against the walls she had so carefully built around her heart. She inhaled sharply, her emotions finally spilling over. “Neither could I,” she admitted, her voice trembling as tears slid down her cheeks. “But, Rosie, we hurt each other so much. We broke each other.” Her voice cracked, and she shook her head, the memories of their arguments and silences cutting deep.

“I know,” Roseanne said, her voice barely audible. She stepped closer, her hands trembling as she reached out tentatively, as if afraid Y/N might pull away. Her fingers brushed Y/N’s lightly before she looked up, her gaze filled with raw emotion. “Do you know why I never sold this place?”

Y/N shook her head slowly, her tears falling freely now.

“Because I couldn’t,” Roseanne confessed, her voice thick with emotion. Her hands trembled at her sides, and her eyes shone with tears she no longer tried to hide. Her voice broke as she continued, “It was the last thing that reminded me of you. Every corner, every shadow, it’s all you, Y/N. I couldn’t let go completely. I didn’t want to.”

The raw honesty in Roseanne’s words sent a fresh wave of emotion crashing through Y/N. Her chest tightened painfully, the magnitude of Roseanne’s confession wrapping around her like a vice. She saw it now, not just the apartment but the weight of two years’ worth of longing and grief that Roseanne had carried within these walls.

Y/N stepped closer, her own tears spilling over as her hand reached out, trembling as her fingers brushed against Roseanne’s. The warmth of the touch was both grounding and electrifying, a reminder of all they had been and all they could still be.

Her voice was soft, breaking with both love and sorrow. “Rosie, I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.” She paused, her breath catching. “But we’re not the same people we were two years ago. I’m not the same person who walked out that door.”

Roseanne nodded slowly, her gaze locked on Y/N’s as a tear slipped down her cheek. “I know,” she said, her voice trembling but resolute. She swallowed hard, her next words laced with both desperation and determination. “But I’ll do anything to make this work. Anything, Y/N. I’ll leave the industry if I have to. I’ll give it all up for you.” Her voice cracked on the last word, her vulnerability laid bare. She hesitated, her lips trembling before she added, “You’re the love of my life.”

Y/N’s breath hitched at the sheer sincerity in Roseanne’s voice. Her chest ached with the weight of it, her heart swelling and breaking all at once. She shook her head, her voice firm but gentle. “Don’t be stupid, Rosie. I don’t want you to give up your dreams. That’s not what this is about.”

Roseanne’s brows furrowed, confusion and frustration flickering across her face. She let out a soft, shuddering breath as her hands fidgeted at her sides. “Then what is it about?” she asked, her voice rising slightly with desperation. “Tell me what I need to do, Y/N. Please.”

Y/N took another step closer, their hands brushing again as she steadied herself. She met Roseanne’s gaze, her own eyes filled with unshed tears, and spoke with a steadiness she hadn’t known she was capable of. “It’s about us,” she said softly, the weight of the words heavy between them. “It’s about us trying again. But only if we promise to try as hard as we can. To be better. To communicate better. To really be there for each other this time.”

Roseanne stared at her, the tears on her cheeks catching the soft light of the room. She nodded quickly, her lips trembling as a sob broke free. “I’ll try,” she said, her voice filled with conviction. “I’ll do anything, Y/N. I swear. Just… just don’t walk away again.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart pounding as she closed the remaining distance between them. She cupped Roseanne’s face in her hands, her touch gentle yet firm, anchoring them both in the moment. “You’re the love of my life too, Rosie,” she whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. “And I want us to have a second chance. I need us to have a second chance.”

Roseanne leaned into Y/N’s touch, her tears mingling with a soft, shaky laugh that sounded like relief and joy all at once. “I won’t let you down this time,” she promised, her voice trembling but steady.

Y/N smiled through her tears, the weight of her emotions making her chest feel both heavy and impossibly light at the same time. Her heart ached, not with pain but with a bittersweet mix of hope and love that surged through her like a tide. She took a hesitant step closer, then another, until the distance between them was gone, her movements careful yet certain.

Her gaze lingered on Roseanne’s face, drinking in every detail, the glistening trail of tears on her cheeks, the way her lips trembled with unspoken emotion, the soft vulnerability in her eyes that mirrored everything Y/N felt.

Roseanne’s breath hitched as Y/N thumb swept gently across her skin, wiping away a tear that had just begun to fall. Roseanne leaned into the touch, her eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as if savoring the warmth and familiarity.

“Rosie,” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling but filled with quiet conviction. Her other hand found its way to Roseanne’s waist, her touch light but grounding, as though she needed to anchor herself in this moment. “I’m here. I’m really here.”

Roseanne’s eyes opened, shimmering with unshed tears, and a small, breathless laugh escaped her lips. “You are,” she murmured, her voice breaking with equal parts disbelief and relief.

Y/N smiled again, her own tears spilling over as she closed the final gap between them. Her lips met Roseanne’s in a kiss that was as soft as it was intense, a tender connection charged with the weight of everything they had been through.

The world seemed to fall away as they melted into each other, the kiss carrying all the emotions they couldn’t put into words. It was an apology, a promise, a plea for forgiveness and a vow to try again, all wrapped into a single moment.

Y/N’s hand moved from Roseanne’s cheek to the back of her neck, her fingers threading gently through the loose strands of hair as she deepened the kiss. Roseanne responded instantly, her hands coming up to rest on Y/N’s shoulders, pulling her closer as if afraid to let her go.

Their breaths mingled, warm and uneven, as the kiss lingered. It wasn’t hurried or frantic, it was deliberate, filled with the kind of love that had never truly left them, even in their time apart.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested against each other’s, their breaths coming in soft, shaky exhales. Y/N let out a quiet laugh, a sound that was equal parts relief and joy, her eyes still glistening with tears.

“You’re everything to me, Rosie,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “And this… this feels like coming home.”

Roseanne’s lips curved into a trembling smile, her eyes shining with love as she whispered back, “You are my home, Y/N. You always have been.”

“You’ll always have been and always will be my number one girl,” Y/N murmured, her voice filled with warmth and love.

Roseanne's eyes were shining with the same emotion. “And you’ll always be mine.”

They stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other’s presence, the air between them charged with the promise of a new beginning.

The morning sun filtered through the windows of Roseanne’s apartment, casting warm, golden light across the living room. Y/N stood in the kitchen, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, the comforting aroma filling the air. The space felt alive again, less like a shell of old memories and more like a place where something new could grow.

Roseanne’s voice echoed faintly from the bedroom as she hummed a soft tune, her guitar resting on her lap. Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she listened, the sound stirring a warmth in her chest she hadn’t felt in a long time.

A soft scratching noise at the door interrupted her thoughts, and Y/N froze, her heart skipping a beat. It was a sound she knew all too well.

“Rosie,” she called out, setting her mug down on the counter. “Did you hear that?”

Roseanne’s humming stopped, and moments later, she appeared in the doorway, her expression already softening. “Oh,” she said, her voice tinged with surprise and a smile tugging at her lips. “That must be Hank.”

Y/N’s breath caught as Roseanne moved to the door, her movements fluid and familiar. When she opened it, Alice stood on the other side, holding Hank’s leash. The little dog was already bouncing excitedly, his tail wagging furiously.

Alice glanced at Y/N, her eyes widening briefly before a knowing grin spread across her face. “Oh,” she said, her tone teasing. “Y/N. You’re here.”

Y/N felt her cheeks flush, but Alice didn’t linger, her voice brisk as she handed over the leash. “Later, Rosie, I want details. Everything. But I’ve got to go. I’m running late!”

Roseanne laughed, rolling her eyes affectionately as Alice gave her a quick hug and a pointed look before rushing down the hall, Rosie calling her back, “Thank you for taking care of him!”

The door closed, and the apartment fell silent again. Hank, however, was anything but calm. The moment he spotted Y/N, he froze, his tail pausing mid-wag as his dark eyes locked onto her.

“Hank,” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. She crouched down instinctively, her hands outstretched as the dog’s tail began wagging furiously.

With an excited bark, Hank bolted toward her, his little body vibrating with enthusiasm. Y/N laughed through her tears as he jumped into her arms, his paws pressing against her chest as he licked her face.

“Hey, buddy,” she said, her voice breaking as she hugged him tightly. “I missed you so much.”

Roseanne leaned against the doorframe, her arms crossed over her chest, watching the reunion with a smile that was equal parts fondness and relief. “I wasn’t sure if he’d remember you,” she said softly.

Y/N looked up at her, tears streaming down her cheeks as Hank nestled into her arms. “How could he forget?” she said, her voice thick with emotion. She scratched behind Hank’s ears, her gaze shifting back to the little dog who was now happily curled against her.

Roseanne stepped closer, crouching down beside them. She reached out to ruffle Hank’s fur, her hand brushing against Y/N’s in the process. Their eyes met briefly, and the shared emotion in the moment said more than words ever could.

“Hank’s missed you,” Roseanne said quietly, her voice warm. “He hasn’t been the same since you left.”

Y/N pressed her lips together, her heart aching at the thought. “I missed him too,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I missed everything.”

Roseanne’s hand lingered on Hank’s fur, her fingers brushing Y/N’s again. “Well,” she said, her voice steady but filled with tenderness, “you don’t have to miss it anymore. You’re here now.”

The words settled between them, a quiet promise of the new life they were building together. Hank let out a contented sigh, curling up against Y/N’s lap as if to say he wasn’t letting her go again either.

Y/N leaned her head against Roseanne’s shoulder, her tears falling freely now, but they weren’t tears of sadness. They were tears of hope, of love, and of finally finding her way back home.

The brisk chill of January had settled over Seoul, bringing with it the magic of a new year. The streets were lined with faintly glowing lights, and a dusting of snow covered the sidewalks like a soft, white blanket. The world seemed quieter, more reflective, as if everyone were holding their breath for what the future might bring.

Y/N adjusted the hem of her coat as she stepped into Jennie’s home, the warmth of the interior immediately enveloping her. She looked over at Roseanne, whose hand was intertwined with hers, and felt a familiar surge of emotion she hadn’t yet grown used to, love, steady and unwavering, filling the spaces she had once thought were irreparably broken.

Jennie greeted them with a grin as wide as the moon, her dark eyes sparkling with delight. “There they are!” she exclaimed, her voice cutting through the hum of conversation in the room. “Our favorite reunited couple!”

Y/N laughed softly, cheeks flushing as Roseanne gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, don’t make it weird,” Y/N teased, but Jennie was already pulling them into a warm hug, one arm around each of their shoulders.

“I’m just happy to see you both like this,” Jennie said, her voice softer now as she stepped back. She gave them a knowing look, her gaze flicking between them. “It’s about time, isn’t it?”

Roseanne smiled, her cheeks tinged pink, but she didn’t let go of Y/N’s hand. “It is,” she said simply, and the way she looked at Y/N made Jennie’s knowing expression turn into a broad, satisfied grin.

The party was intimate, filled with close friends who were eager to celebrate Jennie’s birthday. Familiar faces mingled throughout the room. The atmosphere was warm and lively, the clinking of glasses and soft bursts of laughter weaving a comforting backdrop.

Y/N noticed the glances at first, brief, curious looks from friends who hadn’t seen her and Roseanne together in years. But as the evening went on, those glances turned into warm smiles, nods of approval, and even a few heartfelt words of support.

“You two look good together,” Jihyo said at one point, her tone light but genuine.

“Thank you,” Y/N replied, her smile shy but radiant as she glanced at Roseanne, who returned her look with a fondness that made her chest flutter.

Roseanne stayed close by her side throughout the evening, her hand finding Y/N’s every so often in a small, grounding gesture. It was subtle but reassuring, a silent promise that they were in this together.

As the night wore on, they found themselves sitting together on the couch, sharing quiet laughs as they watched Jennie cut her cake. The warmth in the room felt like a reflection of their own hearts, fragile yet hopeful.

Later that night, Y/N and Roseanne returned to Roseanne’s apartment, their steps slow and unhurried as they shed their coats and boots. The quiet of the space was a welcome reprieve from the liveliness of the party, and the faint glow of the city lights outside painted the room in soft hues.

They made their way to the bedroom, the familiar coziness wrapping around them like an embrace. Y/N slipped under the covers, her body instantly relaxing against the warmth of the sheets. Roseanne joined her moments later, their movements fluid and practiced, as though they had never spent two years apart.

The quiet was companionable, filled with the unspoken understanding that had grown between them in the weeks since they had reconciled. Y/N turned onto her side, facing Roseanne, whose soft features were illuminated by the faint moonlight filtering through the window.

“I’m glad we went tonight,” Y/N said softly, her voice breaking the silence.

“Me too,” Roseanne replied, her gaze steady as she reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from Y/N’s face. Her touch lingered, her fingers tracing a gentle line along Y/N’s cheek.

Y/N caught her hand, holding it against her face as her eyes searched Roseanne’s. “Do you think this time will be different?” she asked, her voice quiet but tinged with vulnerability.

Roseanne nodded, her expression earnest. “I know it will be,” she said, her tone firm but warm. “Because we’re different now. We’ve learned what it means to really love someone, and I think we’re finally ready to do it the right way.”

Y/N felt her chest tighten, not with sadness but with the overwhelming weight of Roseanne’s sincerity. “I want that too,” she said, her voice breaking slightly. “I want us to keep growing. To be better. Together.”

Roseanne smiled, her eyes shimmering as she leaned forward to press a soft kiss to Y/N’s forehead. “We will,” she whispered, her voice filled with quiet determination. “I promise you, Y/N. We’ll keep fighting for this. For us.”

Y/N nodded, her tears spilling over as she smiled through them. She tightened her hold on Roseanne’s hand, their fingers lacing together in a silent vow.

They lay like that for a while, their hands clasped between them, their gazes steady as they talked softly about their future. They spoke of dreams, small ones, big ones, and everything in between. Y/N confessed her fears, and Roseanne countered them with reassurances. Roseanne shared her hopes, and Y/N listened with an open heart, letting each word settle deep inside her.

As the night wore on, their words grew quieter, their breaths slowing in unison. They didn’t need grand gestures or elaborate promises. This moment, their hands intertwined, their hearts aligned, was enough.

[w1w2]

Drinks or Coffee

Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 9k

Req by Anon

Notes: It's rushed af, and I'm not proud of it, BUT I couldn't do anything better with the time I had.. SORRY HBD to my number one girl 🫶🏻

Rosé - drinks or coffee "We're just friends, it's okay Kinda weird how my night changed"

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The party was nothing but noise and flashing lights. A swirl of expensive perfume, designer outfits, and clinking glasses filled the air, creating an atmosphere that was both dazzling and exhausting. Conversations overlapped, a constant murmur of pleasantries, forced laughter, and industry talk that held no real weight. Music pulsed through the venue, too loud to ignore but not quite loud enough to drown out the superficial exchanges happening around her.

Y/N shifted her weight from one foot to the other, balancing a half-empty glass of champagne between her fingers, pretending to be engaged in the conversation happening in front of her. A senior executive was speaking, something about an upcoming collaboration, or maybe a tour, but Y/N wasn’t really listening. She had perfected the art of nodding at the right moments, offering small smiles, and laughing politely even when she didn’t fully register the joke.

It wasn’t that she hated these events. She understood their importance, knew they were a necessary part of the industry, but tonight felt particularly draining. There was nothing here for her, no real excitement, no real connection. Just people trying to impress other people.

Her gaze flickered toward the exit. If she left now, she doubted anyone would notice. She could slip away, maybe go home and curl up with a book, or even just sit in the quiet of her dorm, free from the noise. It wasn’t like she was adding anything to the energy of the room.

She sighed, fingers tightening around the stem of her glass. “One more hour,” she told herself. Just one more.

And then—

A laugh. Warm. Familiar. Effortless.

It cut through the noise like a melody she had memorized by heart.

Y/N’s body reacted before her mind even processed it. Her head turned instinctively, eyes scanning the crowd, drawn toward the sound as if it had called her by name.

And then, there she was.

Rosé.

Standing beneath the golden glow of the chandeliers, her head tilted back in laughter, eyes crinkling at something Jennie had just said. She was radiant in a way that made the rest of the room fade into the background. Y/N barely noticed the people around her anymore. It was just Rosé, effortlessly captivating, pulling her attention without even trying.

"Standing in the corner of a crowded place, this is boring 'til I heard your name."

Y/N exhaled, the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding slipping past her lips.

The party no longer felt so unbearable.

Rosé stood across the room, deep in conversation with Jennie, her expression alight with amusement. The golden glow of the chandeliers softened her features, casting a delicate shimmer along her cheekbones. Even in the dim, ambient lighting of the venue, she seemed to glow, as if the world had conspired to make her the brightest thing in the room.

Her hair cascaded in soft waves over her shoulders, framing her face in a way that made her look effortlessly elegant. A few strands had slipped out of place, yet instead of looking messy, they only added to her charm. She was dressed in something sleek and understated, nothing overly extravagant, but still stunning in the way it fit her, hugging her form in all the right ways. The fabric caught the light with every small movement, making it impossible not to notice her.

She wasn’t even trying.

She wasn’t standing under a spotlight, wasn’t performing, wasn’t singing with that breathtaking voice of hers. She was just… being herself. Laughing at something Jennie had said, head tilted back slightly, her eyes crinkling in delight.

And yet, Y/N couldn’t look away.

For a moment, she felt ridiculous. She had known Rosé for years. They had spent so many hours together, backstage at award shows, waiting in green rooms, sharing snacks in the hotel after long schedules. They had been each other’s company on quiet nights, texting about everything and nothing until one of them inevitably fell asleep mid-conversation.

Rosé had always been beautiful. That wasn’t new.

So why did it feel like Y/N was seeing her for the first time?

"Is it just me startin’ to see you in a different light?"

Y/N swallowed, a strange warmth creeping up her neck. She blinked, willing the thought away.

And then, as if drawn by some invisible thread, Rosé’s gaze drifted through the sea of people and landed on her.

For a second, Y/N forgot how to breathe.

There was something in Rosé’s eyes, surprise, maybe or something quieter, something unspoken. The conversation she had been having with Jennie momentarily faded into the background. Y/N swore she saw the tiniest flicker of hesitation, as if Rosé wasn’t just looking at her but seeing her, in a way that mirrored exactly what Y/N was feeling.

Then, slowly, Rosé’s lips curled into a smile.

Soft. Familiar. The kind of smile Y/N had seen a thousand times, yet suddenly, it felt different.

Y/N’s heart stumbled over itself.

Rosé lifted a hand and waved, a small motion that somehow carried the weight of the entire evening.

She tilted her head slightly, an unspoken invitation in her gaze, and just like that, leaving was no longer an option.

Y/N found herself moving before she even decided to. It was as if her body knew something she hadn’t quite admitted to herself yet, an invisible pull, a force guiding her straight to Rosé without hesitation. The music and the crowd faded into the background, becoming nothing more than a blur of movement and sound.

The moment she stepped closer, Rosé turned to her with an easy smile, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Finally,” she said, crossing her arms. “I was wondering how long you were gonna sulk in the corner.”

Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I wasn’t sulking.”

“Sure,” Rosé teased, tilting her head slightly, her blonde hair slipping over one shoulder. “You looked like you were planning your escape.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, but.. well, she had been planning her escape. So instead, she just shrugged. “The party’s boring.”

Rosé smirked, leaning in just a fraction closer. “Not anymore, right?”

There was something in her voice, light, playful, but beneath it, something else. Something expectant. The way she looked at Y/N made her stomach flip, like she was waiting for an answer to a question she hadn’t asked out loud.

Before Y/N could analyze it too much, Jennie, who had been casually observing their interaction, cut in smoothly. “You two should just stick together. You’re the only people I’ve seen tonight who don’t look like they want something from someone.”

Rosé let out a soft laugh, the sound effortless and familiar. “Sounds like a plan.”

Jennie’s eyes flicked between them, like she was noticing something neither of them were ready to admit yet. But she just smirked knowingly before stepping away, leaving them in their own little space amidst the chaos of the party.

The conversation flowed easily after that, as it always did between them.

They talked about everything and nothing, complaining about their exhausting schedules, reminiscing about the funniest behind the scenes moments, making quiet jokes about the over the top fashion choices at the party. But underneath all of it, there was something different.

The space between them was less than it should have been.

Every time one of them shifted, the warmth of Rosé’s arm brushed against Y/N’s, sending tiny sparks of awareness up her skin. It wasn’t intentional, at least, Y/N didn’t think so, but neither of them moved away.

Then, without thinking, Y/N reached for a drink from a passing tray.

Her fingers unintentionally brushed against Rosé’s. It was barely a touch. A fleeting moment. But it was there.

Neither of them pulled away immediately.

Y/N swallowed, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She told herself it was nothing. Just a touch. Just a moment.

But then Rosé looked at her. Really looked at her.

And for the first time, Y/N wasn’t so sure it was nothing at all.

The warmth of Rosé’s fingers against Y/N’s lingered, even as the moment passed, even as they both slowly withdrew their hands and pretended like it hadn’t happened. The touch had been brief, fleeting, barely more than a brush of skin against skin. And yet, Y/N could still feel it, like an imprint left behind, delicate but all-consuming.

The air between them had changed.

The conversation continued, but Y/N found herself barely paying attention. She nodded at the right moments, let out small hums of acknowledgment when necessary, but her focus was elsewhere.

Because something was different now.

Rosé, standing impossibly close, her presence overwhelming in the best way. Rosé, whose perfume, light and floral with a hint of vanilla, was something Y/N could recognize anywhere. Rosé, who was quiet now, no longer filling the space with playful words, but instead watching Y/N in a way that sent something warm curling in her chest.

It wasn’t just her imagination.

She could feel it, this pull, this tension simmering just beneath the surface.

Rosé leaned in slightly, her voice just above a whisper, intimate despite the crowd around them. "Wanna get out of here?"

Y/N blinked, caught off guard.

Before she could respond, Rosé tilted her head, a teasing glint in her eyes.

"We could get drinks, or we could get coffee."

Rosé’s tone was casual, too casual, like she wasn’t fully acknowledging what she was asking. Like she was testing something, waiting for a reaction.

Y/N arched an eyebrow, smirking slightly, an attempt to keep her voice steady. “Since when do you drink this much, Rosie?”

Rosé shrugged, effortlessly cool, but Y/N caught the tiny flicker in her expression, the way her lips twitched like she was holding back something more. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to take you somewhere else.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

A second passed. Then another.

Neither of them moved.

Rosé was still looking at her, the same way she had been all night, like she was seeing something new, something she hadn’t fully allowed herself to acknowledge before.

And maybe Y/N was looking at her the same way. The weight of the moment balanced on a knife’s edge.

Then, as if making an unspoken agreement, Rosé reached for her clutch, her movements smooth, deliberate. Y/N followed suit, setting her barely touched drink on the nearest table.

They didn’t say anything else, there was no need to.

Without another word, they slipped through the crowd together, leaving the noise of the party behind.

The city air was crisp when they stepped outside, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat of the party. The cool breeze nipped at Y/N’s skin, carrying with it the distant scent of rain on pavement and something floral from a nearby storefront. She inhaled deeply, letting the quiet settle over her like a balm.

Neon lights flickered against the wet pavement, stretching into long, fractured reflections with each passing car. The city was still alive but softer now, distant laughter from groups of night owls mingling with the low hum of traffic. It was the kind of night that felt endless, like anything could happen.

Rosé didn’t say where they were going, and Y/N didn’t ask.

She simply fell into step beside her, their shoulders brushing with every few strides. Neither of them moved away.

A comfortable silence stretched between them as they wandered through the quieter streets of Seoul, where the flashing signs and bustling crowds gave way to cozier alleyways and familiar corners. It wasn’t the first time they had done this, sneaking away after long events, walking without a real destination, enjoying the rare moments of peace their schedules didn’t often allow. But tonight felt… different.

Eventually, they turned down a quieter street, and Rosé led them toward a small, tucked-away café. The warm glow from inside spilled onto the sidewalk, the golden light inviting against the cool blue of the night.

Y/N smiled as recognition dawned. They’d been here before.

Hidden from the prying eyes of cameras and fans, this place had become something of an unspoken sanctuary, a little slice of normalcy in a life where normal didn’t exist.

But somehow, tonight, it felt different.

As Rosé pulled open the door, Y/N hesitated. "Are we really doing coffee at this hour?"

Rosé smirked, tilting her head slightly. “Since when do you care about time?”

Y/N huffed out a quiet laugh, stepping inside after her.

The café was warm, the rich scent of roasted beans and vanilla hanging in the air. Soft music played from an old speaker near the counter, blending into the occasional clinking of ceramic cups and the quiet murmur of the few other late-night customers. It was nothing like the party, no flashing lights, no suffocating expectations, no noise that drowned out the thoughts in her head.

Just them.

As they settled into a corner booth, Rosé ran a hand through her hair, shaking off the slight chill from outside. Y/N watched as she glanced at the menu with mild disinterest before resting her chin on her hand, eyes flickering up to meet Y/N’s.

“You’re stalling,” Y/N teased, placing her own menu down.

Rosé hummed, tapping her fingers against the table. “Maybe.” Then, after a beat, “What do you feel like?”

“Tea,” Y/N answered easily, lifting an eyebrow. “And I know you’re not about to order coffee. You hate drinking it late.”

Rosé’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Maybe I just like the company.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her heart betrayed her, skipping a beat at the effortless way Rosé said it.

They placed their orders, tea for Y/N, something herbal for Rosé, before settling into the quiet lull of the café.

The dim lighting cast soft shadows over Rosé’s face, highlighting the curve of her cheekbone, the slight downturn of her lips as she stared into her cup, stirring absentmindedly. Her fingers wrapped around the ceramic as if grounding herself, but there was a thoughtfulness in her expression, something unsaid resting at the tip of her tongue.

Y/N didn’t speak. She simply watched, taking in the way Rosé’s brows knitted together slightly, how the flickering candle on the table reflected in her eyes.

The café was quiet, not an empty kind of quiet, but the kind that felt safe. Unlike the party, there was no pressure to be anything but themselves here.

And yet, the air between them still carried a charge, an unspoken tension, something lingering just beneath the surface.

Y/N traced the rim of her cup absentmindedly, watching Rosé over the rising steam of her drink.

There was something mesmerizing about the way she carried herself, the effortless way she curled her fingers around the handle of her mug, the way her thumb absentmindedly smoothed over the ceramic surface as if lost in thought. She wasn’t fidgeting, not exactly, but there was a quiet kind of movement to her, a rhythm in the way she tapped a delicate pattern against the side of the cup, her mind seemingly elsewhere.

Y/N had seen Rosé like this before, deep in thought, lost in the quiet corners of her mind. But tonight, something about it felt different.

Maybe it was the lighting, casting warm shadows over the soft contours of her face.

Maybe it was the way her eyes flickered up to meet Y/N’s every so often, as if making sure she was still there.

Maybe it was the silence, charged, heavy with things unsaid, lingering between them like a question neither of them had dared to ask.

And then, before she could stop herself, the words slipped out. "This night felt pointless until I saw you."

Rosé stilled.

Her fingers tightened slightly around her cup, her posture shifting just the smallest fraction. It was subtle, barely noticeable, but Y/N noticed.

Because Rosé always moved with a certain grace, always carried herself with an effortless fluidity, and yet… something about the way she froze in that moment told Y/N that she had caught her off guard.

The words hung between them, suspended in the air like something fragile, something that could shatter if handled too carelessly.

For a moment, Rosé didn’t respond. She just sat there, her lips parted slightly, eyes searching Y/N’s as if trying to find the meaning hidden beneath them.

Because they both knew those words meant more than they should.

"I know we can't say what we mean, but I'm happy that you're here tonight."

Rosé opened her mouth, as if to say something. Y/N could see it, the hesitation, the thoughts racing behind her eyes, the weight of a response she was unsure if she could give.

She stopped herself, instead, she simply smiled.

Not her usual bright, camera-ready smile. Not the charming, practiced expression she wore for flashing lights and adoring fans.

This was something else. Something smaller. Something softer. Something private.

As if Y/N’s words were something she wanted to keep.

After that night, something changes.

It isn’t sudden, there’s no grand moment of realization, no spoken confession that shifts the world around them. But it’s there. Subtle and persistent. A slow unraveling, threading itself into the fabric of their everyday lives, too quiet to name but impossible to ignore.

They start spending more time together.

More than before. More than what could be written off as coincidence or simple friendship.

It starts small.

Rosé starts texting first.

Not because she has a reason, not because there’s anything urgent to say, but just because. Because she wants to, because something about Y/N’s name lighting up her screen makes the dullest parts of her day feel lighter.

And Y/N texts back, always. Sometimes with teasing responses, sometimes with sleepy voice notes at ungodly hours, her voice groggy but affectionate.

And then there are the calls, ones that start as quick check-ins but stretch into hours, their voices growing softer, quieter, like neither of them want to be the one to say goodbye.

Then come the meet-ups, slipping away between schedules, finding hidden places where no one will bother them. There’s something different about those moments. The way Rosé’s fingers toy with the rim of her cup, the way Y/N’s gaze lingers just a little too long. The way neither of them rush to leave.

The nights stretch longer.

More late-night conversations, more laughter, more stolen moments in places that feel like they exist outside of time. Y/N finds herself memorizing the way Rosé’s eyes flicker when she’s talking about something she loves, how she bites her lip when she’s deep in thought, how her voice softens when she says her name.

And then there are the touches. Small at first.

Brushed fingers when reaching for something at the same time. Rosé’s hand on the small of Y/N’s back when guiding her through a crowd. The way Y/N’s fingers linger on Rosé’s wrist when she tugs her closer, like she’s waiting for something.

It’s brief. Fleeting, but it’s enough.

Enough to make Y/N’s breath hitch. Enough to make Rosé’s heart stutter.

Rosé tells herself it’s nothing. Except… It’s always something.

She catches herself staring when she shouldn’t.

During rehearsals, during interviews, in moments where she should be focused, but instead, she’s watching her. Watching the way Y/N moves, the way she laughs, the way she tucks her hair behind her ear absentmindedly.

And every single time Y/N looks back at her, catches her in the act, Rosé’s pulse races.

It’s fine, she tells herself. Completely normal.

But if that’s true… Then why does it feel like something she’s not ready to admit?

Why does she find herself searching for Y/N, even when she’s supposed to be focused on something else? Why does her chest tighten when Y/N walks into a room, why does the absence of her presence feel palpable in a way it never used to?

It follows her everywhere.

During rehearsals, during interviews, in moments where she should be fully present but instead finds her thoughts drifting, always back to her.

And now? Now they’re here again, another schedule, another long day in the industry’s endless cycle. But this time, Rosé doesn’t just feel Y/N’s presence.

She sees her.

The backstage room hummed with the familiar chaos of a live broadcast, producers adjusting earpieces, stylists making last-minute fixes, camera operators calling out to one another. The low murmur of voices, the shuffle of footsteps, the faint whir of a curling iron in the background, it all blended into a steady, predictable noise.

But Rosé barely noticed any of it.

She was seated on the worn leather couch, waiting for the next segment to begin, her body angled slightly toward Y/N without realizing it. The space between them was negligible, their legs nearly touching. Too close to be accidental. Too familiar to be deliberate.

Y/N was speaking, her voice low and warm, her words laced with something teasing. Rosé wasn’t entirely sure what she was saying anymore, something about the interview, or maybe a joke about how long the day had been, but all Rosé could focus on was the way her voice curled around the words. The way her lips twitched in amusement before she even finished speaking, like she already knew Rosé would laugh.

She should move. She should.

But she didn’t.

A staff member passed by, flipping through a clipboard, their voice cutting through the air with an amused lilt.

"You two are always together." The words landed too heavily.

It was casual, offhanded, thrown into the conversation without a second thought. A passing comment meant to fill the silence.

But Rosé felt it like a spark.

Y/N, as always, was quick to respond. She let out an easy laugh, one of those effortlessly charming ones, leaning back against the couch as if the statement meant nothing at all. "Guess she’s stuck with me."

The staff member chuckled and walked off, the moment already forgotten.

Rosé should have laughed, too. It was a joke. Just a joke, but her face burned.

It shouldn’t have meant anything. It shouldn’t have sent a sudden, unsteady rush of heat creeping up her neck, shouldn’t have left her fingers curling subtly against her lap, pressing into the fabric of her dress as if grounding herself.

But the thing about the joke was that it wasn’t really a joke at all.

They were always together.

She could feel Y/N’s gaze on her now, lingering in that way that made Rosé feel seen in a way she wasn’t sure she was ready for. It was subtle, a flicker of attention, a silent question in the way her eyes softened at the corners.

Rosé kept her own gaze forward, pretending to be focused on the ongoing conversation happening across the room. If she laughed too much, it would be obvious. If she didn’t laugh at all, it would be worse.

So she settled for something in between.

A quiet exhale. A half-smile. A sip of water that did nothing to cool the warmth still spreading through her chest.

The conversation moved on. The moment passed, but the thought stayed.

Later, after the interview was over, after the cameras had been turned off and the crew had started packing up, Rosé found herself walking down an empty hallway beside Y/N. The distant hum of voices and laughter from the other rooms faded as they stepped further away from the noise.

It was just them now.

No cameras. No audience. No need to pretend.

Rosé spoke without fully thinking, the words slipping out before she had the chance to swallow them down.

"Maybe they have a point."

Y/N, who had been mid-step, paused.

She turned slightly, just enough for Rosé to see the shift in her expression, the way her amusement dimmed into something quieter, something unreadable. She didn’t speak right away, didn’t offer another easy, teasing response. Instead, she just looked at Rosé, really looked at her, like she was searching for something in her face, waiting to see if Rosé would take the words back.

She didn’t.

Y/N tilted her head, considering. Her voice was softer when she finally spoke. "Do they?"

It wasn’t playful, it wasn’t teasing. It was a real question.

Rosé swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of her own words.

She could still hear the echo of the joke from earlier. Could still feel the heat of Y/N’s gaze lingering on her, waiting for an answer.

And she could lie. She could laugh it off like she always did, could throw back a simple of course not and pretend like her pulse wasn’t hammering in her throat.

But she didn’t.

She just stood there, staring at Y/N, feeling everything and saying nothing.

Because maybe... Maybe she already knew the answer, and that’s what scared her the most.

And yet, the weight of that unspoken truth didn’t fade with time. It followed her in the quiet moments, in the spaces between conversations, in the way Y/N’s absence felt too loud even when the world around her was filled with noise.

Days passed, then weeks, and still, Rosé found herself caught in the same loop—avoiding, pretending, wanting, running.

She told herself that the tension would dissolve, that if she kept her distance, whatever this thing between them would fade into something manageable. But the distance only made it worse.

So when the invitation arrived, just another industry gathering, just another night of routine smiles and polite small talk, Rosé didn’t expect anything different.

She certainly didn’t expect her.

A private gathering, tucked away from flashing cameras and the ever-watchful eyes of the public. The kind of night where the air is thick with laughter, where drinks are passed between friends, and where time feels just a little more forgiving. Music hums softly from a speaker in the corner, blending into the low murmur of voices and the occasional clink of glasses.

Rosé isn’t drunk, not even close, but there’s a lightness in her limbs, a warmth curling in her chest that has nothing to do with the wine she’s been sipping. It’s the kind of night where everything feels easier, where reality seems softer at the edges, where thoughts she normally keeps locked away start to slip through the cracks.

Somewhere between conversation and quiet, between the flickering candlelight on the table and the sound of her own heartbeat, she feels her.

Y/N is close. Too close.

Rosé hadn’t even noticed when it happened, when the space between them had disappeared, but now? 

Now, she’s hyper-aware of everything. The warmth of Y/N’s body beside her, the way their legs brush beneath the table, the faint scent of her perfume mingling with the evening air.

And then Y/N shifts, just slightly, and Rosé barely has time to react before she’s right there.

Her breath, soft, warm, ghosts against Rosé’s skin, impossibly near, and a shiver runs down her spine before she can stop it.

Her mind goes blank.

The conversation around them, the music, the laughter, it all fades into static, into something distant and insignificant.

There is only this. Only her.

Y/N’s voice, when she speaks, is barely more than a whisper. "If I kissed you right now, would it ruin everything?"

The words ignite something in Rosé, like a spark catching dry kindling, like something waiting to burn.

A slow inhale. A heartbeat too loud in her ears. A heat creeping up her throat that she doesn’t know what to do with.

She should say something. Do something, but she doesn’t.

She can’t.

Panic grips her chest before she even realizes it. A second stretches too long between them, thick with the weight of what’s been left unspoken for too long.

And Rosé? Rosé laughs.

Too quick. Too forced. As if that will erase the weight of what was just said.

"You’re just tipsy." It comes out light, dismissive, as if she can brush this off like nothing, like it’s not the most real thing she’s ever heard.

She shakes her head slightly, as if that will make it not real.

But Y/N isn’t tipsy. She isn’t swaying, isn’t slurring her words, isn’t drunk on anything except whatever this is between them.

And Rosé knows it. She knows it in the way Y/N’s expression flickers, just for a second. The way something flashes across her face, too quick to catch before she masks it.

But Rosé saw. She felt it.

The sharp sting of disappointment. The flicker of something wounded, something Y/N won’t let herself hold on to.

And Rosé’s chest tightens in a way that feels unbearable.

Because for the first time, she realizes that she doesn’t want Y/N to stop asking.

The morning after that night, Rosé wakes up with a sinking feeling in her chest.

For a moment, in the hazy stillness of her bedroom, she lets herself pretend everything is fine.

That nothing has changed. That her heart isn’t tangled in something she doesn’t know how to name.

But reality settles in too quickly.

She blinks up at the ceiling, the remnants of last night flickering behind her eyelids, the warmth of Y/N too close, the whisper of her breath against Rosé’s skin, the question that still lingers in the air between them like an unfinished song.

"If I kissed you right now, would it ruin everything?"

Rosé exhales sharply, pressing the heel of her palm against her forehead.

She tells herself it’s exhaustion, that the weight pressing down on her chest is just from too many late nights and back-to-back schedules.

But she knows better.

She knows it has everything to do with the way Y/N had looked at her. The quiet expectation in her eyes, the way her voice had softened, like she was offering Rosé something fragile, something she had been holding onto for too long.

And the way Rosé had run.

From her, from the truth, from whatever this thing between them was turning into.

So she does the only thing she knows how to do. She avoids.

The first message comes in before noon.

She sees it, her screen lighting up with Y/N’s name, but she doesn’t open it.

An hour later, a second message follows.

Rosé glances at it briefly, long enough to see the words "Are we okay?" before she locks her phone and shoves it face-down onto the nightstand.

The third message arrives sometime in the afternoon.

It sits unread in her notifications for hours, a quiet reminder that Y/N is still waiting for something Rosé isn’t sure she can give.

When her phone vibrates with an incoming call, she doesn’t even let herself hesitate, she just lets it ring.

Following days she tells herself she’s busy. That their schedules don’t align, that she’s tired, that it’s better this way.

But when Jennie corners her in the practice room later one day, arms crossed, her gaze sharp in a way that says she already knows the answer, Rosé falters.

“You’ve been weird,” Jennie says, not bothering with subtlety. “What’s going on?”

Rosé doesn’t look up from where she’s absently scrolling through her playlist, pretending to search for a song she isn’t really paying attention to.

“Nothing.”

Jennie scoffs. “Right. So nothing is why you’ve barely said two words all day?”

Rosé forces a laugh, but even she can hear how hollow it sounds. “I’m just tired.”

Jennie studies her for a moment, expression unreadable. “Does this have anything to do with Y/N?”

The name alone is enough to make Rosé’s breath hitch, to make her fingers clench around her phone before she forces them to relax.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, too quickly, too stiffly.

Jennie doesn’t press. She just sighs, shaking her head slightly. “Whatever it is, you’re not handling it well.”

And Rosé knows that.

She knows it every time she catches herself opening Y/N’s chat in the dead of night, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, over the words "Are you okay?", over the words "I'm sorry."

But she never types them. Never sends them.

Because that would mean admitting that this, whatever this is, means something, and she’s not sure she’s ready for that.

So she keeps running.

And Y/N? Y/N pretends not to notice, because if Rosé is going to run, she won’t chase.

But ignoring something doesn’t make it disappear. Rosé learns that the hard way.

No matter how much distance she tries to put between them, no matter how many unanswered texts or avoided glances, she still feels Y/N, like gravity, like a pull she can’t escape.

So when another event comes around, another event with the same people in a different venue, another night of rehearsed smiles and carefully curated interactions, Rosé tells herself that this will be just like any other.

That this time, she won’t let herself look for her.

But the moment she steps inside, the moment the lights and laughter and music blur into the background, she does.

The room is a blur of movement, a dazzling display of expensive gowns and crisp suits, of practiced smiles and meaningless conversations spoken over the hum of music. Laughter rises and falls, champagne flutes clink together in rehearsed toasts, and somewhere in the distance, cameras flash, capturing moments that will be dissected by the media in the morning.

Rosé stands near the edge of the crowd, her fingers curled loosely around the delicate stem of a wine glass, the cool press of glass grounding her.

She tells herself she isn’t looking for Y/N. She tries not to, but it doesn’t matter, her eyes find her anyway.

Like they always do. Like they always will.

And when they do, something sharp twists in her stomach.

Y/N is across the room, wrapped in conversation, her body angled toward someone Rosé doesn’t recognize. She’s smiling, bright and effortless, the kind of smile that makes people lean in, makes them stay. She laughs at something they say, head tilting back slightly, the sound clear even over the noise of the party.

She’s good at this. She always has been. She knows exactly how to make someone feel like they’re the only person in the room, and Rosé hates it.

Because tonight, that person isn’t her.

A bitter taste lingers at the back of her throat, something that has nothing to do with the wine she hasn’t touched in minutes.

She grips the glass a little tighter, eyes locked on the way Y/N leans in just slightly, the way her fingers graze against the sleeve of the stranger's suit, light, fleeting, but there.

It’s nothing. It’s probably nothing, but it doesn’t feel like nothing.

Then, as if sensing something, Y/N’s gaze shifts.

Just for a moment. Just long enough for their eyes to meet across the room. Long enough for Rosé to wonder if it was intentional.

But before she can figure it out, before she can read whatever might be hidden in Y/N’s expression, Y/N looks away.

And Rosé feels something crack inside her.

"Feelin’ so good at a bad party."

She exhales, turning away sharply, lifting her glass to her lips in an attempt to distract herself. The wine is smooth, expensive, but it does nothing to ease the tightness in her chest.

Jennie’s voice, dry and amused. “You look like you’re about to shatter that glass.”

Rosé stiffens. She barely has time to fix her expression before Jennie steps beside her, moving slowly, deliberately, sipping her drink as she watches her carefully.

Rosé forces a small laugh, one that feels unnatural even to her. “I’m fine.”

Jennie hums, unimpressed. “Right. And I’m the newest member of TWICE.”

Rosé exhales through her nose, loosening her grip on the glass. “It’s nothing.”

Jennie doesn’t respond right away. Instead, she follows Rosé’s gaze across the room, to her.

Y/N, still laughing, still talking, still not looking at Rosé.

Something shifts in Jennie’s expression.

Then, without missing a beat, she turns back, raising an eyebrow. “If you don’t want her to move on,” she says, voice softer now, words deliberate, “do something about it.”

Rosé swallows. Her throat is dry. She doesn’t respond.

Because she doesn’t know how.

The party is still alive beyond the walls of the bathroom, laughter spilling over the bass-heavy music, muffled conversations buzzing like static. The distant hum of it all presses against the thick wooden door, but in here, there is nothing but silence.

And them.

Rosé barely has time to react before the door swings shut with a soft click. She grips the edge of the marble sink, fingers tightening until her knuckles turn white.

She doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t have to.

She knows who it is.

The energy in the room shifts, the air thick with something suffocating, something heavy, something inevitable. The bathroom lights cast a dim glow against the mirror, reflecting back the face of someone who looks far too composed for how fast her heart is beating.

Behind her, Y/N stands motionless, but Rosé can feel the weight of her gaze, pressing against her back like a question waiting to be answered.

"Why are you acting like I don’t exist?" The words are quiet, but they land like a punch, knocking the air from Rosé’s lungs.

She inhales sharply, but it doesn’t steady her. She wasn’t ready for this.

She thought she had been avoiding a conversation, but the truth is, she was delaying it, and now, there’s nowhere left to run.

Her stomach twists violently. For a fleeting second, she thinks about lying. Thinks about brushing past Y/N, making up an excuse, slipping back into the party like none of this is happening.

But she can’t.

Slowly, she turns to face her.

Y/N is standing a few feet away, arms crossed, not in defiance, but in frustration, in hurt. She looks exhausted, like she’s been carrying the weight of this conversation for far too long.

Rosé swallows, her throat dry. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Y/N scoffs. Not in amusement. Not in mockery. It’s a sound of disbelief.

Of disappointment.

“Don’t do that,” Y/N murmurs, shaking her head. Her voice is softer now, but it’s laced with something tired. “Don’t stand there and pretend like you haven’t been ignoring me.”

Rosé looks away, but it doesn’t help.

Because the silence that follows confirms it.

She has been ignoring her. She’s been avoiding her, dodging texts, letting calls ring unanswered, keeping her distance like it would somehow fix this, like it would make everything that happened between them disappear.

But it hasn’t.

And now, the distance feels more suffocating than the closeness ever did.

The silence stretches, growing heavier.

"We can’t be like this." The words slip out before she can stop them.

They hang in the air, raw and exposed, before Rosé even fully understands what she’s just said.

Y/N flinches.

It’s slight, barely noticeable, the way her lips part slightly, like she wasn’t expecting it, like, even after everything, some small, stubborn part of her still hoped Rosé wouldn’t say it.

She exhales, running a hand through her hair, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh.

“Right,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “Of course we can’t.”

Rosé clenches her fists, nails digging into the skin of her palm, hating the way her chest aches at the sound of Y/N’s voice.

She should say something else, something softer, something that doesn’t sound so final.

But she doesn’t.

Y/N looks at her, and suddenly, Rosé feels like she’s standing at the edge of something dangerous.

A precipice she isn’t sure she wants to step away from.

"Then stop looking at me like you want me." The words come out sharp, cutting through the thick silence between them like a blade.

Rosé flinches. Because Y/N isn’t wrong.

And the worst part? She doesn’t even try to deny it.

She just stands there, silent, frozen, drowning in the weight of everything she hasn’t said.

And that, Y/N realizes, is answer enough.

The silence stretches between them, heavier than anything Rosé has ever carried. She watches as Y/N exhales, her expression shifting—not angry, not bitter, just... tired. Like she’s finally reached the end of something she never wanted to let go of.

And Rosé hates it.

She wants to reach out, to say something, to fix whatever this is before it slips through her fingers completely. But no words come, and when Y/N finally steps back, putting space between them, Rosé doesn’t move.

She watches as Y/N walks away, disappearing into the noise of the party.

And Rosé doesn’t chase her.

They stop talking, not gradually, not in the way friendships sometimes fade over time.

No, this is different. It’s sharp and immediate, like a door slammed shut, like something breaking just beneath the surface but never making a sound. Like a final breath before drowning.

Y/N tells herself she’s done waiting. She tells herself that if Rosé wants to pretend nothing happened, if she wants to ignore her, to act like Y/N doesn’t exist, then fine.

She won’t chase her. She won’t sit around hoping Rosé will finally stop running.

But it still hurts. More than she thought it would.

It hurts when she catches herself glancing at her phone, expecting a message that never comes. The stupid reflex of checking her notifications first thing in the morning, only to be met with silence.

It hurts when she hears Rosé’s voice in an interview, that familiar, melodic tone, speaking casually, laughing like nothing is wrong. Like she isn’t tearing Y/N apart in the quiet spaces between moments.

It hurts when she sees her across a room, standing with the same effortless grace, her fingers curled around a glass, her posture poised and unreadable.

Like they never meant anything at all.

Y/N tells herself she doesn’t care.

She throws herself into her work. Rehearsals, performances, interviews. She smiles when she’s supposed to. Laughs at the right moments. Flirts just enough to keep up the illusion that she’s fine.

That she isn’t falling apart. And for a while, it works.

Because when she’s on stage, when the lights are bright, when the music is loud, she can forget.

She can ignore the quiet ache in her chest, the way her thoughts always seem to drift back to Rosé when she isn’t paying attention.

But then the nights come.

And suddenly, there’s nothing to distract her. No flashing lights, no cameras, no endless noise to drown out the thoughts she doesn’t want to have.

She comes home to an empty room, kicks off her shoes, stares at the ceiling, and wonders if Rosé is doing the same thing. If she’s lying in bed somewhere, wide awake, thinking about Y/N the way Y/N is thinking about her.

She should let it go. She should.

She wants to.

But then, on a night where the loneliness is unbearable, when the silence feels too loud, when the weight in her chest feels too heavy, she reaches for her phone.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard, hesitation settling in her bones.

She shouldn’t. She knows, but before she can stop herself, before she can talk herself out of it. She types out a message.

"Drinks or coffee?"

The words stare back at her, small and simple, but somehow carrying everything.

She doesn’t expect an answer.

She tells herself she’s just doing it for closure, for something final. A message sent into the void, never to be answered.

She leaves the screen on anyway.

Watching.

Waiting.

Rosé is half-asleep when the message comes in.

Her phone vibrates softly on the nightstand, barely enough to stir her from the fog of sleep, but somehow, somehow, she feels it before she even registers the sound.

With a sigh, she shifts under the covers, eyes fluttering open just enough to see the dim glow of the screen casting a faint light across the room. The brightness stings, blurring her vision as she squints at the notification.

She almost ignores it. Until she sees the name.

Y/N.

Her breath catches, sleep vanishing instantly.

Fingers trembling slightly, she swipes at the screen, blinking hard as the words come into focus.

Her stomach drops.

For a long, paralyzing moment, all she can do is stare.

Y/N’s name on her screen feels like a ghost, like something she hasn’t let herself think about in weeks, like something she’s spent too much time trying to bury.

She thought she was doing the right thing. She thought if she pulled away, if she ignored the way her heart ached every time she saw Y/N, it would go away. That the distance would make it easier.

But it didn’t. It never did.

Every single day without her felt like walking through a world that had lost its color.

She felt it in the quiet moments, the ones where she reached for her phone, fingers hovering over Y/N’s contact, only to talk herself out of it at the last second.

She felt it in the laughter that didn’t reach her eyes anymore, in the way the world seemed too quiet without Y/N’s voice filling the spaces in between.

She felt it in every song she sang, in every lyric that hit too close, in every interview where she forced a smile and pretended like she hadn’t been unraveling piece by piece.

She missed her.

More than she wanted to admit, more than she could admit.

And now, here Y/N was.

Reaching out. Giving her a choice.

Drinks or coffee? It wasn’t just a question. It was an offering. A last chance. A lifeline.

A way of saying, "Are you going to keep running, or are you finally going to face this?"

Her heart slams against her ribs.

She could ignore it, she could keep pretending, she could let the silence stretch on forever, let the distance between them turn permanent.

And maybe Y/N would finally get tired of waiting. Maybe she would move on. Maybe, one day, Rosé would see her across a room, laughing with someone else, looking at them the way she used to look at Rosé.

The thought makes her stomach twist violently.

The air in the room feels suffocating, thick with the weight of everything she’s refused to say.

Her fingers tighten around her phone.

And then, before she can stop herself, before she can talk herself out of it.

She moves.

Rosé throws off her blankets, the chill of the room hitting her skin, but she barely feels it. Her body moves on instinct, faster than her thoughts can keep up, like some part of her already knows what she has to do.

Her hands shake as she grabs a jacket, as she shoves her feet into her shoes, as she pushes open the door and steps into the night.

The cold air bites at her, sharp against her skin, but it doesn’t matter.

Because all she knows is this.

The rush in her chest, the certainty settling into her bones, the desperate, aching need to move.

Suddenly, the thought of losing Y/N feels unbearable.

The café is nearly empty when Rosé arrives, its golden glow spilling onto the dark, rain-slicked pavement, a quiet sanctuary tucked away from the noise of the world outside. The soft chime of the bell above the door rings out into the stillness as she steps inside, breathless from the cold, her lungs burning as if she’s been running for miles instead of the short, frantic sprint from the station.

Her pulse is hammering, each beat echoing in her ears, but she forces herself to move forward, to look.

And then, she sees her.

Y/N is exactly where Rosé knew she would be, sitting in the farthest corner of the café, curled into the same spot she always claims whenever they come here. The table in front of her holds a half-empty cup, long forgotten, her fingers wrapped loosely around the ceramic as if the warmth of it is the only thing keeping her tethered to the moment. Her gaze is unfocused, staring out of the window into nothing, lost in thoughts Rosé can’t begin to guess.

There is something different about her.

Something about the way her shoulders are set, the way the usual spark in her eyes is missing, the way her lips are pressed into something softer, something unsure.

She looks lost, and the sight of it nearly destroys Rosé.

She swallows against the tightness in her throat, her steps hesitant as she moves toward the table. Her entire body feels too warm, too unsteady, as if the moment she speaks, the fragile thing between them will shatter completely.

Y/N doesn’t look up right away.

She only notices when Rosé finally slides into the seat across from her, exhaling shakily, the weight of weeks of silence settling between them like something heavy, something unspoken.

For a long, stretched moment, neither of them say a word.

The quiet hum of the café surrounds them, the occasional clink of porcelain, the low murmur of an old jazz song playing through the speakers, the hushed voices of the only other patrons lingering near the entrance.

But at their table, there is only silence.

Rosé stares down at her hands, clenched into fists against her lap, trying to steady herself, trying to gather the courage to say what she knows she needs to say.

"It’s not just you," she whispers, the words tumbling from her lips before she can stop them, before she can convince herself to stay silent for just a little longer.

Y/N’s brow furrows slightly, the smallest crease forming between them, as if she isn’t sure she heard her correctly. Her fingers twitch around her cup, but she doesn’t speak.

Rosé inhales sharply, then exhales just as quickly, feeling the rise and fall of her chest, the way her heart seems to ache with the weight of what she is about to admit.

"I’ve been thinking about you every day." Her voice is quiet but steady, and once the words start, she doesn’t want to stop. She can’t stop. "Yesterday, today, and tomorrow."

She forces herself to meet Y/N’s gaze, forces herself to let the words exist, no longer hidden in the safety of silence.

"Is it so wrong I’ve been thinking ‘bout you all day?"

The air between them shifts.

A moment ago, it had been heavy with uncertainty, thick with all the things they had been too afraid to say, but now? Now, it feels different.

Y/N stills, her fingers flexing around the ceramic mug, her breath catching ever so slightly, her lips parting like she wants to say something but can’t quite bring herself to speak yet.

For a second, a terrible, agonizing second, Rosé wonders if she’s too late.

If she’s already ruined this beyond repair. If Y/N has moved on.

But unexpectedly, Y/N smiles. 

Soft. Knowing. Like she understands, like she’s been waiting for this, like she’s been waiting for her.

She leans forward just slightly, her eyes searching Rosé’s, voice gentle but firm when she finally speaks. "Then stop running from me."

The breath Rosé has been holding finally escapes, her chest rising and falling as something inside her, something that has been knotted up for so long, finally breaks loose.

And this time? She won’t run.

The morning light spills through the sheer curtains, casting golden ribbons of warmth across the duvet, illuminating the soft folds of fabric as Rosé stirs beneath it. The world feels quieter in this moment, gentler, as if the universe itself has shifted ever so slightly overnight, tilting into something softer, something lighter. The weight she hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying feels a little less suffocating, her breaths a little deeper, her chest no longer as tight.

She stretches lazily, the warmth of sleep still clinging to her limbs, fingers curling against the pillow as she blinks away the last remnants of dreams she can’t quite remember. There’s a peaceful stillness in the air, the kind that only exists in the early hours of the morning before reality fully settles in, before the demands of the day creep in to steal away these fleeting moments of tranquility.

Then, her phone buzzes against the nightstand.

The sound is quiet, almost insignificant against the hushed hum of the waking world, but it reaches her all the same, cutting through the fog of sleep.

With slow, clumsy movements, she reaches for it, fingers swiping blindly across the screen, still sluggish from sleep. The brightness of the display stings her eyes, and she squints against the glare as she reads the notification.

Y/N.

"Drinks or coffee? Just call me"

For a moment, Rosé just stares.

The words blur slightly in her vision, not because she’s still waking up, but because something inside her stirs, something deep and aching that she hasn’t fully allowed herself to feel until now.

A slow smile tugs at the corners of her lips before she even realizes it, the kind of smile that starts small but spreads, blooming into something uncontrollable, something real.

She reads the message once.

Then again.

And suddenly, she’s wide awake.

There’s no hesitation this time. No doubt creeping in to make her second-guess herself. No fear holding her back, telling her to stop, to run, to pretend like this doesn’t mean everything.

Just certainty. A kind of clarity she hasn’t felt in weeks.

She doesn’t waste time typing out a reply, doesn’t sit there searching for something witty or teasing to send back. Words aren’t enough. They never have been.

Instead, she presses the call button, the movement instinctive, as if her body already knows what her heart has only just allowed itself to accept.

The line rings once.

Twice.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

Y/N’s voice comes through the receiver, warm and familiar, laced with the soft amusement of someone who already knows Rosé too well, who can probably picture her sitting there, tangled in her sheets, phone clutched tightly in her hands.

Rosé exhales, her smile widening, the last remnants of sleep disappearing entirely.

"Morning." Her voice is still hushed, still laced with the gentle rasp of sleep, but there’s something lighter there now, something unburdened.

Y/N hums on the other end, the sound threading through the quiet like a melody Rosé didn’t know she’d been waiting to hear. "So? Drinks or coffee?"

Rosé laughs softly, the warmth in her chest spilling over, impossible to contain. She’s already sitting up, already reaching for the first jacket she can find, already moving before she’s even fully aware of it.

"Neither."

There’s a pause, and she can almost hear the curiosity in Y/N’s silence before the response comes."Oh?"

"I just want to see you."

There’s another pause, longer this time. The kind that stretches, that means something. Rosé can hear Y/N shift slightly on the other end, can imagine the small smile forming on her lips, the tilt of her head, the way she’s probably biting back some teasing remark, drawing out the anticipation just to make Rosé wait.

"Then hurry up, Chipmunk."

Rosé laughs again, this time louder, freer. And for the first time in a long time, she knows exactly where she’s meant to be.

[w1w2]

Messy

Part 1 | Next part

Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 7k

Rosé - Messy

"Baby, I'm obsessed with you and there's no replica Maybe if it's messy, if it's messy, if it's messy Then you know it's really love.."

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The Parisian winter had a way of sneaking into your bones, not with brute cold, but with elegance. It whispered through the streets like cigarette smoke, curling around ankles, slipping into the spaces between silk and skin. Outside the Bourse de Commerce, where YSL’s latest collection was set to unveil, the air shimmered with anticipation. Flashbulbs popped in manic rhythm, drivers idled at the curb in sleek black cars, and just beyond the velvet rope, fashion’s elite were already assembling like constellations waiting to align.

The door of a matte black car eased open and Y/N stepped out. One heel touching the wet pavement like a punctuation mark. The moment she rose to full height, the cameras found her. 

All of them.

A wall of sound, shutters, murmurs, her name called in accents that turned her initials into something foreign and reverent.

She wore a tailored black tuxedo with a satin collar, sharp enough to cut through glass. Underneath, no blouse. Just skin, a deep V, and a sliver of gold, a minimalist chain peeking from beneath the lapel. Her hair was pulled back in a low bun, soft tendrils framing her face in deliberate chaos. The kind of effort that whispered “I don’t need to try.”

No logos, no team patches, no lanyard with access codes. 

Just YSL and her.

She paused on the carpet, letting them have their shot, her expression unreadable, somewhere between "I know exactly what I’m doing" and "I dare you to ask me why I’m here." Her fingers curled lightly around the small black clutch in her hand. It wasn’t her helmet, but it still felt like armor.

Truthfully, she felt off balance. This wasn’t her track, it wasn’t a grid or a starting line, there was no roar of engines, no headsets crackling in her ear. The adrenaline was different here, more glitter than gasoline.

But it buzzed under her skin just the same.

She inhaled slowly. The air smelled like cold stone, champagne, and something floral, probably whatever the latest YSL fragrance was, misted into the air like a spell.

This world wasn’t unfamiliar, not completely. She’d done press, she’d sat front row at team sponsor events, smiled through awkward interviews in languages she barely understood. But this was the first time she was the guest, no one behind her telling her what to say, no teammate by her side.

And from the looks of it, they were all watching her like she’d already said everything.

Eyes forward, shoulders down. “Don't shrink,” she told herself, repeating the mental drill she'd used since karting days. Confidence wasn't just posture, it was performance.

She stepped off the carpet, into the lobby of the venue, where the lighting dimmed to a moody gold and voices dropped into low murmurs. Stylists, models, celebrities, all dressed like a dream, mingled in loose clusters, too polished to look excited, but not indifferent enough to hide the glances they threw her way.

She didn’t return them, didn’t need to.

Rosé was already there.

Front row, in a strapless white dress with soft ruffled detailing that caught the light when she moved, which wasn’t often. Her heels crossed at the ankle, just visible beneath the hem. A single bold gold bangle wrapped around her wrist, gleaming against her skin. Her posture was relaxed, regal in its simplicity, and her hair, loosely styled, framed her face in soft waves that softened the edges of her presence without diminishing its impact.

Rosé sat with the kind of composure that came not from performance, but from habit. A stillness learned over years of stages, cameras, curated rooms. She didn’t shift, didn’t fidget. Her attention wandered only slightly, glancing across the crowd with the faint smile of someone who had already seen this all before.

Around her, the space murmured with pre-show anticipation. Conversations were soft but pointed, the kind that floated above designer perfumes and the subtle clink of fine glassware. Editors chatted, photographers checked lenses, stylists whispered critiques they’d deny giving later. Rosé had made the rounds already, brief embraces, air kisses, the sort of interactions that skimmed the surface but never dipped deep enough to touch anything real. It was the performance before the performance, and she knew it by heart.

She was smiling politely at someone across the aisle when something shifted, not in the show, which hadn’t yet begun, but in the atmosphere.

A ripple in the room’s composure.

The change came in sound first, the cadence of camera shutters outside the entrance, once scattered and rhythmic, suddenly converged into a staccato burst. Sharper, urgent, like something, or someone, had stepped into the spotlight and turned it all up a notch. Rosé tilted her head toward the source without any real urgency. She’d seen it all before, actors arriving fashionably late, influencers hoping for relevance in someone else’s seat.

But then she saw her.

The entrance was framed by gold doors, and in the center of them stood a woman whose silhouette disrupted the room’s polished sameness with disarming ease. She was tall, dressed in an impeccably cut black suit that defied the standard of overaccessorized drama. There were no obvious designer markers, no sparkle, no embellishment, just clean lines and a presence that didn’t require permission.

Her steps were confident but unhurried, heels tapping against the marble floor in a rhythm that sounded like certainty. She wasn’t looking for cameras or company, she wasn’t smiling to please anyone. She was just moving through the space like she belonged to no one and somehow, that made her belong everywhere.

Rosé’s gaze narrowed slightly, sharpened by something she didn’t yet name. As the woman turned to follow the usher toward her seat, her face caught the light, and in that instant, recognition locked in.

Y/N.

The name came to her before she could stop it. Not because someone said it, but because she’d seen it enough times to memorize the angles. Press coverage, editorial shoots, a campaign with TAG Heuer, and of course, on the track.

On podiums, in motion.

Y/N, the first female driver on the grid. McLaren’s wildcard, a media sensation, a name that had leapt off the sports pages and landed firmly in global culture. Rosé had scrolled past her photos more times than she could admit. But standing here, in person? Y/N was something else entirely, not just beautiful, but arresting, unfiltered and present in a way most people weren’t, especially in rooms like this one.

“She’s the one they’ve been courting,” came a voice behind her, her manager, leaning in with a half smile. “YSL’s trying to lock her down as their next face. Big fanbase, she’s the real deal.”

Rosé didn’t answer right away. Her eyes never left Y/N, who was now settling into her seat with an ease that made her presence feel inevitable. She wasn’t pulling out a phone or adjusting her outfit for attention, she simply crossed one leg over the other, rested her arm along the back of the chair beside her, and took in the space like she was studying it, not trying to impress it.

“I’ve seen her,” Rosé finally murmured, and her voice was quieter than she expected. The syllables felt more like a thought escaping than something she meant to say aloud.

And it was true, she had watched the races, not all of them, but enough to remember Y/N’s name, her driving style, the intensity behind every overtake. There was something cinematic about the way she moved even on a track. Precision layered over instinct, a mind that could calculate risk in real time without flinching.

That same energy lived in her now, only redirected, distilled into stillness instead of speed.

Rosé felt something shift in her chest, subtle but unmistakable. She couldn’t tell if it was admiration or intrigue, maybe both. There was a control in Y/N’s demeanor that Rosé found rare in this world, not the kind that begged for attention, but the kind that drew it naturally. The kind of magnetism that didn’t ask to be noticed but made you look twice anyway.

“She doesn’t look like anyone else in this room,” Rosé said softly.

And that was the truth of it.

Everyone else here had been styled to fit the narrative. Y/N had simply walked in and rewritten it. Rosé adjusted slightly in her seat, her spine straightening just a bit as she studied the other woman from her vantage point. She wasn’t in the habit of pursuing people at events like this, too much effort, too little reward. 

But tonight? Something about Y/N tugged at her attention like a thread waiting to be pulled. She didn’t know yet if it was curiosity, attraction, or something more complicated, but she knew that she wasn’t going to let the night end without at least hearing Y/N speak.

After all, she already knew how the collection would look, Y/N was the only piece in the room she hadn’t seen before.

The afterparty lived in warm shadows and carefully designed indulgence, tucked inside a private venue that didn't need a name. There was no signage outside, no line, no chaos, just a black door on a narrow street near the Seine and a man in a sharply tailored suit who opened it without asking your name if he already knew it.

Inside, the world shifted.

It was like stepping into a secret. The ceilings were low and intimate, designed not to contain but to pull people closer, velvet drapes in deep charcoal lined the walls, muting the outside world entirely. The air carried the scent of something expensive and hard to name, leather, spice, a twist of citrus, mingling with warm skin, champagne, and the ghost of too many designer perfumes.

The lighting was deliberate, as if someone had spent hours perfecting the exact wattage of golden glow, chandelier crystals caught and scattered the light like glass raindrops, casting soft reflections on silk dresses and polished shoes. Pockets of brightness illuminated cheekbones and sequins, but always left enough in shadow to keep a sense of mystery. No one was fully visible, no one wanted to be.

The music pulsed low and slow, the kind of beat designed to settle into your bones without interrupting conversation. It was modern but smooth, vocals buried beneath rhythm, all suggestion and breath. Bass threaded through the floorboards and up your spine, syncing with the tempo of moving bodies and half-formed thoughts.

It was the kind of place where the walls never echoed, where laughter was rich and subdued, and where every movement seemed slightly slowed, like the party was underwater, or maybe underwater in silk. Time didn’t stop here, but it definitely forgot to hurry.

People stood in curated circles, glasses of something amber or clear in hand, sleeves pushed up, collars artfully undone, smiles carefully lazy. Editors with pinched expressions leaned in toward designers with cigarette thin wrists, models draped themselves over the arms of velvet chairs like silk scarves left in passing. You couldn’t always tell who was famous, which was the point.

It smelled like wealth, but not new wealth, old money worn casually, tucked inside vintage leather clutches. The kind of money that didn’t try too hard, the kind that had nothing to prove.

And above it all, a current of performance that no one admitted to. The slow turning of heads when the door opened, the split second judgment behind every glance, the soft war between being seen and seeming untouched by it.

It was beautiful, pretentious and addictive.

And for now? It was Y/N’s stage, whether she wanted it or not.

She stood near the bar, the stem of a glass resting lightly between her fingers, its condensation dripping in slow trails across her knuckles. The chilled glass left a delicate print against the warmth of her skin, something solid to focus on while the noise of the room floated around her like background static.

Someone beside her, tall, wearing something sheer and architectural, was halfway through a story about Milan. A show that ran an hour late, a designer’s tantrum, something about feathers being flown in from Morocco. Y/N nodded along, polite, engaged in the way people are when they’re listening but not really registering. She couldn’t even remember if she’d been introduced to them. Probably a stylist, or maybe a creative director, or just someone with good bone structure and the kind of confidence that didn’t ask questions.

She wasn’t trying to be rude, she was just distracted.

This world, this dim, gilded cocoon of whispered names and calculated nonchalance, wasn’t foreign to her, but it still felt like stepping sideways into someone else’s life. She’d done galas, brand dinners, even one or two campaign shoots where she’d had to learn how to pose without looking like she was trying to win something. But this? The post-show scene, full of microhierarchies and coded glances? Was a different arena altogether.

Still, she could play the part.

Her black shirt was unbuttoned just enough to feel easy, sleeves rolled to mid-forearm like she’d done it without a mirror. The collar sat open, relaxed. The leather jacket was draped over one shoulder, not worn, because wearing it would have made it look like she was trying. It wasn’t about warmth anyway, it was armor, a finishing piece. Her dark slacks were pressed and precise, and her sunglasses still rested on the bridge of her nose, low enough to make eye contact optional. A statement, not a shield. Though, maybe both.

She looked the part, more than that, she looked good. She could feel it in the way people glanced at her over their glasses and in the way conversations paused when she passed. But beneath the polish, her pulse stayed steady, unimpressed. Detached in that quiet, centered way she’d learned on racetracks.

What they didn’t know was that she was trained for this kind of pressure, the unsaid kind. The kind that watched and waited for cracks, this wasn’t a circuit, but the tension wasn’t all that different.

There were no screaming fans tonight, no autograph lines or chants of her name. This attention was quieter, sharper, it came in glances that lingered half a second too long, in whispered questions disguised as compliments.

“Is that her?” “She’s even better looking in person.” “I didn’t know she cleaned up like this.”

She felt it. 

The weight of observation, but it didn’t rattle her. Not exactly, it just kept her alert, the way an engine did when it purred beneath her, waiting to launch.

She brought her drink to her lips again, letting the edge of the glass touch her bottom lip before she took a slow sip. The corners of her mouth curled slightly, not into a smile, exactly. Just the hint of one, a flicker of amusement at nothing in particular, or maybe at herself for pretending she didn’t find this all strangely entertaining.

And then something shifted.

Not loud, not visible to anyone else, probably. But to her? Unmistakable.

The music didn’t change, but it felt like the air thinned, like the molecules around her had suddenly been rearranged. Her body responded before her brain caught up, a straightening of the spine, a pause mid-sip, a subtle stillness settling over her limbs.

The room hadn’t changed.

But someone had just walked into it.

Y/N’s attention tilted before she even knew why, a flicker in her periphery, a ripple that moved from one side of the room to the other, like champagne just beginning to fizz.

She turned her head, just slightly, just enough.

And there she was.

Rosé stepped into the room as if she’d always been part of it, not interrupting, not performing, simply becoming the moment without asking for permission. She wasn’t announced, and yet the room realigned around her, people parting like silk drawn through fingers as she moved with quiet command.

She had changed, of course she had.

The soft white of the runway dress was gone, replaced by something sharper, a black off the shoulder dress that clung to her like a second thought sculpted in fabric. It ended mid thigh, leaving just enough to the imagination and nothing to chance. Simple, but deliberate. It didn’t sparkle, it didn’t shout, it whispered luxury, confidence, and precision, the kind of dress that made statements without ever raising its voice.

Her skin glowed under the low light, a soft sheen tracing her collarbones, her shoulders bare and luminous. A single gold bracelet wrapped around her wrist like a signature, her heels made no sound, but the room seemed to know they were there, tracking her movement even if eyes pretended not to.

Her hair fell in gentle waves around her face, a few strands brushing her cheek with every step. She looked like she’d stepped out of a film, not one from this decade, something older, something timeless.

And Y/N watched her without meaning to.

Not staring, just taking her in. Carefully, quietly, like watching a storm roll in from the edge of a calm sea, knowing it wouldn’t touch her yet, but feeling the electricity all the same.

Rosé’s eyes scanned the room, but not with idle interest. She wasn’t grazing, she was searching with intention. She moved past conversations and bodies angled toward her in thinly veiled hope. Past designers in sharp lapels, models laughing too loudly, men and women with eyes too quick to catch.

She didn’t stop for any of them.

And when her gaze finally landed, it did so without hesitation.

On her.

On Y/N.

For the briefest moment, the room disappeared, the crowd, the music, the weight of attention that had been draped across Y/N’s shoulders all night.

It all fell away.

Rosé’s expression didn’t shift, no smile yet, no raised brow, just recognition, like this was exactly where she meant to arrive. Like this was the reason she’d come at all.

And across the space, Y/N’s fingers loosened slightly on the stem of her glass.

Rosé didn’t hesitate.

There was no flicker of doubt in her steps, no glance downward to adjust a hem, no pause for effect. She didn’t reach for her phone, didn’t smooth her hair, she didn’t need to. She crossed the room with the kind of ease that wasn’t learned, it was owned. Like the music had changed tempo just for her, like the floor moved slightly out of respect.

She didn’t walk like someone chasing attention, she walked like someone used to getting it.

Y/N felt her presence before she saw her approach, not because the room noticed, but because the air around her shifted. Subtle, inevitable, like gravity leaning.

She didn’t turn her head right away, she kept her eyes on her glass, fingers tightening just slightly around the cool stem. Not nerves, no, just instinct. The kind that makes your body prepare for something important before your mind admits it.

And then, she looked up.

Rosé was already there, standing beside her at the bar, framed by gold light and shadow. Close, but not crowding. Present and quiet, for a moment.

She didn’t open with the usual. No “Hi, I’m Rosé,” or “Nice to meet you.” No fake surprise at finding her here. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, eyes skimming from Y/N’s rolled sleeves to the leather jacket on her shoulder, to the sunglasses still resting just low enough to half conceal her gaze.

She smiled, slow and deliberate.

“You look better than half the models tonight,” she said, her voice like velvet wrapped around something sharper. “Or me. But I’ll forgive you.”

Y/N blinked once, then let out a short, genuine laugh, one of those caught off guard sounds that slipped through before she could catch it. Not because the line was clever, but because the delivery was effortless. No chase, no try.

She turned toward her fully then, reaching up to slide the sunglasses off her face, slow and natural, not to perform, not to show her eyes, but because she suddenly wanted to see Rosé clearly.

Now that she was here, up close, she looked impossible.

Y/N’s gaze swept from the off the shoulder line of Rosé’s dress to the bare shimmer of her collarbone, to the single gold bangle on her wrist, like everything she wore was chosen with no intention of impressing anyone but herself.

“I don’t know,” Y/N said, her voice low, her eyes steady as she gave her a once over without apology. “That dress is dangerous.”

Rosé smiled at that, not the faint, curated kind worn for photographers or social niceties. This one reached her eyes, it came with a slight tilt of her shoulders, like the compliment settled somewhere warmer than expected.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

The music buzzed faintly in the background, steady and slow, and the crowd moved around them like a soft blur, but here, in this small radius of eye contact and shared quiet, the world narrowed.

Rosé leaned in just slightly, not enough to close the space, just enough to let her presence speak louder.

“I was hoping to find you,” she said.

And Y/N, feeling something strange and sharp pulse beneath her ribs, met her gaze with a calm smile of her own.

“Looks like you did.”

The afterparty had thinned without ever truly ending, like a song fading out instead of stopping. The volume dipped, the crowd softened.

Some guests had vanished quietly, slipping into chauffeured cars, their laughter echoing in hallways before the doors even closed behind them. Others were making vague promises about one last drink somewhere deeper in the city, places with red lights and no menus, places they probably wouldn’t remember in the morning.

What remained in the room was a curated kind of residue, the ones too wired to sleep but too content to leave. The air was warm with perfume and fatigue, the music now more ambient than beat, a slow pulse of synth and bass barely rising above the whisper of conversation. Ice had melted in glasses, lipstick faded on rims, chairs had been pulled closer together, shoes long since abandoned.

Y/N and Rosé hadn’t moved.

They were still tucked into their corner, perched on a velvet bench half hidden behind a screen of palm fronds and flickering candlelight. Someone had lit votives on the windowsill behind them, and their glow danced across Rosé’s collarbone, catching in the loose strands of her hair and gilding her edges like a Renaissance painting, her heels sat abandoned beneath the bench, one strap trailing like a ribbon.

Y/N had one arm slung along the back of the cushion, her other hand loosely curled around her glass, idly watching the amber liquid shift as she turned it. She wasn’t drinking anymore, just moving, swirling, letting the rhythm of the moment guide her while her eyes drifted back to Rosé.

There was no urgency in the way they spoke now, no need to fill the silence, no fear of it either. Their conversation had slowed into something softer, the kind that didn’t follow a script, the kind that wandered, that paused in places most people would rush through.

They talked about strange things, beautiful things, the moment after a song is finished and before the audience claps. The loneliness of hotel rooms that cost too much, what it means to be watched and still feel unseen. Names came up, old friends, old fears, people they used to be, and people they were still pretending not to outgrow.

They didn’t look at their phones once.

Y/N had learned that Rosé didn’t like long silences in a crowd, said they made her skin crawl but craved them in private. That she felt safest when there was no pressure to perform, no expectation to respond. 

Rosé had learned something too. That Y/N sometimes felt more herself in a helmet at 300 km/h than in a room full of applause, that praise made her feel like a statue, admired, unmoving, held in place.

They’d laughed at that, quietly. Not out of irony, but recognition.

Now, they weren’t really talking anymore, not in full sentences, just letting thoughts drift and land where they wanted to. The party around them existed only in the periphery, the faint hum of a world that felt farther away with every passing minute.

Rosé glanced toward the window, her features bathed in gold and shadow. “It’s almost two,” she said, not moving.

Y/N let her head rest back against the bench, tilting toward her. “Feels earlier.”

Rosé didn’t answer, she just smiled, soft and tired, the kind of smile that came when the walls finally fell. A beat passed, and then she said, “I should probably head up.”

Y/N nodded. 

“Yeah,” she said, though her voice made it clear she didn’t mean it.

Neither of them moved.

Rosé’s gaze flicked toward the ornate clock on the far wall, then back to Y/N. “You heading straight back?”

“Eventually.” Y/N let the word hang. “Didn’t peg you for a party until dawn type.”

“I’m not.” A subtle smirk. “But I was curious.”

Y/N looked at her, eyes narrowing slightly in amusement. “About what?”

Rosé didn’t hesitate.

“How long I could talk to you before it felt like too much.”

Y/N smiled, slow, wide, and real. A smile with weight behind it. “Still not there.”

Something softened behind Rosé’s eyes, she exhaled, not a sigh, more like the release of something she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Then, without a word, she leaned forward and rose to her feet. Not abruptly, not as a goodbye. Just movement, elegant, deliberate, and unhurried. The hem of her dress swayed around her thighs as she turned back to Y/N. The light caught the edge of her gold bangle as she brushed her hair from her face, now looser than before, undone by the hour, or the conversation, or both.

She didn’t say anything else, she just looked at her.

And Y/N stood too.

No signal, no invitation, no plan.

Just instinct.

The lobby was warm in the way expensive places always were, not just in temperature, but in tone. Soft gold lighting spilled across marble floors, painting everything in a kind of hush. The air smelled faintly of polished wood, citrus oil, and something subtle and floral, like wealth worn quietly.

Sound didn’t echo here, it was absorbed, contained, made gentle.

Behind the sleek marble desk, the concierge was murmuring into a discreet headset in French, his voice low, practiced, perfectly disinterested. A single bellman stood off to the side, arms behind his back, eyes unfocused, the kind of presence that disappeared unless summoned. Even the music, barely audible from the hidden speakers, was designed to be forgotten as soon as it passed through you.

Y/N stepped in from the cold, the glass doors closing quietly behind her with a sigh. She paused just inside, letting the sudden stillness settle around her. It felt like stepping into the end of something, the kind of silence that only exists after a night has burned itself out.

Her jacket was slung over one shoulder, her shirt creased now at the elbows and collar, her hair had fallen from wherever she’d tucked it earlier, soft waves brushing her jaw, a little messier, a little freer, her boots didn’t make much sound on the polished floor, but they still echoed faintly in the corners of the space.

The quiet felt good, earned, but not quite complete.

She was halfway across the lobby, headed toward the elevators, when she heard it, soft, almost cautious.

“Y/N?”

She turned, instantly, like her name had reached her on a different frequency.

Rosé was standing near the elevators, half-shadowed by one of the massive black columns that framed the hallway. Her heels dangled from her right hand, the delicate straps looped loosely around her fingers. On her feet were oversized hotel slippers, the kind too large for her but somehow still graceful, absurdly charming in contrast to the black dress still hugging her frame.

There was something disarmingly human about her now. Her posture had softened, one shoulder dipped slightly as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, and the sharp elegance she’d carried earlier had given way to something quieter. Her makeup had faded at the corners, mascara just smudged enough to make her eyes look sleepier, her hair had come undone in places, a few strands falling forward, catching the light as she brushed them back with the hand not holding her shoes.

She smiled, hesitant but warm, like she wasn’t sure if this was too much or too perfectly timed.

“Same hotel?” Y/N asked, voice low, eyes flicking once from Rosé’s face to her feet, then back.

“Looks like it,” Rosé said, shifting her shoes to her left hand so she could tuck her hair back again, slower this time. Her fingers lingered just a second too long at her temple, a nervous habit, maybe, or a moment of indecision.

Y/N stood still, watching her.

The elevator behind Rosé chimed, a soft, elegant sound, and the doors slid open with a quiet hush.

Neither of them moved.

Rosé glanced over her shoulder at the open elevator, then back at Y/N. She didn’t speak, she didn’t need to.

Y/N crossed the final few steps, her boots whispering across the marble. She reached out to catch the door just as it began to close, holding it with one hand, the other resting lightly on the frame.

She looked back at Rosé, chin tilted slightly, her voice soft but certain.

“Well?” she asked. “You coming?”

Rosé’s smile deepened, and without saying a word, she stepped forward, past the column, past the echo of hesitation, and into the elevator.

The doors slid shut behind them with a soft hiss, and for a moment, everything stilled.

Inside, the light was diffused and warm, the kind that softened edges and made time feel slower. The mirrored walls reflected them in gentle fragments, Y/N’s jacket draped over her shoulder, Rosé’s bare arms crossed loosely at her waist, both of them standing just far enough apart to feel the space between them.

Neither spoke, not because there was nothing to say, but because the quiet suddenly felt too deliberate to break.

Y/N stood near the buttons, her reflection catching her from three different angles, chin slightly tilted, mouth neutral, but the faintest flicker of a smirk touching her features, her fingers hovered near the control panel, but she hadn’t pressed anything yet.

Rosé leaned back against the railing on the opposite side, one foot tucked behind the other, the straps of her heels still looped through her fingers, the soles of her slippers were silent against the brushed steel floor. She glanced toward Y/N, not directly, just enough.

“You don’t seem like someone who enjoys small talk,” she said softly, her voice quieter in the enclosed space, made silkier by the stillness around them.

Y/N looked over, one brow arching just slightly, the smirk turned audible.

“Not unless I’m trying to avoid the truth.”

Rosé smiled, the quiet kind that didn’t reach her lips all at once. She didn’t answer right away.

The elevator hummed as it climbed, floor numbers blinking slowly into place.

One. Two. Three.

“I was going to order something,” Rosé said then, glancing sideways, her voice softer now. “Room service, something bad for me, and I still have too many questions I didn’t get to ask you.”

A pause, not long, just long enough for both of them to feel it, that slight checking in, a mutual, silent scan “Is this okay?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate, her hand dropped from the button panel, she turned toward her fully, that smirk still in place, softened now into something more sincere.

“Yeah,” she said. Just that, simple and certain. “Okay.”

The suite was quiet in the way only expensive rooms are, not empty, not hollow, just composed. Like the silence had been designed, not left behind.

It was minimalist, but warm. Deep oak along the built-ins, matte black metal detailing the corners of the room like eyeliner. The floor was covered in a thick, dark rug that muffled even bare feet, floor to ceiling windows framed Paris in sleep, the Seine a slow ribbon of silver, rooftops stacked like memories beneath a misted sky.

Rosé entered first, her steps nearly soundless as she padded across the rug, slipping out of her hotel slippers and placing her heels neatly beside the bed. She didn’t reach for the lights, didn’t turn on music or offer drinks, she simply walked into the space like she knew it didn’t need anything more.

Y/N lingered near the door for a beat, eyes scanning, not because she was uncomfortable, but because she didn’t want to look directly at Rosé too soon. The bed was large, too neatly made, the desk was clean, save for a folded paper bag and a small stack of lyric notebooks. A pair of rings sat on the nightstand, beside a nearly empty glass of water.

Rosé turned toward her then, not from the center of the room, but from beside the bed. Her expression was calm, not inviting, exactly, just open.

“You can sit here,” she said, and the words were softer than they had been in the elevator. “If you want.”

Then, after a small pause “And, please call me Rosie.”

That made something shift.

Y/N let out the faintest breath, one she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, and slipped her jacket from her shoulders. She draped it carefully over the armchair near the wall, then walked to the bed and sat, cross legged, near the foot of it. Not far, but not presumptuous.

Rosie climbed up beside her, settling near the center of the mattress, legs tucked up, back resting lightly against the headboard. They weren’t touching, but they were close enough to feel the quiet humming between them.

The suite was still, undisturbed. No food trays, no clutter, just the clean surfaces of a room. The minibar was closed, a single linen napkin sat folded on the desk beside a room service menu, untouched. Everything else was still, like the space had been waiting for them to fill it.

Rosie hadn’t ordered yet, she hadn’t decided whether she was hungry, or just not ready for the night to end. Maybe both.

Y/N didn’t ask.

They just sat, the city glowing outside and the silence between them thickening, not with discomfort, but with possibility.

Y/N leaned back slightly, letting her hands rest on the mattress behind her. Rosie shifted too, drawing one knee up toward her chest. Eventually, without really meaning to, they mirrored each other. Legs bent, bodies angled inward, spines curved like they were leaning toward gravity without falling into it.

And then the words started to come, slowly, at first.

Rosie talked about touring, not the shows, but the days between them. The cities she forgot the names of, the way hotel rooms blurred, how sometimes she didn’t know what time zone her heart was in. She didn’t say it dramatically, just fact, honest.

Y/N nodded, understanding more than she expected to.

Then Y/N talked about race days, about the hours leading up to them, the way the world turned silent just before the engine screamed. How the helmet felt like both armor and silence, how it gave her something no one else could, space and privacy. Even while the whole world watched.

They talked about the pressure of being first at something, what it meant to break through doors you didn’t ask to walk through, how the applause always came with weight, and how no one clapped for you when you needed it most, at 3 am, after the cameras stopped flashing, after the high wore off.

Rosie told her she sometimes wished she could disappear, just for a while. Long enough to hear her own voice again, without thousands of others echoing it back to her.

Y/N looked at her for a long time before replying “I already know how to disappear,” she said. “The helmet helps.”

They sat in silence after that, but it didn’t stretch. It held.

There was no pretense now, no performative comfort. Just two women, stripped of stage and spotlight, sharing the kind of exhaustion that doesn’t show up on skin, only in the way your shoulders eventually drop when someone finally listens.

Outside the window, the city breathed beneath a blanket of fog and silver.

Inside, two people who’d only just met sat like they hadn’t needed words to understand each other at all.

And for the first time in a long time, neither of them felt the need to be anywhere else.

Time didn’t pass the way it usually did in Rosé’s room, it softened, slowed. Lost the need to be measured.

The conversation had thinned into something quieter, something that didn’t need structure or rhythm anymore. Their words were still there, but they blurred a little at the edges, not slurred, not tired, just hushed, as if the room itself was asking them to speak more gently now.

Rosé had shifted a few inches higher on the bed, her knees drawn up close to her chest, her back resting against the headboard. Y/N stayed cross legged, her weight shifted slightly onto one arm, fingers tangled in the folds of the blanket. The space between them had closed without either of them noticing. Not by design, not by decision. Just slowly, like gravity had pulled them inward until their arms brushed.

Y/N’s voice, once teasing, edged with wit and charm, was quieter now. Less clever, more honest. She wasn’t trying to impress anymore, she was just there.

Rosé tilted her head, resting her cheek on the top of her knees, her eyes half lidded but awake. She listened, not with nods or polite sounds, but with the stillness of someone who genuinely wanted to know, she didn’t interrupt, she didn’t steer the conversation. She just let it breathe.

And when Y/N’s voice eventually faded into silence, Rosé didn’t fill it. She didn’t shift away, instead, she moved just slightly, a soft, instinctive adjustment, and leaned to the side. Not much, just enough that her shoulder touched Y/N’s.

Y/N stilled, but she didn’t tense, her body recognized the gesture before her mind did. It didn’t feel invasive, it didn’t feel sudden, it felt like trust.

Rosé let her head rest there, gently, the weight of it light but real, her hair brushing against Y/N’s collarbone, a single strand clinging to the edge of her open shirt.

Neither of them said anything, they didn’t have to.

Outside, the city hummed in sleep. Inside, the room held its breath. Rosé exhaled softly then, a breath she’d been holding without knowing, like her body had been waiting for permission to finally rest, and as she did, she let herself sink closer, her arm moving in a slow, uncertain arc until it came to rest across Y/N’s stomach.

Light, hesitant, then still.

Her cheek slid down just a little, until it found the steady rise and fall of Y/N’s chest, and stayed there. Y/N blinked once, staring at the ceiling, her eyes adjusting to the dark between the faint halo of the city lights outside. Her body didn’t move, her fingers didn’t twitch.

She wasn’t frozen, she wasn’t shocked, she just breathed. Shallow, careful breaths, not out of fear, but preservation, as if this moment might dissolve if she broke it with too much movement.

Because it had been a long time since something felt this gentle.

There had been touches, sure, there had been noise and tension and want. But this? This was different, this was stillness. The kind that made your bones go quiet, the kind that didn’t want anything from you.

And even though she barely knew her, really, by most standards, barely knew her at all, it didn’t feel like too much, it didn’t feel rushed.

It felt right.

Like their edges recognized each other.

So Y/N let her hand stay where it was, just beside Rosé’s forearm, close enough to touch. But she didn’t move it, not yet. She just closed her eyes, the rhythm of Rosé’s breathing syncing slowly with hers, and let the silence cradle them both.

There was no plan, no promise, just two women, who had nothing left to perform, choosing not to be alone tonight.

And that was enough.

Paris woke first.

Not with color, but with light, the kind that didn’t announce itself, but crept in through glass and space and stillness. A faint silver pressed into the corners of Rosé’s hotel suite, brushing against the walls, making shapes out of shadows. The sky beyond the window was pale and soft, somewhere between grey and blue, the kind of color that only exists when the world is just beginning to exhale.

Inside the room, it was quiet, no city sounds yet. Just the soft, steady hum of distant movement far below, blurred into white noise by double-paned glass.

Y/N opened her eyes slowly, and for a moment, she didn’t remember falling asleep. She just knew she was warm, grounded. Her body hadn’t moved much during the night, one arm curled at her side, the other stretched across the bed in a loose arc. There was weight there now. A head, an arm.

Breath.

She turned slightly, not sharply, not enough to wake the other girl, just enough to see her.

Rosé.

Still asleep, her lashes resting soft against her cheek, her body tucked in close, half-curled into Y/N like they’d done this before, like this was normal. Her dress had slipped up slightly in the night, one bare shoulder catching the soft glow of morning, her arm draped across Y/N’s waist, relaxed and weightless. Her hair was a mess, flattened on one side, tumbling over the other, one strand stuck gently to her cheek.

And still, somehow, she looked completely at peace.

Y/N’s chest tightened at the sight, not in panic, not in fear, no. Just recognition.

She didn’t move, didn’t clear her throat, didn’t try to extract herself from the tangle of limbs. Her hand was resting near the small of Rosé’s back, fingers splayed against the fabric of her dress. She could feel the slow rise and fall of her breathing, soft, rhythmic, real.

For a long time, she just stayed like that.

Listening and feeling.

Trying to hold onto the strange, quiet truth that had settled over them like fog. That this, whatever it was, felt safe. Too safe, maybe, for two people who barely knew each other’s middle names. It should have felt like borrowed time, like something fragile and temporary.

But it didn’t, it felt steady, it felt known.

Rosé shifted in her sleep, a small, unconscious movement. Her hand moved slightly, curling just a little against Y/N’s side, and her head pressed closer, a slow nuzzle, not quite intentional, but familiar in a way that made Y/N’s breath catch.

A soft sound escaped her lips, not words, just a sigh from somewhere deep in her chest. She adjusted again, only barely, and settled once more.

Her face was inches away now, if Y/N looked down, she could see every detail. The curve of her nose, the soft indentation of her bottom lip, the way her brow stayed relaxed, unbothered by whatever world she was dreaming in.

Y/N didn’t know what this was supposed to mean, she only knew that it meant something.

And that for once, in a career full of calculated risks and controlled outcomes, she had absolutely no desire to figure it out, not yet.

She blinked up at the ceiling, then let her head fall gently back onto the pillow, letting the soft, rhythmic weight of Rosé against her chest pull her back toward stillness.

Outside the window, the world began again.

Inside, neither of them had to.

Not yet.

[w1w2]

Messy

Previous part | Part 2 | Next part

Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 7k

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

They didn’t talk every day, but they didn’t not talk either.

After Paris, the air between them stayed charged, not tense, not heavy, just quietly alive. Like a room where someone had recently been, where the scent of their perfume still lingered, where their warmth hadn’t yet left the cushion.

It wasn’t constant, what they shared. It didn’t have structure, no good morning texts, no promises. Just a slow orbit, light, steady, magnetic.

It started with a DM.

A photo from Rosé, no caption, just a neatly framed shot of a bookstore shelf. A hardcover memoir by a retired F1 champion wedged awkwardly between an issue of Vogue and a music theory workbook. The message beneath it was a single black and white flag emoji.

Y/N saw it in the backseat of a car, the rain still drying in her hair. She smirked. Didn’t respond right away, waited until morning. Then sent back a screenshot of a Spotify playlist titled “rose colored nights” and a message “Too on the nose?”

From there, it started.

Not a flood, just slow momentum. The kind you didn’t want to interrupt.

DMs turned into an inside language of their own, photos of cities from high hotel windows, grainy selfies in airport bathrooms, one line music recommendations. Rosé sent a video of her dog sitting in a suitcase. Y/N replied with a snap of her training suit laid across a hotel bed, captioned “Little black dress, racing edition.”

Voice notes came next.

Rosé’s were breathy, usually recorded on walks with Hank or late at night from her kitchen. Her voice softened by whatever mug she was nursing between her palms, the clink of ceramic, the hum of a distant washing machine, shoes against tile. Sometimes she’d hum a line between thoughts, unfinished melodies, sentences that faded into quiet.

Y/N’s arrived at odd hours, from beneath stadium lights, from airport lounges, from the inside of gym lockers. Her voice had more gravel to it, more casual texture, often punctuated by laughter, interrupted by the metallic squeak of a barbell, or the quick breath of someone who had just run far enough to stop thinking.

Then, the calls.

Always late, past midnight, or right before sunrise. Time zones blurred. They spoke in the low, unguarded tones reserved for when the day is done pretending.

They talked about everything. About press cycles and creative blocks, about how Rosé sometimes felt like her songs stopped belonging to her once they were released, about how Y/N missed the silence in her helmet more than she missed the roar of the track.

They swapped stories of home, ones they didn’t tell on camera. Y/N mentioned a scar on her ankle she got as a kid racing someone barefoot through a wet driveway. Rosé told her about the time she locked herself in a rehearsal studio for six hours just to cry.

Some nights they didn’t talk at all, just stayed on the line, breathing. Together in the quiet, letting it stretch.

Neither of them mentioned the hotel room in Paris, at least not directly. But it hovered, in the rhythm of their messages, in the timing of their replies. In the way Rosé paused sometimes, just before hanging up, in the way Y/N’s voice dropped, almost imperceptibly, when she said her name.

They didn’t define what they were doing, they didn’t try to, but something had begun. And it was unfolding the way real things do, not in declarations, but in repetition. In consistency, in return.

The off-season gave Y/N something rare, space that wasn’t borrowed, time that wasn’t someone else’s. For once, there were no countdowns, no grid calls, no sponsor brunches or debriefs at dawn. Her days belonged to her again, even if just for a little while, and with that came a kind of freedom she didn’t entirely trust but took anyway.

She didn’t use it loudly, she didn’t book a villa or stage a romantic gesture in neon. She simply moved, quietly, intentionally, choosing where she wanted to be, and more often than not, that place was wherever Rosé happened to be standing.

The visits never arrived with an announcement, no press trail, no photos from first class, no name on any public list. Flights were booked under her middle name. Check-ins handled by someone else, a hoodie pulled low over her brow, sunglasses swapped out for a borrowed cap, one that didn’t belong to her, but already smelled faintly like someone else’s perfume.

She didn’t ask permission, only sent the same message each time “Where are you this week?”

Rosé always replied. Sometimes with a city, sometimes with a time, and sometimes with nothing more than a dropped pin and the words  “Come. Bring nothing, just you.”

She was usually in motion, rehearsals stacked against fittings, filming squeezed into travel days, meetings in buildings with no signs and schedules that folded back in on themselves, but she never said no. Even when she should have, even when her days didn’t have the space, she made it.

And so Y/N went.

Not every week, not always for long. Sometimes only for a single night, a sliver of time tucked between two obligations. But she showed up. She learned how to navigate studio back doors, how to slide past assistants and choreographers and sound techs without disrupting the current. Once, she stood at the edge of a rehearsal space for almost an hour, watching Rosé run the same verse five times, barefoot and breathless, never once breaking eye contact with the mirror. When the music finally cut, Rosé looked up, as if she'd known exactly when Y/N had arrived, and offered a smile that said she didn’t need to say anything at all.

Another time, Rosé appeared at the track just as Y/N was peeling off her gloves, two iced coffees in hand and a small paper bag tucked under her arm. She didn’t wave, just sat cross legged on the concrete near the pit wall, sunglasses sliding down her nose, humming faintly to herself until Y/N walked over and muttered “You’re late,” to which Rosé only shrugged and replied, “You love snacks more than punctuality anyway.”

They never posted, never tagged, never left digital fingerprints.

It never felt secret though, not between them. It was something else, something soft, suspended, deliberately unspoken. A shared space that didn’t ask for a name or definition, only presence, only return.

Rosé started playing music out loud in the mornings, soft, wordless tracks while she cooked in whatever kitchen they ended up in. Y/N teased her about her playlist titles but saved them anyway, tucked into her phone under private folders no one else saw. Y/N liked to fall asleep with one hand barely touching something, a wrist, a hem, the line of Rosé’s hip beneath the sheet, not possessive, not needy, just tethered.

Their lives didn’t change to fit each other, but somehow, the edges had softened, shifted, and adapted. Schedules remained, but they bent, not toward obligation, no. Toward want, toward each other.

There were no declarations, no late night confessions whispered into pillows, but there was rhythm, there was return.

They never said they were together, not once, not even in passing.

There were no whispered labels, no drunken confessions in the dark, no text messages hung with ellipses, waiting for one of them to be braver than the other. They didn’t talk about it, not because they didn’t care, but because they both knew how dangerous the answer might become once it had a shape.

There was always something between them, not like a wall, but like a glass pane, impossibly clear and impossible to ignore. Timing, distance, the weight of two public lives. The kind of careers that asked for everything and still demanded more. And beneath it all, a quieter truth neither of them said out loud, that the spotlight could make beautiful things cruel.

But the silence didn’t stop them.

They kissed, softly, then not so softly. In quiet apartments, in hotel rooms, once against a stairwell wall when Rosé had exactly four minutes before hair and makeup were due. Y/N’s hands in her hair, Rosé’s fingers curled tight in the collar of her jacket. Breathless, desperate, and still careful. Always careful.

They touched in ways that weren’t performative, fingers brushing under tables, a thigh pressed close in the backseat of a van, a hand resting over a heartbeat like it was trying to learn the rhythm by touch alone.

They fell asleep in each other’s spaces.

Again and again.

Rosé would wake with her forehead tucked against Y/N’s neck, her body curled close in a way that didn’t make sense unless it had happened more than once. Y/N would stir in the early hours and find Rosé’s arm still draped across her stomach, her breath steady, her body trusting.

And still, when morning came, there were no questions.

They didn’t ask what this is, didn’t dare, because there was no clean answer. No version of the truth that didn’t come with risk, or cost, or a hundred other voices trying to make sense of something they barely understood themselves.

The connection was undeniable, rich and real and already rooted in places neither of them had prepared for, but so was the silence that followed.

It wasn’t empty, it was intentional.

A holding pattern, a mutual waiting room. Both of them pacing the same space, quietly hoping the other would be the first to reach for the door.

But for now? They stood there.

Unnamed.

There was no clean beginning to the unraveling.

It didn’t start with silence. It started with too much, too many feelings pressed too tightly into a space neither of them had made room for. It started with closeness that felt like a promise, but never got spoken aloud, with longing disguised as restraint, with intimacy measured in minutes stolen between schedules that left no room for softness, let alone surrender.

They were careful, until they weren’t.

Y/N canceled a trip at the last second. Not because she had to, not because of a race or a meeting or anything she could point to with clean hands. She just couldn’t go, couldn’t walk into Rosé’s world again and pretend it didn’t terrify her, the press heat, the sheer machinery of someone who was watched even in the moments she most wanted to disappear.

The message came cold “Can’t this time, sorry. I’ll call you later.”

But later came thick with hours, then a full day, then silence that wasn't accidental.

When she finally reached out again, two days later, maybe three, she sent a joke. Something dumb, a meme Rosé had once said reminded her of Y/N’s sense of humor. There was no apology, no explanation, just a soft reentry, the digital equivalent of a hand brushing the edge of a door it wasn’t sure it still had the right to open.

Rosé responded with laughter.

But not quickly, and when she did, it came with no punctuation. No emojis, just enough to say I’m here, not enough to say I’m okay.

That was the shift.

Y/N pulled away first, not out of cruelty, but panic. Because for all the warmth she felt with Rosé, for all the grounded safety in her presence, there was something too exposed about it. Too bright, too known. And she'd spent too long building her life in the safe echo of helmets and closed circuits, to know how to stand still and be truly seen.

Rosé followed, but her retreat came quieter, deeper. It wasn’t withdrawal, it was defense. She knew how to close herself off with grace, how to meet the space with silence instead of demand. She didn’t ask questions, she didn’t call. She waited, but her voice, when it finally came back into the thread of them, was just slightly more formal, just slightly more careful.

The rhythm that had once flowed so easily between them began to stutter.

There were nights when they still stayed on the phone for hours, curled in their respective corners of the world, breathing each other in through bad signals and unfinished stories. And then there were days where the silence came heavy and full of edges, where a message went unanswered not out of cruelty but because neither of them knew how to break it without bleeding.

They began to miss each other while still speaking.

One of them would send a song, no caption, just the link, and the other would reply with a heart three hours too late. Rosé posted a photo of a lyric scribbled on hotel stationery, Y/N replied with a fire emoji. It wasn’t banter, it was begging, styled as casual.

When Rosé couldn’t sleep, she would scroll through her camera roll and stop on a photo she hadn’t taken, one Y/N had sent her without thinking. Knees up in the passenger seat of a rental car, sunset behind her, hair windblown, sunglasses on. The kind of photo you only send to someone when you want them to see you, not just look.

Y/N, alone in apartment, would stare at the last voice memo Rosé had sent. Not play it, no, just stare. Her finger would hover over it for long minutes, wondering if it would sound different now, if the voice on the other end would still feel like home, or like a house she no longer had keys to.

They weren’t fighting, they were flinching.

Flinching from what it meant to be honest, from what they’d already said with their hands and mouths and the way they fell asleep in each other’s arms like it was sacred.

Because the truth was, they were already in it.

They had already gotten messy. The way Rosé’s voice broke when she said I miss you without saying it, the way Y/N went quiet when Rosé brushed her hair back too gently, the way they both refused to say what they’re feeling, but couldn’t go a day without thinking about it.

And they didn’t know how to let it burn without setting themselves on fire. So they pulled, and then they came back, and then they pulled again.

Over and over.

It became a pattern, a song neither of them wanted to write down, because writing it would make it real, would make it harder to pretend they didn’t want more.

But still, they didn’t let go.

Because the mess wasn’t the problem, the mess was the proof, and they’d both take the ache of almost love over the silence of nothing at all.

The desert didn’t cool after sunset the way it promised to. The heat didn’t leave, it just changed form, thinning into the kind of weightless warmth that clung to bare shoulders, carried on the pulse of music. Lights painted the air in swells of pink and violet, bass lines rolled like thunder. The world, for a few hours, felt suspended in a dream made of smoke and sound.

Rosé was somewhere in the center of it, not onstage, not hidden, just there. The kind of presence that didn’t announce itself but still turned heads.

Lisa was radiant beside her, skin dewy under the lights, still carrying that vibrating afterglow of performance. Jennie stood to Rosé’s left, cool and poised as ever, her expression unreadable behind sunglasses even at night. The three of them moved like one memory, loose, laughing, weightless. Girls who had grown up under floodlights and still managed to carve out moments that felt untouched.

But Rosé wasn’t fully there, not entirely.

She laughed when she was supposed to, swayed when the rhythm asked her to, let her body fall into the curve of a song that wrapped around the crowd like silk. But something else moved beneath her skin. Something unsettled, something waiting.

Then Lady Gaga took the main stage.

The crowd’s energy snapped into place instantly, a tidal pull forward, collective breath held tight. Then mid-through the show, the intro swelled, the first chords heavy with anticipation. The lights strobed once in red, then white, then gold, and then? The opening lines of Die with a Smile began, quiet at first, like a confession whispered into the dark.

That’s when Rosé started to move.

She didn’t say anything, didn’t signal, she simply unlinked her arms from the others and stepped back, like gravity had loosened its grip on her for a moment and she needed to be somewhere else, not far, just away.

One step, two, then another.

She stopped just a few steps behind her friends and reached for her phone. Her thumb moved with no hesitation, scrolling to the top of her recents, tapping the name that had lived there quietly for weeks. The call connected before the second ring.

And then she saw her.

Y/N, somewhere across the world in a hallway with cheap tile floors and too bright lighting. Hair still wet from the shower, face flushed from exertion, McLaren’s hoodie sleeves bunched at her elbows. She was sitting against the wall with one knee up, the other stretched long, a half-drunk bottle of water pressed to her collarbone like it was the only thing anchoring her to the moment.

Her expression changed the instant she saw Rosé, not surprise, not even confusion, just the kind of slow, quiet light that only ever appears when something right enters the room.

Rosé didn’t say anything, didn’t have to.

The song was already playing, weaving between them through the speakers. The beat rising, the crowd singing, and beneath all of it, that single voice that had somehow found the language both of them had been avoiding.

Rosé smiled, faint but real, the kind that didn’t reach her mouth, but settled in her eyes.

Y/N’s lips curved in return, and she tilted her head slightly, just enough to mouth, barely above a whisper.

“Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow…”

Rosé blinked. Once, and then moving her phone slightly, angling it toward the stage, just enough for Y/N to see the lights, the flash of Gaga’s silhouette moving across the wide arc of sound, just enough to let her feel the moment from thousands of miles away.

Then she brought the camera back to herself.

Her face was lit by the glow of the screen, her hair gently mussed from the breeze, eyes soft, open.

She didn’t speak, she just looked.

And as the next lines came through, she began mouthing the words, carefully, deliberately. Like every one of them meant something only Y/N would understand.

“If the world was ending, I'd wanna be next to you…” “If the party was over and our time on Earth was through…” “I'd wanna hold you just for a while and die with a smile.”

Y/N didn’t breathe for a full measure.

Her body stayed perfectly still, except for the way her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her hoodie, a grip she didn’t seem aware of. She didn’t look away, didn’t blink, just let the words hit.

And Rosé? Still mouthing the lyrics, still watching her like the entire crowd had faded to static, didn’t hold anything back.

Not in her gaze, not in the tremble at the corner of her mouth, not in the tiny inhale between lines, like the music was starting to feel too close to bone.

The camera wobbled once, and Rosé shifted her grip. Y/N leaned forward slightly, her mouth forming a soundless word, one Rosé didn’t hear, but felt.

Stay.

She didn’t say it out loud, but it was there, hanging between them.

Seconds passed, and it was long enough to burn something into the air. And when the song reached its final chorus, Rosé didn’t sing along this time. She just looked, like she was trying to memorize Y/N’s face from the inside out, like she was afraid she might forget the shape of this feeling if she moved too fast.

Then Y/N said quietly, “You look happy.”

Rosé nodded, not big, just once.

And answered, just loud enough to cut through the noise, just quiet enough that it felt like a secret.

“I am.”

No goodbye, just the call ending in silence.

The screen went dark, the stage lights flared gold. Further in the crowd, Lisa and Jennie were still dancing, unaware that something far more personal had just unraveled under their noses.

Rosé lowered the phone slowly, chest rising once in a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Then, without looking back, she slipped into the crowd again, but something had shifted.

She’d never mouthed words like that to anyone before, and this wasn’t a performance. It was a confession, one that Y/N had heard, and hadn’t run from.

It wasn’t meant to be seen.

That was the thing. It hadn’t been hidden, not exactly, but it hadn’t been offered, either. It wasn’t content, it wasn’t for the crowd. It was for one person, one screen, in one suspended pocket of time carved out between verses and noise.

But even still, Coachella had eyes everywhere.

The fan hadn’t been looking for drama, she wasn’t hoping to start a rumor, or go viral. She just loved her.

Rosé had always stood out in the chaos of festivals like this, not by being louder or flashier, but by not needing to be. There was something about the way she carried herself that made the space around her feel calmer, more magnetic, like gravity turned slightly toward wherever she stood.

That night, from a few rows back, the fan spotted her, recognized her instantly. She wasn’t front and center, she was tucked just to the edge of the VIP zone, chatting and dancing with Jennie and Lisa one minute, then stepping away the next.

The fan, heart racing with excitement, raised her phone. Just a quick video, nothing long, nothing invasive. She wanted to share a slice of it, just to show the others, the stans, the casuals, the ones who always missed her between official appearances, that Rosé was here. Living, dancing, happy.

She recorded ten seconds, maybe twelve. Framed Rosé in profile, just as she moved a little farther from her friends. The music swelled, Die with a Smile had just started. The bassline hit deep in the chest, stage lights rolled in warm flashes over the backs of the crowd.

Rosé paused.

Not dramatically, not like a performance, just gently. She stepped near the barricade, where the bodies thinned, pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans, and raised it to eye level.

The fan thought nothing of it at first, everyone took videos during sets. Maybe she was filming the stage, checking something, texting someone. It was only later, after posting it, that she saw it differently.

Because Rosé wasn’t facing the stage.

She was facing the screen, and her face, even from a distance, even caught in motion, looked different.

Focused, still, present.

And then her lips moved.

Softly and deliberately, the kind of mouth movement that wasn’t speech, wasn’t reaction. It was too intentional, too steady. She was mouthing the lyrics, not toward the stage, not toward the sky, but toward the phone.

The video was short, slightly blurry, lit in flickers of gold and crimson. But it didn’t need clarity to land.

She posted it a few hours later, back at the tent, fingers still buzzing with excitement. The caption was harmless, simple, meant to be sweet.

“Rosé was calling someone during the Gaga set 🥺 she looked so soft here”

She went to sleep thinking she’d shared a warm little moment, something sweet for the fandom to coo over.

She woke up to chaos.

The comments had flooded in overnight, starting slow, just excitement, hearts, people thankful to see her. Then the questions started.

“She was on FaceTime?” “Omg wait WHO is she calling???” “Y’all notice she’s mouthing lyrics? LOOK at her eyes.”

And then someone slowed the video down, brightened it, cropped in. Rosé, head tilted, eyes soft, lips forming something clear. “If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you…”

It didn’t take long for the speculation to spark. Because that wasn’t a selfie cam, that wasn’t documentation. That was a confession, whispered through someone else’s words.

The fan hadn’t meant to start it, but the moment had slipped past intention and into something bigger. And the internet? Always watching, always hungry, had already begun connecting the dots.

It started, like these things always did, with someone squinting at pixels.

The video of Rosé had already made the rounds, not front page viral, but trending worldwide, reposted in fan group chats. Watched, then rewatched, not for spectacle but for something else.

Because it didn’t look like just a call, it looked like something meant.

And then someone slowed the video again, not to watch her face this time, but to watch her screen.

It was barely there.

A sliver, a corner, a reflection caught in the glare of Rosé’s phone, just as she adjusted her grip. One frame, frozen, brightened, scrubbed raw by a user with too much free time and too good an editing app. And in that corner, the outline of something specific.

A hoodie.

Dark grey, with a narrow stripe down the shoulder, a flash of orange piping across the collar.

It shouldn’t have meant anything, but someone remembered.

Two days before, Y/N had posted a photo on her intagram story, gone within the 24-hour window, from the edge of a racetrack somewhere. Training mode, no makeup, ponytail, water bottle balanced on her thigh.

And that hoodie.

Same stripe, same cut, same quiet signature, the one fans of her team would recognize instantly.

A user on X made the connection.

They didn’t shout, they didn’t theorize, just posted a quiet side by side. On the left, a cropped frame from Rosé’s FaceTime screen, the corner of the hoodie, blurred and barely visible. On the right, Y/N in the same hoodie, from the training post earlier that week. The caption was short.

“I think we just solved the call mystery. Hello???”

No emojis or hashtags, just that. And it was enough, within the hour, it exploded.

The quote tweets lit up first, then replies, then rewatches of the original video with new eyes, as if everyone had missed something sacred the first time and were only now seeing the full frame.

“WAIT. WAIT. WAIT. You’re telling me Rosé FaceTimed Y/N???” “Why do I feel like I wasn’t supposed to see this 😭” “She was mouthing the lyrics to her. This isn’t casual, you guys.”

And underneath all of it, the real realization.

It wasn’t just speculation anymore, it was evidence, small, incomplete, but undeniable. Something had been shared that wasn’t meant to be. And somewhere, a boundary had quietly ruptured, not loud enough for a headline, but deep enough to ripple.

Rosé didn’t sleep.

The video was still cycling through her mentions by sunrise. Reposts, stitches, messages she didn’t open, mentions she didn’t read, even when her fingers hovered over them. Everyone had something to say, and none of it was theirs to speak.

She had known the risk, a short call during a live set, a moment she hadn’t meant to give away.

But Rosé hadn’t planned to regret it.

She had just planned to forget, at least for a little while. To shift her focus, and move on to the next thing, that was what she was good at. She could compartmentalize with the best of them, she could breathe through noise.

Except tonight, the noise felt different, not louder but heavier.

By the time the black SUV pulled up to the corner of Southbound Las Vegas Boulevard, she already knew the street was closed. It wasn’t a surprise, it just didn’t feel like it belonged to her anymore.

The night was warm and windless, the Strip buzzing just outside the barricades like an animal being held back, neon strobed against glass towers and casino facades. The traffic lights blinked yellow over an empty intersection, and above them, the stars were blotted out by a lighting rig.

There were no fans, no press lines, but people had still gathered. Tourists trapped on the other side of the barricade, heads tilted, phones raised. Drivers honking behind redirected valets. Bystanders asking “What’s filming? Who’s that? Why is the street shut down?”

And then they saw her.

Rosé stepped out of the car in silence, no entourage, just her. Short black dress hugging the shape of her body, an oversized bomber jacket thrown over it like a shield, hair loose, makeup worn, the weight of the week written into the lines of her posture.

She didn’t wave, didn’t nod or look at anyone.

The cameras were already rigged, one set low to the ground, another held steady by a lone cameraman tracking her every move with quiet precision. No cranes, no sweeping mechanical movements, just a human eye behind the lens, close enough to catch a breath shifting, distant enough not to interrupt the stillness.

The lighting had been tested and retested. The script had been burned days ago, tonight wasn’t about precision. It was about feeling, and they all felt it.

Rosé stepped into the middle of the closed street and exhaled.

The pavement still radiated heat from the day, her boots made no sound on the asphalt. A light wind pushed the hem of her jacket aside, revealing bare knees, one hand clenched at her side.

They called for quiet,  though there wasn’t much to begin with. Vegas doesn’t go still, not really. But tonight? For this? It bent, slowed, held its breath.

No one knew it was Messy. No one knew she had written the second verse the same night Y/N fell asleep beside her with one hand tucked into the hem of her shirt.

And now the world was starting to guess, posts flying, screenshots compared, voices rising like smoke. It was all circling too close, too fast.

But here, on this closed off stretch of street, with the city blinking around her and the camera watching like it already knew the ending, she didn’t have to pretend.

She could give herself over to it, let the ache show, let the performance bleed.

The first take was supposed to be a warm up. Something to shake off the nerves, a pacing run, the kind of footage they’d splice between more polished moments later, a glance here, a walk there, her silhouette in motion against the heat stained asphalt.

That’s how the director framed it when he called, “Rolling.”

But Rosé didn’t pace herself.

From the moment the track began, muted through the wireless earpiece, barely audible beyond the reach of the camera, she was gone. Not distracted, not disconnected.

Gone.

The camera tracked her from a low angle, the lens steady in the hands of the lead cinematographer, a man who had filmed idols, actors, and the occasional politician, but never like this. Never a scene where the energy shifted the second she stepped into frame, never a shoot where you could feel the weight of what hadn’t been said.

She stood still for several seconds at the top of the street, as the instrumental thread of Messy began to unfurl around her. The city blinked behind her in long, slow strobes, hotel marquees flickering, traffic lights echoing in green and gold.

And then she moved.

Not fast, not deliberately, just enough.

Her arms, wrapped tightly across her chest, stayed there longer than anyone expected, it wasn’t a gesture she’d practiced, and no one had told her to do it. Her stylist had even warned against it “makes you look closed off, makes you look guarded.”

But in that moment, she didn’t care how it looked, she wasn’t performing for the lens, she was holding something in.

She walked forward, slow, careful steps in heeled boots that didn’t echo, her breath shallow but even, her eyes pinned somewhere just past the camera. She didn’t lip sync. Didn’t mouth a thing, not yet. She just breathed, and let the music pulse through her until the first verse hit.

Her movements were minimal, almost hesitant, her hands drifted down, fingertips brushing the fabric of her jacket, as if unsure whether to let go or hold tighter, her shoulders dipped forward slightly, her chin tucked in. It wasn’t choreography, it was a woman caught mid-thought.

And then the chorus arrived, that’s when everything shifted.

Rosé’s arms fell to her sides, limp for a beat, and then slowly lifted again, folding across her torso, but this time in something looser. Something closer to comfort than defense, she held herself with a kind of reverence, head tilting just enough to let her hair fall over one eye.

It was in that precise second, when the lyric hit “Then you know it’s really love, love…” that she closed her eyes.

Not dramatically, not for effect, just long enough to let the words land where they’d always belonged.

The camera kept rolling, the DP said nothing, no one called cut.

She opened her eyes slowly, lifting her gaze until it met the lens, not searching, not pleading, just looking. And what lived in her expression wasn’t vulnerability, it wasn’t sadness, either. It was surrender. The kind of quiet ache you give no one except the person who already has everything, the kind you only allow when you’ve lost the words to explain what stayed behind after they left.

She didn’t blink, she didn’t flinch, she looked straight through the camera, and for a second, just one, she looked like she wanted it to see her.

All of her.

The mess, the hope, the raw, beautiful wreck of a girl who hadn’t been able to say what she needed to say in person, and now had to say it here.

When the song ended, there was no cut, no applause, just the sound of breath in a headset and the gentle whirr of a lens refocusing.

The silence felt like an aftershock.

And when Rosé finally stepped back, the street behind her swallowing her shadow in long, uneven strokes of light, the director stood frozen with his hand on the walkie, eyes wide but quiet.

“She’s never done that,” someone whispered behind the monitor.

The director nodded, still staring at the playback, his voice came slower than usual, as if the words were struggling to catch up.

“I’ve never seen anyone do that.”

The compliments came later, quiet and stunned. One of the lighting assistants said they got goosebumps, the sound engineer murmured something about how even the air around her had changed, everyone praised the take. They used words like “raw” and “real” and “brave.”

Rosé nodded through it, offered polite smiles, pulled the bomber tighter around herself. But she wasn’t listening, not really.

All she could think about was Y/N. The moment her voice said you look happy, and how she hadn’t known what to say in return that wouldn’t break her.

All she could think about was whether Y/N had seen the post. The theories, the side by sides. The song she hadn’t heard yet, but was already threaded into the world without her consent.

Rosé wasn’t proud of the performance, she didn’t really care about the movie, she just hoped it reached the only person it was meant for.

The desert sun had dulled to a cooler hue by Sunday afternoon, but the heat still lingered in the air like perfume, dry, heady, impossible to ignore. Coachella shimmered with that kind of curated chaos it had perfected over the years. Every angle was a backdrop, every drink an accessory, every outfit a quiet negotiation between effort and ease.

Rosé had done this before, enough times to know how to disappear into it while still being seen.

She arrived with Lisa, just the two of them this time, their presence was exactly what people expected. Cool, collected, just enough undone to look effortless.

But it wasn’t the same.

Not for Rosé, not after last night.

She’d barely slept, not because of nerves, or because of the shoot, but because of the message she hadn’t expected and the silence that followed.

Y/N’s text had come early, while the world was still dark and she still smelled like asphalt and adrenaline.

“Do you want to tell me why you're trending on TikTok for shutting down the Las Vegas Strip in a bomber jacket?”

It wasn’t accusatory, it wasn’t teasing either, it hovered somewhere between amusement and something quieter, something she couldn’t name without unraveling.

She’d stared at the message, alone in her suite with makeup still on and the dress hanging from the back of a chair. The street below her had already been cleared, the crew had gone home. Her phone buzzed again, not from Y/N, but from the rest of the world. Mentions, posts, comments filled with guesses she couldn’t correct.

But the only message she could see was Y/N’s, and she had no good answer for it.

So she sent what felt safest. “You’ll see soon enough.”

She didn’t say what she meant by see. Not the video, not the lyrics, not the way the light caught her face when she mouthed the line about love being real when it’s messy.

Y/N hadn’t responded.

Rosé waited.

When she couldn’t take the silence anymore, she sent something gentler, trying not to sound too careful, too small.

“About the rumors.. if you want to talk about it, we can.”

Another pause, it didn’t feel like rejection, but it didn’t feel like comfort either.

Finally, Y/N replied “Let them talk. Ignore it.”

That was all.

No emoji, no warmth tucked inside the wording, just space, just distance, just the kind of message you send when you’re not sure where the line is anymore.

And Rosé knew what it was.

It was selfprotection, it was a shield, it was the exact kind of message she would’ve sent months ago. Back before the first touch, before the hotel bed, before the calls and the coffees and the lyrics she hadn’t even told her she’d written yet.

It should’ve hurt more. It should, but what hurt worse was the fact that it didn’t surprise her. Because they’d built this on omission, on silence, on everything they hadn’t said aloud.

They had touched like lovers and spoken like friends, they had occupied each other’s time, each other’s thoughts, each other’s routines, but never claimed the word. Never made it real. And now? That the world had turned to look, neither of them knew what to do with the pieces.

So Rosé had put the cap on her head, and climbed into the car with Lisa like it was any other day.

Now, front row at Jennie’s set, she stood clapping on beat, smiling when the camera panned too close, laughing at something Lisa whispered between songs. She jumped, she sang along, she lifted her arms for a crowd shot that would make its way into a TikTok within the hour. The world would see her and think unbothered, but underneath the practiced coolness, there was a pulse of something slower.

Not sadness, not confusion, a kind of quiet mourning.

For the way she used to look at Y/N and feel nothing but possibility, but now all she felt was pause.

Jennie’s voice echoed through the crowd, strong and sure. The beat dropped, and Lisa whooped beside her. Rosé tilted her chin toward the stage, lifted the corner of her mouth, kept her hands moving.

But inside?

She was back in the hotel hallway, back in the passenger seat of Y/N’s rental car at midnight, back on a silent phone screen, watching the girl who made her feel like love could exist in the gaps, the in between spaces where neither of them had been brave enough to say, this is more than temporary.

And now, she wasn’t sure if she’d already lost the right to say it at all. Her eyes were trained on something far past the stage.

On something unnamed, on something she might’ve already missed.

It was a week later when the post came.

It wasn’t posted from the paddock, it didn’t appear the night of the win. It wasn’t part of the media blitz that followed Y/N’s Grand Prix victory, a clean, blistering run through the corners of the Jeddah circuit that left the world stunned and her team speechless. She did the interviews, held the trophy, smiled for the cameras with champagne in her hair, said all the right things about performance and pace and pressure, and then disappeared.

It was a day later.

There was no announcement, just a single image uploaded in the middle of a quiet afternoon, tucked between news cycles. The kind of post that would normally get buried.

Except it didn’t.

The photo was taken somewhere behind the garages, far from the podium, far from the crowds. A part of the track where everything felt a little older, a little more forgotten, the gravel was clinging to her boots, the shadows stretched long behind her.

She stood half-turned toward the camera, helmet tucked beneath her arm, her suit peeled halfway down her frame and tied around her waist, the black sports bra beneath it was damp from the heat, clinging to her skin without apology, her hair was messy, loose at the ends. There was sweat on her neck and dust streaked across her cheek like war paint.

She wasn’t smiling, she didn’t need to, she looked unshakable, wild and real. Like a girl who knew exactly what she’d just done, and who she wanted to know it.

There was no caption. Just a single emoji “🏎️”. That alone would’ve meant little, another moody post race shot, maybe, or something for the sponsors, or the fans.

But the music under the post?

Die with a Smile – Lady Gaga.

No remix, no cut, just the original version, raw and undiluted, slipping beneath the photo like a memory being replayed. And suddenly, it wasn’t just a post.

It was an answer.

The lyrics started in silence, but the message was deafening “If the world was ending, I’d wanna be next to you…”

The same line Rosé had mouthed just before the internet caught fire, the same song she’d called Y/N to hear live, not as a fan, but as someone reaching out, quietly, completely.

The comment section was chaos in seconds.

“OH THEY’RE NOT SUBTLE ANYMORE.” “This is the song. THE song.” “So we’re just soft launching a global power couple through Instagram, huh?”

There were edits within the hour, fan cams layered with the chorus, split screens of Rosé at Coachella and Y/N at the track. Theories spiraled, timelines matched, lyrics parsed, every angle analyzed down to the bend in Y/N’s elbow.

But the truth was simpler than any of it.

She’d missed her, and this was her way of saying so. No press statement, no name drop, just a song, a photo, and silence heavy with meaning.

Later that night, somewhere in a different city, Rosé’s phone buzzed against her bedside table. She had tried not to check it, tried to ignore the DMs, the headlines, the flood of mentions dragging her name back into the conversation she’d tried to walk away from.

But when she saw Y/N’s name, there, in the notifications, her heart stuttered once, sharply.

“Really? You’re the one who said we should ignore the rumors, and you’re out here fueling it like it’s race day?”

She could’ve teased, could’ve deflected, but she didn’t need to. The reply came quickly.

“I miss you. When can I see you?”

Just that, not a challenge, not a retreat.

A question, quiet and steady, asking for nothing but presence. The first real thing either of them had said in days that sounded like something close to love.

Rosé didn’t answer immediately, she let the words settle, and somewhere behind her ribs, the part of her that had been braced for distance finally began to soften.

[w1w2]

Messy

Previous part | Part 3

Rosé x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 9k

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

It dropped just after noon, not with fireworks, not with hype, but with the kind of quiet certainty that made the internet stop anyway.

The cover and tracklist of F1 The Album.

A clean graphic, the kind of aesthetic precision F1 was known for. Seventeen tracks, global artists, big names, slick execution.

Doja Cat, Ed Sheeran, Tate McRae, Raye and many more. And near the center, like it had always belonged there?

ROSÉ

The post didn’t need promotion, it moved on its own, copied, reposted, and quoted. Within fifteen minutes, it was climbing the trending lists, and fan accounts lost their minds. Someone pulled old videos from Vegas, others began syncing them with rumored lyrics, piecing together speculation like it was evidence. They didn’t have the song, not yet. But they knew its shape now, they knew her name was on it.

Across the ocean, in a Miami hotel room still humming with afternoon light, Y/N stood barefoot on the carpet with one foot up on the edge of the bed, trying to lace her training shoes while not dripping water onto her suit. Her hair was wet, still pulled back from a quick rinse after drills, and the room smelled like eucalyptus from the muscle balm she hadn’t fully rubbed in. The air conditioner clicked, then settled into a low hum. Outside, the sound of a distant engine whined through the open window, swallowed quickly by palm trees and wind.

Her phone buzzed twice on the bedside table.

She didn’t check it right away, she was still twisting the laces too tight, distracted, but then another buzz came, and another.

By the time she picked it up, the group chat was already on fire. Her race engineer had sent a screenshot of the tracklist with three flame emojis and a casual bombshell of a message.

“So your new friend’s on the soundtrack, huh?”

Y/N didn’t reply, not to that one. Instead, she opened Instagram, thumbed through to the post, and stared at the screen for a beat too long.

There it was, truck 5. Her number, her lucky one.

Messy – ROSÉ

A photo from Vegas was already recirculating, Rosé in that bomber jacket, floodlights cutting her in half, that gaze like steel and surrender. Y/N had seen the footage. Every syllable Rosé hadn’t spoken since Coachella was laced into the corners of that image.

And now it was real, official, not just a rumor or a blurry night.

Y/N leaned against the headboard, letting her body drop with the kind of exhale that came only after you’d been holding something in too long. Her phone stayed in her hand, thumb hovering over their thread, the one that had gone quiet after Coachella, then sparked back to life with timing that never stopped feeling almost.

She took a screenshot of the album tracklist, no edits, no comments, just the raw drop.

She typed slowly. “So… Miss Lead Vocal. That bomber jacket’s making sense now.”

The read receipt appeared instantly, the little grey “Seen” stinging more than she wanted to admit.

And then, a moment later, the reply. “You promised you’ll wait and ignore it.”

The words were sharp, but not cold, not distant. It was the kind of push someone gave when they were scared the door was opening too soon.

Y/N stared at them for a second, then typed again, fingers steadier than she felt.

“I’m ignoring. Just proud of you.”

And she meant it. Even through the static, even through the timeline mess and the barely there conversations, even through the ache she didn’t have time to name.

She was proud.

And even if they weren’t saying it, even if neither of them dared to call it what it was, she felt it still. Right there in her chest, quiet and anchored, like the moment before a green light.

The heat wrapped around her like fabric the second she stepped out of the black SUV. Not an oppressive kind of heat, not quite, but the kind that shimmered off asphalt and settled against skin like a dare. It was loud too, not just the noise, but the life of it. Engines somewhere in the distance revved like thunder behind glass, music spilled out from a pop up DJ booth near the hospitality gates, security radios crackled and people moved like they had places to be, even if half of them didn’t.

Rosé paused at the paddock entrance, letting it wash over her. The clamor, the scale, the thick scent of heat, rubber, new leather, sunscreen. This was her first Grand Prix, and she already understood that nothing about it was built to feel small, the energy hit from all sides, fast, hot, relentless, and she found herself standing just still enough to feel it wrap around her.

Cameras caught her within seconds. Flash, snap, voice calling her name in three different accents, her pass swung gently around her neck, and someone was already asking for a statement, a smile, a photo.

She gave them the smile. The slow, practiced one, chin tilted, lips parted just enough to look effortless, her stylist had picked the outfit that matched the vibe just perfectly. Black dress and oversized letter jacket. Her handler leaned in with a murmured reminder. "Ferrari first."

Ferrari, right. 

That was where she was supposed to be. The path there was narrow but polished, bordered on either side by security checkpoints and branded barricades. VIPs wandered in curated clusters, influencers filming intro shots, someone in a pastel linen suit asking where the bar tent was.

But Rosé kept her pace even, slow, but with intent.

The Ferrari garage loomed ahead in red and black, gleaming under layers of polish and sponsorship. She’d barely stepped under the shaded entrance when she heard it.

"About time you made it to the right kind of track."

Lewis Hamilton, leaning against a workbench like it was a fashion show riser, arms folded, grin wide, and she smiled back, genuinely this time.

"I thought I'd see how the other half lives."

"You look well," he said, gesturing at her outfit with a nod of approval.

"So do you," she offered back, stepping in for a light hug, not too long, not too staged, just enough.

They chatted easily, something about travel chaos and luggage that never quite made it through Heathrow. There was laughter, a few quick photos, a flash of comfort.

But beneath it, her attention tugged sideways.

Red Bull was next, she was escorted there in a blink, swept away on a polite current of assistants and camera flashes. The garage was sleek, sharp, less intimate, more flash. There was a photo op waiting before she even got through the entrance.

She obliged, of course she did. Smile here, chin up, step to the left, but her mind had already gone quiet in a way she couldn’t explain. Because somewhere behind all this, somewhere across this maze of hot concrete and humming cables and suits the color of summer fruit was her.

She hadn’t seen Y/N yet, not even a glimpse. But she could feel it, like the weather changing in her chest.

Every time a crew member passed in papaya orange, her eyes followed, every time a voice nearby dropped into that clipped cadence that sounded too close to her, she turned just slightly. Not obviously, but enough.

Y/N was here. 

That much she knew, racing, focused, probably already in her suit, half-zipped and annoyed at whoever was fussing with her earpiece.

Rosé adjusted her jacket, said something kind to a reporter she didn’t really hear. She smiled again for the camera, let them think it was for them.

But it wasn’t.

She hadn’t seen her yet, not yet.

But soon.

The McLaren garage pulsed with that specific kind of tension only the minutes before a race could conjure, not frantic, not chaotic, but compressed. It was a machine running at full power beneath a perfectly still surface. Technicians weaved around tables and tires with the kind of silent choreography that came from repetition, engineers crouched beside consoles, murmuring over readings with clipped urgency, radios clicked and hissed, the background hum of voices overlapping in different frequencies. The smell of fuel lingered beneath the sharper tang of rubber and steel, and every surface gleamed under the clinical wash of overhead lighting.

Y/N stood just off to the side of her car, one glove half on, the other hanging from her fingers, her suit rolled down to the waist. The base layer clung to her frame, dark and sleek against her skin, the heat of the garage settling on her like weight. She shifted her stance slightly, adjusting the arch of one foot, her head tilted in concentration as her engineer rattled off a final list of variables. Tire pressure, wind speed, track temperature, the kind of information she usually absorbed with ease.

But today, her attention tugged elsewhere.

She didn’t let it show, her posture stayed calm, her face unreadable. Still, her fingers flexed just slightly against the edge of her glove, and her jaw clenched with a rhythm she couldn’t quite shake. There was static behind her thoughts, not loud, not intrusive, but constant, like something unfinished waiting just outside her line of sight.

“Oi, Y/N! Your friend’s here.”

Lando’s voice rang across the garage with zero subtlety, carrying over drills and engine checks and whatever fragile grip she had on her pre-race routine.

Her shoulders stiffened immediately, she didn’t even need to turn around.

“Shut up, Lando,” she muttered, yanking her glove tighter than necessary.

He leaned against a nearby tire stack with a grin that could only be described as wicked, clearly savoring every second of this.

“Oh, come on,” he said, smirking. “You blushed, that’s practically a confession.”

Y/N shot him a glare, but the bite behind it was soft, already crumbling at the edges. “Keep talking and I’ll put you into a wall on Turn 2.”

But the threat was barely there, her voice losing tension the moment something shifted behind her, the air catching, the background noise dulling for just a second too long.

She turned, even before she registered why she was turning.

Rosé had stepped inside the garage, escorted by one of the PR reps, credentials swinging lightly around her neck as she moved, unhurried, composed, but unmistakably present. Her eyes scanned the space quickly, then landed exactly where they were supposed to.

She caught the tail end of the exchange, Lando’s teasing and Y/N’s flustered deflection. The awkward shift of someone trying to look unfazed when every cell in her body was suddenly alert. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t make a joke, didn’t acknowledge the blush still warming the tips of Y/N’s ears. She just smiled, a small, calm thing, almost imperceptible, but so knowing it made Y/N’s lungs stutter in response.

And for a second, everything around them slowed.

No one else noticed, or maybe they did, but chose not to look too closely. The crew continued moving, voices low and focused, the background blur of motion doing its best to swallow the moment whole. But Y/N stood still, eyes locked on the only person in the room who wasn’t supposed to make her feel anything at all, and yet did, effortlessly.

She leaned in, just slightly, not enough for anyone else to see it as significant, just enough that her words wouldn’t carry beyond Rosé’s ears.

“If you’re here,” she said, voice low and steady, “I’m winning.”

It wasn’t confidence, it was something else entirely, a quiet, rooted truth that didn’t need to be challenged. And Rosé didn’t reply, she didn’t have to.

She stepped forward by an inch, maybe two, and reached out with one hand, her fingers brushing against Y/N’s arm, light, deliberate, warm. The touch landed just above the wrist, where the pulse sat close to the surface, and held for the briefest moment, not possessive, not staged. Just present, acknowledging and real.

Then it was gone.

She let her hand fall, her body drifting back just as the garage surged back to life, someone calling for helmet checks, the buzz of a camera flash flaring nearby, the noise returning like a tide.

Y/N blinked, slowly, her eyes lingering on the place where Rosé had just been.

She didn’t move, she didn’t speak. But something shifted inside her, something loose and electric and impossibly steady all at once. The moment had passed, but its weight lingered, quiet and impossible to ignore. 

Still humming, still alive.

The noise was almost unbearable by the final lap, not in volume, but in weight, in pressure. It pressed against the skin, settled in the chest, vibrated along the track surface like a living thing. Engines screamed through the corners, tires spat dust into the air, and the grandstands throbbed with thousands of bodies moving in unison, their collective tension rising with every fraction of a second shaved off the lap.

Rosé stood just beyond the barrier, tucked into the designated zone reserved for VIPs and officials, a crisp laminate badge against her chest and the chequered flag coiled tightly in her grip. Her hand felt stiff, her knuckles white around the pole, not from fear, but from trying to keep herself anchored in the exact moment she was standing in. Everything around her blurred at the edges, the officials murmured calls over radios, the heat radiating off the asphalt, the flicker of sponsor banners whipping in the breeze, all of it dulled to a hum beneath the thundering focus in her chest.

She hadn’t known it would feel like this.

She’d expected the adrenaline, yes. The spectacle, the beauty of the race and the sharpness of the machines and the choreography of it all. But she hadn’t expected the silence inside herself, the kind that came when anticipation gave way to something closer to reverence.

Her eyes were on the final corner, she barely registered the screen above her flashing live feed. She didn’t need it, the sound of the crowd said enough, a rising crescendo rippling through the stands like a match had been lit and passed through every seat.

And then, through the blur of speed, through the roar of power and dust and fire, she saw it. That unmistakable flash of orange cutting through the curve like it wasn’t a corner at all, but a promise fulfilled.

Y/N’s car emerged from the turn with clinical precision, no overcorrection, no hesitation. Just complete command.

Rosé didn’t breathe.

The way the car held to the track, fast, fluid, impossible, felt like watching instinct turned into art. It wasn’t just skill, it was intention, it was everything Y/N had said without saying it.

"If you’re here, I’m winning."

And now she was.

The blur of her car surged forward, engine climbing to its final scream, and in that last stretch seconds compressed into heartbeats, Rosé saw more than motion. She saw fire, she saw defiance, she saw a kind of beauty that didn’t try to be beautiful, just was.

The moment before the tires crossed the finish line cracked something open in Rosé’s chest. Not pride, not even awe. It was something more elemental than that, something she hadn’t quite prepared for, it was the visceral realization that this girl, this impossibly magnetic, quietly defiant, stubborn and stunning force of nature, was not just extraordinary.

She was hers.

She waved the flag with more force than she meant to, the fabric catching the sunlight in a blur of black and white. It wasn’t graceful, not the way the briefing had demonstrated earlier that morning, it wasn’t ceremonial, it was a release.

The crowd erupted as if the air itself had torn open, a full throated scream of noise and joy and disbelief rising into the sky. Her name lit up the screen, the crew behind the barricades roared and collided in celebration, and somewhere in the distance, champagne was already being cracked open.

But Rosé didn’t flinch, didn’t turn, didn’t look away.

Her eyes followed the car on the screen for a moment, just long enough to track its deceleration, the controlled chaos of slowing down after flight.

And then her gaze fixed again, steady, searching for the shape of the driver beneath it all.

She wasn’t watching the car anymore, she was watching her.

Y/N, still strapped in, still hurtling through the moment, still wearing the helmet that hid everything, except what Rosé already knew.

She watched her with eyes that burned, not from sun or heat, but from the sudden, overwhelming gravity of everything unsaid between them.

The pride, yes, the admiration. But also the ache, the need, the truth that had lived in silence for too long and now stood screaming on the finish line.

Rosé had seen Y/N in hotel lobbies and hidden rehearsal rooms, in dark cars and low lit corners, curled beneath sheets and curled beneath questions neither of them had answered, but she had never seen her like this.

Unapologetic, alive and untouchable.

And yet, still looking for something, still reaching for something beyond the track. Rosé didn’t move, didn’t smile, not yet.

She just breathed her in, and let the sound of the stadium break over her. Because if this was what love looked like at 200 miles an hour, then maybe it was always going to be messy.

And maybe that was the point.

The noise didn’t end all at once. It fractured slowly, the way thunder fades, not disappears. First came the interviews, clipped and rushed, with too many voices shouting questions at once. Then the camera flashes, strobing across helmets and sweat slicked cheeks, catching moments that would be stitched into highlight reels before the champagne had time to dry. The hugs, the whoops of laughter, the back pounding congratulations, everyone wanted a piece of the win, everyone wanted their frame of the moment.

Rosé didn’t try to be part of it.

She watched from the edge of it all, her VIP lanyard still around her neck, though no one checked it anymore. Her flag duties were over, the press photos taken, the team’s thank you's extended, she had every excuse to leave, a car waiting, a time stamped itinerary, the kind of exit most people would have taken without question.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she found a quiet corner, a stretch of wall near the back corridor of the McLaren garage, half lit by fluorescents that flickered like they were trying to remember how to rest. From where she stood, she could see the tail end of the celebration, crew members with radios still clipped to their belts, scattered fans craning for glimpses, and confetti underfoot that stuck to everything.

And she waited.

It wasn’t dramatic, it wasn’t even deliberate. She just didn’t leave, because something in her wasn’t done yet. And then? 

Y/N appeared.

She slipped through a side entrance, hair damp with sweat, cheeks flushed and eyes bright in a way Rosé hadn’t seen before, not like this. There was no mask on her face, no practiced calm, just joy, pure and sharp, unfiltered and unguarded. She was practically glowing, suit unzipped, gloves hanging from one hand, the other tugging at the collar of her fireproofs like she hadn’t quite remembered how to be still yet.

Rosé didn’t move right away.

She let herself look.

Y/N was speaking to someone, one of the engineers, probably, but her head turned slightly as she walked, as if pulled toward something just out of frame. Her steps slowed, her mouth stilled, and then her eyes found her.

It didn’t need to be said.

The chaos softened, just for a moment, as Rosé pushed off the wall and stepped forward, not fast, not with purpose, but with something quieter, something sure.

No one noticed, there were no flashes, no microphones swinging overhead. It was just the two of them, the space between them still electric, but no longer loud.

“You did it,” Rosé said, voice low, barely above the hum of the cooling units and far off voices.

Y/N looked at her, really looked, and for a breath, everything else fell away. Then she smiled, the kind of smile that didn’t pose or perform or ask for anything. It was a smile meant for one person only.

“Told you I would.”

There was no touch, no kiss, not here. But the moment between them said everything. They had both waited for this, not the win, not the race, but the after, the quiet, the exhale.

And here it was.

Finally.

The noise never fully died, not even this far from the track, but it dimmed enough to feel like something else. The air inside the VIP tent was cooler, calmer, heavy with the scent of something herbal, eucalyptus, maybe, and whatever perfume had been sprayed too generously near the guest list tables. It was a different kind of chaos here, curated and soft edged, full of champagne glasses and whispered debriefs and media teams pretending to relax.

Rosé didn’t belong here either, not really. But for once, she wasn’t thinking about how she looked, or who was watching.

Y/N’s hand brushed hers lightly as they walked side by side, not holding, not clinging, just enough contact to remind them both they hadn’t imagined what happened outside. The race was behind them now, the world, for a few stolen minutes, could wait.

They slipped behind a partitioned wall where the crowd thinned and the lighting dropped, and there it was.

The booth.

Sleek, minimal, lit from within by a soft ambient glow and a pulsing digital screen. No big display, just a set of headphones suspended like something sacred, and a list of songs hovering in electric white text.

Track 5 

Messy – ROSÉ

It was the first thing Y/N saw.

She stopped just outside the entrance, hands in the pockets of her fire suit, posture relaxed but eyes fixed on the screen like it was asking a question she hadn’t prepared to answer. She let the silence hang for a beat, then turned her head toward Rosé with a smirk, one brow lifted.

“So this is it?”

Rosé was already shaking her head.

“Don’t,” she said, sharp at first, quicker than she meant to be. Then her voice dropped, almost unsure. “Not yet. Please.”

The pause that followed wasn’t awkward, it was weighted.

Y/N looked back at the booth. Her fingers hovered above the console, inches from the headphones. She could’ve pressed play, could’ve listened right then and there, surrounded by everyone and no one, she could’ve heard what Rosé hadn’t said, what she’d recorded instead.

But she didn’t.

Her eyes flicked sideways, settling on Rosé again.

And then, without saying anything more, she stepped back from the booth, hands lowering to her sides.

“Okay,” she said quietly, “I’ll wait.”

She meant it.

Not just about the song, about all of it.

Rosé didn’t respond right away. Her throat tightened, not with fear, but with the sudden ache of being seen, fully, by the one person she wasn’t sure would still be standing here at the end of all this.

And yet she was.

Still here, still waiting.

Rosé didn’t say thank you, she didn’t need to. Y/N’s choice to wait, to trust, to not press play just because she could, was more than enough.

They didn’t stay in the booth long after that.

Someone called for Y/N over comms, another interview, another round of congratulations. A McLaren staffer hovered politely in the distance. Rosé tucked her hands into the pockets of her jacket, and Y/N gave her one last glance before walking off, not lingering, not dramatic, just a subtle meeting of eyes. A promise held in silence.

Later, after the chaos and the cameras had started to fade, someone took a picture.

Neither of them posed.

They didn’t know it was being taken.

It wasn’t even a good photo.

Grainy, oversaturated, taken from a bad angle behind one of the garages where the light bent strange and the air shimmered with engine heat. It was the kind of photo that would normally be buried, background noise on a tagged fan account, maybe tossed into a story that faded after twenty-four hours.

But this one didn’t disappear, because it didn’t need clarity.

It had feeling.

It was the way Rosé was looking at her, the softness, the tilt of her head, the smile caught mid breath, not performative, not fixed for the camera, but real. Her body was angled slightly, as if pulled toward Y/N without even thinking, like her center of gravity had shifted. And Y/N? Flushed, suit unzipped to the waist, her hand half lifted like she was about to reach out, wasn’t looking at anyone else, just at her.

No filters, no distance, just an unguarded second that slipped through before either of them realized someone had been watching.

But someone had, the photo hit Twitter first, posted by a fan who hadn’t even noticed what they’d caught until someone else zoomed in. Within minutes, it had thousands of retweets, a caption in all caps, a flurry of hearts and quote tweets and disbelief.

And then it spread.

TikToks were posted dissecting the frame, zoomed in and slowed down, annotated like crime scene footage. Instagram edits came next, the same look, overlayed with romantic lyrics and soft light leaks. Side by side comparisons flooded timelines, Paris Fashion Week, Coachella, a blurry airport sighting, a glimpse from the McLaren garage.

Then came the evidence board energy.

A grainy screen recording surfaced from a livestream near the listening booth, someone had captured Rosé brushing past Y/N, hand hovering too long near her lower back. Another user dug into Rosé’s accessories, the gold bracelet she'd worn during her Las Vegas shoot, the same one on Y/N’s wrist in a training photo days later. Someone else lined up timestamps, airport sightings within twelve hours of each other, studio locations, hotel lobbies. Nothing confirmed, but nothing denied.

The viral caption under the photo read simply “They’re not even hiding anymore.”

And maybe they weren’t, maybe that moment hadn’t been staged to hide, maybe they had just slipped, for a second, into something unguarded, something too natural to pull back from in time.

By the end of the hour, the headlines rolled in like a rising tide.

“ROSÉ & Y/N: Newest Power Couple?” “From Paris to Pit Lane, A Love Story We Didn’t See Coming?”

It was no longer a whisper, no longer a theory, it had entered orbit, into gossip columns, lifestyle mags, entertainment panels. Commentators with blue checkmarks weighed in, even race commentators made sly jokes on air. Everyone had an opinion, everyone had a take.

And through all of it, still, silence.

Y/N didn’t post.

Not a story, not a tweet, not even a reaction emoji on a teammate’s podium recap.

Rosé stayed quiet too.

No stories, no posts other than the ones posted by her manager on her HQ account. She didn’t even reply to Jennie’s comment, which she normally would have responded to in less than three minutes.

It wasn’t damage control, it wasn’t a plan, it was just the eye of the storm. But it didn’t stop the storm from coming, by early evening, the messages started, not from fans, no. Not from journalists either.

From Seoul.

Her screen lit up with a call from her manager first, then from an executive she didn’t usually hear from unless something major was happening. And then the message she had been dreading all day arrived, calm and clinical.

“YG and THE BLACK LABEL are requesting a meeting. We need to talk, people are asking questions. We need a statement.”

Rosé stared at the screen, phone heavy in her hand. The message blinked quietly back at her, nothing dramatic, no threats, no accusations. But the weight behind it was unmistakable.

She set the phone face down on the hotel table. The world thought they were in love now, and maybe the world wasn’t wrong. But the world didn’t know what it had taken to get there, didn’t know how fragile it still was, didn’t know that they hadn’t even said it yet.

And now it was out, now it was loud.

Everyone was watching, waiting for them to speak.

The city outside the window was impossibly still, lit like a promise that belonged to someone else. Its skyline shimmered in slow motion, gold and soft and detached, as if none of this, none of them, was happening in the same world.

But inside the room? Everything felt brittle, the kind of quiet that doesn’t soothe, the kind that chokes.

It wasn’t truly dark, a single bedside lamp glowed faintly in the corner, casting the entire space in amber, flickering like it couldn’t quite decide whether to stay lit. The shadows stretched long and loose across the floor, across the walls, over the pile of clothes left at the foot of the bed. The TV was still on, low and looping through the race footage again, a silent, endless loop of triumph, Y/N taking that last turn, crossing the line, lifting her helmet with the weight of a world on her shoulders and a grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore.

Y/N hadn’t glanced at it in over an hour.

She sat rigid on the edge of the bed, legs parted slightly, elbows on her knees, her hands hanging between them like she didn’t know what to do with them anymore, her posture said calm, her clenched jaw said otherwise. Her molars were grinding so hard the tension rippled along her temple, one of her gloves was still on the nightstand, half turned inside out like she’d tossed it down in a hurry and forgotten it existed, like she hadn’t really landed yet, still half in the car, half in the chaos, and now caught in the fallout.

Across from her, Rosé paced.

Not urgently, not dramatically, just endlessly. Like walking was the only thing keeping her upright, her bare feet made soft, soundless passes over the edge of the rug, her arms wrapped tight across her chest, then dropped, then wrapped again. Her hair was messier than usual, like she'd run her hands through it too many times without realizing, and her shirt had a wrinkle from where she’d been gripping the hem too tightly for too long.

The phone sat silent on the table, it hadn’t rung again. But it didn’t need to, the last call from Seoul had done what it came to do. No instructions, no threats, just questions. Questions that didn’t wait for sleep or flights or explanations.

They needed a statement, they needed a clean answer to a messy truth.

“I just—” 

Rosé stopped mid stride, hand lifting to her forehead like she could press the spiral of thoughts back into place. Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cracked along the edges like something fraying under too much pressure. 

“What if this hurts your career?”

The words landed with more force than she’d intended. But now that they were out, they kept coming.

“What if this ruins mine?”

Y/N didn’t flinch, not visibly, but her fingers curled tighter around the edge of the mattress, like she was anchoring herself to something she could still control.

Rosé turned slowly, her voice quickening, not angry, but pulled taut by panic.

“What if I’m hurting the girls? My group? What if this spirals and takes them down too?” Her arms wrapped around her waist, tighter now. “They didn’t agree to be part of this, they didn’t ask for any of it. I’ve protected them for years, and now—”

She broke off, her breath hitching as the weight of it pushed harder, the kind of pressure that had nothing to do with cameras or rumors and everything to do with guilt.

“This isn’t just about me,” she whispered, like it was the only way she knew how to be honest, quietly, desperately.

Y/N still hadn’t moved.

Still staring past her, not cold, not distant, just trying to keep from cracking under the weight of what she wasn’t allowed to say. Her eyes didn’t leave the floor, but her pulse thudded visibly at the base of her throat, she looked like she’d taken a punch and refused to fall.

And then Rosé exhaled, long and broken.

“They need a statement,” she said again, softer this time, but no less heavy. “And I don’t know what to say.”

Another pause.

Her arms dropped to her sides, fingers limp, her voice nearly gone.

“Because we’re not even together.”

There it was, the words dropped like a stone between them, not sharp, not shouted, just honest and wrecking. Rosé closed her eyes, as if not seeing Y/N’s face might somehow soften the blow of saying what they both knew. The truth of it wasn’t cruel, but it didn’t have to be, it just had to be real.

The worst part? It was true.

They hadn’t defined it, hadn’t labeled it, hadn’t dared to ask what it was because naming it would make it real, and making it real meant risking it all. And now? Now the world had named it for them, and neither of them knew how to hold it.

The silence that followed wasn’t passive, it was full.

Full of everything they hadn’t let themselves say, full of the fear that maybe the moment was already gone. That maybe love, however loud it had been behind closed doors, couldn’t survive this kind of spotlight.

And in that stillness, something shifted. Not the anger, not yet, but the first sting of heartbreak, the kind that only ever comes from someone who doesn’t mean to hurt you, but does anyway.

Something in Y/N’s body changed.

She didn’t flinch, not really, her posture didn’t break, her head didn’t jerk. But the breath she took next was too shallow, and her eyes didn’t lift from the floor for a long moment, like she needed to choose the words carefully or risk shattering entirely.

And then, finally, she stood.

Not like she was preparing to fight, not like she wanted to walk away, just to stand. Because sitting still suddenly felt impossible. She moved slowly, the way you move when your body is trying to keep your heart from bleeding out too fast.

“So,” she said quietly, voice dry and even, but far too calm to be okay, “that’s what this was to you?”

She wasn’t looking at Rosé when she said it, her eyes lingered somewhere on the floor, just in front of her own feet, but then they lifted, steady and clear and far more wounded than she wanted to admit.

“Nothing?”

The silence that followed wasn’t the good kind, not the soft, thoughtful space they used to fill with glances and half-smiles and words unsaid. This one ached, this one scraped, this one felt like it was swallowing the air.

Rosé didn’t answer, she looked like she might, her lips parted, her body turned slightly like instinct was pulling her toward a defense. But whatever words she might’ve found, they didn’t come.

And that was enough.

Y/N stepped back a fraction, her voice didn’t rise, but her expression sharpened. Not cruel, not angry, just hurt.

“Because that’s what it sounds like. That all of it, the flights, the quiet nights, the rehearsals I waited outside of, the way you looked at me in that garage, that none of it counted because we never put a label on it.”

Rosé’s jaw shifted, eyes glassing just slightly, but she still didn’t speak. Y/N’s voice dipped lower, now shaking in the way anger does when it’s just fear dressed up.

“You think I don’t know what it means to protect something that matters? To carry pressure in silence? I’ve lived my whole life hearing I didn’t belong, in this sport, on this stage, in this body. And I fought for every inch of ground I stand on.”

She let the words hang, breath coming faster now, but she held her ground.

“And I would’ve protected you. I was protecting you.”

A pause, a shift.

“But if you’re this scared,” Her voice cracked for the first time. “Maybe it was never real for you.”

That broke the air.

Rosé moved before she meant to, a step back, one hand to the doorframe like she needed something solid to lean on. Her eyes wide, her shoulders coiled, like she’d just been punched with something heavier than the truth.

She turned, one foot moving instinctively toward the exit.

And Y/N saw it, the retreat.

The moment she was going to leave, not because she didn’t care, but because caring had become too loud, too messy, too real. Y/N didn’t speak again, she didn’t call out, but she didn’t move either.

That was when Rosé snapped.

Not in anger, not in malice, but in desperation, in grief. In love that had nowhere left to go but out.

“You think it wasn’t real for me?” she asked, the words shaking with disbelief. “You think I brought you into my world, my world, the one I’ve spent years keeping locked down and perfectly controlled, because it was convenient?”

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it was trembling.

“You think I let myself feel any of this, let myself fall into something I couldn’t control, couldn’t manage, couldn’t plan, because I was pretending?”

She turned now, fully facing Y/N, every inch of her frayed and wide open.

“I’ve spent my whole life hiding behind perfect smiles and half answered questions,” she whispered. “And then you showed up, and suddenly I didn’t want to hide anymore.”

Y/N’s breath caught, but she didn’t interrupt.

Rosé took one more step forward, every word now a confession she had let herself write into a song.

“I love you,” she said. “Okay? I am in love with you. Even when it’s confusing, even when we don’t say the right things, even when I’m afraid it’s all going to fall apart because the world is too loud and I don’t know how to protect you from it.”

Y/N blinked, barely, but Rosé kept going, because she had to.

“I want all of you,” she said, her voice catching. “All your complicated, all your fire. God, give me hell, give me silence, give me the version of you who gets scared and says the wrong thing and pushes me away when she needs someone closest.”

Her hand pressed to her chest now, as if she could steady herself.

“I’ll take all of it,” she said. “If it means I get to be yours at the end of the day.”

The silence that followed wasn’t empty, it was everything.

All the noise that had come before, the headlines, the fear, the anger, all of it had collapsed into this one moment, and there was no room for anything else.

No more pretending, no more protecting, just the truth. Now it was out.

Messy, unfiltered and honest.

The silence after Rosé’s words didn’t end things, it changed them. It folded the air into something softer, something quieter, but not light, not yet. The weight was still there, lingering like the ghost of a fight they hadn’t wanted to have but needed to. The kind of silence that comes when both people finally see the wreckage and choose, somehow, to step into it anyway.

Rosé stood frozen near the door, one hand still on the frame like she wasn’t sure if she’d been reaching for escape or for something to hold onto. Her chest lifted unevenly with each breath, every muscle in her shoulders tense, like she was bracing for impact that hadn’t come yet. Her voice had broken itself open, and now she didn’t know what to do with all the pieces she’d spilled.

But Y/N moved, not in a rush.

She stepped forward with the kind of careful intention that came from being burned before and still choosing to reach into the fire again, her hands were loose at her sides, her steps quiet over the rug, but her gaze? Her gaze didn’t waver, she stopped just close enough that their toes nearly touched, and for a moment, she didn’t speak, she just looked at her.

And that was what made Rosé finally look back.

Because there was no anger in her face, no blame, just that wide, tired, impossibly open look, the kind that says You didn’t break me. I’m still here.

And then, Y/N’s voice came low. Unsteady, not from fear, but from truth.

“I love you too.”

Rosé blinked, slowly, as if those words hadn’t registered yet, as if she couldn’t trust that they were meant for her. 

But Y/N wasn’t finished.

“God, I do, I didn’t plan for this, and I didn’t see it coming, but it’s not going anywhere, it’s not going away. I love you,” she repeated, this time firmer, like she needed Rosé to feel it in her chest.

A beat passed, then another.

“I love you when it’s hard, when you pull away, when I say too little and you say too much. I love you even when we don’t get it right.”

The words weren’t perfect, but they were full.

Rosé’s mouth opened, just slightly, and a sound escaped her, something between a breath and a laugh, something too close to crying. She shook her head like she couldn’t believe any of this was real, and then she stepped forward, closing what little space remained.

She lifted her hand first, tentative, fingers brushing just under Y/N’s jaw like she was checking if she could touch her now, Y/N leaned in, barely, and that was all the permission Rosé needed.

Their mouths met, soft, cautious, but not unsure.The kiss wasn’t a climax, it was a collapse. It was different than every kiss they ever shared, it was every unsaid word folded into a touch, it was the shaking breath Rosé had been holding for weeks, it was Y/N’s knuckles digging into the fabric of Rosé’s shirt as if to say, You’re not walking away now. It was mouths moving slow, then faster, like they couldn’t quite believe it was real and wanted to memorize the shape of it before the world came crashing in again.

Rosé’s fingers curled into the back of Y/N’s neck, thumb sliding beneath the collar of her shirt, grounding herself in the heat of her skin. Y/N’s hand cupped Rosé’s face, firm and steady, like she was holding her there not to keep her still, but to remind her she was safe.

Between kisses, they whispered.

“I was so scared.”

“I know. Me too.”

“I didn’t want to lose you.”

“Then don’t.”

They laughed through tears, noses bumping, foreheads pressed together. Their smiles were cracked, raw around the edges, but real, not the kind built for audiences, no. The kind that came from relief so deep it felt like air after drowning.

Eventually, they found their way back to the bed, not to undress, not to escape, but to just be. Fully clothed, legs tangled, Rosé’s head tucked beneath Y/N’s chin, and one of Y/N’s arms looped around her waist, fingers moving in slow, absentminded circles over the curve of her back.

They stayed that way for a long time, the world outside didn’t stop. But in here? It paused.

“This isn’t going to be easy,” Rosé said quietly, words brushing the space between Y/N’s collarbones.

“I know,” Y/N whispered. “But I’d rather do messy with you than perfect with anyone else.”

And that was the truth, they didn’t fix everything, they didn’t figure it all out. But before the night could fold into sleep, Y/N shifted just enough to look at her, really look, and say the one thing that would change them.

“No more silence, even the scary stuff, say it.”

Rosé nodded against her chest, and for once, didn’t flinch from the promise.

“Say it anyway,” Y/N whispered again.

The next morning, Rosé called her label. Not to beg, not to explain, just to say that she would not be making a statement. She would speak in her own way, in her own voice.

But for now? The silence was hers to keep, theirs to share, and for the first time, it didn’t feel like hiding, it felt like something sacred.

The hotel room in New York was still.

Not quiet, not with the soft hum of traffic below and the faint buzz of the city that never stopped vibrating just outside their window, but still in the way that only rooms are after the chaos of something enormous. The Met Gala had come and gone like a storm wrapped in velvet and diamonds. Flashes, cameras, murmured questions and headlines about Rosé’s and Y/N’s YSL outfits. Photos of them on the carpet, not side by side, but near enough that fans caught it anyway.

The power couple energy was undeniable, but this moment wasn’t about that.

Y/N sat cross legged on the bed, bare faced now, hair damp from the shower, dressed down in a hoodie that wasn’t hers. She glanced across the room to where Rosé stood by the minibar, hands tucked into the pockets of her own oversized sweatshirt, barefoot, eyes flicking between the floor and her phone.

There was something tentative in her posture, something soft.

“Are you sure you want me to hear it now?” Y/N asked, voice low, just above the lull of the city outside.

Rosé nodded slowly.

“I should’ve played it for you weeks ago,” she said. “But I needed to wait until you’d hear it the way it was meant to be heard.”

Y/N tilted her head. “And how’s that?”

Rosé walked over, settled beside her on the bed, and handed her one of the earbuds, the old school kind, not sleek or wireless, but something comforting.

“With everything on the table,” she whispered.

Y/N took the bud, slid it in, and sat still, and then Rosé pressed play.

The opening notes were soft, layered with warmth and ache, and Y/N knew within the first fifteen seconds. She didn’t need the lyrics to confirm it, she didn’t need the bridge, she didn’t need Rosé’s whispered confession that would come halfway through. 

She knew, because this was them.

Then the chorus hit, all those tangled emotions, all that unfiltered vulnerability.

“So, baby, let's get messy, let's get all the way undone Come over, undress me just like I've never been touched Baby, I'm obsessed with you and there's no replica Maybe if it's messy, if it's messy, if it's messy Then you know it's really love, love”

Y/N closed her eyes.

Rosé didn’t sing along, didn’t speak, she just watched. And when the final note faded, leaving nothing but the hum of the hotel AC and the thrum of a heart full of everything too big to say, Y/N turned to her, slowly, fully.

“You wrote this for me,” she said.

Not a question, a statement. And Rosé nodded, a small, quiet movement.

“I did.”

Y/N smiled, and it wasn’t that crooked, playful smirk she used for the cameras. It was the one Rosé had first seen in a Paris hotel room, sitting shoulder to shoulder on a bed with no label between them.

She reached for her hand, pulled it gently into her lap.

And said, “Thank you.”

Three days later arrived with only the gentlest of warning.

Not a full campaign, no interviews, no countdown clock. Just a single announcement, posted the night before, a flicker of Las Vegas streets, a short snippet and Rosé’s voice, “So, baby, let’s get messy…”

And then, silence.

Back in Italy, tucked into a quiet corner of the countryside, Rosé and Y/N were already off grid. No stories, no sightings, just the hush of early summer and the stillness that comes when two people finally stop running.

And then, at 12:00 PM sharp, with little to no warning, no press statement, and no comment.

MESSY — OUT NOW

Just that.

And within seconds, the internet felt it.

First it was the fans. The quiet ones, the watchers, the collectors of small moments, who caught it first. And then the rest of the world caught up.

Twitter ignited, threads spun themselves like constellations, each tweet another star connected by memory and speculation and feeling. Fan accounts raced to clip the video, frame by frame, TikToks exploded. Rosé in the Vegas shoot, drenched in night air, headlights flaring like a heartbeat, her voice cracked on the second chorus, and by then, the truth wasn’t just visible, it was undeniable.

“This is about someone, this is about her.” “She’s not performing, she’s confessing.”

People paused at the bridge, rewound it, and listened again. Her voice didn’t break for drama, it broke because it had to.

“You’re pulling back and I’m running for the door. You're sayin' those words and it just makes me want you more.”

She wasn’t singing to the camera, she was singing through it, past it. Straight into someone else’s chest.

And then? As if the world wasn’t already unraveling from the weight of it, Rosé posted. No tag, no rollout, just two photos, unfiltered, quiet and intimate.

Photo 1 was a sunlit track in Italy. Nothing flashy, just warm light pooling in golden ribbons across the gravel. Two figures sitting on the bleachers in the foreground, backs to the camera. One unmistakably Y/N, taller, posture easy, relaxed in a way that rarely existed off the circuit. The other, Rosé, head resting on Y/N’s shoulder, McLaren cap backwards on her head. Y/N’s arm around her, keeping her close.

Photo 2 was simple. Just their hands, no dramatic grip, no forced interlace. Just fingers resting into each other like they'd always belonged there, one with silver rings, the other with plain nails and the faint outline of a suit seam still pressed into the skin. Love made casual, honest.

The caption was only a line.

“Maybe if it’s messy… then you know it’s really love.”

No mention of names, no statements, or explanations.

But there didn’t need to be, because the world already knew.

And this time, Rosé didn’t care to control the narrative. There was nothing left to protect but the truth, and the truth was that she was in love with someone who met her in the chaos and chose her anyway.

Y/N didn’t post, she didn’t need to.

But somewhere in the haze of reposts and articles and edits soundtracked by the bridge of Messy, a photo surfaced, not new, not meant to be seen, but caught anyway. Y/N in the background of the Monza paddock, phone pressed to her ear, smiling so softly she didn’t notice the camera. And for once, no one tried to guess who was on the other end.

They already knew.

They didn’t do press, they didn’t announce a relationship, they didn’t tell the world how they first met, or how long they’d been holding hands off camera, or what it felt like to love someone in the gaps between time zones and red carpets and race tracks.

Instead, they made a choice to be quiet, but not hidden. To be known, but not defined by anyone else.

To be messy, and still, to be loved.

It wasn’t perfect, it never had been.

But it was real.

And finally it was theirs.

[cool-fancier]

A Stirring Connection

Synopsis:In a cozy café, Y/N's daily routine is infused with unexpected encounters and the aroma of brewing romance with barista Jennie, leading to a captivating fairground date.

Word Count:2.4K

Requested by anonymous

The aroma of freshly ground coffee beans filled the air as you stepped into the quaint little café on the corner of Maple Street. It was a bustling morning, with people coming and going, their voices blending together in a symphony of laughter and chatter.

You made your way to the counter, where a cheerful barista with a bright smile greeted you. Her name tag read "Jennie," and her eyes sparkled with warmth and friendliness as she took your order.

"Good morning! What can I get for you today?" Jennie asked, her voice as smooth as velvet.

You glanced up at the menu board, scanning the array of options before settling on your usual. "I'll have a caramel latte, please," you said, flashing her a polite smile.

Jennie nodded, her fingers flying over the espresso machine with practiced ease as she expertly prepared your drink. As you watched her work, you couldn't help but admire the way she moved – with grace and precision, as if each movement was a carefully choreographed dance.

Before long, your drink was ready, and Jennie handed it to you with a smile. "Here you go! One caramel latte, just the way you like it," she said, her eyes sparkling with pride.

You thanked her and took a sip, savoring the rich, creamy flavor as it danced across your taste buds. It was perfect, just as you had come to expect from this little café.

As you made your way to a table near the window, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something special about Jennie – something that set her apart from the other baristas you had encountered in your daily routine. There was a warmth and sincerity in her smile that made you feel instantly at ease, as if you had known her for years instead of mere minutes.

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed the arrival of another customer at the counter – a young woman with a mischievous twinkle in her eye and a playful grin on her lips. She leaned against the counter, her gaze fixed on Jennie with an intensity that caught you off guard.

"Hey, Jennie," the woman said, her voice teasing. "Got a minute?"

Jennie glanced up from her work, her smile widening at the sight of the newcomer. "Hey, Jisoo! What can I do for you?" she asked, her tone warm and welcoming.

Jisoo shrugged nonchalantly, her eyes never leaving Jennie's face. "Just thought I'd drop by and say hi. And maybe grab a coffee while I'm at it," she said, flashing Jennie a playful grin.

Jennie laughed, her laughter like music to your ears as she reached for a cup. "Coming right up! What'll it be today?"

As you watched the two of them banter back and forth, a pang of jealousy shot through you like a bolt of lightning. You couldn't explain it – after all, you had only just met Jennie – but something about the easy camaraderie between her and Jisoo made you feel oddly possessive.

Shaking off the feeling, you turned your attention back to your drink, taking another sip as you tried to push the irrational thoughts from your mind. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't shake the feeling that there was something between Jennie and Jisoo – something more than just friendship.

Little did you know, this chance encounter would be the beginning of a journey that would change your life in ways you never thought possible.

— — — — — — —

The weeks passed in a blur of coffee dates and stolen glances, each encounter with Jennie leaving you more captivated than the last. But as much as you enjoyed your time together, there was a nagging sense of unease that lingered in the back of your mind – the feeling that you were teetering on the edge of something monumental, yet unsure of how to take the next step.

It was during one particularly busy afternoon at the café that things began to change. You were seated at your usual table near the window, nursing your usual caramel latte, when you noticed a familiar face enter the café – none other than Jennie's best friend, Jisoo.

Jisoo made her way to the counter, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on you. A mischievous twinkle danced in her eyes as she sauntered over to your table, a playful grin tugging at the corners of her lips.

"Well, well, well. Look who it is," she said, her voice teasing.

You couldn't help but smile at her playful demeanor. "Hey, Jisoo. What brings you here today?" you asked, gesturing for her to take a seat.

Jisoo shrugged nonchalantly, her eyes flickering over to where Jennie stood behind the counter. "Oh, you know. Just thought I'd drop by and say hi. And maybe grab a coffee while I'm at it," she replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

You chuckled at her playful antics, but couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more behind her visit. "So, how's it going?" you asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

Jisoo shrugged again, a sly smile playing at her lips. "Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Just trying to keep Jennie on her toes," she said, her voice filled with mischief.

You raised an eyebrow inquisitively, sensing that there was more to her words than met the eye. "What do you mean?" you asked, unable to contain your curiosity.

Jisoo leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Let's just say, I've noticed the way you two look at each other. And I think it's high time someone did something about it," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, a rush of excitement coursing through you at the possibility of what she was suggesting. "What do you mean?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jisoo grinned knowingly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "I mean, it's obvious that you're into Jennie. And I think she's into you too. So why don't you ask her out already?" she said, her voice filled with playful encouragement.

You felt a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks at the suggestion, your heart pounding in your chest at the thought of taking things to the next level with Jennie. But despite your excitement, there was still a lingering sense of doubt that held you back.

"I don't know, Jisoo. What if she doesn't feel the same way? What if I make a fool of myself?" you asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

Jisoo's expression softened, a look of understanding passing between you. "Look, I can't promise you that everything will work out perfectly. But I do know one thing – you'll never know unless you try," she said, her voice gentle but firm.

And with those words ringing in your ears, you made a decision – a decision to take a chance on love, no matter what the outcome may be.

— — — — — — —

The weeks passed with you growing increasingly fond of Jennie. Each visit to the café felt like a small adventure, filled with witty banter and stolen glances. But despite the budding connection between you, there was an unspoken tension lingering in the air, a silent question waiting to be answered.

Jisoo, Jennie's best friend, seemed to have noticed the spark between you and Jennie. She often teased Jennie about her crush on a certain customer, sending knowing looks in your direction whenever you came in.

One day, as you sat at your usual table, Jisoo approached with a mischievous glint in her eye. "So, Y/N, have you asked Jennie out yet?" she asked, her voice filled with playful teasing.

You felt a flush creep up your cheeks at her bold question, but you couldn't deny the truth of her words. "Um, not yet. I'm still working up the courage," you admitted, your voice tinged with nervousness.

Jisoo grinned, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Well, you better hurry up before someone else snatches her up," she teased, her tone light but filled with meaning.

You chuckled nervously at her words, feeling a surge of determination welling up inside you. Maybe it was time to take a chance, to see if there was something more between you and Jennie.

The next time you visited the café, you made a decision. Today was the day you would finally ask Jennie out on a date. With a determined resolve, you approached the counter where Jennie was working, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Hey, Jennie. Can I talk to you for a moment?" you asked, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nerves coursing through you.

Jennie looked up from her task, a warm smile lighting up her face. "Of course, Y/N. What's on your mind?" she replied, her tone gentle and inviting.

You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts before speaking. "Well, um... I was wondering if you'd like to go out with me sometime. Like, on a date?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jennie's eyes widened in surprise at your words, her cheeks flushing pink at your confession. "Oh, wow. I... I don't know what to say," she stammered, clearly caught off guard by your boldness.

You felt a pang of anxiety grip your chest at her hesitation, fearing that you had overstepped your bounds. But then, to your relief, a slow smile spread across Jennie's face, her eyes sparkling with warmth.

"I would love to go out with you," she said, her voice soft but sincere. "I've been hoping you'd ask me."

A rush of relief flooded through you at her words, a weight lifting from your shoulders as you realized that she felt the same way. "Really? You mean it?" you asked, unable to contain your excitement.

Jennie nodded, her smile growing wider by the second. "Of course I mean it. I've been waiting for you to make a move," she replied, her voice filled with playful teasing.

You couldn't help but laugh at her words, feeling a surge of happiness bubbling up inside you at the thought of what was to come. "Well, in that case, how about we go out this Friday? There's a local fair in town, and I thought it might be fun," you suggested, your heart racing with anticipation.

Jennie's eyes lit up at the suggestion, her excitement mirroring your own. "That sounds perfect. I can't wait," she said, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm.

And with that, the two of you made plans for your upcoming date, your hearts brimming with excitement and anticipation. As you left the café that day, a sense of joy washed over you, knowing that you had taken a chance on love and that, just maybe, it had paid off.

— — — — — — —

Friday evening arrived with a sense of anticipation hanging in the air. You stood outside the entrance to the fairgrounds, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited for Jennie to arrive. It felt like an eternity before you caught sight of her approaching, a smile spreading across your face at the sight of her.

"Hey there, stranger," she said, her voice warm and inviting as she reached your side. "Sorry I'm late. Traffic was a nightmare."

You shook your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Don't worry about it. I'm just glad you're here," you replied, your voice filled with genuine affection.

Jennie smiled back, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she took in the sights and sounds of the fairgrounds. "So, what's first on the agenda?" she asked, her voice filled with anticipation.

You grinned, feeling a rush of adrenaline coursing through you at the thought of spending the evening with her. "Well, I thought we could start with a ride on the Ferris wheel. It has the best view of the city," you suggested, gesturing towards the towering attraction in the distance.

Jennie's eyes lit up at the suggestion, her excitement palpable. "That sounds amazing. Let's go!" she exclaimed, taking your hand in hers as the two of you made your way towards the ride.

— — — — — — —

As you and Jennie continued your date, exploring the various attractions at the fair, you found yourself lost in the magic of the moment. The air was filled with the sound of laughter and the scent of cotton candy, and for once, all of your worries seemed to fade away.

As the evening wore on, you found yourselves drawn closer together, your hands brushing against each other's as you navigated the crowded pathways. There was an undeniable electricity between you, a magnetic pull that seemed to grow stronger with each passing moment.

And then, as the night sky was painted with a myriad of colors from the fireworks display, Jennie turned to you with a serious expression, her eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

"You want me?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the weight of her words sinking in.

Jennie giggled at your bewildered expression, her laughter like music to your ears. "That's what I'm saying," she replied, her tone light but sincere.

You paused for a moment, the warmth of her gaze washing over you like a gentle wave. "How... But... What did I do?" you stammered, your mind racing with confusion.

Jennie shrugged nonchalantly, a playful twinkle in her eye. "I don't know," she said. "I just think that we'd be a good us."

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you gazed at her, a rush of emotion swelling in your chest. "We'd be a wonderful us," you whispered, your voice filled with emotion.

And then, without another word, you leaned in to press a tender kiss to Jennie's lips, the world falling away around you as you lost yourself in the sweetness of the moment. It felt like an eternity before you finally pulled away, a shy smile playing at the corners of your lips as you gazed into Jennie's eyes.

"Wow," Jennie whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. "That was... amazing."

You nodded, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you at the sight of her smile. "Yeah, it was," you replied, your voice filled with genuine affection.

And as the two of you continued your date, sharing laughs and creating memories together, you knew that this was just the beginning of a beautiful journey together. And as you walked hand in hand through the fairgrounds, your heart overflowing with love and happiness, you knew that no matter what the future held, as long as you had each other, you would always be happy.

[cool-fancier]

Unwritten Desires

Synopsis: Jennie Kim ruled high school—and your heart, though she didn't know it. A new friendship ignites jealousy, unraveling hidden feelings in this slow-burn romance.

Word Count: 4.7K

High school was nothing like you imagined. Instead of the bustling social life others seemed to have, you found solace in the quiet corners of the library, your head often buried in books. Being a nerd didn't bother you much, but it did make you a target. And at the top of that list of tormentors was Jennie Kim, the queen bee of the school. With her perfect looks, sharp wit, and magnetic personality, she ruled the school alongside her close-knit group of friends: Jisoo, Rosé, and Lisa.

Jennie's attention on you began almost as soon as you set foot in Northbridge High. Maybe it was the way you kept to yourself, or the fact that you didn't care about fitting into the social hierarchy that made you an easy target. Whatever it was, Jennie made sure you knew your place. Her friends joined in too, but it was Jennie's taunts that cut the deepest.

"Still hiding behind your books, loser?" Jennie would sneer as she passed by you in the hallways, her friends giggling behind her.

You tried your best to ignore her, to focus on your studies and pretend that her words didn't sting. But it wasn't easy, especially when Jennie seemed to take pleasure in getting under your skin. There were days when you wanted to snap back, to tell her off, but something always held you back.

Despite how much you tried to hate her, there was something about Jennie that fascinated you. It was an inexplicable pull, something you couldn't quite put your finger on. You loathed the way she treated you, but at the same time, you found yourself thinking about her more than you wanted to admit. It was confusing and frustrating, and it only made you more determined to keep your distance.

— — — — —

As the school year dragged on, you began to feel more isolated than ever. But then, halfway through the semester, a new student arrived. Mina was different from anyone you had met before. She was quiet, but not in the shy way you were; there was a quiet confidence about her that drew people in. She didn't care about the school's social hierarchy, and unlike everyone else, she wasn't afraid to approach you.

"Mind if I sit here?" Mina asked one day in the library, her voice soft but steady.

You looked up from your book, surprised to find her standing there. "Uh, sure. Go ahead."

Mina smiled and took the seat across from you, setting her bag down on the table. "I'm Mina," she introduced herself, extending a hand.

"Y/n," you replied, shaking her hand.

"I've seen you around," Mina said, her tone conversational. "You're always reading. What's the book this time?"

You glanced down at the book in your hands. "Pride and Prejudice. It's, um, one of my favorites."

"Classic," Mina said with an approving nod. "I love that one too. Elizabeth Bennet is such a strong character."

You smiled, relaxing a little. It was rare to find someone who shared your love of classic literature, and even rarer to find someone who didn't judge you for it.

As the days went by, you and Mina grew closer. She started sitting with you at lunch, and soon, you found yourself part of a small, tight-knit group that included Mina's friends, Yeri and Chaeyoung. For the first time in a long while, you felt like you belonged somewhere.

But not everyone was happy about your newfound friendship. Jennie's attitude toward you grew colder, her taunts more biting. It was as if she couldn't stand the fact that you were finding happiness, that you were no longer the lonely outcast she had always known you to be.

You tried to ignore Jennie's behavior, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. She seemed to be everywhere, watching you with a gaze that was both curious and hostile. There was a new intensity in her eyes, something you couldn't quite decipher.

— — — — —

One afternoon, you and Mina were sitting together in the cafeteria, discussing your latest assignment for English class. The conversation flowed easily, and for once, you felt at ease in a place that had always made you anxious. But that sense of peace was shattered when Jennie and her friends approached your table.

"Well, well," Jennie drawled, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Look who's all chummy with the new girl. Guess the nerd finally found someone who can tolerate them."

Mina frowned, her eyes narrowing as she looked up at Jennie. "What's your problem, Jennie?"

Jennie's gaze shifted to Mina, and for a moment, you thought you saw something like jealousy flicker in her eyes. But then her expression hardened, and she crossed her arms over her chest.

"No problem," Jennie said coolly. "Just surprised that someone like you would waste your time with a loser like Y/n."

Mina's frown deepened, but she didn't back down. "She's not a loser. She's smart and kind, and if you actually took the time to get to know her, you'd see that."

Jennie's friends exchanged uneasy glances, clearly sensing the tension in the air. Jisoo stepped forward, placing a hand on Jennie's arm. "Come on, Jennie. Let's just go."

But Jennie didn't move. She continued to stare at you, her eyes boring into yours with an intensity that made your heart race. You couldn't tell what she was thinking, but there was something in her gaze that made you feel like there was more going on beneath the surface.

Finally, Jennie turned away, her expression unreadable. "Whatever," she muttered, before walking off, her friends trailing behind her.

You let out a breath you didn't realize you had been holding, your hands trembling slightly. Mina reached over and placed a comforting hand on your arm.

"Are you okay?" she asked gently.

"Yeah," you replied, though you weren't entirely sure if that was true. "Thanks for standing up for me."

"Of course," Mina said with a reassuring smile. "No one deserves to be treated like that."

You smiled back, grateful for Mina's support. But even as you tried to focus on your conversation with her, your thoughts kept drifting back to Jennie. There was something about her behavior that didn't add up, something that made you question everything you thought you knew about her.

— — — — —

The days passed in a blur of conflicting emotions. You found yourself thinking about Jennie more than you wanted to admit, trying to make sense of the way she made you feel. On one hand, she was your bully, the person who had made your life miserable for years. But on the other hand, there was something about her that drew you in—something you couldn't quite explain.

Meanwhile, Jennie was struggling with her own feelings. She hated the way she had reacted to seeing you with Mina—hated the jealousy that burned inside her, the way she couldn't stop thinking about you. She tried to bury those feelings, to push them aside and focus on maintaining her queen bee status, but it was getting harder every day.

Her friends noticed the change in her too.

"You've been acting weird lately," Rosé commented one day as they lounged in Jennie's bedroom. "Is everything okay?"

Jennie shook her head, not wanting to admit what was really bothering her. "I'm fine."

But Lisa wasn't convinced. "Is it Y/n?" she asked, her voice gentle. "You've been watching her a lot more than usual."

Jennie stiffened, her heart skipping a beat. "I'm just making sure she knows her place."

Jisoo frowned, leaning in closer. "Jen, maybe it's time to back off a little. You're acting like... I don't know, like you're jealous or something."

"I'm not jealous," Jennie snapped, but the words felt hollow even as she said them.

Her friends exchanged knowing looks, and Rosé sighed. "It's okay if you are, you know. You don't have to pretend around us."

Jennie's defenses wavered, and for a moment, she considered telling them the truth—telling them how she really felt. But the fear of what that would mean, of what might happen if she admitted it out loud, held her back. "I'm not pretending," she insisted, but her voice was softer now, less certain.

"Jen, you know we're here for you," Jisoo said gently. "You don't have to keep everything bottled up. If you like her... if you want something different, that's okay."

Jennie looked down at her hands, feeling the weight of their words. She knew they were right—knew that she couldn't keep running from her feelings forever. But the idea of actually doing something about it, of being vulnerable in front of you, was terrifying.

"I just don't know if I can," Jennie admitted quietly. "I've spent so long being this person... I don't know how to be anything else."

Jisoo reached over and placed a comforting hand on Jennie's arm. "You don't have to figure it all out at once," she said softly. "Just take it one step at a time. And if you need help... we've got your back."

Jennie nodded, though she still felt uncertain. She knew she couldn't keep going the way she had been, but she wasn't sure she was ready to take the leap either.

— — — — —

One afternoon, after a particularly stressful day of classes, you decided to head to your usual spot in the library. It was quiet there, and you needed some time to clear your head. But as you rounded the corner, you were surprised to find Jennie sitting at one of the tables, her head in her hands.

You hesitated, not sure whether to approach her or leave her be. But something in Jennie's posture—something in the way she was sitting so still, her shoulders tense—made you pause.

"Jennie?" you asked softly, breaking the silence.

Jennie looked up, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air between you thick with unspoken tension.

"What do you want?" Jennie finally asked, her voice cold.

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. "I just... you seemed upset."

Jennie's expression flickered, and for a moment, you thought she might actually open up to you. But then she shook her head and looked away. "It's none of your business."

You nodded, feeling a pang of hurt. "Right. Sorry."

But as you turned to leave, Jennie's voice stopped you in your tracks.

"Wait," she said, her tone softer now. "Can we talk?"

You turned back to face her, your heart pounding in your chest. "About what?"

Jennie hesitated, her eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right words. "About... us. About everything."

The air between you seemed to thicken, and you felt a knot form in your stomach. "Okay," you said quietly, taking a seat across from her.

Jennie took a deep breath, her hands trembling slightly as she spoke. "I know I've been awful to you. And I'm sorry for that. But there's something I need to tell you, and I don't know how else to say it."

You frowned, unsure of where this was going. "What is it?"

Jennie looked down at her hands, her voice barely above a whisper. "I think I like you."

The words hung in the air between you, heavy with emotion. You stared at Jennie, unable to process what she had just said. "What?"

Jennie bit her lip, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I know it sounds crazy, but it's true. I've been so scared to admit it, even to myself. But I can't keep pretending anymore."

Your mind was racing, a thousand thoughts swirling in your head. "But you've been so mean to me," you said, your voice trembling. "Why... why would you do that if you liked me?"

Jennie looked up at you, her eyes filled with regret. "Because I didn't know how to deal with it. I was scared, and I took it out on you because... because I didn't want to face how I really felt."

You felt a wave of emotions wash over you—anger, confusion, hurt. But underneath it all, there was something else—something that had been buried deep inside you for so long.

"I don't understand," you said softly. "You made me feel like I was nothing."

"I know," Jennie whispered, a tear finally slipping down her cheek. "And I'm so sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me, but... I had to tell you the truth."

For a moment, the two of you just sat there, the silence between you heavy with unresolved emotions. Then, before you could stop yourself, you reached across the table and wiped the tear from Jennie's cheek.

Jennie looked up at you, her eyes wide with surprise and something else—hope, maybe?

"I don't know what to say," you admitted, your voice soft. "I'm still hurt, but... I can see that you're hurting too."

Jennie swallowed hard, her breath hitching. "I am. And I don't know how to make it right, but... I want to try. If you'll let me."

Your heart pounded in your chest as you considered her words. There was a part of you that wanted to run, to protect yourself from the possibility of getting hurt again. But there was another part of you—a part that you hadn't fully acknowledged until now—that wanted to give her a chance.

"I don't know if I can trust you," you said honestly. "But I'm willing to see where this goes."

Jennie's eyes lit up with a mixture of relief and gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I promise I'll do whatever it takes to make it up to you."

— — — — —

The days that followed were a blur of new experiences and emotions. You and Jennie began to spend more time together, slowly breaking down the walls that had been built between you. It wasn't easy—there were moments when the old hurts resurfaced, when you questioned whether you were making the right decision. But Jennie was patient, and for the first time, she let herself be vulnerable with you.

One evening, after a long day of classes, you found yourselves alone in Jennie's room. Her friends were out, giving the two of you some much-needed privacy. You had been talking for hours, the conversation flowing easily between you as you explored the complexities of your relationship.

"I never thought I'd see this side of you," you admitted as you sat on her bed, your back against the headboard. "You're so different from the person I thought you were."

Jennie sat beside you, her legs tucked under her. "I guess I've always been scared to show this side of myself. It's easier to be the queen bee, to keep everyone at arm's length."

"But it's lonely," you said softly, understanding dawning on you.

Jennie nodded, her gaze dropping to her hands. "Yeah, it is."

You reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "You don't have to be lonely anymore. You have me now."

Jennie looked up at you, her eyes shining with emotion. "I don't deserve you."

You shook your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "Maybe not, but that's not for you to decide. I want to be here, Jennie. I want to see where this goes."

Jennie's eyes were locked onto yours, a mix of vulnerability and desire swirling within them. The air between you felt heavy, thick with unspoken feelings and anticipation. Slowly, Jennie's hand slid up your side, her touch sending a shiver down your spine as she explored the curve of your waist, her fingertips brushing lightly over your skin.

"Can I kiss you?" Jennie whispered, her voice soft yet laden with need. Her breath ghosted over your lips, and the intensity in her gaze made your heart race.

"Yes," you replied, barely able to speak as the tension between you grew almost unbearable.

Jennie's lips met yours in a slow, tentative kiss, her movements gentle as if she were savoring the moment. You could feel her hesitance, the way she was holding back, but the longer the kiss lasted, the more it deepened. Your hands found their way to Jennie's shoulders, pulling her closer as you pressed your body against hers, craving more of her touch.

Jennie's hand slid up your back, sending a wave of warmth through you as she kissed you with more urgency. She carefully pushed you down onto the bed, her body following yours until she was hovering above you, her lips never leaving yours. The sensation of her weight on top of you made you gasp, your mind spinning as her presence consumed you.

"Is this okay?" Jennie asked breathlessly, her voice tinged with both desire and uncertainty as she pulled back slightly to look into your eyes.

You nodded, unable to form words as you looked up at her. "Yes... please," you whispered, your voice trembling with anticipation.

Jennie's lips curved into a soft smile, her eyes darkening with desire. She leaned down to kiss you again, her mouth moving against yours with a newfound intensity. Her hand trailed down your side, her fingers lightly grazing your skin as she found the hem of your shirt and slowly began to lift it.

You raised your arms to help her remove your shirt, your breath catching in your throat as Jennie tossed it aside. She paused for a moment, her eyes roaming over your now exposed skin, admiration and desire evident in her gaze.

"You're so beautiful," Jennie murmured, her voice filled with awe as she took in the sight of you.

You blushed under her intense gaze, but before you could respond, Jennie leaned down to press a trail of kisses along your collarbone, her lips warm and soft against your skin. She moved slowly, deliberately, as if she wanted to memorize every inch of you. Her kisses grew more heated as she made her way lower, her hands gently caressing your sides as she explored your body with both her lips and her touch.

When Jennie reached the clasp of your bra, she hesitated, looking up at you for permission. You nodded, your heart racing as she skillfully unhooked it and slid the straps down your arms, her fingers brushing over your skin in a way that made you shiver with anticipation. Once the bra was off, Jennie's gaze lingered on your bare chest for a moment before she leaned down to capture one of your nipples in her mouth.

The sensation of Jennie's warm mouth on your sensitive skin sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and you couldn't hold back the soft moan that escaped your lips. Jennie's tongue flicked over your nipple, her teeth gently grazing it as she sucked, drawing more moans from you as you arched your back, pressing yourself into her touch.

Jennie's hand moved to your other breast, her fingers lightly pinching and rolling your nipple as she continued to lavish attention on your chest. The dual sensations were almost overwhelming, a mixture of pleasure and need building inside you with every touch, every kiss.

"Jennie..." you breathed, your voice trembling as you felt the tension in your body coil tighter and tighter, desperate for release.

Jennie lifted her head, her lips curving into a smile as she looked down at you. "I want to make you feel good," she whispered, her voice thick with desire as she kissed her way down your body, her lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

When she reached the waistband of your jeans, Jennie paused again, her fingers lightly brushing over the fabric as she looked up at you. "Is this okay?" she asked softly, her eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation.

You nodded quickly, your breath hitching in your throat as you felt your arousal growing more intense by the second. "Yes... please, Jennie," you whispered, your voice laced with need.

Jennie's hands were steady as she unbuttoned your jeans, slowly pulling down the zipper and sliding the fabric down your legs. The cool air against your heated skin made you shiver, but it was nothing compared to the sensation of Jennie's hands on you, her touch light and teasing as she traced the waistband of your panties.

She looked up at you again, her eyes dark with desire as she hooked her fingers into the waistband of your panties and slowly slid them down your legs, leaving you completely exposed to her. The vulnerability of the moment was overwhelming, but Jennie's gaze was filled with nothing but admiration and longing as she took in the sight of you.

"You're perfect," Jennie whispered, her voice filled with reverence as she gently spread your legs, positioning herself between them. She leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh, her breath warm against your skin as she made her way closer to your core.

When Jennie's mouth finally met your most sensitive spot, a sharp gasp escaped your lips, your hands instinctively reaching down to tangle in her hair as the pleasure washed over you. Jennie's tongue moved expertly, flicking and swirling over your clit with just the right amount of pressure, driving you wild with need.

Jennie's hands gripped your thighs, holding you in place as she devoured you with her mouth, her tongue and lips working in perfect harmony to bring you closer and closer to the edge. The pleasure was intense, almost too much to bear, and you could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation, your mind spinning as Jennie continued to pleasure you.

"Jennie... oh god, Jennie," you moaned, your voice barely audible as you felt the tension inside you coil tighter and tighter, building toward a release that was just out of reach.

Jennie hummed in response, the vibrations sending a new wave of pleasure through your body as she increased her pace, her tongue moving faster, more insistently against your clit. She was relentless, her mouth and hands working together to push you closer and closer to the brink.

The pleasure built higher and higher, the knot in your core tightening until it was almost unbearable. You were right on the edge, teetering on the brink of release, and all it took was one more flick of Jennie's tongue, one more gentle squeeze of her hands, to send you tumbling over.

Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your body trembling as the pleasure overwhelmed you. Jennie didn't stop, her mouth still working against you as she guided you through the waves of your climax, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were spent, your body going limp against the bed.

When it was over, Jennie pulled back slightly, her lips and chin glistening as she looked up at you with a satisfied smile. She climbed back up your body, her hands gentle as she pulled you into her arms, holding you close as you both caught your breath.

"You're incredible," Jennie whispered, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as she gently stroked your hair.

You smiled weakly, still trying to catch your breath as you looked up at her. "That was... amazing," you whispered, your voice filled with awe.

Jennie's smile widened, and she leaned down to capture your lips in a slow, tender kiss. "I'm glad you enjoyed it," she murmured against your lips, her voice filled with affection.

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at her words, and you wrapped your arms around her, pulling her closer as you pressed your forehead against hers. "I think I'm falling for you, Jennie," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jennie's breath caught in her throat, her eyes wide with surprise as she looked down at you. "You are?" she asked softly, her voice trembling with emotion.

You nodded, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked into her eyes. "Yes. I know it's complicated, and I'm still hurt by what happened in the past... but I want to see where this goes."

Jennie's eyes filled with tears, and she pressed a soft kiss to your lips. "I want that too," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I promise I'll make it up to you, [Your Name]. I'll spend every day making sure you know how much you mean to me."

— — — — —

As the afterglow settled around you both, a warm, comfortable silence filled the room. Jennie gently stroked your hair, her fingers weaving through the strands as she looked down at you with a mix of affection and something playful dancing in her eyes.

"You know," Jennie began, her voice soft but laced with a teasing tone, "I might still have to bully you from time to time."

You blinked up at her, surprised by the comment, but the smile tugging at her lips reassured you that she wasn't serious. "What?" you asked, a small, amused smile creeping onto your face. "Are you saying you haven't gotten it out of your system yet?"

Jennie chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. "Maybe not entirely," she teased, her voice playful. "I mean, I can't let you forget who's in charge around here."

You rolled your eyes, but your smile only grew wider as you played along. "Oh, really? And what exactly do you plan on doing to remind me?"

Jennie's grin widened as she dipped her head, her lips brushing against your ear. "Maybe I'll have to keep you on your toes," she whispered, her voice low and teasing. "A little teasing here, a little flirting there... just to make sure you don't get too comfortable."

You shivered at the way her breath tickled your ear, the playful promise in her tone making your heart race. "I'm not sure if I should be excited or worried," you said, your voice tinged with both amusement and a hint of challenge.

Jennie laughed softly, the sound sending a pleasant warmth through your chest. "Maybe a little of both," she teased, pulling back to look into your eyes. "But don't worry... I'll make sure it's the good kind of bullying."

You couldn't help but laugh at her words, your heart swelling with affection for this side of Jennie that you were just beginning to discover. "As long as it comes with some of this," you said, gesturing to the two of you tangled up together in bed, "I think I can handle it."

Jennie's smile softened, and she leaned down to capture your lips in a tender kiss. "Deal," she murmured against your lips, her voice filled with warmth. "But only because I really, really like you."

Your heart fluttered at her words, and you pulled her closer, savoring the moment as you kissed her back. "I really like you too, Jennie," you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity.

Jennie beamed at you, her expression so full of happiness that it took your breath away. "Good," she said, her tone still playful but with an underlying seriousness. "Because I'm not letting you go."

You smiled, your heart swelling with affection as you wrapped your arms around her, holding her close. "I wouldn't want you to," you replied softly, feeling a sense of contentment settle over you.

As the two of you lay there, wrapped up in each other's arms, you couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, this unexpected twist of fate had led you to something truly special. And with Jennie by your side—teasing, playful, and full of love—you were ready to embrace whatever the future held.

Jennie shifted slightly, her hand lazily tracing patterns on your skin as she pressed another kiss to your forehead. "You know," she mused, her voice soft, "I think we're going to be okay."

You nodded, feeling the truth of her words settle deep in your heart. "Yeah," you agreed, your voice filled with quiet confidence. "We're going to be just fine."

And as you drifted off to sleep in Jennie's arms, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you'd face them together—with a little teasing, a lot of love, and a future full of possibilities.

[cool-fancier]

Kissed by Stardust

Jennie Kim x Female Reader

Synopsis: A blind date with global K-pop star Jennie Kim leads to an unexpected, magical connection—one kiss turning a surreal night into the beginning of something unforgettable.

Word Count:4.8K

You've always been one to pride yourself on your ability to keep calm under pressure. It's one of the many reasons you were able to succeed as an actress—calm, collected, composed. You could step onto any set, deliver any line, and face any high-stakes scene with the assurance that you would own the moment.

But tonight? Tonight, all of that composure is nowhere to be found.

Instead, you find yourself sitting at a candlelit table in one of LA's trendiest restaurants, staring blankly at the flickering flame as your nerves take over. There's an awkward tension buzzing inside of you, a mix of excitement and dread, and the more you try to suppress it, the more it builds, twisting your stomach into knots.

A blind date. That's what you've agreed to.

Your friends, Simi and Haze, had convinced you it was time to put yourself out there again. "You've been working too much," Simi had said, waving a hand dismissively when you tried to protest. "You never make time for fun."

"I have fun," you'd replied, though even you didn't believe it. The truth was, ever since your acting career had taken off, your personal life had taken a backseat. Sure, there had been a few flings here and there—brief, fleeting, but nothing serious. You were so busy traveling, attending press events, living on set for months on end, that the idea of getting to know someone felt... daunting. It was easier to focus on your work, to disappear into the roles you played on screen.

"You're going on this date, no excuses," Haze had chimed in, backing her twin up with a mischievous grin. "Trust us, Y/N. It's going to be amazing."

So here you are, nerves thrumming beneath your skin as you wait for your date to arrive, hoping against hope that tonight won't be a total disaster.

"You're going to love her," Simi had teased when she dropped you off. "Just trust me."

That's what worries you most. Simi and Haze are notorious for pulling pranks and dragging you into chaotic situations. You could only imagine what kind of person they'd chosen to set you up with.

The seconds tick by, each one stretching into what feels like an eternity. You glance around the restaurant, hoping the low light hides the anxious look on your face. It's a cozy spot, not overly fancy but still high-end enough to make you feel like you're underdressed, even though you'd spent a good hour fretting over what to wear. You settled on something simple—a sleek, black jumpsuit with a delicate silver necklace. Elegant but not over the top. Casual, yet sophisticated.

At least, you hope it's sophisticated.

Just as you're about to pull out your phone and distract yourself from the nerves that are gnawing at you, the door swings open, and you freeze.

Because standing in the doorway, casually glancing around the room with an air of confidence that only comes with fame, is none other than Jennie Kim.

Yes, that Jennie Kim.

Your breath catches in your throat.

No. No, this can't be right.

Your mind races, trying to make sense of what you're seeing. Jennie Kim, the global K-pop superstar, is not supposed to be your blind date tonight. This has to be some sort of mistake. Maybe she's just here for dinner with someone else. Maybe you've been set up at the wrong table, and any moment now, someone completely different will show up.

But as Jennie's gaze sweeps the room, it lands on you. Her eyes widen just slightly in recognition, and before you can even begin to process what's happening, she's making her way toward your table, a soft, knowing smile curving her lips.

Nope. This is real.

Your brain struggles to catch up with the situation as Jennie reaches your table, effortlessly slipping into the seat across from you like she belongs there.

"Hi," she says, her voice smooth and confident, like this is the most natural thing in the world. "You must be Y/N."

Your mouth opens, but no sound comes out. You're too stunned to respond, your thoughts still scrambling to understand how this could possibly be happening. Jennie Kim? Your blind date? How? Why?

Jennie tilts her head slightly, her smile turning playful as she notices your stunned expression. "Simi and Haze didn't tell you, did they?"

You blink, finally finding your voice, though it comes out a little shaky. "N-no. They, uh, left out a few details."

Jennie chuckles softly, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "They have a habit of doing that. I should've known they'd surprise you."

You manage a weak smile, though your heart is still racing. "I guess they thought it'd be funny to leave me in the dark."

"Well, I hope you're not too disappointed," Jennie says, her smile turning a little more tentative, almost as if she's unsure of herself for a moment. "I know this is... probably not what you expected."

Disappointed? How could you be disappointed? You're sitting across from one of the most famous women in the world. You've followed her career, admired her from afar, but you never in your wildest dreams thought you'd be in this situation. Yet here she is, sitting across from you, looking just as human, just as vulnerable as anyone else.

"No, not disappointed," you say quickly, shaking your head. "Just... surprised."

Jennie seems to relax at that, her shoulders dropping slightly as she leans back in her chair. "Good. I was hoping this wouldn't be too awkward."

You let out a soft laugh, some of the tension in your body easing as you meet her gaze. "Honestly, I think I'm the one making it awkward. I just wasn't expecting... well, *you*."

Jennie grins at that, her eyes twinkling with humor. "I get that a lot."

You smile, feeling the ice between you two beginning to thaw. There's a moment of silence, but it's not uncomfortable—more like the calm after the initial storm of nerves. You take a deep breath, finally letting yourself settle into the moment.

This is happening. You're on a date with Jennie Kim. Might as well make the best of it.

"So," you say, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters. "How do you know Simi and Haze?"

Jennie's smile brightens at the mention of the twins. "We've been friends for a few years now. I met them through mutual friends in the fashion world. We just clicked right away."

"That sounds about right," you reply, your lips quirking into a fond smile as you think of your two chaotic friends. "They're great at making friends."

Jennie nods, her expression softening. "They are. They've been like family to me, honestly. Whenever I'm in LA, they always take care of me."

You can hear the genuine affection in Jennie's voice, and it strikes you just how grounded she seems, despite the larger-than-life persona the world knows her for. There's something so... normal about the way she talks about her friendships, the way she carries herself. It's disarming, in the best possible way.

"Well, they certainly took care of me by setting this up," you say, a little smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "I mean, I wasn't sure about the whole blind date thing, but... this is turning out better than I expected."

Jennie laughs, her eyes crinkling at the edges. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It is," you reply, feeling a little bolder now that the initial shock is wearing off. "I just... I never thought I'd be sitting across from Jennie Kim on a blind date. It's kind of surreal."

Jennie's smile softens, her gaze flickering down to the table for a moment before she looks back at you. "I get that. It's kind of surreal for me too, sometimes. But, you know, at the end of the day, I'm just a person. I like meeting new people, just like anyone else."

Her honesty catches you off guard, and you find yourself smiling. "I guess that's true. But still... you're Jennie."

Jennie grins, leaning forward slightly, her voice dropping into a playful tone. "And you're Y/N. I've heard a lot about you, you know."

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "You have?"

Jennie nods, her smile turning a little more secretive. "Simi and Haze are big fans of your work. They're always talking about how talented you are."

Your cheeks flush at the unexpected compliment, and you find yourself momentarily speechless. You hadn't expected Jennie to know anything about you beyond the basics, let alone that your friends had been talking you up to her.

"Well, I hope I live up to the hype," you manage to say, trying to play it cool even though your heart is doing somersaults in your chest.

Jennie's gaze softens as she looks at you, and there's something almost... warm in her eyes, something that makes your pulse quicken in a way that has nothing to do with nerves. "I'm sure you will."

For a moment, the two of you just sit there, gazing at each other across the table, and you can't help but feel like something's shifted. It's subtle, but it's there—a spark of connection that wasn't there before.

You're not sure how long the silence stretches between you, but it's comfortable, warm even, and for the first time since Jennie walked through the door, you find yourself relaxing fully into the moment. Her smile, soft yet mischievous, lingers, and the air around you feels lighter, as if the world outside the restaurant has momentarily faded away.

"So," Jennie says, breaking the silence with a teasing tilt to her voice. "Tell me, Y/N, what's it like being a rising star in Hollywood? Simi and Haze made it sound like you're the next big thing."

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. "I wouldn't say that. I've been lucky with some good roles, but the whole 'rising star' thing? That feels a little exaggerated."

Jennie arches an eyebrow, resting her chin on her hand as she leans in, clearly intrigued. "Don't be modest. I saw you in that series everyone's talking about—what was it called again?"

You blink, surprised. "You watched that?"

"Of course," Jennie replies with a smirk. "You were incredible. I mean, I wasn't exactly expecting it, but you really pulled me in. The emotion, the way you carry yourself on screen—it's impressive."

You stare at her for a second, caught off guard by how genuine her praise sounds. It's one thing to hear compliments from fans or even critics, but coming from Jennie Kim, someone who understands the pressures of performing on a global stage, it hits differently.

"Thank you," you say, and despite your attempt to stay cool, you can feel the heat creeping up your neck. "That means a lot coming from you. I guess I've just been really focused on my work lately, trying to make the most of the opportunities I've been given."

Jennie nods, her eyes reflecting understanding. "I get that. It's hard to find balance when you're so driven by what you love, right? There's always something else to achieve, something more to prove."

You nod, feeling a deep resonance with her words. "Exactly. Sometimes it feels like there's this constant pressure to be 'on' all the time, like you have to keep pushing or you'll lose momentum."

Jennie's expression softens, and she leans back in her chair, her eyes thoughtful. "That's one of the hardest parts for me too. Being in the public eye, there's this expectation to always be perfect. But no one can live up to that, not really. It's exhausting."

Her words hit you harder than you expect. It's easy to forget that someone like Jennie, with her perfect image and worldwide fame, might feel the same way you do—caught between passion and pressure, driven yet sometimes drained. There's a vulnerability in her voice that makes her feel more real, more grounded than the polished idol the world knows her as.

You decide to follow her lead, dropping your own guard just a little. "Yeah, I can relate to that. It's like, no matter what you do, there's always this feeling that you have to do more. And on the days when it gets to be too much, it's hard to take a step back without feeling like you're letting people down."

Jennie nods slowly, her gaze locked with yours. "Exactly. It's like... sometimes I wish I could just turn it all off, you know? Take a break from being 'Jennie' and just... be."

You can't help but smile at that. "I'm pretty sure you've earned the right to take a break."

Jennie grins, her eyes twinkling again. "Maybe. But then Simi and Haze would probably drag me into something else."

You both laugh, and the tension that had lingered at the beginning of the night dissipates entirely. The conversation starts to flow naturally, easily, like you've known each other far longer than the hour you've spent together. You talk about your shared love for travel, the challenges of maintaining privacy in the entertainment world, and the tiny moments of joy that help keep you both grounded amidst the chaos of your careers.

As you chat, Jennie becomes more animated, her laughter spilling out freely as she shares funny anecdotes from her time as a trainee and stories about her bandmates. You find yourself relaxing more with every passing minute, captivated not just by her beauty—though it's hard not to be—but by the way she listens, really listens, and how she speaks with such genuine interest.

At one point, she leans forward conspiratorially, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Okay, so you have to tell me... worst audition story."

You groan dramatically, burying your face in your hands. "Oh no, you're going to make me relive my trauma?"

Jennie laughs, a full, bright sound that makes your heart do a funny little flip. "Come on! I bet it's not as bad as you think."

You sigh, knowing you can't back out now. "Alright, fine. So, this was a few years ago when I was still trying to break into the industry. I got called in for this small role in an indie film—nothing big, but I was excited because it was one of my first real auditions."

Jennie nods, her eyes wide with anticipation, clearly enjoying where this is going.

"I walk into the audition room, ready to give it my all," you continue, gesturing for effect. "And I'm halfway through this really emotional monologue, right? Tears in my eyes, pouring my heart out. I'm thinking, 'This is it, I'm nailing it.' And then... I notice the casting director is on his phone."

Jennie gasps dramatically, her hand flying to her mouth. "No way."

"Way," you say, grinning at her reaction. "I froze. Completely forgot my lines. And the guy didn't even notice because he was too busy scrolling through Instagram."

Jennie bursts out laughing, shaking her head in disbelief. "That's awful! I'm so sorry, but that's hilarious."

You can't help but laugh too, even though it had been a mortifying experience at the time. "Yeah, it wasn't funny back then, but now I can laugh about it."

Jennie wipes a tear from her eye, still giggling. "Well, I'm sure you showed them after that. Look at you now."

You shrug playfully. "I'd like to think so."

The conversation continues well into the night, and before you know it, you're both finishing dessert—a shared chocolate lava cake that Jennie insisted you try. There's a contentment between you now, a warmth that feels... easy. Natural. Like this is exactly where you're supposed to be, sitting across from her, trading stories and smiles.

— — — —

As the evening winds down, you find yourself not wanting it to end. You've enjoyed every moment with Jennie, from the initial nerves to the laughter and everything in between. She's more than just a superstar—she's funny, smart, kind, and down-to-earth in ways you never would've expected.

Jennie looks up from her plate, catching your eye, and there's something in her gaze that makes your heart skip a beat. It's soft, almost shy, and it takes you by surprise because up until now, she's been so confident, so self-assured. But in this moment, she seems a little... uncertain.

"I had a really good time tonight, Y/N," she says quietly, her voice sincere. "I didn't know what to expect, but... this has been nice. Really nice."

You smile, your heart swelling at her words. "I had a great time too. Honestly, I'm glad Simi and Haze dragged me into this."

Jennie laughs softly, nodding. "Yeah, they're good at that."

For a moment, neither of you speaks, the air between you charged with something unspoken. It's not awkward, but there's a tension there—a kind of anticipation that hangs in the space between you.

And then, without really thinking, you say, "Do you want to take a walk? It's still early, and I'm not ready for the night to end just yet."

Jennie looks up, surprised, but then her expression softens into a smile. "I'd like that."

You both stand up from the table, and as you exit the restaurant together, stepping out into the cool night air, you can't help but feel a flutter of excitement in your chest. The streets are quieter now, the city settling into a calm lull, and the moon hangs low in the sky, casting a soft glow over everything.

Jennie walks beside you, her hands tucked into the pockets of her coat, and for a few moments, neither of you speaks. It's a comfortable silence, though, and you're content to just be in her presence, enjoying the quiet rhythm of your footsteps on the pavement.

After a while, Jennie glances over at you, her lips curving into a small, playful smile. "So... what do you usually do after a date?"

The question catches you off guard, and you feel a blush creeping up your neck. "Uh, I don't know. I don't go on a lot of dates, to be honest."

Jennie laughs softly, her gaze flicking up to the stars. "Yeah, me neither."

There's a pause, and then she adds, "But if I did, I think I'd want to end it on a high note. Something memorable."

You turn to look at her, intrigued. "Like what?"

Jennie stops walking for a moment, her eyes meeting yours with a spark of mischief. "Something like this."

Before you can Before you can fully process what's happening, Jennie steps closer, closing the distance between you in one smooth, deliberate motion. The soft glow of the streetlights casts a gentle light on her face, and for a split second, time seems to slow. Her eyes flick down to your lips and back up to meet your gaze, silently asking a question.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you feel the tension between you build, an electric current that hums in the air. It's not rushed or forced—it feels like the natural culmination of everything that's happened tonight. Every laugh, every shared story, every glance has led to this moment. And before you even have a chance to overthink it, you find yourself nodding ever so slightly, giving her the answer she was waiting for.

Jennie smiles, a barely-there curve of her lips, before she closes the final gap between you. Her lips press softly against yours, and it's like the world falls away, leaving just the two of you in this bubble of quiet intimacy. The kiss is gentle at first, almost hesitant, as if she's testing the waters, but it's enough to send a warm thrill coursing through you.

You respond instinctively, leaning in just a little more, your hand finding its way to her arm as you deepen the kiss ever so slightly. Jennie's hand comes up to cradle your cheek, her touch soft and reassuring, and in that moment, everything feels right. There's no pressure, no expectations—just the sweetness of this unexpected moment, the soft brush of her lips against yours.

When Jennie finally pulls back, it's slow and unhurried, her forehead resting against yours for a brief moment before she steps back slightly, her eyes still half-closed as if savoring the moment. You both stand there, breathing softly, the cool night air swirling around you, but neither of you says anything at first. There's no need for words right now.

Jennie's eyes flutter open, and when she looks at you, there's a soft glow in her expression—a quiet joy that mirrors what you're feeling. "That," she whispers, her voice barely above a breath, "felt like a high note."

The warmth of Jennie's lips still lingers as she steps back, her breath mingling with yours in the cool night air. The kiss was soft, tender—unexpected in all the best ways. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence not awkward but charged, as if you're both savoring what just happened.

Jennie looks at you with a quiet smile, her eyes glowing beneath the streetlights, her hand still resting lightly on your arm. "That was..." she trails off, her voice soft and full of emotion she doesn't seem to have the words for.

You grin, feeling giddy, your heart still pounding from the kiss. "Yeah... that was something."

Jennie laughs, a light, carefree sound that fills the quiet street. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, looking almost bashful for the first time tonight. "I'm glad Simi and Haze set this up. I didn't expect to have such a good time."

"Same," you reply, your voice coming out a little breathless. "Honestly, this whole thing has been kind of surreal."

Jennie tilts her head, her gaze softening. "Surreal can be good, though. Sometimes you just have to go with it." Her lips quirk up into a smile, and you feel a rush of warmth spread through you.

Before you can respond, Jennie glances down the street, her expression shifting slightly. "My manager should be here any minute," she says, her tone almost apologetic. "Duty calls, unfortunately."

Your stomach dips a little, not quite ready for the night to end, but you nod, understanding. She's Jennie Kim, after all—idol, global sensation. She doesn't get to slip away unnoticed like the rest of the world.

Jennie seems to sense your hesitation, and she reaches out, her fingers brushing yours for just a second longer than necessary. "But," she says, her voice lowering conspiratorially, "this doesn't have to be goodbye forever, you know."

Your heart skips a beat at her words. "Oh?"

Jennie leans in slightly, her eyes twinkling mischievously. "I think we should do this again. Soon."

Your breath catches in your throat, and all you can manage is a wide-eyed nod. "I'd really like that."

Jennie's smile widens, and just then, a sleek black car pulls up to the curb, the back door opening as her manager steps out. Jennie glances at the car, then back at you, her eyes lingering on yours for a beat longer than expected.

"Well," she says with a playful sigh, "I guess this is where I make my dramatic exit."

You chuckle, trying to keep the moment light, though your pulse quickens as you realize it's really happening—she's leaving. But before you can get too caught up in that thought, Jennie does something that makes your heart nearly stop.

She blows you a kiss. It's casual, light, but there's something about the way she does it—her eyes sparkling with mischief, her lips curling up just so—that makes it feel intimate, as if the two of you are sharing a private joke that no one else in the world could understand.

"Don't forget me," she says, her tone playful, but there's an underlying sincerity in her voice that catches you off guard.

You laugh, shaking your head as your heart does a little flip. "Trust me, I couldn't if I tried."

With one last smile, Jennie gives you a little wave before turning and slipping into the backseat of the car. The door closes behind her with a soft click, and you watch, rooted to the spot, as the car pulls away from the curb and disappears down the street.

For a moment, you just stand there, blinking in the quiet night, trying to process what just happened. Then, all at once, the excitement hits you like a tidal wave.

"Oh my God," you mutter under your breath, your hands coming up to cover your face as a wide grin breaks across your lips. "Oh my God."

You can't help it—you start bouncing on your toes, your whole body buzzing with an energy you can't contain. The cool night air feels electric against your skin, and before you even realize what you're doing, you're literally jumping up and down in the middle of the sidewalk like some giddy schoolgirl.

Did you just kiss Jennie Kim? Yes. Yes, you did.

You let out a breathless laugh, your heart pounding in your chest as you pull out your phone, immediately dialing Simi. The line rings once, then twice, before she picks up, her voice full of curiosity.

"Hey, Y/N! How'd it go? Are you still alive, or do I need to come scrape you off the floor?"

You can hardly get the words out, your voice spilling over with excitement. "Simi. I just... I just kissed Jennie Kim."

There's a brief pause on the other end of the line, and then—

"WHAT?"

You can practically hear the shock and excitement in Simi's voice, and it only makes you giggle harder, the joy bubbling up inside of you like champagne.

"I'm not joking!" you say, your voice full of breathless disbelief. "We kissed! Right there on the sidewalk, just now! And it was... amazing. Oh my God, Simi, she's so... she's perfect."

Simi lets out a loud, gleeful squeal, and you have to pull the phone away from your ear for a second as her excitement blasts through the speaker. "I TOLD YOU!" she shrieks, her voice barely containing her joy. "I told you it would be amazing! Oh my God, Y/N, I can't believe this! Haze is going to freak out when I tell her."

You're still grinning like a fool, your heart racing as you try to piece together everything that's just happened. "She blew me a kiss as she left," you add, unable to keep the giggles out of your voice. "Like, a literal kiss in the air. Who even does that?"

"Jennie Kim, that's who!" Simi shouts through the phone, her voice full of pride. "Oh my God, I knew she'd like you. I knew it. You're going to be the next power couple, I swear!"

Your face heats up at the thought, but you can't deny the thrill that rushes through you at her words. You bite your lip, trying to keep from getting too carried away, but the way Jennie had looked at you, the softness in her smile, the kiss—it all felt so real, so full of potential.

"Simi," you say, still catching your breath from both the excitement and the kiss, "I don't even know how to process this. I mean, I went into this thinking it was going to be awkward and weird, but... she was so easy to talk to. Like, we really connected."

Simi lets out a dreamy sigh on the other end. "You're totally smitten, aren't you?"

You laugh, running a hand through your hair. "Maybe just a little."

"Good," Simi says, her voice full of satisfaction. "Because I think Jennie's smitten too."

You feel your heart skip at the thought, remembering the way Jennie had smiled at you, the way she'd leaned in for that kiss. You can't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, Simi is right.

"Well," you say with a grin, "I guess we'll see."

Simi giggles, clearly as thrilled as you are. "I'm so proud of you, Y/N. Seriously. You deserve this."

You can't stop smiling, your excitement and nerves still buzzing under your skin as you stand on the sidewalk, the city quiet around you. "Thanks, Simi. Really. This was... honestly, one of the best nights I've had in a long time."

"And it's only the beginning," Simi says, her voice full of promise. "I can feel it."

You hang up the phone, still grinning from ear to ear, and for a moment, you just stand there, staring up at the sky. The stars are twinkling above you, the city sounds distant and far away, and all you can think about is Jennie—her smile, her kiss, her soft laughter.

You don't know where this is going, but for the first time in a long time, you feel like something special is just beginning. And you can't wait to see what happens next.

[gottencents]

Dibs - Jennie Kim

pairing. meangirl!jennie x loser!reader

synopsis. jennie kim the school dubs as the it girl & of course a mean girl has called dibs on the schools biggest loser not to bully but to love ?

Jennie Kim had always been the center of attention. She was the undisputed queen of the school—head cheerleader, top of every best-dressed list, and the girl every student wanted to be or be with. She walked through the halls like she owned them, because, well… she did.

But nothing turned heads more than her obsession with Y/N L/N.

Y/N was the school’s biggest loser. At least, that’s what people called them. They weren’t part of any social circle, didn’t care about fashion, and had a permanent residence in the library. While Jennie was basking in the spotlight, Y/N was content sitting in the shadows. They weren’t bullied, per se—more like ignored.

Except by Jennie.

Jennie, who stared at them from across the cafeteria.

Jennie, who shut down anyone who had a single bad thing to say about them.

Jennie, who had once made an entire group of guys apologize after laughing at Y/N’s thrift-store hoodie.

Jennie, who was absolutely head over heels in love with the school’s most oblivious outcast.

And today, she was going to do something about it.

The cafeteria was buzzing with its usual energy—students chatting, music playing from someone’s speaker, and Jennie sitting at her usual table with her usual crowd. Lisa was talking about some new dance move, Jisoo was scrolling through her phone, and Rosé was engaged in a deep conversation about the ethics of pineapple on pizza.

Jennie, however, was not listening.

Her eyes were locked onto Y/N, who sat alone at the corner of the cafeteria, lazily eating their sandwich while reading a book.

Lisa followed Jennie’s gaze and sighed. “You’re doing it again.”

Jennie didn’t look away. “Doing what?”

“The whole ‘I’m-in-love-but-refuse-to-admit-it’ thing.”

Jisoo smirked, finally looking up from her phone. “I still don’t get it. You could have literally anyone. Why Y/N?”

Jennie tore her gaze away just long enough to glare at them. “Because I called dibs.”

Lisa snorted. “Dibs? That’s not how people work.”

Jennie crossed her arms. “I don’t care. Y/N is mine.”

Rosé raised an eyebrow. “Does Y/N know that?”

Jennie opened her mouth, then closed it. A beat of silence.

Lisa laughed. “Yeah, didn’t think so.”

Jennie rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m making my move.”

Jisoo blinked. “Wait—now?”

“Yes, now.”

Jennie stood, smoothing down her designer skirt before making her way across the cafeteria, her every step turning heads.

Whispers followed her. People watched with wide eyes, some elbowing their friends as they noticed where she was headed.

Y/N, of course, remained completely unaware, flipping a page in their book.

That is, until Jennie plopped down across from them and stole a fry from their tray.

Y/N finally looked up, blinking in confusion. “…Did you just steal my fry?”

Jennie smirked, twirling the fry between her fingers before eating it. “You weren’t eating them fast enough.”

Y/N stared at her, unimpressed. “Do you need something, Jennie?”

Jennie propped her chin up on her hand, batting her lashes. “I just wanted to keep you company.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “And that has nothing to do with the fact that people are staring like you just walked onto the loser’s table?”

Jennie feigned innocence. “What? I can’t sit with my favorite person?”

Y/N gave her a look. “I’m pretty sure you’ve never spoken to me before.”

Jennie grinned. “Not my fault you avoid me.”

“I avoid everyone.”

Jennie hummed, stealing another fry. “That’s cute.”

Y/N groaned, setting their book down. “Okay, seriously—what do you want?”

Jennie leaned forward, her voice dropping into something softer, more genuine. “I want you to let me take you on a date.”

Silence.

Y/N blinked. Once. Twice. “…A date.”

Jennie nodded. “Yeah, you know. Those things where two people go out together, and one of them falls madly in love with the other.”

Y/N gave her an unimpressed stare. “So you just assume I’d be the one falling in love?”

Jennie smirked. “I already have.”

Y/N’s brain short-circuited. “…What.”

Jennie rested her chin on her palm, watching them with the kind of intensity that made it hard to breathe. “I’ve liked you for years. I was just waiting for you to notice.”

Y/N blinked again. “Jennie. You’re literally the most popular girl in school.”

Jennie shrugged. “And?”

“And I’m me.”

Jennie tilted her head. “Exactly. You’re you. And I happen to think you’re perfect.”

Y/N opened their mouth, then closed it. For the first time in their life, they had no idea what to say.

Jennie leaned forward even more, whispering just for them to hear—

“So… what do you say?”

Y/N swallowed. “…You’re not going to stop bothering me if I say no, are you?”

Jennie grinned. “Nope.”

Y/N sighed, rubbing their temple. “Fine. One date.”

Jennie beamed, standing up as if she’d just won the lottery. “Great! I’ll pick you up Friday. Don’t be late.”

Y/N watched in stunned silence as Jennie walked away, leaving the entire cafeteria whispering and staring.

Lisa, Jisoo, and Rosé looked at Jennie expectantly when she returned to her seat.

Jennie smirked. “Told you. Dibs.”

For the rest of the day, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

It wasn’t paranoia—people were actually staring at them. In the hallways, in class, even when they went to their locker, whispers followed in their wake.

Did you see Jennie sit with them at lunch?

I heard she asked them out!

Is this some kind of joke?

By the time the final bell rang, Y/N’s head was pounding. They had spent their entire high school life flying under the radar, and now, thanks to Jennie Kim, that was officially over.

They trudged toward their locker, exhausted, only to find her already waiting there, leaning casually against the wall.

Jennie smirked when she saw them. “Hey, cutie.”

Y/N groaned. “Please don’t call me that.”

Jennie tilted her head. “Would you prefer ‘my future spouse’?”

Y/N shut their locker with more force than necessary. “Do you ever stop?”

Jennie grinned. “Nope.”

Y/N sighed, rubbing their temple. “Look, Jennie, what’s your deal? I mean, really.”

Jennie raised an eyebrow. “My deal?”

“Yeah. You’re… you. And I’m me. We don’t make sense.”

Jennie’s expression softened, and for the first time since this whole ordeal started, she looked genuine.

“Why do you think that?” she asked.

Y/N hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. “Because you’re popular, rich, and everyone in this school either worships you or wants to date you. And me?” They motioned to themselves. “I don’t even think half the school remembers my name.”

Jennie took a step closer, her gaze locked onto them. “I remember it.”

Y/N felt their heart stutter.

Jennie took another step. “I remember the way you always choose the seat by the window in class because you like the natural light.”

Another step.

“I remember how you only ever eat peanut butter sandwiches for lunch because you think cafeteria food is a government conspiracy.”

Y/N’s face burned. “I—”

Jennie smirked. “I remember how you always chew on the end of your pen when you’re stuck on a math problem. How you roll your eyes when you’re flustered. How your nose scrunches up when you laugh.”

She was so close now that Y/N could feel the warmth radiating off her.

Jennie tilted her head, her voice dropping into something softer. “You might not think you’re special, Y/N, but I do. And I don’t care if the rest of the school doesn’t see it.”

Y/N swallowed hard. “…You really like me?”

Jennie let out a soft laugh. “I called dibs on you. That’s basically a love confession.”

Y/N snorted despite themselves, shaking their head. “You’re impossible.”

Jennie grinned. “And yet, here you are, still talking to me.”

Y/N sighed. “I hate that you have a point.”

Jennie smirked, reaching out to adjust the collar of their hoodie, her fingers brushing against their neck for just a second.

“Get used to it, loser. You’re stuck with me now.”

And as Jennie sauntered away, leaving Y/N standing there with a racing heart and a flushed face, one thought crossed their mind:

They were so, so screwed.

Y/N stood frozen in the middle of the hallway long after Jennie walked away, their thoughts racing at a million miles per hour.

How was this their life now?

One minute, they were just a nobody, and the next, Jennie Kim—the most untouchable girl in school—was calling dibs on them like they were her personal treasure. And now? Now they had a date with her.

A date.

Y/N groaned, pressing their forehead against their locker.

“Uhh… are you okay?”

Y/N turned their head to see their classmate, Mark, giving them a concerned look.

“No,” Y/N deadpanned.

Mark blinked. “What happened?”

Y/N exhaled dramatically. “Jennie Kim.”

Mark’s eyes widened. “Oh, yeah. That.”

Y/N lifted their head, narrowing their eyes. “Wait—you knew she liked me?”

Mark gave them an incredulous look. “Dude, everyone knew.”

Y/N gawked. “How? I didn’t even know!”

Mark shrugged. “It was kinda obvious. The staring, the shutting down anyone who talked bad about you, the fact that she nearly started a fight with Minho when he tried asking you out last year—”

“Wait, what?”

“Oh.” Mark scratched the back of his neck. “You didn’t know about that?”

“No, I did not know about that!”

Mark winced. “Yeah, uh… Minho made some joke about you being a ‘charity case’ for the school and how Jennie should date ‘someone on her level,’ and she kinda—”

“What?”

“—threw her iced coffee at him.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “She what?”

Mark nodded. “Yeah. Then she told him, and I quote, ‘If Y/N isn’t on my level, then maybe I should try lowering myself to yours and see if that makes me want to throw up less.’”

Y/N stared.

Mark shrugged. “Anyway, Minho transferred schools after that, so.”

Y/N still hadn’t closed their mouth. “You’re telling me Jennie Kim has been defending my honor for years, and I just never noticed?”

Mark gave them a flat look. “You walk through life like a background character. So, yeah.”

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down their face. “I hate this school.”

Mark patted their shoulder. “Good luck on your date.”

Y/N groaned again.

If Y/N thought the attention yesterday was bad, today was so much worse.

The moment they walked into school, the whispers started up again. People glanced at them in the hallways, whispered behind their hands, and a few brave souls even nodded in approval at them like they had just won some secret competition.

By lunch, Y/N was exhausted.

They sat at their usual table in the farthest corner of the cafeteria, hoping for some peace and quiet. But, of course, that was too much to ask.

Because Jennie Kim was heading straight toward them.

Again.

And this time, she wasn’t alone.

Lisa, Rosé, and Jisoo followed closely behind her, their faces filled with amused curiosity. The entire cafeteria watched as Jennie plopped down in the seat directly next to Y/N—so close their shoulders were pressed together.

Y/N swallowed. “Uh—”

Jennie stole a fry from their tray again. “Hi.”

Lisa smirked. “Hope you don’t mind some company.”

Y/N stared at the four of them, then at the way Jennie was completely invading their personal space, and sighed. “Do I even have a choice?”

Jennie grinned. “Nope.”

Rosé giggled, taking a seat across from them. “You’re funny.”

Jisoo rested her chin on her hand. “So. Y/N. How does it feel knowing Jennie’s been secretly in love with you this whole time?”

Y/N nearly choked. “I—”

Jennie smacked Jisoo’s arm. “Unnecessary.”

Lisa leaned forward. “Nah, but seriously. You really had no clue?”

Y/N hesitated before sighing. “Not even a little.”

Rosé gasped. “Not even when she defended you all those times?”

Y/N frowned. “I didn’t know she was defending me! No one told me!”

Lisa whistled. “Damn. You’re really out here living life on airplane mode, huh?”

Jennie rolled her eyes but was still watching Y/N closely, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of their sleeve.

Y/N sighed, shaking their head. “I still don’t get it.”

Jennie raised an eyebrow. “Get what?”

Y/N looked at her. “Why me? Of all the people in this school, why me?”

Jennie held their gaze for a moment before speaking, her voice softer than before.

“Because you don’t care about any of this.” She gestured vaguely to the cafeteria, to the stares, the whispers, the constant attention. “You’re not like the people who only like me for my status. You don’t try to impress me, or be something you’re not. You’re just… you.”

Y/N felt their heart skip a beat.

Lisa fake wiped a tear. “Damn, that was deep.”

Jennie shot her a glare.

Jisoo clapped her hands together. “Alright, so when’s the wedding?”

Y/N groaned. “Can we not?”

Jennie smirked. “Not yet. Let me at least take them on a date first.”

Y/N buried their face in their hands.

Rosé giggled. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Lisa nodded. “Agreed.”

Jennie leaned in, her lips brushing against Y/N’s ear as she whispered—

“I told you. You’re stuck with me now.”

And for some reason, despite all the chaos, Y/N found that they didn’t mind it.

Not one bit.

[w1w2]

Over the Handlebars

Jennie x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 6k

Synopsis: Y/N has always been the type to fall hard and fast, diving headfirst into love without hesitation. Jennie, on the other hand, is more guarded, careful, precise, the kind of person who weighs every decision.

JENNIE - Handlebars (Feat. DUA LIPA) "Why is it love is never kind to me? I heard that fools rush in and, yeah, that's me"

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The bass thrummed against Y/N’s skin, the kind of deep, pulsing rhythm that settled in her bones and made her feel weightless. The club was alive with energy, flashing neon lights casting streaks of pink and blue across the sea of moving bodies, the scent of liquor and expensive perfume mixing in the humid air. Laughter and conversations blended into a messy, intoxicating symphony, but none of it mattered.

She wasn’t drunk, not completely, but there was a pleasant buzz in her veins, turning everything sharper, more vivid. Every sound, every color.

And especially her.

Jennie Kim stood near the bar, effortlessly composed in a way that made her seem untouchable. While the rest of the world blurred and swayed under the weight of music and alcohol, Jennie remained still, a contrast so striking it made Y/N’s chest tighten. Dark, silky hair framed her face perfectly, her lips painted a deep shade of red that was almost too inviting. A half-empty glass of champagne dangled loosely between her fingers, the golden liquid catching the light as she lazily swirled it. She wasn’t trying to stand out, but somehow, in a room full of chaos, she was the only thing Y/N could focus on.

Their eyes met, and something flickered in Jennie’s gaze. Curiosity, amusement. An unspoken challenge.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She never did.

She weaved her way through the crowd, her heart thrumming in time with the bass, every step fueled by adrenaline and that reckless, insatiable pull toward the girl who looked like trouble wrapped in silk.

Jennie watched her approach, one perfectly shaped brow arching slightly, her expression unreadable yet completely consuming.

“Are you always this mysterious,” Y/N drawled as she reached Jennie’s side, her fingers grazing the edge of the bar. “Or is it just for show?”

Jennie’s lips quirked upward, the ghost of a smirk playing at the corners. “I could ask you the same thing.”

Up close, she smelled like vanilla and something expensive, something dangerously alluring. Y/N leaned in, her lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, I’m an open book, baby. You just have to turn the right page.”

Jennie hummed, lifting her glass to her lips. She took a slow, deliberate sip, her dark eyes never leaving Y/N’s. “And what page are we on now?”

Y/N tilted her head, pretending to think. “Somewhere between curious glances and flirtatious banter.” She lowered her voice, just enough to make Jennie lean in slightly. “But I think we can skip ahead.”

The tension between them was electric, crackling like static in the air.

Jennie studied her, like she was weighing the consequences, like she was trying to decide if she should let herself fall.

Y/N didn’t wait for permission.

She moved forward, closing the space between them in one fluid motion, her lips capturing Jennie’s before she had time to think.

The kiss tasted like champagne and recklessness, like bad decisions and the kind of adrenaline Y/N never knew how to resist.

Jennie froze for a split second. Y/N felt it. The hesitation, the war happening behind those dark eyes. But then Jennie exhaled softly, and her lips parted just enough for Y/N to take it as an invitation.

Jennie kissed her back.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It was heat and tension and all the things left unsaid.

Jennie’s fingers brushed against Y/N’s wrist, featherlight, but the touch sent a sharp jolt through her body. She deepened the kiss, just for a moment, just enough to taste the way Y/N sighed into her mouth, before pulling away.

By the time they separated, Y/N’s heart was a riot in her chest. Jennie’s eyes were darker now, unreadable, her breath just a little unsteady.

“Impulsive,” Jennie murmured, her voice like velvet.

Y/N smirked, licking her lips. “You liked it.”

Jennie didn’t deny it. But she didn’t confirm it either. Instead, she took another sip of champagne, gaze never leaving Y/N’s.

For the first time that night, Jennie looked a little bit undone.

Y/N leaned in, close enough that their noses almost brushed. “Come dance with me.” It wasn’t a question.

Jennie hesitated for a fraction of a second. Y/N thought she might say no.

But then Jennie placed her glass down, and without another word, she reached for Y/N’s hand.

Her fingers were warm, steady. Dangerous.

Y/N felt it instantly, that rush, that unmistakable pull in her chest. It wasn’t just about the way Jennie’s hand fit into hers or the way the air around them seemed to hum with something electric. It was the way Jennie looked at her then, eyes dark and unreadable, like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she knew exactly what Y/N was about to do.

And just like that, Y/N knew.

She was already falling.

Falling the way she always did, fast, without hesitation, without caution.

Because Y/N loved the feeling of free-falling.

The rush of it, the thrill, the way the world blurred around her when she let go and let gravity take control. It didn’t scare her, to lose herself in something reckless, something consuming. It made her feel alive.

She was the type to run headfirst into things, to dive in without checking how deep the water was. And Jennie? Jennie was like an ocean. Beautiful, vast, and completely unpredictable.

And Y/N had never been good at resisting the pull of the tide.

Their nights blurred into something hazy and golden, a collection of stolen kisses under city lights and whispered secrets between tangled sheets. It wasn’t just about the physical, the way Jennie’s lips felt against hers, the warmth of her hands on Y/N’s skin, it was everything in between. The way Jennie looked at her when she thought Y/N wasn’t watching, the way her laughter melted into the air when Y/N said something ridiculous, the way she always pulled Y/N closer when she thought she might slip away.

Like now.

They were driving with the windows down, the wind whipping through Y/N’s hair as the car sped down empty streets. The city stretched out around them, glowing in the soft haze of midnight neon. Streetlights flickered as they passed, casting moving shadows across Jennie’s face.

It had rained earlier, just enough to leave the scent of it lingering in the air, fresh and clean, mixing with the faint traces of Jennie’s vanilla perfume.

Y/N turned her head, taking Jennie in.

She wasn’t doing anything particularly remarkable, just driving, fingers wrapped loosely around the steering wheel, her other hand resting lazily on the gear shift. But there was something about her in this moment, the way the light caught in her dark eyes, the easy way she moved, the quiet focus she always had when she was lost in thought.

She was mesmerizing. And she didn’t even realize it.

"You look good like this," Y/N murmured, voice lazy from the warmth of the night and the way Jennie made everything feel infinite.

Jennie’s lips curled at the edges, a barely-there smile, but she kept her gaze on the road. "Like what?"

"Like you belong here," Y/N said, softer than she meant for it to be. "With me."

Jennie didn’t answer right away.

Instead, she reached over, fingers ghosting over Y/N’s thigh before settling there, warm and grounding. The touch was light, barely there, but enough.

Y/N’s breath caught, just a little. She swore Jennie could feel it, could sense the way her heartbeat stumbled under her palm.

"Where are we going?" Y/N asked, her voice quieter now.

Jennie finally glanced at her, just for a moment. And in that moment, she looked almost reckless, like she was on the verge of throwing caution to the wind.

"I don’t know," Jennie admitted. "I just like driving with you."

Something about the way she said it made Y/N’s chest tighten.

There was a tenderness to it, a raw honesty that Jennie didn’t usually give away so easily. Y/N let the words settle between them, turning them over in her mind, wondering if Jennie even realized what they meant.

She smiled, tilting her head back against the seat, letting the cool night air kiss her face. "You make everything feel different," she said after a beat.

Jennie hummed, fingers tracing slow circles against Y/N’s skin. "Different how?"

"Like..." Y/N hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Real."

It was true. Everything about this, about Jennie, felt real in a way nothing else ever had. It was intoxicating. Terrifying.

Jennie didn’t respond, but Y/N felt the way her fingers twitched slightly against her thigh, the way her grip tightened just for a second before relaxing again.

And that was the thing about Jennie.

She was here, right now, driving through the city with Y/N at her side, touching her like she never wanted to let go.

But there was always something else, something lingering behind her eyes, something that made Y/N wonder if she was holding on just tight enough to keep Y/N close, but not tight enough to stay.

The thought should have scared Y/N.

But instead, she leaned into the feeling, let herself drown in the warmth of the moment, in the way Jennie’s thumb brushed against her skin absentmindedly.

Maybe she was falling too fast.

But for now, she didn’t care.

They spent nights like this, chasing time as if they could outrun reality.

There was something about being with Jennie that made everything feel like a dream, like the world outside of them didn’t exist. Maybe that’s why Y/N kept falling, faster and faster, clinging to every stolen second like it might slip through her fingers.

They danced in dimly lit rooms, music thrumming beneath their feet, bodies pressed together in ways that blurred the line between comfort and desire. Jennie’s laughter against Y/N’s ear was a melody all on its own, low and breathless, the kind that made Y/N’s stomach flip.

Some nights, they stayed out too late, drinking expensive wine that left them giddy and warm, fingers intertwined beneath tables in candle-lit corners. Other nights, they didn’t bother with the world at all, wrapped in sheets and whispered confessions, tangled limbs and soft sighs.

Jennie tasted like late-night wine and stolen moments, like something Y/N wanted to keep forever.

And for a while, Y/N let herself believe she could.

But there was always something, something just beneath the surface. A hesitation in the way Jennie kissed her sometimes, like she was holding back, like she was afraid to let herself want too much.

The first time Y/N noticed it, she brushed it off.

The way Jennie would pull away first, even when Y/N wanted more. The way her fingers would hover for a second too long before touching Y/N, like she was caught between staying and running.

It was small, barely noticeable.

But Y/N felt it.

And once she noticed it, she couldn’t stop noticing it.

Like the way Jennie went quiet whenever Y/N whispered, “I think about you all the time.” The way she would smile, but never say it back.

Or the way Jennie’s fingers would tighten in Y/N’s grip when they walked side by side, but she never held on too tightly, as if she needed to be able to let go.

Y/N ignored it. At first.

Because maybe, if she pretended not to see the cracks forming beneath the surface, they wouldn’t be real. Maybe, if she kissed Jennie hard enough, held her close enough, she could fix whatever was keeping Jennie from falling all the way.

Because love, for Y/N, had never been something she could do in half-measures.

And Jennie? Jennie had never been the kind of person to crash.

One night, they lay in bed, the city humming outside the window. The air was thick with the scent of rain and something unmistakably them, faint traces of perfume on Jennie’s skin, the lingering warmth of wine on Y/N’s breath, the shared heat between them beneath the sheets.

Jennie’s fingers traced lazy circles over Y/N’s hip, her touch featherlight, absentminded. It was the kind of touch that made Y/N feel cherished, but also the kind that made her wonder if Jennie was afraid of holding on too tight.

Y/N closed her eyes, pressing a soft kiss to Jennie’s collarbone, letting herself sink into the quiet of the moment. But there was something restless in her chest, a question she couldn’t quite shake.

"Tell me something real," Y/N murmured, her lips barely brushing against Jennie’s skin.

Jennie’s fingers paused.

The silence stretched between them, just long enough for Y/N to wonder if Jennie had heard her or if she was choosing not to answer.

Then, finally, a whisper.

"I hate goodbyes."

It was so quiet Y/N almost didn’t catch it, but when she did, something in her chest tightened.

She lifted her head, blinking sleepily. "What do you mean?"

Jennie didn’t answer right away. Instead, she turned her gaze toward the ceiling, her dark eyes distant, unreadable.

Y/N watched the way Jennie’s chest rose and fell, slow, measured, as if she were weighing the words before she let them slip.

"I don’t like things that don’t last," Jennie said finally, her voice steady but soft. "That’s why I don’t…" She stopped abruptly, exhaling sharply, as if catching herself before saying too much. "Never mind."

Y/N frowned. Propping herself up on her elbow, she studied Jennie’s face, searching for something, anything, that might tell her what Jennie was too afraid to say.

"That’s why you don’t what?" she pressed gently.

Jennie sighed, shifting slightly beneath the sheets. Her fingers resumed their soft, absentminded tracing along Y/N’s arm, like she needed something to keep her grounded.

"That’s why I don’t let myself fall too easily."

The words were a whisper, but they struck something deep in Y/N’s chest.

Because she knew.

She knew Jennie felt something, something big, something dangerous. She knew it in the way Jennie looked at her when she thought Y/N wasn’t watching. In the way she lingered just a second longer after every kiss. In the way she reached for Y/N’s hand but never quite held it as tightly as Y/N wished she would.

It was there. Real.

But Jennie was still holding back.

Y/N swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.

"But you have fallen," she whispered, her fingers tracing over the delicate skin of Jennie’s wrist. "Haven’t you?"

Jennie’s breath hitched.

For a moment, just a moment, Y/N thought she might finally get the answer she was waiting for.

The one that would make everything feel safe. Certain.

But Jennie only closed her eyes, tilting her head back against the pillow.

"Go to sleep, Y/N," she murmured.

Y/N should have pushed. Should have made her say the words, should have asked why Jennie was so scared of something that already had them both in its grasp.

But she didn’t.

Instead, she curled closer, pressing her forehead against Jennie’s shoulder, trying to pretend that Jennie’s silence didn’t say everything she already knew.

That night, she dreamt of falling.

And when she woke up, she wasn’t sure Jennie would be there to catch her.

The beginning of the end wasn’t loud.

It wasn’t screaming or slamming doors. There were no shattered glasses, no accusations hurled like weapons.

It was quiet. Soft in a way that made it worse, like the slow unraveling of a thread, like an ember burning out in the palm of her hand.

Like drowning in an ocean so gently, she hadn’t realized she was sinking until it was too late.

And it started at a party.

A rooftop stretched high above the city, the air thick with summer heat and the faint scent of rain lingering from earlier in the evening. Golden fairy lights were strung overhead, flickering against the inky sky, casting warm halos against the glasses in people’s hands. Music hummed low beneath the chatter, background noise, almost distant, like a heartbeat fading away.

Y/N had been standing at the edge of the crowd, Jennie beside her, the two of them tucked away from the center of attention but never fully unnoticed.

Jennie looked stunning, in that effortless way she always did, dark hair cascading in soft waves, red lips curled in a knowing, unreadable smile. She wasn’t even trying, but Y/N couldn’t stop looking at her. Couldn’t stop reaching for her.

Fingers brushing. A touch against the small of her back. Their laughter tangling in the thick air between them, warm and easy.

Y/N had felt light that night. Weightless in the way you feel when you know someone is yours.

She could still taste the remnants of wine on her tongue, could still feel the ghost of Jennie’s lips against her cheek from earlier, just a whisper of a kiss, fleeting but felt.

She had been happy.

And then it happened.

A casual conversation, the kind you don’t expect to change anything, the kind that should’ve been nothing more than passing words.

But sometimes, words were enough to ruin everything.

"So, are you two together?"

The question had been lighthearted, teasing. The kind of thing people asked when they already knew the answer.

Y/N had smiled without hesitation, already feeling the response settle into her bones, already hearing Jennie’s voice in her head, saying, Yeah, she’s mine. We’re together.

But Jennie hesitated.

It was barely a second. But Y/N felt it.

Like a shift in gravity, like the ground slipping out from under her feet.

Then, Jennie laughed, smooth, effortless, but the answer came too late.

"We’re just… having fun."

Just. Having. Fun.

The words lodged in Y/N’s chest like a stone, heavy and unmoving.

She didn’t know what hurt more, that Jennie had said it, or that she hadn’t even looked at Y/N when she did.

Her stomach twisted. She forced out a small laugh, nodding along, pretending like it didn’t feel like the floor had disappeared beneath her.

Jennie must have noticed something in the way Y/N tensed beside her, but she didn’t say anything. Just kept sipping her drink, like nothing had changed.

But for Y/N, everything had.

The rest of the night passed in a blur.

Laughter, conversation, the steady hum of music, none of it registered. The fairy lights were too bright, the room too loud, the air too thick, pressing against her chest.

Jennie stayed by her side, fingers grazing hers, lips brushing the shell of her ear when she whispered something Y/N didn’t quite catch. But it didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered after those words.

"We’re just having fun."

The words replayed in her head, over and over, like a cruel joke.

Maybe she had been stupid, maybe she had assumed too much, maybe, somewhere deep down, she had known all along.

Because Jennie had never given her the words she wanted. Had never said them first. Had never held on as tightly as Y/N had.

She had felt it.

She had known.

And still, she had let herself fall.

Later, when the party had faded into nothing but a lingering scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke clinging to her clothes, when the city was quieter, emptier, Y/N sat on Jennie’s bed, watching the other girl move around the room.

Jennie was quiet, her back to Y/N as she undid the clasp of her necklace, letting it fall onto the nightstand with a faint clink.

The air between them felt fragile, like one wrong move would shatter it completely.

Jennie must have felt it too, because she turned, stepping closer, reaching for Y/N’s hand.

"Hey," Jennie murmured, voice softer now, thumb tracing circles against Y/N’s skin. "Are you okay?"

Y/N let out a small laugh, but it was hollow. Empty.

"Am I okay?"

Jennie frowned, brows knitting together in concern. "Y/N…"

"We’re just having fun."

The words came out quieter than Y/N expected, but they still carried weight. She lifted her gaze, searching Jennie’s face, trying to see something, anything, that would tell her that Jennie hadn’t meant it.

That maybe, just maybe, it had been a lie.

But Jennie’s face was unreadable, and that hurt the most.

"That’s what this is to you?" Y/N whispered.

Jennie exhaled, running a hand through her hair. "You’re twisting my words."

Y/N’s jaw clenched. "No, I’m hearing your words. For the first time, maybe."

Jennie’s gaze flickered away.

Y/N felt something sharp dig into her ribs. That same feeling, that same hesitation that had been there all along, lingering in Jennie’s kisses, in her touches, in the way she always almost held on.

She had ignored it before. Had convinced herself it wasn’t real.

But it was.

"Do you even love me?"

The question escaped before she could stop it.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Jennie’s breath hitched.

And for a moment, just a moment, Y/N swore she saw it. The answer, trembling behind Jennie’s lips.

But Jennie didn’t say it. Didn’t move. Didn’t fight.

And suddenly, Y/N knew.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. She shook her head, standing, grabbing her jacket.

"Wait,"

"No." Y/N turned, her voice breaking. "I can’t do this anymore."

Jennie’s brows furrowed, something desperate flickering in her gaze. "Y/N, please,"

"Please what?" Y/N’s voice cracked. "Please stay and pretend like this is enough for me? Like I can just be someone you kiss in the dark, someone you almost love?"

Jennie sucked in a breath, but she still didn’t say the words Y/N needed to hear.

And Y/N? She was so tired of waiting.

She stepped back, the distance between them stretching wider than the room itself.

"I’ve been falling for you since the moment I met you." Her voice was quieter now, exhausted. Defeated. "And you’ve been standing still."

Jennie flinched.

But she still didn’t move.

She didn’t reach for her, didn’t close the distance between them, didn’t even try to fix what was already unraveling between her fingers. She just stood there, silent and still, like a statue carved from hesitation and fear. And Y/N could feel her heart breaking in real time, cracking open under the weight of all the words Jennie refused to say.

She took a slow, shaky breath, blinking hard against the sting behind her eyes, and turned toward the door. Her footsteps felt heavy, like her body was protesting, like some desperate part of her still wanted to stay, to wait just a little longer, to hope.

But hope had never been kind to fools like her.

Behind her, Jennie inhaled sharply, the kind of breath that sounded like the beginning of a confession or maybe a plea, but Y/N had learned better than to hold on to things that never came.

So she waited.

One last time.

She waited for Jennie to stop her, to reach for her, to fight for something, anything.

She wanted to hear her name spoken like it mattered. She wanted Jennie to say stay, to give her a reason not to walk away, to choose her in the way Y/N had always, always chosen Jennie.

But the silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating, until it became the only answer she would ever get.

Jennie hesitated.

And in that hesitation, Y/N slipped through her fingers, one step, then another, until the door clicked shut behind her.

She didn’t look back.

And Jennie let her go.

The first few days passed in a blur.

Y/N had always thought heartbreak would feel like something sharp, something immediate, like ripping off a bandage or stepping on shattered glass. But this… this was different.

It was slow, creeping, the kind of pain that settled into the spaces between her ribs and refused to leave.

She went through the motions of living, pretending she was fine, pretending she wasn’t waiting for something. A knock at the door, a name flashing across her screen, a reason to turn around and fix what had been broken between them.

But there was nothing.

Only silence.

The city hadn’t changed.

It still pulsed with life, still hummed with the same restless energy that had once made Y/N feel alive. The streets still buzzed with movement, neon lights flickering against the wet pavement, a kaleidoscope of colors stretching into the night. Taxis honked, music spilled from open windows, laughter drifted from bars where people gathered, unaware that the world, her world, felt unbearably still.

Everything looked the same.

But somehow, nothing felt the same.

Everywhere she turned, there was a ghost of something she wasn’t ready to face.

The small café on the corner, the one with the lopsided chairs and terrible coffee, she used to love it, used to claim it was so bad it was good. That was where Jennie had first reached across the table, absentmindedly tracing lazy patterns against Y/N’s wrist while talking about nothing and everything. She had done it so often that Y/N had started expecting it, had started needing it, the warmth of Jennie’s fingertips on her skin, the unspoken comfort of it.

Now, she couldn’t bring herself to go back.

Then there was the bookstore by the subway, the one that always smelled like old paper and fresh rain, where the aisles were too narrow and the owner always played soft jazz from an old record player. That was where Jennie had once pulled her between the shelves, away from prying eyes, pressing a kiss to the hinge of Y/N’s jaw before murmuring, “Shhh, we’re gonna get caught.” Y/N had laughed, breathless, pushing at Jennie’s shoulder even as she tilted her head to give her better access.

They never did get caught.

Now, Y/N couldn’t step onto that platform without hearing the echo of Jennie’s laughter, without feeling the ghost of her lips brushing against her skin.

Even her own apartment felt wrong.

The sheets had been washed, twice, maybe three times, but they still carried traces of Jennie’s perfume, that soft, expensive scent that clung to the air like a whisper. Her presence lingered in every room, in the half-empty bottle of wine on the counter from the last night Jennie had stayed over, in the sweatshirt she had borrowed and forgotten to take back.

Y/N had thought about throwing it away, about erasing every last remnant of her.

But she couldn’t.

Not yet.

And maybe that was the worst part, because the memories weren’t bad.

They weren’t sharp-edged or painful, weren’t laced with regret or anger. They were warm, golden, flashes of happiness that should have been comforting.

But instead, they felt like tiny betrayals.

How could something that had once felt so safe now feel so distant?

How could Jennie have loved her in every way except the one that mattered most?

Y/N exhaled slowly, pressing her fingertips to her temple, willing the ache away.

She should stop thinking about her. She should let it go. She should move on.

But her heart was still somewhere else.

Still standing in that room, waiting for Jennie to say something. Still hoping.

And god, wasn’t that the cruelest part of it all?

Jennie hadn’t slept much. Not since that night.

Not since she had watched Y/N walk away without looking back, disappearing through the door like she had never been there at all.

The hours blurred together, long and sleepless, stretching endlessly between dusk and dawn. Night after night, Jennie lay awake, staring at the ceiling, tracing invisible shapes against the sheets that still smelled like Y/N. It was a cruel trick of the senses, the way scent could linger long after someone was gone. No matter how many times she buried her face into her pillow, no matter how many times she told herself to forget, it was always there.

She told herself this was for the best. That it had always been inevitable. That Y/N was better off without someone who hesitated when it mattered most.

But the lie unraveled at the edges, thin and fragile, unable to hold under the weight of her thoughts.

Because Jennie couldn’t stop thinking.

Couldn’t stop replaying the moment Y/N had stood in front of her, eyes searching, heart wide open, waiting for Jennie to meet her halfway. Couldn’t stop hearing the way her voice had cracked, the way her breath had hitched just before she had stepped back, just before she had given up.

Please, just say something.

She had said nothing. She had let her go.

Jennie had never been good at falling.

Not the way Y/N was.

Y/N had always loved like it was second nature, like she didn’t know how to hold back. She threw herself into things completely, fearlessly, unafraid of the impact waiting at the bottom. Jennie had always admired that about her, had envied it, even.

But she couldn’t match it.

She had spent so much time guarding herself, convincing herself that love like that, love so reckless, so all-consuming, was dangerous. That it was safer to keep her distance, safer to stand on the edge rather than risk the fall.

But now? Now, she was paying the price for it.

The apartment was too quiet.

She still reached for Y/N in the middle of the night, only to be met with nothing but cold sheets. She still expected to hear her voice in the kitchen in the morning, still thought she’d turn a corner and find Y/N standing there, wrapped in one of Jennie’s hoodies, flashing her that easy, radiant smile.

But the space beside her remained empty. The apartment stayed silent. The walls no longer echoed with laughter, only the weight of everything Jennie hadn’t said.

And maybe Y/N was never coming back.

Jennie clenched her jaw, running a hand through her hair, frustration curling tight in her chest.

She had thought about calling. About texting. About something.

She had picked up her phone a hundred times, fingers hovering over the screen, trying to find the right words.

“I’m sorry.” “Come back.” “I should have said it when you needed me to.”

But none of it felt like enough.

Because what did apologies matter when they came too late?

So she did nothing, and the silence stretched, suffocating and endless.

Y/N sat by the window, knees pulled up to her chest, watching the city move without her.

Beyond the glass, the streets pulsed with life, headlights slicing through the darkness, neon signs flickering in a language she no longer felt fluent in. People wandered in and out of bars, laughter spilling into the night, taxi doors slamming shut, conversations buzzing through the air like static. The world was still spinning, untouched by the ache sitting heavy in her chest.

She should be fine by now.

She should be over it.

That’s what everyone kept telling her. That she would wake up one morning and the weight of Jennie would feel a little lighter, that her name wouldn’t taste quite so bitter, that the memories would start fading like ink washed away by time.

But heartbreak had its own timeline, its own cruel way of making you think you were okay, only to hit you like a wave when you least expected it.

And god, did it hit her now.

It crashed over her in the quiet moments, in the spaces Jennie used to fill. It settled into her bones, curled up inside her chest like something waiting to be felt, refusing to be ignored.

The worst part? She didn’t even want to let it go.

Her phone buzzed against the wooden table beside her.

She ignored it at first, assuming it was another well-meaning message from a friend checking in, asking if she wanted to talk about it, if she had been sleeping, eating, breathing properly.

Y/N didn’t have the heart to tell them that breathing wasn’t the problem. It was that every inhale still carried traces of Jennie, and every exhale felt like she was losing her all over again.

But then she felt a shift in the air, an instinct she couldn’t name.

She reached for her phone, fingers curling around it before flipping it over.

And suddenly, she couldn’t breathe at all.

Jennie [2:14 AM]: “Can we talk?”

Y/N’s heart stopped.

The city outside blurred at the edges, the neon lights smearing into streaks of color, the sounds fading into nothing but white noise. Everything else disappeared, because in this moment, it was just her and that message.

She stared at the screen, fingers trembling slightly, waiting, hoping, for more.

But nothing came.

No follow-up. No explanation.

Just those three words, sitting there like a half-finished sentence, like Jennie had almost said something before stopping herself.

And wasn’t that the story of them?

Jennie, almost loving her. Jennie, almost choosing her. Jennie, almost saying the words.

Her breath came in uneven pulls, her chest tight, her thumb hovering over the keyboard as a thousand thoughts collided all at once.

She could respond or she could ignore it. She could call Jennie right now, demand to know what she was trying to say, demand to know why it had taken this long for her to finally reach out.

Part of her wanted to. God, did she want to.

But another part, one that was still nursing the wounds Jennie had left behind, was afraid.

Because what if this was just another hesitation? What if Jennie had typed it out with every intention of fixing what had broken between them, only to realize, at the last second, that she still didn’t know how? What if this wasn’t hope at all? What if it was just another goodbye, disguised as something else?

Y/N swallowed hard, her grip tightening around the phone.

Her mind screamed at her to do something, to make a choice, to stop lingering in this purgatory of almosts.

And then another buzz came.

Jennie [2:26 AM]: “Please.”

Y/N inhaled sharply, the single word settling heavy in her chest.

Jennie had hesitated before.

But maybe this time, she wasn’t pulling away, and for the first time in weeks, Y/N truly didn’t know what to do.

[gottencents]

Start a War - Jennie Kim

main masterlist | navigation

pairing. idol!jennie x reader

synopsis. Struggling with the pressure of her many public personas, Jennie confides in Y/N about her exhaustion with being everything for everyone—and decides, for once, to be selfish.

Practice Room – 9:42 PM, Los Angeles

The mirrored walls of the rehearsal studio gleamed with the last traces of daylight, catching the flashes of sequins and sweat as Jennie Kim moved through the final beats of her choreography.

Music still thumped in the background—low and repetitive—but she’d stopped dancing a few minutes ago. Now she stood still, center of the room, hands on her hips, chest rising and falling. Her hoodie clung to her damp skin, and her mind whirred with unfinished thoughts louder than any bass.

The door creaked open, and she knew who it was without turning.

“Practice robot mode activated again?” Y/N asked, her voice a warm contrast to the sterile room.

Jennie gave a small smile at the familiar teasing. “If I stop moving, I start thinking.”

Y/N shut the door behind her and crossed the room quietly. “And thinking’s dangerous?”

Jennie finally looked over at her—hoodie sleeves too long, hair pulled into a lazy bun, no makeup, no pressure. Just Y/N.

“Thinking is… everything I try not to do during prep,” Jennie muttered. “Because when I think, I start asking myself the wrong questions.”

Y/N tilted her head. “Like?”

Jennie dropped onto the floor, back against the mirror, legs stretched out. “Like… who am I doing this for?”

She tugged her towel off her shoulders and ran it across her neck, eyes distant.

“I’ve been Jennie: the soloist. Jennie: the ‘It Girl.’ Jennie: the brat. The perfect one. The ‘ungrateful’ one. Everyone’s favorite villain. Everyone’s misunderstood softie. I don’t know how many of them are real anymore.”

Y/N crouched down beside her. “They’re all you. But none of them are the whole you.”

Jennie glanced at her, eyes searching. “And you know that?”

Y/N sat beside her, shoulder brushing hers. “I do. I know the you who cries in the car after every comeback no one knows you fought to make happen. The one who rubs my thumb when she’s overwhelmed. The one who stays quiet at parties because she’s too tired to perform joy.”

Jennie turned her head to face her fully now. She blinked like she hadn’t realized how deeply she needed to be seen until this moment.

“I’ve spent my whole career being selfless for the sake of something bigger,” she said. “The brand. The legacy. The team. The fans. I don’t even remember the last time I did something just because I wanted to.”

She hesitated.

“I think… I want to be selfish now.”

Y/N’s brows lifted. “With me?”

Jennie nodded, almost shamefully. “I want them to see you. To see that I love you. Not hide it. Not make you my secret safe place in the dark while I pretend to be untouchable in the light.”

Y/N’s breath hitched.

“Jennie…”

But Jennie rushed forward, the words tumbling now.

“I don’t want you backstage in the shadows anymore. I want you in my trailer. I want to walk off stage, sweaty and messy, and hug you first. I want the fans to know that this version of me—that’s not posing, not filtered—is yours.”

Y/N reached over and cupped her cheek, thumb brushing gently beneath her eye.

“Then let them see,” she whispered. “Let them see who you really love.”

Jennie leaned into her touch, eyes glassy. “Even if they hate me for it?”

“Especially then,” Y/N said. “Because for once, you’re choosing something for you. And maybe the ones who matter will love you more for it.”

Later, Jennie sat nestled into a hoodie that smelled like Y/N, wrapped in a blanket, her head resting on Y/N’s lap. The city lights blinked below them—tiny, artificial stars—and the sky stretched out like a quiet permission to just exist.

“I’ve always been scared of giving people something too real,” Jennie said softly.

Y/N played with her hair. “Why?”

“Because real things get picked apart first. They hurt the most when they break.”

Jennie closed her eyes.

“When I think about showing you to the world, it’s not because I want to make a statement or prove anything. It’s because I can’t not anymore. You’re in every part of me now. You’re my good days, and my worst ones. You’re the reason I haven’t let this industry eat me alive.”

Silence stretched between them, long and delicate.

Y/N whispered, “You’ve been holding this in for how long?”

Jennie’s voice cracked. “Since our first night together.”

Y/N leaned down and kissed her temple, her fingers threading through Jennie’s hair.

“You don’t need to be anything for anyone right now,” she said. “You’re allowed to just be mine. And let me be yours.”

Jennie closed her eyes again.

“Then I want to be selfish,” she whispered.

The concert had ended hours ago, but the venue still hummed faintly with residual electricity—like the stage itself was reluctant to sleep. Outside, fans lingered behind barricades, still screaming Jennie’s name into the night. Inside, Jennie Kim was peeling herself out of her ruby-red stage outfit, heart pounding for reasons that had nothing to do with performance adrenaline.

Y/N was waiting in the dressing room, exactly where Jennie had told her to be.

Jennie’s assistant had brought Y/N in through a secured side entrance midway through the encore, and she’d been watching the rest of the show from a private, curtained viewing spot just off-stage. But now, with everyone else cleared out—dancers hugging goodbyes, stylists busy with garment racks—it was just them.

Jennie stepped into the dressing room in a black silk robe, makeup still perfect, hair slightly tousled. She spotted Y/N sitting on the leather couch, legs tucked beneath her, wearing one of the custom “RUBY” tour tees Jennie had slipped her before the show.

“I’ve been waiting forever for this part,” Jennie said, voice low, warm.

Y/N looked up and smiled. “You mean the post-show makeout part?”

Jennie grinned. “Exactly that.”

She crossed the room slowly, deliberately, the heels of her boots clicking softly against the floor.

“I couldn’t stop looking at you during ‘Start a War,’ you know,” Jennie murmured, now standing in front of her. “I sang the whole second verse to you. You just didn’t realize it.”

“I realized it,” Y/N replied, tilting her head up. “You winked at me and nearly tripped.”

“I did not trip,” Jennie scoffed playfully.

“You stumbled,” Y/N teased, tugging her by the robe’s tie. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Jennie leaned down and kissed her—soft at first, then deeper, letting herself melt into it. She tasted like gloss and lemon water, sweet and slightly sharp, just like the afterglow of a show well done.

Y/N’s hands found Jennie’s waist beneath the robe, fingers warm against her skin.

“You were incredible tonight,” Y/N whispered against her lips.

Jennie pulled back just enough to look into her eyes. “No. You were. Just being here. I kept thinking how badly I wanted everyone to see you. Not just the fans—my people. The ones backstage. The team. I wanted you to be part of this. Of me.”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly. “That’s the first time you’ve ever said that.”

“I mean it,” Jennie said. “For the first time, I wanted something for me. I wanted to be selfish. And that something—someone—is you.”

The words were a whisper, but they carried the weight of a thousand unsent texts, the kind of confessions you only make when the lights go down and you’re left with truth alone.

Jennie sat down beside her, curling one leg up, pulling Y/N closer until they were flush. Her hands found the hem of Y/N’s shirt—her shirt—and she toyed with it gently, fingers tracing slow, lazy patterns along her hip.

“You always wear my things better than I do,” Jennie said, voice going silk-soft.

“Maybe because I don’t wear anything under it,” Y/N murmured with a sly grin.

Jennie raised a brow, gaze darkening just slightly.

“Well now that’s not fair,” she said.

Y/N leaned in, brushing her lips over Jennie’s jaw. “What’re you gonna do about it, Kim?”

Jennie didn’t answer—not with words.

She kissed her again, this time with intent. One hand tangling in Y/N’s hair, the other gripping her thigh. Her robe slipped slightly, revealing a glimpse of the stage-worn lingerie beneath, and Y/N let out a soft breath against her mouth.

Their kisses grew hungrier, deeper, that intoxicating mix of love and longing—the kind that simmers through months of hiding, late-night texts, long-distance flights, and the ache of wanting someone in silence. It was all pouring out now, here, behind a locked door.

“I want you to be the first thing I see after every show,” Jennie whispered, forehead pressed to hers. “Let them talk. Let them guess. I’m not hiding you anymore.”

“Then prove it,” Y/N said softly, tugging Jennie into her lap.

And Jennie did—again and again, with every kiss, every sigh, every soft whisper that only Y/N was allowed to hear.

[writersipsteasstuff]

Can someone recommend me a good Rosé x reader story? I need it!!!