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So Hot You’re Hurting my Feelings

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Twenty-five days. 

It’s been twenty-five days. Twenty-five days since Rose has seen her girlfriend. 

And really, twenty-five days isn’t the longest they’ve ever been apart. When Emily’s out filming shows on location, sometimes they’re apart for a month or two at a time. And they’ve always gotten on just fine—daily or twice-daily FaceTimes, constantly texting whenever Emily’s not actively on set, sending Snapchats from hotel beds late at night that let Rose slip her hand down the front of her pajama shorts and pretend like her girlfriend is touching her. And all of that usually works just fine. 

But usually it’s not New Years Eve. 

And usually, her girlfriend isn’t out with her castmates wearing a very low-cut, black jumpsuit and posting it all over social media. 

And usually, Rose isn’t halfway-to-drunk and watching people around her on the dance floor grind on their significant others while she awkwardly sways alone, clutching her drink in her hand like it’s a lifeline. 

But tonight, Rose is with her sister at this dumb New Years Eve party trying to pretend that the last video Emily’s co-star posted of her dancing in that stupid jumpsuit didn’t make her incredibly turned on. 

Rose is trying to pretend that her girlfriend isn’t halfway across the country looking like that for people that aren’t her.

She’s trying to pretend that she doesn’t miss Emily so much it physically hurts, and she’s especially trying to pretend that the alcohol isn’t making it worse.

Rose has never really been one to drink. Honestly, she’s always been very committed to her morning runs, and when she drinks too much at night, she can’t get up the next morning. Her morning runs make her feel good, make her feel like she’s doing something really productive with her life—like she deserves to be dating a girl who’s literally in TV shows and movies—not just being the aggressively-mediocre book editor that she is. Not that her boss would say she’s aggressively-mediocre, (in fact, she constantly calls her the best editor they have!) but anything Rose does, when she sizes it up next to what Emily does, feels aggressively mediocre. 

Especially tonight, when Emily is posting photos on her story from the elegant rooftop club she and her co-stars are gracing with their presence, and Rose is here at this somewhat-grimy bar in Cincinnati with all of her sister’s friends, wishing Emily were here to tell her she isn’t as aggressively mediocre as she’s currently feeling.

Because she never feels that way with Emily by her side. Emily always makes her feel like the most important person in the room—the funniest, and smartest, and prettiest person in the room. If she were here, Rose just knows all of her problems would melt away, and the world would feel so light and happy and she wouldn’t need this alcohol.

But Emily’s not here, so she bites down on her straw again and sucks up the remaining alcohol in her cup through her gritted teeth, pulling out her phone so she can jealousy-watch her girlfriend’s Instagram story again. Her plans are derailed, though, when she gets to her homepage and sees that Emily’s castmate, Kelley, has posted a new update.

It’s a selfie of Kelley, Emily, and some other girl named Trinity taken in a bathroom mirror. Emily has one hand on Kelley’s shoulder and the other hand clasped around a bottle of beer, her hip jutted out and her chin turned sideways a little so her neck is exposed. There’s nothing inherently sexual about the pose, but Rose’s body reacts as though her girlfriend is sending her nudes.

Which… now that Rose thinks about it, would be a nice thing to receive tonight. Maybe she should ask Emily for one. Or maybe she should send something herself and see if Emily responds. Or maybe, she should—

Do it back? Post on her story for the world to see and hope Emily makes the first move to tell Rose she looks hot?

And maybe the alcohol is going to her brain, but Rose doesn’t think that idea sounds half-bad.

Turning to Mary, she raises her eyebrows and says in a sweet voice, “We should take a picture! I wanna post something on my story!”

Rose taps into the Story icon, then holds the phone up and leans back into her sister, smirking up at the camera from under her eyelashes, knowing that the only reason she’s taking this photo is for Emily to see it on her story—for Emily to feel just a little bit of the desire she’s been feeling tonight.

She tags her sister in the photo, and then adds it to her story and tucks her phone into the back pocket of her jeans.

Right now, while waiting anxiously for a text or a DM or some kind of response from her girlfriend, feels like the perfect time to go get another drink.




Fifteen minutes.

It’s been fifteen minutes. Fifteen whole minutes since Rose has posted that photo on her story.

And still no response from Emily. Nothing. Not even a heart-eyes reaction. 

And as every extra minute ticks by, Rose is starting to feel more and more stupid. Of course Emily is out having a good time. Emily is with her friends and doing her own thing, she’s probably too busy to be checking social media. She has people to talk to, a room to entertain. Rose bets she’s holding everyone’s attention right now—telling some funny story or teaching some TikTok dance. Emily was always great at being the center of attention. Rose has only ever been great at being the center of Emily’s attention—she doesn’t want everyone’s eyes on her.

Rose slurps down more of her drink and weighs her options. She could keep waiting. She could post another photo to her story and hope this one got a response. Or, she could just bite the damn bullet and send the first text.

One more sip of her drink has her resolutely pulling out her phone.




rosie🌹: why haven’t you worn that for me before

kinda rude

Em💕: because i didn’t own it before

Bought it yesterday

You like it?



Does Rose like it? Obviously. What she doesn’t like is that her jumpsuit-clad girlfriend isn’t out here on the dance floor with her, her hands firmly on Rose’s hips as she holds her close. What she doesn’t like is that Rose can’t teasingly trace her fingers down that neckline, skimming so lightly across Emily’s skin that she shivers. What she doesn’t like is that it’s getting closer and closer to the new year and her midnight kiss is traipsing across Atlanta looking so good that Rose is almost upset by it.

Okay, Rose is upset by it. Emily’s so hot it’s hurting her feelings.



rosie🌹: i don’t like that you’re wearing it with Kelley and not me

Em💕: oh, so you’re jealous? 😉

rosie🌹: no

Just wish it was only me seeing it instead of the whole world

Em💕: I can show you something that’s just for you

Em💕 sent a photo



Rose doesn’t open it right away. Because what if it’s not what she wants it to be? What if it’s just another stupid little photo of Emily standing with Kelley in front of a mirror? Or another selfie of Emily making the most absurdly cute funny-face Rose has ever seen?

Or even worse, what if it is what Rose wants it to be, and she opens it out here in the middle of the dance floor surrounded by people that she only kind of knows, and one of her sister’s friends peeks over her shoulder and sees it? 

So , Rose finishes off her third drink and lets the general crowd around her know she’s going to get another. She stations herself up against the wall at the end of the counter and doesn’t try at all to get the bartender’s attention. Instead, she puts all her energy into unlocking her phone and navigating to her messages, where the photo is waiting for her, in all of its delicious glory. 

And shit , Rose must be really good at manifesting things—she just put the thought of having her girlfriend’s nudes out into the universe and bam! Now she has one in her possession. (Not that she doesn’t have others in her possession. There may or may not be a small album of them in her possession. But this one is shiny and new and unknown and exciting. She wants to savor it. She wants it to destroy her.)

It’s not actually a nude though. Emily’s just shrugged off one of the shoulders of her jumpsuit, the fashion tape that used to be holding the neckline in place glinting a little in the low-light of the bathroom, and is biting at her lip as she leans forward over the camera, seemingly having set her phone down on the toilet paper holder or something. Her curled, blonde hair is spilling over her bare shoulder, and Rose can’t help but imagine herself tangling her fingers in it and tugging, just hard enough to get Emily to make that little sound Rose loves so much. 

Rose can feel heat rushing both up to her cheeks and down low in her belly as she continues staring at the photo, thinking about what it would feel like to skate her fingers down her girlfriend’s chest, flick open the other side of the neckline and suck a perfectly pert nipple into her mouth. 

Her brain conjures up the breathy noise she knows Emily makes when her nipples are toyed with, and suddenly she’s very aware of how wet she is. But…

Just going to the bathroom and shoving her hand down her underwear now feels like losing. This wasn’t supposed to be a competition, but Rose has never backed down from making something a competition. And she’s not going to be the one that gives in first. 

She’s just not. 




rosie🌹: God, you look so good tonight, baby

Wish I was there to help take it the rest of the way off

Em💕: Don’t think I didn’t see how you look tonight

That little satin number is really something, Rosie



No! This isn’t supposed to be about Rose. Okay, originally it was supposed to be about Rose. But that plan has been abandoned for this new, who will give in first? plan. And Emily’s supposed to give in first! And if her girlfriend starts to give her compliments, Rose will certainly not be able to hold out. She needs to put a stop to this real quick. But like, in a sexy way. 



rosie🌹: This is about you right now

youre going to have to be patient if you want me

Em💕: fuck, babe



“What can I get for you?” the bartender inquires, and Rose is jerked back into the moment by his words. She swallows down the dryness in her throat and is proud of herself when her voice only comes out a little strangled.

“Oh! Um, yeah, can I have a double Vodka cran, please?” It’s not her usual drink order, but tonight is not a usual night. Right now, she needs the extra alcohol. 

The bartender gets to work fixing her drink, sliding it across the counter to her as Rose gives him her name so he can put it on her tab. She takes a few sips at the bar as she thinks of her next response to Emily, and the rush of alcohol seems to help embolden her. She’s not sure Sober Rose would have hit the send button.



rosie🌹: I would love to fuck, Em, really, but right now I’m really more in the mood to go down on you. Slowly, taking my time… 

seeing if you can be a good girl and wait to come until i say so



Only bold enough to hit send and not quite bold enough to stick around and wait for her girlfriend’s response, Rose slips the phone back into her pocket and pushes her way into the crowd.

It’s not long after she gets back out into the throng of people pulsing to the music on the dance floor that a beat comes on that she recognizes. 

She would recognize that beat anywhere, after the number of times she played it, sneaking up behind Emily at all hours of the day throughout their condo and forcing her to dance to it, the silly little dance the two of them made up together on a night where they were on the good side of tipsy, and afterwards Emily carried her upstairs and danced for her wearing a lot less clothing.

It’s not a great reason for Rose to start tearing up, but it happens anyways—in the middle of this lively dance floor with flashing lights and a thumping bass—and Rose has to dab at the corner of her eyes inconspicuously to hope no one notices. To start crying right now because of a stupid song at a New Years Eve party would probably be one of the most embarrassing things to ever happen to her. Rose doesn’t cry in public. 

And yet—

Here she is, with tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, threatening to ruin her mascara and streak her foundation, because of a goddamn song.  

She needs to get out of here. Being on the precipice of crying makes her feel claustrophobic in a way that being packed as tightly as sardines onto a dancefloor never could. So Rose does her best vanishing act, ducking out of the circle of her sister’s friends and rushing to the restroom, only letting the tears fall once she’s tucked safely away in a stall on the far side of the bathroom. 

She pulls clumsily at the toilet paper roll with one hand, the other hand useless as it holds her drink (which Rose could totally set down, but that would take far more rational thinking than her brain is capable of handling right how), and then gets to work drying her eyes and getting her breathing under control.

The whole experience is so traumatic that Rose almost forgets about the texts she sent out earlier, and startles a bit when her phone vibrates in her pocket.

She finally sets her drink down on the toilet paper holder so she can pull the phone out and read.




Em💕: baby i'll be good for you all night if it means i can ring in the new year with your tongue 



God, FUCK! Rose could really just reach down and touch herself now. She’d probably come embarrassingly quickly, too. But she won’t. 

She didn’t go through the most embarrassing thing ever by crying in public just to lose this competition that only she’s aware of.

So instead, she clicks open her own camera and goes about posing herself—tilting her chin up and to the side, arching her back so her boobs look their best, pulling at the neckline of her satin camisole in a way that draws attention to her long, slender fingers. It takes a few tries, but she finally gets just the right angle, and she sends the picture off to Emily. 



rosie🌹 sent a photo

rosie🌹: wish it were you touching me



The message isn’t Rose’s finest work, but her brain’s still not really functioning properly, even though now it’s for a different reason than it was when she first came into the bathroom. 

She stands up from her perch on the covered toilet and tucks her phone back into her pocket, then grabs her drink and unlatches the stall door and walks out to the sinks. She wants to splash water on her face to cool the flush that’s now spread across her cheeks, but she also doesn’t want to ruin her makeup any more than her little sob-sesh already did, so instead, she wets a paper towel and dabs it across her hairline and on the back of her neck. It only helps a little bit. 

Rose takes a steadying breath before she exits the bathroom and walks back out into the large crowd of people, taking large sips from her drink in a last, desperate attempt to calm herself down. It’s not particularly effective.

It only takes about five minutes of Rose pretending to be interested in the music, and the dancing, and the people around her before she’s curious, and she pulls out her phone again. 

There are two messages from her girlfriend sitting on her home screen, and she lets the face recognition open them as she waits with bated breath to see what they say.



Em💕: God, i would love to mark up the pretty neck of yours



And Rose would love to let this whole bar know she’s taken. She wants the whole world to know. And Emily knows her well enough to know that, at this moment, Rose feels lonely and wishes she had something more tangible reminding her of Emily. Something that she can look in the mirror and see, can connect the marks down her neck like a constellation drawn in the shape of her girlfriend. 

The marks from before Emily left faded within a week, and Rose found herself constantly tracing over the places on her skin that they had melted into, as the days ticked by and Emily wasn’t there to renew her handiwork. 

Rose’s fingers find their way up to her neck now, tracing over that spot above her clavicle she knows Emily loves, dreaming about how it would feel to be back with her again. Fingers over skin, skin under mouths, mouths opening for tongues. It flashes through Rose’s mind like a fever dream, feeling too good to be true—too unreal to be real, too uncontrollable to be controlled.

What is real, though, is the half-empty cup in her hand, cold and grounding in reality, and what she can control is how much alcohol she consumes. Which is to say, she needs more. 

More is definitely what will make her feel less alone right now.



Five drinks. 

It’s been five drinks since she’s gotten to this bar. Rose isn’t sure how long that is in real time.

When she checks her phone, she learns that it’s been enough time to almost get her to midnight. And enough drinks to get her more than almost-to-drunk. Her text conversation with Emily swims on the little screen in front of her as she tries to type out the words she wants to send.

Maybe this last drink wasn’t Rose’s best idea.




rosie🌹: oh my gos its almost midniht

I love yoi

Baby I wish you wete here

Em💕: Rosie I love you too

But are you sure you don’t want to grab some water?



No. Rose does not want to grab a water . Rose wants her girlfriend to keep saying filthy things to her. Rose wants more sexy photos. Rose wants—

“10! 9! 8! 7! 6!—”

Rose wants Emily here. Rose wants to go into the new year with her girlfriend by her side. 

“5! 4! 3!—”

Rose wants to curl up on the couch with her girlfriend next to her and nuzzle her face into Emily’s neck and—

“2! 1! Happy New Year!”

Rose watches as almost the entirety of the crowd turns to their significant others—or the random person they met on the dance floor that night—for a kiss, and she busies her mouth by sipping on her drink instead. 



Mary finds her twenty minutes later leaning back against a wall, not moving. The last time Rose tried moving from this position, she almost fell over, so she’s no longer moving. 

“Ro, you doing okay?’

“No.” Rose groans, pressing her palms back into the wall to stabilize herself.

Her sister touches her shoulder gently, “Can I get you some water? Maybe we should head home.”

Rose clenches her eyes shut as she nods. She only reopens her eyes when her sister comes back a minute later and taps on her shoulder so she can hand over a cup of water.

“Little sips,” Mary says, and Rose obeys, finally shifting out of her anti-fall-over position so she can bring the cup up to her mouth and drink. When she finishes the cup, she does feel much better, and she honestly wonders why it took her so long for her to follow Emily’s advice. Well, technically Mary followed Emily’s advice. 

“Okay, let’s call an Uber and I’ll make you pizza rolls when we get back to the house. Sound good?”

Rose nods again as Mary pulls out her phone to request the (ridiculously expensive) ride, and then they find Mary’s friends to say goodbye before pushing their way to the exit.



Rose has had about thirty pizza rolls and two more glasses of water before she realizes she left Emily on read. She locates her phone on the kitchen counter—where she left it while attempting to help Mary make the pizza rolls from the freezer—and notices she has a new text that came in from her girlfriend about five minutes ago.




Em💕 sent a photo

Em💕: finally got to use your pic, baby



Rose can’t breathe. The photo is somehow the most artistically composed shot of Emily’s bare midsection, her own fingers shiny with arousal and splayed out on her inner thigh as she rests on what Rose assumes to be her hotel bed. Rose is now very much reminded of how wet she was earlier tonight, before she drowned her needs in alcohol, and is now much more sober and also only, like, twenty feet away from her bedroom.

She settles into her pillows and makes sure her hair is splayed out aesthetically behind her before she hits the “Call” button on Emily’s FaceTime contact. 

Rose watches her screen intently as her girlfriend picks up the call, breathless and flushed the most attractive shade of pink, her bare shoulders the hint that her jumpsuit is long gone. Rose opens her mouth to say something—anything—to greet Emily, but the only thing that comes out is a sigh as the blonde on the screen brings her sticky-wet fingers into the frame, resting the back of her wrist on her forehead and biting at her lip to help deal with the loss of pressure.

Emily speaks first, low and gravelly. “Babe, fuck—how drunk are you righ now?”

Rose forces herself to answer. She knows why Emily’s asking—knows their mostly unspoken rule about not doing anything if either one of them is sloppy drunk—but she can’t help but feel like it’s just getting in the way of what Rose really needs right now. “Um, drank lots of water, ate lots of pizza rolls. I feel mostly sober.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“Perfect, then can you help me get off?” Emily’s voice is so raspy over the phone, it makes Rose grind her hips down into the bed in search of non-existent friction. “Please, Rosie I’m so close, please, I’ll be good, I just—”

“God,” Rose groans, her eyes briefly fluttering shut before pulling herself together—this is for Emily, her fucking hot girlfriend who’s begging her—begging Rose —to help her come. “Can you prop your phone up for me baby? Gonna need both hands.”

Clumsily, Emily crushes some bedding together so she can lean her phone up against it, and then Rose gets a mouth-drying eyeful of the most perfect side-profile view as the blond settles back into her pillows. 

“Okay, I’m, um, I’m kissing down your neck now, letting my mouth trace over where that absolutely sinful neckline used to be, babe—slowly—and your hands are tangling into my hair.” On the screen, one of Emily’s hands skates down her own neck and chest, and her other desperately clutches at the bed sheets. She bites at her lips, making little high pitched noises as her fingers skim across her rib cage towards her stomach. Rose feels like she needs to touch herself to the sounds and sights she’s experiencing, but it’s about Emily right now. “I’m sucking at your hip bone right now—you’re going to have a mark there tomorrow, Em, and now I’m kissing down your thighs. Can you tell me where you need me?”

Emily strains to make words between breaths, “In. I—fingers in. Mouth—too. Mouth on. I—“ Rose watches her girlfriend’s face as she struggles to make words, tossing her head from side to side causing her once perfectly-curled hair to tangle messily against the pillows.

“Okay, baby, can you imagine my fingers slipping into you—as many as you can take, Em—and my hot breath on you right before I flick your clit with my tongue?” The screen just barely shows her girlfriend’s hips, but Rose can see Emily’s arms reaching between her own legs, and watches, rapt, as her body responds to being touched like Rose is describing. “How does that feel, babe?”

Emily’s lips are parted in pleasure on the screen, and Rose lets her hand start to drift to her own waistband, needing something to relieve the tension she’s feeling right now. “So good, Rosie. I—I’m…”

“Come for me, Em,” Rose whispers, and then watches as her girlfriend’s eyes squeeze shut and a filthy moan comes out with a string of curse words. Rose loves when Emily’s loud as she comes, and the sound has her grinding against her fingertips, working toward her own orgasm. 

When Emily comes down just a moment later—her head lolling back towards her screen blissfully, her eyes blinking to focus in on Rose—she notices her girlfriend’s moments and pushes herself up onto one elbow to help Rose through it.

“Ro, you look so good like this. Wish I could feel you right now.”

Rose knew she wouldn’t need much from the moment she saw what Emily looked like tonight, and as she lets her focus land on Emily’s grey-blue eyes, filled with desire and admiration on the other side of a phone screen, she can’t hold out any longer. She comes apart with the imagined feeling of Emily touching her and comes down to find her stupidly hot girlfriend smirking at her.

“Stop it,” Rose huffs towards the phone.

“Stop what?”

“Smiling like that.”

Emily doesn’t stop smiling, which just makes Rose more irrationally irritated. “Smiling like what?”

“Like you know how hot you are.”

Emily laughs, clear and bright, even through Rose’s shitty phone speakers. “I love you, Rosie.”

Rose sighs, feeling all of the tension melt out of her body at those words. They remind her that this isn’t the time for hurt feelings because her girlfriend isn’t here. Right now, she’s just so glad Emily’s in her life, -even if it sometimes has to be through FaceTime. “I love you too, Em. Happy New Year.”

“Happy New Year, baby.”