#bittersuite words | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leia-writes · 4 months ago

Note

Hi! I read "Kiss With A Fist" and i loved it, i like ur writing sm! Can i request a femreader x Frontman smut? Here's a plot idea: hotel room 1 bed type of situation ( reader is an assistant to the Frontman and they got a love/hate type of relationship ). Ty in advance!

Bittersuite

hwang in-ho | front man x reader

ao3 link (coming soon when it decides to work)

masterlist

song inspiration: bittersuite by billie eilish

a/n: thank you so much for your request!!

warnings: smut - 18+ ONLY

word count: 9,914

posted on: 2/21/2025

The jet touched down smoothly on the runway, gently interrupting you from your thoughts. Seated next to you by the window was In-ho, who had been quietly sitting with his eyes closed before being awoken. Hwang In-ho, who was the Front Man of the South Korean Squid Games, and who was also your boss.

Your job as In-ho’s assistant mostly consisted of doing all the boring parts of his job. Keeping files organized, documenting important events, and communicating with other Squid Game operations around the world. It also meant you traveled with him wherever he went, which is why you were now landing in Florence, Italy.\

The Squid Game organization was growing at a rapid pace with many new locations being established. Because of In-ho’s expertise and experience, he was asked to visit a few sites as they were being developed. He also liked to visit existing locations from time to time, so this stop in Florence was the first of many. Once the plane finished landing, you and In-ho were led to your private car as your bags were loaded into the trunk for you. The drive to the site would be a couple hours as the location was chosen to be as remote as possible.

Construction had only recently begun on this new site, so there wasn’t much completed when you two had arrived. The main control room and some conference rooms had been built, but no residences or player rooms were finished. Despite the incomplete nature of the place, your day was filled with meetings. You supported In-ho as he spent the day going over construction blueprints, devising plans for future games, and assisting the staff in learning how to recruit players. As In-ho’s assistant, you felt pulled in every direction as he expected you to be on call and ready with whatever he needed at whatever time he asked.

By the end of the day, you were both exhausted from travel and work, not even having had time for a meal. Since the Florence site was so early in its development, you had planned to leave that evening for your next site in Oslo, which was more established and almost complete. By the time In-ho finally felt confident enough to leave, you had already missed the private jet’s initially scheduled departure time. You gathered your work bag and files with haste and all but pushed In-ho towards the car as it began to lightly rain.

You settled into the car for another 2-hour drive back to the plane, the soft patter of rain quickly turning into a full-blown thunderstorm. It was so relaxing after your tiring day, you rested your head next to the window and let yourself relax for a bit. In-ho nursed a glass of whiskey and played some soft jazz music. He wouldn’t need you for a while, so you decided to take advantage of the time and try to nap.

It was in moments like these, when In-ho wasn’t barking orders or demanding the world of you, when he seemed calm and content, that you let your mind wander. You’d worked for him for a few years now. When you started, you spent months convinced you’d be fired at any given moment. It wasn’t the game or the organization that intimidated you - you had connections of your own that landed you a job in a place like this - it was In-ho.

From the moment you met him, you had this incessant need to please him. You’d always taken pride in your jobs, always wanted to do your best, but with In-ho, you craved his approval over everything. Not only did you want to be good at your job, but you wanted him to simply like you. Knowing he relied on you and needed you made you feel important. Whether he complimented your work or yelled at you over something stupid, you craved his attention.

Maybe that’s why you had lasted so long in this job. Even when he got upset with you, even when he let his anger and frustrations out on you, you never gave up. And when you did well, god, did you love his praise.

Fuck, you were getting worked up just thinking about it, sitting next to him. You’d always felt attracted to him, but knew he would never, ever cross that line. No matter how much you wanted it, or how much you suspected that he wanted it too, it felt impossible. All you could do was live in the made-up world inside your head where he touched you whenever you wanted.

You were quickly taken from your thoughts with the feeling of a hand wrapping around yours. Looking to your side, you saw In-ho, his hand holding yours, his gaze on you like a hunter looking at its prey. You felt exposed, like he could read your thoughts. A blush was surely forming across your face.

“You did well today,” he said, his tone hoarse and low. Your heart skipped a beat, and you nodded, convinced if you spoke he’d be able to tell the dirty thoughts crossing your mind.

He squeezed your hand, his eyes lowering, searching every curve of your body before landing back on your eyes. “I think you deserve a reward for that… don’t you?”

Your breath hitched, you were too shocked to know what to say. Your mouth almost hung open in disbelief, seeing him talk to you like this.

He chuckled, his eyes darkening as he leaned closer to you. His breath gently grazed your face as he studied your features, only inches from your mouth.

“Do you want me to touch you, darling?”

An involuntary, quiet moan left your lips. A rush of warmth spread throughout your body, settling into your core.

“Yes,” you whispered, your voice breathy with lust. “Please… yes.”

He slowly leaned in closer and kissed you, his free hand moving to the hem of your skirt. In-ho softly rubbed your thigh. Your mind was swirling - was he really, finally touching you now, after all this time? After all the longing you’d felt for him, for his touch, for his love and affection, why act on it now?

A sharp, hot wave of pleasure wracked your body as you felt In-ho’s hand move up your skirt, caressing your inner thigh. He kissed you more fervently now, his other hand leaving yours and reaching into your hair to press your lips harder on his. He was practically hovering over you at this point. His hands deftly moved beneath your underwear and his fingers slowly made their way to your wet, aching folds.

You cried out when he began to circle your clit with his fingers, seeming to know exactly the way you liked it. He pulled away to observe your flushed state and you felt vulnerable under his gaze, whimpering at his touch as he worked his fingers on you at a steady pace. You gripped his arms for dear life, as if you could fall out of his grasp at any moment.

He sighed softly above you. “That’s it, darling, let yourself go.”

You groaned, opening your legs further. “Please… more.”

He leaned next to your ear and whispered, “What was that?”“More.”“More what?”

You grabbed his wrist, his fingers stilling, and slowly pushed his hand down further to your entrance. He groaned darkly and his fingers began slowly teasing your entrance. Your hips involuntarily bucked forward, your aching core begging to be filled.

You gripped his wrist tighter, pushing his hand further down as hard as you could, but no matter how hard you tried he was able to resist and keep teasing you. Despite the lack of stimulation, you felt close to your release, making you even more desperate to feel his fingers.

If he could just get a little further, you were almost there… just a little longer…

Your eyes shot open.

Someone was shaking your shoulder violently, practically yelling at you. Yelling your name.

You turned to find In-ho, a flustered annoyance apparent on his face.

“Where are the fucking passports?”

What? Oh. Fuck.

Your mind was reeling in the aftermath of your dream. Reality felt like a betrayal after what you’d just felt. The man you’d just seen stick his hand down your underwear was now angrily yelling at you.

You sat up straight and pulled yourself together. Your bag was on In-ho’s lap, clearly rifled through in his frenzy.

“They’re not in the bag?”

“No. Or the suitcases. What did you do with them?”

“I-I don’t know, I had them when we arrived.” You began to look around in panic. He’d already searched everything in the car, the only other place you’d been was the new site.

“I must have left them in a conference room. Did you ask if-” “I’m not asking anyone anything, you call them right now.”

You silently scurried to grab your phone and call the staff at the new site. After several rings, you were able to get in touch with a lower level employee who luckily was still there. They quickly checked the rooms and confirmed you’d left the passports and a few other documents there. Clearly in your haste you hadn’t realized what you’d left. After getting off the phone, you realized the car was parked on the side of the road.

In-ho looked expectantly at you. You sighed, lowering your gaze. “I left them at the new site. I’m sorry. We need to go back.”

He let out a frustrated sigh and pressed the car intercom, directing the driver to turn back.

“We’ll have to postpone again,” he said, letting out a frustrated sigh, looking out the window.

You shrunk into your seat, wanting to be as small and inconspicuous as possible. Anything to avoid his wrath.

After a few silent moments, In-ho glanced at you again. His gaze seemed to linger on the edge of your skirt. “Arrange a hotel. I doubt we’ll be able to leave in this rain.”

You quickly got to work on your phone, searching for the best hotels with availability. Unfortunately, with it being a busy tourist season, nearly everything was booked. In-ho watched, clearly aggravated, as you tried and failed multiple times to find even one room.

After what seemed like your hundredth attempt, you finally found something. A nice, luxury hotel, and they even had a suite available to accommodate the two of you. You quickly booked it, and In-ho seemed temporarily satisfied.

With a sigh of slight relief, you settled back into your seat, keeping yourself from falling asleep again. After retrieving the passports, the pilot at the jet confirmed In-ho’s suspicions that you wouldn’t be able to leave that night. The car drove you both back to the city to your hotel and you set out to find dinner.

~~~

“Call a car for the hotel,” In-ho instructed, taking the last few sips of his drink. You sat across from him at the restaurant, finishing your own glass of wine. After the embarrassing events of the day, you had more than your fair share of wine at dinner. With the way In-ho was looking at you, something that felt like a quiet contempt, you couldn’t help but keep yourself busy sipping your drink.

“The hotel is just down this street, if you’d prefer to walk. Quicker than waiting for a car,” you responded. He silently nodded and finished his drink before standing up and leaving, not even bothering to wait for you. In a hurry, you gathered your things and followed him.

The rain was steadily pouring still as you opened your umbrella, watching In-ho walk ahead with his. You pulled your bag and coat close to you as you tried catching up. In the next moment, you felt someone crash into your side, sending you to the ground.

“Oh, fuck! I’m sorry.”

Your entire left side got soaked as your umbrella crashed to the ground next to you, though you managed to keep your bag close to your chest. A man appeared in front of you, crouching down next to you.

“Are… uh, are you, alright?” he slurred, alcohol apparent on his breath even from a few feet in front of you. Looking around, you noticed a bar in front of you, presumably where this man had just exited and ran into you. He seemed concerned but couldn’t help himself from giggling.

Scoffing, you quickly stood up, making sure nothing in your bag had gotten wet. The man grabbed your umbrella, still on the ground, and handed it to you. As you grasped the handle, the man wrapped his hand around yours. A cold shiver went down your spine, and not just because of the rain.

“Hey, I asked you… you ok?”

“I’m fine.” You tried pulling your hand from his but he just held you tighter.

“God, you’re pretty, why don’t you come wi-” “Would you let go of me?” you demanded.

He looked offended, then angry. Still grasping your hand, his other reached for your waist. You were about to punch him in the face before feeling him get pulled away from you.

In-ho appeared before you, pulling the man from behind by his collar with just one hand, the other still holding his umbrella. The man quickly lost his balance and fell to the ground, finally releasing you. In-ho towered over him as you backed away.

“Get your filthy hands off of her. And get the fuck out of here.”

Before the man could respond, In-ho stood up and roughly kicked him in the side. The man curled into a ball and groaned. As you watched in shock, In-ho forcefully grabbed your arm and led you back towards the hotel. He was silent, his jaw tensed.

After checking in and getting your room keys, you entered the elevator and composed yourself a bit. “Thank you.”

In-ho gave you a brief look, but simply nodded and stayed silent. The awkwardness between you was palpable - seeing him defend you like that gave you so many mixed emotions after screwing up earlier.

You reached your room door and scanned the key to reveal your suite. It was just like the receptionist described - a beautiful, luxury suite, with a large bathroom, balcony, a seating area with two large armchairs, and a kitchenette with a fully stocked bar. Perfect for two.

There was just one problem. There was only one bed.

In-ho sighed deeply and slowly walked throughout the room as you stayed frozen in fear near the front door. Not only did you fuck up the entire evening’s travel plans, you messed up the one simple job of finding a suitable room for the night. He started walking back towards the door, where your bags were, and you were sure you were about to be reprimanded beyond belief.

In-ho grabbed your bag and dropped it in front of you. “You’re soaking wet. Get yourself cleaned up.”

He walked away quietly. The wine from before seemed to catch up to you now, and you couldn’t stop yourself from speaking. “I’m so sorry, when I booked it I thought she mentioned two beds, she said it was perfect for two people so I just assumed she meant-”

“Stop.” His voice resounded throughout the room, quieting you immediately. He sighed and looked at you. “It’s too late to fix it now. So do as I told you and get yourself together.”

You scurried into the bathroom with your bag, wanting nothing more than to be out of his sight.

~~~

After taking a shower and getting ready to sleep, you exited the bathroom quietly and saw In-ho sitting on the balcony with a cigarette and a glass of whiskey. The door was barely open, but you could smell the scent of rain and cigarette smoke from outside. You had no clue what he was thinking, and what he planned to do about the bed situation. All things considered, you felt obligated to assume he would take the bed.

You pushed your suitcase into a corner and grabbed an extra set of blankets in the linen closet. Upon hearing you, In-ho turned to observe you. You felt his eyes on you but avoided his gaze, pulling your sweater closer to you. You’d put on a simple nightdress that felt a little too revealing without the sweater. After grabbing the blankets, you poured yourself a small glass of wine and sat in the armchair, opening a book you were currently reading.

The two of you stayed in your separate spots in silence for a while. A part of you felt more comfortable as time went on, but apprehension still laced your thoughts. In-ho put out his cigarette and walked inside, eyeing you, surrounded in a blanket, with curiosity.

“You’re not sleeping there tonight.”

You set your book down. “I’m fine. You can take the bed. It’s my fault we’re here anyways.”

He scoffed. “You’ve worked for me for how long? And you still don’t know how to listen.”

Taken aback by his words, and the alcohol giving you a little extra courage, you retorted. “Sorry I don’t want you to sleep on the floor? These chairs are way too small for you.”

He chuckled at that, and something curious tugged at your heart. He might’ve been a bit tipsy himself. “Just get in the bed. It’s fine.”

“You shouldn’t have to sleep on the-”

He groaned out of frustration. “I know. I get it. Just get in the fucking bed.” He walked to the kitchen to set down his glass.

You scoffed. “What, right now?”

He gave you a warning look - you weren’t going to push him any further. You slowly got up and sat in the bed as he gathered his things and went to the bathroom. You settled under the blankets, your body immediately responding to the relieving comfort of the bed. Well, if he insisted…

After a while, you heard In-ho come out of the bathroom. You were laying on your side, still reading, but turned when you heard him sit in the chair. He had a book of his own he was reading with his glasses on. A rare sight.

“Seriously, you don’t have to sleep there.”

He looked at you above his glasses. “I’m not.”

You stayed silent, but he continued looking at you. Daring you to defy him again. He was dressed more casually now, a simple t-shirt and sweatpants, though he still looked expensive. And those glasses triggered an excited flurry of emotions in your chest every time you saw them.

You sighed, defeated. “Fine,” you yawned. “Goodnight then.”

He laughed softly as you turned around, settling under the comforter.

“Goodnight, darling.”

He said it so casually, as if it were a second thought, as if calling you darling didn’t set off every nerve ending in your body. Your chest tightened as you tried to bring your heart down to earth. It was all too much, everything that had happened that day. You just wanted some rest.

~~~

The first thing you noticed upon waking up was the unbearable heat surrounding you. Laying in the bed with your eyes closed, you realized your sweater was making you entirely too hot under the comforter. You opened your eyes, complete darkness surrounding you except for the clock on each nightstand. It seemed that In-ho had lowered the light-blocking blinds. The clock read 4am.

You realized you were facing the other way from when you had fallen asleep, and held on to a pillow as you slept. The pillow was particularly warm, almost more than you were under your sweater. You moved your arm, getting your bearings, before realizing you weren’t holding a pillow.

It was In-ho.

Upon your discovery, you instantly froze. A million realizations seemed to hit you at once. In-ho hadn’t slept on the chair, or the floor, he slept next to you. And not only did you find yourself cuddling him in your sleep, you felt his arm wrapped around you too. On top of all of that, you were on the verge of sweating through your clothes if you stayed next to his furnace of a body.

You had to get up, now. Slowly, you pulled your arm off of him and sat up, gently moving his arm off of your back. You made slow, deliberate movements to sit on the edge of the bed without disturbing him, and pulled off your sweater. The cool air was a relief on your hot skin.

Taking a deep breath, you calmed yourself from the emotional thunderstorm in your mind. A glass of water sat on your nightstand, which hadn’t been there before. In-ho must have set it there for you. You tried to ignore the implications of it and took a few sips.

It was nice sitting in the dark silence, after the chaotic day you had. You wanted to sit in it for a bit longer, but you felt In-ho stir next to you.

“Are you ok?” His voice pierced the silence.

You sighed. “Mhm. Sorry.”

You felt his arm reach out towards you, searching the bed for you, until his fingers gently rested on your back. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“What are you doing?”

You sighed. What was with the interrogation? “Just drinking water.”

He hummed, and pulled his arm back. You found yourself craving his warm touch again. The thought of it made you exhale in frustration.

“What?” he asked again.

After a few moments of contemplation, you responded, “Sometimes you expect the world from me, and other times you treat me like I’m fragile.”

He sighed, but didn’t respond. You weren’t sure what possessed you to say such a thing. Maybe the vulnerability you felt sitting with him in a dark room, alone.

Once you felt cool enough to return to the blankets, you slowly lowered yourself down to your pillow, unsure if In-ho had gone back to sleep. Upon feeling you shift in the bed, his hand quickly grasped your arm. The abruptness surprised you.

“You dreamt about me earlier, didn’t you?”

His words felt like a knife through your body. The fact that he even knew you dreamed, let alone might know what the content of that dream was, made you want to crawl in a hole and never come out. Your mind frantically raced. What exactly did he hear from you? How could you be so stupid to lust after him so much that you’d embarrass yourself like this?

In-ho felt your muscles tense under his touch. “I think you did.”

You stayed still and silent, begging for the moment to be over.

He turned on his side towards you, pulling your arm towards him. “Tell me.”

You could feel that he was almost hovering over you, imagining what his face might look like. As his grip tightened you felt even more embarrassed and couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

He sighed, and you felt his breath on your face. Just like in your dream. His voice softened.

“Tell me it was me, darling.”

You could sense a layer of something new in his voice, something almost pleading. You reached your hand to cover his, squeezing.

“Yes.”

He sighed, and you could feel the ends of his hair on your shoulder as he leaned his head down. “I thought so.” You felt his hand move to your neck, gently resting on your cheek and jaw. “Tell me what happened.”

An involuntary whimper left your mouth, out of embarrassment or lust you couldn’t tell. But you knew you couldn’t say.

His hot breath grazed your shoulder again. “I heard those little sounds you were making. Saw the way you squeezed your thighs together,” he huffed. “It was a good dream, wasn’t it?”

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck. Your mind nearly went blank. It was simultaneously the worst thing and best thing that could happen to you.

“Hm?”

You nodded, feeling his hand caress your cheek.

He hummed softly. “I could tell how much you liked it. Could hear you asking for more.”

You squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment and cursed your body for betraying you so badly.

He chuckled. “Why don’t you show me what happened in your dream? Since you were so rudely interrupted.” His hand trailed from your jaw to your waist, his fingers gliding smoothly along your skin and nightdress, gently feeling whatever he could get his hands on.

You let out a breathy moan and moved your hand to his on your waist, grabbing roughly, unsure of what to do. In-ho moved his head from your shoulder to your face, gently kissing your cheek.

“Show me.”

In the next instant, he captured your lips with his, kissing you with a gentle fervor. His kiss seemed to bring your mind back to reality, and you responded with equal intensity. It felt as if your entire body was responding to him now, with your back arching ever so slightly to chase his warmth.

You gripped his hand roughly again and pushed it further down towards your thighs, your legs opening for him. He groaned above you, pushing your dress up your legs. His hand gently caressed the outside of your underwear, and he pulled his mouth from yours.

“Is this what happened? You want me to touch you here?”

His words, unknowing to him, almost exactly echoed your dream. You whimpered pitifully beneath him, whispering, “Yes, please, yes.”

His fingers quickly dipped into your underwear as he continued kissing you feverishly, groaning at feeling how wet you were. He wasted no time in massaging your clit, relishing in the stifled moans and desperate twitching of your hips.

Your mind was absolutely reeling at the whiplash of the last few minutes, but you just couldn’t deny it anymore. Even if it made you look pathetic, you needed him badly. Like your dream before, you pushed his hand down further. This time, he didn’t tease you.

Two fingers entered you, and he quickly began pumping them in and out. The sudden feeling of being somewhat filled by him sent white hot pleasure from your core. You clenched around him, feeling yourself get even wetter for him. He bent his head down to your neck, urgently kissing and sucking at your sensitive skin.

You felt In-ho curl his fingers a bit inside you, pressing on the delicate, tender flesh that made your body writhe beneath him. If he continued much longer you were going to come undone.

“I’m… you’re gonna make me…” you whimpered, unable to form a complete sentence.

He quickly pulled his fingers from you. “Not yet, darling,” he huffed, his voice ragged with lust.

You felt him shift back on his knees, pulling the blanket from you both. His hands found the edge of your underwear and swiftly pulled them off of you. You heard him pull his shirt off and shift to take his pants off, immediately reaching forward to feel his bare skin.

As he shifted above you and settled between your legs, he caressed your face again, gently holding on to your jaw. “Do you want more?”

“Yes, fucking yes,” you pleaded.

He huffed loudly as you felt him line his cock with your entrance, slowly rubbing around your slick folds. He wanted to tease you more, point out how fucking demanding and needy you were being to your boss, but he couldn’t stand to wait any longer. He slowly thrust himself into your aching core, your body stretching deliciously to his thick cock.

You both groaned loudly together, completely overwhelmed. He quickened his pace, fucking you with intensity as you cried out in pleasure. You never imagined it could feel this good, feel better than your actual dreams.

He roughly grabbed your hair. “Is this what you wanted?”

His words made you clench on him, almost making him stutter in his pace. You couldn’t even form words.

“You wanted to get fucked by your superior, huh? Wanted me to fuck you in that car, I bet.”

You whimpered loudly beneath him, bringing his mouth to yours, meeting his thrusts with your hips. Everything was sending your body closer to the edge.

“I can feel you. You love this. Don’t worry… you,” he huffed, “you don’t need to say anything.”

His words brought tears to your eyes. It was all becoming so overwhelming. You wanted to tell him how good he made you feel, how close you were to coming undone, but you could barely stutter in between your blubbering cries.

“That’s it. Go ahead. Cum for me, darling.”

Unable to hold back any longer, you came with an intensity that wracked your entire body, becoming an absolute mess beneath him. Your walls clenched his throbbing cock tightly, practically begging him to cum with you. As your body spasmed, you held on to his shoulders for support. You felt his movements stutter as he spilled his cum into you with a low, guttural groan, prolonging your pleasure even longer with him. He thrust into you with great force a few times before completely stilling and letting his cock soften inside you.

Your arms stayed firmly wrapped around him, your body and mind wanting to stay in that moment forever. He sighed above you, his hand caressing your face, kissing you all over your face, lips, and neck. You almost giggled at the ticklish feeling.

After several moments, In-ho laid next to you, wrapping his arm around you to lay on his chest. Just like you were before waking up. Despite feeling like a sweaty, wet mess, you both gave in to exhaustion quickly and fell back asleep.

~~~

The next morning you awoke to an empty bed. It took you a few seconds to remember all that had happened during the night, but the memories overwhelmed your mind. Wondering where In-ho was, you quickly searched the room to find his bags gone. After checking your phone, you noticed a text from him.

“I’m downstairs. Get ready and let’s go.”

Shit. He texted you almost an hour ago. You rushed through your morning routine as fast as you could and gathered your bags, making your way to the lobby. In-ho sat alone, reading through some files for the next site.

A tinge of hesitation clouded your thoughts. You weren’t sure how to act moving forward - were you a couple? Was it even allowed? How did he feel about all of this?

As you approached In-ho, he glanced at you and quickly got up, gathering his things. He seemed to be in a hurry.

“Let’s go. We’re late.”

You scurried behind him. “You didn’t give me a time.”

The car was waiting outside the hotel. The driver loaded your bags and you and In-ho sat next to each other. He promptly pulled out the documents he was looking at before, completely ignoring your statement from before. Completely ignoring you, actually.

So maybe you weren’t wrong for feeling hesitant earlier. He clearly had a lot on his mind and that didn’t consist of you. Whatever complicated feelings that blossomed at the thought of that, you kept fully suppressed, focusing solely on work. If that’s how he wanted things, that’s what you would do.

The two of you made it to the plane with no issues and landed in Oslo that afternoon. Luckily this site was almost complete, so the private runway was available. You got straight to work in helping In-ho assist with the final touches to the place.

The entire day held an air of tension between you and In-ho. There was that whiplash again - you’d just had a passionate night with him and now he was acting more coldly towards you than usual, like he would when you just started out. It frustrated you so much. Just because you both had crossed a line that you could never come back from, that didn’t mean you weren’t good at your job anymore.

At the end of the day, you were relieved to finally get a break, from In-ho and everything else. Since your hotel had been properly booked in advance, you had a multi-room suite with In-ho, both of you having your own separate rooms this time. You had a shared living area, kitchen, and bathroom, but of course In-ho kept to himself. Upon arriving and dropping off your bags, In-ho left without a word, just a quick text: “I’m getting dinner. Don’t wait up.”

You rolled your eyes at the text, opening up the room service menu. Not sure what I’d be waiting for, you thought. You didn’t feel like venturing out today, just relaxing by yourself. After eating dinner alone, you settled into your bed and started reading before seeing a phone call from your best friend.

It wasn’t often you actually had time to talk to family or friends, so you took the call and started catching up. No one could actually know the details of your job, but it was still nice being able to chat. And with all the traveling you were doing lately, you missed the comforts of home.

As you chatted on the phone, In-ho came back from dinner. He had intentionally left in a haste when you two had gotten in the room, not wanting to confront you about anything that had happened the night before. But with one too many glasses of whiskey from dinner, his made up principles were quickly going out the window. As he poured himself another gratuitous glass in the kitchen, he heard soft laughter from your room.

He approached your slightly open door, listening to you.

“I know, I miss you too.”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

“Let’s definitely do that when I get back!”

A hot wave of jealousy afflicted his mind. Who could you be talking to? Who could you be missing, or wanting to spend time with? He was convinced it had to be a man, someone he was now in competition with for your attention. He tried his best to keep his simmering jealousy to himself as he walked back to the kitchen for his glass. You heard his footsteps then, lowering your voice to your friend.

“I’ve gotta go now. We’ll talk soon. Goodnight!”

After ending the call, you settled back into your bed, listening for what In-ho might do next. You heard him walk from the kitchen to the living area, ice clinking in his glass. Still ignoring you. Deciding it was time to get ready for bed, and giving yourself an excuse to walk through the living area, you made your way to the bathroom.

In-ho briefly glanced at you but stayed silent. You rolled your eyes after passing him. After washing up and putting on another nightdress, you walked back to your room. The nightdress made you feel a bit exposed, but after last night you didn’t feel a need to hide yourself. Even if everything had happened in complete darkness.

In-ho kept his eyes trained on you as you walked past, getting a glimpse of what he touched the night before but never saw. You ignored him and climbed back in your bed, opening your book to continue reading. After a few minutes, you heard In-ho approach your door, knocking on it lightly.

“Hm?” He gave you a look of pure contempt. “Who was that before?”

“What?” “On the phone. Who were you talking to?”

You scoffed. “Why do you need to know?”

It was quite obvious he was jealous, but he had no clue what he was talking about. And he had no right to be jealous when he acted so coldly towards you all day. You ignored him and went back to your book.

That annoyed him even further. “You know, this isn’t a vacation.”

You gave him an incredulous look, putting down your book and standing up to close your door. “Stop treating me like I’m bad at my job. I was just talking to a friend,” you retorted. “If there’s nothing else work-related that you need from me, then goodnight.”

He stared you down, like he was trying to intimidate you, but you saw through his facade. Clearly he was struggling with his feelings towards you, but that was on him to figure out. Casting you aside wasn’t the way to do it. You stared at him for a few moments before you noticed his features slightly soften.

He looked down, sighing in what seemed like defeat. “I’m sorry, but… you know we can’t do this.”

Your eyes narrowed, you knew exactly what he was talking about. Finally showing some honesty. “You’ve made that clear.”

He stayed silent, his expression shifting into something more like longing.

Rolling your eyes, you prodded him further. “Why?”

“It’s a weakness they could use against us.”

“It’s not like they know.” “They could find out. They would eventually.”

You searched his eyes for something, as if you were looking for an answer to a question you hadn’t thought of yet. Why was he being so cautious, so seemingly overdramatic about this? You just can’t go back from what happened between you two.

You didn’t want to. And if he was going to put you through all of this hell, you were going to give it right back to him.

You sighed deeply, resting an arm on your hip and the other on the door. The neckline of your nightdress left only a little to the imagination. You watched as In-ho traced the curve of your chest and shoulders with his eyes.

“Well, that’s too bad then,” you declared, like you were daring him to make a move. After a few tense, silent moments, you turned to go back to your bed. In-ho quickly grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Well, if they don’t know… then…”

You pouted. “They’ll find out eventually, won’t they?”

He rolled his eyes and gripped you tighter, prompting you to push him away. Instead, he grabbed your shoulders and pushed you against the wall. His head rested near yours, his breath hot on your ear. Though his sudden movement was shocking, your body immediately welcomed the warmth of his.

He seemed so forward and hesitant at the same time, his hands holding you tightly but seemingly keeping himself from going any further. You craved his touch, his kiss, but his close proximity yet lack of action made you frustrated. Your hands slowly made their way to his shoulders, rubbing softly, bringing your body closer to his.

He quickly grabbed your waist and pressed himself against you, his erection wholly apparent. Your mind immediately went to the night before and you moaned without thinking, setting In-ho off even further. He gripped the back of your head, pulling at your hair, and pushed your head into his shoulder, his lips ghosting over your neck. He grinded himself into you as you grasped at his arms and shoulders, begging for more from him.

All you wanted was more of him. And here he was, so pliable in your hands, likely willing to do whatever you wanted if you asked him nicely enough. Despite his concerns from before, which he seemed to not care about at all anymore.

Was that his plan this whole time? Did he come up with some excuse to keep you emotionally far away but physically close? Could you even handle a solely physical relationship, and not only that but with your superior?

Your heart dropped and you pushed In-ho off of you. He looked at you confused, his face flushed intensely from alcohol and touching you.

You looked down. “You can’t… you can’t just use me for sex then…”

He seemed even more confused now, in a stunned silence.

“I know you’re my boss and everything but-”

“That’s not… I’m not-”

“You don’t get to play around with me whenever you want, like a toy.” You looked him in the eye then, the hurt apparent on your face. His expression dropped, realizing the consequence of his foolishness. He nodded slowly and walked out, leaving you alone with a storm of emotions to deal with.

You quickly shut your door completely and got in bed, wanting to forget about everything that happened the past couple days.

Hopefully you wouldn’t dream of him, as you often did.

~~~

The next day was pure torture. Not only were you exhausted from barely sleeping, but the weight of the conflict between you and In-ho felt physically burdensome on your body. Your mind was constantly being pulled in every direction - if you weren’t busying your mind with mindless work tasks, you were constantly subjected to a barrage of thoughts about him. How you felt so connected to him before, how he seemed to know exactly what you were thinking, how he wanted you just as you wanted him.

How he tried to use you.

Should you even continue working for him? The thought crossed your mind a few times throughout the day. You definitely couldn’t continue like this. But you also couldn’t see yourself doing anything else, you didn’t want to. You took pride in your work and contributions. And a small part of you deep down still craved In-ho’s approval, though it bothered you to admit it to yourself.

After your busy day, you ventured from the remote location with In-ho and the Host of your Squid Game site. He had traveled to join you two in assisting the new location. The three of you arrived at your dinner reservation and settled in, finally relaxing.

After getting drinks and waiting for your food, it was clear to the Host that there was friction between you and In-ho. Your responses to each other, in the rare moments you spoke directly to each other, were sharp and short. The Host had been suspecting something was off all day, but it was apparent now at dinner.

He eyed both of you curiously. “Today couldn’t have been that bad. What’s with the miserable faces?”

Your face flushed in subtle embarrassment, worrying you came off as unprofessional. In-ho’s stoic expression seemed to freeze in time, giving no response. The awkwardness was almost unbearable.

The Host chuckled to himself. “What, is it a lover’s quarrel?”

In-ho’s eyes darted to the Host in shock, and your face flushed even more red. Oh god, how obvious was it? You hadn’t so much as kissed before two days ago and now the Host was teasing you about your relationship?

In-ho cleared his throat. “We aren’t lovers.”

The Host looked at him in slight disbelief. “Oh, it was that bad?”

You and In-ho simultaneously gave confused looks. The Host looked at you two back and forth incredulously. “Wait. You’re not…?”

“Not what?” In-ho asked.

“You weren’t a couple?”

Your heart seemed to beat a million beats at once as In-ho tensed up completely next to you.

The Host laughed again, shaking his head. “I could’ve… We could’ve sworn that you two were together. I mean, you do everything together.”

In-ho’s jaw tensed visibly as he sipped his drink. All you wanted was to disappear.

“I just thought, with the way you two act with each other… I mean, we thought it was obvious. Even brazen at times.”

Your eyes widened and you looked down in embarrassment, In-ho clearing his throat again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know we were giving that impression.”

“Don’t apologize, there’s nothing wrong with it. You can do what you want as long as your work is good.” He smiled, clearly relishing in how you and In-ho were squirming at his words.

You could tell the Host was trying to lighten the mood, all but giving you and In-ho permission to be together. But instead of feeling excited, your heart dropped. If the Host was acting so casually about your relationship, why did In-ho think you two couldn’t be together? It made his flimsy excuse the night before seem even more like a lie. Obviously your suspicions were right about him. You wanted to be mad but all you could feel in that moment was a sad loneliness.

The mood seemed to shift more positively with In-ho and the Host, but you couldn’t put on a facade anymore. It was apparent the rest of the night that you were upset, but you stayed quiet. The Host gave you a few pitying looks, like he knew he just twisted the knife in the wound in your heart.

~~~

Once you arrived back in the suite, you immediately went to your room and shut the door, letting out a giant breath. It felt like the weight of the day was finally off your shoulders. You could’ve sworn you heard In-ho say something to you, but you couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him anymore.

You changed and climbed into bed, attempting to calm and distract yourself with your phone. It worked for probably five minutes before your mind inevitably drifted to In-ho, your memories attempting to paint a picture of who he is to you but coming up short. As if he was reading your mind, a text notification from him appeared on your phone.

“We need to talk.”

You sighed, ignoring the text and continuing to scroll.

“I know you’re on your phone.”

Ugh. Rolling your eyes, you attempted to come up with a response. What could you even say? You didn’t want to confront him right now but it was also painful to sit with so much unsaid.

“I’m in the kitchen.”

Fuck. Let’s just get this over with.

You put on your sweater over your nightdress and stepped outside. In-ho was in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, glass of whiskey in hand. He was dressed casually like before, glasses and everything. If that wasn’t enough to make you waver, the way he eyed you as you passed him and poured yourself a glass of wine made you even more weak.

He sighed. “I can tell you’re upset.”

“You’re very observant,” you stated, sipping from your glass.

“It wasn’t my intention to make you feel used.”

“Well, that’s kind of what happens when you try to use someone.”

His jaw clenched before he responded. “I wasn’t trying to use you.”

You scoffed. “What exactly does it mean when you want me one day and you don’t want me the next, then change your mind in your next breath?”

He stayed silent as you continued. “Is that not using me?” You were beginning to get heated. “Who am I supposed to believe, the In-ho that wants me or the In-ho that doesn’t?”

He exhaled loudly. “I was just-”

“You know I do a lot for you, but I can’t do that. It’s not fair.” Your anger was quickly turning to tears that you desperately tried to keep in.

In-ho’s face dropped. He stepped towards you but you turned aside, away from him. You were angry and sad and embarrassed to be like this in front of him.

“Actually, it’s okay. It’s obvious you needed an excuse to keep a distance from me, you don’t have to explain yourself. Just stop changing your mind and confusing me.” Your head hung low as In-ho seemed to hover near you.

His heart broke. He gently held your shoulders, turning you towards him slowly.

“That’s not true.”

Tears silently flowed down your face as you listened.

“I didn’t know he would say that today. I didn’t know that it didn’t matter. I was just…” he sighed. “I was worried it would look bad and then you’d have to leave.”

You sniffled softly, wiping your face, still unable to bear looking up at him.

“I never wanted to keep a distance from you. You have no idea…” He gently caressed your face, wiping away some tears. “I need you to stay. I need you.”

Through teary eyes, you slowly looked up at him, as if you were trying to determine if he was really telling the truth.

He continued. “I thought I was doing the right thing pushing you away, but then I couldn’t stop myself. And now I’ve made you cry. I’m so sorry.” He pulled you close to him, his hand gently caressing the back of your head.

The smell of his cologne and clean clothes flooded your senses. With each word In-ho confessed, you felt your defenses weakening, your body unconsciously melting into his. But a part of you was still so scared this would be fleeting.

“Tell me this is real,” you said softly.

He sighed and held you tighter. “This is real, darling. Ever since I met you…”

He continued as you felt your heart bursting at the seams. “I can’t live without you. Please stay. With me. I don’t care what happens, I don’t care if we have to run away. Just be with me.”

With his final words, you felt an immense weight release itself from your heart. You wrapped your arms around In-ho, nodding into his chest, too overwhelmed to speak. Tears fell once again, but this time out of relief.

He gently held your chin and tilted your head towards him, studying your face before softly kissing you. You immediately softened at the touch of his lips, responding with the same gentleness. He pulled away to wipe the rest of your tears away before leaning in for a deeper, more passionate kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as the kiss became more intense, feeling his arms move to your sides to pull your body closer to his. It was as if he had never touched you before, as if the other night was only a dream and this was real, this was the only thing that mattered anymore.

Your hands found their way into his hair, gently tugging, eliciting a quiet groan from his throat. He roughly grabbed your hips and lifted you on the counter, slotting himself between your legs as they naturally opened up to him. His hand pressed on your lower back, pushing you closer to him.

The kiss was becoming more sloppy and heated as you both became more desperate for each other. His hands moved to your sides and pushed your sweater up and off of you, the revealing neckline of your nightdress now in view. Your back arched towards him, craving his warm touch. He broke from the kiss to look at you, his hands gently massaging your breasts. You could feel the bulge in his pants becoming more prominent, prompting you to grind on him before pulling him into a kiss again.

Kissing him felt like breathing, like swimming to the surface of a deep, raging ocean and finally taking in a breath you’d been holding for far too long. Finally arriving to where you were meant to be.

He picked you up from the counter effortlessly, carrying you to his room as you giggled and laying you on his bed. His lips found yours again, like a lifeline. Your hands wrapped around the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. As you broke the kiss, you opened your eyes to see In-ho, illuminated by the warm light of the lamp in his room. You eyed his body, from his head to his waist, relishing in the new parts of him you could finally see.

He hovered over you, studying your face as you watched him. You seemed to be in a trance, only breaking your thoughts when you noticed him smirking at you. A blush spread across your face as he laughed before leaning down to kiss you. Your embarrassment faded quickly as he trailed his kisses down to your chest, slowly lowering himself to your hips.

He pushed your nightdress up, exposing your underwear. A soft hum left his throat as he spread his hands across your thighs, pushing your legs apart. His eyes ravaged your body, his hands caressing your warm skin.

He leaned in and pressed his face to your clothed core. “Can’t believe we left the lights off,” he huffed as he kissed around your inner thighs. You squirmed delightfully under his touch, your body aching for any sensation he could give.

He quickly pulled your underwear off and pressed his open mouth to your soaking wet core. You nearly yelped at the sudden feeling of his warm tongue tasting you, eagerly swirling around every sensitive nerve he touched. Your hips involuntarily twitched and arched upwards, pressing into him. He groaned loudly and sucked on your clit, increasing the speed of his tongue. The combination of sensations sent a delicious wave of pleasure through your body.

You grabbed his hair and pressed him further on you, chasing the intense pleasure he was giving you. His hand settled under his chin and his fingers began teasing your entrance. You gasped out loud, looking down. The sight of it almost sent you over the edge, beyond anything you’d ever felt before.

“Oh god, please. Please.”

He wanted to tease you, play with you a little, but he couldn’t be bothered. He would do anything you asked in that moment. His fingers instantly entered you, and you moaned loudly. As his fingers pumped into you furiously, your hips bucked underneath him, only focused on chasing the high he was bringing you to. In the next moment you felt your orgasm come crashing down, your entire body nearly convulsing. Pleasure spread intensely from your core down to your legs, throughout your entire being, your mind starting to float above you in sheer bliss.

In-ho released himself from you and grinned, observing your flushed face as you settled down. With one look at In-ho, you felt yourself get worked up again, leaning forward to grab his face and kiss him. He pushed you back and hovered over you again, his hands pushing your dress above and off of you. You caressed his sides and down to the bulge in his sweatpants, your mouth all but watering at feeling his cock in your hand. He groaned into your neck and quickly pushed his pants and underwear down together.

At the sight of his hard cock, you pushed him to his back next to you and leaned down to his waist, preparing to take him in your mouth. He sighed loudly and pulled you back to him, pushing your hips over his.

“Next time, darling. I have to fuck you right now or I’ll lose it.”

Before you could find a response, he lined himself up with your entrance and thrust up into you, immediately groaning at your warmth enveloping him. Despite your orgasm earlier, your body responded to him quickly, indulging in the way he stretched you just enough to not be painful. His cock dragged along your walls deliciously, coaxing a stream of obscene noises from your mouth. In-ho watched you intensely as he pounded into you.

“You missed this, didn’t you?” he huffed below you, soft groans slowly leaving his mouth as he gradually lost more control of himself.

You whimpered, opening your eyes and seeing how he looked at you. The look on his face was beyond feral. With any other person you might’ve been scared at the way he seemed, almost angry, but it just made you melt. You could barely hold yourself up as he fucked you, holding on to your hips for support.

“It’s okay, I know, darling. I know,” he cooed, pulling you to his chest as he continued pumping into you. “I’m gonna make you feel so good. Gonna give you so much of my cum you’ll be filled for days.”

Your walls fluttered around him, moaning uncontrollably at his filthy words.

“You want that, don’t you? Want me to fill you up?”

It was almost becoming too much, you felt yourself almost having an out of body experience. Your mouth let out a stream of moans, your hands clutching to him for dear life. It felt so good, you simultaneously found yourself chasing another orgasm and wishing you could stay in that moment forever.

In-ho quickly grabbed your waist and pushed you to your back, barely stopping his thrusting as he did so, pushing your thighs up and outward. He moved with a deliberate roughness, like he knew he could do whatever he wanted to you. And you knew you’d let him. You couldn’t have been more open to him, more exposed.

His thrusts seemed to quicken and stutter at the same time, and you could feel he was close just as you were. He grabbed your hand and brought it to your clit, growling above you.

“Come on, darling, give it to me and I’ll give you everything.” He grabbed the back of your head and pushed it down, forcing you to watch him fuck you. “Do you want it?”

You cried out, swirling your fingers around your clit, feeling your orgasm approach quickly. “Oh god, fuck… fuck, I need it.”

“I’ll give you every, last…” he huffed above you, his thrusts becoming long and rough, “fucking… drop.”

With a few more intense thrusts, your orgasm exploded inside of you, every nerve ending in your body blooming in pleasure. Your juices gushed out of you, your sensitive flesh savoring the feeling, your body begging for In-ho to release inside of you. He continued thrusting into you, coaxing as much as he could out of you, before letting himself come undone, spilling himself into your aching cunt. He pressed himself unimaginably deep inside you, nearly grinding himself to get deeper. A loud, long guttural groan seemed to release from deep inside his body, the sound alone making you twitch on him.

His breaths slowed and he gently rested his head on your shoulder before laying next to you. You both laid there in silence for a few moments, your emotions coming back to reality. In-ho watched you with adoring eyes. As good as you felt, a part of you still worried about how he would be now.

He seemed to sense what you were thinking and pulled you close to him. You were a little embarrassed, thinking he was doing this just to placate you.

“Your thoughts are so loud sometimes.”

You sighed and hid your head in his shoulder, too exhausted to say anything.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

You peeked up at him to see a slight smile on his face. He glanced at you, and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.” He stood up and turned to you, helping you stand up and leading you to the bathroom.

You showered together in silence, In-ho sensing that you were too overwhelmed for words. He cared for you with a touching gentleness, drying you off and helping you get dressed for bed. He led you back to his bed and you settled under the blankets together, cuddling on In-ho’s side. Just like you had been doing when you woke up the other night.

You sighed, finally feeling more relaxed. “You know, sleeping with you is like sleeping with a furnace.”

He laughed comfortably, a sound you rarely ever heard from him. “You seemed to like it the other night. You clung to me almost immediately.”

You softly gasped. Of course your body betrayed you.

He chuckled and rubbed his hand on your back. “I didn’t mind.”

Smiling, you sighed, thinking that despite all the mistakes you made that day, accidentally booking a one bed suite didn’t end up being so bad.

#squid game #squid game fanfic #hwang in-ho #hwang inho #hwang in ho #hwang in-ho x reader #hwang inho x reader #hwang in ho x reader #front man #frontman #front man x reader #frontman x reader #fanfiction #lee byung hun #reader insert

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hsnlv · 6 months ago

Text

bittersweet | s.jy

synopsis: caught in a dangerous dance of passion and obsession, you’re drawn to sim jaeyun’s intoxicating pull. his love is chaotic, his touch addictive, and though it threatens to destroy you, you can’t help but fall deeper—willing to break if it means keeping him.

warning: a little suggestive at one point, a little manipulative too, reader is obsessed with jake that they would do anything for him.

wc: 2.1k

a/n: this is very much inspired by bittersuite by billie eilish! but im pretty sure i misinterpreted some of the lyrics used in this story. and just a reminder that each lyrics will bring you to a different scenario. enjoy reading!

i can’t fall in love with you

“(y/n), you know he’s no good for you!” your friend’s voice rings in your ears, louder than the music thumping in the background. their frustration is palpable as they watch you, once again, drift into thoughts about him.

sim jaeyun.

his name is a song in your head, a melody you can’t stop humming. he’s the kind of beautiful that should come with a warning, the kind of dangerous that leaves you breathless.

“you don’t get it,” you mutter, trying to shake off the words as your eyes roam the room, searching.

“no, you don’t get it!” they snap, stepping in front of you, forcing your attention back to them.

“you’re setting yourself up to get hurt, and for what? some guy who’s going to break your heart like it’s nothing?”

you swallow the lump in your throat, unwilling to admit they might be right. but it doesn’t matter. none of it matters.

because there he is.

jaeyun.

leaning against the wall like he owns the place, his sharp features softened by the dim light. your heart stumbles, skips, then races ahead, and suddenly, nothing else exists.

you don’t even realize you’ve walked away until your friend’s voice fades into the distance.

i was on my knees, outside of my body, watchin’ from above, i see the way you want me

“good girl,” he murmurs as he leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

his voice is silk, smooth and warm, wrapping around you like a spell. his hands find your waist, pulling you closer, steadying you as your knees threaten to give out. his fingers press just hard enough to leave you breathless.

the room fades. the smell of alcohol, the chatter of voices, the dull bass in the background—it all disappears. all that’s left is him. his touch. his scent. his voice.

you tilt your head up to meet his gaze, and for a moment, you swear the world stops spinning. he looks at you like you’re something he’s been searching for, something precious.

“jaeyun,” you whisper, his name barely audible.

“yes, pretty girl?”

and that’s it. you’re gone. your resolve crumbles, your heart collapses, and you know—you know—that no matter how much this will hurt, you’ll fall every single time.

i gotta be careful, gotta watch what i say, God, i hope it all goes away

“jaeyun, i love—”

the words almost slip, a confession hanging in the air between you. but you catch yourself just in time, swallowing the rest of the sentence before it can escape.

his head tilts, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “love what, baby?”

his voice is slow, deliberate, laced with the kind of mischief that makes your chest tighten. he knows exactly what you almost said, and he’s enjoying every second of your hesitation.

you can’t answer. you won’t. because if you do, everything will change, and you’re not sure you’re ready for that. your heart beats too fast, your pulse pounding in your ears as his gaze holds you in place.

but it’s torture.

you saw the way he looked at her earlier.

you saw the way he leaned in, the way his eyes followed her.

your stomach twists at the memory, jealousy clawing its way up your throat. but you can’t bring yourself to call him out. you won’t, because if you do, you’ll have to admit how much it hurts.

and it does. God, it hurts.

because no matter how much it stings, no matter how many times you tell yourself you should walk away, you only fall harder.

he’s a drug, and you’re addicted.

“come on, baby,” he coaxes, his hand brushing against your cheek, his thumb tracing your jawline. “you love what?”

your walls are crumbling, brick by brick, and you don’t know how much longer you can hold them up.

you know he’s bad for you.

but…

cause i can’t fall in love with you, no matter how bad i want to

the mantra loops in your head, a desperate attempt to remind yourself of the truth.

dont. fall. in. love. with. him.

but the truth is a lie.

his arm tightens around your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. your breathing is uneven, your body trembling as his lips graze your neck.

he sleeps soundly beside you now, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that feels too peaceful for the chaos he’s caused inside you.

"so fucking sweet," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he pounded into you, as if you were the only thing that existed to him in that moment.

"doing so good for me, hm? so good, so sweet," he whispered, his hand brushing your cheek so softly. for just a second, his eyes looked at you like he loved you. and that second was all it took to unravel you completely.

your fingers brush over the marks he left on your skin, the evidence of his touch still fresh. you close your eyes, replaying the night in vivid detail—the way he whispered your name, the way he moved, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered.

for a moment, you let yourself believe it.

because for a brief second, he looked like he was in love with you.

but you know better.

you know he won’t be here when you wake up.

and yet, you’d do it all again.

but if pain is the price you pay to have him like this, to feel his touch, his presence, you'll take it. again and again, until there's nothing left of you to give. because it’s the only thing that makes you feel alive.

i don’t need to breathe when you look at me, all i see is green

his eyes meet yours across the room, and the world falls away. everything else—every voice, every sound, every breath—disappears in an instant. it’s just him now.

green. deep and dangerous, like a forest that tempts you to wander too far in, knowing you’ll never make it out.

he doesn’t have to speak. doesn’t have to move. just looking at you is enough to leave you gasping for air, and somehow, you don’t care.

“you’re quiet tonight,” he says as he approaches, his tone soft but heavy with meaning.

you shrug, trying to play it cool, but your heart is pounding too loudly for you to hear your own thoughts.

“what’s on your mind?” he asks, leaning closer. his hand brushes against yours, just barely, but it sends a shiver up your spine.

you want to tell him everything. how he’s the only thing you think about. how the sound of his voice lingers long after he’s gone. how his absence feels like a weight pressing down on your chest.

but you don’t.

“nothing,” you lie, though the way you look at him says otherwise.

he smirks, his gaze dipping to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “is that so?”

i think that we’re in between everything i’ve seen, in my dream

“you’re overthinking again,” he says, his voice laced with that disarming calm that always makes you second-guess yourself. His fingers graze your cheek, tipping your head just enough so you have to look at him.

“don’t,” you murmur, but the word barely escapes your lips.

“don’t what?” he counters, his tone deceptively soft, as if he’s confused. But the glint in his eyes tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing. “Don’t remind you of what we are? Of what you keep running from?”

you shift under his gaze, but he doesn’t let you pull away. his hand is firm, grounding you, as if he’s anchoring you in place, forcing you to stay in this moment.

“why do you do this?” you ask, your voice trembling, betraying the resolve you desperately want to cling to.

his smirk is subtle, almost imperceptible, but it cuts through you all the same. “because I know you,” he says, the confidence in his tone rattling something inside you. “better than anyone else ever could.”

“you don’t—”

“i do,” he interrupts, his voice steady now, his hand sliding to your jaw. “and you hate that, don’t you? you hate how much you feel for me. you hate that no one else makes you feel this way.”

your heart races, and you know he can feel it.

“but it’s okay,” he continues, his voice dropping to a whisper. “you don’t have to admit it yet. i’m patient. i’ll wait.”

the way he says it, so sure, so certain, makes your stomach twist. because deep down, you know he’s already won.

i don’t need to breathe when you look at me, all i see is green

the tension between you simmers, unspoken but undeniable, a charged thread pulling you together even as you test the limits of its strength. his gaze is sharp, piercing, watching your every move as if he’s memorizing you in real time. you know he hates it—hates the way your attention drifts toward the edges of the room, where other figures stand, laughing, drinking, and existing in a world that doesn’t revolve around him.

but your world? it does.

you don’t need anyone else in this room. you never did. but sometimes, the only way to keep him tethered is to let the rope fray. to make him feel the sting of what it’s like to lose you, even if just for a second.

you seem so paranoid, i’m looking at the boys, i’ve never filled the void, out of spite.

you glance at the guy near the bar—just a second too long, just enough to make it noticeable.

you hear him before you feel him. the sharp inhale, the muted scoff. then his fingers are at your waist, curling around you like a warning, pulling you back against him. his touch is firm, possessive, almost bruising, but it’s the kind of pain that makes your pulse quicken.

“you’re playing a dangerous game,” he mutters, his breath hot against your ear.

“what game?” you ask, your voice dripping with feigned innocence, even as a small smirk tugs at the corner of your lips.

his jaw tightens, his muscles clenching under your hand as you rest it lightly against his arm. he’s trying to stay composed, to keep the fire in check, but you’ve already struck the match.

“you’re looking at them like you want something,” he says, his voice low, smooth like honey but edged with steel. “but we both know they could never give you what i do.”

he’s right, of course. they couldn’t. but that’s not the point.

you seem so paralyzed, it’s so romanticized,

his grip softens slightly, his thumb brushing against your side, and for a moment, you forget why you started this in the first place.

when your eyes meet his, the room seems to shift. everything fades—music, voices, the low hum of conversation. it’s just the two of you, locked in this intoxicating push and pull, this endless cycle of destruction and devotion.

you hate how much you need him. you hate how easily he pulls you back every time you try to let go. but there’s something about the way he looks at you, like you’re the only thing that matters, that makes you crave the chaos.

“you like this, don’t you?” he says softly, his lips brushing against your temple. “you like making me crazy.”

you don’t answer, but he doesn’t need you to. he knows.

if this is how i die, that’s alright.

his touch is slow, deliberate, like he knows exactly how to unravel you. his fingers trace the line of your collarbone, dipping just enough to make your breath hitch. his lips hover over your ear, his voice dark and smooth, sending shivers down your spine.

"you're shaking," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. "but you're not pulling away. why is that?"

you swallow hard, your throat dry, your mind clouded with the weight of his presence.

"because I-" but the words falter, caught somewhere between truth and fear.

he smirks, and it's almost cruel, the way he looks at you-like he knows the power he holds, like he knows you've already surrendered. his hands slide lower, grazing your waist, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you.

"you can't help yourself, can you?" he says softly, his tone laced with mock sympathy. "you want this. you want me."

your breath catches, the heat of his words burning through every defense you've tried to build. you don't respond, but the silence is enough. he knows. he's always known.

his lips press to your neck, slow and searing, each kiss leaving a mark that feels like it's branding you as his. his grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you who's in control.

"you let me do this to you," he whispers, his voice dripping with possession. "you let me have you, over and over, and you never stop me. why?"

you don't have an answer. maybe there isn't one. maybe it's because you've always been drawn to him, even when you knew you shouldn't be. maybe it's because he's everything you shouldn't want but can't resist.

his lips move to your ear, his voice now a low growl. "because you love me. even if it ruins you, even if it destroys everything else, you'll always love me."

and he's right. you hate how right he is. because as his hands roam your body, as his lips claim yours in a way that feels both heaven and hell, you know you're his. completely. utterly.

if this is how you lose yourself-if this is how you die-you'll let him. because being his feels like the only way you're alive.

160 notes · View notes

ellesthots · 12 days ago

Text

Fateful Beginnings

LI. “ambrosia”

read on AO3 🦇

parts: previous / next

plot: bittersuite domesticity suddenly isn't as bittersweet.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+, fluffy fluff fluff

words: 8k

a/n: hiii lovelies!! back for another installment with these two lovebirds <3 as I’m writing this, tomorrow is my last day of school EVER !!! what !!! then I have a Master’s degree !! writing that in the notes of a battinson fic has me feeling like that meme of ‘I lowkey have a Master’s degree’. lmao. enjoy !!

“This is how sleepovers start?”

You grabbed his other hand and started painting the black polish on his thumb; it took every ounce of energy left in your wilting body to keep your breathing regular and thoughts from spiraling. His fingers were always softer than you thought they would be, especially so when you held them delicately, like now.

“If they’re fun.”

The floor was starting to hurt your crossed legs, but you trucked along with only three nails left. Your thumb and forefinger tilted his hand to the right before the polish flooded the side, and Bruce complimented your technique. It was crucial, actually, that he didn’t say words like ‘technique’ while you took in the size and shape of his fingers.

The stale lighting of an overhead bulb that hadn’t been changed in half a decade was barely enough to have a proper look at your craft, but more than enough to illuminate the depth of his inky hair as it grazed his cheek. Your dad had bugged you to change the light before leaving to Gotham two years ago, citing your future self’s gratefulness at not having to change a bulb the first day you came back from graduation. Now, you couldn’t imagine how you’d function if you were seeing Bruce in high definition.

Two years. Two years? You barely knew about Bruce Wayne before moving; just enough to know that he was a sort of celebrity, and it hit you all at once that the man was now sitting here, in your sleepy little town, letting you paint his nails. What the fuck?

Two more.

Ring finger… painting this one felt different. Childlike electricity pulsed through you as you imagined a metal band adorning it. You loathed to know it could never be you. Plagued by how intensely you wished things were different. If you let yourself digest just how intensely, it would end in a state of tears and disbelief.

Bruce’s eyes followed yours like they were his own, flicking from the nail to your face with an encouraging grin. You rushed through his pinky, your body filling with a vague sense of anticipation that bubbled up all types of emotions you’d tried to stuff down the past hour.

While you capped the lacquer, you reminisced on how scared he’d looked at the thought of having sex with you. So scared, in fact, that it nullified your original hypothesis (and left you reeling—he didn’t want to fuck you?). If not to control you, dominate you, what the hell did a billionaire want with the one person who knew his biggest secret? As much as your mind wanted to run away with alternative explanations for why this vigilante was sitting pretty talking about girly sleepovers, none took. He’d been trustworthy on every other front, so what reasons did you have to think he was lying now? Your own insecurity?

Still, the visceral sensation of forcing someone to ‘go along’ with your interests made you a bit sick. If you hadn’t offered to paint nails, it wouldn’t have happened. If you hadn’t needed a flight home, he wouldn’t be here. Who was to say he wasn’t just humoring you? Perhaps in it for the long-con?

He was smart enough for it. God, his mind worked like a whip. The ease with which he switched into Appeasing Bruce in front of Oz, the way his posture and cadence changed the few times he’d addressed a group, and the mere fact he’d been going out nightly as a fucking vigilante for four years and not one person was onto him. For how antisocial he was, he could transform into a chameleon at a moment’s notice.

What if he thought appeasing you was the only way to safeguard himself? Your heart fluttered. Could he cry on cue? Get his eyes to look as tender as they did whenever you tried to leave?

Too late you realized you’d gotten lost in your thoughts. And like the softest yet sharpest knife you’d ever felt, Bruce waited patiently. His mouth was even sloped to form a soft grin.

“You can choose what we do next.” You clasped your hands around your knee, subtly rocking your hips to self-soothe. He glanced at the box of polish, confused.

“You don’t want yours done?”

“Didn’t think you’d want to.”

He laughed like you’d challenged him, and it entered you like fresh, cool air whistling through your tight chest. “I’d love to.”

Something had shifted when he mentioned your friends. On the drive back, instead of silence, he’d asked how often you came here, what you liked about this road, if you knew any constellations, and occasionally to ID a tree when the headlights illuminated one. He held the front door open for you on arrival, and was already halfway to Walter’s bowl when all you’d done was mention that he might be hungry. Not to mention: tolerating this.

Your friends had always disliked Walter. Complained about how ‘needy’ he was, and walked through the house without worrying if he was underfoot. They stepped on his paws and tail and knocked the side of his head when they’d walk down the hall, to the point you’d had a breakdown the last time they’d visited. Cradling him, crying and sniffling over how careless they were. Bruce paused every other step, letting Walter weave through his legs as much as he pleased. You didn’t even know if Bruce particularly liked you, and the bar was disastrously low, but you would’ve married him on the spot for that alone. He’d never been more attractive.

It hadn’t even been an hour since his shell cracked open, and you wondered who would cave first: you confessing how wonderful he was, or him burning out and reverting back to his old, man-of-few words ways.

Bruce thumbed through the various tones and textures, and you told him he could pick. He pulled a few shades out and held them to the side of your face, analyzing. First a green, then a red, then black, then: a shimmer. His brow cocked almost imperceptibly. “You like glitter, right?”

You’d crack. You’d absolutely crack first.

You nodded, and the anticipation bubbled into something almost unbearable in the space between uncapping it and him grabbing your hand. Was there some law of the universe that allowed only enough space for one of you to be talkative? Because since he’d started speaking, it’d become increasingly difficult for words to materialize. Like some sort of spell.

“The makeup you wore at March’s rally.” Bruce took your hand and gently pulled your fingers toward him; at this point noticing how softly he touched you read like an oxymoron. Who taught him to be so tender? Your breath came sparingly, mesmerized by the sheer force of what sat in front of you. “It looked like this.”

“You know,” you cleared your throat, tightening your core to reign in a tremble from cascading down your arm. “It’s intimidating how observant you are.”

“Could say the same to you.”

“I’m not an infamous detective.” Somehow the words were falling out, and thank god, because any longer of this tension and you would’ve blurted something unhallowed. He just grinned, and very precisely placed a stripe of shimmer on your thumb. It was slightly cold, and stunk more than the black you’d put on him. He was so precise… even with his own wet nails.

Said detective moved to the next finger, eyes twinkling with something unsaid you really wished he’d name. Was he having fun? Was he miserable and covering it up? You searched his face for any giveaway, but he looked almost peaceful. Taking his time with the painting, taking his time to respond. “Aren’t journalists the same? Never know when you’re on record.”

“So we’re both intimidating.”

“Very.”

And there you sat for the next few minutes while he finished, the longest silence since stargazing. You couldn’t grasp where to focus your attention, with both hands wet and the only things in your point of view being Bruce and your bed. Which… you couldn’t focus on too much, not while he was literally being the sweetest, most attentive man alive sitting cross-legged, staring intently at your fingers as he painted them with unparalleled, meditative focus.

But your mind wandered, unable to resist the temptation of learning he’d not only kissed someone before, but fucked them. You’d assumed so with someone like him, a miserably attractive billionaire in the big city, but it clung to you differently since he’d confirmed it. An undisclosed number of people walked around with the memory of his body on theirs, knowing how he looked, sounded, felt… was there anyone he’d gone back to?

“You okay?”

“What?”

“Your breathing changed, wondered if we needed to open a window.”

You looked down to see two fingers left. I can manage. I’m good. I’m so good. “Like I said: observant.”

“Yeah, well,” he moved to your ring finger (only one left, fuck!) and sighed. “When one of my first memories of you was how you nearly stopped breathing,” he dipped back into the shimmer. “I started paying attention.”

Oh, this man… “That’s why you brought the Benadryl to City Hall.”

Bruce tapped his upper thigh with the heel of his palm, careful not to smudge. A slight outline of a rectangle became apparent through the faded black fabric. “Just in case.”

You blinked. Swallowed. This much consideration was excruciating, and decades of mistreatment washed over you at once. It would’ve been so simple to give you what you’d always wanted; someone to sit with you, really, truly sit and consider you. Enjoy you. Cooper had, but then she left. Never to be seen again.

“Talk to me.” He flicked a well-executed stroke onto your pinky and covered it in one fell swoop, placing the polish back into the box.

“It’s the same old shit.” That I don’t want to burden you with, so please, stop looking at me like it’s the only thing you’ve ever wanted to do.

“Then say the same old shit.”

“I don’t want them taking up time.” You waved your hands around to try to stave off the trove of energy that launched into you, hurry up the process of the nail drying, and direct his attention anywhere but your face. None of it worked. “They just never cared about any of it. This, peaches, Walter.”

“Walter?” He balked at it, eyes practically bugging out of his head.

“Bruce, stop.” His name sat strangely in your mouth, like it was rapidly taking on a different meaning.

“Stop what?”

“Handling me with gloves.”

“I’m not.” He stared at you plainly, unwavering, and you felt pinned. He blinked a few times, then broke the contact to stare at the carpet. You let out a heavy breath.

Silence stretched between you like a wide, empty field. You couldn’t begin to fill it, so you sat, willing your lips to stop trembling, and tears to stop forming, to no avail. He didn’t call attention to it, which you appreciated. His consideration was like a rose’s thorn, smelling so sweet but cutting through thinned skin.

“I think we have similar problems with people.”

Such conviction. You stared into him like he could save you from slipping and asked a question that already had an answer. “Pity?”

Despite the exhaustion you were certain was wearing him down, his eyes were clearer than they’d ever looked. You wanted to tell him to get some sleep, let himself relax, but he wouldn’t listen. Apparently you not buying the concept of him liking that you knew his biggest secret was horrifying to him, instead of basic sense. He was steadfast on his mission of trust, like any mission he set himself on, you were learning.

“I’m not pitying you, you’re not pitying me.” Bruce surprised you when he held out a pinky, so out of character you almost didn’t track what it meant. “Truce?”

Leveling the playing field. You hesitated. “But what if it’s not pity but it’s still something bad—”

“Y/n.” He said your name with a sigh that blasted through your eardrums; a sigh that was kind, that straddled the line between amused and apologetic.

“Bruce.”

The moment stalled, and he was caught between two choices: tell you it, tell you it all, to take you out of this momentary suffering and clear the air that was so tangible, that you were so right about; or keep you from what it might mean. Keep you safe. This was strange, he could tell you knew it, and he could tell it was affecting. He was here with things below the surface, sure, but it wasn’t an ulterior motive. Just… keeping a secret. One that helped you.

Your eyes glittered with tears, and all deliberation left his body as he was struck with the realization that keeping you safe would win every single time. No matter what.

Eventually the silence hung too thick and you took his pinky in yours, moving quickly to put away the polishes like you were running from the promise. Meanwhile, all he could do was barely keep himself afloat from the incessant touching and the intensity of your eyes when they locked onto his.

“What’s next?”

“Uh,”

He attached to the hesitancy in your tone and dismissed it, pressing on. “What are you thinking?”

“I have an old jewelry kit I never opened, but it’s babyish,”

“Bring it.”

You tinkered around in your closet, then plunked a plastic kit down on the floor. You stared at it. Then laughed. You mimed lifting the lid and heaved a sigh as you sat back. “Too wet. So disappointing.”

Jesus… what the fuck did I just say? Peeking at him showed he wasn’t reading into the diabolical innuendo, or at least he wasn’t showing it.

“We can wait.”

Could you?

Bruce and you sat in silence without anything to distract. You pretended to be very interested in the tree branches swaying outside your window, one you could barely make out through the streams of moonlight. The whisper of the kitchen clock ticked, and you concentrated on a leaf hitting the window’s glass. After you felt your body would implode from the tension, you tapped the edge of a nail and felt a slick smear. Like it’d only been two seconds.

“What do you want to make?”

He rarely interrupted the silence, and it startled your wound-up spirit. Which magic word made him spill? Was he so offended by the notion that he just wanted to fuck?

“There’s only a few things. Braided bracelets, beaded bracelets, or a necklace I guess if you get long enough string.” You tilted the packaging with the back of your hand to squint at the side label. “And stud earrings, but it’s probably nickel or some shit. Can’t do it.”

Bruce didn’t miss a beat. “I’m willing to try.” Nickel. You can’t have nickel jewelry. Allergic?

You barely heard him, seeing on the side in colorful cursive: Summer Edition, which apparently meant beads of apples, peaches, pears, and bananas thrown in the mix. Your stomach flipped, confronted with the memory that Rose had gotten this one for you way back when. She’d laughed with Gabbi and Lara when you thanked her, and you hadn’t known why, you just knew their laughter didn’t feel good. Maybe Bruce was right: they’d never cared.

“Hmm?”

“Earrings.”

You scoffed. “I’m not piercing your ears.”

“Way ahead of you.”

You looked up expecting to see him brutally stabbing his ear with a stray pin or special gadget, but he just used the back of his hand to show a microscopic dot in the middle of his earlobe.

“Pierced them in high school.”

“No way!”

Evidently your shock had alerted the only other resident of the house, and Walter came careening in. You shot your hands up and quickly told Bruce to stop his movement to pet him, or else his nails would be fuzzed to hell. Walter thought this was a game, and started jumping to reach the nothing that was in your hand.

Standing became the only option, and you managed to squeeze your way out the front door to the windy porch. Bruce followed in tow, peeking behind him while he shut the door with the back of his calf. You held your hands up to catch the breeze, feeling the whoosh against your damp nails and your cheeks you had no idea were that flushed.

Deep breaths brought the tension in your chest to a simmer. With shut eyes, you tried to pretend you didn’t feel him behind you like a physical touch. Slow and even, fresh and cooling, all that mattered right now were the breaths getting in and leaving.

Part of you flooded with guilt at even thinking about something as trivial as sex while your mom was hospitalized. Another part argued through a stabbing feeling of defiance, reminding you that she was alright, that she was in some ways, once again, better than you thought before the call. That right now would be perfect; fuck around and get the grief out of your system on one of the last days you had the house to yourself. Fuck around and let yourself become a billionaire playboy statistic.

Bruce stepped to the edge of the porch, glancing at you in a way you knew was another wellness check before facing the road. Your heart strangled in your chest. This wasn’t just a ‘fuck around’ thing for you, and the mist was starting to clear around his intentions, too, in a way that sent your mangled heart to the back of your throat. A ‘fuck around’ perspective might not track here if he actually cared.

You focused on the flicker of the driveway light for courage. Pretended like you were speaking to nothing but open air. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

“About what?”

“You don’t have to pretend you don’t know what I mean.” The flicker was frustrating, so you stared at the rusted, dinged windchime instead, remembering so clearly the day your mom set it up. “Thinking you wanted to have sex.”

“It’s okay.” He hadn’t let your sentence linger for a second before blurting a placation. He ached thinking about how you’d described it: power fantasy. Even if you were apologizing now, that had come from somewhere that wasn’t just gone. No wonder he couldn’t get a pulse on you; you might’ve thought you were evading a lion when to him, it was nothing more than casual conversation.

“You probably get that a lot, don’t you?”

He didn’t answer, not knowing what to say. He did hear it a lot, in some variation; people mistaking his introversion for being a closed-off loser looking for nothing more than a conquest. He winced thinking about how many people treated him like a toy, a scandalous story to run and tell their friends about; and how long it took him to realize that was happening.

Bruce looked downtrodden, and a hole was drilled into your chest. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

The longer this continued, the greater the likelihood of him turning his filter back to full power. He shot you a grin that was weak, too weak, hoping that you wouldn’t press it, please god, and changed the subject. “Looking forward to the next item for tonight.”

“If my nails ever dry.”

Bruce gripped the front of the porch, its wood paneling weathered and splintered. It was hard to believe anything moved out here. That time even passed.

The pause between was physical pain.

Nothing marked the passage of time here. No ambulances, no cars, the only light source a dim porch light and half-dead carport bulb. Thoughts were hard to form. Nothing, absolutely nothing served as a distraction. And he’d committed to stepping up for you, so he couldn’t very well crawl inside of himself.

What to say?

What to say?!

You drummed your fingers on the feathered wood, the edge of your shirt catching on a splinter. For some reason, it reminded him of Alfred.

“Alfred texted, by the way. Said they got everything.”

“Nice.”

What were you thinking about?

He couldn’t tell if you were upset. Did you feel trapped having to come back to his place? When he’d offered it, did you feel obligated to agree? When else had you ever felt obligated to agree with anything he ever said?

“You don’t have to stay tomorrow. I’ll be fine if you want to head back.”

Oh. “Do you want me to leave?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it does.”

You wondered how this might feel if people had chosen you at any other point in your life. If this wasn’t the first time someone was persistent in their want to be around you, would it sit differently? Would it feel soothing, would it feel normal? right now, it tempted to piss you off. He said no ulterior motives, but it was so foreign you couldn’t enjoy it for what it was. Pity reared its ugly head.

“You might be right about the pity thing.”

“Hard to swallow?”

“Don’t say that.”

“A lot of innuendos tonight.” He said it so plainly, giving you no choice but to surge forward to excavate meaning.

“Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“Just worried about you.”

“So because someone talks about sex it’s worrisome?”

“You never talked about it before your mother was hospitalized, and we were completely alone.”

He wasn’t terse, or rolling his eyes; in fact, he wasn’t saying it how you could so easily imagine he would’ve if it’d only been a month prior. Spoken in an accommodating tone, with gentle curiosity, and it threatened to piss you off. Ants crawling on your skin. A feather kissing the back of your neck.

“What’s your diagnosis, detective?” Flustered. Annoyed.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

He fucking looked at you again, and you were set to liquify unless you steeled yourself. You crossed your arms, eyes narrowing. “I don’t.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“I can hold my own boundaries, Bruce.”

“I know you can.” He faced the outside of the porch, and you couldn’t tell whether he was staring at the concrete or the car’s trunk. “But when you start talking about power fantasies, I start thinking about how long that’s been festering.”

“Where did all this chatter come from?”

“You’re deflecting.”

Fuck. Couldn’t his generosity extend to not calling you out right now?

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk about sex.” Saying the word around him still felt blasphemous, like every time was an invitation. He didn’t react, again, like the concept of sex was the most benign thing. You glanced at his lips, and realized the concept of kissing him felt even more intimate. At least right now. It was softer. More… romantic. Can’t think about that right now.

“I’m pointing out something I’m seeing.”

“Which is pressure?”

“Are you denying it?”

You huffed, steepling your fingers against the aged wood. “I don’t get how this turned into an argument.”

“It doesn’t have to.”

“Don’t like how you said that.”

“There’s a lot going on, you don’t need to feel pushed.”

Don’t tell me what I need. “I don’t.”

“Actually?”

“You can’t believe that someone would want to hang out with you without wanting to fuck.”

“Isn’t that what you accused me of?” Bruce turned toward you, and you burned. A rush of throbbing, untended grief only barely covered by rapidly slipping defiance. His blue eyes pulled you in, but you resisted. Weakly.

“Whatever.”

Another standstill; where one was right, and the other didn’t want to accept it. Your shoulders tensed then relaxed when he leaned close, his smooth rumble in his voice soothing your eyes shut and coaxing tears out. “I’m trying to check in.”

Tears smeared across your arm as you swiped at your cheeks, sniffing up snot before it could dribble. The air was no longer breezy, slicing through you with a vengeance. You felt his eyes right on you though you fought to avoid them, and him, and the very fact that you were here now when you didn’t plan to be, but you had, but you’d forgotten, too busy with Bruce to remember your sick mom. You should be in bed, sleeping, or thinking about Bruce, not standing here in front of your empty house with him because your mom was, but she didn’t, she was, everything was fine.

You shoved words from behind your teeth. “‘A lot of innuendos tonight’ doesn’t sound especially caring.”

It was his turn to be silent, giving you time to shove your tears in a bag. Still, still still still, his presence was an undeniable force that let no other thoughts visit.

“It feels awkward to be straightforward.”

His candor made you laugh, then pause. How many layers did he have up, then, because you never knew him to beat around the bush. “You had no issues being blunt when we first met, Batman.”

“Things were different then.”

“How?”

“Before I cared what you think.”

Per usual, in a way that was quintessentially you, you rolled your eyes at any sign of compliment. He smirked. “Fine. Blunt.”

Bruce leaned forward, the arm of his shirt brushing yours. You were so… you. “You’re not used to people saying they care.”

“Maybe I’m not.”

“It’s so impossible to think someone actually cares that you can’t hold it.”

Fingertips brushed goosebumps as you tried to cover them with crossed arms. Couldn’t he get off your back? “Psychoanalyzing me now, huh?”

“We have the same problems with people.”

A shy grin tugged at your lips. Air shot into Bruce’s chest. “… you are Bruce Wayne.”

“You do know.” He didn’t know what he meant by this next part, but he said it nonetheless, because it was teetering off his tongue. “Does that make this impossible?”

Your grin was now a smile. “Maybe.”

“Maybe not.”

It faltered. “Says the person with all the power. To someone who does know.”

“I know.”

You remained tense, and if anything, his response had made your shoulders scrunch in on each other. Did he know?

A small knocking sound signified the late closing of the screen door. A peek over his shoulder and his eyes immediately locked onto the worn black handle, slightly warped and rubbed down to its base metal tone from decades of use. It was thin, and didn’t have a lock. The front door was sturdy, but singular. One lock, one deadbolt. Hell, this porch was available to anyone at any time. If something happened to you, you’d be wide open. This wasn’t an even field. Whatsoever.

“But I don’t.”

The last piece of it all thunked into place. Standing here in the middle of your life, seeing how quiet and tight-knit things were, the wear and tear, the life of it all, it had never felt so fragile.

You weren’t. Your family wasn’t. But it was. The container that held you.

“I don’t know.”

Relaxed. You finally relaxed. All of this fighting, all of this wanting to bridge something so impossible; no wonder you’d been so pissed off each and every time. Everything felt different here. You sounded tired. Of course you did. Of course. “How could you?”

“By not spending all my time with stockbrokers.”

“So I’m a growth opportunity for you?”

“No,” he winced, having meant it as a joke, but why was he joking right now? Why was he so uncomfortable? He felt like fucking Mount Everest. “But you are helping me get it.”

“Get what?”

“Why you don’t like me.”

You spun to glare at him like he hadn’t reflected what you’d told him from the beginning. It was like he’d thrown a brick at you. “You think I don’t like you?”

“Of course you don’t like me.”

“You don’t like me!”

“I do.” Bruce’s heart began to pound. Did you like him? Suddenly, he felt a pint of lukewarm Phish Food in his hand and the breeze of a dingy alleyway.

You laughed. Just like stargazing. Like it was ridiculous. Hadn’t he made himself clear? Too clear, in fact?

“You’re fun to spend time with.”

“What’s fun about me?”

The pounding built to a goddamn racket. “How stubborn you are.”

“Now I know you’re kidding.”

“I mean it. People aren’t usually like that with me.” It dawned on him that that might have been the reason he always argued back. With Alfred he tried to leave, the man was too firm, not passionate, always sounding like a parent.

“So you like arguing all the time?”

“I like someone vehemently disagreeing.”

Billion-dollar word. The flushing that just died down was warming your cheeks again.

“I like your perspective on politics, too.”

“So we can argue about politics all the time, got it.” Should’ve taken him for a masochist.

“I like hearing you talk about your family. How you like animals. Nature.”

“Sounds like the most basic Tinder profile.” Throw, deflect.

“I like how easy it feels around you.”

You swatted that one away the instant a tingle ran up your spine. “You’ve spent most of the time I’ve known you either avoiding me or actively telling me you don’t want me around.”

The wounds from those times were still fresh. Yelling at you in the kitchen. The car. Glaring you down like you were gum stuck to his shoe. Avoiding looking at you. Grimacing when you’d show up. The scowls and clenched jaws. They were all branded into your skin.

“I’m sorry.”

Yeah, sure.

“Hey,” he tapped your shoulder, and only then did you notice you’d shifted away from him, absentmindedly staring at the concrete. You knew when you looked up that he’d…

“I wish I could take them back, but I can’t. I’m sorry.” An apology. An apologetic face. Apologetic tone. Like he actually meant the damn thing, and meant it so thoroughly you couldn’t reasonably ignore it. “I’m not used to you, and that’s not an excuse”

“So I’m an acquired taste?”

“You have a rebuttal for everything.” He was standing across the U.S., thousands of miles away from people who needed him, right NOW, and he was hellbent on having you know he liked you. His world had become backwards in a matter of weeks.

“Maybe I do.”

Honesty was the best policy here, right? Outside of blurting that he liked you, like a fucking middle schooler? He chose his words carefully. “I didn’t think I could enjoy someone’s company so much.”

While the compliment struggled to grip, your heart fluttered like it wanted to accept it. So much? A war broke out in the few seconds it took you to conjure a response. The familiar refrain spun your thoughts of if he’s mean to you, that means he likes you. But that was bullshit. Entirely bullshit. Throw it back at him. “So you secretly like everyone at City Hall?”

“I pretend to.”

“I should be honored you’re an ass to me, then?” You raised an eyebrow at him, sizing him up. “Because at least you’re not pretending?”

“Do you want me to pretend?”

To you, it felt like he already was. “You’ll just treat me like you do when Oz is watching.”

“Do you want that?”

“So concerned with what I want when you’ve rarely given me it.”

The air clumped together and thickened like clouds.

“And what’s that?” His mouth was dry as the Sahara, his tingly, numb arm moving to rest on the handrail.

It could’ve been something raunchy, and your mind landed there initially. I want you on top of me, I want you inside of me, I want to know what you taste like. But what you really, deeply, truly wanted, was to know him. “To figure you out. To know you.”

“Our interests match, then.”

“Someone to match your stubborn?”

A roguish grin dazzled you. “I’m known to be very flexible.”

“Another innuendo.”

His laugh was lemony—bright and sharp—like you’d read into his smile a little too excessively. You inhaled slowly, then exhaled hard.

“So you’re a fucking Wayne, I’m not. You know that.”

Could be, Bruce thought, but held it close to his chest.

“I know shit that you don’t want to get out, and that makes me second-guess everything, too. You’re antisocial and I’ve been basically bullied by my friends since forever.”

“Well said.”

“Shut up.” With a twinkle in his eye, like you were so amusing to him. It was a lost cause stifling the laugh erupting from your belly. “Like actually, this is the most you’ve ever talked and it’s weirding me out.”

“I can be stoic.”

Another giggle. So he was self-aware. “I like it. It’s just new.”

“Hmm.”

“Stop.” Your cheeks scorched, strong as a hot flash.

“What?” Bruce played innocent, soaking up the way it plucked at you in just the right way to make a laugh rumble.

“I know it’s the same thing you’re saying.”

“Perhaps.”

“Oh my god.” Rolling your eyes. Shaking your head. The apples of your cheeks becoming prominent as you fought showing him a smile. Such normal things eliciting such an intense response; he always wanted to do this to you.

“I want you to know me.”

“I don’t know if that’s true.”

“It is. I want to talk like I write.” To you. With you. No one else.

You recalled a stack of old journals taking up considerable portions of his desk. Titled Notes and Observations: Gotham Project, you hadn't exactly thought he was spilling his personal guts. If you had, you might've snuck a guilty peek. You only thought you'd been named there because it related to Batman.

“I don’t want you to leave.” You slapped the wood, and Bruce wondered how your palm wasn’t covered in pointy fibers. “But I know you want to go.”

“I said I want you to know me, not that you already did.”

You shot a playful glare at him, equal parts pleased and annoyed at his newfound comfort. “You said before that I know you better than most people.”

“I did.”

“One is still better than zero, so.” You scrunched your nose at him and moved to open the door. “Neither of us is technically wrong.”

A satisfied sound accompanied the successful tapping of your now-dried nails. “Let’s bake.”

He caught the door on its wide swing. “Bake?”

“You cannot drop this, Walter can’t have chocolate.”

Glaring beeps signified the oven had preheated. In his squinting at the neon-green numbers he apparently moved the bowl slightly off from the middle of the pan, and you scoffed, swiftly grabbing his wrist to reposition the batter.

“Ever made brownies before?” You took the bowl from him and licked the back of your thumb, tossing the bowl in the sink before spreading the batter to each side of the glass pan.

Bruce filtered a snide comment about salmonella. “I’m still a human.”

“Didn’t know if Alfred was the only person to ever cook.”

“My mother didn’t want me to be spoiled.”

“Is that why Alfred gets Breyer’s and not overpriced custards?”

A spoonful dropped in the utensil’s journey to the sink. Walter, who had been watching at a very close distance, was narrowly intercepted by Bruce’s elbow.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “She says you can’t have it.”

Completely oblivious to the conversation you were interrupting, you finished rinsing the bowl and mused aloud. “You’ve had Betty Crocker?”

“Oh, yeah. All the time.”

A glance over your shoulder saw Bruce wiping his hands with a paper towel, nonchalant. Too nonchalantly. You turned off the water and stared at him until he broke, giving his head a little shake. “Knew it.”

Walter suddenly caused a commotion, snagging his claws into Bruce’s pants. He jumped, scaling up past his knee until he plopped onto the ground, meowing and trying to re-claw. Bruce looked mildly alarmed, a single step back ramming his hip into the counter of the small kitchen. “Um,”

“He hasn’t done that since he was a kitten.”

The kitchen lights appeared to dim when he bent down to pick him up. Correctly. Bruce’s hands under Walter’s armpits, hoisting him up to rest on his shoulder. He flopped in his arms and batted at the frayed edge of Bruce’s tee shirt collar. Faintness threatened to overwhelm you. “He really likes you. Are you sure you didn’t sneak in catnip?”

“Impossible for someone to like me.”

He moseyed to the living room, putting half a wall between you. Did he wink? Had he even been looking at you?

This wasn’t kind to your heart. Ever since watching the recording from the club, it’d been run ragged. Not only was now no exception, it might’ve been the worst outside of stumbling the hospital hallways. It was the only thing which felt tangible and real; Bruce certainly didn’t, and not having your mom laughing in the other room had her disappeared like quicksand.

Closed eyes. Puffing breaths. Time moved too fast, packing too much into a moment. Brushed shoulders, shared gazes, navigating a shared kitchen. The warmth propelling from the oven reflected a surge of kindling he’d placed in your chest. Unprecedented—this was unprecedented.

A strong wind sought to fell you, striking you at the knees from behind. Something felt close. Too close. You gripped the counter for balance and tried to breathe through it. Accept it, whatever the hell it was. The atmosphere was too warm. So inviting it loosened your filter, rapidly breaking down the walls between what was said and what was known.

Walter thumped and jumped in a race around the living room, a back paw sliding onto the linoleum as he regained traction. Bruce’s low, rumbly chuckle swaddled you in warm cotton. Despite how weird it felt, it felt…

Walter slammed his paw on the wall precisely where the laser was pointed.

Steady.

Despite it all, Bruce was steadfast, and holy hell did that feel great, and terrifying. So great that you wanted to run up, grab him, and never let him go. Let yourself talk for hours, knowing that he’d actually listen. And terrifying: he’ll actually listen. It injected lead weight into your words. After so long of no one seeing you, it felt like a magnifying glass beneath the sun.

The oven beeped again. On autopilot, you put the brownies in, cleaned the bowl, and bit your lip when Bruce emerged, asking if you needed any help. Walter sat beside him, tail flicking, eyes bright and dilated. God, he’d never liked anyone as much as Bruce. “What do you want to do now?”

“Jewelry?”

“Eh.”

“Talk?”

You wiped your hands on a dishtowel, his offer reminding you of how much he had back home and he was just sitting here, doing what you wanted. “Do you want to talk about the journalism student stuff? The people we housed, or Oz, or Morrison, or anything about your work?”

Work. No one had called it that before. “Not right now.”

“Are you sure? I know if you were in Gotham right now you’d be… patrolling?”

He would be. He needed to be. Guilt nipped at his frayed nerves. Only a few days. Only while you needed him. “If I need to talk about it, I’ll let you know.”

You rested your weight against the fridge, crossing your arms like it might protect you from his charms. He filled the space, of course he did. His stamina was shocking.

“Now: where are you taking me tomorrow?”

“I thought we’d drive and walk around.”

You measured his expression for signs of disappointment. There were none.

“What’s your favorite place in town?” He mimicked your body language, pressing his shoulderblade into the side of the doorframe and crossing his arms.

“This field down the road. We can bike there to start in the morning.”

‘This field down the road’, and you looked about to burst at its mention. He could do this forever, even with the frame jamming into his back. “What do you like about it?”

What did you like about your favorite place in the world?

“It’s quiet. But a good quiet. Like no one could bother me, or see me, and there’s this little creek that probably has a billion different bacteria in it, but it’s pretty. Lots of trees surrounding it. Big open space, lots of grass, some wild plants. Blackberries grow near the creek. I’d get sick eating so many of them and my mom would have to ban me from going, or check my fingers to see if they were stained.”

Bruce swore you didn’t even take a breath rushing it out. He also swore he’d never known the word ‘invested’ until looking at the crinkle in your eyes. “Did you find a work-around?”

“I’d squish them off the vine with a leaf, and open my mouth super wide so it didn’t stain my lips.”

He swore his smile would break his cheeks.

“I think they’re still in season, so you might get to try them.”

“You’re setting a high bar. Don’t know if they’ll measure up.”

There was a comfort in his teasing—a billowiness that caught wind. “I like when you’re not overthinking yourself.”

He eyed you. “Sure you won’t regret it?”

You nodded, sealing fate.

The glimmer in his eye intrigued you. “I really think we should revisit that kit.”

“I really think you’re humoring me, but I’ll allow it.”

Crossing the threshold from the hall to your room, guilt grabbed you by the throat. It squeezed your cheeks together, put pressure on your teeth, and made your skin hot. I’m lying to him. He wouldn’t act like this if he knew.

You grabbed the box, and the instant you brought it to your chest, Alfred bobbled in and out of your psyche. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

Steeling yourself with the memory of that and Bruce telling you—vehemently—that he’d never be upset about safety, you made your way back to the table. Walter stared at the tabletop like the secrets of humanity lied just out of reach, and Bruce pulled up the seat to your left.

No one had ever sat in that seat. You’d never realized how empty it was.

He took the initiative and opened the kit, snagging the leaflet to peruse. He kept one hand holding a packet of beads, zooming through the instructions to not waste a lick of time or show a grain of hesitancy. You wanted to make jewelry, and suddenly that was all he ever dreamed of. Out of the corner of his eye he noted you ogling at the back of his chair, and shifted in his seat. Was he sitting in some sacred space?

He cleared his throat. “‘Friendship Bracelets’, hmm.”

“We don’t actually have to follow the instructions.”

“I think it’s required.” He fixed his face with a deep concentration, scouring the page in a flurry. “Says here there’s two sets of each ‘specialty bead’.” Leaning in, he placed a finger on an imaginary line, squinting at it for good measure. ��‘If you’re making brownies, specifically at a sleepover,’”

“Bruce,” your mouth twitched.

“‘It is critical to use each set together, or the knot won’t hold.’ Crazy tech they got in this.”

You looked away, hiding your smile. So fucking ridiculous…

“This is serious business, Y/n.” He was trying to stay serious, and shit it was impossible, but he managed a confused, affronted look; he held the pamphlet to you. “Do you want to read it?”

“Fine.” You snatched it from him. “Since the kit will blow up if we don’t, what do you want to make?”

“Hm,” he reflected on it, feeling the smack of Walter’s paw at his ankle. “I believe the owner of the kit has to pick.”

The moment was almost too saccharine; the twist of your mouth as you swirled beads in your cupped hand, the subtle scent of chocolate wafting from across the room. He let his muscles relax, the chair creaking as he rested against it. He watched as you discarded blue, then purple, then green.

A delicate sound hummed from your chest. He longed to bottle it up. Bead picking was evidently deeply significant; he saw your thoughts whizzing by like a comic strip. He felt Gotham slip away into the buttery melt of being with you.

Apples, pears, bananas… apple? Peach!

It clicked, and you poured two of each into your palm. “Since I almost died from them the night I found out about you, one peach each.”

Two more. “And apples for the mulligan…”

“Mulligatawny.”

“Yes! Also because they’re ninety percent of your diet.”

It felt absurd to enjoy something this much. Just a table, circles of plastic, and some words. Simple materials for such ambrosia.

“I’ll make yours, you make mine?”

“Red and… pink?” Orange wasn’t a bead color, making him very aware that citrus had been excluded from the affair. You knotted the bottom of your string, and he followed suit. Wrapping it around your wrist, you clipped it an inch further, then slipped it to him. You got straight to work, alternating beads with practiced ease.

Pink, red, pink, red. Having a purpose to the beading that wasn’t just getting discarded in your jewelry box put you into hyperdrive. Each clink of plastic on plastic fueled the sunlight spearing through your ribs. Maybe he wanted to be here. Maybe you could trust it.

He fell behind two thirds of the way through, struck by the crooked smile creeping up on you. He’d judged you too quickly. If not for your persistence, he wouldn’t be here. Enjoying this. Feeling this.

“Which wrist do you want to wear it on?”

Done already?

Carefully setting down his work-in-progress, he held out his left wrist. You pulled the bracelet on; it fit with the perfect amount of slack, the peach and apple nestled together in the middle. He knew the second your hands left that he’d wear it until it fell apart. “I love it.”

You beamed, securing a long-awaited triumph. Feeling impossibly silly, you got up to metabolize the rush prickling your fingertips. “I’m gonna check on the brownies.”

Ripping his attention from you to the task at hand, he hurried beads onto string with manic focus until he: “Finished.” Pride circled him until he noticed his mid-job pause resulted in a solid chunk of pink too deep to redo.

You walked over and held out your right wrist. He apologized for the mistake, but you told him that was the point: “It’s homemade. I love it.” And your smile sold it to his anxious heart.

The coolness of the hollow plastic stuffed your head with static. Not even a couple hours in and he’d accomplished his mission. A silly little thing, so pathetic you wouldn’t dare name it aloud. You’d forgotten about the kit. You’d forgotten this part of you hurt.

“Peaches and apples go well together.” Pads of your fingers caressed the perimeter of the fruit, speaking just loud enough to travel the silence. “Never thought they would.”

You left him sitting there, breathless, swirling in repose as you grabbed a knife. His rose-colored glasses bloomed crimson.

“I like to cut them immediately so there’s less crumbs,” you pulled the dessert out and fussed with a hard edge, accidentally flipping a chunk to the floor. In the space of placing the knife down, your hand collided with Bruce, already knelt in front of you picking up the pieces. It was suddenly too loud, your pulse hammering in your ears.

“Thanks,” you breathed.

Bruce sunk into a calming bath under your praise. Blush shrouded his skin in words he couldn’t say as he pulled himself to his feet. As he tossed the brownie in the trash, the weight of the bracelet shifted. The first anchor he’d felt in twenty years.

taglist: @noisylime @jonathancranesgf @hedonisticwomen @vampiresvengeance @serynstorylover @crayzmarvelfan800 @dreamer7black @sarcasticwalrus0 @sad-ghouls @smellingbats @eddiew-k @kha0sblossom @omithemonki @badbishsblog

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hmhas-00 · 3 months ago

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Ch. 24

Hit Me Hard & Soft

A/N- hi loves! like & rb! 🤍

Billie’s POV

I opened up the beautifully wrapped present, leaving the bow on the table to the side. I hesitated to open the box out of fear that it might be all of my things returned from her apartment. I was afraid it would break me.

“Go on.” Ellie watched, standing behind me. She rubbed my back soothingly.

I lifted the top, revealing a big album looking book. The black leather cover was adorned with a hand-painted design themed to my album, Hit Me Hard And Soft. It was beautiful. I took my hand and ran it over the cover, feeling the texture of the acrylic paint under my fingertips.

Ellie wrapped her arms around my waist from behind, resting her head on my shoulder. “It’s so cool.”

I stayed silent, holding the book in my hands, staring at it. In the middle of the cover, was a single picture peeking through a little see through window.

The picture was of me, sitting on her couch and writing music. I didn’t even know she took the picture. Seeing it brought me back to that exact day.

“Stop crunching your chips, I’m trying to focus!” I whined, putting my hair to one side. I had been trying to finish Bittersuite all day, but I couldn’t come up with anything good. It all sounded stupid to me.

Not to Remy though. She had been enjoying my singing all day. Most of the time I’d hum or sing random melodies, with random words and gibberish that didn’t make sense, just to get something to write actual words to. Often, she’d fall asleep, or hum along. She gave me such good ideas for lyrics, or helped me decide which version to use.

Today I had been hard on myself though. And she knew it wasn’t helping.

“Billie, why don’t you just take a break?” She looked away from her laptop, wiping her hands off from chip crumbs.

“It’s at the tip of my tongue. I gotta keep going.” I said, frustrated.

She sat behind me on the couch and began to rub my shoulders. I closed my eyes at her touch. “Stop. Your forehead, you’ll get wrinkles.”

I rolled my head back, enjoying the little massage break.

“You’re doing too much. Don’t force it. That’s no fun.”

She leaned back on the couched pulling me down with her. I rested my head on her chest, letting out a deep breath.

“Let’s get some food. You’re not you when you’re hungry.” She laughed. I lightened up and we went out to eat. When we came back, we jammed on her acoustic guitar, and I ended up writing the chorus to Birds Of A Feather. She was always right.

My eyes became watery. I blinked rapidly so it wouldn’t run.

“Open it.” Ellie said, her voice soft.

“I can’t.” I held the book tight.

“Why not? Just do it.” she let go and stood next to me.

“Because. I don’t want to.” I put the book back in the gift box, shutting the top.

Ellie looked at me, perplexed. I walked away, exiting the kitchen.

“Billie, why not?!”

“I don’t care about what’s in there, it’s just going to upset me. There’s no point. If it were really that important she would’ve given it to me in person. I’ve been in LA for over a month and she hasn’t said anything to me, and then she sends a late holiday gift?”

She sighed, following me into my room. “Hey, come here.” She patted a spot on my bed and pulled my hand, forcing me to sit with her.

I dropped my head into my hands, feeling her warm embrace around me. “Tell me… What did she do, Billie?” She sounded concerned, scrambling to make my frustration go away. She genuinely wanted to help me feel better, this sweet girl. And all I could think about was how badly I wish it were Remy touching me. It made me hate myself even more.

“She never- All I wanted was- Anytime I needed her-“ I choked up, unable to get the words out without sounding selfish.

“Slow down. You’re doing great.” She rubbed my back in circles, sounding surprised I’m doing anything other than shutting down right now.

I sighed, reliving the past. “I just fucked up our friendship. I asked for too much. She had a lot on her plate and it hurt that I always had to ask her to make the effort to be there for me.”

Ellie nodded, listening attentively, allowing me to let it all out.

“She doesn’t have a lot. She just has her job, and it’s all she cares about… That’s what caused this huge fight…”

I hadn’t talked about the fight with anyone. Not even Finneas. Reliving it caused so much hurt, so much regret. I told Ellie everything I had been holding in for weeks, crying like a baby in her arms. Everything, except my true feelings for Remy.

I found myself exaggerating some things Remy said or did, in order not to sound like a psychotic bitch. Because, the story only makes sense if you know everything.

Ellie held me tight, comforting me the way I wished Remy would. I tried not to think about it too much, because it made me feel like the worst person alive.

“I get it. You wanted her to put in the same energy you did, and that’s valid.” She said, playing with my hair, once I had calmed down. She was a great listener, a great shoulder to cry on. I could tell she wanted to be more than that, and it warmed my heart.

I felt like a hypocrite. Demanding Remy to love me the way I loved her, and here, in front of me is the sweetest angel, giving me all her love and energy every single day, and I still couldn’t match her.

What I lacked emotionally, I made up for physically, and it made me feel like such a piece of shit.

“I’m sorry, Billie. That’s really hard. Ending a friendship like that… It’s gotta hurt.”

I nodded, staring off into space.

“Do you ever miss her?”

I hesitated, “I miss… before.”

She nodded, trying to understand what that meant. “Like, before the fight?”

“Before I started feeling so invisible.”

She nodded, squeezing my hand. She leaned back in my bed, sinking into the plush mattress. I followed her lead and made myself comfortable beside her.

“I want you to know, I’ll never make you feel like that. You could never be invisible to me. Not in the slightest.” She leaned over and planted a soft kiss near my ear.

My eyes fogged up, a couple tears rolling down the side of my face. She kissed my cheek next, using her thumb to wipe tears away as they fell.

I didn’t want to cry anymore. I didn’t want to keep thinking about Remy, or her words, or her using her hands to push me into a wall and scream at me, instead of pin me against it and kiss me.

I just wanted to stop thinking about it, stop crying about it. Even if it meant I was using her, in this moment I didn’t care. I just wanted to feel something other than pain.

I turned slightly, so she’d kiss my lips instead of my cheek, taking her face in my hands. She pulled away, looking at my expression, her eyes sincere.

“You okay?” She whispered, snaking a hand around my waist.

I nodded, desperately wanting her to help me forget. I pulled her face back towards mine.

“You sure?” She lifted away again.

“I’m okay.” I looked her in the eyes. She lingered in the moment, trying to read me the way Remy always did, but she wasn’t great at it yet. “I will be.” I insisted.

She nodded and I immediately crashed my lips into hers. My hands desperately explored her body, loving her smooth skin under my fingertips. My tongue aggressively found its way into her mouth, hungry for more.

I reached for her hand, intertwining it with mine, and sliding it down my sweatpants. I guided her even though I didn’t need to. Her touch felt so good, so satisfying, making me tingle and shiver, at the slightest pressure and motion. I let her hand free, knowing she didn’t need my help.

Moaning into her mouth, I tensed up, feeling every pulse and curl of her fingers.

She nibbled on my bottom lip, trailing her tongue down my neck, and lowering further until she reached my stomach. I pushed on her head, running my fingers through her hair and grabbing a handful. Her fingers slowed down, pulling completely out and rubbing on my most sensitive spots. She knew her way around my body a lot better than my mind.

“You’re getting so wet already…” she pulled down my sweats, tearing down my underwear, kissing my hips and teasing me.

I moaned at the absence of her tongue. “Please- I need you. Bad.” I tightened my grip on her hair, gently pushing her lower. “Don’t make me beg.” I ached.

She smiled, aware of her effect on me. “I won’t do that to you.” Her voice was sweet and soft, like cotton candy, and my body melted at her touch. My lower back arched and my thighs tightened around her face. You’d think she was eating the sweetest, most succulent fruit after a long day under the sun. My other hand held into the bedding, wadding it up into a ball in my fist.

I began to lose control of my reflexes, the sounds that came out of my mouth, and the thoughts in my head. Finally, I was in a state of pure bliss.

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facefullofsadness · 1 year ago

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I can't fall in love with you

university!au

crush!giselle x admirer!reader

prompt - minjeong is so in love with her girlfriend aeri, but so are you, and you can't be

content - angst, complicated relationship dynamics, alcohol usage, allusions to suicide

wc - 3378

a/n - cathartic: involving the release of strong emotions

the sky is covered with dark clouds, there must be rain today.

it's almost ironic how the weather works, considering the number of nights I've been crying recently. it's been weeks since I last talked to aeri. I've avoided her like the plague to run away from the reality of whatever was brewing inside me emotionally that I felt towards her. minjeong is an incredible girl and the only girl that should really matter in aeri's life, I can't possibly interrupt that, no matter how badly I want minjeong's girlfriend.

knowing aeri for months, we grew closer together, to each other. I got so attached to her; she listened to me, let me rant to her about anything I wanted to, important or irrelevant, took care of me in the moments where I felt out of control of my own life, guided me through the days where I didn't want to try anymore, held me and let me cry into her as I shattered into a million pieces. my heart would always swell thousands of times its original size when she would look at me with those soft and kind eyes, running her big hands through my hair and holding me close as I sobbed, her comforting words making me melt all over again.

I love her, I love her so much, but I know that having her is impossible. I'm not the girl in her life that she prioritizes above all, that she would run to even if I'm on the floor sobbing, even if she made me feel that way. I realized this and became terrified, so I ran away. I abandoned her even after promising to never do so, ghosting her in an effort to leave her to live her life as normal, without so much baggage weighing on her shoulders because of me. but I so badly wanted to go back to her, run into her embrace that would instantly cure me of my agony, but I fought myself instead.

I was a fool to think I could listen to my brain and not follow my heart. cause as I drink the last of my third bottle of alcohol of the night, drunk out of my mind, I couldn't stop myself from texting her. of course, I should've thrown out my phone long ago. incoherent words send themselves to aeri, letters I can barely comprehend. but only minutes later, my vision clears when she replies:

</3: come to the playground

the playground near my apartment, a place we knew well, a place we went to for amusement or solace. maybe, this time it was more for conclusion.

"I hate when you're like this."

aeri says as I stumble over myself to reach the pole holding the swing set up.

"you act like I'm self-destructive or something," I respond sarcastically, slurring over my words, the alcohol in my system taking over completely.

she sighs at what I said, "don't joke around. I don't want you killing yourself... don't you see how hard I'm trying for you? don't you know how much I care about you y/n? how fucking heartbreaking it is to see you like this?"

even intoxicated, I can hear the venom in her voice as she gets irritated with me.

I chuckle back, "oh whatever aeri, don't waste your energy on me."

"fuck you y/n, I can't keep doing this," aeri raises her voice, desperation and exhaustion evident in it.

silence hangs for a second as my world spins, vision blurry, the darkness of the night not helping at all. my stomach churns and my heart burns, aching. all the things I want to confess to her getting stuck in my throat, unable to release itself.

I hiccup once before uttering out, "then leave, don't waste your time on me."

the sound of aeri clenching her fists around the metal supports of the swing are loud enough to be heard, but then, it's silent again. the summer late night breeze flows through the air, a solo lamp post above us providing us with the faintest amount of light, distant chirps of cicadas to accompany the noise of passing cars in the street nearby. then, a choked sob from the girl next to me.

I turn towards her, almost throwing up at the sudden movement. aeri's crying, a single tear falls from her right eye, running down her cheek and falling to the sand below. there's no follow-up sobs, just silent teardrops running down her sweet devastated looking face. my whole chest tightens at the sight, making my head spin more as the alcohol clashes with my heartbreak.

"y/n, if you wanted to leave me, you should've just said so..." it's practically a whisper, barely audible to my dazed mind, but I'm fully zoned in on listening to anything aeri has to say in this moment.

her words sink in however, my stomach unsettled from a mixture of the verbal heartbreak and the physical coping mechanism dancing together in tragic collaboration.

"if you were just gonna leave me hanging for so long, you could've just told me," her voice is louder, "do you know how long I waited for you? do you know how badly I missed you? how badly I wanted to reach out to you? it's not like it would've mattered considering you'd just ignore me."

she continues, "I've tried so, fucking, hard, to ignore how badly it aches being without you," each word added with a pause to emphasize herself. "every single second that has passed since you left me, all I've been able to think about is you."

her eyes close shut as she now uses her hands as her emotions pour out her mouth, "I literally cannot stop thinking about you. my fucking head is just filled with you, you, you. I can't be normal, if my ears aren't filled with noise then the thoughts of you come flowing back in and I can't stop them from being loud."

she hangs her head, her arms falling limp beside her, voice quieting down into defeated sighs, "you promised y/n, you promised me you wouldn't leave. but I can't hate you, I've never been able to hate you or dislike you or feel an ounce of disdain or contempt towards you because I don't, I never will be able to. I only but love you. and I can't stop loving you and I don't know how to stop, I don't know if I'll ever be able to stop, even if I tried it wouldn't work because I HAVE tried. and even then, I still fucking love you."

deafening silence hangs once again in the air, the tension palpable. I feel my chest squeeze, the overwhelming rush of emotions colliding with my fragile heart, feeling the liquid courage in my system turn to regret.

"always so eloquent with words, aren't you aeri?" my voice manages to squeak out, surprising myself, "but never enough to read the room."

she turns to look at me, eyes filled with tears. I hesitate from speaking, the words I want to say stuck at the back of my throat, stopping them from spilling out. if I weren't drunk enough to care, I'd listen to my thoughts, but my body reacts on its own, knowing that if I don't speak now, I'll hold this suppressed pain till the end.

"why do you think I've avoided you? why do you think I needed the space and distance? because I didn't want to see you? because I didn't wanna talk to you anymore? because you didn't make me happy anymore? didn't make me feel like the only girl to ever exist in this wicked fucking world, the only person to truly see and love me, the only person to make me feel like I mattered?"

I can't hold myself back as my emotions overflow from my tongue, unable to halt its onslaught, no longer in control of my own self.

I become louder, choked sentences turning into audible begs for her to listen, "do you really think my words meant nothing? that I didn't mean it when I said all those things to you? that you were the first person, the only person I would go to when I felt like shit? did you even listen to me?!"

"of course I fucking listened to you y/n! why are you acting like I'm stupid?!" aeri argues with me.

"because you're blind aeri!" I argue back, "can't you see?! can't you fucking see what's going on?!"

"I don't understand!"

"I'm in love with you aeri! I'm in love with all of you, every single part of you! I love your smile, your voice, your laugh, your body, your hands holding mine, your warm comforting hugs, your hums when I lay on your chest, your pats on my back when everything is too overwhelming, the affirmation you give when I feel like dying, the interest you show when I rant about something stupid, the shine in your eyes when you talk about your interests, the gentleness you give me when I'm crying, the love you make me feel when you simply exist in my presence and even if we're not together you still make me feel like I matter! I fucking love you!!!"

drops of rain softly fall to the ground around us, a light drizzle slowly emerging from the sky, the weight of my outburst heavy in the air.

my voice croaks, almost whispering, "I've fallen so deeply and harshly and intensely in love with you, every part of my body aches because while I love you, I cannot have you. I know you love me too but you can't love me the way I so desperately want you to, the way I so desperately love you."

the moon glistens in her eyes, shiny with tears and cheeks trailing with raindrops. so much pain painted on her face, and yet she's still so beautiful, my heart longs even harder for aeri.

"being around you makes me feel like the angel you say I am, makes me feel like I'm floating above the clouds and you're the reason why I'm able to do that, makes me feel like nothing else matters as long as I have you. but it also reminds me of how it's all not real, how I can't just have you, that I'm not your only one. it's minjeong and it should be, but my god do I wish it were me..." my voice weakens with the last part of the sentence, the tears streaming down my trembling cheeks.

"so aeri, I'm inexplicably sorry for breaking your heart, but mine is shattered too. my reality, this reality, it's unbearable, and I so badly yearn for you. I've been agonizingly in pain wanting you, needing you ever since I've left with no words, but resisting it because I can't ruin the good thing you and minjeong have. no matter how insanely desperate I am for you, I know it's not right for me to fight myself for you."

we both cry silently, the slight rustle of leaves from the trees around us in harmony with the serene but heartbreaking drizzle of rain muffled by the sand of the dark abandoned playground. it pained me greatly watching the love of my life look so utterly torn apart in front of me, me being the reason aeri was so broken. all I want to do is reach out to her, cup her precious face into my hands, wipe the salty tears from her cheeks, and kiss her plump trembling lips, reassure her that everything will be okay. but again, I can't, I couldn't, my shoes glued to the floor and hands clutching the material of my jacket, like I could hold in the pain aching in my chest.

"y/n..." her voice shaky, tone unrecognizable compared to the comforting and confident girl I knew, "I love you."

even though her voice was weak, what she said made my knees wanna give out, buckling at her words. she had told me she loved me before but this time she sounded different, it made my churning stomach fill with butterflies. my chest pounded harder as aeri started to walk closer to me, tiny but impactful steps as she was almost up against me. her warm hands carefully cupping my cheeks, thumbs caressing my skin and wiping my tears away as I melt completely into her touch. as my eyes close, I feel her forehead rest against mine, aeri's soft lips very slightly grazing mine, my hands falling to slip themselves into her hoodie, holding her close by her waist, afraid to let go.

I clutch her tightly, a contrast to the soft grasp aeri's hands hold my face in, so warm on my cheeks. even for this small moment in time that the two of us settle in, I feel all my anxiety and agony wash away with the rain, comforted and at peace with the world when I'm with her, the girl I'm so tragically in love with holding me like it's the only thing either of us want, need. god I wish this moment would last forever.

what I would give to kiss her right now. how badly I want to just close the miniscule amount of distance between us and feel her soft lips mold against my strawberry soju flavored ones. how desperately I want to pull her into me and never let go, making out with her breathlessly. and how painfully I hold myself back, restricting myself from acting upon any urge I harbor, not letting myself give my everything to the woman I love.

"aeri... I love you," my voice breaks in a sob, "and I'm sorry..."

I take a good look at my one and only girl for the last time, observing her perfection, how ethereal aeri uchinaga is to me. then I rip myself away from her warmth, turning and never looking back, tears welling up in my eyes and blurring my vision of the already pitch black night.

I run. I run and run. I keep running. I cry, furiously. I can't see anything. all I can hear is the sound of my own sobs as I throw myself against the wall of a building and shrink to the floor, wailing into my arms.

the days that followed were a blur. I don't remember how the night ended, how I got home, what happened after, nothing. I didn't touch my phone, didn't contact or respond to anyone, just rotted the days away in my bed, eating or using the bathroom when my stomach hurt too much. not even a knock at the door would force me to get up from my asylum, not a phone call, not an urgent emergency, not anything that could possibly be of importance. simply because nothing mattered. I used to believe it would all be okay if nothing did matter, but my reason to keep believing is gone now, she's all gone.

looking out the window all day, the clouds were dark and heavy, steady drizzling from the sky once again. I took a trip to the kitchen, interrupted by a white envelope on the floor near the door. it compelled me forward, shakily opening it and feeling all of my emotions run back to me as soon as I recognized the handwriting.

dear y/n,

I don't know anymore. I've thought a lot about everything and I just, I've got nothing. nothing to tell you that'll make everything okay, that'll solve any problems or issues, that'll make anyone feel better. I'm sorry y/n, for letting all of this happen. I've come to the realization that it's out of my hands, emotions and love, they act on their own, but while I'm sure I can't completely blame myself for how you feel about me, I could've let you go softly instead of letting you love me, even if I didn't know. I got close to you, closer than I've ever gotten I think to anyone, not minjeong, not my friends, not my family, you. I should've known that our clinginess to each other would lead to such a demise.

I write all of this to say, ultimately, I love you. I still love you, I don't think I can bring myself to stop loving you, again, even if I tried, I wouldn't be able to. I'll be leaving soon, the fall semester is gonna start and I'll be gone and out of your hair in more ways than one before you know it. not that it matters but me and minjeong broke up. it was never gonna work out between us considering the differences in what we wanted and how impossible it was for us to be with one another. I could sense the end for us, I could feel her falling out of love with me. unfortunately I've lost one too many people I've loved deeply and I don't think I can reasonably recover ever from this.

y/n, if you're ever ready to love me again, in any way, shape, or form, I'll be there. I want you to know I'll never stop loving you, again, I fucking can't. I don't know why I keep holding onto you when I know it's over, I know we're over, I know you don't want to, or wish you could stop giving a fuck about me. so goodbye y/n. thank you for making me just the happiest girl I could've been for as long as you existed in this life of mine. you made me feel beautiful, gave me butterflies, made me feel like if everything in life fell apart and that if it was just me and you that it would be perfectly fine, like nothing or no one mattered as long as it was just us, you made me feel so fucking incredible, inside and out. I've never felt such euphoria from anyone before, and haven't felt so gorgeous until you came around, like the goddess you treated me as.

admittedly, I think you were slowly but very effectively taking my heart. I never let myself dwell on those thoughts for too long but deep down I knew that it was true. everything you said that night when I held your precious face in my hands, I couldn't ignore it, I was falling for you too. I wanted to kiss you so bad, to close my eyes as our lips met and ignore the world falling apart around us, but you pulled away and I stood there with my hands in the air covered in rain, feeling my heart break all over again. I love minjeong and I'll continue to love her till I die, but I don't think I was in love with her anymore, but in love now with you. letting you steal my heart while minjeong's heart was in my hands is regrettable, I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself even if she never knows. though, I don't regret having fallen for you, I mean I wouldn't have if there was no reason to, right? but ultimately, it's my fault for letting two incredible people fall in love with me, someone who couldn't keep their hearts from breaking in the end.

I can't promise you this little life of mine will last long, I'm, broken, shattered, and quite frankly, I don't wanna try loving anymore, I think this might've been my last straw. I've never been good with love, you know that, and yet you loved me, maybe you still do. I don't know if I can handle anyone else falling in love with me and letting myself fumble with their precious emotions any longer, so taking out the middle man feels like the conclusion I've reached. we both ended up breaking our promises of staying for each other, didn't we? how ironic, isn't it y/n? I'm sorry for leaving you, but I can't find it in my own fragile heart to stay. so, thank you for being my friend, my love, mine.

I'll protect you from the other side,

your aeri

the rain outside started to pour.

274 notes · View notes

bittersuitejacobs · 4 months ago

Text

• an unhealthy obsession • Nate Jacobs •

three. knignt in shining armour

Summary: In which Ophelia is making friends with the right people in order to finally get the attention she's been craving from the person she wants. She ends up getting much more than she'd anticipated.

Warnings: heavy drinking, implied obsessive behaviour, manipulative behaviour.

A/N: 5022 words. here this is. It's crazy how much i write about this fic/these characters compared to how little I've published. Anyways here's a fun headcanon I have; Nate's favourite Saw movie is Saw 3D, but it will change to Spiral after Spiral comes out. Ophelia's is Saw 6 because her favourite trap is the shotgun carousel. Neither of them care for any of the Child's Play movies. 😌 This has no relevance on the plot of the fic, just a fun fact. lov u.

{ masterpost }

THE TAGLIST IS ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

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More eyes are upon her now, but she's so used to keeping her head down. It's an urge she has to temper, despite how strange it is to stand out, she's dressing the part, she fights the habit she has of making herself blend into the background.

Ophelia has to get comfortable of making a spectacle of herself, at least until the right eyes are upon her.

And what better place to be loud than in a sea of people all cheering along?

This is where she allows herself to be loud. The cheering is done at the top of her lungs, even - especially - for the cheerleaders.

"Yeah Cassie! Yeah the girls!" She hollers with glee and a wide, unabashed smile. Cassie, in formation, wears a pleased little smile, eyes searching the crowd for the source of support. Upon seeing Ophelia's grin, Ophelia's eyes trained on her, her grin widens. Ophelia sees the cheerleaders aren't the only ones who noticed. Nate, who'd been talking to the coach of the football team - his dad, Cal, if Ophelia wasn't mistaken - while the rest were warming up on the field, pauses, and looks at her for a long moment. Ophelia catches it in her peripheries as she continues to cheer and clap for the cheerleading team. She pretends she doesn't see him. But her heart leaps at the thought that he'd noticed her amongst the crowd.

That following Monday at school, Cassie once again recognises her at lunch where she's sitting with Lexi, Rue, and Jules. Rue and Jules are caught up in conversation between themselves, but Maddie gives Ophelia a curious look. Cassie's stopped beside her to talk to her and Lexi. She invites Ophelia to hang out after the next game - so long as the team wins. However, smug smile on her face, Maddie assures her that with Nate - her boyfriend again after their recent break - as quarterback, they surely would.

Ophelia rolls her skirt in the bathroom before her next class, shortening the hem by another inch and a half before algebra. Nate looks bored in the back of the classroom when she swans in before the bell rings. Until he recognises her. She pretends not to see him, and sits, as usual, at the front of the class by the window. Tucking her pen behind her ear, she spends these few moments looking engrossed in her phone. His eyes burn into her; she can feel it. He's at the back of the room, same row as her. When she looks around, pretends to be searching for something, their eyes meet. A sunny but otherwise blank smile graces her features, but her gaze quickly moves on, fixing on a poster on the back wall. The signifier of a pleasant disposition, but also indicating that she didn't really think about him, or know him. The kind of smile a cheerful individual would give a stranger.

Nate didn't look away. Nate frowns, but it's not unkind, it's more... Thoughtful. Nate watches her.

Ophelia has caught his eye.

Ophelia starts giving Maddie and Cassie smiles wherever they see each other, always with a warmth and sincerity that indicated familiarity. Cassie gives a proper introduction after cheerleading practice walking home together. Ophelia lies and says Cassie's house is on the way to hers when it decidedly isn't, but she'd been at this practice for this specific reason. She wants to know Maddie better, wants to be closer. Most importantly, she needs to put herself in Nate's orbit. So she admits she uses the cheerleaders for figure practice, shows a few select pieces, and Maddie and Cassie take her compliments exactly as she'd hoped.

They want her around, and she's more than happy to oblige.

Often Ophelia sees Nate in passing when she's with Maddie - they're on right now in their on-again-off-again thing. He doesn't stay long, and he never really talks to her, but maybe that's because every time he's around Cassie makes a point of ignoring Nate in favour of Ophelia. Like she's using her as a social buffer, a shield so she doesn't have to think about the quietly disdainful or leering looks Nate gives her. Even Ophelia notices, but she also knows Nate doesn't look at her like that. But he does look at her, even if she never meets his gaze if she can help it. She's done watching. She likes being watched now.

She makes sure she gives him something pretty to look at.

Her skirts are always pastel, and she's shortened them. She's invested in thigh-high socks and the kind of mascara that could withstand a hurricane. Her sweaters always match her skirt but in a rich, jewel-toned version of the colour that's desaturated on her lower half. Small backpack, blue binder for her notes, she carries all her books for the day in her arms, stacked on top of her binder. They make her seem smaller than she is - quite the feat considering her petite frame. But her sweater and the silk, floral button-down shirts beneath cling delicately to the ample chest her mother blessed her with and cursed her for.

Ophelia knows how to make herself and object of desire if she so chooses to.

And now, she most certainly is choosing to.

Cassie fawns over her wardrobe and doll-like features and heart shaped face. Rue gently mocks this friendship, but Jules calls it sweet. Says Ophelia's style is so cute, so sweet, so - she gets a text and checks it giddily. Rue and Ophelia share an exasperated look; Jules' phone has been interrupting them a lot lately.

The next football game she attends, she makes sure she's in the front row of the stands. The scrunchies in her pigtails are in the school's colours, and she opts for pale, blue denim short-shorts over black leggings and a cream, silk button-down with little, lilac flowers on. The dark blue denim jacket she'd pulled out of one of her father's boxes in the attic absolutely dwarfs her; the sleeves almost swallow her hands, so when she cheers and claps, she looks so small yet so bright. Jules tells her she looks cute. Rue had said she'd rather die than go to the game when Ophelia had invited her along too.

Cassie gives a playful wink to her in the front row as the cheerleaders join the field, and Maddie even gives her a wave. The cheerleaders are there, warming up the crowd, in preparation for the teams. Jules mutters that Nate is an asshole when she catches him looking over at them. Ophelia knows he's been glancing over at them since he'd been on the field, but this is the first time Jules's actually noticed. Ophelia let's herself properly look at him, lets him see her giving him her attention. He looks away swiftly. Ophelia asks idly how she knows him. Jules's expression pinches at the question before she admits that he's the drunk asshole who threatened her at McKay's party the other week.

Ophelia looks to her, eyebrows raised. Knowing what she does of Nate, she's not exactly surprised, but she is curious. What had set him off? Jules doesn't seem to know either, but she has her theories, she tells Ophelia with a scowl.

"But I also feel like he's the kind of guy who would go off for no reason," Jules muses, looking back out to the field, "Rue says he's always been a dick." Ophelia looks back onto the field, considering this new and unfortunate information. Nate is warming up with the rest of his team, no longer paying them any attention.

"I don't know much about him, honestly," Ophelia lies, voice soft and contemplative, "I've never really paid him any attention."

It's easier to compartmentalize this new information and enjoy the night rather than dwell on it. Jules is good company, and as soon as she feels Ophelia's energy, she matches it. They both cheer at the top of their lungs, beaming, and Jules laughs when she admits that she doesn't think she'd care at all about any of this if she wasn't swept up in the hype alongside the rest of the crowd and Ophelia.

But when their team wins, and Ophelia asks is Jules wants to come to the celebration Cassie had invited her to, she can't deny quick enough. There's no way she'd be caught dead near a drunk, victorious Nate Jacobs if she can help it. While Ophelia pouts, but ultimately tells her she understands, and that she hopes Jules gets home safe, she's ultimately glad. She has a feeling that things could get complicated with Jules around.

So Cassie, Ophelia, and Maddie get a ride with one of the other cheerleaders to whichever footballer's house was being celebrated at tonight. Maddie scoffs that even if they won, that didn't mean anything for her and Nate. Ophelia remains quiet, observant, cataloguing all these interactions for future reference.

Maddie and Nate are in one of their off periods apparently. Why, Ophelia isn't sure, but she doesn't look this gift horse in the mouth; she's just glad that complication is already resolved before her night really begins.

This party is like so many she'd attended before, but now she's by the side of these girls who garnered the spotlight. Now people were looking at her like she belonged there with them. Still, she played the role of the wallflower forced to bare their stares. The others talk to their classmates, and Ophelia slips into the crowd the moment she gets the chance. Ducking and weaving through the crowd, she makes sure Nate sees her without letting him know that she'd seen him, avoiding him in the heart of the noise and revelry. In the kitchen, she gets herself a cider and pointedly ducks past him as he was entering the room, like the whole affair was overwhelming enough that she hasn't even realised it was him. He calls out pointedly - hey - in a way to try and catch her attention, but it's not her name, so she's got enough plausible deniability.

Somewhere in the middle there she takes off her jacket and pulls the scrunchies from her hair; at a glance, or from behind, she doesn't look like the girl who arrived at the party earlier in the night.

Finally she sets herself up on the back porch, after spending a good half an hour bouncing between the edge of the dancing inside and the kitchen, doing her best to avoid Nate or Cassie or Maddie while pretending not to. Sitting on the railing, on her fourth drink, she's watching several footballers trying to start a bonfire. Smoking a cigarette, she waits, but didn't have to wait long. Nate drinks and gets high on occasion, she knows this, has seen him do so at several other parties where he'd never even been aware of her existence or attendance. But he doesn't smoke. It's Ophelia's only other vice. She hopes it doesn't put him off of her, but for now she's willing to take that chance. She'd consider quitting for him, but not before they'd even had a conversation.

Ankles crossed, she catches Nate leaving the back door in her peripheries, passing her without even registering her on the way to the others by the bonfire. There's a frustrated energy to him, despite the brightness with which he greets his friends. She thinks she hears someone laugh about 'Maddie being a bitch again' a few minutes after they finally get the fire going, and Nate rolls his eyes, taking another sip of his drink. Ah, mystery solved. Dropping her ashen cigarette butt into the garden below, she takes another sip of her drink.

Nate is distracted. Watching him is so familiar it's almost comforting, and though she knows she's been refraining as part of her plan, there's a relief that comes with it. Like the nicotine in her lungs, being around Nate makes her head spin, and she'd missed that feeling. His friends barely notice that he's more frustrated than usual, but Ophelia does.

And then he sees her. This time, she doesn't immediately avert her gaze. For a beat, he frowns, but there's a curiosity in his eyes as he finally registers her, and in the next moment, Ophelia looks down, opening up her little purse and pulling out another cigarette. Holding her cider secure between her knees, she keeps her focus on the task at hand, clicking her lighter to life. When she raises her head, he's still watching her. Only when she raises her eyebrows at him in amusement does he look away.

It couldn't be nothing, just a singular, fleeting moment. But she feels like it's not.

Still, she doesn't approach him. She wants him to be the one to cross the space between them, to prove all her effort hadn't been in vain.

Instead, she pulls out her phone and checks her Instagram DMs. People are loving her latest painting on her story, a rather twisted, almost eldritch version of a character from a horror web series she adored, covered in blood. Even though most people didn't know who he was, they appreciated the artistry. Getting caught up talking to her father about his day - he's in Munich for Oktoberfest - she actually doesn't notice that she has company until they ask what she's drinking. Ophelia gives a start, but then there's a hand on her shoulders steadying her before she can fall. When Ophelia looks up, it's Nate.

"What?" She's actually caught off guard, and has no idea what he asked. He asks her again with an amused grin, and Ophelia notes that he seems far less irrate than before, "cider," but when she pick up her bottle, she realises it's empty.

"You want another?"

"Sure," she says slowly; her confusion is genuine, but so is her gratefulness. He takes her empty bottle too, and tells her he'll be back. He's still smiling; Ophelia can feel her heart beat in her throat.

It's happened. First real contact, and it had taken her completely by surprise. Quickly texting her dad that she'd talk more with him later, she shoves her phone back into her bag and finished the last of her cigarette before Nate rejoins her.

When he returns and hands her the drink, she thanks him sunnily, taking a sip as he moves to lean on the railing beside her. Silence lapses out between them for a few moments as they both watch the bonfire, but Ophelia steels her nerves and is the one to break it.

"You played well tonight," she offers easily. Nate's grin widens, even though he doesn't look at her. There's something shark-like in it, something suddenly hungry. So Ophelia ducks her gaze, acting vaguely abashed; she knows he can see her in his peripheries, "though you always do." Quickly she picks up her drink and takes a long sip.

"Ophelia Chase likes the way I play," he laughs quietly, sounding rather proud, and Ophelia feels herself flush. How is he the one surprising her?

"Nate Jacobs knows my full name," she snickers, trying to remain casual. It seems to work, as he finally looks to her, giving a noncommittal hum for a moment before deciding to explain.

"We have class together, of course I know your name," he pointed out, "Miss Chase," and there's no missing the flirty notes in his voice as he mimics the way their teachers would identify her. Then, for a moment, his expression twists just a little, "and you're Cassie's new, little friend." She knows what he means, knows she's friends with Maddie too. But Ophelia refuses to push on that particular point tonight.

"Didn't realise you paid so much attention to who Cassie was friends with," instead she gives him an abashed smile, but Nate's charm is relentless.

"Only when they're worth paying attention to."

It feels like a dream. He's flirting with her, making her blush, smirking at her in a way that only means trouble. She has to look away as she mumbled that she's flattered. Maybe it's that she underestimates his charm, or overestimated her ability to handle it. The buzzing of Nate's phone drew his attention and gave her a brief reprieve, but the tension returns to him as he reads whatever the message says.

"It's everything okay?"

"It's nothing," he mutters dismissively, glancing over his shoulder to the back door. It's Maddie, inside, still probably mad at him.

"Don't feel like you need to stay here," she assured him gently, her smile understanding, "I'm sure I'll be fine." But Nate slips his phone back into his pocket, bracing his hands on the railing as he leans against it.

"Did you really come here just to be by yourself?" He teases, and Ophelia feels quietly vindicated by the fact that he'd noticed, but pretends like that hasn't been her intention all night.

"Well my friends don't smoke," she laughs awkwardly, fidgeting with her drink before she takes another sip.

"Then why do you?" He's regarding her with curious intrigue, "you don't seem like the type."

"I wish I wasn't the type," she sighed, leaning back a little too far. Even if she doesn't show it, she definitely enjoys the way his gaze turns the faintest bit concerned as he watches her on the railing. Without a word, he shifts closer, hand coming to rest, solid and warm, on the small of her back. He's trying to be casual about it, especially when Ophelia sits back up straight, but she doesn't let the moment go, "thank you, Nate," she mumbles softly.

"'s fine," he responds easily, shrugging and retracting his hand. His focus is once more on the fire, expression pensive, "why are you here, Miss Chase?" He asks in a way that's so carefully casual it sounds like a trap. When Ophelia plays dumb, looking up at him with wide-eyed confusion, she sees the strange, little smile he wears. But he refuses to look at her, "you say you're just out here because your friends don't smoke, but I don't think you want to be here at all."

"I don't know what to say to that," Ophelia admits with a soft laugh, "what makes you say that?"

"All night, it seemed like you're avoiding... everyone," it's incredibly telling, Ophelia thinks. He'd noticed how clearly she'd been avoiding him all night, but didn't want to sound presumptuous.

"Are we including now?" She can't help but giggle, and something in her chest lights up when her remark makes Nate huff a quiet laugh. Then, however, he looks down, he meets her gaze; he's curious.

"I think you're being polite because I got you a drink," he tells her frankly, "do you want me to leave you alone?"

Absolutely not.

"Why did you get me a drink?"

"Wanted to ask why you were staring at me just before."

"Was I staring?" Ophelia's eyes widen with faux surprise, "I didn't- I'm sorry." After a moment she ducks her gaze before looking over to the bonfire where she'd been watching him earlier. After a long moment of deliberation, she sits up straighter, clearing her throat and proclaiming she needed another drink.

It's a fine line to walk between purposefully graceful, and accidentally clumsy. Well, it appears accidental; she turns on the railing but starts to over balance. She grabs the support beam beside her, just in case, but still feels Nate brace against her back, catching her before she can even begin to fall.

"Oh," she says so softly, eyes wide and surprised as she takes her time adjusting to this situation. Nate asks if she's alright, and Ophelia tips her head back against his chest, looking straight up at him with bewilderment. Cheeks flush with embarrassment and the copious amounts of liquor she'd consumed, she mumbled, "I'm fine?" With a practiced, flustered sweetness about her, it comes out more like a question. Another moment passes, and Ophelia looks away just as Nate finally behind to smile, like he'd decided that he was endeared by her intoxicated antics.

"You want some help there?" He doesn't even wait for her answer, curling his arm around her to steady her. Ophelia makes a token effort at protesting, insisting this time that she is fine, which just makes Nate laugh quietly. Or maybe it's that she's saying all this while bracing herself against him rather than the house's support beam beside her when she tries again to turn and get back to the patio side of the railing.

"See," she recovers her composure when her feet are safely on the ground, "I told you, I'm fine," she gave a cheerful smile, as if completely oblivious to how close they were, and Nate's hand on her waist. Nate humours her, telling her he was just making sure, just in case, but there's something in his eyes when he looks her over that has Ophelia's heartrate pick up. It's almost like intrigue, something hungry there... In this moment, Ophelia had two thoughts in rapid succession. The first is that, again, he's fucking easy as hell to read. Taking care of a pretty, little thing like Ophelia was a quick way to play to his own ego.

The second, that comes in only moments later, is that Ophelia's never felt quite so small before, or maybe it's that she'd never actually realised how overwhelmingly tall Nate was. This close, Nate is overwhelmingly... a lot. But the more out of it Ophelia acted, the less inclined he seemed to letting her go.

"Maybe I just need some water," Ophelia frowned a little, scrunching up her face for a moment as she looked around. It was still loud inside, and she genuinely didn't want to go in there right now. Honestly she didn't want to leave this moment; she can't quite believe it's worked out so well. Then, she looks back up to Nate, finding her voice again, "you're one of the guests of honour," she reminds him with a giggle, "I'm sure everyone's waiting for you to grace them with your presence; don't stay here on my account, I promise I'm really fine now." Despite this, she shifts her weight so she was leaning into his grip.

"Is that your polite way of telling me to fuck off?" He teases as he gazed down at her, giving her a gentle squeeze. The moment he meets her gaze, Ophelia feels herself flush.

"I'd never dream of telling someone to eff off." She tells him with conviction, dedicating even her vocabulary to this sweet act. Nate's eyebrows rise in genuine surprise; she gets the feeling he's trying not to laugh at her.

"You don't even swear?" After a beat, he turns amused, "that makes more sense than you smoking," he admits.

"I can be both types!" Ophelia bristles, finally stepping out of his grip; again, Nate laughs. He leans back against the bannister, letting her step away, but his eyes don't leave her.

"Clearly; you're also the type to be friends with a slut like Cassie Howard, I'm sure you're full of surprises," Nate's candid harshness catches Ophelia so off guard that she takes an actual step back, reflexively frowning. It kind of feels like a test, but she won't recognise it as such until well after the conversation. In the moment, her expression falls.

"Unnecessary," she responds softly, "Cassie's nice."

"Yeah, so I've heard," Nate smirks, tone laden with innuendo. There's a shift, however, with Ophelia's unexpectedly firm defence of her friend. Suddenly his gaze is no longer on her, Nate's looking out to the bonfire again. Ophelia is craving another cigarette already; the conversation feels so far out of her depth, she's freefalling and it has her feeling nauseous.

"Maybe I need- need more than water," she fusses with the clasp of her bag, "I think I need to go home."

"Who's making sure you get home safe?" Nate asks, sounding almost purposefully casual. Ophelia isn't sure if he's hitting on her, or if it's his protective instincts showing themselves once again. When she doesn't answer, but also doesn't move, he looks back at her, explaining, "because your friends don't smoke, but we both know they also aren't the type to leave parties early." Ophelia interprets it as mostly protective, but can't help but push her luck just a little more.

"The Uber driver, I'm sure, will deliver me home, safe and sound; why? You don't have to worry about me, Nate Jacobs," And she's actually giggling like it's an absurd idea. But even if she's not consciously trying to manipulate him, she can't seem to help herself. It gets his attention, even if she doesn't see it, even if she's focused on pulling out her phone to order her ride home, Nate is once more focused on her, even if he seems aware that he shouldn't admit that he wants to worry about her. This is the only interaction he believes they've shared.

"At least let me know when you get back to your place."

"I'll send a carrier pigeon upon my safe arrival -" Ophelia's giggling has not subsided, and in fact continues until the phone is snatched from her hands, "- hey!" Her indignant yelp probably catches the attention of some of his friends by the bonfire, but she's past the point of caring.

Then she's back in his space, trying to grab her phone as well she can think about is how much evidence of her obsession the little device has. If he were to browse her photo gallery alone he could probably argue a case for bypassing a temporary restraining order against her and immediately getting something permanent. Panic takes her hostage, propriety going out of the window as she practically throws herself at him -

"Give me back my phone!"

"I'm giving you my number, calm down," Nate explains, half amused, half exasperated, holding the phone out of his reach with one hand, trying to settle her with the other. Then when she goes quiet, goes still, her intense gaze remains focused on her phone in his hand. Until she realises he's once again holding back laughter.

"What?"

"What do you have on here, Ophelia Chase?"

"Can you just put your number in so I can go home?" She pouted, refusing to step back, "I'm sleepy, and I think I'm drunk, and -"

"You're definitely drunk," Nate's lips twitch into a smirk, but he finally lowers the phone so he can start typing his number into her contacts. Except the screen's gone dark. He turns it to face Ophelia, clearly expecting her to unlock it without taking it from her.

"Why are you doing this?" She muttered, still toe to toe with him, "you're being..." but Ophelia can't bring herself to even vaguely insult him; she wants this, even if she also really wants him to give back her phone.

"You're being drunk," he tells her flatly, "I'm just looking out for you since Maddie and her friends clearly abandoned you."

After a moment to process, to settle on her reaction, Ophelia finally steps back from him, practically sulking as she insists that they hadn't abandoned her. However, before Nate can argue his point further, she distracts him by conceding, pressing her thumb to the home button of her phone and unlocking it for him.

Taking another step back, she finally gives in to her craving and pulls another cigarette from her purse. When her lighter flicks too life, she's focused on inhaling, and misses the brief frown he gives her. Silence lapses out between them, with Ophelia putting even more distance between them as pulls the hair off of her face, out of the way of the cigarette glowing where it was poised between her lips, tying it half-up with one of the scrunchies around her wrist. The other drops to the ground, but she doesn't notice.

Nate hands back her phone, finally.

"I can order my Uber now?" She huffed sulkily.

"Already have," and right as he says it, Ophelia registers that the app is open, a ride booked too pick her up and take her home to the address she'd labelled as home in the app.

"Thanks," Ophelia sighs, finally pulling her jacket on, making her unsteady way to the back door, "I'll, um, message when I'm home."

"Good," is all Nate says on the matter; he's strangely aloof as he watches her go back into the house, but after that, Ophelia has other things to worry about.

But everything from stepping back inside, to the ride home, to finally crashing into bed, is a blur. She's very nearly asleep, still fully dressed, with her promise to Nate forgotten, when her phone starts to buzz with texts. Groaning, she reaches for where she'd thrown her phone on the bed, to see a series of texts from Nate. Honestly, she only knows it's Nate because his name is in bold at the top of the screen, the messages themselves are refusing to stay still on the screen for her tired, inebriated mins. So she calls him.

"I love how invested you are in my wellbeing," she blurts out with a giggle, it's too honest by half, but when she's this drunk she doesn't care. Nate is quite on the other end, so Ophelia continues, "I thought you gave me your number, how do you have mine?"

"Called myself from your phone when I put it in," Nate explains shortly. Ophelia's giggling again, assuring him that she wasn't murdered, that she was fine, just like she kept insisting to him earlier, "I'm just glad you're safe; anyone would worry about you with the state you left in."

"And what state is that?" Ophelia can't help her teasing tone, but Nate pauses, and there's something in his voice that has heat pooling low in Ophelia's gut.

"Pretty and helpless."

"Oh."

It feels like she's burning from three words alone. Also, it's proof that despite all the unanticipated turns the conversation had taken, he'd taken the bait.

Hook, line, and sinker.

"You think I'm pretty?" She can't help the sweet notes of disbelief bleeding into her voice. Ophelia can practically hear Nate smirking on the other end of the line.

"Good night, Miss Chase."

#euphoria imagine #nate jacobs imagine #nate jacobs x reader #euphoria x reader #euphoria oc #euphoria original character #euphoria x oc #euphoria x original character #nate jacobs fanfiction #nate jacobs fanfic #nate jacobs x original character #nate jacobs x oc #nate imagine #nate x oc #nate x original character #nate x reader #bittersuite words

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atzlovr · 4 months ago

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Through blood and petals

Series masterlist

A/N: As previously stated this is my first ff ! All opinions and feedback is appreciated :)

Pairing : Mafia!San x reader (not written in this chapter though)

Warnings : angst, san gets traumatized, major character death (it all works out in the end tho i promise) , san is in the mafia n highkey a serial killer...

Word count: 1.3K

Series Summary : San let his guard down once, and it cost him everything. Now, he’s built his walls higher than ever.Living with the weight of his past. But when a kind hearted florist enters his life, his carefully guarded world starts to crack. He swears he won’t make the same mistake twice; but some things are impossible to resist.

Chapter 1: No surprises

“A heart that's full up like a landfill. A job that slowly kills you, bruises that won't heal.”

San didn’t really like his career, and not the typical “I hate my job, aarrgghh!!!” kind of complaints. He genuinely despised it. And not that he could back out, oh no. Everyone knew once you joined the mafia, the only way out was in a casket. Maybe that’s why he learned to dissociate during work, leaving all his feelings and emotions behind in his cozy, luxurious penthouse. But what did that make him? A killer without emotions? A machine? No, that’s what made him the perfect asset to the Velvet Dagger Cartel: fast, effective kills with no attachment to his victims. San was there to do his job and make the evidence disappear like it never even happened. Each life he took was like checking off another item on his checklist. He couldn’t remember the last time he saw his targets as real people. That was, until he met her.

She was supposed to be like the rest, just another civilian to help expand their territory. But when San got his mission folder, something didn’t sit right. They never gave him undercover roles, let alone for a ridiculous three months. He was supposed to intern at the bakery where she worked, learn her schedule, poison her, and check her off the list. Simple. Clean. Efficient. But for some reason, everything about this felt wrong.

At first it was nothing. Just brief glances as she served pastries with a smile that was too warm for his liking, too much emotion, too much vulnerability. But as the hours merged into days, her laughter echoed in his mind when his shift was long over. How her voice would greet every customer with a level of kindness he doubted existed in this world, it started to tear him down. She was just a mission, nothing more.

But she had this refreshing feeling to her. She was nothing like the cold, calculating people he was used to. She had this aura that made everything feel softer. She’d talk about her dreams of opening a bakery, how she wanted to make the world a little sweeter, one pastry at a time. She shared stories of her childhood, how it was only her and her mom, but they managed. It was bittersuite she said, a loss of something to earn something else. Every detail about her life was wrapped in warmth, like the oven’s heat that surrounded the bakery. And the more San watched her, the more he saw her as something other than a target. She became a person, a real, breathing, beautiful person.

And suddenly it happened. He couldn't tell when the information he was supposed to extract turned into real interest. How he’d linger in the kitchen for too long, asking questions about ingredients or recipes, only to watch how her eyes lit up when she explained. Every smile she gave him felt like a small crack in the cold walls he’d built around himself. Not like she was blind to it, and he knew, they both knew the feeling between them wasn't platonic. Slowly the meetings discussing the bakeries turned into dates at a nearby cafe. And in those moments, san forgot all about his job. He was just … him. And she was just her. The more he fell for her, the harder it was for him to remember his purpose.

So, when the poison arrived, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Even after he learnt everything he was supposed to know. The way she would come in at 8:00 every morning and leave at 5:30 with a cinnamon roll in her hand every time, always with a smile. That stupid smile, the one that made him melt. She didn't deserve to die. She didn't deserve to become yet another name on his stupid list. But the mafia isn't forgiving. They wanted her gone, and so he had to make her disappear. But he couldn't. He wouldn't.

San arrived home later than usual that night, the weight of his mission plaguing his mind. He had made up his mind. He would end it. He would walk away. He’d tell her everything, run away with her, leave it all behind. But the moment he walked through the door, the air was thick with something unfamiliar. The faint scent of roses. Her scent.

He froze in the doorway, his breath catching in his throat as he saw her.Her body was sprawled out in the middle of the living room. Her once vibrant eyes were open but lifeless, staring blankly ahead. A trail of blood pooled beneath her, the color stark against his white rugs. The delicate flowers she’d worn earlier were crushed under her body, petals scattered like remains of a dream that had never had a chance to bloom. She was gone. And it was all his fault.

He couldn't take his eyes off her. Trying to memorize every detail, the way her hair framed her face, the soft curve of her lips, the faintest trace of a smile she’d given him just hours before, as if she had known nothing was wrong. But in her delicate hands, the ones that once held him so softly, was a piece of paper. Marked with a dagger. He recognized it all too well. The letters he once placed himself, now in the hands of the love of his life.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. He couldn’t bear to face whoever was on the other end. He knew what they wanted. He knew what they would say. But then, it rang again. And this time, he answered it. “Did you think you could walk away, San?” The voice was cold, laced with amusement. “You let us down. We thought you were better than this. But you lowered your guard” he heard a spine chilling chuckle from the other side “ Your just like the rest of us. Disposable.” San’s grip tightened around the phone. His eyes never left her body. “You took her from me,” he said, his voice barely controlled. “You’ll pay for that.”

The rage inside him was a wildfire. He wasn’t the cold, emotionless machine anymore. She had turned him into something different. Something human. Without thinking, he grabbed his gun from the table and left the penthouse. Moving like a predator hunting down its prey. He made his way to the headquarters, each step fueled by the image of her lifeless face, her broken body. He didn’t care how many lives he had to take. He didn’t care who stood in his way. They wouldn't be able to stop him anyway. He cocked his gun before kicking the door in….

The heavy air in the room felt like it was pressing down on him. San stood in the doorway, the faintest tremor in his hand as he wiped a smear of blood from his collar. The silence was suffocating, broken only by the sound of his boots scraping the floor as he stepped forward. His gaze swept across the room, lingering on the men who had once called him a brother, now sprawled motionless, their expressions forever frozen.

Chapter 1.5 : Fourth of july OUT NOW!!

#Spotify #ateez #choi san #san #ateez san #atz #san x reader #mafia x reader #mafia au #ateez ff #ateez angst

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cobaltperun · 1 year ago

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Genius (4) - Bittersuite

Cairo Sweet x female (G!P) Reader

Summary: It was such a cliché, a reunion she didn’t expect to ever happen, let alone six years after she last saw you. It was supposed to mean nothing, a bit of nostalgia, maybe a brief catching up while waiting for class, it was supposed to be a small wave of nostalgia, not a tsunami that disrupted her entire life. You were her opposite, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t resist your pull.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous Part / Next Part

Word count: 3.5k

-God, I hope it all goes away, 'cause I can't fall in love with you-

A madman’s love.

Cairo had no idea how that felt, but the way Miller described it sounded exactly like what she was yearning for. Ever since she was old enough to yearn for love. To be loved by someone to the point of madness, for that someone to merely be a bone monolith beneath her, to be loved so fiercely and strongly that both her and the one loving her end up consumed by the flames of emotions within them.

To be madly loved and to madly love in return.

How did that feel? To fight for someone’s love, no matter the circumstances, the taboo, the judgment of society. To feel so right no matter how many people said it’s wrong.

She didn’t know, but she imagined Miller knew, he described it, after all. He wrote it with passion that struck her, that made her yearn for what he was painting in her mind. What about his age? Well, she did desire something that others would deem wrong, didn’t she? And then there was Winnie, and Cairo would have cursed her for filling her head with the ideas of giving her virginity to someone older if Winnie didn’t present such a convincing argument. To give her virginity to someone that was, as Winnie put it, wagyu beef, and not deli meat.

She didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to bleed the first time she has sex, the books she read made sex out to be raw, rough, immediate, a desperate act of chasing pleasure, they hardly ventured into the ideas of woman’s arousal, much less aftercare.

Could he give it to her? Could he see her for who she really was? Reveal sides of her she didn’t even know existed yet? He certainly found something worth it in this damn village she despised, he could do the same with her. Find worth no one else did, make her feel wanted by someone. Make her feel like she was the only one who mattered.

Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it. You sent her a message, but she didn’t reach for her phone to reply. She just leaned her head back instead. She couldn’t deny the visceral reaction she had whenever she was reminded of you. Of her heart beating faster, or the dreams she had, or the fact that she wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking forward to more on Monday mornings, listening to Miller, or sitting next to you, your arms occasionally touching and making her feel like she was on fire.

How did you see her? Did you still see the girl who read to you, the girl that dragged you around the forest around her house, the girl who pushed you away? Or did you see her for who she was right now? A ghost, someone a rare few paid attention to, though she kept hearing she was extraordinary. A lonely girl longing for attention and escape. You were certainly providing her with the escape she needed, seeing as Saturdays became your usual getaways, and you took her to places she had no idea about, she was living when she was with you, free from the shackles of nowhere Tennessee.

But your love for her was a lot like Winnie’s. Immature, normal, fueled by reasons appropriate for your age. She couldn’t imagine you or Winnie being driven to madness by your love for her, if the way you loved her even included anything romantic in the first place.

She needed a love that wasn’t ordinary. She needed her madman’s love.

And she feared that whatever was happening between the two of you wasn’t a product of love or friendship, but a desperate attempt to emulate what was once lost.

Cairo didn’t want that. She didn’t want to emulate the past, she wanted… What did she want? She knew what she didn’t want, but what did she actually want?

~X~

This wasn’t working, and the only reason you still tolerated this class was because Cairo was there as well. You suppressed a sigh as Miller droned on about the writer’s style being bold, and too much, and it really was.

You were trying to reignite your love for reading but all this was doing was making you wish to never open a book again in your entire life. You couldn’t get the fact that he went thought student’s stuff out of your head, and that impression alone ruined the class for you.

“Meet me after classes,” he leaned over Cairo’s shoulder, too close to her, secretive, whispering so no one else but Cairo could hear him. Though not quiet enough for you not to hear him, even if you looked like you weren’t paying attention. The fuck was with this guy? After classes?

You were reading too much into it, right?

~X~

Was he seeing her? Like Winnie said? Cairo wasn’t sure yet, but she couldn’t deny their similarities, how at ease she felt, how the only time she felt this much at ease was when she was with you on your rides outside the village. It compared to that as far as her ease went, but it went further, it met other needs she had as well. The ones she hated to admit she had. Her need for approval and attention from someone older, something she never got before, being a big part of it, and what made this seem more impactful to her than what she had with you.

And then there was a part of her that consciously made what she had with you feel like it was to be expected. Like it was a given that you’d reconnect. And she needed to look at it that way, otherwise she’d spiral into fear and panic, because if it wasn’t a given, and if both of you chose to actively put effort into rebuilding what you once had, then that in and of itself, would be a form of madness she wasn’t ready to face just yet.

“See you on Monday, Mr. Miller,” Winnie said as she opened the doors so she could drag Cairo to get her beloved food.

“Bye, kid,” a kid, that’s how he saw Winnie, but he didn’t call Cairo a ‘kid’, so at the very least he didn’t see her as one, though her and Winnie were the same age. He saw her as an adult, and she very much liked that. “Oh, and Cairo, are you going to come this Saturday?” he asked her.

She realized she never got to answer him, and it wasn’t just because Winnie came in, there was an issue of already making plans with you. “I already made plans with Y/N, but I’ll see if she’s fine with postponing,” she told him, not quite ready to give a definitive answer.

He seemed a bit startled all of a sudden. “Y/N?”

Cairo nodded, not sure what made him react the way he did just now, though it was subtle she could see he was a bit uncomfortable.

“Did- Uh, did she mention me in any way?” he tried to brush it off as a normal question, but the way he avoided her eyes gave him away.

“No,” she replied. Not even sure why you would mention him. You didn’t particularly enjoy his class, she could tell by the way you actively tried not to listen to him, and she knew you were doing bare minimum on the assignments. You didn’t like either him or the class, and Caro didn’t know why, she didn’t ask why, and you never told her why.

“Oh, okay, forget I said anything,” Miller regained some color when she denied you ever mentioning him and she just nodded, choosing not to ask him about it.

She’d just ask you. After all, you were the one who kept something from her.

~X~

You were in your garage, just cleaning your motorcycle and your gear when you heard the doorbell ringing. You weren’t expecting any visitors, so maybe it was just one of your neighbors. When the doorbell rang the second time you got up, leaving the rug you were using on the bucket, and quickly washed your hands in the sink, before going outside.

“Sorry for the wait, I was-“ you paused, seeing Cairo on your doorstep. “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you here,” you climbed up the stairs as Cairo looked to the side. You couldn’t read her, but you could tell something wasn’t right.

“Hey, Y/N,” she greeted you.

“Come in,” you opened the doors for her and stepped aside, she knew the house. Even if she hasn’t been inside in a long time. You followed after Cairo, taking notice of how she stopped and stared at the copy of Jules Verne’s ‘Around the World in Eighty Days’. You were trying to read it, but between Miller killing your desire to read and the book being closely tied to your and Cairo’s friendship while you were kids, you hated to admit it, but you weren’t having an easy time with it. Still, you were about two thirds in, so at least you were making some progress.

“Do you want something to drink? Or eat? I was about to make something for lunch anyway,” you were already heading toward the kitchen as Cairo sat down on the armchair.

“No, I just ate with Winnie, I’m okay,” she said and you chose not to push her. She was tense, and it didn’t escape your notice that she chose one seat that would put the most distance between the two of you regardless of where you sat down.

So, you mirrored her, taking a seat on the far end of the sofa, letting the distance between you engulf you. The silence felt deafening, and you hoped it wouldn’t come to this. This was the tension you were worried about the first time you took her out of the village, it wasn’t supposed to be happening now, two weeks after you reunited. “What’s wrong?” you asked carefully.

“Mr. Miller said something, well, he asked me if you mentioned him. Why?” she asked, looking you in the eyes and clutching the straps of her bag in her hand.

You could swear you were hearing alarm bells ringing in your head. Why would he ask her that? “I caught him and coach what’s-his-name going through your books on the first day, that’s all,” you had no reason to protect him, since Cairo asked so openly. Frankly, you weren’t sure why you haven’t told her that in the first place.

“That’s it?” she asked incredulously.

“You wanted more?” you were astonished. Now, you didn’t expect her to be furious, or go on a rant, or anything like that, but you didn’t expect her to think nothing of it. What did she even want from you, because you honestly couldn’t tell where you were standing with her.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she defended him. “Mr. Miller isn’t being inappropriate, he sees me,” she told you.

You raised an eyebrow, puzzled. Sees her? “Cairo, what do you mean he sees you?” you questioned, leaning a bit closer over the dreadfully large distance between the two of you.

Cairo looked away, contemplating whether she should tell you something and then, finally, she made her decision. “He sees my talent; he sees what others’ don’t. He- he gave me special treatment, offered me an early mid-term assignment,” she leaned back, likely reading your frown as if you were disapproving of her.

It wasn’t her. It was his actions. It didn’t feel right. It felt unprofessional, it felt like he was actively crossing boundaries with her, taking advantage of her need to be seen, as she put it. “Cairo, he might not be good for you,” you didn’t feel like you had the right to influence her, or get involved in her decisions, but you also felt like you had to, much like all those years ago, pull her away from something that could harm her.

“You just came back, don’t pretend you understand what is best for me,” she snapped, her voice shaking a bit and even from this distance you could see the tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m going to a poetry reading this Saturday, to see him, just so you know,” the fact that she was canceling your plans didn’t matter nearly as much as the reason why she chose to cancel them.

What pushed her this far? To seek approval from him of all people? “Okay,” but she was too emotional to talk to properly right now. So, you chose to back away for now, to just hope that nothing even worse would happen. And Cairo? She just left, closing the doors with a sound that rang through your mind as if it signaled the start of madness.

~X~

He truly did see her, he saw all of her. The ghost, the rose bush that wasn’t allowed to blossom, no matter how hard she tried. And she saw herself in him, she saw her reflection, and she wondered if he saw himself in her as well. She was willing to bet he did, they were both ghosts, cursed to never be seen for what they were by anyone who wasn’t like them.

He didn’t take her somewhere else, he showed her a side of her home she wasn’t aware of, and she managed to see worth in it she never knew existed. She yearned for more. She yearned for an even deeper connection. She yearned… she longed… she…

This wasn’t a given. This was something she had to reach for, something she had to work for, something forbidden, and yet so appealing at the same time.

Would he fight for her? Accept her entirely and burn in their shared passion and desires and yearning, or would he refuse to participate in this dance? She feared the answer, because, if he wouldn’t… who would?

And in the middle of it all, of all those thoughts and feelings, she just for a moment, saw your face as you told her he wasn’t good for her. Your eyes, intensely looking right at her. What did you see? What compelled you to look at her like that? And along the image of you, leaning closer to her, so close that she, despite the almost overwhelming distance, caught herself unsure if she should back away, maintain the distance, or lean in, encouraging you to keep closing the distance until there was none of it left. Along that image she vividly saw the wild rose bush crushed by an old fallen tree and her eyes widened as she remembered you pulling her away from it all.

Would you pull her back once again? Would Miller be the old tree to crush her? Or would he stand strong next to her as she blossomed? She didn’t decide yet, but she knew the way he was looking at her right now lacked the intensity your stare had.

~X~

You’ve been denying it for years, but Cairo, even after she pushed you away remained a constant presence in your life. You still remembered that time in the forest around her house, when she dragged you around and then just froze when she saw an old tree that had fallen over a bush of wild roses. It wasn’t the scene that remained in your memory. You weren’t old enough for it to profoundly affect you. Even now you didn’t come to give any deeper meaning to the imagery you witnessed.

It was still an impactful memory because she sobbed, and she wasn’t even aware of it. She let out a sound, filled with so much sorrow you couldn’t even comprehend what was going through her head back then. To this day, you didn’t know why it affected her so much, but you knew how it affected you. How it made you feel like you had to take her away from there, that you had to do something so she would smile again.

She set a bar so damn high for you that it wasn’t just the fact that you were moving a lot that stopped you from being best friends with someone. It was the fact that they just couldn’t compare to her. And then you got a bit older and started understanding your sexuality and you tried, you really did. You dated on and off, but again, the connection you were seeking wasn’t there. No matter how amazing the girl was you just found it hard to let someone in the way you did with Cairo. Did you ever have any feelings for Cairo that weren’t purely friendship related? No, not even a childish crush, but the connection between you was just strong enough to affect you years after you last saw her. You felt that connection in the songs you learnt to play, in some of the music you created, brimming with longing and inspired by a friendship long ago left in the past that refused to fade away.

You glanced at her, at her focused gaze meant only for Miller in this very moment, and you weren’t sure how to feel. You just waited for the class to end. And then he approached your and Cairo’s table from behind, and you saw his left hand reaching for her hand as he leaned over her shoulder.

As if he absolutely had to say something only to her.

Your eyebrow twitched. How dare he? He was her teacher, and she was only eighteen. Without thinking you pushed the table to your left so abruptly he lost his hold on the edge of the table and stumbled forward, and, unable to stay on his feet he dropped to his knees to the gasps of the students.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t worry,” he got up, dusting his pants and raising his hands as he turned away from the class, embarrassed by what just happened. Just for a moment his eyes met yours and you glared, begging for him to read your mind and see what you thought. ‘Learn where the damn boundary is,’ is what you were trying to convey through your eyes. Consequences be damned.

Not like there would be any. If he went and reported you, you’d just say what you suspected, consequences of those actions be damned. He, at the very least, did show favoritism toward Cairo.

When the class ended you stormed out of the classroom, ignoring Cairo and Winnie’s eyes following you.

~X~

As you walked out of the classroom after all your classes ended you suddenly felt a hand grab your forearm and pull you aside much to your utter surprise.

“Come with me,” Cairo demanded, ordering you as if you had no choice but to follow her every whim.

“You could be a bit gentler,” you complained, not appreciating how tightly she was gripping your arm.

Cairo looked back at you, anger flashing in her eyes. “I could say the same to you, why would you make him fall like that?” she hissed, dragging you to a slightly secluded corner.

“Maybe next time he’ll think twice before putting his hands where they shouldn’t be,” you were instantly annoyed by the reminder of where he was about to put his hands. And Cairo jumping to his defense wasn’t helping.

“Yeah, and where is that?” she challenged you as you leaned against the wall and she stepped right in front of you. If you moved even a bit, you’d be pressed right against her.

“Not on you, that’s for sure. Or any of his students,” he had his responsibilities and one of those was to keep the proper boundaries with his students.

“And if I want him to?” Cairo demanded and you just… weren’t sure how to answer that. You knew how it made you feel though. And suddenly it wasn’t just about his advances toward Cairo being inappropriate in your eyes. You finally felt as if the pieces on your side were falling into place, and you were no longer seeing the girl you spent your childhood with. You saw an eighteen-year-old girl and somehow you were no longer certain you only saw her as a friend. It was as if the very thought of him touching her ignited flames of madness within you, a jealousy you didn’t even know you could feel over Cairo.

“Do you really?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

You took her words in, you forced yourself to calm down, to take it easy, to think rationally. “Why did you push me away when we were kids Cairo?” you asked and she backed away a bit, and though she didn’t leave, you could see it in her eyes. She wasn’t going to answer. And her answer mattered to you more than anything, because her answer was the only thing that could make any of this worth it. That was the only thing that could validate or invalidate your feelings. That was the only thing that could solve every question running through your mind. And she wasn’t giving it to you.

A/N: Is Cairo confused at the moment? Yup! Is R? Absolutely! So, tell me what you think, I would appreciate it!

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#cairo sweet x female reader #cairo sweet x reader #cairo sweet #miller's girl #jenna ortega x reader #x female reader #x reader

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