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macfrog · 4 months

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twin flame sex on fire chapter eleven

thank you all for being so patient and kind, and loving this story no matter how terribly long i take with it. anyway, here's wonderwall. (shout out to @bageldaddy who saved this on numerous occasions lmao)

pairing: ceo!joel x fem!reader

summary: doing it with a broken heart is harder than it looks.

warnings: age gap (reader is late 20s, joel late 40s), workplace relationship, imbalance of power dynamic, reader's a Real Tough Kid she can (not) Handle Her Shit, kale!!!!!!, alcohol consumption, cursing, soft!joel, fluff and angst. angst angst angst angst

word count: 7.7k

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Five days lasts a year.

So it feels, anyway, when you spot Martha from the corner of your eye – pulling her coat on and hooking her purse over her shoulder. She tucks her peroxide blonde layers behind her ears, gives one last check of her makeup in a compact mirror, and looks up.

“You coming?”

It’s five thirty on Friday. You haven’t said more than two words to Joel since you walked out on him, Monday morning.

She knows by now – Martha. Or at least, she has a pretty good idea.

You haven’t told her, as if you��d even be able to begin explaining it all. But she pieced it together by herself, didn’t she? You’re hardly subtle. She figured you out less than five minutes after you stormed out of his office, fists balled and face tight with rage.

She says your name, and the sound is muffled. Distorted by the sour backwash of that feeling: the hot temper which dissipated so quickly into an ache behind your ribs all day.

You finally look up. “Huh?”

She fixes the collar on her trench coat. Flattens her thin, merlot lips and says, “Let’s go, kid. It’s been a long week.”

And that, you think, might just be the understatement of the fucking year.

She slips her arm through yours in the elevator, and you don’t protest. It’s not like she’d let you go even if you tried to shake her off – but there’s a comfort to it. Something sweet; soft and motherly. Martha’s not often this affectionate.

You want to slot your cheek on her shoulder. Ask her how long her worst heartbreak lasted. Ask if that’s even what this is, if you can give a two-month hurricane of sex and secrets enough power to split you open this badly.

Ask her how long until the gnawing in your chest eases. How long until you’re finally able to look at him again, without wanting to cuss him out – or run into his arms.

But you stare ahead, swaying with the dropping elevator, wrap your arms tight around yourself and swallow shallow breaths of her rosy perfume.

Your reflection splits in two, pulled apart by the rumble of the doors. Something akin to a growl from between Martha’s teeth.

The skeleton of the lobby sears behind your eyes, every surface bleeding gold. Silver arrows of rain pelt against the windows, slicing through the blazing sunlight. Dark figures shake umbrellas open at the doors; others yank their collars over their heads as they run to cars.

A gaggle of square suits separates to let you pass, black material shining and soaked through. Nodding to both of you, your names dripping from their lips as they load into the elevator.

Under the canopy outside, Martha hoists her purse over her head.

“Monday then?” she yells over the drumming rain. And without waiting for an answer – because she isn’t so much asking as she is telling – she totters off through the drizzle towards Alan’s Volvo.

One last glance over her shoulder, a wink as her six-inch heels swing into the car. Like a Bond girl, off to wrangle her preteen into eating his vegetables.

You call a cab, leaning against the building to watch the clouds roll overhead.

Two words. That’s all you’ve managed to force over your tongue.

Sure and okay. Both uttered between teeth, as though your body might be trying to hold them back. Mundane and fucking meaningless; pushing by everything else you want so desperately for Joel to hear. How could you? Why would you? I think I hate you, you know that?

I hate you and I miss you so much that it makes me hate you all over again for it.

He’s doing as you asked, at least. He’s following your rules. No looking, no touching, no talking.

To a point.

He is still talking – saying a little more to you than you are to him. You’re allowing it, given that he is still your boss and they’re only ever boss things to say. Schedule this meeting, look out that old file. Pick up his drycleaning when it’s mid-afternoon and he spots your boredom from across the office.

But he never comes near.

Not anymore.

He doesn’t brush by, stealing a giggle when his elbow nudges your waist. He doesn’t order you lunch, then wait until you’re sat opposite him in his office to eat together.

He doesn’t kiss you as soon as the elevator doors close. He doesn’t perch on the edge of your desk to steal snacks and gossip with you and Martha. He doesn’t play with your hand, he doesn’t hold you by the hips, he doesn’t whisper dirty jokes and sweet nothings in your ear.

He keeps his distance. He acts like your boss again.

And – Jesus. You’ve never wanted to hate him so much in your life.

“Waitin’ for a cab?”

“Shit –” You twirl, rain flicking from the tail of your coat.

Joel takes your arm steady. His grip is so familiar, so safe you feel yourself melting into it already. “Easy, easy,” he says, his voice much the same. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up on you there.”

“You didn’t, you…Yeah,” you sigh, “I guess you did. What did you say?”

He smiles. It’s weak, humored, but completely unsure. “I just asked if you’re waiting for a cab.

And goddamn it, just the sight of him this close thaws you from the inside out. It’s like warmth against the wound, softening you like the creases by the corners of his eyes.

“Yeah,” you start, “I just called one. Figure there’s traffic.” You gesture to the bodies scurrying down towards yellow cabs.

Joel tosses his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the sleek Rolls by the curb. The rain bounces off its roof. “Rand can take you, if you like. Save you waitin’.”

“Oh, no. No, I’m good, thanks.”

“I’ll take your cab,” he clarifies. “I’ll take the cab; Rand can take you home.”

“Really, Joel,” you reply, hugging your purse. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. Thank you.”

He nods, looking down. There was – there is – nothing he wants more than to look out for you. There’s probably nothing that stings more right now, than the fact you won’t let him.

He makes to leave, then hesitates. Hands in his pockets, he turns back and says, “You ever need anything, just let me know. Alright?”

Your lips flatten. “Mhm.”

“I mean it.”

“I know you do.”

“Alright,” he says. “Okay. I’ll see you Monday.”

He strides off towards the Rolls. So much cooler than the suits scrambling around him; dipping his head as he slides into the backseat, fixing his tie before he pulls the door closed.

The car doesn’t move until yours arrives. Until he’s seen you run over, settle in the backseat. Rand pulls out behind as your driver sets off; turns in the opposite direction at the first set of traffic lights.

You watch as it shrinks into a speck from the back window, wondering if Joel’s watching you, too.

The driver tuts and shakes his head. He flicks his fingers to the windshield, some comment about this goddamn rain and ain’t let up for five goddamn days.

You fish your phone from your pocket, turning the weight of it over in your hands like turning the dilemma in your mind. Thinking up something like, Hey, I was gonna order food in tonight. Wanna come over?

Something like, Or not, if you don’t feel like it.

Sorry, I don’t even know why I’m –

The screen lights.

Your heart jumps to your throat.

The driver rambles on, “…said it’d dry by Wednesday – well, you can’t trust a damn one of ‘em…”

Your eyes are glued to the name onscreen.

Joel headers the first notification. And the second. A text, then an email.

Your thumbs hover over the messages for a few seconds, vision blurring around his name. Frantic circles while you decide whether or not you actually want to read them. But it gets the better of you – morbid curiosity – and you tap on the text.

As quickly as it leapt, your heart plummets.

Forwarded Jean-Marc’s email, in case you need it. Have a good weekend.

Three, four, five times. You read over it five fucking times before it sinks in. Switch to your emails, where Joel Miller sits proudly at the top of the list.

“Why are you…?” you mumble, blinking at the screen. Salt stings across your waterline. “You – you fucking…”

It boils through your veins, pools in the pit of your stomach. That ache winds again, twisting around your ribcage.

Anger.

Anger, and…something much worse.

You bite hard on your lip, refusing to let the tears spill over. Your heart hammers against your chest. Your fist balls, like tightening around the leash of a misbehaving dog, pulling it back into place.

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

Steam slowly swallows your silhouette whole. In the mirror, you shake the shell of the office from your shoulders, watching as she disappears entirely behind the heated glass. Relieved just to see her go.

You sob under the scorching stream until your skin prunes and your head throbs. You order in food and burrow deep in your couch to pick at it.

Drowning in the same hoodie he once pulled over himself – his landscape of a body, strong as rock and soft as the earth. The material unwashed, still smelling of mint and men’s cologne.

You thumb through the chick flicks on offer: all perfect grins and power couples; the commercial dream that is a two-tone poster with a quirky, conversational title. And then, worse: the breakup movies.

Women flat-out in bed, picking from a tray of chocolates. Two-day pajamas and three-day bedhead. Slumber parties to burn love letters and gauge out their exes’ eyes in photographs, swear themselves off men and then down heavy cocktails until they puke.

Then – the epiphany. Right before some pop rock track from the noughties sends the heroine off into the sunset. The I’m better off without him, or Maybe he wasn’t so bad moment.

Love truly exists, after all. Roll end credits.

“Oh, fuck off,” you mumble, chewing wetly on popcorn. “You’re all bullshit, anyways.”

Maybe you’re just fucking miserable. You liked the bullshit, two weeks ago.

Blake Carter – he was chocolates in bed and feminist handshakes. He was one night at your mom’s, one night at your best friend’s, then back in your old place before the week was out.

This is different. It’s like a sickness.

Rotting from the inside out. Deep in your chest, a fierce fever spreading from the split, the empty cage of ribs. An anxiety which gathers and festers in the barren corners, like teetering along a wire with no idea how high the drop really is – only that you’re not going to make the landing.

How were you ever going to make the landing, letting go of his hand like that?

You manage three mouthfuls of a greasy hamburger, then shove the bags across the coffee table. Too sick and too unsettled to eat without feeling it roll around your stomach in a furious tide.

You ever need anything, just let me know.

Asking for help is not something you do. Not since you were sixteen, and even before then. There is nothing – nothing, you swore – a man could offer you that you couldn’t go find yourself.

But then – then, you found someone who wasn’t looking for you to ask. Didn’t want or expect you to need him for anything, only wanted you to know that he was around if you ever did. Being near you was all he ever really gave a shit about.

You found someone who was on your tail every time you looked back. All your running, all the times you swore you wouldn’t let him catch you. And there you were – turning to make sure he was still trying.

He was. He was always trying. He’s the closest anyone ever came to proving you wrong.

And now…he’s letting you go.

If you had the energy to laugh, you’d laugh. You’d march back into the bathroom and wait for your reflection to clear again, just to point your finger right in her face.

The same woman who walked away from Blake Carter and his heirloom diamond ring; from Sundays forcing down quiche Lorraine at his parents’ house, and pretending to enjoy bouncing his nephew on your knee.

The same woman who left that diamond ring on his bedside table, packed a bag full of clothes, and fled the apartment before he could plead anymore.

The same woman who had seen the entire thing as a bird breaking free from her cage, in the end.

You understand it now.

You spend long enough in that cage, long enough planted on your feet – you forget how to use your wings.

The weekend is slow and sleepless.

Your sheets wind up a twisted mess each night. Kicked to the foot of the bed, cocooned back around your shoulders, then whipped from your body again when you feel too hot, too smothered.

He’s all over your apartment. Dozing in the reflection of the TV screen, bass voice reverberating off each wall, kisses in the clinking of mugs.

Each night, you stare blankly at the ceiling. Sleep becomes a tide you float on the surface of, pooling across your stomach and only ever wetting to your ears. Face skyward, bone dry. Desperately waiting for a wave that never intends on turning.

Come Monday, you’re running on something like four hours sleep and as many coffees.

Martha recognizes it instantly, the way she fawns. She hasn’t let up all day. Not since you walked in this morning, looking like shit and avoiding Joel’s office at all costs. She’s spent more time staring, delivering snacks, making sickly-sweet conversation that hurts your teeth – than she has actually working.

And it was touching. Until ten o’clock.

Joel has two assistants for good fucking reason, it turns out.

“I do not understand a goddamn word I’m reading…” Martha flips the Cosmo she stole from you last week. “The hell is a retrograde?”

Your head tilts. “Do you even know which sign you are?”

Her thin, penciled brows quirk. “Taurus, but I don’t like the way this bull’s lookin’ at me.”

She wiggles her mouse before the monitor switches off, then prods a shard of cucumber with her fork. The rain scatters across the window at her back, dragging golden shadows down her blazer.

“Did you eat today?” she asks.

“Mhm,” you lie, “This morning. Before you came in.”

She chews suspiciously. “Liar.” She offers you the salad bowl. “Eat.”

“Martha,” you push it away, “I’m not –”

“I don’t care whether you’re hungry.”

She thrusts the tub towards you, cherry tomatoes trembling.

“Martha.”

“Eat.”

“I’m not gonna eat your salad, will you stop –?”

“One bite. Just one.”

“I don’t even like –”

She’s holding out a forkful. “Eat the damn –”

“Get a drink with me.”

She halts, greens dangling in front of your face. Her expression twists, loosens, and then twists into bewilderment again. “Pardon me?”

You sigh, deflating into the leather. “Stop tryna force feed me salad, and get a drink with me.”

“On a Monday?” She scoffs. “What’s the occasion?”

“I don’t…I don’t have one,” you groan, pushing to your feet. “At least, not a good one. I just need something a little stronger than kale.”

An all too familiar click over your shoulder plucks her attention. Her eyes flash across the room.

She tracks Joel from his office over to the water cooler, a forced smile when he must glance up. Her eyes snap back to yours at the trickle of water into his mug.

Please? you mouth, and she grumbles.

“Joel?”

His voice is strained; he’s bending at the cooler. “Yep?”

Martha links her arm through yours and forces you to turn. “You mind if we take a long lunch? We were thinking of trying that wine bar up by the golf course.”

Joel lingers on the other side of the office, sipping from his mug. He’s almost unrecognizable: no bear left in him. Declawed, toothless. Dark crescents like the shadows of a bruise beneath his eyes, the ghosts of smile lines on his cheeks.

“Wine bar?” he asks. “Didn’t even know there was one up that way.”

“It’s new,” Martha says, popping the lid back on her salad bowl. “Alan told me about it. Says it costs an arm and a leg, but apparently, it’s worth it.”

He wanders over – hesitant, like approaching the desk of a wild animal. You can feel the heat of his stare on you when he replies, “’s nice up that way. Take the afternoon. You need a ride?”

“All good,” Martha chirps. She squeezes your arm. “I’ll go call a cab.”

She drapes your coat over your shoulders, then twirls off in the direction of the elevator. A girlish little strut, quietly pleased with herself.

She’s deliberately leaving you stranded. Both of you.

Joel steps back when you move. His breath catches in his throat. He slips a hand in one pocket, and says, “Be nice to have a relaxing afternoon.”

“Yep,” you choke, elbow brushing against his. “Nice to have some girl time, I guess.”

“Oh,” he sniffs, “I was talking about me. Empty office, two of you off my ass. Peace and quiet.”

You smile, feeling the weight of him rock gently against your side. “Hilarious,” you murmur, glancing up at him.

He stares straight ahead, sunlight catching rare amber in his eyes. Smiling to himself, calm and content, he says, “Have a good night. I’ll see you tomorrow,” and turns back for his office.

Your chest twinges as he closes the door behind him. A tight fist around your vocal cords.

“See you tomorrow, Joel.”

Oasis is a trendy little bar out west, which looks anything but its namesake. All exposed brick and smirk of silver pipework, industrially rustic and injected with the silky scent of wine and wealth.

Exactly the type of place you’d go to get over your millionaire ex.

Martha slinks in like she’s made of the place. Coat loose over her arm, hips swaying and heels clicking. She hops onto a stool at the bar, drums her glossy nails on the varnished wood.

You settle awkwardly into the stool beside her, prodding at what turns out to be a very real cactus. You jump at the sharp prick.

A waiter behind the bar clocks you, and laughs to himself.

“Nice, huh?” Martha asks, scanning the place. The low-hanging lights, the spill of foliage from the rafters. She seems to fit into it a whole lot better than you do.

“Sure,” you mumble around your fingertip, “Are you buying?”

She rolls her eyes. “You asked me out, remember?”

“I was thinking some two-for-one cocktails dive, not the fucking Ritz, Martha.”

“Call it a pick-me-up,” she says, accepting a menu from the waiter. “We’re treating ourselves.”

You pinch your fingertip, watching a scarlet bead bloom from the wound. A satisfying sort of pain, a tender break your hands won’t stay away from. You squeeze until it balloons into a trembling bubble of blood, then swipe the cut clean. Squeeze, then swipe.

Martha orders some vino she says she’s always wanted to try. Two glasses, because when the waiter looks to you to take your order, you’re still staring at your bloody finger.

He slides the drinks over and smiles politely, eyes daring to meet yours only twice. He’s handsome: chiseled jawline and the smudge of a dimple on one cheek. Chin speckled with stubble, shorter and blonder than you’d like.

Your fingertip throbs, and you look down to find it closed in your fist. You take a gulp of wine.

Martha smacks her lips and hums. “Not half bad,” she says, and then slots her glass next to yours. “Alright,” she clasps her hands, “What is it? What’s been goin’ on?”

You spin the base of your glass, staring at the swirl of honeysuckle. “I just needed some air and…wine.”

She buys it about as much as you do.

“Only one thing in the world that makes me need air and wine,” she says. “A man.”

A laugh flutters from your chest, as if by accident. As natural as the sun splitting the clouds. No thinking about it, no forcing it.

Either the expensive alcohol works fast – or Martha does.

She lifts her nose, like sniffing out the truth. “Come on, no bullshit. Why’d you ask me to get a drink?”

It rolls from one shoulder to the other in a tired shrug. You’ve no fucking idea why you asked her to get a drink.

The office was becoming claustrophobic, bursting with the grief of it all. Joel was nowhere to be seen and yet everywhere you looked. Here’s the wall he’d kissed you against, there’s the spot you’d first shaken hands.

Here’s all of it, really: the shame and the anger and the heartbreak all knotted together. Holding yourself back from doodling hearts on his sticky note messages, busying yourself with shredding instead of nosing around his office.

No bullshit, you were about to scream. Martha’s just the first person you laid eyes on.

Her and her fucking kale.

“Because,” you summarize, “I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing anymore.”

Her eyes are wide, serious. She’s hooked already. “With Joel?” she asks, sipping.

“With any of it,” you reply. And then, hearing her properly: “What do you know about me and Joel?”

She swallows quickly. “He hasn’t told me a word, I swear,” she says, “but I wasn’t born yesterday. Paris was always a solo trip, darling.”

You massage your forehead, grumbling into your palms. “Jesus Christ,” you whisper. There’s a heavy ache blooming behind your eyes.

Martha smiles. “I thought it was sweet. He’s never been serious enough about anyone to take ‘em over there with him. But,” her eyes ladder down your figure, “I’m guessing it didn’t work out.”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Okay,” she squints, reading you, “And are we relieved? Are we hurt? Angry?”

“We are four and a half coffees Monday morning, and a wine bar Monday afternoon.”

“Got it,” she says, face stony. “That little shit. You need me to yell at ‘im?”

You lift your wine, shake your head. “I did enough yelling at him last week,” you admit. “It wasn’t just him, anyways. He fucked up, but it was the both of us.”

Martha nods, and you both take a long drink.

She taps her nails against the swell of her glass. “I thought you two were really great together,” she says – polite, pensive.

The least Martha you’ve ever heard her.

“You did?”

She nods. “You just always had this camaraderie. It was palpable. From the moment he met you, he was different. Better for it. I don’t know when you were…whatever you were, but –” she takes a deep breath, looking off past you, “– I know I liked it when you were.”

It’s not something you ever considered, even in the thick of it. What it might look like from outside, this little love affair: promises whispered into coffee mugs and glances stolen from behind paperwork.

It was never a secret – at least, not one either of you were trying to keep. It was just…yours. You and Joel. Two names etched at the bottom of a birthday card, no room for anyone else’s.

And if anyone did find out – Martha, Rand, Jean-fucking-Marc – they felt more like collateral. Just the landscape, the backdrop for your fated meteoric crash down to Earth.

God, it felt good to fall.

Martha sighs, dabbing a knuckle at the corner of her lips. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she says, gently. “I’m sorry things didn’t turn out the way you hoped.”

Your eyes drift across the room. The waiter pours a deep red wine for a silver-haired couple over by the window. The man’s thumb surfs back and forth across his wife’s knuckles, dipping to circle the ring on her third finger.

The split in your skin opens again, your nail pressing clumsily into your finger. A tiny wave of pain rocks through the tip.

“Yeah, well,” you sniff, “Shit happens, right?”

“Sure does,” she says, and holds her glass out.

You cheers, the clink piercing the bumbling jazz in the air. The wine thrashes against the side of the glass, and you gulp back a sour mouthful.

“He sent me an offer for a job in Paris,” you confess into your drink. “That’s what our fight was about – the fact he didn’t want me to go. Then on Friday, he sent it anyway.”

“Paris?” Martha straightens in her chair. It’s easy to tell her, easy to pretend it’s some third-floor gossip when she reacts the same way. “That’s big,” she says. “Are you gonna go for it?”

“No,” you admit. “It’s with that guy Jean-Marc.”

Her upper lip curls, a bend of burgundy. “You can do better.”

“I guess,” you frown, “if I were looking.”

“You’re not looking?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

It twists in your throat. A million answers which fizzle into nothing at all on your tongue. Because because because –

“Who would read all of Joel’s boring emails?” It comes with a smirk, which drops as quickly as you realize Martha’s expression isn’t shifting.

“I would. And he’d find a replacement for you eventually. Not half as good, but…”

“Ha,” you stare at her, “Funny.”

“I’m not kidding. “I’m not,” she adds, when you roll your eyes. “It’s about damn time you realized you’re head and shoulders above all this.

“Maybe,” she continues, with an almost bloodthirsty interest, “Joel didn’t let on about Paris because he thinks you’re better than that, too. You don’t think he sees your potential? Hell, I do. You’re too good to be making coffee and taking minutes.”

Tell me something I don’t know, you think.

Joel’s never been quiet about how he feels about you – professionally or otherwise. He said as much in his office last week: I didn’t want to lose you. Those exact words kept you up all weekend, for crying out loud.

Sure, Joel sees something in you. Assistant, colleague, friend, not-friend. It’s not enough to stop the need you have – pinhole pupils hunting, blood jumping in your veins. Like it’d kill you to catch your breath, to shake your hackles and loosen your muscles.

Watch, watch. I can answer your questions before you’ve even come up with them. Watch, watch. I can show up early and leave late, barely pause for breath in between.

Watch, watch. I can break your heart and make it look just like mine.

You squirm under Martha’s glare.

“I don’t…I don’t even know what else I’d do,” you garble, playing with your hands. “I like this job. I’m good at this job. It’s…it’s –”

“– comfortable,” you say together.

“And that’s exactly the problem,” Martha nods, “You’ve outgrown it. You’re nothing but a monster in red bottoms now, baby – too scared to find something that fits you better in case it turns to shit. So what if it does? Is it the end of the world?”

“Feels like it right now,” you reply. She’s cloudy, blurred behind the ocean of tears teetering along your waterline. “And this is barely even a breakup, never mind failing at a career.”

She chuckles, shaking her head. “You think you’d be the first? The last? People fail at things all the damn time. Better to do it now, young as you are – little elastic band of resilience and nerve.”

“Poetic,” you scoff.

She tilts her glass and her head follows.

“Listen to me,” she says, leaning in. “Do not spend one more second paralyzed by fear. I know you’re scared. You’re supposed to be. One day, you’re going to miss the time you gave enough of a shit to feel this fear.

“It’s like electricity in your veins. Everything’s so intense, everything hurts ten times worse and feels ten times more exhilarating. You think something might bring about the end of the goddamn world, and then the sun comes up the next morning just to prove you wrong.

“And Lord almighty, you are going to get it wrong. You’ll say the wrong thing, trust the wrong feeling. You’ll make the same mistakes over and over again. But Jesus, I’d rather you blew it all to hell and at least learned somethin’, than never did it at all.

“You know what my mom would say? World’s been waitin’ on you, kid. Grab a paddle.”

Another laugh spurts from your lips, tears spilling into your mouth, a crackly, wet sniffle. “What the hell does that even mean?” you giggle.

She smiles and wipes your cheek. “Means dive in. Get your hands dirty. Fall in love, get hurt, grow the hell up. Stop standing in the way of yourself and the things you want. That electricity won’t be there forever – so use it.”

“Use it…” you echo, taking the mascara-stained tissue from her.

“Promise me,” she implores, wrapping her hands around yours, “Promise me that you will.”

It’s not just Martha asking, you know this. She’s the one staring at you like a madwoman, sure – but her plea is echoed by a littler, quieter voice.

She’s nervous, scared. A crumpled math paper in her backpack. Her whole world tipped upside down one Wednesday afternoon, soul cursed forever – or so she thought.

When you reply, it’s not Martha you see. It’s the sixteen-year-old version of yourself.

So you look her dead in the eye, and say –

“I promise.”

The world is hazy by the time you leave the bar. Vignetted, a saffron sunset seeping across the sky. Mingling with the city skyline and losing herself over the horizon.

You totter up the steps to your building and wave Martha and Alan off, twirling inside. The weight of wine heavy in your veins, pulling you from one side to the other, and still – you feel lighter, somehow.

You spent all afternoon giggling, once the heartache thawed and the alcohol kicked in. It felt nice; bubbly and nostalgic, the peachy tint of girlhood.

Swapping stories about your old, ridiculous love lives – Martha’s overall-donned boyfriend in high school, or the guy you went on two dates with last year before realizing he was the same dude one of your girlfriends had ghosted three months prior.

For a few hours on a Monday afternoon, you were fifteen again – and the worst thing that could happen was a pimple sprouting on your chin the night before picture day. All you’d ever know was the shiny film on magazine pages, reading two-week old horoscopes to see if they came true.

You slump against the side of the elevator, head spinning as it carries you home. It’s something like seven. You’re too buzzed to fall asleep, but too tipsy to do much more than roll around your apartment.

And by the time you’re back in your sweats, sunken into the couch, one very final nightcap in hand – you’re too tired to even move.

Promise me, she’d said, wildfire behind her eyes. Martha’s notorious for her talents in convincing anyone of anything, wriggling her own way out of any circumstance.

This felt different.

She’s just your colleague. At best, a passerby. Technically – going by her track record with almost everyone else in the company – she doesn’t have to take any more interest in you than the parking attendants in the basement lot do.

But she took your hand and led you out of that office without thinking, the second she understood. She bought you drink after drink, and slapped your hand away when you tried to pay. She listened to you, dried your tears, and then kicked your ass into gear.

By all standards, she was the best first date you’ve ever had.

And promise me, she’d said.

It starts as a joke. Humoring her, humoring yourself. A dare whispered to you by the tinkling of ice in your glass. Innocent curiosity, mixed with a dash of Martha’s good influence.

The perfect cocktail of chaos.

Your first online search brings up so many results that it dizzies you. Marketing executive and project coordinator, business support manager and production lead. They blur into a gray fog, a taunting swirl on your laptop screen.

“Jesus,” you mutter, mouthful of wine. “What the fuck do I…?”

Business and art. That’s what you know. One you’ve been in long enough that you reckon you could do it with your eyes closed – and the other…your little pipedream.

‘s not stupid, Joel had said, that night by the river. Not a pipedream, either.

And – fuck it, maybe you ought to listen for once. Stop standing in the way of yourself and the things you want, and all that.

You dig your knuckles into your eyes, letting the spatter of stars clear your vision, and start again.

A second search threads together a list which feels a little cleaner. A little more you. Sophisticated websites with sleek designs, smooth wording which makes it feel like you’re being sold something.

And so what, if you are? Maybe you’re looking to buy.

You click through image after image of bright offices and beaming staff, sipping sharply through your straw. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, unsure whether the lightheaded feeling is from the rosé, or the promise of a successful career and competitive salary. Memorizing brand manifestos, learning company values like prayers passing through your hands.

It’s manic. Crazed. Like you’re stood on the brink of an abyss, thick fog kissing your ankles.

You laugh to yourself. This must be the fucking electricity.

Promise me. And what can it hurt, anyway, turning in an application form? Who says it’ll even go anywhere? They might take one look at your resume and laugh you all the way into the trashcan.

Or – they might see what Joel sees. What Martha sees. For the love of God, what you see.

Your resume looks much the same as it did four years ago – still molded into the shape of the kind of girl you thought Joel Miller, CEO might like to meet. And he did, very much so. It’s just – he met all shapes of her. Even the ones she tried to hide.

He found them all out, eventually.

Your thumb pauses, hovering over the mousepad. A slow guilt slithering over your shoulders, coiling deep in your gut. You think of Paris; those streets you walked down with Joel on your arm. Talking, laughing, spilling secrets and keeping them, too.

Your shadows are probably still on those avenues. Your reflections still bobbing in the Seine. Kisses hidden behind steam-coated mirrors, bodies joining in a darkened hotel room.

It twinges some, deep in your chest. A little numbed, what with all the alcohol and – well, Martha. But it’s still there. The same wound you’ve had for twelve years now.

It’s there. It will probably always be there.

So – fuck it.

You’re grabbing a goddamn paddle.

It’s been a quiet, fruitless week. No calls, no emails, no messages written in the stars.

Which is probably a good thing, given you were more than a few glasses of wine deep – and still on some kind of high from Martha’s speech. God only knows what kind of shit you were filling those applications with.

Nothing quite like liquid courage and a broken heart, right?

The light from the Xerox flickers, swiping memories from that afternoon back and forth. Martha’s hand locked around yours, the perfumed wine she kept buying. The waiter with the dimples, Joel’s Have a good night I’ll see you tomorrow, the pine air freshener in Alan’s car.

Things have mellowed, settled in your stomach. The world is back to beige – as plain as it always was before that night of tequila and AC/DC. You’ve made peace with it, this idea of letting go. Letting him go.

Martha – soapbox queen, microphone in one hand and glass of Sauvignon Blanc in the other – has checked in every day since. Expectant eyes from across the room, treasure chest emails full of job ads she’s collected.

Anything? she texted this morning, with six praying emojis. One more since yesterday, two since the day before that.

But no – nothing, for almost eight days now.

Maybe that’s for the best.

Maybe you can swallow back the knot of misplaced disappointment, slip back into your heels and forget any of it ever happened. That fire Martha struck so effortlessly, snuffed by a cruel, cold wind.

His knuckles on the door scatter your thoughts.

“Hey,” Joel says, leant against the frame. “Everything okay?”

“All good,” you reply. “What’s up?”

He looks…frustratingly good. Like he’s pieced himself back together. Sharp and smart, brand new. And yet – warm, homey, in all the places only you know to look.

Your fingers flinch by your side, as though they’re seeking him out. You want to run them through his hair, through his beard. Want to straighten his tie, smooth the shirt over his chest. Breathe him in and feel him melt under your touch.

Feel him change, feel him soften – just for you.

Only for you.

He floats over, hands in his pockets, and perches on the desk by the copier. “Exciting stuff,” he muses, tapping the machine twice.

“Hm,” you nod, “You’re an exciting man.”

“How was the wine bar?”

“It was good,” you reply. “Little above my price range, but – it got us drunk, so.”

“Did the job.”

“Did the job,” you agree.

“Good,” Joel says, crossing his ankles. “I’m glad to see you a little more your old self.”

Your lips flatten into a smile. “Well, Martha has a way with words.”

He snorts. “Don’t I know it.”

He lingers, then. An awkward air about him. He scratches his nose, stuffs his hands back in his pockets. Sucks in a deep breath, swallows what seems to be a soliloquy of sentiment, or secrets, or something else.

Whatever it is, his nerves rub off on you.

You cross your arms, twist your toe into the carpet. Stare at the paper churning out of the machine, stare at your nails, stare at anything that isn’t the man sitting right in front of you.

But then – he murmurs, as though the words splinter from his tongue, “I had an interesting email this morning.”

The copier shudders at his side.

Your eyebrows lift. “Oh, yeah?”

Joel clears his throat. “Yeah. Pertaining to you.”

And you realize.

You look up at him, the tight knit of his brows. His fixed jaw, the way it flexes as he chews on the words.

“Pertaining to me,” you echo – a nudge.

The light from the machine catches a wet glint in his eye. He blinks it away.

“Request for a reference,” he says.

And – shit.

“Shit,” you hiss.

Fuck.

“Oh, fuck,” louder.

His expression sharpens into a perplexed smirk. “Surprised?”

“Yes,” you start, “I mean – no. No, I just – Shit, I didn’t think they’d…I thought they’d talk to me first. Why didn’t they talk to me first?”

He shrugs. “I know of the company, met the CEO once at a gala. From what I know, she runs a pretty tight ship. Probably just wanted to gauge you before reaching out. It’s okay,” his voice is kind, hushed, “Doesn’t mean you won’t still hear.”

“Oh, Jesus, Joel,” you pull on your cheeks, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean –”

“Woah, woah,” he pats the air, moves so close you worry he might hear the thud of your heart, “No apologies, alright? That ain’t why I brought it up.”

“I just didn’t mean for you to find out that way. I wanted to be the one to – to tell you.”

He stands, hands finding your elbows. Gentle, a little timid. Barely brushing the sleeves of your shirt, and yet your whole body ignites.

“Darlin’,” his voice is serious, “I don’t care. I don’t give a shit, I promise. I mean…” he shakes his head, “…I give a shit. I give a lotta shits. I’m not – I don’t mean that, I meant –”

“I know what you meant,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he sighs, “you always do.”

You pick a speck of fluff from his tie. He watches your hand, then takes it in both of his. Two big paws wrapped around one of yours, swallowing it whole.

It’s a familiar feeling, staring at the shape of your fingers tangled in his. Two in the morning at your first sleepover, praying Mom will pick up the phone. The first night alone in a new apartment, the babble of reality television for company right until sunrise.

You’re homesick.

Homesick for a man who’s standing right in front of you.

“I just wanted you to know,” Joel says, “that I sent it off just now. Just in case somethin’ goes wrong with the email, it doesn’t go through, I sent it to the wrong goddamn place – I don’t know. I just wanted you to know that it’s done.”

He holds your hand to his chest, his heartbeat against your knuckles. When you don’t reply, throttled by the threat of tears, he gives your wrist a little shake.

“Okay? You in there?”

“I’m here,” you breathe, and your hand slips from his grasp. “Thank you. I’m still sorry. You musta felt a little blindsided.”

His head bobs, considering. “Was a surprise, but a good one. Junior art director, huh? That sounds pretty damn exciting.”

“Yeah,” you reply, relaxing as he settles back on the desk. “Really exciting. Flex those creative muscles again.”

He grins. “You plan on working your way up?”

“Yup. Earn my stripes.”

“Alright, little tiger,” he says, and your heart leaps. “Proud of you.”

A silly smirk on your lips, you give him a tiny curtsy. “Here’s hoping your reference seals the deal.”

Joel laughs. “I don’t know about that, darlin’. It’s pretty shitty.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yeah. Talked all about how sarcastic you are, how you forgot the charger for your toothbrush – and then stole mine. Told ‘em about the Bart Simpson socks, force-feeding me Patrick Swayze. The lot.”

“The Bart socks,” you snicker, “They really stuck with you, huh?”

“Sure did.”

You slide onto the desk beside him. “What did you really write?” you ask, leaning in.

Joel glances to you. It should be obvious, with the way he’s looking at you, exactly what he wrote.

“Tell me,” you say, elbowing him.

“I told them…” he sighs, “…I told them not even to think about it, just hire you. They’d be outta their goddamn minds not to. Told them I wouldn’t be anywhere without you – or your Bart socks.

“Told them you’re the best thing that ever happened to this place. The best thing that ever happened to me. And you think – you think you never know what you have until you lose it, whatever that saying is, but I did. I knew from the second I met you. And they will, too. So – I told ‘em.”

The photocopier cuts, huffs, and falls silent. The room is plunged into a suffocating silence. You’re not sure you’re even breathing.

Joel’s arms are crossed protectively over his chest. You want so badly, more than anything, to burrow under them. To wriggle your way into his grasp – because you know he’d let you – cling to his chest, let his heartbeat regulate yours.

Let his entire body become yours; forget which parts are you, and which are him. Crawl into his skin, envelop yourself in him.

You want to cry into him. Hand him back all those mangled shapes of yourself you tried so hard to hoard – realizing now, that he knew what he was doing all along.

He was never trying to break them. He was never trying to hurt them. He only ever wanted to love them.

He only ever wanted to love you.

“Anyway,” Joel says, dusting his thighs, “Why don’t you finish that up, head on home for the day?”

“Uh –” you swipe the tears from your cheeks, “– no, it’s okay. I got a to-do list as long as my arm, and I still owe you, like, three hours from last week.”

Joel watches as you leap back over to the copier, swing the documents under one arm.

“I’m sure the to-do list will keep,” he assures, taking the ream from your clutches. “Go home, clear your head. Wait for that invite to interview to come through.”

“Joel –”

“Look at me,” he towers over you, “Anything urgent is Martha’s job now. She’ll love the drama of it. You want me to email that company back ‘n have them add Doesn’t follow orders to your reference?”

You breathe a laugh. “No.”

“No,” he repeats, brushing by.

All the times you’ve missed him before – landing back home after Paris, sat with some lovestruck financier in a golf club, fighting like kids in his office – and none of them compare to right now. Stood in the copy room, mere inches and yet entire worlds between you.

And Joel seems to know, like he knows everything you’re thinking. He glances over his shoulder, flame in his eyes, and he smiles. All sweet and charming, the real kind that softens him, lightens him.

Everything that makes him yours.

“Go on, git,” he says, heading for the door. “‘fore I change my mind.”

“Hey, wait. Joel?”

He turns back.

Your voice trembles. “How are you so calm about all this?”

His jaw flicks uncomfortably. He considers it for a moment, then says, “If you love something, you let it go.”

You repeat his own words back to him, whispered to you while you lay intertwined on his childhood bed. When they leave your mouth, they sound more like a plea. Fight back.

“But then you’d be losing something,” you say.

Joel shrugs. Earnestly. “Can’t lose somethin’ I never had.”

He doesn’t get it. He must get it. He’s twenty years older, twenty years wiser. He must know, by now. Christ, he had you to a tee two weeks ago.

How doesn’t he get it?

Your chest heaves. Your head shakes.

“You had it. You had me the second we walked into that dive bar.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #ceo!joel miller #ceo!joel #sugardaddy!joel miller #the last of us #the last of us fic #fic: sex on fire

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woniedarlin · 3 months

Text

Rich in Heart: Yang Jungwon

pairing: Jungwon x rich girl! reader

synopsis: Your parents have always been proud of the person you have become, knowing that they raised a child with strong values and a gentle heart. You have always been grateful for the opportunities you have been given in life, and you recognize how fortunate you are. This has made you a kind and thoughtful person, even when others may misunderstand or assume the worst about you. So what would happen if Jungwon wasn’t able to pay for his lunch at the cafeteria but you stepped forward and helped him, initially proving him wrong with his assumptions?

warnings: you are very bold like no joke. Mentions of punching, bruise, thieving, LOTS AND LOTS OF CURSING, you two are flirty but mostly you, swatting your bum (?). A little suggestive, just a tiny one like a sprinkle of salt. Descriptions might not fit to your own, Let me know if there is more!

note: Hi my lovely darlings, this story has been on my mind and it took me to write it for a while. I hope you will love it. Reading discretion is advised.

caution: This story may inspire you to pay for Jungwon’s school lunch in an attempt to win his heart.

permanent tag list: @sol3chu @13tter @chlorinecake

Rich in Heart pt. 2

You are very spoiled by your parents. A wealthy girl, like crazy rich, always dressed in the latest luxurious and fashionable clothing. Your family is extraordinarily wealthy, making you one of the richest girls in your town. Because of your affluence, many people assume you have a bratty attitude and look down on others.

However, this couldn’t be further from the truth. You are, in fact, a sweetheart. Your parents instilled good values in you from a young age, teaching you the importance of kindness, humility, and respect for others. When people meet you, they are often taken aback by you.

Jungwon, on the other hand, is a student who lived a moderate life. He didn’t have any of the luxuries or experiences you did, but he was happy nonetheless. He knew of you—well, who didn’t? Though you two had never interacted, he was aware of your reputation and had his own assumptions about you.

But little did he know, you were not at all what he expected.

Jungwon stood at the lunch counter, tray of food in hand, as the lunch lady tallied up the amount. “That will be 5,000 won,” she said with a warm smile.

Jungwon reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. His smile faltered as he realized he didn’t have enough money. He counted the bills and coins he had, coming up short by a few hundred won.

A small frown tugged at the corners of Jungwon’s mouth as he stared down at the money in his hand. He mentally scolded himself—he should’ve double-checked his wallet before he got in line to buy food, but he was so preoccupied with the hunger gnawing at him that it slipped his mind. Now, he found himself in a bit of a predicament. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching from behind. He turned around, and his heart seemed to stop beating for a second the moment he saw you, holding a tray of food as well.

You stepped forward, setting your tray down before taking out your wallet and handing the money to the lunch lady. “Here, I got it,” you said with a warm smile.

Jungwon’s eyes widened in surprise as you stepped in front of him and offered to pay for his food, his cheeks heating up in a light blush. He hesitantly held out his wallet to you, watching as you plucked out the money with ease.

“Oh, uh, you don’t have to—” he started, only for you to brush off his protest with a small shake of your head.

“It’s fine, it’s already paid,” you replied, waving off his concerns.

Jungwon was still speechless.

For the past few years, you were a name he’d heard all over the campus—the daughter of a wealthy businessman, infamous for your wealth and your appearance. He had always assumed you were pampered and haughty, like most kids who came from rich families. He had never expected you to be so…kind. So…considerate.

“Uh…thanks,” he mumbled quietly, not knowing what else to say.

“No problem,” you said cheerfully.

You were completely different from his assumptions. You were the epitome of sweetness. Even though you came from a rich background, you were just as gentle and sweet as your appearance.

He nervously cleared his throat, searching for something to say as he desperately tried to think of any possible conversation starter. But his mind suddenly went blank.

You tilted your head, breaking his thoughts. “You’re Jungwon, right? I’ve seen you around.”

Jungwon nodded quickly, surprised that you knew his name. Even though everyone knew you, it hadn’t occurred to him that you might know his name as well.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he confirmed. After a moment of silence, he gathered enough courage to speak again. “And you are…well, everyone knows you, so no introduction needed.”

You laughed softly. “I suppose that’s true. But it’s nice to finally talk to you, Jungwon.”

He smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. “Yeah, it’s nice to talk to you too.”

You grinned and looked around the cafeteria. “I’ve noticed that the tables here are all packed. Want to sit at mine? My dad made the school reserve a table for me to sit at the cafeteria so I wouldn’t have to fight for a spot.”

Jungwon followed your gaze, noting the lack of empty tables. He couldn't believe it. Not only did you pay for his lunch, but now you were offering to let him sit with you at your reserved table. It was completely unfathomable to him. He had never imagined himself sitting beside you, the daughter of one of the wealthiest businessmen around.

He nodded, trying to keep his cool.

You made your way across the crowded cafeteria, the lunchroom noisy with chatter and laughter. Most students turned their heads as you passed, staring at the sight of the wealthy girl and the not-so-wealthy boy walking together.

Jungwon was hyper-aware of the eyes on them, and a small, uncomfortable pang filled his chest as he was reminded of the stark social differences between you. But he pushed those thoughts aside and followed you to the reserved table, taking a seat next to you.

He sat down next to you, still trying to comprehend what was happening. He glanced around discreetly, meeting several pairs of eyes from other students. Despite the attention, he tried to focus on the food in front of him.

He reached out for a fork and stabbed at a piece of food, clearing his throat before speaking quietly. “Thanks again. For paying for my food…and for letting me sit here.”

“No need to thank me, Jungwon,” you said with a warm smile, waving off his gratitude like it was no big deal. “I couldn’t just let you go hungry, could I?”

Jungwon’s heart skipped another beat at your casual response. You were so nonchalant about the whole thing like it was just a normal occurrence. He had to remind himself that you were used to this kind of thing, having grown up in a wealthy family and surrounded by extravagance and luxury.

He let out a small huff, trying to mimic your nonchalant attitude. But as he began eating, he couldn’t deny the fact that he was secretly basking in the fact that he was sitting at a table with you, the most beautiful and sought-after girl in the school.

Taking a bite of his food, he decided to ask, feeling a bit bold, “So, do you always rescue people in the cafeteria?”

You laughed at his words, a melodic sound that seemed to draw the attention of everyone nearby. “Only when they look like they need it,” you teased, a playful glint in your eye. “What about you? Do you always find yourself short on lunch money?”

Jungwon chuckled, a sheepish smile appearing on his face at your question. He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed knowing that he looked like a broke student in front of a very wealthy girl.

“Only on days when I forget to check my wallet. But I guess it worked out today, thanks to you.”

He paused, taking another bite. He then decided to turn the tables on you, attempting to be more bold. “So, is this part of your daily routine? Paying for strangers’ lunches and granting them the privilege of sitting at your exclusive reserved table? Or am I just lucky?” He gave you a grin.

You playfully flirted with him, “Not exactly. I only do it for cute strangers.”

He was surprised at how easily you referred to him as “cute” so nonchalantly. Nobody had ever called him cute before. Well..only his mom and his grandmother.

He chuckled, trying to come up with a witty response to your flirty banter. “Is that so? Well, I guess I should feel honored then, huh?”

“Exactly,” you replied, your eyes twinkling with amusement. You took a bite of your food, still smiling.

Jungwon chuckled again, feeling both shyness and excitement at your directness. It was hard not to feel flustered in your presence, especially with the way you were casually calling him cute and flirting with him.

He had never imagined himself in this situation, especially not with you. He felt like the luckiest guy in the schoolyard.

He’d definitely tell all about it to his friends later.

🎩

Despite the different backgrounds, you two quickly developed a strong bond. Over the weeks that followed, you two found yourselves spending more and more time together.

The cafeteria incident was only the beginning. Once Jungwon got over his initial shock and somewhat shyness, he discovered that you were genuinely down-to-earth and easy to talk to. You treated him like any other person, without any trace of the haughtiness he had originally expected.

He found himself looking forward to his days at school, knowing that he would get to see you each day.

It was a Saturday afternoon, and Jungwon and you were walking together through the streets, enjoying the sights and sounds of the city.

As they passed by different shops and stores, Jungwon pointed to a small café, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Oh, hey, have you been to that café over there?” He pointed to a cute cafe with outdoor seating. “I heard they have great pastries.”

‘’Wanna go?” you tilted your head, a playful glint in your eye.

Jungwon nodded, smiling as he agreed. “Yeah, sure. I’ve been meaning to try it out for a while. Let’s grab a seat.” He led the way, holding the door open for you as you entered the café. The pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods filled the air, instantly making him even hungrier.

“Go find a good table. I’ll grab us something to eat,” he said, heading towards the counter.

You nodded and made your way to a cozy corner table by the window, watching as Jungwon waited in line at the counter. His eyes scanned the menu board, and after a moment of contemplating, he placed your orders, grabbing a few pastries and a couple of drinks. Balancing the tray of food carefully, he made his way back to the table where you were waiting, setting down the items on the tabletop.

“Hope you like what I chose.” He sat down across from you, pushing one of the pastries in your direction, along with a drink.

“Thanks for paying for it. You didn’t have to,” you said, feeling a bit guilty for not offering to split the cost.

Jungwon shook his head, waving off your thanks with a casual shrug. “It’s no big deal. I wanted to treat you.”

He picked up one of the pastries and took a bite, savoring the flavor. Then, he looked at you with a smile. “Consider it a small payback for paying for my lunch that one time, remember?”

You chuckled, remembering the cafeteria incident. “I guess we’re even now, huh?”

Jungwon nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I guess we are. It’s nice to finally repay the favor. And it’s nice to have a friend like you.”

The word “friend” slipped out of his mouth automatically, and he hoped it didn’t sound too presumptuous. But truthfully, he couldn’t imagine calling you anything other than a friend. He felt comfortable around you like he could be himself without any pretense.

“Ouch…only a friend? That hurts,” you said, acting like it hurt, partially because you were interested in him.

He knew you were probably just joking around, but the thought of you being “hurt” by the idea of just being friends sent a pang to his chest. He tried to keep his voice casual as he responded, trying to play along with your lighthearted banter despite accidentally friendzoning you, which he never even intended to do in the first place. “Sorry, would it be better if it’s my future girlfriend?”

You feigned offense with an exaggerated gasp. “Oh, so now I’m just a placeholder until your future girlfriend comes along?”

“No, no, I’d never make you a placeholder!” He paused, pretending to be deep in thought. “Maybe I’ll just keep you around as a backup girlfriend then.”

“Well, I’m sorry but consider this a breakup already!” you said, crossing your arms with mock indignation.

Jungwon mock-gasped, pretending to be devastated. “A breakup? But we weren’t even officially together yet!”

“Pfft,” you laughed, unable to maintain the act any longer.

Jungwon couldn’t help but laugh along with you. He found himself even more smitten with you than he was before. He quickly composed himself, wiping away his “tears.”

“You’re heartless,” he mimicked you, crossing his arms. “I can’t believe you’re already breaking up with me after, like, five minutes of being my girlfriend. That’s a new record even for me.” He chuckled, feeling a warmth spread through his chest as he bantered with you.

“You know what? We should eat before we embarrass ourselves,” you said, shaking your head with a smile.

Jungwon laughed, amused by your suggestion. “You’re probably right. We’re getting a little too ridiculous here.” He picked up his pastry again, taking a bite as he tried to suppress his laughter.

After finishing their snacks and laughing together, Jungwon and you decided it was time to leave the cafe. He watched as you grabbed your bag then you two stepped out onto the street. The sunlight dazzled his eyes for a moment, and he shielded his eyes from the brightness before turning to you, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Where to next?”

“Actually, I was thinking that we could—” your words were abruptly cut off as a guy snatched your bag and ran away.

Jungwon was completely unprepared for the sudden shift in the mood. One moment, you were walking together, discussing your next destination, and the next, a man came out of nowhere, snatching your bag and fleeing.

“Your bag!” he yelled as the thief fled.

Unexpectedly for Jungwon, you immediately started running. Your heels didn't bother you as you chased the guy. “Give me my bag back, you bitch!”

Jungwon was stunned by your immediate reaction, watching as you broke into a sprint, chasing after the thief in your high heels like it was nothing. He snapped out of it and started running after you, trying to catch up.

He yelled as he ran, feeling a surge of pride, “Yeah! Get that shithead!”

Eventually, you grabbed an umbrella from a nearby holder and threw it at the guy.

As Jungwon caught up to you, panting heavily, he witnessed the umbrella hitting the thief's legs. The man stumbled and fell to the ground with a loud yell, the stolen bag slipping out of his hands. The scene was surreal, like something out of a movie.

Jungwon couldn’t help but feel impressed by your quick thinking, taking down the thief effortlessly. He ran up to you, still catching his breath. "Goddamn. She’s fast and with heels too?" he thought to himself.

You approached the downed thief and tried to snatch the bag back from him. But the man was holding onto it tightly, refusing to give it up. “Bitch? Give me that!” you yelled at the thief.

The thief yelled at you, trying to taunt you, but before he could say anything else, you landed a solid punch on his face, leaving him reeling in pain.

"That’s my girl," Jungwon said under his breath, feeling proud of your fighting spirit and willingness to defend yourself.

“Geez lady! All that for a bag?” the thief said as he lay on the ground.

“This is not just a bag, this is Prada bitch,” you said before taking the bag completely and telling a nearby police officer to take him away. Then you walked back towards Jungwon.

He walked over to you, a mixture of admiration and concern visible on his face. He studied you for a moment, taking in your disheveled appearance and messy hair. Despite everything that had just happened, you were still the most gorgeous girl he had ever laid eyes on. “You alright?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” you replied,

A sigh of relief escaped his lips as you responded that you were all right. He surveyed you again, checking for any signs of injury or distress. “You sure?” he pressed. “That was intense. You punched that guy straight in the face.”

He couldn’t help but think it was kind of hot, seeing you defend your property like that. Shaking the thought out of his head, he took a step closer to you, his tone softer now. “You scared me.”

Your heart felt warm at his concern. “I’m so sorry,” you said, pulling him into a hug.

Jungwon was caught off guard by your sudden hug, but he quickly melted into it. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, feeling the warmth and comfort of your embrace.

“No, don’t be sorry. I’m just glad you’re not hurt,” he spoke into your hair. The initial panic and fear he had felt during the chase slowly ebbed away, replaced by both relief and affection. “Such a badass, though.”

“I know,” you said, not planning to pull away from the hug.

Jungwon chuckled, burying his face into your shoulder. He found himself enjoying this unexpected moment of intimacy, liking the feeling of you in his arms. “Of course you know,” he teased, his voice muffled. “Is there anything you can’t do? Taking down thieves like it’s nothing. And looking beautiful while doing it.”

You grinned, pulling away a little to look at his face. “Well, back to what I was saying, I was kind of thinking we could go walk around a mall?”

The mention of going to a mall seemed harmless enough, but Jungwon couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the suggestion. “A mall? Trying to get another expensive brand?” he said teasingly, referring to the Prada bag that you had just gone to great lengths to protect.

“Duh,” you replied, flipping your hair.

He chuckled, something about the idea of you walking around a mall filled with luxury stores made him feel a bit uneasy. He knew that the mall would be filled with crowds of people, all with their agendas and attitudes. And he couldn’t help but wonder how you would navigate that environment with your usual elegance and grace.

Nevertheless, he didn’t want to dampen your excitement, so he nodded. “Alright, let’s go. But no more chasing thieves, okay?” He added with a playful grin.

You laughed, linking your arm with his. “Deal. Let’s just enjoy our time together.”

🎩

Days later, you were in a mall yet again after classes, but only with yourself. Holding a shopping bag, you walked around, browsing the stores.

Jungwon stood by the fountain in the middle of the mall, taking a moment to rest after a long day of classes. He took a sip from his drink as he watched mall-goers pass by—couples, families, and friends, all engrossed in their worlds.

He couldn’t help but glance around, looking for a familiar face amongst the sea of people. Then, suddenly, he spotted you. Wanting to talk to you immediately, he followed you around, but you were too fast.

As you were walking, you noticed a guy following you, not knowing it was Jungwon. When you felt a hand on your shoulder, you turned around and punched.

The unexpectedness of it all caught him off guard, and before he could react, your knuckles made contact with his cheek.

“Ah!” he held his cheek. “It’s me!! It’s me!!”

You widened your eyes as you covered your mouth. "Oh my! I’m so sorry, Jungwon. I’m sorry!"

Jungwon let out a small pained noise as he held his cheek, the stinging feeling slowly fading to a dull throb. "It's...okay..." he managed to say through gritted teeth. "I should've known better than to sneak up on you like that."

You kept apologizing over and over. "I didn’t mean to! I thought you were a stranger. Are you alright? I feel terrible."

“It’s alright, it’s alright, I’m fine,” he reassured you, gently rubbing his cheek. He was secretly impressed by your reflexes, but he was also slightly amused by the irony of the situation. “You sure pack a punch, huh?” he joked, a smile playing on his lips.

“I just... I thought...” you muttered, still shaken from the incident.

Jungwon nodded, understanding your reaction. “It’s okay, really. I get it. You reacted on instinct. Can’t fault you for that.”

He looked at you, curiosity piqued. “Can’t help but ask: where’d you learn to punch like that?”

“Honestly? I don’t know,” you shrugged. “It just happened.”

Jungwon chuckled, shaking his head in mild disbelief. He couldn’t help but find it slightly absurd that you had been able to throw a punch like that without any formal training. “So you’re telling me you just naturally have those badass instincts?” he asked, still holding his cheek but seeming less in pain now. “Well, I’ll consider it a blessing to be punched by you.”

“Pfft, you are sick,” you said, a small smile breaking through your concern.

Jungwon chuckled again. He knew he might sound ridiculous, but there was something oddly gratifying about being the recipient of your powerful punch. It kind of made him feel like he was in a cheesy action movie or something.

He glanced at you, a smirk on his face. “Maybe a little bit. But can you blame me? It’s not every day that a pretty girl punches me in the face.”

You shook your head, still feeling bad. “Well, is there anything I could do for you? As payback for the punch?”

Jungwon thought for a moment, a grin spreading across his face. He knew you didn’t owe him anything, but he couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease you a bit more. “Hmm, payback?”

He pretended to think for a moment, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, there is something you could do...”

🎩

You two were outside his house. It wasn’t like the house—well, mansion—you were used to living in. But rather a homely-looking one. Not too big, but not too small.

Jungwon unlocked the front door to his house, ushering you inside. The contrast between your luxurious upbringing and his modest surroundings was quite stark, but he seemed unfazed by it.

The inside of the house was cozy and inviting, with a lived-in feel. The furniture was old but clean, and it was evident that care had been taken to make it homey.

He looked at you as you took in the environment.

You looked around in shock. “Wow... this is... beautiful.”

Jungwon smiled at your reaction. He wasn’t used to hearing someone describe his home as beautiful. Compared to the extravagant homes you were accustomed to, his modest dwelling might seem like a hovel.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride in his home.

“You think so? I mean, it’s nothing fancy like where you live, but it’s home, y’know?”

“It is,” you nodded in agreement, genuinely appreciating the warmth and coziness of his house. “It feels so... welcoming. I can see why you love it here.”

A warm smile tugged at Jungwon’s lips as he saw your sincere expression

He led you further inside, gesturing for you to take a seat on the couch in the living room. “You can make yourself comfortable. Do you want anything to drink? I got water, soda, juice...”

“I’m fine,” you smiled, still taking in the surroundings. “Thank you, though. It’s nice of you to invite me over.”

Jungwon nodded and then disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of water for himself.

He settled down beside you on the couch. He looked at you, a silent moment of contemplation passing before he spoke again. "Thanks for coming.”

“I am still shocked that you invited me to your house all of a sudden. Are you planning something?” you teased him, raising an eyebrow playfully. “I mean, you didn’t even give me a heads-up.”

He leaned back against the couch cushions, feigning innocence, although a playful glimmer in his eyes betrayed his true thoughts. “Planning something with you, huh?”

He gave a small shrug as if the thought had never crossed his mind. “Can’t a guy invite a girl over without any ulterior motives?”

“Dad says most guys would,” you said, crossing your arms with a smirk. “He’s always warning me about that.”

Jungwon grinned, unable to deny that statement. He knew how guys thought, being one himself. “Well, I’m not like most guys,” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “And you’re not like most girls either, if I may say so.”

You pointed at him and then at yourself. “You and me both, I guess. We’re definitely a unique pair.”

Jungwon’s smile softened. “Yeah…” He paused. Then, a smirk returned to his face. “Though, you’re definitely the first girl I’ve invited over that wasn’t my mom or my grandmother. And the first girl I’ve invited immediately after punching me in the cheek.”

You winced. “Oh yeah... I still feel terrible about that.”

“Hey, hey.”

He reached out gently and placed a hand on your shoulder, sensing your guilt. He wasn’t upset about the punch. In fact, he found it kind of hilarious now. He let out a soft laugh, giving your shoulder a light squeeze. “It’s okay, seriously. No need to feel bad. Besides, I kinda deserved it, sneaking up on you like that.”

“If anything, I should be thanking you for allowing me to have a badass bruise on my face.”

“But your cheek... how am I supposed to poke your dimple if it hurts?” you pouted a little, genuinely concerned. You really liked his dimples. “It’s one of your best features, you know.”

“My dimple, hm? That’s what you’re worried about?” He laughed, gently rubbing his sore cheek with his hand. “It’s just a bruise. It’ll heal, eventually, and my dimple will be all yours for poking again soon enough.”

“Good,” you said with a satisfied nod. “Because I don’t think I could live without poking it.”

Both of you were engaged in conversation, bantering back and forth, never realizing how late it was. The rain started to fall outside, initially a soft pitter-patter on the windows, gradually escalating into a pounding. The change in weather was subtle at first, but as the minutes passed, the downpour outside became heavier and more intense.

Jungwon glanced out the window, realizing how late and dark it had gotten. “Looks like the weather took a turn for the worse,” he commented, his gaze shifting from the window back to you. “Heavy rains like these usually last a while. I hope you weren’t planning on going home anytime soon.”

“But I’m supposed to go home. My parents would be worried,” you said, looking a bit anxious. “They always worry when I’m out late.”

Jungwon nodded, understanding your situation. The last thing you needed was to worry your mother, especially your father, by being out late. “It’s not safe to be out there in this kind of weather. You’ll get soaked and catch a cold, or worse.”

“What do you suggest?” you asked, looking at him expectantly. “I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

Jungwon pondered for a moment, thinking through possible options. He didn’t want you to risk going home in the middle of bad weather, but he also didn’t want to overstep his boundaries and make you uncomfortable. He looked at you, his expression becoming more serious.

“You can stay here for the night. The rain might not let up for a few hours, and it would be safer than trying to brave it out there.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, hesitating. “I don’t want to impose or anything and I already did a number on you...”

“Trust me, your punch didn’t do that much damage. Besides, it’s just a bruise. I’ve had worse,” he said with a light wave of his hand, partially lying.

It did hurt like a bitch, but he really took pride in it. “And don’t worry about me. I’m the one who offered, remember?”

“Well, I should call my dad to let him know that I’m here. I’m sure he’s a worried mess now,” you said, taking your phone from your bag.

Jungwon nodded in agreement, suddenly realizing he had been so caught up in the moment that he completely forgot about the need to inform your parents. He mentally berated himself for not thinking about this sooner. “Right, yeah. You should probably give him a call, and let him know you’re safe and sound here. I’m sure he’s worried.” He reached out and gave your arm a light pat, trying to reassure you.

You stood up and dialed your dad’s number. “Hi, daddy—”

“Sweet pie! Are you still at the mall? It’s raining heavily and windy,” your dad interrupted, his voice filled with concern.

You tried to calm him down. “I’m fine, daddy. I’m at a friend’s house. Don’t worry.”

“A friend? Is it a boy or a girl?” your dad asked, his tone growing more serious.

“A boy—” you began, then immediately cut off, realizing how that sounded.

“A boy? A boy, sweet pie? No,” your dad said, clearly anxious.

“Don’t worry, daddy. I’ll be fine, please. If anything happens, I’ll call,” you reassured him, trying to keep your voice calm.

“You still have the pepper spray? You better have that next to you while you sleep, and no funny business!” your dad said, his tone stern.

“Of course, daddy. I love you. Tell mommy I love her too. Good night, you two,” you said, hoping to end the call on a positive note.

“Of course, sweet pie. I love you too. Be safe, and good night,” your dad replied, his voice softening a bit.

Jungwon watched as you ended the call, your phone falling silent. He waited quietly for a moment, letting the silence linger. Once you turned back towards him, he spoke up. “Did he freak out?”

You nodded. “Yeah, he did.”

Jungwon chuckled, not surprised at all. He could only imagine the kind of panic a single phone call from you could induce in your protective father. “Well, at least you managed to calm him down somewhat, right?”

You shrugged, a small smile on your face. “Somewhat.”

“Well, there’s a slight problem: my clothes,” you said, glancing down at your designer outfit.

Jungwon glanced at your designer clothes, realizing that they were probably worth more than the total cost of his entire wardrobe. He knew how delicate and expensive designer labels could be, and he had no idea if they were washing machine-friendly.

“Hmm, well, if you’re concerned about your clothes, I can find you some of my spare clothes to wear for the night. They’re not as fancy, I’m sure, but they’re comfortable and clean.”

You gave him a relieved smile. “That would be great, thank you so much.”

Jungwon smiled and nodded, then stood up from the couch. “No problem. Just make yourself comfortable while I go get those clothes for you.”

He walked down the hallway to his room, leaving you in the living room. After a few minutes, he returned with a pair of gray sweatpants and a black T-shirt. “Here you go,” he said, handing you the clothes.

“Thanks,” you said, taking the clothes from him. You glanced around, then back at Jungwon. “Can I also borrow your face wash? I assume you have some because your skin is flawless.”

Jungwon chuckled at your compliment and nodded. “Yeah, of course you can. I have a whole skincare routine. Can’t have my skin looking bad, can I?” He gestured toward the bathroom again. “Just grab whatever you need from the shelf. And you’re welcome to use my toothbrush too if you want.”

You laughed, feeling more at ease. “The new one, I hope.”

“Yeah, the new one,” he assured with a smile. “Go ahead and get changed, then you can freshen up. I’ll be in the living room if you need anything else.”

You headed to the bathroom, changed into Jungwon’s clothes, and followed his instructions to use the skincare products on the shelf. Feeling refreshed, you re-entered the living room a while later, wearing his oversized clothes.

Jungwon was lounging on the couch when you walked in, and he looked up as you entered. His reaction was immediate, his eyes widening and his cheeks reddening.

For a moment, he seemed lost for words. His baggy clothes hung loosely on you, making you look smaller and more delicate. Seeing you without makeup for the first time, he couldn’t help but be struck by your natural beauty. “Woah…”

You tilted your head, feeling self-conscious. “What? Do I look weird?”

Jungwon quickly shook his head, snapping out of his daze. “No, not at all. You look good. Really good.”

His words made you blush slightly, and you walked over to sit beside him on the couch. “Thanks. It feels weird not having any makeup on, but your skincare stuff is really nice.”

He nodded, his eyes still fixed on you. “I just hadn’t seen you without makeup before, that’s all. You look different, but not in a bad way. Beautiful, rather.”

Your cheeks warmed even more at his compliment. “Oh, thank you…’’

Jungwon continued to look at you for a moment, taking in the sight of your natural beauty. Without the confident, poised facade you often wore, you looked more innocent, more approachable, and it made his heart skip a beat.

He cleared his throat again, trying to shift the focus. “So, uh, how do those clothes fit? Are they comfortable?”

You smiled, hugging yourself slightly. “They’re comfortable. I’ll just return them to you washed when we meet up again.”

Jungwon nodded, relieved that the clothes were at least comfortable for you. “Yeah, sure.” He then added with a playful tone, “Though, I won’t lie, I kinda like seeing you in my clothes. You look cute in them.”

“You know what? I changed my mind. They look better on you. They’re yours.” he added.

“Wait, really?” you tilted your head in surprise.

He mimicked your gesture, tilting his head, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah. You can keep them. They suit you better than they ever suited me anyway.”

“Wow, thank you,” you said, hugging yourself from the comfiness of the clothes. “This is now my favorite outfit.”

The sight of you hugging yourself in his oversized sweatshirt was almost too cute for him to handle. “No problem. They look way better on you anyway.” He paused, watching you as you continued to appreciate the clothes. A small smirk came as a teasing thought crossed his mind. “Though, I wouldn’t mind seeing you in my clothes more often.”

“I don’t mind either,” you replied with a smile.

Jungwon had half-expected you to brush off his comment, so your agreement was a pleasant surprise. His eyes flicked up and down your figure, taking in the sight of you in his clothes. He definitely wouldn’t mind you wearing them more often. “Well, great. Just so you know, that offer stands. Anytime you want to borrow more clothes from me, you’re welcome to.”

“Well, where should I sleep? The couch will be fine,” you said, looking around uncertainly.

Jungwon’s face darkened somewhat at the thought of you sleeping on the couch. It didn’t sit right with him at all. There was no way he’d allow that.

He shook his head firmly. “No way. You’re not sleeping on the couch. You can take my bed.”

You furrowed your brow, concerned. “But what about you?”

Jungwon smiled reassuringly. “I’ll be fine. I can take the couch. It’s comfortable enough for one night.”

You shook your head in disagreement. “No, I’ll be taking the couch.”

Jungwon immediately protested, adamant not to let you sleep on the couch. “No, you’re not. You’re my guest, and I insist you take the bed.”

You folded your arms, equally determined. “No, you are not.”

Jungwon’s resolve remained. He refused to back down on this. “Yes, I am. It’s non-negotiable. You will be sleeping on the bed, and I will take the couch. End of story.”

You defiantly sat down on the couch, refusing to budge. “I’m staying here.”

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed as he stood his ground a few feet away. “No, you’re not. You’re going to that bedroom, and you’re going to sleep in the bed.”

Before you could react, he effortlessly lifted you onto his shoulder.

“Ah! Let me down! I’ll be sleeping on the couch!” you panicked, squirming in his grip.

Ignoring your protests, Jungwon carried you towards the bedroom, determined to settle this once and for all. “Nope, sorry. I warned you already. You’re sleeping in the bed, and that’s final.”

He kicked the bedroom door open and unceremoniously dumped you onto the bed. “There. See? Wasn’t that difficult, was it?”

But before he could retreat, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him towards you.

“Woah, hey! What are you—” Jungwon began, surprised by your sudden move. Despite his resistance, you were surprisingly strong, and he found himself being pulled onto the bed beside you with a slight bounce.

“Now we both sleep in your bed,” you declared with a mischievous smile.

Jungwon lay there next to you, completely taken aback by your unexpected persistence. There was something about the way you were looking at him, that made him give up on arguing... Perhaps resisting would only result in more trouble, like another punch…

“…Fine. We’ll both sleep here,” he relented, his tone softening.

“Good night,” you said with a smile.

He shifted to get comfortable, turning to face you. “Good night,” he replied. “And don’t hog the blanket.”

Suddenly, you clung to him, catching him off guard.

Jungwon blinked in surprise but decided to go along with it. Slowly, he lifted his arm and wrapped it around you, pulling you closer against his chest. The sensation of you holding onto him felt oddly comforting yet exhilarating.

“You’re going to hold onto me all night, hm…?” Jungwon mused, a touch of warmth in his voice.

“Exactly. Now sleep,” you said firmly, settling in against him.

He sighed softly, closing his eyes and letting himself relax. “Alright, alright. I’m sleeping. And you better not complain about me hogging the blanket in the morning either.”

🎩

‘’AHHH! WHY IS IT SIZZLING LIKE THAT? Jungwon, help!’’ you yelled trying to hold the handle of the pan.

Jungwon was sitting at the kitchen counter, his morning disheveled hair tousled from sleep and eyes still half-closed with drowsiness. He was sipping on a glass of orange juice.

He looked up as he heard your panicked cry, his eyes widening at the sight of you in front of the stove, frantically trying to control the sizzling food in the pan. He couldn’t help but snicker. “Calm down, it’s fine. Just turn down the heat.”

‘’I don’t wanna burn the food!’’ “I don’t want to burn the food!” you exclaimed, your voice tinged with anxiety as you wrestled with the stove dial.

Jungwon laughed and set his glass down, getting up from his seat. He approached you and placed a calming hand on your back. “You won’t burn the food, trust me. It just needs a little less heat, that’s all.” He reached past you and turned down the heat on the stove, then looked at the pan to assess the food. It was starting to burn, but it was fixable.

He grabbed a spatula and began to carefully stir the food in the pan, preventing it from sticking and burning. “See? Just keep stirring it slowly and let the heat do its job. It’s not rocket science.” He shot you a smirk, enjoying your panicked state a bit too much.

“I’m just used to having my chef at home,” you admitted with a hint of embarrassment, glancing up at him.

Jungwon nodded at your confession, not surprised in the slightest. He had already guessed that you weren’t used to doing any sort of housework, considering your family’s wealth and status. “Of course you are. How could I forget that you have a personal chef to cook all your meals for you?” He continued stirring the food, his smirk remaining.

‘’Well, I’m willing to learn,” you said tentatively, determination in your voice.

Raising an eyebrow in mild surprise, Jungwon turned to look at you, impressed by your sudden eagerness. “Really? You’re interested in learning?”

He continued to stir, adding, “I’m not the best cook myself, but I’ve picked up a few things from Jay hyung. I could teach you sometime. But for now, let’s wrap this up so we can finally eat breakfast.”

‘’Alright,” you agreed as you watched Jungwon expertly season and stir the food.

Jungwon continued to stir the food in the pan, carefully attending to the sizzling onions and mushrooms. He sprinkled some spices and seasonings over it to enhance the flavor and added a few other ingredients before turning off the heat.

He put the food onto a plate and handed it to you, a proud expression on his face. “Here you go. Your first attempt at cooking, courtesy of me.”

Taking a bite, you savored the flavors, surprised by how good it turned out. “Wow, this is good!”

Jungwon watches as you take a bite of the food, a hint of pride washing over him. “See, it’s not so difficult, right? You just needed a little guidance.” He grins and steals a forkful of food off your plate, popping it into his mouth and savoring the taste.

Though out of nowhere…

‘’Want to be my boyfriend? I’d be really glad if you were,” you asked casually, but your heart raced with nervous anticipation.

Caught off guard by your sudden question, Jungwon choked on his food, his eyes widening in surprise. “W-What?”

He stammered, utterly taken aback by your directness. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, trying to keep your tone casual despite the butterflies in your stomach.

Jungwon sat in stunned silence for a moment, hardly believing what he was hearing. You, the sought-after, affluent girl, were asking him to be your boyfriend.

Shaking his head slightly, still processing the shock of your confession, he managed, “You… want me to be your boyfriend? But why? I’m just a regular guy. You could have anyone.”

“You can answer me after we eat,” you suggested, trying to hide the nervous tremor in your voice.

Nodding in agreement, Jungwon set aside his questions for the moment, focusing on the food. He stole glances at you, curious about what was going on that pretty head of yours.

🎩

After eating, you both found yourselves on the couch, staring at each other in a brief silence. “Yo, your answer. You can just reject me and we can still be friends,” you said, though you weren’t entirely honest – rejection would definitely sting.

He struggled to find the right words. “Why would you want to be with me, out of everyone?”

“I just like you. I like everything about you. It’s kind of obvious. Well, to me at least,” you admitted, your voice soft but sincere.

He swallowed hard, trying to process your words. It was hard to believe that someone like you saw him in such a positive light. Running a hand through his hair nervously, he murmured, “Are you… sure you haven’t lost your mind?”

“Are you calling me crazy?” you retorted, a hint of playful challenge in your tone.

Jungwon quickly shook his head, realizing his mistake. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that,” he assured you, guilt flickering in his eyes.

“It’s just… you’re kind of, well, out of my league. You’re rich, beautiful, and probably the most popular girl in school.”

“And I still like you,” you said firmly, hoping he could see the honesty in your eyes.

He studied your face for a moment, then sighed, acceptance softening his voice. “I guess it doesn’t make sense, does it? For you to choose me.”

Turning towards you, he added, “Alright… I’ll be your boyfriend.”

You squealed.

Jungwon had never seen you so animated, and it was strangely endearing. He reached over, patting your head affectionately, a small smile playing on his lips. “Calm down, princess. No need to squeal like that. You’re going to bust my eardrums.”

“We’re dating now! I can’t wait for our tea dates!” you exclaimed, bouncing slightly on the couch.

Jungwon had a sense of your high-maintenance nature, being the pampered rich girl of the school, but he found himself looking forward to experiencing it all. “Tea dates? Of course,” he chuckled softly, shaking his head at your expensive tastes.

Tilting your head, you added, “Well, we can go wherever you want!”

Jungwon had assumed you’d prefer fancy, expensive outings, given your wealth. Your willingness to go anywhere with him was a pleasant surprise.

After a moment’s thought, he spoke with a smirk, “Are you sure you’re okay with going somewhere cheap? No luxury restaurants or expensive boutiques?”

“Absolutely! I’m so excited,” you assured him eagerly.

Jungwon laughed at your enthusiasm, still surprised that you’d opt for something so different from your usual lifestyle, just for him. Rising from the couch, he extended his hand to you, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “Let’s go then, princess. I know just the place.”

“Wait, now?” you asked, looking up at him.

He nodded, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, why not? Unless you’ve got something more important to do than spend time with your boyfriend.”

With a wink, he held his hand out, waiting for you to join him.

“But we’re in our pajamas, and we just ate. Plus, it’s still early,” you protested, feeling both excitement and apprehension.

“So what? It’s never too early, and it doesn’t matter what we’re wearing. Besides, you look cute in your pajamas.” Jungwon gently poked your nose. “Now come on, let’s go.”

“But we just ate, Jungwon,” you persisted, reluctant to leave the comfort of the couch.

“We can grab a light snack where we’re going. Don’t worry so much.” He took your hand, pulling you up from the couch. “Come on. Stop being a cute baby and come with me.”

“Alright, fine. Only because you said yes,” you relented, giving in to his playful persistence.

Jungwon squeezed your hand, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Good.” Letting go of your hand, he gave you a playful swat on the butt, gently nudging you forward.

“Ouch! My butt!” you exclaimed, rubbing your bum.

“Quit being dramatic. It was just a swat. Your butt is still intact,” Jungwon teased, smirking as he watched you move ahead, shaking his head affectionately.

🎩

As the days went by, the news that you were dating Jungwon spread like wildfire throughout the school. No one could believe it.

Jungwon, on the other hand, was enjoying his new status as your boyfriend. It felt weird at first, having everyone’s eyes on him, but he quickly got used to it. Every time someone would stare at him in disbelief, he would smirk and wrap an arm around your waist.

When a guy would comment something bad about him, you’ll just punch him and move forward through the day like nothing happened. Just being the princess you are. (Though you always believed that violence is never the answer and that it’s better to answer everything with grace but when it comes to Jungwon, you’ll fight everyone who looks down on him.)

One afternoon, Jungwon lounged on his bed, casually scrolling through his phone. A knock interrupted his idle moment, and he called out, “Come in.”

“Im home, bitch,” you announced, breezing into his room and closing the door behind you.

Jungwon chuckled sarcastically at your greeting. “Is that any way to greet your boyfriend?”

“Sorry,” you cleared your throat, suddenly more formal. “Hi, baby! I’m home.”

His eyes softened as you greeted him properly. Setting his phone aside, he said, “Hi there, princess. Come here, I need cuddles.”

You complied, walking over to him. Jungwon eagerly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you onto his lap. “Mmm, I missed you. How was your day?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Just the usual.”

Humming softly, Jungwon nuzzled against your neck, planting a few gentle kisses. “Just the usual, huh? No gossip or drama?”

“Lots of gossip, actually, but I’ll tell you all about it later,” you replied, running your fingers through his hair.

Jungwon perked up at the mention of gossip, always intrigued by school rumors, especially those involving you. He adjusted his position so he could see your face, keeping his arms securely around you. “Gossip, you say? Must be something good if you’re saving it.”

“Well, first, let me just say how handsome you look right now. If you want me to kneel for you, I will,” you teased, meeting his gaze playfully.

Jungwon smirked suggestively, raising an eyebrow. “Oh really? You’d get on your knees for me just like that?”

“Babe, not like that!” you protested, cheeks flushing slightly.

He laughed heartily. “I know, I’m just teasing you.” Leaning in, he planted a sweet kiss on your cheek, his hold on you gentle yet reassuring.

“I love my pretty princess,” Jungwon murmured affectionately.

“Love you too, won…” you murmured back, enjoying the closeness.

Then, a more serious note entered your voice. “Hey, wonie?”

“Yeah, baby?” Jungwon replied, sensing a shift in the conversation.

‘’My dad wants to meet you…’’

“Oh shit’’

619 notes · View notes

flowercrowngods · 1 year

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this wouldn't leave me alone, so have my thoughts on a steve-centric "who did this to you?" steddie concept inspired by @imfinereallyy (i hope this is okay, even though it's uhhh nothing like what you mentioned)

When Eddie gets to the boathouse, he immediately notices that something is off. The door is cracked open but he can’t hear anyone talking or moving stuff around. No one ever comes here — it’s been his hideout spot since the ripe age of thirteen when he’d had hist first real fight with Wayne.

No one comes here. But now the door is cracked open and Eddie stares at it for a good minute as though that would make it come to life and tell him who’s inside so he won’t have to look and deal with whoever decided to steal his spot. He’s really not in the mood to start any shit today, or to be called all sorts of names — most of which aren’t even half as true as people fear.

His first instinct is to leave, find somewhere else to hide from this miserable world today, when he hears it. The sound of sniffling, followed by wet, heavy breaths.

Oh. It sounds like someone’s crying. In his spot.

Maybe it’s some girl who got her heart broken, some dude who lost the last bit of faith in his family, or some kid who—

Ah, fuck it, he’ll just come back later. Not his problem. Definitely not his problem. And it’s definitely not guilt or worry that gnaw at him as he turns on his heel to leave.

But then there’s a groan. A pained groan. Someone’s in pain, and crying in his spot, and Eddie really shouldn’t make that his problem. He shouldn't. Nopbody cares when he's crying and in pain either! But fuck if he won’t be thinking about it for the rest of his life if he turns his back on whoever it is. Maybe they need help.

They most certainly sound like they do.

With a heavy sigh, Eddie is already at the door before he can think about it too much.

“Hello?” he asks the darkness, and immediately the sniffling stops.

Silence falls, but only for a moment before whoever it is has to draw shaky, wheezing breaths that make Eddie swear under his breath.

“Listen, I know you’re here.” He’s taking slow, deliberate steps, his eyes roaming he mess of boats, tools and tarp he knows so well. “And I’m not trying to start anything. Tell me to go away and I will. But I have a first aid kit in my car and, uh, you sound like maybe you need it.”

There’s no response, but the wheezing breaths turn into whimpers with every second that whoever it is tries very hard not to make any noise, and Eddie’s heart starts to race in his chest. He can feel worry and panic starting to rise. And overshadowing it is an overwhelming sense of dread.

What the fuck is happening?

He tries to be careful but his mind is racing and his limbs are starting to feel like lead. His wary steps become heavy and clumsy, and then he accidentally boots something that makes a terrible, horrible noise, breaking the eerie silence. Eddie cringes and is about to apologise, when finally there is movement in his peripheral vision.

And then he sees him. There, hidden in the shadows between a boat and the far wall, his face breaten and bloodied, his eye swelling around a nasty bruise. Wait, do bruises bleed? Should they look black like that? Is it a cut? Something worse?

Even after years of constant bullying and goading in middle school and high school, he has never actually seen someone look like this. With their face completely smashed in. It makes him freeze for a horrible, horrible moment before he saps out of it.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes, hurrying over as fast as he can, stumbling over tools and tarp as he does. Something falls to the floor with a loud clunk and it makes the boy flinch again. Eddie curses. “Sorry, shit, sorry!”

He makes it to the boat rather quickly, crouching down in front of the boy a few feet away so as not to spook him, not to crowd him. And then his heart only plummets further, because he knows this one.

Steve Harrington. The boy who’s come to school with many a black eye over the past two years — but never this bad. The boy who’s been looking like the world might be about to end each time he rounded a corner in school; ever since things started happening around Hawkins. Since the Holland girl died and the Byers boy disappeared.

It fascinated Eddie, the way Steve fell from grace. The way he turned quiet, and showed up with healing bruises. There are stories woven around it, because teenagers like to gossip and word spreads fast, and Eddie always listened with rapt attention as Harrington turned into a bit of a myth. A legend. A ghost story.

But fascination is not what he feels right now, seeing Steve like this.

His eyes are unfocused and Eddie knows about the danger of head injuries. He knows about the consequences of blood loss, he knows that Steve will be warm to the touch even though he’s shivering already, and… Fuck!

“Shit, Steve,” he rasps, not daring to speak louder lest he spooks the boy. Of all the reasons he’s had to be afraid of talking to Steve Harrington, this one might be the cruellest. "I..."

He takes in his wounds, his bruised and scraped knuckles where his hands are wrapped around the knees he’s pulled to his chest, and his split lip that he keeps biting.

Eddie swallows before he asks, “Who did this to you?”

But Steve just shakes his head clumsily. Sniffles again, and then his breath comes in wet heaves, and Eddie worries for a moment that he’s going to throw up now.

He doesn’t.

Steve’s just staring. Eddie isn’t even entirely sure he can see him, or maybe he did and then forgot, or maybe he’s fading. Eddie should do something, he should get help, he should—

“Steve,” he says, and dares to touch him when he doesn’t react.

A light touch to the knee shouldn’t make anyone flinch like that, but Steve’s whole body jumps, and then the shivers and the wheezing get worse. It almost sounds like a whimper, and Eddie curses again. Feels like crying now, scared and helpless as he is.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay, I— Jesus, okay.” He swallows hard, trying to think, willing for the panic to subside and a plan to form. “You’re okay. I... I’m gonna, I’m gonna grab the first aid kit. I have it in my car. It’s not, it’s not far. And a blanket. So you'll be warm again. I’ll be right back, okay? Don’t move, don’t…" He gestures wildly, caught between reaching out and pulling away. "Don’t move.”

Eddie takes a wavering breath and moves to stand on numb, tingly legs, nearly missing Steve’s, “Can’t.” It’s barely more than a whisper, hardly even a wheeze. It’s like he’s just breathing out words because everything else is too much effort.

Right. Right. This is messed up and Eddie’s panicking, but Steve will be okay. Because things like that don’t happen, not here, not today, and not to Steve Harrington.

Except this is Hawkins. Where Will Byers disappeared and Barb Holland died and many people are missing and weird shit just ends up happening everywhere even though they’re all just kids. They’re just kids. And Steve’s not even conscious enough to realise that right now.

Eddie all but runs outside, sprinting to his van with a speed that would make the coach swallow his stupid whistle if gym class only mattered right now. It doesn't. Nothing matters, because Steve is... He's hurt. And there's no one else around to help.

Grabbing the first aid kit, a bottle of water and a thick blanket he always keeps spread out in the back of his van, he makes it back to the boathouse in no time.

He wasn’t even gone for three minutes, but still he sighs in relief when Steve is still awake. He even looks up. Blinks. Frowns in what can only be confusion and makes Eddie's heart fall.

“Munson?”

Fuck, that’s not a good sign. That’s messed up, it’s fucked up, it’s— Focus, Eddie!

“The one and only,” he says, voice shaky and his smile not fooling anyone. He wraps the blanket around Steve, whose eyes are unfocused again, though he tries so hard to blink it away.

Brave boy, stupid boy. Head trauma isn’t blinked away. Though Eddie is inclined to let him try. Maybe he’ll find a way.

“Here.” He hands the bottle over to Steve, who grabs it with clumsy hands. He can hold it, but he can’t get it open — again, not a good sign.

Eddie opens it for him, then turns to his first aid kit. It seemed like a great idea five minutes ago, but he’s petrified now. It’s too dark in here and he can’t really see the wounds, he doesn’t know what to use, what’s in there, he doesn’t, he can’t, he—

The bottle, empty now, is handed back to him, bumping into his hand, tearing him away from his spiralling thoughts.

“Thanks,” Harrington breathes, and there’s a small smile visible in the darkness. Eddie just nods and takes it with hands that are still shaking.

“I wanna help you,” he says, like it isn’t obvious. “But I don’t know how. You gotta tell me where it hurts, Steve.”

A beat. “Everywhere.”

Eddie sags, falling back to sit opposite Steve, frantically rubbing at his face. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Steve chuckles, but it sounds so wet with tears and pain, Eddie never wants to hear it again. “Thought I could do it.”

He’s talking. That’s a good thing, right? He can’t pass out as long as he’s talking. That’s how that works, isn’t it? So, Eddie asks, “Do what?”

“Doctors told me,” Steve sighs, his voice slow and slurring. “Told me to... to stay out of fights. Stay out of them. Said I had to make sure my head won’t—“

He makes a motion with his fist, and Eddie thinks he’s simulating a punch, disoriented as it is. It makes his heart fall. Is that what happened? Someone beat Steve to a pulp? Again? Just like that?

Eddie is so stuck on that thought, trying to piece together the puzzle, that he almost misses Steve’s mumbled speech.

“Y’know, th— Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.” He says it to matter-of-factly that Eddie’s heart stops for a second.

What the fuck happened to Steve Harrington? Not just today, no. What happened to him?

What happend to make him look up at Eddie Munson, out of all people, with glistening eyes so endlessly scared, and say, “I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture. I can't—” A wheeze, a keen, a whimper, and Harringtin pulls at his hair, uncaring that he's making things worse.

Meanwhile, Eddie is stuck on his words. Because what.

“Can’t, can't die now ‘cause Tommy thinks he’s so… He’s… He’s just sad, man. Griev'n' and confused. But Billy’s gone, an'— And now I’ll…”

Steve looks at him now, his eyes shining with tears and something that Eddie’s written poems about and created characters around. This expression, like the world will end. And inspiring as it is, it fucking breaks his heart now.

“They said my brain is hurt, Eddie.”

Eddie swallows the hurt and the fear and the complete overwhelm he's feeling. Steve is telling him things that Eddie doesn't know how to handle.

“You won’t die, Steve,” he says in as gentle a voice as he can muster right now, because that's the only thing he knows.

And he won’t, right? People don’t just die. Not from taking a punch, not when they just graduated high school, not when they’re Steve Harrington. Right?

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Steve breathes. “That’s good.”

Eddie wants to hug him in that moment. He never knew that this was possible, wanting to hug Steve Harrington, wanting to wrap the blanket around him even tighter and keep him safe and convince him that he won’t die.

And then the rest of what he said catches up with Eddie and leaves anger in its wake.

“Hagan did that to you?”

Steve nods. “Started going off about Billy.”

Eddie’s blood freezes at that name. "Hargrove?”

Another nod, though Steve doesn’t look too happy about moving his head, and he groans quietly. “They were friends. Tommy is angry. Grieving. Con— Confused. He was just saying shit, like it’s my fault. And it is. Kinda. But Tommy’s, he, he’s... Just saying shit. And then he punched me. A lot. And he didn’t stop. And now… is now.”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes dumbly, carefully bandaging the glaring wound at his temple, needing to start somewhere. “Now is now.” His blood is still frozen as he tries very hard not to listen to Steve. Nothing that Harrington says has any right to matter anything to him; they live in two different worlds. If Harrington confesses to murder while severely concussed under Eddie’s watch, then there are no witnesses to drag either of them through the mud for it. Eddie is just gonna forget about it. Or try, anyway. “But you’re… Shit , Steve, you’re really hurt.”

Steve blinks. Pauses. And Eddie thinks he’s lost him. But then, “Yeah. I’m always hurt.”

And that, in this little voice, is like a gut punch. Because Eddie knows something about always hurt. “What?”

“What?”

There is ice in his veins as he asks, “Who’s hurting you, Steve?”

Steve looks at him, opening his mouth once, twice, like he’s about to say something and Eddie holds his breath. But then Steve’s eyes droop and he shrinks in on himself a bit more.

“Jus’ everyone, sometimes. God you don’t… You don’t even know.”

Know what, Harrington? Eddie can barely breathe anymore.

“’M tired, Eddie,” Steve mumbles, closing his eyes. “Don’t wanna hurt anymore.”

“Hey, hey, no!” Eddie reaches out, catching Steve’s head and preventing it from colliding with the floor as he’s slumping and falling over.

And just like that, the panic is back, frantic but determined this time. He’s going to get help; there’s nothing he can do with his lousy first aid kit, not when Steve keeps going in and out of consciousness like that. Not when he can barely see anything or clean the wounds properly.

He’s going to get Steve to a hospital and allow them both to forget this ever happened. Because Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson don’t breathe the same air or share traumatic stories in a boathouse like this.

He’ll get out of Steve’s hair the second the hospital doors close behind him, and get out of whatever trouble someone like Harrington could be in. Eddie doesn’t even want to know. He doesn't want to be part of his ghost story.

But as he’s scooping him up and helping him out of the damned boathouse, clumsily preventing him from stumbling over his own feet or tools or tarp or planks or whatever fucking shit is littering the floor of this godforsaken place, he can hear Steve speaking quietly.

"Where‘re we going?"

And even though a second ago he was determined to take Steve to a hospital, there is only one place on Eddie's mind right now. Only one place he knows where he won't be scared anymore.

"Somewhere safe," he says, tightening his hold on the boy even though his hands are shaking now, too. He looks over his shoulders the moment they're out of the boathouse, stupidly worried that whoever did this to Steve – Hagan, apparently – would still be around, would follow them and do the same shit to Eddie.

"Safe?"

"Safe."

"Okay," Steve sighs, like he believes him. Like he trusts him. Hell, they've never even spoken before, but something inside Eddie breaks at the little sigh, at the way Steve goes slack in his arms. And even more at the little, "Thanks."

If Eddie's eyes are filled with tears and the hands around the wheel are clenched so tight to hide the way they're shaking, then Steve is not conscious enough to comment on it.

(addendum 7 december) onwards to part 2

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #this is somewhere between s3 and s4 obviously #but also i just re-read the op post and realised that this is nothing like what they wished for so uh. sorry? never trust me with prompts y #who did this to you #hurt steve #steve harrington whump #pre-steddie #sorry op maybe i'll try again and get it right this time but uh. yeah #dio words

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steddiealltheway · 2 years

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Steve refuses to tell the kids his middle name. He’s fights them off after El figures out that middle names are a thing and demands everyone to tell her if they have one. And usually when it comes to El, Steve gives in immediately. But he just knows this information will come back to bite him in the ass. So he refuses.

But then they go to Nancy trying to pry the information out of her, but she reveals that she has no idea what it is - ouch but what a relief. Next up is Robin who also reveals she has no idea, and then she joins in on trying to get it out of him.

With the girls on their side, Steve is slightly terrified, but still unwilling to give up the information. He thinks they’ll let it go… but then they’re showing up at his house suspiciously only for Steve to find out that they’re trying to find his birth certificate. That’s when Eddie gets roped into things.

And the thing about Eddie is that he’s curious of course. What could Steve’s middle name possibly be which is so horrendous he won’t even tell Robin? But he respects the man’s privacy. If he wants to keep it to himself then so be it… But Eddie wants to know.

So he starts developing his own plans - without telling the kids or the girls. He thinks getting Steve drunk or high off his ass is probably a bit too manipulative. But maybe he can gain the guy’s trust.

So he starts coming along, pretending like he’s going to help as the kids dig and dig for the information. Steve is always somehow there, even when the kids start looking through the records at the library because some of them needed a ride. But Eddie sticks with Steve, talking to him about anything other than his name - the kids are convinced that Eddie is doing a great job distracting Steve.

And maybe he is, but he slowly forgets any type of ulterior motives when he’s talking to Steve. It’s a blessing and a curse being in the presence of the man.

But then it happens. Steve casually invites Eddie to hang out sometime, and that’s exactly when Eddie will bring up the middle name thing.

When the day comes, Eddie finds himself thoroughly distracted by Steve’s thigh which is pressing against his while they watch a movie. And there’s a large space next to Steve on the couch, but he chose to sit where his is now. It’s a big deal really.

“I’m gonna grab a Coke, do you want anything?”

Eddie asks for a Coke as well, hoping it serves as something to ground him as he hangs out alone with Steve Something Harrington. That’s the moment he remembers the plan. Shit, he’s supposed to be asking him stuff that casually leads to the reveal of his middle name. Easy.

No it isn’t. How the hell is he going to… Eddie glances at the coffee table in front of them to find… Steve’s wallet. Steve’s wallet containing his driver’s license. Steve’s wallet containing his driver’s license containing his full government name.

Oh this is good. This is really good. How have the kids not managed to think of this yet?

Eddie quickly snatches the wallet, opening it to find the driver’s license in a clear pocket. Okay, time to finally learn what’s been gnawing at his brain for days now, and then he’ll never have to tell Steve about it. Ever.

He squints his eyes and reads the name. Then he rereads it. Then he rereads it again.

Steven Edward Harrington

“Edward?!” Eddie yells, cringing at the fact he’s saying his government name.

Steve races into the room, two Cokes in hand and eyes wide as can be. Eddie doesn’t even have time to hide the wallet or any evidence of what he’s been doing. Well. Shit.

“Of course you were on their side,” Steve sighs, a look of betrayal crosses his face. Eddie’s gut twists.

“No, no. Okay, I’ll admit that I was curious, but I was going to find out and just put that secret away in my brain forever. But is my name really so bad?”

Steve turns a bit red as he admits, “I wasn’t hiding it for that reason.”

“Then what are you hiding it for?”

“Because… because…” He sets the two soda cans down with a thud before blurting out, “I thought you’d be making a bigger deal out of it! I thought the kids would make jokes about me having your name. Or you would tell me something along the lines of ‘You already have my middle name, why not take me last name?’ And I was not prepared to deal with that!” Steve rushes out, a hand runs through his hair before he settles his hands on his hips.

That… definitely wasn’t what Eddie was expecting but he can’t help but flirt, “You’re putting words in my mouth, sweetheart, but I can say them if you’d like.”

Steve sighs and points at him. “Exactly that! It just makes me get feel so…”

Eddie tenses up and quietly questions, “Disgusted?”

“Flustered!” Steve replies instantly.

It takes him a moment to process, but then Eddie is standing up and making his way over to Steve with a smile. “I make Steven Edward Harrington flustered?”

Steve rolls his eyes but the small smile and blush rising to his cheeks give him away. “I’m going to change my name,” Steve states.

“And take my last name?” Eddie teases, and Steve lightly shoves at him.

“Buy me dinner first, Edward.”

“How about a kiss first?” Eddie asks with an obnoxiously large grin. It’s immediately wiped when Steve leans in, and Eddie’s eyes flutter shut.

“I’m not that easy,” Steve whispers so close that his lips brush against Eddie’s before he pulls away. “Come on, let’s finish the movie.”

When Eddie’s feet are able to move again, he finds himself sitting even closer to Steve than before, but this time Steve’s hand curling around his is the most distracting thing besides the thought that Steven Edward Munson has a nice ring to it.

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie ficlet #stranger things

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camzeecorner · 1 month

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TEACH HER 18+

part one here

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹

Summary : Nicole finds herself experiencing those weird feelings again, which makes her uneasy. Remembering the enlightening conversation she had with Matt, Chris, and Nate, she decides to reach out to them for help.

warnings : virginity loss, cream pie, eating pussy, fingering, male masturbation, praise, pet names, slight overstimulation, pussy slapping, foursome, cock praise, pussy praise, sub reader, dirty talking

𐙚₊˚ pairings : Matt, Chris, Nate x sub!fem reader𐙚₊˚

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹

Nicole was sprawled across her bed, her slim legs kicked up in the air, swinging back and forth with a restless energy as she scrolled through YouTube on her phone. She flipped over onto her stomach, trying to find a comfortable position, but no matter how she moved, that strange feeling just wouldn’t fade away. Frustration bubbled up inside her, and she groaned, burying her head into the soft pillow, hoping to escape the discomfort that lingered.

She was puzzled by the unfamiliar sensation, her mind racing as she tried to decipher what was wrong. Thoughts swirled around, and in a moment of frustration, she mentally slapped her forehead, recalling a faint memory from a month ago. The details were hazy, but the feelings associated with it were beginning to resurface, urging her to confront what she had been trying to ignore.

“and remember, if you ever get that weird feeling down there again..” Matt spoke pointing between her legs, “just use the tricks we showed you okay?”he spoke softly caressing my cheek. I nodded at him frantically.

I slowly sat up, my fingers brushing the screen of my phone as I turned it off, the room falling into a quiet stillness. I leaned back against my pillows, tugging my shorts down a bit for comfort. With a mix of curiosity and uncertainty, I started to mimic the movements Chris and Matt had shown me, but the sensations just didn’t match the intensity I had hoped for. Frustration bubbled up inside me, and I let out a soft whimper, applying more pressure, desperate to find that elusive feeling. But still, nothing changed. I threw my head back against the pillows, silent tears spilling down my cheeks as I grappled with my disappointment.

“What if it doesn’t work?” I pout. Nate got up walking over, sitting next to me. “Then..call us! And we’ll help you again.” He spoke cheerful smiling at me. Matt and Chris nodding along.

I reached for my phone, my fingers trembling slightly as I opened our group chat. A wave of hesitation washed over me; uncertainty gnawed at my mind, making me question whether I should really reach out. I took a sharp breath, feeling the weight of my decision, and finally began to type, the words flowing from my fingertips as I poured my thoughts into the message.

Best kids to live

colie : hi guys! are you free? Or is this a bad time?

Mattress: hi princess, it’s never a bad time for you

chrizzy : hi doll you okay?

nation: lowkey just shit but I’m chillin, what do u need pretty girl

colie: it’s happening again, I can’t make it stop

nations: what do u mean mama

*chrizzy and mattress emphasized nations message*

Colie: that feeling is back, I tried to rub like you guys said but it’s not helping. It’s really uncomfortable, can you please help me again?

mattress: we’ll be there in 10.

*END OF CONVERSATION*

I sat on my bed, the anticipation building as I patiently waited for the boys to arrive. After what felt like an eternity, about twelve minutes later, the sound of my front doorbell echoed through the house. Jumping up, I quickly slid my shorts back on and made my way down the stairs, my heart racing with excitement. As I reached the living room door and swung it open, I was immediately greeted by the familiar faces of Matt, Chris, and Nate. A warm smile spread across my face as I stepped aside, inviting them in with a welcoming gesture.

“Hi guys!” I chirp happily, my voice bright with excitement. I start walking up the stairs, the sound of their footsteps echoing behind me as they follow closely. Entering my room, I hear the door click shut behind us. Nate, always the energetic one, quickly strides over to me, gently pushing me down onto the bed. The sudden movement catches me off guard, and I let out a surprised gasp. “Don’t worry, mama, we’re gonna make that feeling go away... okay?” he reassures me, settling onto his knees in the same spot he had occupied last time. I gulp, my gaze dropping to the floor as a rush of emotions floods through me, feeling my shorts dampening with a mix of anxiety and desperation.

Matt settled onto my bed, positioning himself close but still leaving a comfortable space between us. Chris took a seat in my chair, which was positioned across from my bed, creating a little distance yet still keeping the atmosphere intimate. They both sat there in silence, their eyes fixed on me, as if I were the main event of a show they were eager for. The stillness hung in the air, charged with anticipation, making me acutely aware of their gaze.

Nate began tracing small circles on my thighs, sending shivers of pleasure coursing through me. I tossed my head back, surrendering to the sensation of his touch. It was strange how the same actions felt so different when they were directed at me; their hands had an electric quality that I found utterly intoxicating. As Nate leaned in closer, a soft whine escaped my lips, and I shook out a breath, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. He started to pepper kisses along the inside of my thigh, each gentle press of his lips igniting a fire within me.

I let out a shaky whine, my breath hitching in my throat. Shutting my eyes tightly, I tugged my lips between my teeth, trying to steady myself. He slid his long fingers to my waistband, the anticipation making my heart race. With deliberate slowness, he tugged them down, maintaining his dominant composure throughout. A soft groan escaped my lips as the cold air hit my skin intensely, sending a jolt through my body that heightened every sensation.

He smirked, glancing up at me with a playful glint in his eyes. “Still the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen,” he spoke lowly, his voice smooth and teasing. I felt my cheeks flush at his words, warmth creeping up as I turned my head to the side, trying to hide my embarrassment. “Thank you…” I murmured softly, barely above a whisper. He responded by blowing lightly against my skin, each breath building more wetness and heightening the tension between us.

I grind my hips up slightly, only to be pushed back down as Nate wrapped his strong arms around them, holding me firmly in place. He sank his head further in, and I felt a rush of anticipation. When his tongue made contact, a cry escaped my lips, raw and unrestrained. “N-Nate…” I whispered, breathless and overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

He hummed against me, keeping his head lowered, his focus entirely on me. His tongue was a masterful force, licking and devouring every inch of me, making sure to savor every drop of sweetness with deliberate care. I reached my hand down, tugging gently at his brown locks, feeling the warmth radiate from him. He groaned against me, pushing his head in deeper, intensifying the sensations. My body responded with soft whines and whimpers of pleasure, each sound a testament to the overwhelming delight coursing through me.

Feeling the strange tightness in my stomach, I instinctively bucked my hips forward, a wave of sensation crashing over me. I panted softly, my head tossing and turning as I tried to process the intensity that was almost overwhelming. “You gonna cum?” Chris spoke lowly, his voice laced with anticipation. I nodded my head quickly, breathless and unable to form a coherent sentence, lost in the moment.

Feeling the orgasm wash over me, I cried out, the intensity of the moment consuming me. I was breathing hard, my chest heaving with each rapid inhale. Sweat dripped down my forehead, causing loose strands of hair to cling to my skin. I whimpered softly as Nate pulled away, his gaze lingering on me. He licked his lips, savoring every drop, a satisfied smile playing on his face. His hand rubbed my thigh gently, and he asked, “You okay, mama?” “Uh huh,” I replied softly, still catching my breath. I blinked a few times, wiping away the tears that had escaped, feeling a mix of satisfaction swirling within me.

Nate shifted from his spot as I watched Chris stand up, his movements deliberate and confident. Nate settled into the chair that Chris had just vacated, a knowing look passing between them. Chris walked over to me, positioning himself between my legs, his presence both comforting and electrifying. He rested his hand on my knee, gently rubbing it in soothing circles. “Think you’re good for two more rounds?” Chris asked, his gaze flickering between me and Matt, a hint of mischief in his eyes. Excitement bubbled within me at the thought of feeling even better, and I nodded eagerly. “Yes,” I replied, a smile breaking across my face as I giggled softly.

“Okay…” he spoke lowly, pulling me closer to the edge of the bed before sinking down to the floor. His hands began to work magic, gently rubbing circles on me that made me shudder with anticipation. He maneuvered his fingers in ways that sent me spiraling into another universe, each touch perfect, hitting every spot I desperately craved. “This might hurt, okay? Just let me know if you want me to stop, alright?” I gulped lightly, a wave of nervousness washing over me. “O-okay…” I managed to speak, my voice hoarse and trembling.

Feeling small rubs on my shoulder, I turned my head to meet Matt’s soft gaze, his eyes filled with reassurance. “It’ll be okay, just relax… the pain will be gone quick,” he spoke in a calming voice, and instantly, I felt a wave of comfort wash over me, easing my tension.

Turning my attention back to Chris, I sucked in a breath as I suddenly felt a finger entering me slowly. I shut my eyes at the unexpected pain, a soft whimper escaping my lips. “It’s okay, baby…” I heard Chris coo softly, his voice soothing. Matt ran his fingers through my hair, the gentle caress helping me relax into his touch. “O-oh,” I breathed out, feeling his finger move back and forth, slow and steady. Gradually, some of the pain was replaced by pleasure, and I couldn’t help but groan at the new sensation.

“M’gonna add another, okay?” Chris spoke, looking up to meet my eyes, his expression full of desire. I nodded at him, releasing a shaky breath as anticipation coursed through me.

He sank another finger in, stretching me lightly, and I rolled my hips upwards, feeling the pleasure build within me. I could feel his fingers curl, plunging in and out faster, each thrust gaining speed and intensity. I squeezed around him, relishing the new sensation that coursed through me, too intoxicating to resist. “O-oh my…” I breathed out, feeling my legs trembling softly beneath the wave of pleasure. I felt Chris add his thumb to the mix, rubbing slow, deliberate circles on my soft pink clit that sent shivers down my spine.

I felt my breath hitch in my throat, causing me to choke out a moan that echoed in the air. The pleasure was overwhelming, consuming me completely, so much so that I couldn’t focus on anything else. I tuned everything out, zeroing in on the exquisite sensation of Chris's fingers working their magic. I began to move my body against his, instinctively matching his rhythm, lost in the intoxicating dance of our connection.

“You gonna cum baby? Hm.. you gonna make a mess on my fingers.”Chris said hungrily, locking his intense gaze onto mine, igniting a fire within me. I grunted as my eyes began to roll back, my mouth parting slightly in a gasp. “Eyes on me,” Chris commanded, his voice firm as he softly slapped my cheek, bringing me back to the moment. I whimpered, feeling the pressure build inside me. Then, he began to move at an ungodly speed, pushing me to arch my back, a scream escaping my lips in the process. “C-chri-chris!” I cried out, desperately clutching onto his arm, lost in the overwhelming sensations.

I came hard, feeling myself clenching and squeezing his fingers. My eyes rolled back, making my vision fuzzy. Feelings his fingers slow, he began to stiff his movements allowing me to ride out my high. Slowly pulling his fingers out before sucking them clean.

“So fucking sweet” he mumbled.

“My turn!” Matt exclaimed, laughter bubbling up as he jumped to his feet. It wasn’t long before I felt the familiar rush of excitement wash over me again. Matt sauntered over, looking down at me with a playful glint in his eyes. “I’m gonna fuck you so good…” he whispered, his voice low and teasing. “Fuck me?” I asked, confusion knitting my brows together just as I felt a sharp slap on my pulsing pussy, making me shriek in surprise. “Don’t say that…” Matt warned, pointing a finger at me with a mock-serious expression. I nodded slowly, surrendering to his playful commands, the anticipation swirling around us.

Matt started by lifting his shirt off his head, the fabric gliding over his skin before he tossed it casually toward my door. With a confident grin, he began unbuckling his belt, the metal clinking softly as he pulled it free from the latch. He swiftly unbuttoned his pants, the sound of the button popping echoing in the room. In one fluid motion, he yanked them down, stepping out of them with an air of nonchalance, leaving a trail of excitement in his wake.

I glanced over his body, taking in every detail. It was stunning; he was truly a piece of artwork. His faint abs were subtly defined, and his tattooed arm was a canvas of intricate designs, all covered in deep black ink. A chuckle above me pulled my attention up, and I found Matt grinning down at me. “You like what you see, doll?” he teased. I nodded slowly, my eyes trailing down his body until they landed on a hard-looking lump covered by his black boxers. “What’s that?” I asked, moving my hand up to touch it gently. I heard Matt stifle a moan, his breath hitching as he sucked in a sharp inhale. “Shit,” he murmured, the tension in the air thickening. “Mm..that’s my cock..” my eyes stuck to his cock, I tilt my head to the side showing my confusion. “What’s that?” I asked. “It’s like the boy version of a vagina” he spoke calmly. “You wanna touch it baby?” I nod my head fast smiling up at Matt.

He spun around swiftly, directing his attention to Nate and Chris. With a quick nod, he beckoned them over before turning back to me. “You wanna touch theirs too?” he asked, a playful glint in his eyes. I nodded eagerly, a smile breaking across my face. “Yes, please,” I replied sweetly, hoping my polite request would earn me the permission I desired.

“Go on... take my boxers off,” Matt said in a chilling voice that sent a shiver down my spine. I reached up, my fingers trembling slightly as I tugged at the fabric of his briefs, pulling them down slowly. Matt exhaled sharply, tossing his head back in a moment of surrender. “Shit,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with a mix of surprise and pleasure. I couldn't tear my gaze away from the sight in front of me. “You like it?” Nate asked, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched my reaction. “Yes,” I replied, my voice steady, not daring to look away. I gently ran my hand up and down, feeling the tension in Matt’s body as he let out a deep groan.

Pulling my hand away, I turn to nate and Chris seeing them already with their own cocks in the hands. They were all so big. I reach up pressing my palms against them both. “Fuck” Chris groaned shutting his eyes, followed by Nathan moaning.

“Alright, mama, enough touching...” Matt said, his tone both playful and commanding. Nate and Chris strolled around the bed, settling against my wall, their gazes fixed on me with an intensity that made me feel like the center of their attention, as if I were a feast laid out before them. Matt gently pushed me down, his hands rubbing against me in a way that sent a thrill through my body, blending teasing and tenderness in the most tantalizing way.

I whine softly at his touch, exhaling gently as a wave of sensation washes over me. His hand finds mine, interlocking our fingers in a firm yet comforting grip. “This might sting a little, squeeze my hand,” he murmurs softly, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that makes my heart race. He positions himself, aligning his tip with my entrance, and as he slowly moves in, I instantly feel the stretch, the pressure making me squeeze his hand tightly. I breathe in and out slowly, trying to steady my breath amidst the overwhelming sensations. “Let me know when to move, okay baby?” he prompts, and I nod, focusing on getting used to the feeling before I finally signal him to start moving.

Starting with slow thrusts, he moves deliberately, savoring each moment. “You okay, princess?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. “Y-yea... you can speed up,” I reply softly, my heart racing. As I feel his hips gain momentum, the rhythm intensifies, his body hitting against mine with increasing force. After a few minutes of teasing slowness, I begin to whimper lowly, lost in the sensation. The sound of Matt’s skin slapping against mine sends my mind spiraling, making everything around me fade into a blissful haze.

“S-shit..taking my cock good” Matt groaned above me, the sound vibrating through the air as his movements quickened. It felt as though he were reaching deep inside me, a sensation that made my stomach flutter. He leaned his head back, sucking in a breath, his pleasure palpable. His hand reached down to rub my puffy clit, the gentle touch sending jolts of electricity through my body, making me twitch involuntarily. “Oh Matt... feels so good,” I breathed out, completely lost in the moment.

“Yea? You gonna cum?” I nod my head, arching my back up into the air. I whine loudly, the pleasure taking over my body. I begin grinding my body against Matt’s adding to the pleasures running through my body. I felt like I was in heaven. Hearing his whimpers and moans making my head spin. My body was shaking uncontrollably under Matt, his thrust getting sloppier. “Want you to cum s’bad baby.. can you do that?” He asked as his hips still pounded into mine. “Y-yes” I speak, I could feel the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes.

Looking to the side i noticed Chris and Nate. They were playing with their cocks, heads thrown back and soft noises leaving their mouth. I loved the sight, feeling heat rise to my face. “Yea you like that? You like seeing your friends get off to seeing you fucked?” Matt asked me with a smug look of his face. My lips were puffy and covered by my own spit. My eyes rolling into the back of my head.

I could feel the tension in my stomach, I was so close. So so close. I just needed more, I craved more. I’ve never felt this good before, and I was addicted to it. The pleasure was so intense I began crying. Feeling the tears leak onto the mattress. “Wanna cum so bad” I pleaded, my voice sounding strained. “Cum on this dick baby.” Feeling my legs shake, I tossed my body around. “Oh mat.. Matt Matt Matt” I shouted as I came hard. The white liquid spilling onto Matt, he came shortly after with a long groan. “Fuck..” I heard Matt pant. Feeling my body shake, Matt pulled out of me slowly. My cum oozing from me. “Shit” Chris spoke, his cum flying onto his chest. Nate was soon to finish, his hot sticky cum landing on his lower stomach.

“How was that for your first time baby?” Matt asked me tucking strands of hair behind my ear. I smiled loosely. “Felt amazing” I said tired.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹ ⋆𐙚₊˚⊹ :･ﾟ𓍯𓂃 𖦹 ₊˚⊹

A/n : whoolawd im so tired, im apologizing in advanced bc the ending is soooo rushed 😭

Tags - @shaquilles-0atmeal @midsturn @sturniolo-girl hope you like!

#camzeespills #chris x reader #chris sturniolo smut #alt aesthetic #matt sturniolo fluff #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo triplets x reader #nathan doe smut #nathan doe x reader #nate doe #sturniolo triplets

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mediumgayitalian · 4 months

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“Will, can I tell you something?”

“You can tell me anything.” He glances up from his clipboard, grinning wide and wry and sparkling. “Especially if it’s that you’ve got food.”

Nico knows his best friend, so he does have food; a pack of twizzlers the size of his face that he tosses, deliberately quickly, at his face, smiling to himself when he misses and dives down to grab it anyway. His clipboard clatters to the ground, pen bouncing after it, as he tears into it, inhaling at least ten twisty candies in half as many seconds.

“Gods, I love you,” he groans, mouth open like the disgusting mannerless loser he is.

Nico coughs. “Funny you should say.”

He’s spared from having to jump clear through the nearest window and landing right on his neck by the honestly uncomfortable noises Will continues to make — by the gods if he finds out it’s been another twenty three hours since William has eaten he is going to kill him and resurrect his skeleton for permanent manual labour — and instead worries himself with the first random task he sees unfinished. Do the kiddie Band-Aids actually need to be emptied from their boxes and sorted by size and vibe? No. But Will won’t stop him. And Nico needs, like, twenty minutes of recovery. So.

“What did you want to ask me, by the way?”

His mouth is still — somehow — full, so it sounds closer to whaa joo wanna asme. Nico, brave veteran that he is, feigns confusion.

“Hm?”

“Question,” Will swallows, an actual, audible gulp, gods, where have Nico’s standards gone, “that you had.” There’s the sound of joints cracking and a deep sigh, then quick footsteps, and then Will is in front of him, eyes squinted, mouth wide and crooked, leaning on the counter. He has been up before the sun and working the entire time, people pouring in and out like ants to an anthill, and Nico knows he has not rested, but energy still sparks all over his skin. He bounces, almost, from his frizzy ringlet curls to the balls of his feet, humming, twitching, moving.

“I.” Nico’s throat is dry, and his eyes move from the bandages, to Will, to the bandages. “Well.”

When Nico was a kid he would stutter over his words. He was a shit speaker. Bianca spoke four languages by the time she was six, and Nico could barely ever manage the one; he knew what he was trying to say, and he would say it, only somewhere along the way his brain sent the wrong sparks or maybe his tongue got twisted or maybe his mouth made the wrong shapes. Or he blended them all together, like ice sleet on helicopter blades, and everything left his mouth just fine but got smashed to bits in the air outside of him, never reaching his audience quite right. And then he was ten and everything he cared about was smashed to dust and he stopped caring about where the words got twisted and stopped relying on them at all, and stared, instead; glowered, let his face speak for him, even if they weren’t saying the same thing. It annoys everyone around him. It frustrated his mother and pisses off his father and annoys or frightens every other person around him, and everyone guesses, fills in the blanks, deciphers what he is going to say to make his presence just a little easier to bear.

But Will waits, rocking, as he always does, eyes flicking around the infirmary, a handwidth of space between them. Fingers, drumming on the curve of his thigh, too-big front teeth gnawing on his chapped bottom lip. Waiting. For the words, for the time, for the courage.

“I missed you today,” Nico blurts, and it isn’t what he meant to say, not by a long shot, but it’s an approximation and it will count. And Will is suddenly smiling, huge, too big for his face; beaming, brightly, beautifully. “I hate it when you work too long.”

“Yeah?”

Nico exhales, cheekbones ruddy. “Yeah.”

“That’s not a question, Neeks.”

“Oh, stuff it.”

Will laughs, then, and the room gets brighter, and Nico gets warmer, braver, and takes his hand. He walks even both out of the infirmary and Will goes willingly, even though there is work too be done, swinging their hands, and he talks, and talks and talks and talks, and then he waits, quietly, humming to himself, and Nico says nothing, although he thinks things, and Will acts like he has said them. And his palm is still rough and warm against his, and the sun is setting, and Will smells like artificial strawberry and lavender body wash, and Nico thinks, You can tell me anything, and he vows that he will. And he holds his hand, and squeezes it around his, and smiles, and waits, easily, contentedly.

#i love them and the way they are so suited for each other #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #nico/will #will/nico #solangelo #fluff #100 ways #100 ways to say i love you #my writing #fic #longpost

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echobx · 2 months

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Twin Flame 3 - pervy!bsf!JJ Maybank × pervy!bsf!fem!reader

summary: y/n is hurt and JJ isn't planning on being the bigger person either

word count: 2.3k

warnings: talk about feelings, JJ and y/n lying to themselves and their friends, smut, oral (fem receiving), outdoor

author's note: while writing I thought this was the last part and then suddenly I was at 2k again and thought to myself, just cut here and write another one so that's what I'm doing. apparently writing without a plan works better than writing with a plan.

series masterlist ♡ part 1 ♡ part 2

“Shit, you look horrible,” Kie said as you showed up for your shift at the Wreck.

“Didn't sleep,” you mumbled while wrapping the apron around your hips. After what JJ had done, you had first cried for about an hour, trying to reconcile with your conflicting feelings towards him. Then you had cleaned yourself up and driven to the one 24-hours store out of town that had a pharmacy, getting Plan B just in case, because you weren't a hundred percent sure that you had always taken the pill on time. A kid would ruin your future at this point. JJ’s kid, maybe even more so. He would resent you for it, probably, just as you would him.

“Think you can manage, or want me to cover for you?” Kie suggested, but you shook your head. You desperately needed the distraction the job provided.

So, that's what you did for the following week, picking up every shift the Carreras allowed you to, and afterward you went straight home. Not to the Chat. And especially not to JJ.

“Okay, seriously now, what the fuck is up with you?” Kie pulled you to the side one evening, and you shrugged.

“I don't know what you mean?”

“You're avoiding us, all of us. Why?” she stared at you.

“I have shit on my plate, work and-” you tried to find an excuse, but you couldn't tell her the truth.

“And?”

“It doesn't matter. Why do you care?”

“Because I'm your friend, dummy,” Kiara tapped against your head repeatedly.

“Ouch. And maybe I just don't want to get shitfaced every other night,” you mumbled, wanting to walk off, but her hand was still firm around your biceps.

“Bullshit.”

“Fine. I don't wanna see JJ. Are you happy now?” you hissed, and she furrowed her brows.

“Why? That makes no sense. The two of you are like conjoined twins.”

“I don't want to talk about it. Just let it go, Kie.” You ripped your arm from her hold and continued working.

At the Château, JJ had to deal with similar inquiries.

“Kie just texted,” John B sighed, running his hand over his face exasperatedly. “Wanna explain to me why y/n says that you're at fault for her not coming by for over a week?”

“How would I know? Women are a mystery,” JJ rolled his eyes and continued smoking.

“For someone who's usually the best at lying, you're doing a fucking shit job right now,” John B scoffed.

“What? You want me to tell you my deepest, darkest secrets?” JJ leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. “Want me to tell you that she begged me to fuck her, and now she's acting like a whiny bitch about it? Want that truth?”

“No, I want the real truth. We both know she'd never do that,” JB laughed, trying to lighten the mood, and JJ decided to play the innocent.

“Of course she wouldn't, little miss perfect.”

“What if you just went and apologized for whatever you did?” John B proposed and JJ leaned back again. “What if… what if… what if, I just sat here and forgot all about it? How about that?”

“That won't bring her back,” his best friend sighed.

“And what makes you think I'd want her back?” JJ was lying to himself. The lack of contact was gnawing at his heart strings. He knew he wouldn't hold out much longer without seeing you, but he also didn't want to be the one to cave.

“I don't know, maybe the fact that you love her? She's like a sister to the both of us.”

“A sister would never do the shit y/n did to me,” JJ thought to himself, but he kept quiet.

Two days later you decided to go visit your favorite place on the island, a small lagoon, a hidden gem that only the deep locals knew about. But only JJ knew how important the spot was to you, so it didn't entirely surprise you when you found him there, lying on the big rock in the sun like a gator waiting for its prey.

“And I had hoped you'd died,” you joked, and he turned his head to look at you. “You owe me fifty, asshole.”

“Since when?” JJ smirked, the tone of your voice was far from angry, and the spark in your eyes was neither mad nor anxious.

“Since I had to buy Plan B because you don't know what a condom looks like,” you rolled your eyes and placed your towel on the sandy ground.

“Fine,” he exhaled and turned back to looking up at the sky.

“Everyone's annoying me about not being at the Chat every free minute of my shitty life,” you groaned, and JJ had to laugh.

“Everyone's annoying me because you aren't at the Chat every free minute of your shitty life.”

“Haha, funny,” you mocked.

“JB asked why you weren't coming by, I told him the truth, and he told me to stop lying, so there's that,” JJ sighed, and you looked at him in shock.

“Why would you tell him at all?”

“Chill, he didn't believe me. Why would anyone? Hell, I wouldn't even believe it myself.”

“Why?”

“He said you were like a sister to the both of us,” JJ huffed. “True brotherly love, then. Straight out of that medieval dragon show.”

“Game of Thrones?” you cocked your brow.

“Yeah, that shit.”

“We aren't related, though, JJ. It's nothing like that, at all,” you remind him.

“Still fucked up. I mean, I watched you grow boobs, basically,” he muttered.

“Way to make it weird,” you rolled your eyes at him and finally took your seat on the towel.

“Was weird before it started, remember?” His eyes were fixed on you.

“Do you regret it?” you posed without thinking much about the question until it has slipped out.

“Should I? Do you?” His eyes traced your face, and you looked away, out onto the sound and trying to remember if it truly had been easier before, or if nostalgia was playing a trick on you.

“I'm not sure. I mean, I do like the way you kiss,” you smiled, more to yourself than to please him.

“Of course you do. You taught me. Remember?” JJ chuckled. “I still don't know where you knew that from. You hadn't even kissed anyone yet.”

“There's a lot of things I know of, although I haven't gotten to try them yet,” you smirked and he sat up.

“Like what?”

“Love.” You didn't know why that nasty word had slipped out, but now it was hanging over you, and you hated it.

“Hmm, yeah, makes sense,” JJ nodded and jumped down from the stone, sitting down next to you, and you let your head fall to his shoulder.

“I’m sorry for how mean I was last week,” you whispered, and he held his hand out for you to take, intertwining your fingers as you did.

“I'm sorry for not having a condom, and for being an asshole who didn't let you come, although that technically was a punishment. And for running out like I did,” he apologized, and you felt like it was easier to breathe again.

“We're pretty fucked up, aren't we?”

“Seems like it. Yeah,” he said before exhaling a short laugh.

“What's so funny?” you asked, and he turned to face you, holding your face in his hands.

“You,” his eyes jumped between your own, trying to find a place to settle, but he couldn't seem to find it. “I mean, they expect me to be the weird creepy fucker, and they're not wrong. But who would've expected that you're worse than me.”

“Not worse. Equally, shit,” you reminded him quietly. “Made from the same bullshit material.”

“You got that high quality shit, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Parents, and that ass? Can't complain at all,” JJ smirked, and you swatted at his arm. “What? It's true.”

“My parents aren't even that good.”

“That’s what you're focusing on?” he huffed a laugh.

You leaned towards him and whispered, “I know that my ass is immaculate, Maybank.”

His lips were pressed to yours quicker than you could've said your own name, and you sighed into it. The feeling of his soft, warm lips against your own was one of your favorite feelings ever. Your whole body felt aflame under his touch, hands groping at your tits before he made you lie down underneath him, pressing himself between your thighs.

“J,” you moaned as his lips traveled down your neck.

“Gotta make it up to you, don’i?” he smirked and you nodded. It was a little messy when he helped you rid yourself of your clothes, leaving you completely naked and him still fully clothed.

“Fuck, you're gorgeous,” JJ groaned, his hands roaming over your body as if it was the holy grail. He squeezed your tits, and your back arched up in response, a gasp leaving you that was matched by his teasing chuckle.

“You know, princess, I'm just not that good with words ‘cause my tongue was made for other things,” he told you and a second later he was eating you out like his last meal.

JJ licked a long stripe up your wet cunt, humming at the taste. He wasn't thinking too much about what exactly he was doing, and just followed his instincts. Sucking on your clit until you screamed his name, digging his fingers into your thighs while his tongue thrusted into you. You were a mess because of him. You were his mess.

“Oh God,” you cried out, the knot in your stomach tightening. You didn't think of telling him that no one had ever done this to you, made you feel complete ecstasy with the simple use of their tongue. He wouldn't need to know, you knew it would just boost his already massive ego.

“Gonna be a good girl and come for me, baby?” JJ smiled up at you, and you nodded rapidly.

“Make me come, J,” you whined, and he dipped his head again. And JJ didn't think much about it when he pushed his fingers into your aching cunt, curling them up repeatedly while his lips were closed around your clit. He was drunk on you; your taste, your moans, the way your body reacted to every little touch of his. Feeling you clench around his fingers was probably one of the better things in his life. But tasting your release jumped straight to no.1, and if you’d let him, he'd do it every day and night.

He kept his fingers buried inside you until you had fully come down from your high. “You good?” he smirked and you nodded.

“Can I get up?” you whispered, and he pulled away, sitting up and watching you pull your shit back on as if you were embarrassed about it.

“Everything’s like normal again?” he asked after having licked his fingers clean.

“I don't know,” you shook your head. It wasn't like you didn't want to go back to before the tiny disagreement, but with everything the two of you did, you gained more clarity.

“So, you didn't want this to happen just now? ‘Cause this is all confusing, all right,” JJ sighed and shook his head.

“No, I did. It's just not the same anymore. What if you meet someone, and you fall in love, and then we have to go back to just being friends. Could you do that?” you posed, and he didn't know what to answer, so he hit you back with a question of his own.

“What if you fall in love?”

“I don't even know what love is, JJ. How am I supposed to know what it feels like to fall in love,” you snorted at how funny his question was to you.

“I don't know,” he sighed, looking down at his hands. He had never been very touchy-feely, with no one, not even you. And yet you were always the only one allowed to do more to him than anyone else in his life. He let you cut his hair, let you tend to his injuries back when Luke had been around. He told you more than he did John B, but he knew he loved John B like a brother, just like he did Pope, like he loved Sarah and Kie and Cleo, and you. But not really.

“Is it, like, different from when you love your siblings? Like, do you think it feels different from the way I feel about JB and all of them?” JJ asked quietly, but you didn't know what to reply.

“Maybe we should ask him, he should know, right? About what it feels like, at least.”

“Yeah,” JJ turned to smile at you, fully dressed and looking as if he hadn't just deconstructed your whole being minutes earlier.

“What’ya think how long it'll take for that bush in front of your window to grow normal again? Like, there's prolly a big’ol JJ shaped hole in there,” he joked, and you had to laugh.

“Are you planning on not using it anymore?”

“Hell no. I can just come inside now, right?” he flashed his eyebrows at you and you groaned.

“You're not doing that again. I don't want to have to deal with three kids.”

“Three?”

“You count double,” you laughed, and he faked offense.

“Let's be honest, it would probably be easier to have kids with your best friends than to think love lasts. I mean, look at my parents,” JJ huffed after a moment of silence.

“Mine are fighting too much recently. I wish they would just say what they think and not talk so much bullshit all the time,” you sighed, and he pulled you closer, his arm over your shoulder.

“You know, you can always stay at my place if they get too much.”

“I know,” you smiled up at him, and he kissed the top of your head.

taglist: @redhead1180 @spideysimpossiblegirl @drwstarkeyy @princessmaybank @ijustwantttoread @kys4-20 @immyowndefender @julczimozart @m2m2m2 @mochimms @dorkyfangirl24

read part 4 here

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank fanfic #obx #obx fanfiction #my writing #~fanfiction #~twin flame

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