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h4y1i · 3 years

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Until Again ➵ j.d.m fanfiction

Chapter One

See to the end for author’s note !

The silken light of the rising sun warmed your body from where you lay half-exposed, half-covered in a tangle of white linen sheets. Curving into a dome at the top, the black frames showed years of wear as they stretched across the glass panes in neat squares. Last night, it was hard to tear your eyes away from them. With the waning crescent that shined elegantly through, illuminating the apartment in a milky haze, you found yourself dancing in that milk—eyes never straying long.

The stars and moon last night were so bright and so stunning that you felt among the clouds up there with them. And now—soft sunlight and delicate wisps of white cotton painted itself in the sky. Although your eyes were swollen and sensitive, you still gazed out those panes of tall glass and enjoyed the graceful view while you slowly woke up.

Soon that view became annoying as the sun rose higher and higher in the sky, becoming more of a nuisance to your comfortable waking. Your eyes burned with the brightness and with a vexed grunt, you threw your body to the other side, away from the pestering morning. With newfound shade behind your eyelids, sleep whispered in your ear sweetly—beckoning you back into its embrace.

Floating peacefully in a thick, sultry puddle of awaiting dreams—you were almost sound asleep until something shifted beside you.

Instantly, you threw your eyes open, and low and behold a man crooned softly as he stretched. His face was shielded from you, giving you a pleasant sight of his broad back. Slight muscle stood out underneath his skin, most of it in his shoulders and arms. Those arms were littered with tidy black hairs. You took your sweet time gazing at them, even if you had no idea who this guy was and your gut was a mess of nerves.

With a grunt, his arms fell to his side. He looked over a broad shoulder and met your stare.

Even with your half-shocked expression, he smiled warmly at you. "Morning."

"Morning," you replied a second later, hiding half your face behind a pillow.

He turned fully towards you, he had a handsome face but one that was so standardly beautiful that it was easy to forget.

He blinked at the streams of sunlight that filled the room. Hazel eyes twinkled under thick lashes and you suddenly remembered looking into those eyes the night before, but from behind the frames of fogged glasses.

When he looked back at your face and found you still staring at him from behind the pillow he outstretched a hand. "The name's Nicolai. Nice to meet you for a second time."

You took his hand and began to say your name but he cut you off with a slight smile.

"I remember—don't worry."

"Oh, okay. I guess that means you weren't as wasted as I was, then."

"Yeah, no," he laughed richly. "I was probably more blasted than you were—I just have a special talent of remembering names of pretty girls."

You rolled your eyes and stretched. "Please—never say anything like that again."

He straightened as you rose into a sitting position. Peering behind you, you saw him with his mouth ajar with a look of disbelief on his face.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Was that pick-up line so awful?" He exclaimed.

Laughing lightly, you pick up a discarded sweatshirt next to your foot on the floor. He didn't need it with a chest like that, so you tugged it over your shoulders.

"No—maybe, if my head wasn't pounding, it would've been cute."

He shook his head, teeth poking out behind his lips. Nicolai looked like every dark-haired white guy in New York—his teeth were slightly crooked, though. That seemed to be the only thing that stood out from him. That and maybe the freckles dancing over his cheekbones.

He stood from the bed and pointed aimlessly around. "Bathroom?"

"Down the hall, on the right—don't use my toothbrush please, at least buy me dinner before you contaminate my mouth."

"Drinks doesn't count? And I already contaminated that mouth of yours last night!" He half-yelled the last part as he walked away—you could see that snide smirk of his from here.

You muttered, "Don't remind me."

Huffing, you stretched your sore legs and walked over to the mirror. Eye bags and tangled hair greeted you, the scowl you made didn't help the grizzly appearance.

Your room was a mess. The four-poster bed with white comforters and satin sheets was a mess—half of the pillows and blankets on the floor. Also on the floor, three empty bottles of your stashed liquor. Dammit, those were for special occasions only.

Speaking of alcohol, the events of last night flash before your eyes with every growing second.

You had just gotten off of work, feet sore in the mandatory pumps you always wore. You decided to make a pit-stop before heading home at the dive bar next door—thinking one gin and tonic wouldn't hurt. Hell, it was Friday after all.

Your bag and coat sat beside you on a barstool. Bergdorf Goodman and Louis Vuitton stood out strangely against the cracked leather seat and slimy atmosphere. There was barely anyone inside, otherwise, you'd have them in your lap and away from stealing hands.

After a small, boring talk with the bartender—Jerry—and light skimming of paperwork you needed to fill out this weekend, you were about to gather your things and leave. Until someone sat next to you, right on your coat and bag.

"Excuse me—!" Clanking your glass down, you attempt to grab your stuff from under this random guy's ass before he wrinkled or crushed your purse. Unfortunately, he sank down into the stool with a sigh, taking poor Louis with him.

"Hey, asshole!"

The random stranger's face was concealed behind sunglasses and a dark hoodie layered under a leather jacket. The only noticeable feature you could see was the salt and pepper beard he rubbed tiredly with a big hand. He didn't seem to notice that he currently sat on your bag and coat, but your exclamation and a good swat on his forearm got his attention.

You could tell from behind his sunglasses he was mildly offended you had touched him but you didn't care, he was currently wrinkling a couple of thousand dollars under him.

"What?"

What? Was he being serious? Could he not feel the giant bag and trenchcoat that added as an extra cushion to the barstool?

"You're sitting on my shit, man. Do you mind getting off of it?" You probably sounded like a real bitch right now--did you care? No, not really.

The man looked down and then back up at you. His lips curled into a closed-lip grin as he hoisted himself up, yanked your crap from underneath him, and then plopped right back down. His long fingers were wrapped around your Goodman coat with a grip of steel, the other hand clutching your bag the same. Those fingers that will probably leave marks had big, bold letters tattooed on them. You find yourself looking at them while you take back your stuff with a sour smile. His nails were flat and clean, he obviously took care of them, which was ironic given his hands themselves were calloused and rough.

Adverting your gaze, you dryly mutter a 'thanks' and turn back to your drink and documents. Your new client, a playboy philanthropist as he likes to call himself, is one spender. It's hard to advise someone who just wants to spend all of the money they get, especially when they won't listen. Honestly, why hire a financial advisor in the first place if you won't listen to their advice?

His tax strategy looks like it was made by a five-year-old. Now, you're tasked with fixing all of this mess. Great. As you read over his old plan one more time, you glance at your watch; quarter past six, Annella should be calling any second. Annella Iverson, best friend, and work buddy, she's a well-known investment banker on Wall Street. You two met a few years ago when you first started working there, she had introduced you to the ropes and soon became one of your closest friends. For the past two months, she has been on a business trip to Seattle and it's become a part of your daily routine to call her at six-fifteen every day.

As if on cue, your phone goes off, a melodic ring shakes through your bag. You fumble for a couple of seconds to find it, the thing must've been trapped under your keys and wallet. You hear the purse-sitter beside you let out a snort. You throw a glare over your shoulder and find him still grinning at you, he wiggles his fingers in a slight wave and you roll your eyes. Pressing the green accept button, you hold the phone to your ear and smile when you hear her voice.

"Hey, Playgirl, whatcha doing?"

You inwardly gag at the nickname she gave you. "Hi, Nella. I'm just at the--are you in the car?" The sound of wind rustling is all you hear along with the quiet strum of the radio.

"Yeah, yeah--I know being on my phone while driving is a big no-no, but I'm on my way to this restaurant in Tacoma and didn't want to miss your call."

"Restaurant? Annella are you going on a date?" You couldn't help the smile that pulled at your lips as you teased her.

A laugh on the other line. "Totally. No, no I wish, though--I'm actually meeting with this investor who's been wanting to talk to me about stocks, you know, boring stuff."

Actually not boring stuff, not to you, at least. But she sounded like she wasn't going to share any more information about it, anyway, so you withheld your questions.

"What about you," she chirped over the phone, "any hot people I should know about?"

You laughed softly. "Yeah, no. My sexy date for tonight is Reggie Jagger's tax plans."

"Oh god. I've met the guy--total douchebag. Hopefully, he's smarter on paper than in person?"

"Not one bit--maybe even dumber," You sigh, motioning at the bartender for another gin and tonic.

Her fingers drumming on the steering wheel echoed in your ear while you waited for her to say something. Jerry gave you the new glass and you accepted it with a tight smile. He looked fixedly at the stranger next to you, then gave him a slight, tight nod, and went back to polishing glasses. Strange, you thought. Maybe he was a regular who knows.

"When's the last time you got laid?"

You choke on your drink and hear the purse-sitter audibly laugh.

"Annella--," You warned.

"Sorry, sorry--I'm just asking!"

"Terrible question to ask."

"Such a priss...that long, huh?"

"Annella!"

Instead of words she just laughs. It was a lovely sound, loud and clear. Hearing her laugh reminded you of grape vineyards and late summer nights. The first time you ever heard her truly laugh was at her villa in Italy. You both were on vacation and she decided to bring you to her home country and show you every special place there. It was breathtaking, from the little shops in Naples to Gaiola Beach.

"Go find some man and have fun, girl. Jagger can wait until tomorrow. Since I'm not there to make sure you aren't working yourself to death, I need to make sure you are getting a break once and a while." Annella was more adventurous than you, always partying when she had the chance and always trying to drag you along with her.

It took you a while to respond. It was Friday and these documents didn't need to be revised and filled out until Monday. Maybe she was right, you did need a little break.

"Fine."

A moment's silence. "Wait, really?"

"Do you want me to change my mind?"

"No! Go get 'em, Playgirl, make sure to update me after!"

You tsked, "Yeah, yeah. Will do, Mom."

She cursed in Italian. "I'm late, I gotta go but don't forget to call me tomorrow! Love you, bye."

"Love you, bye."

Off the phone, you were aware of your surroundings again. A few more people came and sat down, mostly younger people looking for some fun on the weekend's eve. You look to your right, maybe purse-sitter was still there, but he wasn't. Good, you thought, hopefully, he went somewhere else to sit on someone else's belongings.

You go to take a sip of your gin and find a note under the glass, the paper partially wet from the condensation on the bottom. It was a folded post-it note that read 'Your friend is a loud talker; don't leave ugly possessions on stools next time.' The handwriting wasn't messy but it wasn't neat either. All of the letters were capitalized and wrote thickly, like a hurried signature. The note wasn't signed but, who else could it be. Scoffing at the message, you crumbled it up and threw it in your bag--not wanting to leave trash lying around.

An empty whiskey glass snagged your eye, drained to its dredges. Who goes to a bar to drink one drink and then leave?

"Excuse me--,"

A voice sounded behind you making you jump out of your skin. Turning fully around, you lock eyes with a different guy. This one was a bit shorter and younger, too. He wore black joggers and a matching hoodie, along with that he had these wire glasses that sat low on his curved nose. He smiled at you apologetically.

"Sorry--didn't mean to startle you but I was wondering if I could buy you a drink, by chance?" The offer was inquired confidently but he looked a bit nervous; a hand drifted to his curly hair where he scratched it awkwardly.

You looked him up and down and instinct made you want to say no but remembering Annella's words, you decided against refusing him. You agreed and let him sit in the seat the rude guy once sat in, trying to forget about his aged hands or the stupid note. The new man's name was Nicolai, a pizza delivery boy who just got off his shift. He was respectful and asked questions that seemed innocent enough. You weren't blind, though. You saw how his attention went to your breasts when he thought you weren't looking and how he glided his finger over his mouth repeatedly.

One drink turned into three and eventually, you found yourself dancing in your apartment to old songs in your work dress with a bottle of wine clutched in your hand and the other on Nicolai's body. You briefly remember gathering your things, leaving Jerry a generous tip, and looking at that empty whiskey glass once more before leaving.

The dancing with him was clean until you brushed against his groin and felt the hardness underneath. Maybe it was the alcohol buzzing through your veins or how he looked at you while you danced like a fool, but soon after your discovery one thing lead to another and you both were grabbing onto each other, bodies slick with sweat and glistening under the moon's light.

It had been a while since you let loose that it was early in the morning when you remember falling asleep, naked and still coming down from the high of sex. You let Nicolai stay over, only because the poor guy could barely walk and it was so late. Now, it was the morning after and he was currently taking a piss in your toilet.

You took to tidying up the room, every moment it was a mess was another migraine waiting to happen. Apparently, Nicolai was taking a shower so you took it upon yourself to empty your bag and try to find Jagger's paperwork. A few long seconds and handfuls of chapstick, coins, and tissues later and you successfully dislodge the papers from the death trap that was your purse.

You flicked through the stapled stack, making sure all pages were there. They were but so was the sticky note with the stranger's scrawl on it. You looked it over and weirdly felt compelled to keep the ugly thing. Maybe it would be a funny story to tell Annella whenever she came back from Washington. Folding it gently and crisping the edges with your thumb-nail, you tucked it into your wallet; you'll find a place for the note later.

Nicolai called for you and snapped back into reality you were. You put the note, the glass, and the man out of your mind; you'll never see him again, anyway, so what was the point. Your focus should be on the work you needed to be doing right now, not Nicolai and not some purse-sitter.

Jesus, what a night.

This is my first time ever writing a fanfic, especially my first time ever sharing my writing so it’s very nerve-wracking!! Sorry if anything was misspelled or grammatically incorrect, just let me know and I’ll fix it. <3 (also apologies ik it’s not very good)

#jeffrey dean morgan #fanfic #norman reedus #andrew lincoln #the walking dead #supernatural #reader insert #no y/n

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