#his shirt and when someone hails his taxi down he would be like where to sir / maam

[dirt-str1der]

My graphics arent the best to say the least so when the screen panned left the pure white pixels lining kiryus eyes started trembling and it literally looked like he was tearing up sitting silently and stoically in his car while hes about to start up the waterworks again

[harryslittlefreakk]

after the storm

summary: y/n wakes up in her sworn enemies bed, with a city-wide storm keeping her trapped there. in the time that she’s stuck with harry, can they overcome their differences and build a friendship? 🫢🤷

warnings: smut (oral f receiving, unprotected unrealistic shower sex) some angst, typical enemies to lovers

wordcount: 6.6k

a/n: you guys who likes my lil graphic? its diy!! i’ve been slowly working on story for a long time now so i hope you all enjoy! 🤭

my masterlist is here 💓 love u all

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The headache pounding behind your eyes was the first thing you noticed that morning. Shortly followed by the realisation that you weren’t in your pyjamas, or your bed, and there was a man snoring next to you.

You didn’t even remember coming home with anyone, let alone someone who looked so attractive, albeit from the view you had of the back of his head. There was something familiar about the bedroom, though you couldn’t put your finger on what. The clothes folded on the dresser were the same as every other man’s, the lingering scent of woody aftershave new and yet so familiar. Perhaps it was the memory of whoever you’d met last night, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that you knew this man.

You needed to explore, the leftover alcohol in your system urging you to get out of bed and figure out whose bed you’d woken up in.

It didn’t take much detective work, however, because as soon as you sat down on the toilet, the man in question barged into the bathroom. “Oh, morning.”

No way. No fucking way. “What are you doing here?”

“This is where I live.”

“Why am I here?”

“Why do you think?” he smirked.

Harry fucking Styles. Your sworn enemy, the worst man you’d ever met, the worst man you would ever meet. And you were wearing his clothes, after sleeping in his bed. Your skin itched just thinking about it.

“Fuck off,” you growled, throwing the toilet paper at his stupid, sleep-clouded face.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” he laughed, staring down between your legs as he closed the bathroom door. All you could do was let out a hoarse scream. How had an innocent Friday night turned into this?

You looked yourself over in the mirror when you were done, Harry’s t-shirt hanging loose on your body. You kicked the door open, glaring at his reflection as you splashed water over your face. “How do I get to the station?”

He shoved his phone in front of you, a severe weather warning flashing up on the screen. Public transport was down, taxis and delivery drivers ground to a halt as the rain and hail pounded the pavements.

“Brilliant. I’ll walk then,” you sneered, barging past him. “Just wait it out,” Harry told you, running a hand through his hair.

“No, I can walk.” What did he not understand about this being the last place you’d ever choose to be?

“You can’t.”

“Watch me.”

Realistically, you knew you couldn’t make the 45 minute walk across town in this weather. You hadn’t even taken a coat out with you, and borrowing clothes off Harry just meant you’d either have to see him again, or hang on to his clothing. Neither was appealing to you at all at this moment in time. Still, you were prepared to risk hypothermia if it meant getting away. The idea of being trapped with anyone while deathly hungover was horrible, but with Harry it became your own personal hell.

He followed you to his bedroom, watching from the doorway as you shoved your belongings back into your tiny shoulder bag. “My fucking phones dead,” you groaned, throwing your head back.

“Just wait until the rain eases off. I’ll drive you to the station later.”

“I don’t want to be here, Harry. What do you not understand about that?” Just the way he was watching you was making your blood boil. You weren’t even an angry or spiteful person, but somehow Harry triggered some red hot rage that usually lay dormant deep inside of you.

He was opening and closing his mouth, scarily similar to a fish. One of the deep sea weirdo ones, with extra fins and holes for eyes. His eyebrows knitted together as he searched desperately inside his dim brain for something to say.

“We didn’t sleep together,” he mumbled.

“What?”

“We didn’t sleep together,” he repeated.

You froze, not quite sure how to respond. You hadn’t slept together. Half of you wanted to thank every God in existence, the other half wanted to punch Harry right in his smug face. “Then why the hell did you make me think we did?!”

He shrugged, tiny hints of regret showing on his face. If you were less pissed off right now, you’d consider this a miracle. “Was funny five minutes ago.”

You glared at him, incredulous. “You swear we didn’t?”

“Promise. Look, jus’ let me shower and then I’ll stay in here out of your way. Don’t even have to talk to me for the rest of the day.”

Finally, you nodded, resigned to your fate. “Fine.”

“There’s a charger next to the sofa,” he told you, slipping past you to grab some clean clothes from the dresser. “So you can tell your boyfriend you’re here.”

“Idiot,” you groaned as you walked away, slamming the door shut behind you.

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You hated to say it, but Harry’s apartment was actually nice. Much nicer than yours. You had no idea what he did for work, but it must have been something good if he could afford a place like this. There was a skylight over the sofa, practically putting you in a trance as you watched the rain drumming against the glass.

You’d been flopped on the beige sofa for what felt like years, your hangover slowly easing off but your current situation not getting any easier. Why, out of all the places you could’ve been stranded, did you end up here? You’d been racking your brains for hours, and as far as you could remember, Harry wasn’t even at the bar. If he had been, he would’ve come over. He’d stopped hanging around your group so much once you’d started bickering, he was irritatingly respectful of your space. But whenever you saw each other, neither of you could resist the temptation of a little sparring match to spice up the night.

You were so deep in thought that you hadn’t even noticed the lights turn off, the tv suddenly flicking to a black screen. It was the deep rumble of thunder that bought you crashing down to Earth, a tiny whimper slipping out when you heard it. Rain and hail were little more than an inconvenience, but you drew the line at a thunderstorm. You’d loved them when you were younger, glued to the windows with your dad as you watched the lightning illuminate the sky. But something changed one day, a new fear set in after a nightmare. You were sitting on top of a hill, a picnic laid out in front of you, when the clouds suddenly turned bright orange and lightning started striking the houses below you. You’d watched in horror as every strike set fire to the roofs, the entire neighbourhood going up in flames and getting closer and closer to you. Then you woke up in a cold sweat as the lightning came nearer, the next strike sure to take you out had you not bolted upright in bed.

“Harry,” you called out as loud as you could manage. You might not like him, but you’d rather have his company than sit through a thunderstorm alone.

When he trudged into the room, you were sitting upright on the sofa, the blanket pulled over your head. “What are y’doing?” he asked, yanking the blanket off of you. “Don’t like thunder,” you told him, squeezing your eyes shut as it boomed overhead again.

“Did the power go out?”

You nodded, watching from squinted eyes as Harry searched across the kitchen counters for something. He walked back over to you with a lighter, and started to light the candles scattered across the room. “Wanna watch something?” he asked you, pointing to his collection of dvds. “You pick,” you told him, too terrified to even comment on why he still owned dvds in 2024. You’d have to save that for later.

He picked one, pushing it into the tv’s dvd player before coming to sit beside you and setting it up. You glanced over at him, your current proximity making your heart race more than the thunder and lightning could ever. You had some sort of problem when it came to men acting as saviours. You were too into rom-coms, too romantic to not develop a sudden and unexplainable mini crush on your knight in shining armour. And clearly, now you had gone a little bit mental.

A clap of thunder shook the room again, and you smacked a hand down on Harry’s arm, your nails digging into the skin. “Harry,” you whimpered. He put his hand on top of yours, grounding you slightly. “It’s okay,” he smiled. “Did no one ever tell you it’s just God rearranging the furniture?”

You loosened your grip as the thunder passed, desperately trying to get a hold of yourself. “No. And besides, that doesn’t help. A reason for the loud noise doesn’t make the loud noise any less scary,” you told him, brows knitted as you looked between your hand and his face. He was about to shoot something back, but lightning illuminated the room, your expression changing quickly back to one of fear.

Harry threw himself down on the sofa behind you, tugging at the hem of your (his) t-shirt. “Come here,” he beckoned, pressing play on whatever dvd he’d chosen. “Why?”

“Because it’ll take your mind off the storm.”

“No.” He was holding out his arms to you. Clearly he’d had a funny turn and was expecting you to snuggle with him. Sleeping in the same bed against your free will was one thing, but actually choosing to cuddle with Harry was something you’d have to bring up with your therapist later. And yet, the offer was somehow tempting. But you couldn’t control your face, and somewhat-accidentally sent Harry a scathing look.

“Fine. Enjoy the storm then,” he grumbled, standing up to stalk back to his room. You stayed silent as he left, waiting until his bedroom door slammed shut to throw the blanket back over your head.

Only, a few minutes later he was back. You could feel his stare burning through the blanket, and he was standing there like a giant dork when you peeked out. “What if I’m scared and I need a hug?”, he asked.

You couldn’t help but laugh. You couldn’t deny Harry was funny, even when you were bickering and snapping back and forth, he’d always make you laugh. And that was more infuriating, because why are you laughing at his jokes when you’re supposed to be annoyed? “Fine. But only because you’re scared.”

You leaned back into his arms, and he was right. It was a welcome distraction. Instead of thinking about the storm and anticipating the next rumble of thunder, you were actually quite content. Although one thing was playing on your mind. “Harry, why do you have the notebook on dvd?”

You craned your neck to look back at him, shifting slightly in his arms so you could see his face. “S’my favourite,” he shrugged sheepishly. “And what time will your boyfriend be home?,” you mumbled, recoiling when he jabbed a pointed finger at the tip of your nose. “Quiet please,” he told you. You turned your attention back to the tv, settling back into Harry’s body.

He was comfortable. That was one more thing to add to your list of irritatingly good qualities about him. He was a good cuddler, caring, funny.. it seemed like that list was growing longer with each minute you spent with him. You pulled his arm tighter around you as thunder crashed overhead, softer this time. “Getting further away now,” Harry whispered, his thumb stroking the fabric of your shirt as if you’d laid this way a thousand times before.

Your eyes were growing heavy, your heart beating in time with each gentle movement of Harry’s thumb. You were too warm, too comfy.

And then a loud vibration practically shook the sofa under you. “Fuck. Sorry,” Harry said, darting to shut off his phone. You rubbed your eyes, still groggy and disorientated. Naps always made you feel all weird and out of sync. You turned around slowly to lay on your back, glancing up at Harry in your peripheral vision. “Missed the whole movie,” he told you, eyebrows raised as he nodded toward the tv. The power was back on, the lights bright against the layer of fog clouding your eyes. “Gonna call them back,” Harry murmured, holding up his phone as he climbed over you.

You were perched on the edge of the windowsill when Harry came back into the room, watching the raindrops drip down the glass. He went into his fancy little wine fridge, pulling out a bottle of red. He held it up to you, eyebrows raised as he silently asked if you wanted any. You nodded before turning your attention back to the rain. The thunderstorm had passed now, the skies finally beginning to lighten up despite the heavy rain. Harry came to join you with two big glasses, as if he’d poured as much wine as he could fit into them.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

Thinking back, you didn’t actually know where it all started. Harry was nice enough the first time you’d met, then somehow rude and arrogant the next. He was the cousin of one of your friends, and started to worm his way into your group when he moved to the area. He was harmless, but he knew he was a pretty boy. Every night out was spoiled by him lingering by the bar, flashing his dimpled grin at any girl who caught his eye. He’d buy her a drink, then leave hand in hand with her, always looking back to see if you’d noticed his exit. Everything he did made you roll your eyes, every glance at your legs when you wore a mini skirt, every time he tried to snake an arm around your shoulders as you laughed with the group.

“You’re arrogant.” Proven by the fact that only arrogant people would ask why they’re disliked.

“No one else has ever told me that.”

“Maybe they’re not as truthful as I am.”

He laughed at this, swilling the wine around his glass. You watched as it stained the sides red, the blood colour dimmed under the grey skies. “If I were that bad, y’wouldn’t be here.”

“I’m not here by choice.”

“No, I mean you wouldn’t have ended up here at all.”

“What do you mean?”

Harry’s eyes were squinted when he looked back at you, some kind of secrecy flashing across his pupils. “Let’s call a truce,” he told you, holding out his free hand for you to shake. “Just for however long this storm lasts, you have to play nice.”

“I am playing nice. You’re the one who played tricks on me.”

Harry sighed, running his hand through his hair when you didn’t reach out to take it. Your gaze was fixed on the window, seemingly uninterested in what Harry was trying to offer. Truthfully, a truce sounded nice to you. You were wasting so much energy on acting indifferent to him. But with the way he looked after you during the worst part of the storm, the way he held in the giggles you knew he wanted to let out as you cowered in fear of the thunder, you were scared you might actually end up liking him. The horror. The last thing you ever wanted to find out was that you’d wasted years hating him, mentally criticising his every move, just to find out he’s a good guy after all.

“Raindrop race,” he said suddenly.

“Hm?”

“We do a raindrop race,” his head nudged toward the window. “If I win, we call a truce. If you win, you decide if you want a truce or not.” Harry had his usual silly, toothy grin spreading across his cheeks. There was something annoyingly cute about his smile, the way his eyes crinkled and his dimples carved deep into the skin. “Fine,” you laughed.

“Okay, pick yours. This is mine,” he pointed to a tiny droplet near the top of the window. Your eyes gazed over the drops near Harry’s, before settling on one just to the right of his. After Harry yelled “go!”, you followed yours with a pointed finger, trailing down the surface of the window as you spurred your little raindrop on. You didn’t actually care who won, but you were far too competitive to let him win.

They were neck and neck, Harry’s tiny raindrop somehow collecting water from those around it to become almost the same size as yours, and surprisingly just as fast. There were little childlike giggles tumbling past his lips, his free hand balled into a fist as he cheered his raindrop on.

Yours took over suddenly, surging forward before it came to rest on the windowsill. You couldn’t hold in your laughter, watching Harry’s face fall in disbelief. “Looks like I get to decide our fate,” you teased, a smirk resting on your lips.

Harry chuckled, his eyes searching your face for any sign of what you might do. “Truce please,” he encouraged, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Fine. Since you asked so nicely,” you grinned, holding out a hand for him to shake. Harry took it, bowing his head to you before hopping off the windowsill and padding into the kitchen. “Last of our supplies,” he told you, holding up one final bottle of wine and a bag of crisps. “Best make it count then,” you laughed, downing the last sip left in your glass.

Harry went back to the sofa, and you trailed after him, plopping down on the corner. “Tell me something about you,” he said, throwing an arm over the back of the sofa. “I don’t know. You know me,” you shrugged, turning a little to face him. “Fine. What was your first impression of me?”

You shrugged again, gaze falling to the wine glass in your hands. “Thought you were funny. Seemed nice enough,” you told him. Harry laughed, a bitter kind of chuckle. “So where did it all go wrong?”

“Harry, even you have to admit that you were a douche.”

“How?”

“How?!” You couldn’t believe he was asking how. “You’d saunter around the bars, always scouting for which girl you’d take home next. You didn’t even greet me the next time you came out because you spotted a girl behind me.”

“Sounds like you’re jealous.”

You scoffed. “Not fucking jealous. It’s gross.”

He held up a hand, faux-stern expression on his face. “Truce! We have a truce. Don’t wanna break it already.” He had a point. You’d called a truce not even ten minutes ago, and you were already getting riled up again. “You started it,” you mumbled, always reduced to the mindset of a child when you bickered with Harry.

“Don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything,” he smirked, miming zipping his lips. You turned away from him, deciding it was better to sit in silence and try to calm down than risk getting into a full blown row with him when you couldn’t even leave.

After a while, Harry set his wine glass down on the coffee table, getting your attention. “You really don’t remember how you got here?” he asked.

“No, Harry.” Honestly, you didn’t. The last thing you could recall was stealing a cigarette from someone on the street outside the bar, and then a freaky flash forward to waking up next to Harry.

“I was walking past O’Connells and you were on the street alone. All your friends had left and you couldn’t get a taxi, they kept refusing you because you were drunk,” he started explaining, setting his near-empty wine glass down on the coffee table. You were finally paying full attention to him now, an ear turned towards the sound of his voice as if he was telling the most compelling story of all time. “I don’t know where you live, you kind of stopped making sense. So I brought you here,” he shrugged. “Sorry.”

You took a moment to fully digest his words, his kindness to you a tough pill to swallow. The tears that formed on your lower eyelashes were unstoppable, regret bubbling up through you. You’d been a dick the entire day, and while it was a little bit deserved after he made you think you’d slept with him, all he’d done since was show you kindness and care. “Don’t have to be sorry Harry. I’m sorry,” you whispered, pulling your glass up to try and hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. He placed a gentle hand on your knee, his touch warm on your bare legs. You hated wearing trousers indoors, a t-shirt, panties and socks the only way you were ever comfortable. Yet now you felt too exposed, too vulnerable in front of Harry. “It’s okay,” he told you, his tiny smile laced with tenderness. “Thank you,” you said, your voice soft and shaky. “For looking after me,” you finished, finally drawing your eyes up to meet Harry’s.

He moved a little closer, bringing his arms up to wrap you in a hug. Only as he started to embrace you, you felt something change in the air. The wine had made your brain fuzzy, your senses heightened and yet muddled. You were struck with an overwhelming desire to kiss Harry, to make it right between the two of you, and that’s what you did. You turned your head just a little, closing the distance between you tentatively, waiting to gage his reaction. But he pulled back quickly, his arms dropping limply into his lap.

“Oh God. I’m sorry,” you mumbled, scurrying across the room before you could do anything to embarrass yourself further. You leaned back against the breakfast bar, eyes fixed on the rain drumming against the window. All you could do was replay the way his lips peeled away from yours, the full body cringe making you want to curl up in a ball and scream.

You could feel Harry’s eyes on you, his gaze silently trailing across your body. You looked back at him, eyes meeting amongst the almost palpable energy clouding the air. And then he was striding over to you, wrapping a strong arm under your hips and lifting you onto the countertop. He paused for a minute, an unsatisfied yearning in his eyes. He reached out with a gentle hand, pushing some hairs from your face as the other snaked around your waist. And then his lips were on yours, slow at first as if trying to taste and explore you. But with every lick of his tongue the kiss deepened, his movements becoming more urgent and passionate. Harry’s hands were roaming across your body, trailing goosebumps over every curve. The heat was intoxicating, the burn almost physical as you wrapped an arm around Harry’s neck, drawing him closer to you.

Your legs were tight around his hips, pulling his centre close to your core. It was electric, so much being spoken through silent mouths. Every touch, every flick of his tongue had you melting into Harry, the walls you’d built up crashing down around you. “Should’ve done that a long time ago,” he drawled as he pulled away, running his thumb along your swollen, wine-stained bottom lip. You nodded in agreement, still dazed from the way he kissed.

He grabbed a hold of the hem of your t-shirt, eyes locked on yours as he waited for you to tell him to stop. When nothing came, he pulled it off of you, throwing it to the floor behind him. You watched the way his eyes darkened as they trailed over you, the goosebumps that dotted your skin disappearing under the heat of his gaze. “Want to know why I act that way with you?” Harry asked, still surveying the sight before him. He rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger when you didn’t respond, his free hand pulling your chin upwards to look him in the eye. You nodded again, totally silenced by the way he was looking at you. His lips found your collarbone, kissing and suckling at the skin. “Because,” he murmured against you, pausing to lick a warm circle around your nipple.

“I,” he suckled at the bud, teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

“Wanted,” he was moving lower now, one hand caressing your other breast as he licked down your ribcage.

“You.” He sunk down in front of you, mouth lingering right at the waistband of your panties, eyes fixed on yours. Your chest was heaving as he bought a hand up to it and pushed you back, the marble countertop cold against your skin.

You closed your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of Harry’s gaze. His fingers traced slow circles on your stomach, igniting a heat inside of you that melted away any other feeling. You were totally powerless, totally at his mercy as he peeled off your panties, eyes never leaving your face.

“Couldn’t handle this sweet pussy not being mine,” Harry told you, voice husky as he ran a light finger through your glistening folds. His hot breath against your entrance had you squirming, his lips so close and yet not close enough. He was admiring you, almost salivating - until you suddenly snapped your legs shut. “I haven’t showered,” you whispered, suddenly hyper aware of how unclean you felt. “Don’t care,” Harry said, pushing a hand between your knees to open you up for him again. “Just means you’ll taste sweeter f’me,” he groaned, finally making contact with your pussy.

His thumb brushed over your clit, replaced instantly by his mouth. He suckled at it, the sudden sensation drawing an almost carnal moan out of you.

His tongue swirled around your entrance, collecting your juices on his tongue as he moaned into you. Your hands tangled themselves in his curls, the burn of your fingernails digging into his scalp only spurring him on. True to his word, he was licking and lapping at your folds as if they held the sweetest nectar.

You were dripping for him, dripping on him, the lower half of his face coated in your juices. It was the wine, you told yourself, and the forced closeness to him. Not him, not the fact that he was giving you the best head of your life.

“Waited so fucking long for this,” he murmured against your skin, moving to kiss and nibble around your inner thighs as his thumb rubbed over your clit. You were squirming under him, your legs heavy on his shoulders. “Yeah?” you panted, fingers pulling harshly on his hair as his mouth suddenly moved back to your pussy.

“All mine now though,” Harry smirked, his words vibrating into your centre. “All your- fuck,” you cried out, unable to control yourself as he slipped a finger into you, his tongue still working at your core. He added another, then another, filling you until you were bucking into his mouth. He found your g-spot with ease, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he watched you writhe and moan.

“I’m-” you started, cut off by a ripple of pleasure moving through you.

Harry released your clit from his mouth with a pop, his fingers unrelentingly thrusting into you as his mouth snaked up your body. “You’re what?” he grinned, his face only inches from yours.

“I’m gonna-”. This time Harry cut you off with another kiss, your juices warm on his tongue as it danced around your mouth. You wouldn’t pair pussy juices with red wine, but on Harry’s tongue they tasted heavenly.

He pulled away, eyes dark as he watched you squirm and buck under him. “Gotta say it for me,” Harry told you. You felt like you were buzzing, hot pleasure vibrating every part of your lower body. “I’m gonna come,” you cried out, the ball of heat in your core threatening to explode.

As soon as you said it, Harry’s lips crashed to your neck, suckling and biting at the soft skin. It was the final bit of stimulation you needed, your pussy clenching around his fingers as you finally reached your high. “Good girl,” he repeated, working you through your orgasm until your back collapsed down, flush to the countertop.

You were panting and heaving as Harry pulled you to sit up, hissing as the cold of the stone hit your clit. You wrapped an arm around his shoulders, your body threatening to crumble if you didn’t support yourself.

“Come on,” Harry whispered, lifting you up. He carried you over to the sofa, resting you on his lap as he sat down. “You okay?” he asked as you stayed silent, totally numbed by the strength of your orgasm. You just stared at the identical triplets of him in your vision, trying to focus on the real one before you. His eyes were raking over your features, your puffy fucked-out eyes and swollen wine tinted pout. Your cheeks were pinked up to match your lips, tiny beads of sweat on the bridge of your nose.

“Thanks,” you whispered, a tiny smile crinkling the corners of your eyes. “For the orgasm.”

“Anytime,” Harry laughed, running a hand up your back. “M’glad we’re friends now,” he told you, moving you over to sit next to him.

“Do you do that with all your friends?” you giggled, swatting at his thigh.

“Oh yeah. Welcome to the club,” he teased. You rolled your eyes, but the two of you settled into a comfortable silence.

“D’you want a shower?” Harry asked eventually, breaking the quiet. You turned back to face him, still dizzy as your eyes tried to focus on his face. “Desperately,” you groaned. “But I’m still a bit wobbly.”

Harry laughed, pushing your messy hair from your face. “M’gonna have one then,” he smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before standing up.

You listened out for the sound of the shower turning on, but Harry’s footsteps had stopped just outside of his living room door. You looked over to him as he stood frozen in the doorway. “What was that asshole’s name?” he asked, staring up at the ceiling as he tried to remember.

“Who?”

“Your boyfriend.”

“Harry, seriously. I’m naked right now and you want to me to think about my ex?” You rolled your eyes at him.

He shrugged, “can’t remember his name.”

“Jamie. Why are you even talking about him?”

“Because you could’ve had this a long time ago if you hadn’t showed up with him.”

You grabbed one of the cushions, launching it in his direction. He strode over to you, picking you up and flinging you over his shoulder as you shrieked. His hand landed a heavy blow on your ass, raucous laughs blending together in the silence of the night.

Harry set you down in the bathroom, pushing the door shut behind you. “Throwing isn’t playing nice,” he tutted, leaning around the shower screen to turn it on. “So now you have to be punished.”

“Oooh,” you teased. “What’s my punishment, a shower? Or are you going to drown me?”

“Y’have to shower with me. While m’all sexy and naked.”

“That’s not a punishment,” you frowned, watching as he stepped under the water. Harry had always had a decent body, but he’d gotten pretty jacked up since you saw him last. If anything, showering with him was a reward.

“Mm, but you have to keep those hands off me, you horndog,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, following him into the shower. He side stepped past you to let you under the water, trying his hardest to avoid your touch. “I’m not going to molest you,” you told him. “Going to have to touch once or twice since we’re in a tiny box.”

“Fine. Just no feeling me up,” he shrugged, mockingly shielding his cock from you.

“Was it worth it?” you asked Harry as you stepped away from the water, passing the soap to him. “Was what worth it?”

“All the fighting, all your jealousy,” you poked your tongue out at him. “Now you’ve finally got in my pants, was it worth it?”

Harry stepped up behind you, his warm breath against your neck sending a shiver down your spine. “How am I supposed to answer that, sweet girl?” he drawled, pulling you around to face him.

You stepped back, pressing yourself into the cold tiles. Harry stayed close to you, his wandering hands finding a home on your hips. “Can’t say it was the easiest chase, can’t say I really enjoyed it,” his fingertips were trailing up your body again, his thumb pushing past your parted lips. His face hardened at the sight, imagining something other than his digits between your pout. “Would do it all again though.”

You bit down on his thumb, grinning as he pulled it from between your lips with a yelp. “You don’t have to fight me for three years just to sleep with me Harry. Could always just ask,” you smirked, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Is that right?”

You nodded, watching as his eyes moved over your face. “Or get down on your knees and beg me. Either works,” you shrugged. He chuckled, shaking his head at you.

Harry stayed silent as he lathered up the soap between his palms, hungry eyes fixed on you. “Turn around,” he finally told you, putting the beige bar back in the shower tray. He pulled you back into him, his length solid against your ass. His wandering hands finally put themselves to use, rubbing the soap across your body. He paused at your sternum before one hand wrapped around your throat, the other cupping the curve of your breast. Your breath caught, a tiny moan echoing around your mouth as he squeezed lightly, his cock twitching against your skin.

He took his hand from your breast, reaching between your bodies to push his cock between the tops of your thighs. His tip brushed your sensitive clit, your teeth clenching as electricity surged through you. “Can I please fuck your pretty little cunt?” Harry growled, using his free hand to wash the soap from your body. He was throbbing at your core, his cock likely painfully hard by now. “Please, Harry,” you whimpered.

He grunted at your neck, pushing your upper body forwards until his cock lined up with your entrance. He was nudging into you, your pussy dripping and ready to welcome his girth. You’d never needed more like this before, though you’d never felt as good as Harry had made you feel. He released his hold on your throat, one hand lowering to circle your clit as the other splayed across your lower belly, his fingertips digging into the plushy skin.

Your hips rut into his hand, a cry tumbling from your lips as the quick movement forced his girth into your tightness. Your already shaky legs could’ve buckled right there, your body barely able to hold itself up around Harry’s cock splitting you wide open. It took Harry by surprise too, a shaky moan echoing off the walls as he bottomed out inside of you, the extra lubrication from the water pushing him deep into your core. “Fucking hell,” he groaned, stilling as he caught his breath. “Y’okay?”

You moved a hand down to hold onto his wrist, silenced yet again by his cock. “More,” you whined, pussy throbbing as he started to fuck into you hard. You’d skipped the slow, figuring each other out sex. It was as if you already knew what the other needed. Harry was fucking you, his thick red tip tearing you apart as you both raced for another orgasm, each thrust sending you closer to Heaven. The steam and the sounds of the water pounding the shower floor clouds your mind, unable to feel anything except the fullness Harry’s cock gave you.

You were getting close, the burn in your core spreading down the tops of your thighs, before Harry suddenly pulled out. Just as you were about to question him, Harry spun you around. “Want to see your face when you cum f’me,” he panted, sliding one arm under you to lift you against the tiled wall. He slipped back into you with ease, the new angle forcing his cock into places you’d never even known you could feel so much pleasure in.

Your hand tugged at his wrist, pulling his fingers back up to your neck. Harry let out a dry chuckle, his fingers wrapping back around your throat with ease as he slammed into you.

He was a fucking vision. His wet curls hanging down into his eyes, the shine of the water on his tattooed body. Just the sight of him staring at you with those hungry eyes was enough to have you gasping and panting. “Harry, I’m-” you started, a loud moan cutting you off.

He picked up his pace, hips snapping into yours with the deafening slap of skin on skin. “Not yet,” Harry grunted. “Gonna cum w’me.”

Your walls were already tightening around his shaft, hips bucking into him uncontrollably. You bit down hard on your lower lip, nails digging half-moon shapes into the thick muscle of his shoulders. “I can’t,” you whimpered, throwing your head down onto him. “You can, and you will,” he told you, removing his hand from your throat and instead using it to pull your chin up to meet his eye.

You nodded, face contorting as you tried desperately to ignore the fire coursing through you. “Please, Harry,” you whined. Your walls were clamped around his girth, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he got closer. “Come,” he commanded, wrapping his free arm under you as his legs started to shake. You howled as you finally let go, the stars in your vision exploding like fireworks. The tiny shower cubicle was suddenly full of carnal moans and cries, Harry’s lips spitting out your name over and over and over again as he shot ribbons of white-hot come into you.

You stayed in that position for a few minutes, before Harry slowly let you down onto the floor. He held you up as your legs shook, a light hand brushing over the finger marks left on your throat.

“Are you still on birth control?”

“No. Should I not be holding my legs up right about now?” you asked, watching as his eyes went wide.

Harry pulled his arm from under you, ready to let you collapse on the floor in his panic. He screwed his face up tight, a quiet “fuck, fuck, fuck,” mumbled under his breath.

“Relax, I am. Sorry.” you told him, a tiny smirk playing on your lips. He reached out and pinched your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, grinning as you yelped and smacked his hand away. “Serves you right, bastard.”

He re-washed between your legs quickly, a gentle hand washing away the remains of your juices pooled between your thighs. “Better?” he asked, reaching behind you to turn the water off. “Mhm, just need a good sleep now,” you told Harry. “Oh yes, need to go to bed and think about the beautiful friendship we’ve ruined,” he smirked, handing you a towel.

You dried yourself off before following him to the bedroom, pulling on the clean t-shirt Harry handed you. He was humming a silly tune as he ruffled his hair in the mirror, watching your reflection expectedly. “Used to annoy you when I hummed,” he said, climbing onto the bed to join you.

“Still annoys me plenty,” you told him, pulling the duvet over your legs as you settled back into the pillows. “Just too fucked out to care right now.”

part two ??

₊ ⊹ ₊ ✧ ・ 🍒・✧₊ ⊹ ₊

taglist: @sleutherclaw @slutforcoffein @harrysolaf @opheliaofficial07 @dragonslayersupremacy @nikkisimps @michellekstyles @im-an-overthinker @fangirl7060 @indierockgirrl @palmettogal508 @thereunion1d @hannah9921 @harryshotpocket @daphnesutton @tenaciousperfectionunknown @thegrapejuiceblues1982 @mema10 @annageeeezzzz @cicicavill7 @drewsephrry @tswiftsgf @ashleighsss @bikestyles @he6rtshaker @prettygurl-2009 @softestqueeen @jerseygirlinca @teammom4 @chesthairrry @golden-hoax @lilfreakjez @swag13r @cursingatdaylight @s-h-e-l-b-e-e

[munsonsduchess]

Nothing but a Good Time

summary: your coworker has called out sick and needs you to cover her interview on your day off

w/c: 9,786

warnings: nothing actually, this is p tame

a/n: it’s not plagiarism if it’s my own work! this has been rattling around in my brain for a hot minute and since i won’t be able to update Shadow of the Moon till late sunday i wanted to put something out

if you enjoy this consider reblogging! it really helps me out 🫶🏻🤟🏼

(moodboard by me)

Of all days for something to go wrong it would have to be today. A day which, as you informed your editor when he called at the ridiculous hour of 9am, you weren’t even supposed to be working. You had checked and double checked before leaving the office the previous evening that you wouldn’t be on call today nor would they need you in the office, you had planned therefore to catch up on everything you missed while you were working.

Laundry, grocery shopping, catching up on that show you’d been watching. The basics. The universe however seemed to laugh in the face of those plans so there you were rushing out of a crowded train station trying to hail a taxi looking like someone’s lost teenage daughter.

All this for a band you didn’t even like. Which admittedly you seemed to be the only one in the office who didn’t but your editor had begged and pleaded and even offered you an extra day off for covering the interview when it transpired that the other colleague who was supposed to be interviewing the band had gotten a stomach bug from her kids and wasn’t fit to leave the bathroom much less travel across the city of london to go to an interview in an expensive hotel for a band your magazine was foaming at the mouth over.

So there you were, coffee stains blessedly hidden on your black shirt, standing at the reception of one of the most expensive hotels in the city waiting for the go ahead to do your job,

“They’ll see you now” a large man also dressed in all black with a very impressive mohawk called from the private elevators, “follow me”

With a sigh you did as the man asked and followed him into the lift where he stood in impassible silence until you reached the penthouse, of course it was the penthouse, where he waited for you to follow him down the plush corridor before stopping in front of the suite.

Well time to get this over with and go back to ignoring the every growing pile of laundry in your apartment.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Walking into the suite you were actually pretty surprised not to be assaulted by the smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke, it really did look as though the band even allowed the housekeeping staff in to clean the room. Not to mention all the appliances were still in their predetermined spots and nothing was missing or in the pool on the ground floor.

Standing in the main living room of the suite you started to take out the things you needed for the interview and found a comfortable seat next to a coffee table where you could set up your phone to record. You’d type up your notes later,

“Hey you’re that magazine chick!” a voice called from another part of the suite causing you to look up and find yourself staring into what could only be described as deep chocolate coloured eyes and a wild mop of curly hair.

No doubt in your mind this was Eddie Munson the lead guitarist and songwriter of the band. He had a very distinctive look

“I’m the reporter yes, it’s nice to meet you” you introduced yourself and held out your hand to shake the man’s,

“You’re totally not what I expected” he laughed as he took your hand and gave it a hardy shake, you didn’t know if that was supposed to be a compliment or not “the guys and I have been out sightseeing” Eddie continued, the bright smile never leaving his face.

“Oh really? Have you seen anything in particular?” you asked out of politeness not really expecting the outburst of energy that came from the man in front of you ,

“Eddie, chill man you’re gonna scare her away” another man said with a sigh, “Gareth. Nice to meet you”

“Likewise, you’re the drummer aren’t you?”

“That’s me. The good looking one”

“That isn’t what that article Nancy sent me said” Eddie said with a grin and wink in your direction, “besides chicks totally dig Jeff”

“Damn right they do” the man who’d followed Gareth into the room said, “ladies go wild for me”

“Yeah, yeah you’re just the best thing on planet earth and you’ve got your pick of the ladies” Eddie’s smile didn’t waver and it seemed as though this was some sort of inside joke between the three men as no one said more on the subject,

“Well if you’re all ready to get started” you gestured to the seats in front of you and picked your little recorder from the table, “so if you don’t mind i’m going to record the interview on my little cassette recorder here and then I’ll be typing it up and it’ll go into next week’s edition of the magazine. If you’re interested I’m sure you could pick it up from any newsstand”

“I mean we’re gonna be in town for another couple weeks so why don’t you just come by again?” Eddie said, you couldn’t detect anything but sincerity in his tone. He really did want you to come and hand deliver a magazine.

“Well I don’t know what I’ll be doing next week so I might not have the time” you answered, you weren’t sure if this was some sort of entitled rockstar behavior or something else but you’d done this job long enough to be on your guard when it came to celebrities.

Before anyone else could ask any questions you set your cassette player to record and started the interview. Luckily your colleague had already prepped a list of questions and things she wanted to talk about so you had no trouble following her notes.

The band was only too happy to answer questions and talk about themselves, you had half expected them to be like a lot of other ‘huge’ bands you’d interviewed in your time with the magazine - full of themselves, but they really did seem like three down to earth Midwestern boys. Eddie and Gareth had grown up together in a trailer park in Indiana and met Jeff later in life, they’d all shared a passion for music and started doing gigs in run down bars and clubs, at friends parties and really anything they could get a ride to. It was at one of these grungy bars in the middle of nowhere they’d been spotted and the subsequent rise to fame had been meteoric.

Throughout the interview the three men laughed and joked and poked fun at each other, at the music industry, they spoke passionately about things that were close to their hearts, causes they believed in and of course their families.

Jeff and Gareth seemed more than content to enjoy life on the road. The perks that came with being world famous Rock Stars but it seemed Eddie wanted more. He talked a lot about friends he’d left behind when the band made it big including a group of kids he talked about as if they were family,

“I mean you know what it’s like” he said gesturing to you, “you’re a mom”

It took you a second to recover from that before you raised your hands and spoke,

“Oh no i’m not a mom, you must mean Amy. She was supposed to be here today but her little one Jamie brought home a tummy bug and she’s not in any state to be anywhere but the house”

“I thought you were Amy!” Eddie said seriously, “shit I’m sorry I totally didn’t mean to offend you!”

“It’s fine, I know she was supposed to be here and that’s who the magazine told you to expect. I mean you probably thought I was a shit mom to be showing up looking like someone’s angsty teenager” you laughed trying to lighten the mood.

As the interview proceeded you found yourself reaching into the bag you'd brought with you for another cassette to keep recording. You hadn’t planned on the interview going on this long,

"That's a cool bag" Jeff commented and you reached for it, "are all of those patches for bands you listen to?"

You gestured to the little canvas messenger bag that had been your constant companion since university and the plethora of band patches decorating the front flap,

"I mean yeah, I work for a music magazine I've listened to a lot of music" you joked,

"We should get you one for us so you can have our band on your bag all the time" Eddie said, "we've got some pins too if you want one for the strap. I could get you one"

The rest of the interview proceeded after you'd switched out the cassette and you began to notice an almost imperceptible shift in Eddie’s behavior and his attitude towards you to the point where once the interview had concluded he offered to walk you down to the lobby himself,

“I could do with stretching my legs” he said with a shrug, shoving his hands into the pockets of his ripped jeans, “unless you don’t want me to go with you?” he held his hands up in a backing off motion

“No, I don’t mind” you offered him your own smile as you gathered up your things, “you can tell me what you like about the city”

“Dope!”

You suppressed a giggle at that. Eddie really just seemed like an over energetic teenager and you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t endearing. To the rest of the world he was the enigmatic, charismatic lead guitarist of one of the biggest bands in the world and yet here he was so excited to walk you downstairs.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

“Well thanks again for walking with me” you said once you made it to the front doors of the hotel, “it was really nice to talk to you”

“Yeah? You really think so?”

“Sure. I was sort of expecting you all to be massive dicks all things considered but you seem really nice”

“I am really nice, why don’t you let me take you to dinner and I’ll show you how nice I am”

That floored you. You stood blinking at Eddie as if trying to find a joke in his features but you couldn’t find anything but sincerity,

“You really want to go to dinner with me?”

“Of course! You’re cute and I think we’d have a lot of fun. Plus you can show me around, all your favourite places” he beamed at you and honestly you couldn't think of a reason to say no,

"Alright, you're on"

"You won't regret this sweetheart. Promise"

"We'll see about that won't we?" with that you got into a waiting cab and headed back to the train station still reeling with what had just happened.

One of the most desirable men in the world had asked you to dinner and you'd said yes. Maybe today wasn't such a write off after all.

God bless the stomach flu.

[morganofthewildfire]

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Same Time Thursday - Rowan's POV Part 24

--------------------------------------------------------

masterlist

CW: brief mentions of sexual assault, blood, death, mentions of domestic abuse

this one is important for part 25, so basically treat it as a regular installment of STT

--------------------------------------------------------

Rowan’s plane landed in Rifthold a little past two in the afternoon, and he didn’t give himself any time to be overwhelmed by the huge airport before immediately heading toward the exit. People were bustling all around, a loud voice booming over the intercom, and everywhere he looked there were more suitcases, more bags, more footsteps rushing past him. 

Rowan didn’t even have a bag with him, he’d just rushed to the Doranelle airport as quickly as possible, and bought the first flight to Rifthold he could find, shelling out a good amount of money he didn’t have for it. He got most of his income for college from a scholarship, but his uncle had given him access to his credit card for “emergencies”. He’d say this qualified as a fucking emergency.

When he’d woken up that morning… it’d been devastating. Not feeling Aelin’s warmth in bed with him, feeling her long hair tickling his skin, her arms wrapped around his waist as she tucked her face into his chest, how they’d started sleeping recently. He’d woken up - and he’d known.

There’d been no noise in that apartment, and Rowan knew that sudden silence would haunt him forever. 

He should’ve known, that’s what he’d been beating himself up about since. He should’ve known she wouldn’t stay, not when her daughter was at stake. He should’ve known that no matter what she’d told him, she wouldn’t risk losing Elia, not to that monster. 

But no matter what sacrifice she was trying to make, Rowan wasn’t just going to sit by and do nothing. Not when his girls were in danger. 

He’d ditched the heavy coat he needed in Doranelle, leaving on a light long sleeved shirt and jeans, perfect for the mild winters of Rifthold. But he barely felt the chill anyway as the sliding doors opened to the exit, and he stepped outside, immediately looking to hail a taxi. That sense of urgency inside of him only grew the longer it took, and by the time one pulled up to the curb next to him, he was nearly shaking with the need to do something. 

“Hamel-King Real Estate, please,” he asked the driver flatly, slamming the door behind him. Rowan wanted to go directly to that bastard’s house, and find Aelin and Elia, but if he was being honest, he had no idea where to fucking go. He’d never been to Rifthold, and he didn’t think Arobynn would let his address be public knowledge. Not with the dirty secret he’d kept locked inside for a year.

So his company would have to be where he started. Surely someone there could give him a little bit of information; and maybe he could recruit some help. Aelin had mentioned something in passing about a man named Darrow? He could try to talk to him first.

He just needed to get there first.

Rowan assumed that the office building would be downtown, but with no real context for what the city was like, he had no idea how long it would take to get there. At least, until he saw the skyscrapers piercing the sky in front of him, as his driver joined the lines of traffic on the freeway, all heading into the city. It wasn’t early enough for it to be morning rush hour, it was well into the afternoon, but he supposed in a huge city like this, it was always rush hour.

It just made his frustration grow, every minute they barely moved down the road, but soon enough the driver was pulling off the interstate into the city itself, heading down the crowded blocks toward one skyscraper in particular. Rowan could see clearly on the side of the glass building:

Hamel-King Real Estate

An abomination of a mashup, leaving him wondering whose building this originally was. Or did both companies move into a new one? Abandoning the past to move toward a dark future? The company was slated to break records of financial growth this year, but with that kind of skyrocketing performance, it usually meant that there was some sort of unethical behavior going on on the inside. And with the identity of the boss… Rowan would be surprised if there wasn’t. 

He loosed a tight breath as the taxi pulled up to the curb, using his uncle’s credit card yet again to pay for the ride before stepping out onto the sidewalk, looking at the building in front of him. People were bustling in and out, not even pausing to look at the guy who clearly didn’t belong. Though this was the world he wanted to belong in. 

Business.

It’s what he’d studied, interned in, dreamed about. He wanted to be a CEO or a founder of a company one day, not to make millions of dollars like every other corporate black hole, but to make a difference, to do something meaningful. He wanted to take his knowledge of the corporate world, and use it to make the world better.

He just didn’t know how yet.

But that wasn’t his concern at the moment, and he shoved it aside as he walked inside, the glass doors sliding apart for him. It wasn’t much quieter than the street outside, but he just strode up to the giant desk at the back of the marble encrusted lobby, walking up to one of the receptionists talking on the desk phone, chugging along like everyone else. 

But Rowan wasn’t very patient, his mouth pressed in a firm line as he walked up in front of her, clearing his throat. The adrenaline running inside of him was brutal, tearing at his every vein from the inside out, begging him just to go do something, not wait for these people. 

But he was also a civilized human, not some caveman on a bloodthirsty hunt to go rescue his family, though he supposed he kind of was. He just needed to avoid getting arrested in the process. So he waited until the receptionist was done with her phone call, her eyes narrowed in suspicion as he opened his mouth.

“I need to talk to Weylan Darrow, the chief legal consultant,” He asked, keeping his voice firm. He’d looked up the company directory in the car, getting the man’s full name. But the receptionist didn’t look impressed.

“Do you have an appointment?” She quizzed, her voice lazy like she knew the answer already. “He doesn’t take walk-ins, he’s a very busy man.” Rowan sighed through his nose.

“This is very important,” he insisted, resting his hand on the edge of the counter, unconsciously curling it into a fist. “I need to talk to him right away.” 

“Like I said-”

“Just call him,” he interrupted, shaking his head, “call him and say I need to talk to him about Aelin Galathynius. And that I have reason to believe she’s unsafe right now. Just tell him that and see what he says.” 

At the words, the brunette receptionist’s eyes grew a bit wide, and she only pursed her lips before tapping a few numbers on the dial, lifting the phone to her ear.

“Hello, Mr. Darrow,” she said, her voice crisp and professional, “I have a man here who says he has information about Miss Galath-” a pause, “send him up?” Rowan relaxed a little bit, loosing a breath. “Alright, he’ll be up in a few.” 

She hung up the phone, turning a critical eye on him. “Take the elevator to your right, up to the 40th floor, then follow the hallway down to the right. You’ll see his office.” Rowan nodded crisply, barely giving her another glance before turning and walking toward the elevator. 

The trip up felt longer than it probably was, and when it dinged, the metal doors sliding open, he was already halfway out. He ignored everyone else at their desks, looking at him curiously, and just headed straight toward the back, eyes on the doors until he saw the name he wanted.

Weylan Darrow

He didn’t bother knocking before pushing the door open, a pulsing in him forcing him into action before he could think about the consequences. Aelin was more important than the consequences. Elia was more important than the consequences. 

Darrow, he assumed, pushed out of his chair, a tight expression on his face. “What do you know about Aelin?” He asked, his voice firm. He looked like he could be a very severe man, and probably seemed that way to others, but Rowan could pick out that hint of softness, that hint of concern and fondness for the only Galathynius child.

“She’s in danger,” Rowan replied, shutting the door behind him. He didn’t know what everyone in this office thought about Arobynn, and he didn’t need the rest of them hearing this. “Do you know Arobynn Hamel’s address?” He asked, turning back to face the older man, whose face suddenly went dark.

“What does he have to do with this?” He nearly spit, venom in his tone, clearly conveying what he thought about the supposed boss of this company. Rowan opened his mouth, trying to figure out how to best explain everything, but closed it again, reaching for his phone instead.

He swiped to unlock it, swiping a few more times before getting to what he needed. And then he set it on the desk, a clear view for both of them to see what was on the screen. It was a picture he’d taken recently, after Aelin had gone on her whole tangent about wanting more pictures of them all. It was of her and Elia sitting on the couch, Elia in her lap with her arms wrapped around her and her chin placed lightly on her head. 

Both of them were beaming. 

It was one of his favorite pictures of them, but the red hair was clear, and that’s what he needed Darrow to see. 

A million emotions went over the man’s face, before it settled on one thing: anger. 

“That bastard,” Darrow cursed, leaning his weight forward onto the desk, his arms braced against it. He shook his head once, sighing heavily. Rowan gave him a moment of silence, letting him process it. It’d taken Rowan a while, he couldn’t imagine what kind of impact the knowledge would have on someone who’d known Aelin for much much longer. For practically her whole life.

Darrow rubbed a hand along his forehead. “How old is she?” He asked faintly, like he almost didn’t want to know the answer. 

Rowan’s heart panged as he replied. “A little over a year. Her birthday is August 3rd.” Darrow sighed again, resting his hand on the desk.

“I knew she wasn’t in Eyllwe,” he said under his breath, before finally looking back up at him. “Has he been hiding her away this whole time?” His voice was pained.

“No,” Rowan said quietly, stepping forward, “this picture was taken in Doranelle, where she’s been for the last two years. She managed to get away, and… she’s enrolled in college, I was her tutor,” he tried to clarify, “but now… I - “ he loosed a heavy breath. “I love her, I love her and I love Elia and they’re not safe. So I need Arobynn’s address.”

Darrow just looked at him, and Rowan could see how much he was trying to process behind his facade, how much he was trying to hide. 

“Why is she back?” He asked quietly, his jaw clenched. “What did he do?”

“Custody,” Rowan said simply, sadly. “The law isn’t on her side right now.” He fidgeted where he stood, the restless energy inside of him keeping him moving. 

“I should’ve known,” Darrow said under his breath, “I should’ve done something. She was here two hours ago!” He exclaimed, suddenly louder, gesturing loosely to the door. Rowan perked up.

“She was here?” He asked quickly, “how was she? How did she look?”

Darrow hesitated, and Rowan’s heart sunk. “She had a bruise on her neck,” he answered quietly, “It looked like someone had tried to cover it up with makeup, but it was still a little visible. I was suspicious but I didn’t do nearly enough. Gods.” He shuddered, resting his head in his hand. 

“His address,” Rowan tried one more time, speaking softly, and Darrow nodded, turning to his laptop. 

“I’ll get it for you right now,” he said, before looking at him, a desperate expression on his face. “Help her, please. She’s already gone through so much.”

Rowan nodded succinctly, speaking an oath he held close to his heart. “I will.”

-------

Darrow let him take his car, and by the time he got to Arobynn’s house, it was dark, and raining heavily. Heavier than it ever did in Doranelle. Rowan wasn’t dissuaded though, he just drove quickly but carefully, turning the headlights on to try and see through the poor weather.

The other cars on the road slowly dissipated the further out of the city he got, until it was just him, driving down a dark road, before turning down a dark driveway. 

Once he saw the house, it was like some ethereal narrating musician played an ominous chord, his gut sinking as he stared at the place that had been such a prison. There was landscaping lighting cutting through the dark rain, casting a glow over the edges of this contemporary monstrosity. It looked very much like a house you’d spend all your money on, before realizing that all that money didn’t make it a home.

Not that Arobynn would care. Just from their brief interaction, Rowan knew that that man didn’t have a single ounce of empathy or warmth in him. 

Unlike his Fireheart, who cared so deeply and so much, the very definition of warmth, who was now trapped once again in this icy cage. Well, Rowan wasn’t going to let that slide. 

They’d figure something else out, Darrow was on their side, he’d be able to get some evidence to show that Arobynn was unfit for custody, unfit for life. There was just no way in hell Rowan could go back to his normal life, celebrate Yulemas in a couple of weeks, knowing that the love of his life was stuck in hell. 

And that was what was running through his mind as he pulled the car to a stop, slamming the car door shut behind him as he stormed up to the front door, uncaring about the rain soaking him. He slammed his fist against the wood a few times, making the knock as loud as possible to combat the noise of the heavy downpour. 

If Arobynn answered the door… well - he wasn’t quite sure what he’d do. He hadn’t been sure of that this whole time. But he knew the moment he saw that smarmy, arrogant face, he’d do something. 

But - the moment the door opened a young woman with dark hair and shockingly bright green eyes appeared in the space instead, a wary look on her face. She looked surprised to see him, but hid that surprise quickly, steeling her face behind a mask. 

“Where is Aelin Galathynius?” Rowan asked without a second thought, the heavy rain dripping onto his face, his hair flat against his head. “And Elia Galathynius?”

“Who the hell are you?” The brunette spit back, though he could tell it was lacking a bit of fire. 

“I’m…” he trailed off, not sure how to answer the question. “Someone who cares about them,” he finally settled on. “Who are you?”

“I -” the woman said, turning her face to the side, as if listening for something back inside the house. He could barely get a glimpse of the inside, but what he did see was what he would expect: sharp, cold, modern, the opposite of what he knew Aelin would want.

“Are they inside? Is that bastard inside?” Rowan insisted, stepping forward, but she whipped up a hand to stop him, craning her neck. 

“Shut up for a second,” she hissed, her eyes wild with an emotion he couldn’t identify. So he shut up, letting the only sound be the pouring rain. The only sound. Which the brunette seemed to realize, her eyes going wide. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she cursed, pushing past him, stepping barefoot into the pouring rain. 

Rowan’s eyes went wide, turning his head to watch as she practically ran toward the side of the house, looking to where several cars were lined up and parked. “Fuck!” She cursed loudly, turning back to him quickly, her eyes shining bright with what he finally recognized: fear.

“What?” he asked lowly, a bit afraid of the answer himself. The girl shook her head, back and forth slowly, like she couldn’t bring herself to accept it.

“I cut the brakes,” she whispered after a moment, her hands clenching into fists. “He’s the only one who ever drives that car, so I cut the brakes. I saw how he was treating her and I just - couldn’t do it anymore. So I looked it up online and I cut the brakes.” She shook her head again, her dark hair beginning to stick to her skin from the rain. A sickening heavy feeling of utter dread settled in his gut, only worsening as she uttered those damned words. 

“They’re going to crash.”

Rowan let the words permeate through the air, his own head beginning to shake at the utter horror of the idea. No. No. “No,” he finally breathed, “I won’t let it happen.” He gripped Darrow’s car keys tightly as another cord of horror shot through him. “Is Elia in the car?” 

“I don’t think so,” Lysandra answered, her voice still practically a whisper. “She was upstairs last I saw her, in the nursery.” Rowan’s eyes darted to the front door to the house, and he debated if he should race in there now, and run upstairs to the nursery, finding his daughter as quickly as he could. 

The words slipped into his mind before he could stop them. His daughter. Because it was true, wasn’t it? Aelin had practically confirmed it herself. He was at least much more of a father than the man who’d biologically conceived her. Who raped her mother to do so. 

But Elia wasn’t with him right now, Aelin was. Aelin was in a car with him, that was doomed to crash, and Rowan was still standing here like a fucking useless idiot. 

“I’m going after them,” he said without another moment of thought, turning back toward the car he’d just gotten out of. 

“Where?” The woman asked incredulously, her arms crossed in a show of vulnerability. “We have no idea where they went.” Rowan gritted his teeth as he shoved open the car door.

“I do,” he answered grimly. The cabin. 

It made sense, Aelin had said that that was the only real time she ever left the house after a certain point. Where else would he be taking her?

“Wait,” the woman said, stumbling toward the car. Rowan paused. “Let me come, let me help. I can help navigate.” 

He narrowed his eyes. “Do you know how to get up into the mountains from here?” Hopefully they’d find them along the way. The woman just nodded, and he gestured to the passenger side, waiting for her impatiently as she climbed in. “What’s your name?” He asked, already pressing the gas to drive out of there.

“Lysandra,” she answered, buckling her seatbelt as Rowan pulled out onto the road. 

“I’m Rowan,” he replied, adrenaline and anxiety and deep deep fear racing through him. He needed to get to her, he needed to make sure she was alright, he needed to hold her in his arms and just know she was safe. 

He couldn’t lose another person he loved. He wouldn’t survive it. So he just needed to find her before she could slip away from him forever.

-------

The rain only got heavier as they drove, Rowan following Lysandra’s directions up the main road into the mountains, and he was beginning to feel more and more hopeless, countered with a strange pairing of determination the longer it took to find anything. 

But eventually… headlights. That’s all it took for him to just know. 

They were flickering, and off to the side of the road, and as they got closer, he just knew something was wrong. He began praying to every god he could think of, just begging for Aelin to be safe. For his Fireheart to be safe. 

He felt numb as he pulled the car to the side, turning on the hazards as he parked out, nearly stumbling as he swung the door open, fighting the heavy wind and rain. And Rowan didn’t wait for Lysandra before hurrying over to the crashed car, nearly vomiting at the sight of the completely demolished windshield.

“CALL 911!” He called back to the other woman, racing toward the passenger side door. He fell to his knees as he pried the door open, his hands shaking at the sight inside the sports car. 

Arobynn was dead, he could tell that with one glance. 

But Aelin… Aelin… she looked dead too, blood streaming down her thigh, too much blood, her face a ghostly white and her hair dangling in front of her slumped forward face. 

“Come on, fireheart,” he breathed, reaching for her wrist to check her pulse, “come on, you can’t die on me now.” He couldn’t feel anything, so he dropped her arm, reaching for her neck instead. “You can’t leave me, Aelin,” his voice was thick with unshed tears, and worry and panic. “You can’t leave me now.” 

There was blood smeared on his hands as he smoothed her hair back from her face, from where he didn’t know, but he didn’t care as he placed two fingers on her neck, trying to check her pulse there. 

Gods, oh gods. His heart was beating out of his chest as he fought to hear just a flicker of her own heartbeat, that steady sound suddenly the most desirable thing in the world. 

“Come on, baby,” he whispered, finally leaning in to press his ear to her chest, desperately hoping to hear something. Tears dripped down his face, mixing with the rain, and he felt the chasm in his mind start to open, about to send him spiraling deep down, so far he’d never be able to climb his way back out. 

Not without her.

“Come on, Aelin,” he said one more time, one last desperate plea. “Come back to me.” 

And there. There it was, just one faint flicker of a heartbeat, one beat of a pulse beneath his fingers, so light he could barely feel it. But it was something. 

He let out an incredulous laugh of relief, tears streaming down his face. “Thank gods,” he breathed, even though they weren’t out of the clear yet. She needed help, now. “Help is on the way, Aelin, help is coming soon.” 

Rowan had no idea if she could hear him, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t stop trying to comfort her even if she was already halfway into her grave. 

“Just stay strong for me, Fireheart,” he kept whispering, holding her hand, “Stay strong like you always are.” He didn’t feel the wet ground beneath his knees, nor the heavy rain pelting him from above. All he felt was her hand in his, her heartbeat against his ear. “I love you,” he breathed, repeating it over and over until he could hear the faint cry of sirens in the air, promising just that little bit of hope. 

“I love you,” he said again, speaking the words from his soul into hers. “I love you.”

-----------------

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[bluejayblueskies]

For the Touches Ask Game, if you can, a little Jonmartin with Touching/9?

Thank you so much, I love your writing!!! 😭💕

touches prompt list

9 - holding hands across the table

i did a season two lunch dinner date fic! cw for mentions of paranoia/stalking and murder (in typical s2 fashion)

.

They’ve been having lunch together for two months when Martin asks, with enough stuttering that it takes Jon a moment to process his words, if Jon would like to get dinner with him.

Jon hesitates only briefly before agreeing. Between finding out about Martin’s CV and the newly delivered CCTV footage, he’s almost entirely convinced that Martin did not, in fact, murder Gertrude Robinson and that his various attempts to make sure Jon eats and sleeps and drinks tea are simply a result of Martin being… well. Being nice, he supposes. If overbearingly so.

Why Martin feels the need to coddle Jon, he doesn’t quite know. But if he’s being honest with himself, he’s… not complaining. His frequent skipping of meals often isn’t an intentional thing, born instead of his tendency to get so wrapped up in his work that hours fly by without him noticing, and while sometimes he’s irritated when his flow is interrupted by Martin’s cheery greeting, more often than not it’s… a relief. To step out of the Archives, away from the feeling of eyes on the back of his neck, and pretend like he isn’t working alongside a murderer.

Maybe a murderer. He… he doesn’t know. According to the CCTV footage, Tim and Sasha and Martin and Elias all have alibis. But he still can’t shake the feeling that he gets, sitting in his office or walking down the corridors or reading through statements, that something isn’t right.

That there’s something in the Archives that’s not supposed to be there.

So, it’s… nice to get outside. And as much as Tim may joke about it—or… used to joke about it, at least—Jon does, in fact, try to eat three square meals a day if he can remember to do so. Try being the operative word. He’s been… caught up in work lately, and often he glances at the clock to see that it’s well past ten and he’s accidentally skipped dinner entirely. He hadn’t thought Martin had noticed, given that the man doesn’t live in the Archives anymore and typically leaves promptly at five along with Tim and Sasha, but evidently, he was wrong.

As Jon sits across the table from Martin at the small café they’ve chosen for lunch, he has the fleeting thought that Martin’s been sneaking back and watching him work and that’s how he knows that Jon has been missing dinner. He lets himself feel it, takes a deep breath, and pushes it away with considerable effort. No, that’s not… he trusts Martin. He does. Or he… he wants to. He’s trying.

“Jon?”

“Hm?” Jon blinks up at Martin, who’s clearly waiting for a response. “Sorry, I-I didn’t catch that.”

Martin’s cheeks are dusted a rosy red. He fiddles nervously with the black ring on his finger—a bit thicker in width than Jon’s, the metal smooth and bright where it reflects the sunlight. “Is—is this Friday okay? At—at seven? I-I can, um, meet you at the Institute. U-Unless you’d like to meet there! That’s, er. That’s fine with me too.”

“The Institute is fine,” Jon says, picking at his sandwich with a frown. The bread is damp and squishes under his fingers. “Perhaps we can go somewhere a bit less… soggy.”

“R-Right, yeah. I, um. I was actually thinking… you know that new bistro o-over in Clapham? M-Maybe not, it’s, er. It’s new. But I-I heard it has good South Asian food, which, um. I know you like.”

Martin’s face is fully crimson by this point. Maybe we should sit inside next time, Jon thinks. Or at least in the shade. The sun is rather intense. Martin picks up his mug of tea and takes a long sip, staring resolutely down at the table once he’s done. Jon waits, but it appears that Martin is done rambling, so he says, “Yes, that sounds fine.” Then, because it’s polite (and not untrue): “I am… looking forward to it.”

“O-Oh? Oh!” Martin looks at him, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Y-Yeah, um. M-Me too.”

We should definitely sit inside next time, Jon thinks as the back of his neck grows warm, the tips of his ears surely darkening. Good lord.

He doesn’t think the heat is responsible for the way Martin’s smile makes something in his stomach flutter. He decides to blame that on the atrocious sandwich because… well. It’s as convenient an excuse as any.

Because Martin is just looking out for Jon’s wellbeing. This is no different than him bringing mugs of tea when Jon is recording statements or accompanying him to A&E to get stitches after Michael or inviting him to lunch in the first place. This is not, he tells his ridiculous, over-zealous, butterfly-filled stomach, a date.

Because it’s not. Martin is simply a coworker—an employee—and a friend. Who he trusts. Maybe. Probably. And thinks about sometimes when he’s unoccupied. His hands, mostly, which look very soft and very capable. His smiles as well, each one like a gift meant just for Jon. The way he carries the heavier boxes that Jon can’t quite manage and can reach the top shelves to retrieve statements without even having to clamber up onto the bottom ones.

All completely normal thoughts to be having about a friend

So, when Jon wears the soft maroon button-down on Friday that he’s been told brings out his eyes and takes care to arrange his hair into something other than the haphazard braid he’s been managing lately and digs a bottle of peach nail varnish out of the bottom of his drawer the night before to coat his fingernails with, it’s just because he feels like it. Not because this is a date. Because it’s not a date. It’s just dinner. With Martin.

Who shows up to the Institute at quarter to seven wearing a nicer jumper than usual—cable-knit and mustard yellow, looking incredibly soft to the touch—and with small black studs decorating the lobes of his ears. He smiles widely when he sees Jon, also standing outside earlier than agreed upon, and Jon almost turns around to see if someone’s behind him. But there isn’t. That smile, unfettered and full of joy—it’s… it’s for him.

Surely, Martin is just… happy to see him leaving the office while it’s still light out for once. He’s certainly chided Jon enough times for his habit of falling asleep at his desk. (Which he’s been trying to do less lately, if only because it would be easy for someone to sneak up on him while he’s unconscious and slip a knife into his back or poison his tea or shoot him three times in the chest or—)

“R-Ready to head out?” Martin says, abruptly halting Jon’s train of thought. He tries not to look like he’d just been theorizing about his own inevitable demise as he mumbles his assent and follows Martin away from the Institute and into the still-bustling streets of London.

And if he presses close to Martin’s side while they walk, well. It’s just because every brush of unfamiliar contact against him feels overwhelming, enough so to make him flinch away. And if he takes Martin’s hand for a small period of time, well. It’s just because the crowd has thickened and he doesn’t want them to get separated. And if he feels particularly warm in his jacket when Martin laughs awkwardly at his own joke and rubs at the back of his neck, well. That’s just from exertion. It is quite a far walk to the restaurant.

The bistro is lovely. Jon typically doesn’t go for places like this—tucked between two nondescript buildings with a glass front that reveals soft, intimate lighting within and flowers planted in boxes outside—but once they’re inside and seated at their table, it’s… oddly charming. Jon shrugs out of his jacket, and even though it’s the same shirt he’s been wearing all day, Martin compliments him on it with a flush. The change from frigid winter air to the warmth of the bistro brings heat to Jon’s face as well, and he rolls up the cuffs of his sleeves to just below his elbows. Martin makes a choking sound, but when Jon looks up with a frown, he has his glass of water pressed to his lips.

“Sorry,” Martin says once he’s placed the glass back on the table. “Just, um. Uh. Tickle in my throat. A-Allergies, you know.”

Martin’s face pinches in what looks like a repressed wince, and Jon tries to be reassuring. After all, Martin is taking time out of his schedule to be here with Jon, and Jon doesn’t want to seem ungrateful. His grandmother taught him proper manners, and besides, he is… rather glad to be here.

His commiseration about his own experiences with seasonal allergies turns into a mini-lecture on the species of pollen-producing plants in their area. He only realizes he’s doing it when the waiter comes by with a cheery smile and asks if they’re ready to order.

Jon’s mouth snaps shut mid-sentence. He has not even opened his menu.

“I. Um.” Jon is about to ask for more time—which he strongly dislikes doing, as he’s had the waiting staff forget more than once about his table and he’s had to go through the mortifying ordeal of hailing them down like a-a bloody taxi—when Martin tilts his own menu toward Jon and points to an item in the middle of the page.

“They have chicken karahi and naan. I, er. I heard it’s good if you’re… interested.”

Jon blinks at the menu in surprise. “That… sounds great, actually. Er, medium spice, please.”

Martin orders his own squash curry, and the waiter takes their menus when he departs, leaving the spot in front of Jon oddly empty. Jon taps his fingers on the newly barren tabletop a few times, trying and failing to remember where he’d left off in his lecture. Ultimately, he gives up, deciding that Martin isn’t going to be interested in hearing about all of that and he’s already said enough on the subject.

Then, Martin says, “So, you were saying—about the pollen?” and something in Jon’s chest squeezes, an emotion he doesn’t know the name of. Relief, maybe, as Martin’s words manage to spark his memory and he picks up his train of thought again easily enough. Yes, that’s… that’s probably it.

The first few times they’d gone to lunch, Jon had made an effort to stop himself from rambling, as he was prone to do any time someone gave him the opportunity. He’d engrossed himself in his sandwiches and rice bowls and mediocre Chinese takeaway in order to keep from launching into an explanation of the origins of said folding takeaway containers or the documentary he’d watched recently about the Zhou dynasty. And the first few lunches had been… awkward. It wasn’t because Jon thought Martin was a murderer—he doesn’t think he’d have agreed to go for lunch if he truly believed that Martin might harm him. It was just… how things like this went when Jon was involved. He knows he struggles with casual conversation, and he’s never understood the purpose or execution of ‘small talk.’ He would be perfectly content to eat and exist in silence, except all too often he feels expected to provide some sort of conversation or entertainment, upon which point the silence becomes horribly oppressive and stress-inducing.

But he also knows that talking too much can be just as bad as not talking enough. His grandmother had always told him so. So he suffered through the awkward silences for the first few days, and Martin had let him, clearly assuming that if Jon wasn’t speaking, he shouldn’t either.

Then, around their fourth or fifth lunch together, Martin had begun to ask him questions. They were casual, genuine, and so clearly targeted at Jon’s interests that Jon was convinced that Martin was somehow following him home or searching through his computer history or—or something. On their eighth lunch together, Martin asked Jon about the newest exhibit at the museum—it had been about sharks, if Jon remembers correctly—and Jon couldn’t help asking how Martin knew that he’d gone to see it. He hadn’t explicitly asked if Martin had been following him, but he’s sure the sentiment was clear in his eyes.

The tips of Martin’s cheeks had grown red, and he’d said that Jon had mentioned a few days prior that he was planning on going. All traces of fear and paranoia had left Jon’s mind then, replaced by surprise and, beneath it, something warm and bubbly. Martin had remembered.

Their conversations had gotten a lot easier after that.

Despite how Martin seems to enjoy Jon’s long-winded tangents, he… does still make an effort not to hold a completely one-sided conversation. So, a few minutes into the continuation of his pollen discussion, he finds a natural stopping point and says, “So, er. You… like being outside?”

Not the most… articulated question Jon has ever asked. But Martin doesn’t seem to mind. His fingers curl around the bottom of his water glass, his palms smudging the condensation. “Yeah, w-when I can find the time, I suppose. I-I try to go for walks around my neighborhood if I can, if it’s not too dark by the time I get home, and there’s this park in—”

Martin cuts off with a small cough. He lifts his glass and takes a long sip, while Jon sits and drums his fingers against the table and tries not to bounce his leg too noticeably. “Sorry,” Martin says as soon as the glass leaves his lips, giving Jon an apologetic smile that somehow seems… artificial. Like it’s been plastered atop another, heavier expression. “S-Something in my throat again.” He hesitates, then continues, “There’s a park in Devon that I-I like, whenever I’m in that area.”

Devon’s quite a trip away, Jon thinks but doesn’t say. Why do you go to Devon? he doesn’t say. Is that where you go on Saturdays? he doesn’t say, because—well. It’s rather embarrassing, among other things, to admit to the fact that you’ve gone through your employee’s desk calendar because you thought he might have shot an old woman three times in the chest and had plans to do the same to you. Particularly when you are having dinner with said employee.

Ugh. Probably best not to think about the fact that he is technically Martin’s boss when he’s sitting three feet away from him at a candlelit table on what, to an outside observer, might look startlingly similar to a date.

But it’s not a date. Because Martin didn’t say it was a date, and he’s just trying to care for Jon, in that… over-the-top way that he does. Jon tries to muster up some irritation at the reminder that he’s likely being coddled, just for habit’s sake, but comes up empty.

He hasn’t been truly irritated with Martin in quite some time. He… doesn’t really know when that changed. When Martin became a source of comfort, rather than of annoyance.

“Jon?” Martin says. Right. Martin is still sitting across from him.

“Right,” Jon says, trying to sound like he hasn’t been drifting off in a hundred different directions. “That sounds… nice.”

Martin’s lips curl up into a small smile. “Yeah. I-It is. It, um. It makes the trip worth it, to be able to sit on one of the benches and just… write poetry.”

Jon has read some of Martin’s poetry, though Martin doesn’t know that. Jon doesn’t like poetry. Jon liked Martin’s poetry. These are, apparently, two truths that can and do coexist.

Jon does not mean to say, “Could I hear one?” But it appears that he is weary enough and relaxed enough and distracted enough that his verbal filter has small, critical holes in it. Damn.

Martin sputters. “U-Um, well, I-I suppose… I could, I-I do have a few, er. M-Memorized, if you—you really…” He trails off uncertainly. “You’re. Um. You’re sure?”

Well. Nothing to do but lean into it, Jon supposes. “I wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t sure, Martin,” he says, a bit snippier than he intends. The tips of his ears are hot, and he is deeply thankful that the dimness of the bistro hides the way they’re surely darkening.

“R-Right.” Martin clears his throat, looks down at the table. “I-I suppose I’ll just… do a short one?”

He proceeds to recite, in quiet, surprisingly stutterless lines, one of the poems that Jon already knows from the notebooks he’d left behind in the Archives. It’s… his favorite, if he were forced to pick one. But there is something different—something more—about hearing Martin speak the words aloud rather than simply reading them on a page. Martin pauses in places Jon hadn’t thought to pause, lingers on words he hadn’t thought to linger on, and adds a softness to the ends of lines and phrases that Jon finds himself enraptured by.

Logically, he knows that it’s not good poetry. He’d begrudgingly taken a poetry class during uni, had hated every minute of it, and had donated all of his books to charity shops the moment he wasn’t in need of them anymore. He’s read Dickens and Poe and Whitman—all the works that are considered great representations of their art form.

Martin’s poetry is nothing like theirs. His lines don’t follow the same rhythms; his words are clumsier, his images less profound. But still, even though Jon knows that it is technically not good poetry, he… he likes it.

He tries not to analyze that feeling too closely.

“So, um. Yeah,” Martin says after he finishes, rubbing his thumb over his ring. “I-It’s not really… great work, heh, you know, s-sorry.”

Jon is not the comforting sort. He’s been told that he’s too sharp at the edges, skin too full of spines and thorns. So he surprises himself, and probably his grandmother from beyond the grave, when he reaches across the table and takes Martin’s hand in his. It’s soft and big, the pads of Martin’s fingers lightly calloused from a past history of manual labor, and Jon thinks just for a moment how small his own hands look in Martin’s. He surprises himself even more when he says, honestly, “I enjoyed it, Martin.”

Martin blinks at him, eyes wide and owlish. His hand is rigid in Jon’s, like he’s afraid that if he moves, he’ll frighten Jon away like a skittish cat. “O-Oh.” It’s hard to tell in the dim light, but Jon thinks Martin might be blushing. “Well. T-Thanks.”

Jon nods once stiffly. He does not retract his hand. At first, it’s because he doesn’t think to do so, too wrapped up in the feeling of his skin against Martin’s. Then, it’s because it’s been long enough that doing so would be more awkward than keeping his hand there. He asks Martin about the inspiration behind the poem, for want of another conversation topic, and Martin talks about the trip he took to the countryside once and how it stuck with him, and Jon’s hand remains atop Martin’s. Martin takes a drink from his glass, and Jon takes a drink from his, but both of them use their free hands, as if in unspoken agreement that this is just how things are now. Jon’s hand is resting atop Martin’s and it will be until he has just cause to move it and that is just the way of the universe. Nothing to be done about it.

Their food comes, and looking extremely regretful about the fact, Martin extracts his hand from underneath Jon’s and reaches for his fork. They don’t mention the loss, and it’s quiet for a period of time while Jon eats his chicken karahi and Martin eats his squash curry and Jon tries not to openly moan at how good the food is.

Something must show on his face, because Martin smiles warmly at him and says, “Well? Was that Yelp reviewer correct when they said that the chicken karahi is ‘literally the best food they’ve ever eaten in their entire life’?”

Jon swallows a bite of admittedly very good chicken. “Well. I don’t know that I would quite go to that extreme, but it is rather enjoyable.” Reminds me of the way my grandmother used to make it, he doesn’t say. That feels like a date conversation, and this isn’t a date.

(It feels very much like a date.)

(It isn’t a date.)

“Good,” Martin says. Then, he smiles, wide and unabashed and like a ray of sunlight, and Jon quickly buries himself in his food again so he doesn’t say something foolish like I really like it when you smile at me like that or Is this a date? or I would very much like this to be a date.

They finish eating, and the waiter takes away their plates with the promise of bringing the check soon. Jon’s hands rest on the table, index finger fiddling with the edge of the cloth placemat in front of him. He’s in the middle of trying to convince himself that yes, it would be ridiculous to take Martin’s hand again, you should definitely not do that on this very much not-a-date, when Martin reaches out and takes Jon’s hand in his. Properly takes it, pressing their palms together and slotting his fingers easily between Jon’s and knocking their rings together as he squeezes gently.

“Um,” Jon says eloquently. He should very much not ask if this is a date. “What are you doing?”

Nope, that’s worse. That’s definitely worse.

“Oh!” Martin lets go of Jon’s hand immediately, and Jon does not try to chase Martin’s hand as it retracts, thank you very much. He’s more dignified than that. “S-Sorry, I thought… I, um. Never mind. I-I shouldn’t have… sorry. Again.”

“It’s fine,” Jon finds himself saying. Then, in an effort to do damage control: “I… didn’t mind.”

“You… didn’t?” Martin seems confused, which is understandable. If Georgie were here, she’d tell him that he’s giving, quote, ‘mixed signals.’ He’d never quite understood what counts as ‘mixed signals,’ and he doesn’t know that he ever will.

“I did not,” Jon confirms. “I just… I suppose I…”

He should not ask if this is a date. He really, really shouldn’t.

“Is this a-a date?”

It appears he’s found another one of the holes in his verbal filter. Lovely.

Martin’s eyes grow impossibly wider. He makes a series of sputtering sounds as Jon waits and tries not to bounce a hole through the floor with the heel of his foot. “You—you didn’t…” Martin seems to have a miniature internal debate with himself, his face cycling through a dozen different expressions over the next few seconds. Finally, he sighs and says, eyes fixated on the table between them, “I had… intended it to be. Though I suppose if—if you didn’t know it was a date, that. Um. Kind of defeats the purpose.”

“Does it?” Jon’s mouth says without his permission.

“I-I mean… you can’t really have a one-sided date,” Martin says with an awkward laugh. The waiter is nowhere to be seen, which Jon is grateful for and disheartened by in equal measure. This situation would certainly be easier with a convenient escape.

“I… suppose.” Jon worries at the edge of the placemat, pulling on a loose thread. “Though, it’s… if this were a date—or, I suppose, if I-I’d known it was meant to be a date—I… wouldn’t have acted much differently.” He pulls harder at the thread, feeling a bit bad for the way the fabric bunches around it. “I… would not have been… that is to say, I would have liked it if… rather, to say that I didn’t think about it would be, er… well, incorrect.”

Martin stares at him, clearly unable to make sense of Jon’s admittedly disjointed, half-finished sentences. Jon sighs and says, under his breath, “I am not opposed to considering tonight a date.”

Martin’s cheeks are red enough now that Jon can see the flush, even in the dim light. “U-Um. What?”

“I am not opposed,” Jon repeats, louder, “to considering tonight a date.” Lord, that’s mortifying to say out loud. How do people do this? To emphasize his point, he sticks his hand out, palm-up on the table. It’s stiff and awkward and he probably looks like a cat with its hackles raised. He focuses on the cable knit of Martin’s jumper so he doesn’t have to see whatever amused or mocking or disappointed expression is on Martin’s face as he realizes just how bad Jon is at all of this.

Martin is quiet for a moment. Then, just as Jon is about to pull his hand away and flee for the exit, he feels a touch against his palm. Martin’s hand settles tentatively atop his—not weaving their fingers together, not even properly holding it, just… pressing together, palm to palm. Jon can feel Martin’s heartbeat faintly against the tips of his fingers where they press against the inside of Martin’s wrist. “Okay,” Martin says softly, like Jon has just given him a precious gift. “Then it’s a date.”

It’s a date. Jon’s skin has absolutely no reason to prickle at those words, nor does his stomach have any reason to squeeze and sprout butterflies. He nods, a bit brusquely, and opens his mouth to say something—god knows what—when the waiter appears next to their table, somehow having both comically bad and impossibly good timing.

Martin pays, despite Jon’s insistence that he can cover his own share, and then they’re back out in the cool night air, making their way toward the tube station. The first few minutes are quiet. There’s a tension between them that feels more anticipatory than awkward. Their hands brush once, twice. Then, on the third time, Martin hooks his fingers around Jon’s and clasps his hand in his, and Jon lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding.

They hold hands all the way to the tube station, up until they have to part ways to take separate lines. Jon runs through all the things that he thinks he’s supposed to say in a situation like this—I had fun tonight or We should do this again sometime or… something—but ends up saying instead, “How long have you…?”

He trails off, squeezing Martin’s hand a few times thoughtlessly, like a warm, bony stress ball. Martin seems to infer the rest of his question, however, because he squeezes Jon’s hand in return and says, “It’s… new for me too, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Jon nods and squeezes Martin’s hand again. He thinks that’s going to become quite a habit if they keep this up. “Right.”

Martin hesitates, before letting his grip on Jon’s hand loosen slightly. “We… we don’t have to do this again if you don’t want to. I-I know things are complicated right now, and I…” He worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to do this again, for… for what it’s worth. But I get it. If you don’t, that is. For—for any reason.”

“I do,” Jon says, surprising himself with his conviction. “I-I don’t… you’re right. Things are… complicated.” That’s certainly a word for it. “But I… I trust you, Martin. O-Or… I want to trust you.” He takes a deep breath. “I am making the decision to trust you.” It’s hard and it’s terrifying and there’s an animal instinct deep within Jon that’s telling him not to expose his vulnerable side, but… somehow, despite all of that, Martin makes him feel… well. Not safe, but as close to safe as he can get right now. Which is an accomplishment in its own right.

Martin exhales slowly and gives Jon a small, hesitant smile. “Thank you. I-I know that’s difficult, and I…” Martin squeezes Jon’s hand, just once. “I-I’m happy.”

And Jon finds that he means it when he says softly, “I’m happy too.”

Martin gets on his train, and Jon gets on his. And despite the ever-present itching beneath his skin and the persistent belief that something isn’t right and the knowledge that he is likely a hunted man, from the moment he lets go of Martin’s hand to the moment he closes his eyes and curls onto his side in bed, that happiness remains.

[haechanniesunflowers]

Mafia!Ateez reaction to s/o being abused by her family

Warnings: READ AT YOUR OWN RISK domestic abuse, bruises, scars, toxic family behaviour, manipulation, torture, mentions of blood, smoking, murder, death

I'm so sorry if this made you uncomfortable, my dms are always open if you want to talk about anything

Requested by @racheloveyunho

It only gets darker and longer with the next member

Hongjoong

He came home early so you weren't prepared and were wearing a tanktop with shorts

He saw the bruises on your back and thighs

When he asked you about it later that day, you sobbed and told him that your brothers beat you because you insisted on moving in with Hongjoong

Would pretend that it didn't affect him but on the inside he's furious

He himself doesn't like to physically discipline anyone unless it is necessary or they get on his nerves and bring him to that point

How dare they lay a finger on you

He wouldn't change his behaviour with you, he'd be his usual caring self, all the while planning to knock some sense into your brothers

He laid a trap for your brothers to fall right into and met with them personally

He's a reasonable man so he started with talking to them but when they didn't listen and called him slurs he threatened to murder them

They knew Hongjoong was a part of a mafia and didn't want to anger him any further

They promised him that they would treat you better

Seonghwa

You told him you tripped and fell while you were packing your things to move in with him and that's how you got the bruise on your head and a busted lip

He bought it honestly because he's soft for you and couldn't see you like that so his focus was to get you the medical treatment you needed

You were happy with him and spent almost all of your time with him but he didn't want to hold you back form meeting your friends and family

You were ecstatic to meet your friends but not your family

They hurt you after all

So when he had someone drop you off to your family house, you were nervous but still went inside to meet them

What you got was taunts and verbal abuse

When you tried convincing them that Seonghwa was indeed very kind and loving towards you, they hit you so hard, you lost your balance and your back hit the glass corner of the table which you tried holding onto and ended up scratching your upper arm, drawing blood

You were shocked and hurt and ran out of the house

You hailed a taxi and went to your friend's house and told Seonghwa to pick you up from there

When he came home that night, you were already asleep

In the morning he woke up and found you in the kitchen at the brink of tears and you cheek was a little swollen and purplish

He asked you what happened but you said you liked hanging out with your friends yesterday and these were tears of joy and that your swollen cheek was because you ran into a glass wall

He believed you like always and wrapped his arms around you to pull you into an embrace and accidentally put pressure on the bruise on your back from yesterday

You yelped and arched your back

This time he didn't ask you but lifted your shirt to see for himself, despite your protests and was shocked to say the least

He made you feel comfortable enough to tell him that it was your family's doing

He reassured you that everything will be okay and that you could stay with him forever

That night he paid your family a visit after you went to sleep

They never contacted you again

Yunho

Your family was very religious and never really messed with you because Yunho made it very clear how protective he was towards you

Any bitter comment from your family would earn them a death glare from Yunho

He'd stare them down until they got super uncomfortable

Nobody knew what he was capable of, other than the fact that he was involved with a mafia

Your family wanted you to stay away from him but you loved him and he had promised to protect you and shield you from the mafia life

Yunho's girlfriend had no face, no one in the mafia world had ever seen you

One day you were visiting your family to celebrate your sister's birthday

You felt unwelcomed, you own blood was making you feel uncomfortable

When the guests had left and it was time to open the presents, your brother told you to go home

You were embarrassed but tried to reason with him that you guys were family

He started saying hurtful things and called you a slut and accused you of selling yourself to a dirty mafia rat who kills people for a living. He said you are nothing but his whore and he will replace you one day when he is tired of you and then you will have no one to turn to because they didn't consider you family anymore

You got up and went to the home. The home Yunho had made in the middle of a dense forest to hide you and came to see you almost every day

Yunho had decided to complete his work in advance today so he could spend more time with you in the next days, since you said you would be at your family house today

You unlocked the door and went in crying. You were wailing so hard that you laid on the floor in the lobby

You screamed when you felt someone grab you by your arms and made you sit up

Yunho looked at you in shock and worry, you nuzzled your face in the crook of his neck and cried your heart out, not caring if you were being loud and looking like a mess

You didn't need to tell him what had happened because he was aware your family had something to do with this

You woke up in bed the next day, feeling numb but had a severe headache

You looked around the room and saw a shirtless Yunho starting outside the window, you called out to him "Yunho..."

"I don't want to know what they did or said. I'm never ever going to allow you to meet them again. It took everything I had in me to stop from murdering them because I don't want to hurt you, but I can't have anyone else hurting you either"

He turned around and looked furious, you had only once seen him this angry when a spy from another mafia broke into your house and tried to stab you. Yunho had ripped his jaw off of his face with his bare hands in front of you and you fainted from shock from the intensity of the situation

Right now he had the same look on his face and you didn't want to anger him any further

Yeosang

He had never been the one to talk a lot

His calm and collected nature made people underestimate him

Your family used to love Yeosang and were supportive of your relationship with him, they were happy when you moved in with him, but that was before they knew who he was

Only you knew that Yeosang was a cold blooded killer. He was his gang's ace, he was sharp, very intelligent and very manipulative, not to mention he was the second most strongest member and was very good with weapons, his speciality being butterfly knives. He killed people the bad guys and felt no remorse. His gang members often joke that he only feels two emotions, rage when the bad guys cause menace and love towards you.

He got you pregnant and you were now worried but Yeosang had reassured you that no one in this world will ever lay a finger on you as long as he is by your side. He made you feel safe and loved. He didn't trust anyone to help you around the house so he stayed home to help you.

One day your family came over to meet you and ask after you unannounced, you being 7 months pregnant, were home alone

They wanted to see your huge house, you were nervous because you didn't want them to see some rooms but couldn't keep up with them because you got tired from walking

Then the unthinkable happened, they saw everything. They saw Yeosang's training room, his collection of knives and bulletin boards with photos of people, nasty looking people. One board had two sets of photos of the same person, one photo was for Yeosang to know who to attack and the other photo of the same person killed by him. Yeosang never wanted you to see the contents of the room, let alone your family.

They told you to come with them and to leave Yeosang but you tried to tell them that you were more than okay and wanted to stay with him

It all happened too fast, your father grabbed you by your arm, dragged you outside and forced you to sit in the car while your mother pleaded to him to not shove you around like that in this state. They didn't drive home, they were fleeing the city to get as far away from Yeosang as possible

You were screaming, your parents paid no attention to you, they thought you were protesting but actually you were screaming because of the excruciating pain you were experiencing. You were bleeding and your mom had noticed it but they were on a highway and there was no hospital nearby. They couldn't do anything about it so they kept driving out of the city, your father hoping the child would die in your womb because he now hated Yeosang and wouldn't be able to love his child either.

You fainted and after 2 hours of driving, they got to a hospital. No one knew but you were carrying twins, sadly one of them had died in your womb while the other was born healthy. You were now fighting for your life. Your parents were scared for you and afraid of being tracked down by Yeosang.

You and your baby spent a month in the hospital and recovered enough for your parents take you with them

On the other side Yeosang was on the verge of a mental breakdown. He was out looking for you, now scared and confused and in rage. He didn't know who had taken you away and was frustrated and tired but he couldn't let you go. You were the love of his life and the only person in the world who ever loved him.

He got a lead on you and within hours was outside the house where your parents were hiding you.

He broke in the house in the middle of the night and found you crying on the bed with a sleeping child by your side. He instantly became soft at the sight, all the rage he had in him was replaced by love. He softly called to you and you whipped your head up and instantly ran to him.

You begged him not to harm your parents and he couldn't say no. He silently took you and his month old son back home in the dead of the night

San

San was not one person, he had two kinds of personalities, one was a ruthless assassin and the other, a passionate lover. Both personalities had him being manipulative in common

He absolutely hated your family because you were a free spirit and liked taking risks while they were the complete opposites and often tried holding you back but you always loved an adventure and that's how you ended up with Choi San.

You dispised your family the same as they did you. You were so used to the beating that you felt nothing now. Profanities were very common too and you wanted nothing but to slap each and every one of them and run away.

You were head over heals for him the moment he crossed paths with you but you didn't show that to him. He tried manipulating you into getting you to sleep with him but you knew better and brushed him off

He was used to women being on their knees for him so you not doing that was a challenge for him and he was hell bent on getting you to like him

He was going crazy over you and started meeting you at your workplace during his missions, like he had to kill a man in 30 minutes but he just had to see you first

When you weren't giving in to his art of seduction, he tried a different way

He asked you out like a decent human being and you said yes, wow that was easy, right?

No, you made him work hard for your love and affection and he was obsessed with making you happy to feel loved by you and by the time San realized what was going on, it was too late

He was madly in love with you and practically drooling over you

He finally asked you to move in with him and you said yes even though you knew your family would disapprove. You went home and packed your stuff and tried to leave but your family members didn't let you leave and in an effort of saving you from inevitable destruction which was Choi San, they beat you to the point you passed out.

They texted San from your phone, pretending to be you and told him to stay away and leave you alone, that you wanted nothing to do with him.

San was confused and scared when he got that text from you and texted you back to take your time and rethink your decision.

You woke up in your room at some point during the night, unable to open one eye because it had been bruised badly. Your head was bleeding and the blood had dried on your face. You left leg hurt a lot because of you lying in an unnatural position. You didn't have your phone or anything else

You felt empty and all you wanted was to be in San's loving embrace

It was now or never

You escaped from your window and somehow managed to get to San's front door, it was almost morning

You knocked on his door and called for him

He opened the door after some time and took in your form

He was in too much rage but he had to tend to you first

A few weeks later he came home and told you that he made sure your family is now in another city far away from you and won't contact you again

A tear slipped down your face, you were free from their torment

You kissed San and thanked him

He would do anything to make you happy

Mingi

Mingi was the notorious mafia leader who has connections with the government and the dark world

He had money and fame (the good and bad kind) and all that was missing was love and you filled that void

He loved you too much and would never let anyone hurt you

People knew better

So your own family, your own blood hurting you for wanting to live with Mingi didn't sit well with him

He was distracted at work and all he could see was your face, your tear filled eyes, your bruised arm and your distraught state

He wished he had sent someone to get you from your family house sooner so you didn't have to go through the abuse

He wished you never told them about it and just moved in with him

You were in his home, resting in his bed, thinking about what had happened

Did they really didn't see any good in Mingi?

Did they really have to hit you?

Did you do the right thing?

These thoughts flooded your mind and you were just as distracted

Mingi came home in a hurry and told you to come with him

You asked him where you guys are going and he says we're going to get back at them

He took you to your house and barged right in, unannounced

Seeing Mingi in person was overwhelming and your family were scared, pleading to him to let them go

Mingi told them that he was going to kill them for hurting you and there was panic and chaos

You came to stand next to him, squeezed his hand and softly told him that you want to go home

He couldn't say no to you so he warned them that this isn't over and took you home

You talked to Mingi and convinced him to let them go because they were your family after all

He's the one who said that if the loved toy and cared for you, they wouldn't hurt you like this and family doesn't mean you have to tolerate this kind I'd behavior when you're old enough to make decisions for yourself

You kissed him and wondered why couldn't your family see the good in him

Wooyoung

It started off with you slowly telling your folks about what Wooyoung did for a living

You were smart, so you didn't tell them about his business until you moved in with him otherwise they would have disapproved

You didn't mention that he tortured people and killed them without remorse, no, you said that he works with an organization that eliminates evil people which was true in essence

Your family was having none of it

They wanted you as far away from him as possible

You loved him and he loved you but they didn't believe it

They kept you from leaving the house and since Wooyoung was away for some time on a mission he didn't know

It was only when he got home that he found out that you hadn't returned, but he didn't think much of it because you were with your family

You on the other hand were panicking not only because you were being forced to stay away from Wooyoung but also because you just found out that you were pregnant

You had to get back to him no matter what

You refused to eat or talk to your family members, only demanding to meet Wooyoung

When he didn't get any message from you he began to get suspicious

He sent someone disguised as a delivery boy over to your house to check up on you and got word that you were sick and locked in your room

He got up and drove to your house in the middle of the night and broke through the front door. He didn't care who got in his way and pushed and punched whoever protested

He got to your room and demanded that you open it

You did and jumped at him, told him you were pregnant and they were keeping you from going back to him and cried

He took you in his arms and was taking you back with him

Your father threatened to call the police and Wooyoung simply said "say hi to chief inspector Jeon from me" leaving the father shocked

You were happy to be back with your lover and were excited about the baby, the same as Wooyoung

Jongho

Probably the strongest man in the whole mafia world

Everyone feared him

He didn't have to say twice for what he wanted because people had heard how he smashed someone's skull open with his bare fists

He had asked you to move in with him and you happily said yes

But when you told your family about your decision they asked you if you were crazy

You didn't listen to them and started packing

They weren't going to let you go to some barbarian

But you weren't listening so they had to do it the hard way

Deep down you were happy to leave because your family had always been abusive and toxic

When you were asked to leave with your suitcases your father grabbed you by your arm and shoved you against the wall

"you bitch, you really think you can disobey me?"

Your mother held you by your hair and slapped you so hard your nose started bleeding

They beat you severely and you had stopped screaming at this point

You thought you were going to die when they left you like this on the kitchen floor

You don't know what got into you but you got on your feet and ran out the front door where you were stopped by Jongho waiting for you beside his car

He saw you and gently pushed you aside and went straight inside the house

He came out after almost 20 minutes, blood splattered on his face and clothes

You were already in shock from the beating that you didn't question him

He got in the car with you, held your face in his hands and said "don't worry, I called an ambulance for them, they just might be okay"

With that your heart sank but you were too shaken to feel sad for them so you just cried

Jongho took you home

[roscgcld]

NANAMI KENTO + GOJO SATORU || the one that got away

request: i'm literally in love with your fics- i was wondering if you could write a Nanami x reader x Gojo where Nanami and the reader were dating before he left Jujutsu Tech, but they break up when he leaves. When he comes back he realizes he's still in love with the reader but she's engaged to Gojo and there's just a bunch of angst and tension. Sorry ik that's a lot :') But ty!!

note: lowkey thought you wanted a nanami x reader x gojo and i was like ‘oh babes am so ready-’ until i rer-read your request lmao! but honestly this was a lot of fun to write. tbh, if i was reader I would choose nanami cause rn am a whole ass SIMP for the man that is nanmi kento cx but i hope i managed to capture what you wanted in this request babes!

pronouns: she/her

“Maybe we should take a break.”

Those six words were engrained into the mind of Nanami Kento for the rest of his life. Those six words were the words that tossed his world upside down - and every time those words came into mind, the imagine of your crying face comes with it. 

You were so distraught, yet you put up a brave front as you gave him a shaky smile - something that he loves so much about you. That even though his explanation as to why you two should break up was childish, selfish even; you still go the extra mile to make sure that he knows you understand. That you understand why he wants to take a break so that he can focus on himself and his career.

“I understand, Nami...just know I love you, okay?”

Your simple words, coupled with your tearful eyes and watery smile made him want to take back the words as soon as possible. That he wants to just turn back time and just admit to himself that he was going to regret his decision. But at the same time, he doesn’t want to. If he did go back in time and stopped, he might end up breaking your heart again; if not with more bitterness and anger. 

When he was young, he hated that he was a jujutsu sorcerer - hated how he has this responsibility over him that he never asked for. He just wanted to be free from the jujutsu world and never look back. You were different - you were so proud that you were a jujutsu sorcerer, always a beacon of light in the dark reality that is being a sorcerer. Somehow you made it bearable for him, and at one point he thought he can do it for the rest of his life. Until after the death of Haibara Yu, a classmate that the both of you call a dear friend.

It was at that moment that he snapped, and he knew he didn’t want to do this anymore.

Yet he couldn’t force himself to drag you away from something you love so dearly, something you see as your duty to protect. He knew that either way he was going to be selfish, and either way tears were going to be shed; so he chose the one that would hurt the least. However, now years down the line, he still thinks that maybe things could have worked out. There was no denying that he still loves you - even though he keeps in touch with his senior, Gojo Satoru, from time to time, he doesn’t ask about you.

From what he knows, you stayed back in Jujutsu Tech and became a teacher, but that is all he knows about you. He was too scared, too embarrassed to face you once more - because he knows better then to dream. Dream that the promise you promised to keep as teens was going to hold up now that the both of you were in your late twenties.

But there is no harm in dreaming, right?

Nanami checked his watch as he got off the train, making his way towards the bus station located right outside of the building. It was his first time back at the college after being away from it for a few years, since he had called Gojo the other day on asking about if there is an opening for him to return as a sorcerer.

Even though Gojo can be a huge pain in the ass to deal with, Nanami knew that if there was anyone who can confirm a space for him at work, it will be Gojo Satoru.

Walking out of the crowded station, he looked up just in time to see the white haired shaman waiting for him at the entrance; who grinned and waved when he saw his junior. “Nanami! I knew you were not going to be late.” Gojo called out to the man dressed in a fresh grey suit and blue shirt underneath; his spotted tie knotted around his neck. The bespectacled man just sighs tiredly and made his way towards his overly excited senior, scowling when the taller male draped an arm around his shoulders.

He opened his mouth to say something when he noticed the ring that was resting on Gojo’s left ring finger, causing him to raise a curious eyebrow as he allowed the older male to lead him along. “You got married?” He asks the taller male, who glances at his hand before he grins and shakes his head, flexing his hand a little to show off the simple band around his ring finger. “Nah, we just got engaged. We are planning for the wedding though.” He stated simple, to which Nanami glances over at his senior in surprise. “What? Thought that I was too good to be married off?”

“No, I am surprised that you somehow managed to find someone willing to chain themselves down with you.”

“How mean!” Gojo gasps before he shakes his head in amusement, playfully squeezing his junior who just scowls lightly. “For your information, we’ve been dating for the last 4 years. And we have both talked about marriage before, so I wasn’t blindly shooting into the dark when I proposed.” Gojo commented as the two of them made their way towards the taxi stand, where Ijichi greeted his two seniors with a soft bow; all three men getting into the car. “Still surprised they said yes.”

Gojo just pouts and whines at his junior, who just listened to him with his deadpan expression the entire way to the college. He was surprised that Gojo managed to come on time to pick him up, since he had expected for him to be late, and for him to have either taken the bus or hailed a taxi on his own. But he didn’t really mind; he’s used to handling Gojo’s childish personality, and he gets a free ride at the same time. So he doesn’t mind the brief ride with Gojo.

Soon they arrived at the wooded area where the college is located on, getting out of the car once Ijichi stops the car. Quietly Nanami got out of the car and squints his eyes a little at the sunlight that shone down on him, his eyes slowly focusing on the grand temple-like compound that is Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College. “Feels weird to be back?”

“A bit.” Nanami admitted to Gojo when he walked from the other side of the car to Nanami’s side, the man just chuckling before he gestures for him made his way through the gates and into the campus, immediately being hit with all the nostalgia of being a student once more. It felt like a light weight was being lifted off his shoulders as he soaks everything in, like the guilt of him leaving his duties as a sorcerer behind has been lifted.

The two men made their way deeper into the college just as someone called out to Gojo from behind, causing both men to pause as they turned to look back. Immediately Nanami felt his heart skip a beat when his eyes finally settled onto you, a warm smile gracing your features as you made your way towards the both of them. Nanami was so stuffed that he didn’t catch the way Gojo grins and opens his arms for you, watching the two of you embrace one another as a sinking feeling when he saw the delighted grin on your face.

The same grin that you used to give him after not seeing you for awhile. 

Somehow Nanami managed to keep up an indifferent façade as you embraced your fiancée, pressing a soft kiss against his cheek in greeting whilst Gojo just nuzzles closer to you; in an attempt to milk all of the attention he can from you. “How needy.” You giggled at him before you turned to the man beside your fiancé with the intension of greeting him; only to freeze up when you realise who it was. “K-Kento?”

“Nice to see you again, Y/N.” Nanami greeted in his usual indifferent tone, trying to hide his heartbroken eyes beneath the shadow of his sunglasses as he tilted his head ever so slightly. “I guess some congratulations are to be said.” He stated simply before he gestures to your left ring finger, where a simple yet beautiful engagement ring rested on your finger. For some reason your heart sank as you awkwardly hid your hand behind your back, causing Gojo to raise an eyebrow as he glances between the both of you.

Was there something going on between the two of you?

“O-Oh, thanks.” You mumble out awkwardly, knowing immediately that Nanami was no longer in his usual indifferent mood. You can feel the slight hurt in his voice, one that causes your heart to break a little; bringing you back to the day you two broke up. How you promised to keep loving him until he was ready to return - yet here you are now, engaged to another man. It wasn’t like you fell out of love with him, you still love Nanami with all your heart, but that love had started to shift the years you two spend apart. And somehow, you started to fall for the white haired shaman known as Gojo Satoru.

But that doesn’t mean you didn’t feel any guilt for how evil you might seem to your ex for stringing him along like that. “I wasn’t expected to see you here.”

“I decided to come back.” Nanami stated simply with a shrug, glancing over at your quiet fiancé who blinks at him owlishly back at him. “Plus, Gojo here told me about a student of his by the name Itadori Yuji that I am supposed to take under my wing.” He continued, giving Gojo the chance to jump in as he smiles down at you, squeezing your shoulders gently. “That’s right! Kento-kun here said he wanted to come back! So his first job is to supervise Yuji-kun.”

“Oh.” You replied in a small tone, unsure of how to answer at all. But luckily Nanami stepped in before the awkward silence can drag on for long, pulling the sleeve of his jacket off his watch to check the time. “I don’t want to get in the way of your free time now, Y/N-san. I am going to go and rest up in my room before dinner is served.” He stated simply before bowing at the both of you, not meeting your eyes. “Excuse me.” 

With that he turned to walk away, forcing himself to not look back at you as he made his way down the familiar hallways towards the dorms; the keys to the room he is to stay at for the time being clutched in his hand after he slipped it into his pocket. What was I thinking? He thought to himself as he continued his way down the empty hallway to the dormitories. Did I really think an amazing woman like that will wait for me? 

He sighed to himself as he shakes his head a little, slipping his polished dress shoes off his feet before putting them on one of the free cubbies built into the wall; grabbing a pair of the guest slippers before he puts them on. “At least she managed to get engaged to Gojo. He’s definitely worthy of her love.” He mutters to himself, reminding himself to be happy that you found happiness. He doesn’t blame you for finding love once more - when he left this life behind, he also left you.

No call, no text, no attempt to reach out. Was he expected you to just fall into his arms once more? Pretend that nothing happened, and to go back to where you two once were? That thought alone caused him to let out a soft snort as he made his way towards the locked room, unlocking it with his keys. “Don’t be foolish, Kento. Be happy that she’s happy.” He mutters to himself as he entered his new room, closing the door behind him with a tired sigh.

“Guess you really were the one that got away.”

© roscgcld — all rights reserved to me, rose, the author and creator of these works. do not repost/translate/claim my work as yours on any platform

[deadinside-butstill-horny]

The Night We Met

Part One - The Night We Met

Pairing: Javier Peña/ Female Murphy!Reader

Words: 5.3k

Summary: Murphy's sister travels to Colombia after realising Steve might not quite be A-Okay and meets the Javier Peña.

Content Warnings: 18+ Smut-ish (I wouldn’t wanna read it out to my mom), dry humping, dirty talk in Spanish which reader doesn’t understand so does it really count?, gratuitous love of the black shirt from the torture scene.

AO3

MASTERLIST

Author Note: So here is my return to writing! The word count got away from me but I loved every second of it. Always after prompts, so drop me a message on here if you'd like to see anything in particular. If it's in my wheelhouse, you'll definitely see it.  

Pedro in the black shirt in this scene is what inspired me to write this, I can’t lie. 

If you were brutally honest with yourself, this spur of the moment decision may have been a mistake. 

Other people could make these choices and not have that nagging feeling in their gut from the second they booked their fuckin' airline ticket. You had attempted to grab life by its metaphorical horns and go and sort this shit show out by yourself, but after your momentarial bravery was used up, all that was left was a crippling anxiety that threatened to send you into a full scale panic attack if you thought too hard about the fact you were following your big brother to Colombia.

Yes, Colombia. You, a U.S. national with no particular interest in hunting Pablo Escobar, had decided to vacation in sunny, crime ridden Bogotá on a whim. 

You were fuckin’ dumb. 

Sarcasm aside, you weren’t actually here on vacation, you were going to check on Stevie. Your brother, one of the DEA agents assigned with taking down Escobar. 

You’d been worried about him for a few months, it had sounded like he was dealing with heavy shit in South America, you knew that was the job, but he was still your brother.

His calls had gotten less and less frequent until he stopped returning them all together and the only reason you knew he was alive were your pep-talks with your sister-in-law, trying to help her keep her shit together, but hell, you weren’t a therapist or a miracle worker. So when Connie rang asking to stay at your place you had obliged and she had returned to Miami a mere shell of her former self. 

After a mammoth amount of prodding over the course of two days you managed to wring the truth out of her, not the nuggets of information she had given you over the phone in hushed whispers during her time in Colombia but the whole messy story; the communist Elisa Alvarez, Steve’s kidnapping and the cold edges your brother was developing. 

It was all you could do not to book the tickets there and then, but you held out and supported Connie in the ways Steve couldn't have, taking care of Olivia when you could and just trying your hardest to be there for her. Your presence alone seemed to be enough to help her through the days that followed.  A week and a half after her return, you booked your flight to Colombia in secret. 

You had to check on Steve. 

He hadn’t answered a single one of your many many calls. You packed light and told Connie the morning of, and whilst she didn’t like it, she understood. You supposed that a part of her was relieved to know her husband would have someone in Colombia that wasn't there to kill him. 

So here you sat, two hours into your flight to the paradise destination; Bogotá. Your brother's address scrawled on a scrap piece of paper in the one hand and a glass of cheap whiskey in the other.  The alcohol did little to to calm your nerves, this was a dangerous place for a cop, let alone a fuckin’ clueless civilian. 

When the plane finally touched down, you stood from your seat emptying the last few drops of whiskey which had tried to evade you onto your tongue, you picked up your backpack and queued to leave the plane.

The second you left the aircraft the humidity hit you like a brick wall, it was like all of the fresh air had been sucked out of the atmosphere. On a normal evening you would appreciate such a warm climate, but now the heat meant frustration to your tired brain and it only added to your baseline levels of anxiety as your hairline and upper lip were drenched as you walked through the arrivals gate.

Cards on the table; you didn’t have much of a game plan, you spoke no Spanish and stuck out like a sore thumb. You had the address but no means to get there, you didn’t relish the idea of getting in a taxi as a woman alone in a foreign country, but with little to no other options you went to hail one of the cabs that sat outside the airport.

Your fears turned out to be for naught, well not quite naught as the man had raked his eyes across your body for a large percentage of the trip in his mirror, but he had the good grace not to kidnap or murder you, which for you meant it was a successful journey, how low you had set the bar was just occuring to you.

After paying the gentleman he dropped you outside what appeared to Steve’s apartment building. You take a moment on the pavement to recollect yourself ready for your reunion. Peeling your denim jacket off, you decide instead to wrap it around your waist, tying the sleeves securely. With a harumph, you grab the handle of your suitcase, and drag it behind you. Your success thus far gives you a second wind of determination.

Though apparently dumb luck can only get you so far, because after heaving your suitcase up a flight of stairs and rapping on the door of apartment 20 until your knuckles ached, it began to dawn on you, you had no clue if this was even the right building.

“Fuck.” you mutter to yourself, you should’ve rang Connie or tried Steve again when you landed, but you’d been so single minded in carrying out your plan all common sense had apparently abandoned you. So with a million different scenarios of things you could’ve done better playing out behind your eyes you dragged your suitcase to the small lobby of the building, where the front door stood.

You huffed and dropped onto the bottom step in surrender, not quite sure where to go from here. 

Weeks of anxiety and worry finally took their toll on your body as reality set in, and as it did so you couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer stupidity of the situation you’d put yourself in. A light chuckle escaped your body as you held your face in your hands,you rubbed at your eyes as a way of refreshing yourself before sighing and leaning back.

You must have sat with your head in your hands for around three hours before anyone of note arrived, you had received strange looks from residents in their comings and goings as they stepped around you, your expectant looks turned to disappointment when you realised they weren’t Steve. In fairness, you, a gringa sitting on the stairs at 2am, most likely wasn’t a daily occurrence to these homeowners.

By the time he came through the door, your eyes were closed and your head was leant on the bannister, trying to get what little rest you could. Your eyes opened a crack to see a man and a woman enter the building and turn right, the man had his arm around her as he stared at you in confusion, the look was so quick you may have missed it if you blinked, but they were talking in low whispers of Spanish and from the looks of things he didn’t give you a second thought. 

So you extended him the same courtesy and shut your eyes once again, you heard the metal jangling of keys going into the lock, the sound of smacking lips and then the door was closed. You figured that was the end of it, instead you heard hurried footsteps coming towards you, your eyes shot open as he rounded the corner.

“Estás bien?” The man questioned. It took you a moment to realise he was talking to you, as you took him in you were struck by your stupidity, how could you have dismissed this man so quickly even in the throes of a mental breakdown. His chocolate brown eyes bore into your own as you realised he was waiting for a response. 

“Uh… no hablo... español?” you pretty much asked him, cringing internally at your butchering of the most basic sentence of this gorgeous strangers language, his lips quirked at your mumbles making his mustache raise on one side with his smirk. Now, you’d never been a fan of a mustache, Steve and your father had both taken to styling their facial hair in such a way, and as a rule of thumb they were a big no-no. But my god. This man made that mustache his bitch and that bitch worked for him.

“You’re American?” He questions, smirk dropping along with his eyebrows in confusion as his brain processes the information.

“Oh thank god and Jesus fuckin’ christ above. You’re American!” Your timid nature had given way to pure unadulterated relief. “Stevie, Steve Murphy, he lives in this building, yeah?”

“Yeah… Stevi...Steve lives here- I’m sorry, who the hell are you?” He asks with a puzzled look and a shake of his head, there’s an air of distrust about him for some strange reason. 

“I’m Y/N Murphy, I’m his sister.”

“Sister? Mierda... does he know you’re here?” 

“Nope,” You pop your P as you shrug at the man before you with false nonchalance. “He’d have to answer the phone to me or Connie to know that now, wouldn’t he?”

“Steve.” The stranger sighed, annoyed. 

“Sorry, who are you?” You asked, yourself becoming more bemused by the man by the second. 

“I’m Steve’s partner, Javier.” He held out his hand which you were more than happy to take in a shake, his tan hand was soft yet strong as it held your own captive within it. “C’mon in I’ll give him a call, God knows what time he’s planning on getting back.”

“Uh, I don’t want to interrupt…” You mumble, waving your free hand vaguely towards where you knew the woman was waiting for him, making him smirk once again. 

You were beginning to think that the sarcastic raise of his mouth was just his default resting face.

“You’re not interrupting anything.”

Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘cause I’d think it to. This is how people die in America, let alone fuckin’ Colombia, but if it's a choice between dying at the hands of a gorgeous man who seems to know your brother or a stray that wonders in through the non-descript lobby door then you’d rather go out with a nice view, even if he did have a girlfriend.

If you had to gamble, you’d say you had a damn good chance of making it out of this apartment alive. 

So you nodded and used the hand he hadn’t released yet to pull yourself up into a standing position. He wasn’t particularly tall but he still towered over you, your eyeline gave you a great view past his black shirt which was unbuttoned quite liberally, you assumed that was courtesy of the woman he’d entered with. 

“Thank you,” you nodded at him with a genuine smile of relief. He didn’t reply, only grabbed the handle of your pull along suitcase before extending his arm towards his apartment and motioning to wordlessly say, after you. 

Now you know how people say when you can feel a stare? You had the sensation before, but as you leaned over to pick up your backpack from the bottom step, you felt his eyes laser focus on your denim clad ass. You turned your head in disbelief and found his eyes still lingered there for a moment before meeting your own. Unbelievable. Part of you was flattered, the other part was bemused that he had a beautiful woman in there waiting and here he was ogling you.

You rolled your eyes, instilled with a new confidence as you turned and walked towards his apartment, you felt his eyes follow your form once more. 

Steve’s hot partner was an ass man... Good to know. 

...

As it turns out Javier’s girlfriend, or what you we’re starting to think was more of a one night stand, was not happy with the situation at all, you came to this discovery as Javier pointed you to the sofa before beginning arguing with her in hushed Spanish, the beautiful woman huffed and sent a dirty look your way before storming out and slamming the door behind her, with enough power to make it shake in its bearings. You raised your eyebrows at Javier from your seat. He shook his head with a sigh and began lighting up a cigarette, he turned and offered you one. 

“No thanks, I quit.”

“Woman with an iron will?”

“Not quite,” You whisper, shaking your head.

He smiles before clearing his throat and moving over to pick up his landline. Javier presses a combination of buttons, before putting it to his ear and blowing the smoke from his lungs. His eyes met yours as the phone rang, he gave you reassuring wink. 

“Murphy? … Yeah…  you need to get back to your place now... You’ve got a guest.... No … come find out why don’t you?” Sarcasm dripped from his lazy tone, his voice was so smooth. It was like chocolate on gravel, you could listen to him talk for hours, which led your mind down that deep dark hole of what he sounded like during more carnal acts, he’d be a talker, for definite, what with all that confidence and swagger. “‘Kay… I’ll see you soon.”

Shaking your head you centred yourself, it had been a dry patch for you. You needed to calm down and not throw yourself at your brother's partner, even if he just so happened to be the first man you had any interest in to show you attention in months. 

“He’s on his way,” He confirmed what you already knew but you liked hearing him speak so you nodded in thanks. An awkward silence filled the air for a few moments, as you two perfect strangers shared one another's company.

“Drink?” He offered pointing at the bottle of whiskey on the counter.

“God, yes.” You all but moaned at the offer. Javier chuckled, and grabbed a second glass from his cupboard, before pouring you both a generous serving.  He walked around the back of the sofa, and passed you the glass of liquid gold and took a seat next to you. Close enough to initiate something, but not touching, quite a respectful distance. 

Initiate something? God Y/N, get your mind out of the gutter. This poor man had only invited you in because you were his partner's sister and he was doing the decent thing. 

“Uh… The television work?” You ask, pointing at the empty screen.

“I didn’t realise you could speak Spanish…” His voice was dripping with false surprise, mocking your earlier attempts at the language, though he reached across and switched the box on with the remote, he began flicking through the channels so quickly he almost gave you a headache.

“Oh yes, I’m very proficient, I just didn’t want to intimidate you earlier. Hola Señor Javier.”  You say continuing his ruse. He chuckles at your words, it's a deep warm noise that shakes his entire frame. You were definitely thinking about adding Javier’s voice to your top ten list of favourite sounds. 

He flicks through the channels, for a few seconds before sighing and dropping the remote in your lap. Taking your assignment seriously, you sit up, bringing yourself a few inches closer to the man next to you, purely accidentally of course and begin flicking through the channels as Javier had done moments before, though 3am TV scheduling left a lot to be desired. 

News, News, Colombian QVC, News, News, Soap opera. Bingo!

“Ah, now we’re talking.” You mumble, eyes stuck on the screen of the Colombian Soap opera playing. The two of you sat in silence once again as you slowly sipped on your drinks watching drama play out. 

You watched in silence for around ten minutes, not understanding a single word of what was being said. The scene was on two latino actors sitting in a bedroom. The woman was sat on the bed being confronted by the man in a serious tone. 

“What is she saying?” You question narrowing your eyes at the beautiful woman's tone. Javier, who had been watching your reactions the whole time as you got into the awful tv show scrambled as he tried to listen and translate the woman's words.

“Uh… her dads an alcoholic and she’s trying to support her son… that guy didn’t know about the son... I think… she was happy living a double life without the worry and she wants him to forgive her and start over…”  Javier translated, giving you the general cliff notes.

“Oh shit,” You gasped at his words, but your attention diverted to the screen where the two had continued their heated argument and began kissing or rather where the man was devouring her neck, “I’m getting vibes that he might be open to forgiving her.” 

You chuckled at your own joke, as did Javier. Though this time when his body shook his bare elbow touched your own. 

How was he so goddamn warm? 

All he was wearing was a black button down shirt. One that looked to be the wrong size it was so tightly fitted- not that you were complaining about the view. My God, were you horny today.

You took a gulp of your drink, trying to refocus for the third or fourth time this evening, trying so desperately to reign in your inner school girl and focus on the television, though that didn’t help as the actors were now eating one anothers faces on a bed. The silence was thick with tension, though that could’ve been entirely on you; one innocent touch of a man's elbow and you’re a blushing mess.  

Get a grip Y/N. 

The silence dragged on as you pretended to watch the soap opera you had absolutely no understanding of in a futile attempt to ignore the man next to you. You can only imagine what he thought of your levels of focus on the tv, as you stared at the box in the corner of the room like it was the greatest cinematic masterpiece of all time and you were getting ready to write a full-scale analysis on the work of art. 

Javier broke the tension in the room by finally asking the question that had been on his lips all evening.

“You came all the way to Colombia... Why?” Javier grabbed a cigarette off of the coffee table, placing his drink where the carton of smokes had been. He lit the stick and waited for your response, honestly, you were thrown. The question had come out of nowhere whilst you were still trying to analyse why exactly this man had such an effect on you when he was doing nothing but being a good host.  You hastened to think up a half coherent reply before you just answered truthfully. 

“Steve stopped answering the phone, I mean he’s always been shitty at checking in, even when he was in Miami. When he got here we’d have a catch up every week or so, we all know how dangerous it is for you guys over here, so we joked about calling it ‘the alive check’. For the last couple of months, I was checking in with Connie more than Steve but he’d still pick up once every week, without fail. Then four weeks ago the fucker stopped answering my calls all together and Connie showed up on my doorstep with Olivia in tow last week.”

“Look, you coming down here probably makes more problems than it solves, Steve’s a big boy if he doesn’t call to check in, it's probably ‘cause he’s busy...  He’s-” Something about Javier’s dismissive tone rubbed you the wrong way, call it sleep deprivation or blame the weeks of stress, but you were tired of being called paranoid. You were not an overbearing mother hen.

“My brother always answers my calls. Or at least he used to. I can’t begin to understand what you guys are going through, but I’m not losing my brother to some piece of shit Colombian drug dealer.” 

Javier raised his hands in mock surrender, cigarette still in mouth. “He’s actually more of a drug lord slash narcoterrorist, but-”

“How is he?” You interrupt Javier’s attempt at diffusing the situation with humor, turning to him on the sofa. You rearranged yourself, bringing your leg up so your knee touched his thigh as you gave him your full attention,  you plucked the smoke from between his lips and held it between your two fingers as you spoke. “Tell me Steve’s fine. Tell me I’m worrying for nothing and I’ll get back on that plane and leave tomorrow morning."

You take one drag and offer it back to him, he accepts it, deliberately looking you in the eyes as he places the cigarette in his mouth, attaching his lips to where your own had been seconds earlier.  He takes it from his mouth and stubs it on an ash tray that rests on the arm of the sofa, his focus is single minded on his task. The pressure in your lower stomach is mounting as you stare at the tanned man before you who is carrying out a menial task that has you more turned on than you’d ever admit. 

When the red tip is extinguished thoroughly, taking much longer than you thought it needed to, Javi turns to you, his mahogany eyes have you pinned in your tracks. You found yourself admitting they were gorgeous for the second time this evening, they were the type of brown you could never quite describe, they had so much depth, not quite a chocolate, not quite coffee, they were rich and deep pools. They reminded you of the forest, not the green leaves but the earthy brown, the strong beams of wood that held everything up around it.

Javier's hand emigrated forward slowly, your eyes followed the movement in your peripheral but you didn’t dare look away from the pools of molasses as he reached to grip one hand at your denim thigh, his eyes roamed your face for any sign of this being an unwelcome approach and when he found none his other hand began its climb to rest on your jaw, just below your ear.

You couldn’t say if you moved towards him or if he advanced on you, all you knew was he was on you now as the tips of your noses rubbed against one another.

“Quiero saborearte…” He whispered so lowly you barely even heard it before he leaned in that last inch and captured your lips in a single, chaste kiss. Your lips connected and you realised the heat you had felt from his arms had been nothing. Fire coursed through your veins upon contact, surging through your blood and going south to a pressure that built in your lower stomach. 

Your hand shot up to land on his collarbone, before you could even really consider your own actions you pulled apart until your foreheads were the only thing touching.  He was intoxicating, you could lose yourself completely in this man, he somehow smelt like cinnamon, whiskey and sweat, a combination you’d never thought would send liquid fire through your central nervous system.  You’d give anything to taste him properly, but this was wrong. So so wrong. This was your brother's partner, this was inviting complication to your door, when you were just here to check on Steve. You were here for Steve.

You were here for Steve... 

“... This isn’t a good idea.” You all but whisper, closing your eyes. Regret pulses through your veins at your self imposed restraint. 

“Never is.” He leaned forward and captured your lips. You didn’t have any fight left in you, exhausted and at wits end you embraced your spiral into stupidity instead and your hands glided across the clammy skin of his neck to grab at his short ink black hair. You wrapped your fingers around it to drag him closer to you, your lips clashed, all teeth at first but you didn’t care as his tongue began to fight against yours for dominance. 

He tasted as good as you imagined, he was the right combination of sweet and bitter, with undertones of whiskey and tobacco on his tongue. Your response to his assault on your mouth told him it was go time, Javier pulled you into his lap and his hands lowered to your ass. Your body was flush with his own as your breasts pressed against his chest, you could feel every solid line of his lithe body against your own. 

You licked at his honied tongue, before withdrawing and pulling his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking on the soft plush skin. His mustache tickled your upper lip, a sensation you weren’t used to but could so easily grow to love.  This made him tighten his grip on your backside in response and he let out a throaty groan at the meat he found there, Javier was definitely an ass man, you felt his bulge pressing against your core as you both began grinding against each other in earnest. You felt like a horny teenager as you grinded on a man you barely knew. 

You felt him grip at the bottom of your tank top and begin to lift it, except he stopped, and began to rub patterns on the stomach he exposed. Javier’s mouth descended from your lips to begin to suck and lick at your throat. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at his work as pleasure rippled throught your body. His hands slid the length of your body to grab at your chest, which conforming to every stereotype was heaving, he palmed your breast blindly as his face was still buried in your hair, sucking and kissing along to your ear, before he raised his mouth a mere inch and whispered  “Te follaré toda la noche niña.”

He said it with such surety that your body convulsed in on itself without even needing to know what the man above you was saying. You could only hope it was absolutely filthy and profanity ridden, because then at least, the sentiment would be shared. He bit at the lobe of your ear before his hands left your breasts and travelled to the hem of your tank top, getting ready to pull it over your head.

It was strange to say that you remembered your brother was on his way here as a man tried to take your t-shirt off, but that’s just the way it went. You knew if that top came off, dry humping would be the most PG action of the night and if Steve turned up and found you mounted on his partner, he probably wouldn’t be too thrilled. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from stroking the man's hair whose face was planted in between your tits as his hips rose against your own pushing his hardened length up against the seams of your jeans, you gasped as he hit that sweet spot. You let out a noise that sounded like a wail. You wanted nothing more than to lie back and let this man have his filthy way with your body. And you know, from the hour you’ve spent with this man it would be phenomenally filthy. The kind of sex that would ruin all men for you, but no. You had to be a good sister. Like a fuckin loser. 

Sighing, you threw your body sideways before you could change your mind and ended up on your back. Javier followed you, caging you with his frame as he covered your body with his own.  Gripping your face like he was a starving man and you were the only sustenance he’d ever need. It would be so easy to get lost in him, to give in to that magic tongue but you couldn’t let this go any further so you placed a hand on his chest.

Taking your cue he paused his tongues assault on your mouth and stopped, resting his forehead against your own. You were both breathing heavily trying to come back down to reality, his eyes were no longer the chocolate brown you’d been comforted by when you met, but rings of obsidian staring into your soul. You wanted this man, my god you did. But this would make more problems for Steve.

The two of you stayed that way for a while, foreheads and bodies pressed against one another until both of your breathing evened out. The silence dragged, heavy in the air as you two strangers both waited for the other to break it. 

“...Is Steve okay?”

“...No... He’s been fuckin’ mess ever since Connie left.” Javier sighed whilst closing his eyes and breathing deep. You raised your hands from his chest, which was difficult as he was crushing his body to yours and cupped his cheek, you joined your lips once more, much like the first kiss. This was sweet and there wasn’t a carnal appetite behind it but rather an understanding. 

The loud knock on the front door startles you both as you’d been so wrapped up in one another you’d not heard the steps leading to it. The two of you split apart like a pair of guilty teens caught in the act. You both stared at each other for a second before he nods at you and walks to the front door whilst rearranging his bulge discreetly in his jeans, this was something you pretended not to see as you sat back up right on the sofa. You had only a moment to fix yourself, as you pulled your tank top from where it was hooked by your breasts and ran your fingers through your hair so you didn’t look like you’ve just had the ravaging of a lifetime. 

Javier pulled open the door and you clutch your hands into your lap, not quite sure what kind of reception you were about to receive from your brother. You hear the two men greet one another in hushed whispers, you couldn’t make out Steve's voice much until you hear his voice clear as day “...what the hell was so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

You stand from your spot on the sofa and quickly realise the button on your jeans is undone; if you’re honest you don’t even know how he managed to do that without you noticing, even though it's not the time you take a solitary second to commend Javier on his artistry of disrobing a woman. Turning quickly you pull the rivet back through the hole and swing around as Steve crosses the threshold from the hallway.  

Steve looks from you, to Javier and then back to you once more in complete surprise. It takes his brain a hot second to process that you’re here in front of him and in Colombia before he rushes you. Clutching you tight and hugging you to his chest. You hear something that sounds suspiciously like a sob leave your brothers chest before he collapses into you. The front door and Javier’s bedroom both in rapid succession, giving you the privacy you knew your brother would need after breaking down like this.

You couldn’t support Steve’s weight with your considerably smaller frame and the two of you fell to the ground as you held your broken brother. His body shook with silent sobs as he buried his face in your shoulder.

You said nothing as you held him and stroked his hair. In that moment you thanked your every instinct that screamed at you to come to Colombia. 

This had definitely not been a mistake. 

Part Two

[megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms]

Memory

Based on this request:  heya! can’t wait for your fics! i’d like to request a sherlock one. him and john find her (as a victim) at the scene of a crime. she’s very shaken up and as john is a doctor he takes her back to baker st so he and molly can check her over. she has some gaps in her memory from the accident so sherlock insists she stays so he can be there and speak to her as soon as the memory comes back…it ends up with them having a lil thing for each other and john has to talk sherlock into asking her out?

Fandom: Sherlock(BBC)

Warnings: Mentions of temporary amnesia and trauma. A little fluff-ish.

Pairings/Characters: Sherlock Holmes x fem!reader, John Watson

Witnesses weren't always reliable. Especially when those witnesses were also victims. Sherlock knew this. But he also knew that you were the only living person who could give him answers. Too bad you couldn't seem to remember anything other than your name and basic information. NOTHING! It frustrated Sherlock to no end. So, when John first suggested he take you to hospital, Sherlock denied it outright.

         "No. There is no point. She'll stay with us. That way I can speak with her the moment her memory returns. You and Molly can look after her in the medical sense while we wait." John wanted to argue, but knew better. That was how you found yourself in the back of a cab, squeezed between the two gentlemen.

         You were quiet as you tried to piece together what had happened that night. The only thing you could remember was that, thanks to a little bit of luck, you'd managed to narrowly escape a violent end. You weren't even sure you wanted to or if you even could remember what happened, especially with those intense blue eyes of the consulting detective studying your every move. At least you'd have a place to stay that wasn't a hospital until you could remember where you lived.

         Days passed and you still didn't remember everything. Bits and pieces here and there, but not enough for Sherlock to put all the pieces together. You knew something. Something that could break the case wide open. He just needed you to remember. Meanwhile, you seemed to enjoy being in the flat. You were clearly a social creature in certain situations and you liked someone's company. Sherlock thought it was John's or Molly's(who came by every day to check on you), or even Mrs. Hudson's.

         "For such a genius, you can be a right idiot, you know that?" John asked him one evening after you'd gone to bed. Sherlock didn't even look at him. "So you keep reminding me, Watson. To what instance are you referring to this time?" John sighed and took a sip of his tea. "Y/N. She likes you. And I'm certain you like her as well."

         "Don't be ridiculous. You know how I feel about…normal people." Sherlock didn't have to look to know that John rolled his eyes at that. "Sherlock, I know you better than that now. She's beautiful and intelligent. You can tell that by spending five minutes with her. She's put you in your place more than once. I think she'd be good for you, if you gave it a chance."

         Sherlock pretended not to hear him. Now wasn't the time for his silly romantic tendencies. Still, he did have a point. Despite your lack of memory at the moment, you truly were an intelligent woman. Not on Sherlock's level, of course, but still, you seemed to keep your mind open to learning and Sherlock could appreciate that. As he sat with his fingers together under his chin, an idea formed in his mind. If you were as smart as he thought, maybe he could get through to you and help you recover your memory.

         "This wasn't exactly what I meant by taking her on a date, Sherlock," John whispered to him the next evening. They were both looking at you, sitting on the floor with your legs crossed, waiting for Sherlock to continue his lesson. You were wearing one of Sherlock's shirts since you had no clothing of your own except what you had been wearing the night of the incident and those were currently being washed. "Nonsense. You know I don't allow personal relationships interfere with a case, but you insisted I spend time with Y/N. What better way to do both?"

         John scoffed and shook his head in disbelief. He shouldn't have been surprised. This was Sherlock after all and the case came first. In this instance, that meant teaching you how to access your own Mind Palace. So John watched as Sherlock sat across from you once more and tried to get you to access your own mind.

         After a while, you grew frustrated and went to stand up. However, you froze about half way there. Without taking your eyes off Sherlock, you sank back down as tears sprang into your eyes. "Oh, god. I-I remember. Oh, god," you whispered before getting up to run to the bathroom, slamming the door behind you. Whatever it was you remembered had rocked you to the core.

*time skip*

         "Thank you," you told Sherlock softly as you left Scotland Yard. You'd finished telling the police what it was you remembered so they could finish closing the case. Sherlock looked down at you and gave an almost imperceptible nod. "I-I suppose I should return home now that I remember where I live." You raised your hand to hail a taxi.

         In the brief seconds between your words and the arrival of the taxi, Sherlock found himself confused. John's words kept playing in his mind. Well, it didn't help that John was on his other side, nudging him with his elbow. "Ask her out," he hissed, "Ask her or lose your chance." Sherlock sighed and pulled out his phone.

         "You're texting? Now?" Sherlock ignored John's exasperated gasp and let his gaze travel back to you. Your brows furrowed when your phone vibrated in your pocket. Pulling it out, you read the text and smiled.

Dinner? Pick you up at 7 o'clock on Saturday.

-S

You glanced back at Sherlock and nodded as you climbed into the taxi. The smile never left your face, even when the taxi drove off to take you home. Sherlock waved down a car for John and himself, his mind bouncing in all different directions as he planned his perfect date with you.

(a/n: I hope this is what you wanted! Tag lists are open, if anyone would like to be tagged in the fics.)

[busycryin]

REPOST - THE NIGHT WE MET

THE NIGHT WE MET

PART ONE - THE NIGHT WE MET

Pairing: Javier Peña/ Female Murphy!Reader

Words: 5.3k

Summary: You decide to travel to Colombia on a whim, there you meet a gorgeous stranger that just so happens to be your brothers partner. 

Content Warnings: 18+ Smut-ish (I wouldn’t wanna read it out to my mom), dry humping, dirty talk in Spanish which reader doesn’t understand so does it really count?, gratuitous love of the black shirt from the torture scene.

Anon was worried about losing my work when I switched blogs, so fear not. I’m reposting on here but I have no intention of deleting my other blog, it’s where I got my first 200 notes and I’m honestly blown away by it. I’m happy to announce I’m working on a fourth part. I’m not sure when I’ll post it as I’m still in the idea stage but it’s definitely a start, ay!

AO3

MASTERLIST

Author Note: So here is my return to writing! The word count got away from me but I loved every second of it. Always after prompts, so drop me a message on here if you’d like to see anything in particular. If it’s in my wheelhouse, you’ll definitely see it.  

Pedro in the black shirt is what inspired me to write this, I can’t lie.

If you were brutally honest with yourself, this spur of the moment decision may have been a mistake.

Other people could make these choices and not have that nagging feeling in their gut from the second they booked their fuckin’ airline ticket. You had attempted to grab your crappy life by its metaphorical horns and go and sort this shit show out by yourself, but after your momentary bravery was used up, all that was left was a crippling anxiety that threatened to send you into one of your full scale panic attacks if you thought too hard about the fact you were following your big brother to Colombia.

Yes, Colombia. You, a U.S. national with no particular interest in hunting Pablo Escobar, had decided to vacation in sunny, crime ridden Bogotá on a whim.

You were fuckin’ dumb.

Sarcasm aside, you weren’t actually here on vacation, you were going to check on Stevie. Your brother, one of the DEA agents assigned with taking down Escobar.

You’d been worried about him for a few months, it had sounded like he was dealing with heavy shit in South America, you knew that was the job, but he was still your brother.

His calls had gotten less and less frequent until he stopped returning them all together and the only reason you knew he was alive were your pep-talks with your sister-in-law, trying to help her keep her shit together, but hell, you weren’t a therapist or a miracle worker. So when Connie rang asking to stay at your place you had obliged and she had returned to Miami a mere shell of her former self.

After a mammoth amount of prodding over the course of two days you managed to wring the truth out of her, not the nuggets of information she had given you over the phone in hushed whispers during her time in Colombia but the whole messy story; the communist Elisa Alvarez, Steve’s kidnapping and the cold edges your brother was developing.

It was all you could do not to book the tickets there and then, but you held out and supported Connie in the ways Steve couldn’t have, taking care of Olivia when you could and just trying your hardest to be there for her. Your presence alone seemed to be enough to help her through the days that followed.  A week and a half after her return, you booked your flight to Colombia in secret.

You had to check on Steve.

He hadn’t answered a single one of your many many calls. You packed light and told Connie the morning of, and whilst she didn’t like it, she understood. You supposed that a part of her was relieved to know her husband would have someone in Colombia that wasn’t there to kill him.

So here you sat, two hours into your flight to the paradise destination; Bogotá. Your brother’s address scrawled on a scrap piece of paper in the one hand and a glass of cheap whiskey in the other.  The alcohol did little to to calm your nerves, this was a dangerous place for a cop, let alone a fuckin’ clueless civilian.

When the plane finally touched down, you stood from your seat emptying the last few drops of whiskey which had tried to evade you onto your tongue, you picked up your backpack and queued to leave the plane.

The second you left the aircraft the humidity hit you like a brick wall, it was like all of the fresh air had been sucked out of the atmosphere. On a normal evening you would appreciate such a warm climate, but now the heat meant frustration to your tired brain and it only added to your baseline levels of anxiety as your hairline and upper lip were drenched as you walked through the arrivals gate.

Cards on the table; you didn’t have much of a game plan, you spoke no Spanish and stuck out like a sore thumb. You had the address but no means to get there, you didn’t relish the idea of getting in a taxi as a woman alone in a foreign country, but with little to no other options you went to hail one of the cabs that sat outside the airport.

Your fears turned out to be for naught, well not quite naught as the man had raked his eyes across your body for a large percentage of the trip in his mirror, but he had the good grace not to kidnap or murder you, which for you meant it was a successful journey, how low you had set the bar was just occuring to you.

After paying the gentleman he dropped you outside what appeared to Steve’s apartment building. You take a moment on the pavement to recollect yourself ready for your reunion. Peeling your denim jacket off, you decide instead to wrap it around your waist, tying the sleeves securely. With a harumph, you grab the handle of your suitcase, and drag it behind you. Your success thus far gives you a second wind of determination.

Though apparently dumb luck can only get you so far, because after heaving your suitcase up a flight of stairs and rapping on the door of apartment 20 until your knuckles ached, it began to dawn on you, you had no clue if this was even the right building.

“Fuck.” you mutter to yourself, you should’ve rang Connie or tried Steve again when you landed, but you’d been so single minded in carrying out your plan all common sense had apparently abandoned you. So with a million different scenarios of things you could’ve done better playing out behind your eyes you dragged your suitcase to the small lobby of the building, where the front door stood.

You huffed and dropped onto the bottom step in surrender, not quite sure where to go from here.

Weeks of anxiety and worry finally took their toll on your body as reality set in, and as it did so you couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer stupidity of the situation you’d put yourself in. A light chuckle escaped your body as you held your face in your hands, you rubbed at your eyes as a way of refreshing yourself before sighing and leaning back.

You must have sat with your head in your hands for around three hours before anyone of note arrived, you had received strange looks from residents in their comings and goings as they stepped around you, your expectant looks turned to disappointment when you realised they weren’t Steve. In fairness, you, a gringa sitting on the stairs at 2am, most likely wasn’t a daily occurrence to these homeowners.

By the time he came through the door, your eyes were closed and your head was leant on the bannister, trying to get what little rest you could. Your eyes opened a crack to see a man and a woman enter the building and turn right, the man had his arm around her as he stared at you in confusion, the look was so quick you may have missed it if you blinked, but they were talking in low whispers of Spanish and from the looks of things he didn’t give you a second thought.

So you extended him the same courtesy and shut your eyes once again, you heard the metal jangling of keys going into the lock, the sound of smacking lips and then the door was closed. You figured that was the end of it, instead you heard hurried footsteps coming towards you, your eyes shot open as he rounded the corner.

“Estás bien?” The man questioned. It took you a moment to realise he was talking to you, as you took him in you were struck by your stupidity, how could you have dismissed this man so quickly even in the throes of a mental breakdown. His chocolate brown eyes bore into your own as you realised he was waiting for a response.

“Uh… no hablo… español?” you pretty much asked him, cringing internally at your butchering of the most basic sentence of this gorgeous strangers language, his lips quirked at your mumbles making his mustache raise on one side with his smirk. Now, you’d never been a fan of a mustache, Steve and your father had both taken to styling their facial hair in such a way, and as a rule of thumb they were a big no-no. But my god. This man made that mustache his bitch and that bitch worked for him.

“You’re American?” He questions, smirk dropping along with his eyebrows in confusion as his brain processes the information.

“Oh thank god and Jesus fuckin’ christ above. You’re American!” Your timid nature had given way to pure unadulterated relief. “Stevie, Steve Murphy, he lives in this building, yeah?”

“Yeah… Stevi…Steve lives here- I’m sorry, who the hell are you?” He asks with a puzzled look and a shake of his head, there’s an air of distrust about him for some strange reason.

“I’m Y/N Murphy, I’m his sister.”

“Sister? Mierda… does he know you’re here?”

“Nope,” You pop your P as you shrug at the man before you with false nonchalance. “He’d have to answer the phone to me or Connie to know that now, wouldn’t he?”

“Steve.” The stranger sighed, annoyed.

“Sorry, who are you?” You asked, yourself becoming more bemused by the man by the second.

“I’m Steve’s partner, Javier.” He held out his hand which you were more than happy to take in a shake, his tan hand was soft yet strong as it held your own captive within it. “C’mon in I’ll give him a call, God knows what time he’s planning on getting back.”

“Uh, I don’t want to interrupt…” You mumble, waving your free hand vaguely towards where you knew the woman was waiting for him, making him smirk once again.

You were beginning to think that the sarcastic raise of his mouth was just his default resting face.

“You’re not interrupting anything.”

Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘cause I’d think it to. This is how people die in America, let alone fuckin’ Colombia, but if it’s a choice between dying at the hands of a gorgeous man who seems to know your brother or a stray that wonders in through the non-descript lobby door then you’d rather go out with a nice view, even if he did have a girlfriend.

If you had to gamble, you’d say you had a damn good chance of making it out of this apartment alive.

So you nodded and used the hand he hadn’t released yet to pull yourself up into a standing position. He wasn’t particularly tall but he still towered over you, your eyeline gave you a great view past his black shirt which was unbuttoned quite liberally, you assumed that was courtesy of the woman he’d entered with.

“Thank you,” you nodded at him with a genuine smile of relief. He didn’t reply, only grabbed the handle of your pull along suitcase before extending his arm towards his apartment and motioning to wordlessly say, after you.

Now you know how people say when you can feel a stare? You had the sensation before, but as you leaned over to pick up your backpack from the bottom step, you felt his eyes laser focus on your denim clad ass. You turned your head in disbelief and found his eyes still lingered there for a moment before meeting your own. Unbelievable. Part of you was flattered, the other part was bemused that he had a beautiful woman in there waiting and here he was ogling you.

You rolled your eyes, instilled with a new confidence as you turned and walked towards his apartment, you felt his eyes follow your form once more.

Steve’s hot partner was an ass man… Good to know.

…

As it turns out Javier’s girlfriend, or what you we’re starting to think was more of a one night stand, was not happy with the situation at all, you came to this discovery as Javier pointed you to the sofa before beginning arguing with her in hushed Spanish, the beautiful woman huffed and sent a dirty look your way before storming out and slamming the door behind her, with enough power to make it shake in its bearings. You raised your eyebrows at Javier from your seat. He shook his head with a sigh and began lighting up a cigarette, he turned and offered you one.

“No thanks, I quit.”

“Woman with an iron will?”

“Not quite,” You whisper, shaking your head.

He smiles before clearing his throat and moving over to pick up his landline. Javier presses a combination of buttons, before putting it to his ear and blowing the smoke from his lungs. His eyes met yours as the phone rang, he gave you reassuring wink.

“Murphy? … Yeah…  you need to get back to your place now… You’ve got a guest…. No … come find out why don’t you?” Sarcasm dripped from his lazy tone, his voice was so smooth. It was like chocolate on gravel, you could listen to him talk for hours, which led your mind down that deep dark hole of what he sounded like during more carnal acts, he’d be a talker, for definite, what with all that confidence and swagger. “‘Kay… I’ll see you soon.”

Shaking your head you centred yourself, it had been a dry patch for you. You needed to calm down and not throw yourself at your brother’s partner, even if he just so happened to be the first man you had any interest in to show you attention in months.

“He’s on his way,” He confirmed what you already knew but you liked hearing him speak so you nodded in thanks. An awkward silence filled the air for a few moments, as you two perfect strangers shared one another’s company.

“Drink?” He offered pointing at the bottle of whiskey on the counter.

“God, yes.” You all but moaned at the offer. Javier chuckled, and grabbed a second glass from his cupboard, before pouring you both a generous serving.  He walked around the back of the sofa, and passed you the glass of liquid gold and took a seat next to you. Close enough to initiate something, but not touching, quite a respectful distance.

Initiate something? God Y/N, get your mind out of the gutter. This poor man had only invited you in because you were his partner’s sister and he was doing the decent thing.

“Uh… The television work?” You ask, pointing at the empty screen.

“I didn’t realise you could speak Spanish…” His voice was dripping with sarcasm, mocking your earlier attempts at the language, though he reached across and switched the box on with the remote, he began flicking through the channels so quickly he almost gave you a headache.

“Oh yes, I’m very proficient, I just didn’t want to intimidate you earlier. Hola Señor Javier.”  You say continuing his ruse. He chuckles at your words, it’s a deep warm noise that shakes his entire frame. You were definitely thinking about adding Javier’s voice to your top ten list of favourite sounds.

He flicks through the channels, for a few seconds before sighing and dropping the remote in your lap. Taking your assignment seriously, you sit up, bringing yourself a few inches closer to the man next to you, purely accidentally of course and begin flicking through the channels as Javier had done moments before, though 3am TV scheduling left a lot to be desired.

News, News, Colombian QVC, News, News, Soap opera. Bingo!

“Ah, now we’re talking.” You mumble, eyes stuck on the screen of the Colombian Soap opera playing. The two of you sat in silence once again as you slowly sipped on your drinks watching drama play out.

You watched in silence for around ten minutes, not understanding a single word of what was being said. The scene was on two latino actors sitting in a bedroom. The woman was sat on the bed being confronted by the man in a serious tone.

“What is she saying?” You question narrowing your eyes at the beautiful woman’s tone. Javier, who had been watching your reactions the whole time as you got into the awful tv show scrambled as he tried to listen and translate the woman’s words.

“Uh… her dads an alcoholic and she’s trying to support her son… that guy didn’t know about the son… I think… she was happy living a double life without the worry and she wants him to forgive her and start over…”  Javier translated, giving you the general cliff notes.

“Oh shit,” You gasped at his words, but your attention diverted to the screen where the two had continued their heated argument and began kissing or rather where the man was devouring her neck, “I’m getting vibes that he might be open to forgiving her.”

You chuckled at your own joke, as did Javier. Though this time when his body shook his bare elbow touched your own.

How was he so goddamn warm?

All he was wearing was a black button down shirt. One that looked to be the wrong size it was so tightly fitted- not that you were complaining about the view. My God, were you horny today.

You took a gulp of your drink, trying to refocus for the third or fourth time this evening, trying so desperately to reign in your inner school girl and focus on the television, though that didn’t help as the actors were now eating one anothers faces on a bed. The silence was thick with tension, though that could’ve been entirely on you; one innocent touch of a man’s elbow and you’re a blushing mess.  

Get a grip Y/N.

The silence dragged on as you pretended to watch the soap opera you had absolutely no understanding of in a futile attempt to ignore the man next to you. You can only imagine what he thought of your levels of focus on the tv, as you stared at the box in the corner of the room like it was the greatest cinematic masterpiece of all time and you were getting ready to write a full-scale analysis on the work of art.

Javier broke the tension in the room by finally asking the question that had been on his lips all evening.

“You came all the way to Colombia… Why?” Javier grabbed a cigarette off of the coffee table, placing his drink where the carton of smokes had been. He lit the stick and waited for your response, honestly, you were thrown. The question had come out of nowhere whilst you were still trying to analyse why exactly this man had such an effect on you when he was doing nothing but being a good host.  You hastened to think up a half coherent reply before you just answered truthfully.

“Steve stopped answering the phone, I mean he’s always been shitty at checking in, even when he was in Miami. When he got here we’d have a catch up every week or so, we all know how dangerous it is for you guys over here, so we joked about calling it ‘the alive check’. For the last couple of months, I was checking in with Connie more than Steve but he’d still pick up once every week, without fail. Then four weeks ago the fucker stopped answering my calls all together and Connie showed up on my doorstep with Olivia in tow last week.”

“Look, you coming down here probably makes more problems than it solves, Steve’s a big boy if he doesn’t call to check in, it’s probably ‘cause he’s busy…  He’s-” Something about Javier’s dismissive tone rubbed you the wrong way, call it sleep deprivation or blame the weeks of stress, but you were tired of being called paranoid. You were not an overbearing mother hen.

“My brother always answers my calls. Or at least he used to. I can’t begin to understand what you guys are going through, but I’m not losing my brother to some piece of shit Colombian drug dealer.”

Javier raised his hands in mock surrender, cigarette still in mouth. “He’s actually more of a drug lord slash narcoterrorist, but-”

“How is he?” You interrupt Javier’s attempt at diffusing the situation with humor, turning to him on the sofa. You rearranged yourself, bringing your leg up so your knee touched his thigh as you gave him your full attention,  you plucked the smoke from between his lips and held it between your two fingers as you spoke. “Tell me Steve’s fine. Tell me I’m worrying for nothing and I’ll get back on that plane and leave tomorrow morning.“

You take one drag and offer it back to him, he accepts it, deliberately looking you in the eyes as he places the cigarette in his mouth, attaching his lips to where your own had been seconds earlier.  He takes it from his mouth and stubs it on an ash tray that rests on the arm of the sofa, his focus is single minded on his task. The pressure in your lower stomach is mounting as you stare at the tanned man before you who is carrying out a menial task that has you more turned on than you’d ever admit.

When the red tip is extinguished thoroughly, taking much longer than you thought it needed to, Javi turns to you, his mahogany eyes have you pinned in your tracks. You found yourself admitting they were gorgeous for the second time this evening, they were the type of brown you could never quite describe, they had so much depth, not quite a chocolate, not quite coffee, they were rich and deep pools. They reminded you of the forest, not the green leaves but the earthy brown, the strong beams of wood that held everything up around it.

Javier’s hand emigrated forward slowly, your eyes followed the movement in your peripheral but you didn’t dare look away from the pools of molasses as he reached to grip one hand at your denim thigh, his eyes roamed your face for any sign of this being an unwelcome approach and when he found none his other hand began its climb to rest on your jaw, just below your ear.

You couldn’t say if you moved towards him or if he advanced on you, all you knew was he was on you now as the tips of your noses rubbed against one another.

“Quiero saborearte…” He whispered so lowly you barely even heard it before he leaned in that last inch and captured your lips in a single, chaste kiss. Your lips connected and you realised the heat you had felt from his arms had been nothing. Fire coursed through your veins upon contact, surging through your blood and going south to a pressure that built in your lower stomach.

Your hand shot up to land on his collarbone, before you could even really consider your own actions you pulled apart until your foreheads were the only thing touching.  He was intoxicating, you could lose yourself completely in this man, he somehow smelt like cinnamon, whiskey and sweat, a combination you’d never thought would send liquid fire through your central nervous system.  You’d give anything to taste him properly, but this was wrong. So so wrong. This was your brother’s partner, this was inviting complication to your door, when you were just here to check on Steve. You were here for Steve.

You were here for Steve…

“… This isn’t a good idea.” You all but whisper, closing your eyes. Regret pulses through your veins at your self imposed restraint.

“Never is.” He leaned forward and captured your lips. You didn’t have any fight left in you, exhausted and at wits end you embraced your spiral into stupidity instead and your hands glided across the clammy skin of his neck to grab at his short ink black hair. You wrapped your fingers around it to drag him closer to you, your lips clashed, all teeth at first but you didn’t care as his tongue began to fight against yours for dominance.

He tasted as good as you imagined, he was the right combination of sweet and bitter, with undertones of whiskey and tobacco on his tongue. Your response to his assault on your mouth told him it was go time, Javier pulled you into his lap and his hands lowered to your ass. Your body was flush with his own as your breasts pressed against his chest, you could feel every solid line of his lithe body against your own.

You licked at his honied tongue, before withdrawing and pulling his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking on the soft plush skin. His mustache tickled your upper lip, a sensation you weren’t used to but could so easily grow to love.  This made him tighten his grip on your backside in response and he let out a throaty groan at the meat he found there, Javier was definitely an ass man, you felt his bulge pressing against your core as you both began grinding against each other in earnest. You felt like a horny teenager as you grinded on a man you barely knew.

You felt him grip at the bottom of your tank top and begin to lift it, except he stopped, and began to rub patterns on the stomach he exposed. Javier’s mouth descended from your lips to begin to suck and lick at your throat. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at his work as pleasure rippled throat your body. His hands slid the length of your body to grab at your chest, which conforming to every stereotype was heaving, he palmed your breast blindly as his face was still buried in your hair, sucking and kissing along to your ear, before he raised his mouth a mere inch and whispered  “Te follaré toda la noche niña.”

He said it with such surety that your body convulsed in on itself without even needing to know what the man above you was saying. You could only hope it was absolutely filthy and profanity ridden, because then at least, the sentiment would be shared. He bit at the lobe of your ear before his hands left your breasts and travelled to the hem of your tank top, getting ready to pull it over your head.

It was strange to say that you remembered your brother was on his way here as a man tried to take your t-shirt off, but that’s just the way it went. You knew if that top came off, dry humping would be the most PG action of the night and if Steve turned up and found you mounted on his partner, he probably wouldn’t be too thrilled.

You couldn’t stop yourself from stroking the man’s hair whose face was planted in between your tits as his hips rose against your own pushing his hardened length up against the seams of your jeans, you gasped as he hit that sweet spot. You let out a noise that sounded like a wail. You wanted nothing more than to lie back and let this man have his filthy way with your body. And you know, from the hour you’ve spent with this man it would be phenomenally filthy. The kind of sex that would ruin all men for you, but no. You had to be a good sister. Like a fuckin loser.

Sighing, you threw your body sideways before you could change your mind and ended up on your back. Javier followed you, caging you with his frame as he covered your body with his own.  Gripping your face like he was a starving man and you were the only sustenance he’d ever need. It would be so easy to get lost in him, to give in to that magic tongue but you couldn’t let this go any further so you placed a hand on his chest.

Taking your cue he paused his tongues assault on your mouth and stopped, resting his forehead against your own. You were both breathing heavily trying to come back down to reality, his eyes were no longer the chocolate brown you’d been comforted by when you met, but rings of obsidian staring into your soul. You wanted this man, my god you did. But this would make more problems for Steve.

The two of you stayed that way for a while, foreheads and bodies pressed against one another until both of your breathing evened out. The silence dragged, heavy in the air as you two strangers both waited for the other to break it.

“…Is Steve okay?”

“…No… He’s been fuckin’ mess ever since Connie left.” Javier sighed whilst closing his eyes and breathing deep. You raised your hands from his chest, which was difficult as he was crushing his body to yours and cupped his cheek, you joined your lips once more, much like the first kiss. This was sweet and there wasn’t a carnal appetite behind it but rather an understanding.

The loud knock on the front door startles you both as you’d been so wrapped up in one another you’d not heard the steps leading to it. The two of you split apart like a pair of guilty teens caught in the act. You both stared at each other for a second before he nods at you and walks to the front door whilst rearranging his bulge discreetly in his jeans, this was something you pretended not to see as you sat back up right on the sofa. You had only a moment to fix yourself, as you pulled your tank top from where it was hooked by your breasts and ran your fingers through your hair so you didn’t look like you’ve just had the ravaging of a lifetime.

Javier pulled open the door and you clutch your hands into your lap, not quite sure what kind of reception you were about to receive from your brother. You hear the two men greet one another in hushed whispers, you couldn’t make out Steve’s voice much until you hear his voice clear as day “…what the hell was so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

You stand from your spot on the sofa and quickly realise the button on your jeans is undone; if you’re honest you don’t even know how he managed to do that without you noticing, even though it’s not the time you take a solitary second to commend Javier on his artistry of disrobing a woman. Turning quickly you pull the rivet back through the hole and swing around as Steve crosses the threshold from the hallway.  

Steve looks from you, to Javier and then back to you once more in complete surprise. It takes his brain a hot second to process that you’re here in front of him and in Colombia before he rushes you. Clutching you tight and hugging you to his chest. You hear something that sounds suspiciously like a sob leave your brothers chest before he collapses into you. The front door and Javier’s bedroom both in rapid succession, giving you the privacy you knew your brother would need after breaking down like this.

You couldn’t support Steve’s weight with your considerably smaller frame and the two of you fell to the ground as you held your broken brother. His body shook with silent sobs as he buried his face in your shoulder.

You said nothing as you held him and stroked his hair. In that moment you thanked your every instinct that screamed at you to come to Colombia.

This had definitely not been a mistake.

[1997devil]

magic, madness, heaven, sin

pairing: joshua x fem reader

w.c.: 2.5k (oops)

includes: one night stand!shua, mentions of infidelity in the beginning, mentions of alcohol, lots of dirty talk (praises), slight oral (male receiving), protected(!!!) sex

-

the strobe lights of the nightclub amplify the pounding of your headache from the shots you’d downed in succession. you welcome it anyways, for it succeeds in chasing away the visions of the man who you’d dumped just hours before this.

he’d been your everything, and your mother would account for how much you’d loved him, from all the gushing about him that you did during your weekly phone calls. it definitely was your fault for the breakup because it definitely was your fault you caught him kissing the girl he said was nothing but a close friend from work. you figured they were pretty close enough with the way he shoved his tongue into her mouth, hands ghosting over her chest.

the worst part was, they were doing it in your living room. the very room you’d poured all of your soul into, making weekly trips to ikea and antique stores to find the little trinkets you knew would shape the perfect ambiance. you’d flung the promise ring he had slotted onto your left ring finger at him, aiming directly at the crown of his hair you’d spent hours carding your fingers through. he only barely managed to catch a glimpse of you as you hurried back out of the apartment, needing to be anywhere but there, the very place you’d dubbed your safe spot. the taxi driver had only inquired where your destination was and was kind enough to offer you some tissues when you’d arrived at the nearest nightclub, after hearing sniffles from his backseat.

you can still feel the weight of the ring that had been on your finger, fiddling with it out of habit only to not find it in its place as it should be. anger rises at your throat and your fingers wrap around the glass to down the drink – gibson, dry as he liked it. your eyes glaze over the space, skimming over strangers’ heads dancing on the dance floor, the bass of the dj set resonating from the walls and into your ears. it lures you from your spot at the bar to the dance floor, not caring your drink is spilling everywhere from bumping into bodies swaying to the beat.

you find a space somewhere in the corners and you just casually nod along to the music, sipping from your cocktail. despite a part of you still clinging to the past, the other part of you feels free, like a bird set free from its cage. you feel yourself losing to the swimming feeling induced by the alcohol in your veins. you manage to bring yourself back to the bar when you fear your ankles might snap from the way you sway in your heels, safely disposing yourself on one of the plush chairs lining the marble-tiled bar.

you go back to languidly scanning across the cramped room until your eyes land on a man weaving in and out of your sight among the throng of the people on the dance floor. he seems to be with two of his other friends, one with dyed silver hair that seems to sparkle in the strobe lights and another one with cropped brown hair and a godlike facial structure you can pinpoint even from far away.

you keep your eyes trained on the first guy you spotted. something simmers within you as you not so equivocally check him out: is he wearing a sheer shirt? and is that the glint of a silver ear cuff on his right ear? all of a sudden you meet his eyes and the drunken fog in your mind seems to clear up in a snap.

the pitter-patter of your heart rings louder than the booming bass as you watch him whisper something to one of his friends before he turns away and walks towards you. he’s even more beautiful as he comes closer to you, what with his catlike eyes and pink lips that leave you dying to know how they taste. you notice there’s a swipe of eyeshadow on his lids as the hoods of his eyes drop as he finally arrives at his destination.

“hello,” the man starts, voice tinged with a drop in an octave that sends honey dripping down your spine, “something caught your attention?”

you preen at being caught for checking him out so blatantly but you manage to keep your composure. “if i say it’s you, what would i get?”

he chuckles. “you’ll see.”

you run the risk of being bold, and your finger goes up to play with the dangly cuff on his right earlobe. “this did.”

his hands – goodness they’re huge, wouldn’t that mean that – wrap around your wrist, and he leaves a light kiss on your knuckles before he drops it to your side, fingers still holding on.

“you can call me joshua.” you recall ever hearing this nickname being shouted in a grainy instagram story by one of your friends, and come to think of it, it was uploaded with a geotag that led to this same club. “what about you?”

––

there’s an odd flashback yet not out of place as joshua drags you by the wrist towards the restrooms somewhere near the back of the club. it makes you feel like a dumb university student once more, looking to relieve the stress of submitting essays and final assessments. the thick concrete of the walls mute the music a bit and you can hear the voice in your head sounding urgent alarms and telling you to stop. you don’t listen to the bells as your hands grip joshua’s belt to tug him closer to you.

joshua leans into you, and your arms travel to rest on his chest, unleashes a weight on him that’s dizzying and thrilling.

“is there a man i should be worried about?”

“was.” you can barely let a word out without choking at the feeling of him skittering kisses along your jawline. that’s all he needs to hear.

he shoves a leg in between yours, telling you to grind your clothed core on his thigh.

you harshly pant as you rut your core onto his leg, the friction of the material of his trousers against your bare thigh sending you into a frenzy. “baby’s already so needy,” joshua smirks before he dips his head and closes the distance to meet your mouth, effectively shutting you up, swallowing your gasps.

it’s filthy and sweet, tasting the cranberry juice from joshua’s tongue. he holds you firmly with his fingers on your jaw, lets you lick deeper into his mouth, swallows every whimper that drips from your throat. when you separate there’s a sheen on your swollen lips and joshua just wants to taste from it all night long. the desperation in your tummy grows tenfold the more he tells you to keep grinding, even bouncing his leg which sends jolts all over your body.

joshua shoves you off of his leg right before you come, and it takes all of your willpower to separate yourself. (joshua can hardly admit just how hard he got from hearing your sob at stopping you right before you hit your high.) both of you unanimously agree that fucking in the club bathroom is for college students who still have the shamelessness and suave to pull it off, so you manage to leave the place and hail a cab and joshua mutters his address before he turns to you again, hands heavy on your thigh as he presses kisses to your shoulder and cheek.

he grabs your hand once more when you palm him over his pants, and you can already feel how he needs it just as badly as you do. he brings it up to his lips, pressing kisses onto the knuckles which muffles his dirty words so the driver can’t hear. “you’ll be good for me, won’t you, baby? wait till i get home so i can fuck you like you were begging me in the club?” you think your voice will crack if you vocally respond so you just nod in an albeit urgent manner, letting him know just how desperate you are.

you manage to hand the driver the bills and thank him before you slip out of the cab and up the stairs into joshua’s apartment. joshua doesn’t know how he manages to unlock the door, haphazardly pulling his shoes off and take you to the bedroom with the way you’re pressing warm kisses to his neck, but he manages to do so and presses you against the door.

your cheeks are flushed even under the harsh lighting of his bedroom and soft giggles leave your lips, and a part of joshua that’s still sober even from all the drinks seungcheol shoved towards him at the club earlier flutters, thinking to himself just how beautiful you look even when you’re half wrecked from your ministrations in the club restroom.

joshua kisses you again, hands working to unzip your dress as he turns you towards the bed, before the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress and has you lay over his sheets.

he just about growls when he finally gets your dress off and sees the lacey white lingerie that frames and decorates your body. he’s entranced by the way the lace lines your chest to your stomach, no doubt the bottoms are ruined from how wet and desperate you were from riding his thigh. it’s enough to make him shudder, eyes growing darker at how he just wants to fuck you already.

“do you like it?” you ask, slightly muffled by your hand right above your mouth, shy yet with a wide smile.

he bends down, leaves butterfly kisses trailing from your tummy to your neck, where he sucks marks that your coworker will probably see. “you look beautiful, sweetheart. did you get all dressed up? hope someone would fuck you so good so you’d forget about him?”

“y-yeah,” you punctuate your answer with a high pitched moan when he suckles on your sweet spot.

his fingers press onto your clothed core, right where the wet spot smears the fabric. he rubs small figure eights, and it makes you grip onto his arm as a means of grounding yourself from the pleasure. under the clasp of your fingers on his arm do you realize he’s still clothed, and you tug on his sleeve as a signal.

he chuckles at feeling you tug and hearing you whine, so he straightens back up and takes his time unbuttoning his shirt. your eyes are glazed over when he pushes the clothes off of his shoulder, revealing his body you knew wasn’t so bad from the way your palms were running along his chest and back.

it feels like forever watching him unbuckle his belt and you know he’s purposefully dragging it out to tease you. you huff before you rise from the sheets, your impatient hands slapping his away so you can unzip his pants yourself. his trousers and briefs come off in one go, and his cock stands against his stomach, already hard and leaking pearls of precome right at the tip.

you’re overcome with the urge to tease him back so you slowly take his length into your mouth. joshua’s hand immediately comes up to tangle in your hair, and you whine at the delicious tug of his fingers finding purchase amidst your locks. you run your tongue at the underside of his cock, tracing the prominent veins which has him groaning so deeply.

you work him up even more than he already was, and he tugs you off right as he’s about to come. your lips are slick and cherry red from your act and joshua swoops to kiss you again, tasting his own release from your mouth as he slowly lays you back down on the bed.

joshua deftly unhooks your bra, and nearly rips your underwear off, laying you bare right in front of him. “my goodness,” he hums as he pushes you up towards the headboard, laying on his pillows. “you’re so pretty, sweetheart,” biting and suckling on your nipples as he keeps his glimmering eyes on your face, watching as you throw your head back from the pleasure. “i haven’t even put my cock in you and you’re already so wrecked, hm? so pliant, so desperate, all ready for me?”

he lifts himself from you again to grab a condom in his nightstand drawer, and your hands can’t seem to settle as he slips it on his length, warm hands pushing your ankles and thighs to widen your legs. “are you nervous, baby?”

“k-kinda,” you mumble, watching as he comfortingly runs his hand on your thighs. “h-haven’t done this with anyone else in a bit,” all the boldness in you from the club earlier simmering down now that joshua’s really about to fuck you.

“-ssokay, sweetheart,” his voice drops into a low rumble that makes your tummy flutter yet again., “i’ll take care of you,” he comes closer to you, pressing his lips to yours to distract you from the feeling of him pushing into your core. you’re so wet that he slides in with ease, and the burn melts into pleasure that tickles you all the way to your fingertips. your hands circle around his neck, keeping him close to you. the combination of his gentle kisses and the thrust of his hips rips sweet moans from your throat that joshua gladly drinks up.

“fuck,” he groans as your walls squeeze around him, “s-so tight, so g-good,” he slurs as he continues to thrust, “you take me in so well, don’t you, sweetheart? so nice and–f-fuck –so warm for me.” he continues praising you as you chase your high, his words getting to you, the hold of your arms around his shoulders tightening.

“you gonna come for me, baby? gonna come on my c-cock?” he grunts, pressing into you, not even an inch of space between your bodies.

“y-yes, please, make me come,” you cried out, losing yourself to how good joshua is making you feel. joshua thrusts a bit more until the coil in you finally snaps, not even needing to verbalize how close you are as you reach your orgasm, whining a mixture of joshua’s name and incoherent garbles masked as moans, joshua swallowing every single sound that comes out of your mouth. he fucks into you once, twice before coming, tipped over at your walls clamping down on his cock as you came, you curling your fingers in his jet black hair. you stay like this for a while, joshua riding out your orgasm languidly until you brokenly whine, practically crying at this point at how good he feels.

your vision blurs as he slips out, disposes his condom, before returning with a wet washcloth to clean you up. he slips a random t-shirt he grabbed from his closet onto your bare body, the hem coming down to right above your thighs. you feel like putty as he takes care of you, his voice lulling you as he speaks his last praises, keeping you awake until he slips to behind you underneath the covers. he presses a kiss and a “goodnight” to your temple before he drifts off. 

(you’re just thankful he doesn’t kick you out the second he’s done fucking you. maybe you could get used to this.)

[august-bleeds-red]

Be A Good Boy, Brahms - Chapter Two

Chapter One / Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four

~

You don’t know how for long you’ve been walking. You don’t even know where you are. The time was 02:47 when your phone died. What time was it when you left the station? You don’t remember. You only had time to grab a handful of things before the crowd started gathering around the body.

 The body you’d left there.

 The rain is starting to come down in earnest now. You’re soaked to the bone and tired to the point of exhaustion, the soles of your shoes feeling ready to peel away at any moment. Part of you wants to simply curl up at the side of the road and sleep, hardly caring if the cold or a passing car takes you once your eyes close. How long would it be until the police found you?

 You’d been as careful as you could on the journey to . . . wherever this was. You’d left your car at home, picked a train almost at random and bought a ticket to the end of the line. The sprawling metropolis of the city faded away to dark countryside, the lights of civilisation becoming more sporadic as you travelled deeper into rural England. You didn’t even recognise the name of the village as it flashed past the window. You pulled the hood of your jacket down further over your face as you left the carriage, but nobody stopped you or even glanced your way. It was nearing midnight – far too late to be paying attention to trainline stragglers. You could have hailed a taxi from the rank outside the station, asked the driver to drop you off as far as the cash in your pocket would allow, but that would be another person to remember your face, so you hitched your rucksack further up your shoulders and headed off into the misty night on foot.

 The distant sound of an approaching engine sets your heart racing and your eyes dart through the drizzly gloom for a place to hide. The road forks not ten metres ahead, a narrower path leading off towards the left. You start to run, rucksack bouncing against your back, shoes slapping against the tarmac. The new path slopes uphill, but you keep running, until the surrounding trees start to thicken, and you feel suitably distanced from anyone who might be passing via the main road. The slim trunks give way to broad pines, casting thick beams of moonlight across the ground ahead of you. Shielded by the overhanging branches, the rain eases from a ceaseless torrent to heavy droplets, splashing down around you. As you were leaving the flat, you had the sense to grab the sleeping-bag you once used to go camping with your dad, but don’t want to stop and set up base just yet. Another mile or so away from the road and you should be good for now. Then, come the light of morning, you can take stock and decide what you’re going to do.

 Maybe you shouldn’t have run. Guilty people always run, right? Maybe if you’d just stayed and explained what happened . . . but no, who would have listened? Who would have believed that an officer so upstanding and respected as your stepfather could be guilty of such a crime as attempted murder? It was what had kept your mother from reporting him for so long. He was clever – never bruising her in places it would easily show – but his rage towards you made him sloppy tonight. But even the bruises you’d seen around your little brother’s neck would not be evidence enough to condemn him, you knew that. The law would never act against one of their own, so you’d had to.

 Which moment had made you a murderer? When you’d crossed the balcony to where he stood, puffing on one of those disgusting cigars like he hadn’t just tried to kill your brother? When your hands had pushed against the broad space of his back, catching him off balance and sending him stumbling over the rail? Or when his flailing body had landed with a sickening crunch on the pavement seventeen stories below?

 Something large begins to loom out of the shadows ahead of you and you slow. It’s a set of huge, wrought-iron gates, supported by two intimidating brick pillars, open wide enough for a car to pass easily through. There’s no name or number, no indication as to what may lie beyond. Curiosity has always been your fatal flaw, so you approach, keeping an ear out for the sound of tires or footsteps. The house that awaits at the end of the long driveway is unlike any you’ve seen in the city or the surrounding boroughs; it’s tall and grand, the liquid light of dawn illuminating what seem to be turrets in the architecture. It’s beautiful, in an American gothic style of build. Certainly not the kind of English manor you’re used to in period dramas. The moment you stop before the front steps, your feet and calves begin screaming in protest, as though sensing the possibility of a place to rest. Even if you could just sit on the porch for a while, at least until the sun rose.

 The moment your butt hits the floor, the weight of the last twenty-four hours’ events settles on you like a heavy blanket. You’re hungry, thirsty, but all you can think of doing right now is getting an hour or two of sleep. You unravel your sleeping bag and crawl inside, resting your shoes atop your folded jacket beside you. Your sodden T-shirt and jeans don’t make for very comfortable sleepwear, but you’re certainly not about to strip to your skivvies on some stranger’s porch, especially if the milkman may be along within the next couple of hours.

 You sleep fitfully, the image of your stepfather’s face floating repeatedly to the surface of your mind like a photograph in water, and you’ll awake scared and sweating, despite the bone-chilling cold. The sun rises milky yellow just beyond the treeline, and you decide it must be late enough for you to risk knocking on the door. With any luck, they might be able to tell you how to reach the nearest village, where you can . . . you don’t know. Gathering your things, you shoulder your pack and approach the heavy wooden door, plucking the dampest patches of your T-shirt from your body.

 You notice the door is open just as you raise your fist to knock. Perhaps they forgot to lock up last night – a huge house like this in the middle of nowhere, probably not much foot traffic to run the risk of burglars. You give a few loud knocks, anyway, but no response comes.

 “Um, hello?” you call, pushing the door open just a little further.

 The inside of the house is as impressive as its exterior, all dark wood and teal blue rugs, and quiet as a graveyard. There is a blanket of stillness everywhere, giving the place an air of abandonment. You walk further into the entrance hall, staring up the grand staircase to where a semi-circular balcony overlooks the lower floor.

 “Hello?”

 Nothing – no movement, no sound; not the grumbling of pipes nor the hum of a heating system. You drop your rucksack on the floor beside a great stone fireplace and take a few tentative steps up the stairs. As you reach the top, you notice a large portrait hanging on the opposite wall of three people – a man, a woman and a small, angelic-looking boy. You wonder if this is the family of the house.

 “Hello?”

 Your third attempt also goes unanswered and, with no cars parked outside and the open door, you’re convinced the place truly is empty, at least for now. Your feet make no sound on the carpet stair-runner as you descend, picking up your pack by one strap and going in search of the kitchen. It’s quite small and surprisingly modern for such a grand mansion and, with only the smallest twinge of guilt, you conceal some packaged foods from the cupboards and fridge in your pack. You pick an apple from the fruit bowl on the table and take a bite, the crunching of your jaw loud in the silent room. You didn’t realise just how hungry you were and tuck a second apple into your coat pocket. Through the window, you can see a rambling garden stretching out across the grounds, the grass and leaves tinted blue in the dawn light.

 Leaving your pack by the front door, you decide to have a look around. A great house like this must have at least twenty rooms, and its unlikely you’ll get another chance to explore anywhere so richly furnished. You briefly wonder how far the behind you the police might be, but try to calm the panic that rises at that particularly thought. You’re no good half-dead on the run, and this might be your last safe space for a while.

 Heading back upstairs, you decide to investigate the nearest bedroom. It looks like it might belong – or at least once belonged – to a child, but there aren’t any toys you’d recognise from a modern child’s nursery. The clockwork figures and wooden mannequins look like objects from the 1950’s, as do the books on the shelves. Some of the toys are scattered over the floor by the bed, in contrast to the almost military neatness of the rest of the room, and one of the frames pictures is hanging askew on the wall. Almost automatically, you reach across and straighten it, and that’s when you see it – on the rug, a small, dark red stain, about the size of a side plate. A ripple of unease passes through you, though you know it could be something as innocuous as cranberry juice or ink.  

 As you’re about to exit the room, you notice something else – one of the doors on the opposite side of the landing has a large hole through it. The edges are rough, as though someone had forced their fist through in an attempt to reach whoever was on the other side. You wonder if there was some kind of a burglary, and you’re ten steps away from discovering the horribly mangled bodies of the man, woman and boy you saw in the portrait. Perhaps the assailant is still here, lurking behind one of these doors. Out of the corner of your eye, you see something a little unusual – on a large wooden trunk at the foot of the child’s bed is a long metal pipe with a curved end, kind of like the head of a harpoon. Picking this up, you venture out into the hall and move, as quietly as you can, towards the broken door. The room beyond is trashed – clothes scattered everywhere, and an old-fashioned telephone lying broken on the floor. The wardrobe door is standing open, and as you move closer, you see a strange panel standing open at the back. Glancing over your shoulder to make sure the room is still deserted, you push open the panel to reveal a passageway, just wide enough for a grown man to move through, built into the inside frame of the house. Part of you knows it would be an incredibly bad idea, but the other part of you that’s holding the makeshift weapon, allows your feet to lead you inside the secret passage.

 The tunnel is dark and dusty, dimly illuminated by the light of the rooms outside and the occasional electric light bracketed to the brick interior. A couple of times, you come across large gaps in the walls, where the wooden slats have been shattered by a great force. By peeping through the slats, you can see exactly whereabouts in the house you are. After ten or so minutes of sneaking, you spy a bright shaft of electric light coming from beneath a door ahead of you. Like Alice venturing further down the rabbit hole, you reach out and push against the wood.

[encouleurdevie]

OKAY SO HEAR ME OUT. TIMOTHEE CHALAMET AT THE GOLDEN GLOBES. THE RINGS THAT HE WEARS GIVE ME A STROKE. YOU SHOULD WRITE SOMETHING INCORPORATING THOSE RINGS CAUSE... GODDAMN 🥵

Rings

a/n: …. sorry for disappearing for a while. send me ideas, i read them all, and i literally have google docs opened for all of them it’s just a matter of making myself be productive lol i love you. thank you for reading it means more than you’ll ever know

word count: 3100

“Be there in 5 minutes.” you typed as the taxi sped down the road towards a hotel that was much too fancy for your taste. But it was where Timothee was staying and you couldn’t say no to an invitation to come and take pictures of him before his big night. He was a nominee at the Golden Globes this year, and according to his previous texts, his stylists had gone all out for the occasion. One mirror selfie prompted you to pack your camera bag and hail a taxi to where he was staying. You were already drooling over how stunning his head-to-toe black outfit would look on your newest camera, which only shot in black and white.

As a photographer, you had a knack for capturing people at their best. It didn’t matter how confident they were or how camera shy they claimed to be, you had a way of making your subjects comfortable and carefree. People often told you that your photos were some of the most unique and beautiful they’d seen, which is how you had gotten to the point of photographing the enigmatic but easily recognizable faces of Hollywood. And it was going well, for the most part. Celebrities loved the attention they received after you released their photos. They loved feeling so special because of your attention to detail and poise behind the camera, and you loved the fact that they felt beautiful because of your photos. However, many of them would simply pay you for your time and then be on their way, never to speak to you again unless someone from their team of people reached out to you for another shoot. 

Timothee, however, was not one of these people. Months earlier, he had personally reached out to you online, expressing how much he liked your photos and how he’d love to do a shoot sometime. Nothing prepared you for the whirlwind of events that were to follow.

The first time you had taken his picture, you were blown away by how effortlessly attractive he was as he posed for you. The pictures turned out beautifully, but nothing could capture his essence as clearly as you could see it in person, so animated and electrifying. It would be a lie to say you weren’t smitten from the first click of your camera. As it turned out, Timothee was drawn to your passion for photography, your eclectic style, and the way your eyes looked when you stared at him carefully and told him how to pose. The second or third time you had taken his picture, a late night shoot on some of the hidden streets in LA, you had barely gotten ten pictures before he couldn’t stand it anymore and kissed you hard in an alleyway. You remembered waking up next to him, messy haired and in your underwear, the next morning. 

The photoshoots and secret rendezvous became routine, and before long you became a somewhat permanent member of his team, showing up to events and interviews and snapping photos. On the surface, you were merely his photographer, a background character in the spotlight of his life, but behind the dressing room door, he would be carefully undressing you and kissing you with a passion you didn’t know was possible. A secret affair from the public, and an erotic motivation for your art. 

As the taxi cab turned corners, you reminisced on the stolen kisses and the heat of his body moving against yours. When the hotel, in all of its high-end California glory, came into view, you shook your head in an attempt to get your mind back on the present. You thanked the cab driver and stepped out into the heat of Beverly Hills, walking quickly into the hotel lobby. 

Timothee had instructed you where to go once you were inside, so you made your way down the winding hallways until you found his room number. You knocked on the door twice, and waited. Within seconds, the door was yanked open and you were standing in front of the man who had come to be your muse. Timothee looked even better every time you saw him, and this time was no exception. The outfit looked even better in person than it had on your phone. The pristine black fabric of his shirt and pants fit his body snugly, and the small sequins that dotted his Louis Vuitton harness glinted in the light.

“Well hello, stranger,” he smiled.

“Hello, Mr. Fashion Man,” you replied, taking in the bold yet totally tasteful outfit.

He laughed his beautiful laugh and motioned for you to come into the posh hotel room which was decorated with various art deco furniture and paintings. Instead of having you set up in the indoor space, he walked across the room and out into an enclosed outdoor patio area.

“I was thinking this would be a cool spot,” he stated and looked at you for approval. You glanced around at the tall plants that bordered the small yard and admired the varying green hues of the space.

“This will be perfect,” you exclaimed, “but we need one thing.”

You dashed back into the room, and grabbed a tall metal chair that had caught your eye on the way in. You set it down in the grass, and made sure it was perfectly framed by leaves.

Timothee watched you closely, and smirked. “Always so full of ideas, aren’t you?”

You grinned at him and started unloading your camera bag onto a table just outside of the sliding glass door. You felt his eyes on you even after you looked away, making your heart beat ever so slightly faster.

“The newest addition to my collection,” you said proudly, reaching in your bag and then holding up your new camera. 

“Is that a film camera?” he stepped closer to you to see it better. And that was when you noticed them. As he reached up to try holding the camera, you noticed the small collection of rings positioned on his fingers. One on his pointer, one on his middle finger. You’d never seen him wear jewelry before and were taken aback by how good the rings looked on him. A tiny detail against the rest of his outfit, but a detail that for some reason made you lose all focus. As you gazed at his fingers, you realized you hadn’t answered his question.

“Yes. Um, yeah. I found it at an antique store last week and fixed it up.”

His eyes flicked up to you, obviously noticing the way you hesitated, and saw your eyes locked on his fingers as he held your camera. 

You brushed it off. “Anyway, I thought it would be cool to try it out. I forgot how much I love film.”

“Yeah. Okay, let’s do it.” He handed you the camera, and you noticed the way he made sure to brush his fingers against yours. This was going to be a long shoot if your mind kept wandering to other places, like it was starting to in that moment.

Timothee perched himself gently on the chair as you finished setting up the camera. When everything was ready to go, you brought the camera to your face, ready to start snapping away. The looks he was giving you could have melted iron. He knew exactly what he was doing too. As his eyes burned through the camera and he moved between poses, he began absently twisting the rings around his fingers. He moved them around, up and down his fingers, and spinning them around. 

The slight movement, paired with the fire in his eyes was making you squeeze your legs together. The rings were sexy, distracting, and clearly causing a lot of feelings to stir within you. His fingers were the only thing on your mind. You were always surprised at how he didn’t even have to say a single world. He just had to lock his big green eyes on yours and you were putty in his hands.

You pulled the camera away from your face, accidentally revealing your flushed cheeks.

“I just… um. I need to check something with the… uh… the shutter speed.” you said and it came out sounding more like a strangled whisper.

Timothee stood up instantly, and within seconds he was standing right in front of you. 

“No you don’t.” he cooed. You felt his presence so close to yours, and once again your eyes were glued to the rings on his fingers. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “You’re aching aren’t you?” 

You looked up at him, and that was the end of it. He took the camera from your shaky hands and bent down until his lips were pressed roughly on yours. If this was what getting busted for having dirty thoughts about Timothee meant, you would gladly accept the consequences. 

He started nudging you backwards into the hotel room, one hand on the small of your back the other reaching out to set the camera back in your bag. Obviously, you wouldn’t be needing that for a while. You reached up, still moving your lips messily against his, and clasped your hands behind his head, gently touching the curls that graced the back of his neck.

Timothee pulled away for a second, letting you both catch your breath. His demeanor had gone from the smiley boy who greeted you at the door, to a worked up and dominating version of himself. You could sense how worked up he was too, and how much he craved your body. Every time something like this happened between the two of you, it was like the first time. There was so much sexual tension between you and the second someone initiated anything it was like an explosion of repressed feelings. And it felt so good.

As soon as Timothee led you across the threshold of the room, he fell back onto a chair that had been pulled away from expensive-looking desk. He pulled you right on top of him so that your chests were right up against each other. You straddled his legs, causing your flowy skirt to bunch up around your thighs. Timothee’s hands followed the fabric, gently grazing the skin on your legs until he had a firm grasp on your hips underneath your skirt. As he traced his fingers along the waistband of your panties, you felt the rings against you, causing your breath to hitch. 

“I saw you looking at them, baby.” he whispered against your ear. “Thought you might like them.”

“Fuck.” you groaned against his neck. “They look so good…”

You pushed yourself closer to him, grinding your hips onto his and feeling the outline of his hardening cock beneath you. In a swift movement, he pulled one hand away from your waist and brought it back down on your ass quickly. The warmth of his hand coupled with the cool metal of the rings made you squeal in anticipation. His hands guided your body as you continued to rub your hips against his lower half.

“Stand up.” he directed, his voice coming out cool and confidently arousing. You climbed off his lap, painstakingly dragging your body away from his, despite only wanting to be touching him everywhere. You stood up on shaky legs between his knees as he looked up at you from where he continued to sit. His hands gripped the backs of your thighs, his stare filled with desire. Calmly, and still gauging your reaction, he gathered the material of your skirt in his fists and tugged downward. The light fabric fell from your body smoothly and pooled around your ankles, leaving you in your blouse and lacy underwear in front of him. His eyes hungrily raked across your body.

You really couldn’t stand not touching him for a second longer, so you bent down and caught his lips in yours. His hands cupped your jaw as you licked into his mouth, and you dropped your hands to the top of his pants. You popped the first button open and fumbled around until your fingers worked the zipper down. He pushed up against you, still kissing you hard, just enough so that he could push his black pants down to his knees. 

“Now come back here.” he mumbled against your lips. You didn’t need to be told twice. You let your body fall back open, spreading your legs so that you were straddling him again, this time only underwear between your lower halves. Your draped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you.

Timothee snaked one hand up the back of your blouse, sending a shiver up your spine, and began inching the other hand down the front of your panties. 

“I know what you want, princess.” he whispered. “I know you’ve been thinking about my fingers since you walked in the goddamn door.”

He ran a finger teasingly across your slit, and his face broke into a cocky grin as soon as he realized how wet you were for him. His eyes were locked on yours with such intensity you felt like if you broke the stare you might burst into flames. He began rubbing his fingers in slow circles around your clit, eliciting a string of moans to come tumbling from your lips, which you were biting down on to try and stifle the noise.

But your mouth quickly fell open as he slowly, slowly pushed a finger into you. His face remained calm but he knew exactly what he was doing to you, knew exactly the way he made you feel. You whimpered as you felt his ring make contact with your entrance. 

“That feel good baby?”

You didn’t reply, but merely sighed heavily in response, feeling so worked up. 

“I said does that feel good baby.”

“Fuck.. yes I-” Before you could finish speaking he was inserting a second finger, and didn’t stop until both fingers were ring-deep inside of you. You could feel every inch of his fingers sending waves of pleasure straight to your brain. He stilled for a second, still with his fingers inside of you and tilted his face up to yours. He just looked at you, his face emotionless but stern, studying you closely. He was driving you crazy, edging you on, and still giving you that stupid look. This was exactly what you craved.

“Look at me.” he said. “Look me in the eyes when I touch you.” You dragged your eyes open to meet his only inches away. He pulled his fingers down and out in one quick motion, before sliding them right back in and starting up a rhythm. In and out, scissoring you open a bit, feeling your walls, rings colliding with your entrance each time he pushed his fingers back in. You dripped onto his fingers, covering his knuckles with your juices. Moans spilled from your mouth as you bounced lightly on his fingers. You gripped his shoulders, pulling at the black fabric that was still annoyingly on his body. The way Timothee touched you radiated this dominant energy despite the fact that you were on top. He had a way of making you feel like all of you was his, no matter what position you ended up in, and it drove you wild. 

You started feeling your stomach get tighter, teetering on the edge of cumming all over his fingers. He noticed this too and began pulling his fingers out of you, not ready to let you come apart just yet.

“Clean it up.” he said putting his fingers close by your face. You took his hand in both of yours and slowly licked up the mess you made on his fingers. Your brain felt fuzzy, still grasping for the high he denied you, and as you licked yourself off his fingers your heart pounded in needy anticipation. Timothee watched you with hooded eyes and flushed cheeks. He began edging a hand down into his underwear, which were tight as his cock strained against them. You watched his jaw clench and unclench as he began pumping himself, getting harder and harder as you licked his fingers.

The sight was enough to throw you over the edge. You could not wait any longer. 

You let his hand drop from yours and you pushed yourself up and against him until the tip of his dick was right at your entrance. 

“You gonna fuck me, baby? You wanna ride my dick?” Timothee hissed.

You groaned in response and dropped your body down, letting his cock fill you all the way up until you bottomed out. A low, loud groan fell from his mouth and his hands found their way back to your hips. You allowed yourself to fixate on the feeling of him inside of you, filling you up so perfectly and sending jolts of pleasure throughout your body.

After a second of adjustment, his hands found your hips again, and began guiding you, up and down, roughly, against him. The rhythm got faster and faster, and you whimpered above him as the incredible sensations racked through your body. He groaned beneath you, loving the way your pussy felt around him and the way your nails dug into the skin on his shoulders. He leaned forward and placed open mouthed kisses along your collarbone which was peeking out over the top of your now very messed up blouse, as the two of you got closer and closer. 

You dropped your head down onto his shoulder as you felt yourself start to tighten around him. 

“I’m gonna cum, oh my god. I’m gonna cum.” you moaned into his neck, feeling his hot skin and the tight breaths coming out of him. 

“You look sooo good, Y/N,” he whined moving his hands to your ass and rocking you against him. It was like you couldn’t get close enough to each other, and your bodies moved together in hot quick motions. Timothee angled himself into you and you suddenly felt him so deeply, so electrically, so incredibly well. You felt yourself come apart around his cock, grinding your hips down into his and crying out as the pleasure flowed through your body. 

The intensity of your orgasm was enough to throw Timothee over the edge too. He fucked up into you roughly as you clenched yourself around him, still coming down from your own high. He moaned your name loudly in your ear as he came undone, cumming in hot spurts inside you, and still holding your hips tightly against him. 

His dominant aura began to disappear as he recomposed himself, and his face melted into a smile. 

“God, I’m so obsessed with you.” he said, breathing heavily.

You leaned forward and kissed him gently on the cheek. “You’re my muse, Timothee.” You peppered more kisses on his cheeks and neck.

The smile stayed plastered on his face for the rest of the evening, and through the award show he attended later, where he beamed at the rest of the cameras, thinking about how none of them could ever compare to you.

[makbarnes]

Hey I was wondering if I could request a one shot. It mentions some heavy topics so I would like to apologize in advance in case it bothers you.

Loki x reader where they’re newly budding friends and he finds out that she has never really indulged in sex due to trauma from being sexually assaulted when she was younger. Knowing that she trusts him, he offers to sleep with her to help her overcome her fear and she accepts it. Can the smut be slow and passionate and include soft dom Loki, with a romantic ending?

Change of Plans! I discussed changing the character for her request! This is for @yeeetmyasss Steve X Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy! Warning there is a little cut scene where it flashes back to the reader's past but doesn't describe anything. BTW this really got away from me! I enjoyed writing this so much!

PROMPT: Steve x reader where they’re newly budding friends and he finds out that she has never really indulged in sex due to trauma from being sexually assaulted when she was younger. Knowing that she trusts him, he offers to sleep with her to help her overcome her fear and she accepts it. Can the smut be slow and passionate and include soft dom Steve, with a romantic ending

WORD COUNT: Over 4K

You carefully slipped on your jacket in hopes it would cover enough of your skin for you to be comfortable. Your hair helped cover your neck and yet you still felt exposed. You felt the cold air on your legs and you could feel the tears brimming your eyes. You held back your tears as you grabbed your things and headed for the elevator in the Tower. You smiled to push the feelings down as you walked, Waving at Sam and Bucky you headed straight for the kitchen to grab a sip of water before leaving. As you leaned against the counter your fingers gripped the marble and you couldn’t help but sink into your thoughts. Your eyes flashed a deep blue as your memories took over.

Night after Night, You dreaded the night. It happens every night and you keep trying to prevent it. Hiding, acting like you were asleep, even faking sick, nothing stopped him. You had moved in with a close member of your family after your parents had divorced and the state concluded it was unfit to live with any of them. Every night was the same thing, he’d come in sometime after he had a few drinks, you could always smell it on his breath. Knob Creek Bourbon Even to this day that certain kind just sent shivers down your spine. You never wear your hair up to sleep anymore, It would give him access to more skin at night. You always tried to wear thick clothing and you still do every night when you sleep. It started off small, a grope or a kiss that lasted a bit too long, then it came to him covering your mouth, forcing himself onto you. You cried each time and you were thankful for the night you didn’t have to see him. You lost count over the years, You just felt numb...The night of your thirteenth birthday you fought back, ran off and found yourself running into HYDRA. After the years of abuse and silence you agreed to their experiments that ended up giving you powers, HYDRA set you loose after they searched your mind and found the trauma. They released you and you set forth to kill your trauma at the source. You started with your parents then your uncle. He laughed in your face as you choked him with your powers, He fell limp and you set the trailer on fire in hopes it would burn the memories as well. After that night you had turned yourself into the Avengers and they added you to the team.

“Angel?” Steve held himself back from touching you knowing what happened last time he did. He heard your sniffles and decided to lean against the counter next to you. Your knuckles were tight and you felt locked in your fears. “{Y/N}? Hey, it’s Steve, I’m right here. It’s okay.” You gasped as your mind came back to you and saw Steve standing next to you with worried eyes.

“Sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for.” You gave him a quaint smile before turning away and trying to clean your face of tears. “You goin somewhere?”

“I have a date.”

“A-a Date?! Oh...w-with who?” Steve stumbled over his words as he mentally cursed himself for his reaction.

“Don’t act so surprised, Old Man. I can pull a guy.”

“I know you can, Angel. Just surprised.”

“Don’t go gettin’ jealous on me now.” You nudged his shoulder as you sent him a wink and took your phone from your small bag. “I’m texting you my location. Just to be safe.”

“Or you could just not go. Stay with me and watch a movie.” Steve suggested quietly and you held the blush away from your cheeks. You kissed Steve’s cheek bye as you texted the boy you were supposed to meet. Steve had felt jealous as you walked away. He loved you and wanted you so badly but you never acted that way towards him. He thought he was like a brother in your mind so he pushed it down and took what he could get. Just your presence calmed him. He had started calling you when he had a nightmare or trouble sleeping and waited for you to invite him to your room to talk. The first time he snuck up on you while you were sleeping he instantly regretted it when you slammed him into the wall. Steve understood and didn’t as when you had reacted that way, some people liked their privacy. Unknowingly to him you liked him just as much as he did you. The touching was rare but when it did happen it was enveloping. The late night cuddles when you each had fallen asleep as you watched a movie, relaxing against each other after hard missions full of fighting. Everything about the man made you feel safe.

Your breath hitched when you spotted your date at the bar. You were never against drinking, you were just scared around men who couldn’t hold their alcohol. That was an issue you never had to worry about with Steve. Each time you talked with someone they had blown their chances before you even set a date with them. You were partially grateful for that fact, you were just waiting for Steve to ask you out. You hoped for it, you even dreamt about it most nights. You pushed Steve to the back of your mind as you plastered a bright smile over your face and approached your date.

“Hey Brandon?”

“Hey! God you are hotter than your pictures.”

“Uhm, thanks. Did you wanna grab a table?”

“I’d rather sit here at the bar, if that’s okay.”

“Perfectly fine.” You slid into the empty seat next to him and ordered a club soda. Something to just take the edge off but to keep you lucid incase. You noticed Brandon’s eyes roaming over your body and you felt a bit exposed as he did. “So, How was your day?”

“Boring, I’m hoping to spice it up tonight.” He reached his hand for your thigh and you quickly moved it away from his reach. You cleared your throat and hoped he would turn off the douchebag side of him. Brandon downed the rest of his drink and you rolled your eyes as his actions.

“What do you like to do?"

“Fuckin’ pretty ladies. Wanna get out of here?”

“Ugh! Yea, I'm leaving." You slammed your glass down as you stood and started to walk out of the restaurant.

“Woah! Where are you goin’?!” Brandon jerked his hand out to grab your wrist and pull you back to your seat. You stumbled but thankfully caught yourself against your chair.

“I’m going home! Let go of me!”

“No, I think you are gonna sit here and make this worth my time.”

“No the fuck I won’t” You slung his hand off of your wrist and slapped him hard across the face.

“You dumb bitch!”

“You fucking douchebag.” You easily left the restaurant and hailed a taxi to take you back to the Tower. You brushed away the few tears you had and held off your panic attack until you knew you were safe. You slammed the taxi door and stomped into the building. Tapping your foot in anger the elevator seemed to take forever, you prayed for the main room to be empty and for everyone to be doing their own things on a Friday Night. You grabbed your phone and deleted the dating app you had set up. All the guys in there just wanted one thing. You wanted to build a relationship not just fuck and leave. You tucked your phone away and groaned while the elevator opened. You kicked off your heels and ignored everyone in the main room as you went to your room. You quickly changed out of your uncomfortable dress and slipped on your joggers with one of Steve’s sweatshirts. You smiled as his scent covered you and felt safe again. You tucked your knees into your chest as you sat on your bed. Your mind ran over your thoughts and you compelled your thumb to hover over his contact in your phone. Steve would always be there.

Your breath quickened and tears started streaking down your face. You held your knees tightly and tucked your nose against the collar of Steve’s shirt. He knew you had it, He had given it to you after a night full of PTSD terrors and bloodshot eyes because you were too scared to fall asleep. You ran your finger through your hair and you pulled, trying to keep yourself grounded. Your eyes panned to the door. If you could make it a few feet. Steve was right across the hall. Just a few steps. You willed yourself to stand but felt your legs shaking, breaking out to a full sob you reached for your small clutch and pressed the green call button next to his already open contact. You just stayed silent, your sniffles echoing back from the rings as you waited for him to answer.

“Hey! Are you okay? Do I need to pick you up?” Steve’s protective tone shined through the phone and you held your mouth open to speak but it just came out as a whimper. “I need you to tell me where you are.”

“I-I…”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y locate {Y/F/N}.”

“{Y/F/N} is in her room, Captain.” The only thing you could hear were heavy footsteps echoing over the phone and you kept pushing the tears away with the sleeves of his sweater. You jerked when you heard a knock and tried to speak.

“It’s Steve, I’m coming in okay?” You nodded silently, knowing he couldn’t see you. You needed him. The only touch you ever welcomed was Steve. As he easily opened the door you sat balled on the floor with your face covered with tears. “Angel. What happened?” You shook your head no repeatedly as he sat beside you on the floor. “You don’t have to talk about it. It’s okay.” Without warning you climbed into his lap and snuggled against his broad chest. His hand rubbed up your spine while you stained his shirt with tears. Your shoulders began trembling while his warmth enveloped you, Steve pressed his lips against your head and let you cling onto him.

“Why can’t all guys be like you?” You looked up at him with tears filled eyes and sniffled.

“I’m Captain America sweets. Nobody is like me.” Steve’s thumb gently wiped away your tears. “What happened?”

“Just a douchebag only wanting sex and no relationship.”

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing then.” Steve ran his fingers over your hair as both of your movements grew still. You felt a pit of nervousness growing when your panic settled and you realized you were in his lap. Clearing your throat as you stood up Steve followed quickly and offered his hand out to you. “Since you’re home, wanna watch a movie with me now?” His bright smile was hard to say no to but you wanted to stay in your room. Your eyes darted between his hand and your bed while you tried to decide. “Wait here.” Steve rushed out of your room as you sat on your bed.

He quickly came back with four movie cases and his bowl full of popcorn with two boxes of your favorite candy. “Movie night in your room then. Need me to get anything else?”

“How did you get my candy so fast?”

“I have a secret stash in my room for you. For nights like this.”

“You are going to have to show me this stash.” You blushed as he climbed into your bed next to you. Tucking yourself against the wall the first movie started and Steve kept his distance. He placed the popcorn bowl between the both of you while he sat relaxed against your headboard. You tucked your feet under the blanket as your fingers pinched at your candy pieces. Steve tried to keep his attention to the move but kept finding himself watching you with a small smile on your face and your eyes glistening against the bright colors from the screen. You noticed his staring and set down your candy. Moving the bowl onto his lap you inched closer and laid directly next to him.

“Now stop staring.”

“I wasn’t”

“You were. I saw you.”

“Prove it.” Steve smirked as he took a few pieces of popcorn. You both stayed silent for a moment and you felt yourself messing with the sleeve on his sweater.

“Thank you Steve.”

“For what?”

“Cheering me up. You always know what to do.”

“How can I not? You're my girl. No thanks needed.”

“I’m not your girl Steve. I’m your best friend.”

“What if you were my girl?” Steve locked eyes with you as a blush creeped onto your face.

“W-what?”

“What if you were my girl, Angel?”

“Steve, you don’t want me as yours, too much shit to deal with.”

“That’s not true {Y/N}, I’ve always wanted you to be mine. Why do you think I never go on the dates Nat sets up? I’m always checking on you, I’m always worried about you. But you never seemed to want that so I just never pushed, but I’m tired of you going on dates and coming back hurt because they just want that one thing. I don’t want this to ruin our friendship but I want you, I’ve always wanted you since you joined.” Steve reached out to brush the hair away from your face but you jerked away from him. “Hey, I’m sorry Angel. I’ll just go okay? Don’t worry about it…” Steve’s voice dropped in sadness as he quickly ran into his room with a slam of his door. You still sat shocked on your bed at what he just said.

“Steve Rogers, Captain America wants you...You?! A trauma filled, scared of sex, timid girl like you?! And you sat there silent, let him think you crushed his dreams! Maybe he’s confused, Maybe he doesn’t want you. Just a thing to be conquered. No, it’s Steve. He would never. Shit I’m still wearing his shirt. God what did I do?”

You knocked yourself out of the trance and moved after Steve. You chewed your lip as you knocked on his door and your breath hitched when it opened.

“Who is - oh. Hi.”

“Can I come in?” Steve opened his door wider for you to slip inside and you stood there awkwardly as he shut the door again. “Look {Y/N} I’m sorry. I just can’t take it anymore. It’s fine if you just see me as a friend and we can stay that way.” His eyes pleaded with you.

“Steve.”

“Please {Y/N} Please just forget what I said.”

“Steve.”

“God I’m so stupid.”

“STEVE! Let me talk. I-I like you too. I always have, it's just I have an issue with my feelings.”

“What?”

“I love you Steve. You are my best friend and can always cheer me up. You even have a stash with my favorite candy. How can I not love you?” Steve closed the distance between you two and held your hands in his large ones.

“Can I? Uhm. Can I kiss you?” You smiled while you leaned your head up to feel his soft gentle lips against your own. You wanted to melt but kept your walls up, Steve cradled your head as he pulled back and smiled. “I’ve always wanted to do that.” He huffed out a heavy breath and you felt a lump in your throat, you had to tell him before it got too far.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“Whatever you want, Angel. Sit down.” You sucked in a heavy breath as you sat down on Steve’s bed and played with his fingers that laid in your lap. “Before this gets too far. You uhm, you need to know that while I am not totally against it, I am terrified of having sex. It’s nothing against you. It's just. I, uhm, didn’t have the best childhood and I was...abused...a lot.” You held your tears away, not wanting to cry anymore tonight.

“Angel, I don’t care about that.”

“Of course you do. Everyone does! Even I do. But I just really need to trust someone and they have to understand that I just can’t.”

“If it makes you feel any better I haven’t had sex in over seventy years.” “Yea but if the time came you could do it better than me.”

“What if I uhm I help?”

“What?”

“Have you ever had someone make love to you? Not just fuck?”

“Language Captain.”

“I’m serious. Do you trust me?” You nodded your head as Steve drew himself closer to you until he was almost sitting on your lap. “Can you lay down for me?”

“Okay.”

“I want you to tell me to stop if you need me to okay?”

“Okay.” Your breath hitched as Steve moved to lay next to you and turned you on your side to face him. His hand laid over your shoulder while he slowly guided your lips to his own. Your lips intertwined and you felt his hand trail under his sweater to glide over your skin. He pulled your body against his own before coming back up to cup your face. Steve teased your mouth with his tongue and you opened for him to taste you. A stifled moan flowed into Steve’s mouth from your own while he guided your hands to flow under his shirt. You pulled back to catch your breath while you pushed your fingers over his abs and bit your lip with every curve of his skin.

“You are so beautiful baby.” Steve’s eyes moved over your body before he took his shirt off and you pulled him hungrily to your lips. “Can we take this off?” He fiddled with the bottom of his sweater that covered you. You nodded while he slowly slipped it off of your body. “You okay?”

“Yes. Kiss me more.” Steve obeyed while he gently rubbed your skin and guided your hand up to the bottom of his hairline. Steve’s hand held your hip slightly and you felt his hard member press against you. Your breath hitched and he pulled back away from you checking your face. “I’m okay. Sorry.”

“C’mere.” He pulled you against him and let your nails play over his back while he peppered kisses over your jawline. His nose tickled against your skin, his mouth was hot and welcoming while he toyed with your skin. “So sweet.”

“More please Steve.” Your legs wrapped around his waist while he sucked a mark to the top of your breast. “Shit.”

“Like that Angel?”

“Mhm..” Your nose was tucked against his hair while his lips moved down your body and he paused when he reached your pants. “{Y/N}, Can I take these off?”

“Yours too?” Steve stood up and removed his sweats before pulling your own down softly with a kiss over every inch of exposed skin that followed. You could see him in his boxers and pushed down the gulp in your throat. You let out a shaky breath and hoped Steve didn’t notice.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I promise.”

“I don’t believe you.” Steve grabbed his blanket and laid down next to you resting the situation. He covered your bodies with the blanket and scooted you against him. “What’s wrong?”

“Just nervous, please don’t stop.” Steve moved your leg to hook over his waist and pushed your back to grind over him. “Just look right at me baby.” He gave you a small peck while he reached around and unhooked your bra. Steve sucked in a tight breath as your chest was revealed and his hand toyed with one of your breasts.

“Feels good.” He licked his lips before trailing his tongue down to circle over your nipple having your back arch against him. He teased the other with a pinch and you rolled to your back. Opening your legs wider Steve held his hips tightly against you with small ruts while he had his fun on your chest. You gripped one of his wrists and moved it down to play over your underwear. Moaning at his touch you arched into him and let your eyes roll back into your head. Steve rolled his tongue down your stomach and pressed a few kisses against your hip while he pressed his fingers against your clothed clit.

“I’m gonna take these off okay?” “Please. Yes.” Your voice was at a pleasurable sigh and Steve loved how you looked to him in this moment. He trailed his tongue down to your slit and massaged your legs to open again.

“God, You’re dripping Angel. This all for me?”

“Only you Steve.” He let an guttural growl loose from his throat while he dipped his tongue through your folds. “Oh! Yes!”

“Taste so sweet Darling.” His tongue cleaned up your slick before he teased your opening with his tongue. His thumb came up to rub small circles on your clit as he began to fuck your hole gently. Steve pulled down one of your hands to play in his hair while the other was linked with his free one at your side. You pushed your hips up against his face to earn more pleasure and Steve let you control his movements. Your moans filled his room and you only wanted more. Steve switched his fingers with his tongue and you gasped as they curled inside of you. Steve pressed kisses against your thighs while he looked up to watch your breasts rising and falling with your pleasure. You gripped his hand tighter with every rise of pleasure, Steve was your only thought and you gripped for him. He adjusted his thumb to take his tongue’s place on your clit as he rose up to rest his forehead onto your own. “Feel good Angel?” “So good. Oh god! Right there. Don’t stop.” Steve tucked your face against his shoulder while he focused his hand and felt your walls tense over his fingers. Steve hovered over you a bit as he cleaned you off of his fingers and your pupils blew as you watched him. You urged your hips towards him and felt a pit open in your stomach with that little laugh he did. Steve kissed you harder this time while he guided your hands to link around his neck, you gasped against his chest as he coated himself in your finish before slowly pushing into you. The sting was coated with pleasure once he filled you to the hilt of him and stayed there for you to adjust to him. Your nails gripped into his skin and his hand held your thigh in place while he balanced himself over you with his arm next to your head. He watched your eyes close and kissed you forcefully with his ruts.

“Look at me baby.” You moved your chin down for your eyes to lock with his crystal blue ones and your breath left your body. “I love you so much, god you are so beautiful.” The coil tightened with every word he spoke. “God I’m so lucky. Such an Angel.” You pulled his chest flush against your own and tucked your face into his neck. Your thighs trembled a bit when you felt his teeth sink into your neck and suck.

“Fuck Steve. Feels so good. So close.”

“I know baby. Just let it happen, Don’t worry about me.”

“Faster. Please.”

“Sure?”

“Mhm, Please.” Your lips pressed against his clavicle and you gripped his shoulders as he picked up his pace, your eyes flitted up to him and he was chasing his own release now. He grunted quietly with every thrust and your legs felt weak as he did so. Your orgasm had ripped through you but kept rising with Steve’s thrusts. Your legs twitched when Steve’s fingers found your clit again and began working them in time. He hovered over your face and pulled your lips to his as he stopped his thrusts and filled you with his finish while his fingers kept pushing you over your limit. You gasped against the sheets as a gush of your finish coated his abs and he watched you with wide eyes.

“Oh my god, Did I!?” “That’s my new favorite thing about you Angel.” Steve quickly moved to grab a rag and cleaned his abs before slowly wiping over you and grabbing a clean pair of underwear for you.

“How many of my things do you have Steve?”

“Everything my Angel needs.” He kissed your forehead as he climbed in his bed with you and you tucked your nose against him. “Are you mine forever now?”

“Forever.”

[stressedkitkatttt]

Just A Little Jealous

A little jealously never hurt...

Quick Note: school has started back up for me, and some freshman are already trying to burn down the place, so I will be working on stories during the week and try to post them on the weekends. We're gonna see how long that lasts because we all know how horrible I am at posting things on time... For those who have requested stories, I am sorry I take so damn long to post them, but I promise that they will get posted!

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: a jealous Christopher Velez, size kink, teasing, angry sex

Anon: I love your blog 😍😍😍 Your Zabdiel stories are *chefs kiss*. I was hoping if you had time could you do a Christopher Velez imagine with a size kink and jealous sex?

Enjoy some jealous Chris with a size kink <3

~~~~~~~

You were at a club downtown with the guys. They wanted a good time and it had been a while since you and Chris went out, seeing as he was still recording music. You put on a nice dress, that hugged your curves but wasn't too tight; you wanted to dance after all, and paired it with some nice, but comfortable, heels coupled with a nice necklace Chris had bought you a few months back. You make sure to check yourself, fixing up some small details before you walk out to the living room, and see Chris sitting on the couch, on his phone as he waited for you.

He noticed you in the reflection of his phone screen as you came up behind him and he turned, eyes going wide. He smiles and stands up, pulling you close and burying his face in your hair. "You look very beautiful," he mumbles. You hum and wrap your hands around him. He pulls away, "Let's go. I want to show you off tonight." You loop your arm around him as he leads you down to the street and hails a taxi.

The rest of the guys were already at the club when you arrived. You guys head inside and Chris takes you to the VIP section and you head to the bar as Chris finds his buddies. You order your drink and take a look around. Once you finish it, you head over to Chris, who was talking to Zabdiel, and he pulls you close. "I want to dance baby," you lean up and run a hand through his hair. He nods as you drag him to the dance floor. You find a spot and turn to face Chris, who smiles.

The song ends and changes into one with more of a provocative beat. You smirk and grind down on Chris, who is eager to grab your waist and pull you closer to him, leaning down to nip along your neck and tug your earlobe, telling you how sexy you looked. When the song ends, you're both sweating both from grinding together and the heat generated from the other people on the dance floor.

"I'm gonna go get another drink real quick, wait here." You tell him over the bass of the new song. He nods and you weave through the other people to get to the bar, ordering water. As you finish and turn to walk back out on the floor when the sea of people moves just enough to give you a clear sight of Chris standing with Zabdiel again, chatting away. You huff and walk into the crowd, dancing along to the beat. Maybe if Chris sees you dancing alone, he'll come and get you.

You dance alone for a couple of songs when you realize that Chris isn't gonna come and dance. You contemplate going over to him but you hold back. You decide to show him what he's missing. You continue to dance alone and when there's a break in the music, you feel a tap on your shoulder, which makes you turn around, expecting to see Chris. Who you saw was definitely not Chris. He was decently handsome, obviously not as handsome as Chris. He offers you his hand and asks to dance.

You know you should decline but he seemed very polite and a little voice was telling you this was a way to get back at Chris. He did say he wanted to show you off and yet he was talking to Zabdiel. If this didn't get his attention, you didn't know what would. You accept his offer just as the song starts to play. It had a nice beat, not too fast and not too slow, a good song for people to enjoy dancing to. You had to give it to this man, he was a good dancer, matching your movements.

When the song changes to something you can get down too, you glance over to check on Chris. Surprise, surprise he's still in deep conversation with Zabdiel. What the hell could they be talking about that is so important? Chris had told you the past few days he wanted a break and let loose. Well, you decide to kick it up a notch with this stranger and you begin to grind down on him, just as you did with your boyfriend. He seems to notice how you eyed Chris and places his hands on your hips, not moving them too far. He seems to know he's in a game of sorts and he doesn't want to provoke anything further.

As you continue to grind, the feeling of someone watching you makes smirk. You don't have to look to know that you've got Chris' attention. You can also feel the man tense. He suddenly loosens his grip and you watch him back away, giving you a wink before disappearing into the crowd. You don't have time to react as someone grabs your wrists hard. "We're going home. Now." His tone is scarily calm. He tugs on your wrist as he pushes through the crowd and out the door. You take a deep breath as the cool night air hits your skin.

Chris hails a taxi and opens the door for you. You hop in and Chris gives the driver the address. As soon as the back door closed, the air was suffocating. The ride back was silent but his tight grip on your thigh was letting you know that you're really in for it when you get back to the apartment. The ride is about ten minutes and soon, too soon, you're outside the apartment complex. You get out as Chris pays and drags you inside.

You reach the door first and wait for Chris, who opens the door and lets you walk in first. You head straight to the kitchen where you get a glass of water. Chris enters the apartment and slams the door, leaning against it as he locks it, staring intently at you. You make eye contact and play innocent.

"What?" You say, taking a sip from the glass.

He takes a breath in, "You know what, nena."

You bat your lashes and tilt your head, "Mm, no, I don't. Care to enlighten me?" You barely have time to react as Chris pushes off the door and now stands centimeters from you. You stumble back and he keeps pushing you until your back hits the wall. He leans down and places his hands on either side of your head, placing the glass of water on the counter.

"Don't you dare play innocent with me, chica. You know exactly what you did tonight." You know Chris would never lay a hand on you, but he was damn good at intimidating you with just his body. "Why were you grinding on that man like that? Were you planning on fucking him if I hadn't come and stopped you?"

You snort. "Of course not, papi." The tone of your voice changes to a sultry one as you bring your hands up to play with his shirt. Chris, however, was not in the mood. He takes your wandering hands and pins them above your head.

"But I was alone and you had said you were going to show me off tonight. The only thing you showed anyone tonight was that your conversation with Zabdiel was more important. I was just simply... showing you what you were missing." You pout your lower lip.

"Oh no, you don't get to touch me after what you pulled tonight. Do you think he could've fucked you better? Make you cum as hard as I can?" He's right in your face now, plump lips brushing your own. You can feel how hard he is, pressing against your lower abdomen. He suddenly brings a knee between your legs, resting close to your throbbing core.

"N-no," you reply, captivated by the new look of jealous rage in his eyes.

"Then why were you grinding on him like that?" You don't reply. "Well, it seems I haven't made it clear enough about who you belong to if you're going off and finding other people. So I guess papi is going to have to remind his little girl who she belongs to." You yelp in surprise as Chris picks you up and takes you to the bedroom, his words barely registering in your head. You feel a sudden rush of wetness down in your core at his words.

You land on your bed and Chris pins you down. You haven't seen him this worked up in a long time. You decide to push your luck even more. You suddenly bring your hands up to his chest and push back. He stumbles back and looks at you a little shocked. "You don't get to touch me tonight. You said you were gonna show me off and you didn't." You see his eyes become black and he stalks back over to you, making your heart flutter.

"I'm in charge tonight. You don't tell me what to do nena." His hand wraps around your throat, squeezing enough to make you suck in a quick breath. "I'll take what I want." He pushes you back onto the bed and wastes no time in taking off your shirt and pants, hearing the fabric protest against his rough hands, leaving you in one of Chris' favorite lingerie sets.

He groans at the sight of you and leans over your body, beginning to mark up your neck with harsh sucks and nipping teeth. His hands wander up and quickly massage your chest over the lace, tweaking your nipple and making you arch your back. He pulls his lips away from a dark hickey he was working on and brings his lips to your ear. "Are you going to apologize?"

His words wash over you and you bring a hand up to his hair, grabbing it and tugging, making him groan. "I'm not apologizing," you lean up and bring your lips to his throat and leave a mark on him. "Because you don't deserve it." He moans and places a hand in your hair, pulling your lips away from his throat and crashing them together. Your lips molded quickly and the kiss was bruising.

He suddenly pulls back and pushes forward, making your back collide with the bed. He begins leaving marks all down your body to your heat. His hot breath fans over the lace, making you shiver in anticipation. He pulls the lace to the side and his tongue collides with your nub and you moan his name, hand going straight for his hair and tugging. He groans and flattens his tongue, adding two fingers.

With the stimulation of his fingers and his tongue, he's got you like putty in his hands. He knows you're close when your walls tighten against his fingers. He builds the fire in your belly, bringing you closer and closer until he pulls away at the last second. You're ready to chew him out for not letting you cum when his hand finds your throat again.

"Like I said, you don't have a say in what I do to you tonight." His dark eyes are looking into yours and you want to protest against him. Yet, the feeling of his fingers and tongue is an addicting drug and you wanted to feel them again. "Are you going to apologize now or am I going to have to keep punishing you?"

You couldn't hold yourself back.

"Like I said, I'm not apologizing because you don't deserve it." You fire back. He narrows his eyes and he has half a mind to tie you up, but the closet seemed so far away and he knew how desperate you were to cum. It wouldn't take much more until you broke. He doesn't reply to your snappy comment but he goes back to his original position and starts rubbing you at a slow pace.

You squirm against his teasing fingers, but he places his other arm on your hip, trying to keep you still. He brings you to the edge once again and you clench your jaw, not in the mood to give in to him. He continues to bring you to the edge once more and you want to slap him. He moves up so you're face to face, his hips flush with yours and you can feel the outline of his hard cock through his pants. He felt so much thicker tonight then he ever has previously. Maybe it was because you were so eager to get him inside you.

"I know how much you want my cock, nena. Beg for it." He says, just barely moving his hips against yours. You glare defiantly at him and he smirks, grinding a little harder. Being edged three times made your clit a little sensitive, and the feeling of fabric against it made your legs twitch. You decide that he can't be the only one torturing you. Reaching between your bodies, you find the tops of his pants and slide your hand over the material, feeling a solid outline of his cock. Nope, he was definitely thicker than usual.

You give a firm squeeze and he bucks his hips. He's just as eager as you are, though you both are too stubborn to give in first. You find his tip through the material and gently rub a finger against it, making him groan. You're a little surprised that he hasn't tried to stop you. You tease him just as he did to you, though you only get to edge him once before he finally gives up.

"Fuck it!" He growls and stands up to take off his clothes. You quickly remove the lace you wore and Chris was on you seconds later. He positions himself against your entrance and your eyes roll back as he pushes in. He took his time, and the deeper he pushed himself in, you couldn't help but moan his name loudly as he reached places you didn't know he could reach. When he bottomed out, you had never felt so full with him. You've fucked plenty of times but something about tonight was different. Chris was going to ruin you and you were going to gladly let him do so.

"Look how well you take my cock, princesa." He boasts. "I bet his dick isn't as big as mine. I bet he can't make you moan like I can. Nobody knows your body better than me." It was the truth. Nobody could ever come close to how Chris makes you feel. You reach for his hair but he repositions himself so he can pin both your arms above your head. "You don't get to touch me."

You're about to bite back when he begins to move his hips, which quickly gives you an amazing sensation that leaves you speechless. He finds a semi-quick rhythm that gives you both just enough satisfaction but not bringing you to the edge quickly. His lips find your neck and begin a new hickey. You begin to squirm against his body, moving your hips up against his and he lets you. You can feel his cock reaching places, even at this slow pace, sending you over the moon in burning pleasure.

When he pulls his lips away, there is a dark mark forming. This pace is nice and all, but you're impatient, and still feeling the anger from earlier, not to mention you can't leave your mark on him, you demand that he goes faster. When Chris makes eye contact with you, you know you've pushed a nerve. In retaliation, he goes even slower. You can curse at him as much as you want, kick and complain, but he's in charge tonight and you know it.

This slow pace is a double-edged sword, not only affecting you but him as well. He didn't realize how much he needed his release then when he went slow. He tried not to show how much he wanted to pound you into next month but he couldn't hide everything from you. You could already tell he was struggling to not let the beast take over. This pace was your final breaking point. Taking in a breath, you apologize.

"Chris, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have grinded on that man tonight." He looks up at you, breathing hard, before he picks up his pace instantly, eager to bring you and him to the edge. This pace quickly builds up the fire and your walls are squeezing around him and he moans your name, eyes closing and head dropping to your chest.

"I'm sorry too." His voice was muffled by your chest and you almost didn't hear him. You don't respond, so he picks up his head and looks at you, pupils wide as he draws near. "I should have made good on my promise to show you off," his voice stutters a little. You both work off the last of your anger in the final moments. He lets go of your hands and you drag your nails down his back, leaving red marks, and he finds a spot under your jaw to make one final mark on you.

His hips begin to stutter before he cums, his hips lazily thrusting as you cum moments after him. Both of you stop and Chris rolls off of you, panting. When you both calm down, he helps you clean up and comes up behind you, making you roll onto your side and he wraps an arm around you. "I'm sorry baby," he apologizes again. You turn your head, catching him in your peripheral.

"What were you and Zabdiel talking about anyway?" He doesn't respond and you turn and face him, giving him the look.

"Well, I can't tell you..."

"Why not?" You suddenly press a hand to his shoulder and roll him onto his back, surprising him and even yourself as you climb on top of him. "Do I have to force it from you?"

"It's a surprise nena," he says, grabbing your hips. "Something special I planned for our anniversary next week..." You look down at him, shocked.

"Really?" He nods. You didn't plan on forcing anything out of him, it was an empty threat, but something about him always got you going. "Think you can go for another round?" He grins wide and nods as his hands travel up your body and find your chest.

"Good, 'cause I can go all night long..."

~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @cracraforfandoms @kmsmedine @kikixfandoms  @richardscurls

[lilacsandwhiskey]

Simp prompts "it's okay, I promise, I'll be here when you wake up" for Drake x Riley. I don't care who says it to who...

Leaving 18+

Pairing: Drake Walker x Riley Brooks

A/U where Riley was previously in Drake’s life while he was in college, until the day Leo showed up at his door and whisked the man away. Riley never even got a goodbye. This takes place after running into each other in NYC that night when she’s his waitress.

Warnings: smutttty, angst, trash writing, language, did not proofread:)

prompt from simp softness prompts from @soulmemes

Riley was mad at herself. Furious actually.

When Drake walked into the restaurant she worked at, the thought crossed her mind to walk up and slap him across the face. Or kiss him. Or cry. Or all of the above.

But instead, she walked up, cool, calm, and collected. Drake found that more terrifying than anything. The four men sat at the table, Drake’s eyes practically bugging out of his head, while the other three took part in a conversation among themselves - something about one of them almost died at the top of the Empire State Building or something like that.

The table was already frustrating from seeing Drake, but the remarks from the one with the slicked back hair and fancy suit made it almost unbearable. Drake finally spoke up, ordering for the table before skittishly saying Riley’s name in question.

“Yes, hi Drake. I’ll be back with your drinks.” Riley attempted to look unbothered but as soon as she turned on her heel away from the table she wanted to throw up.

“Stop it!” Riley cried out for the sixth time while Drake pinched the sides of her hips, making her laugh uncontrollably. “Fine, fine.” He pulled Riley into him, lifting up one of her hands with his own and staring at it.

Riley finally caught her breath. “What ya thinking about in that pretty little head, Drake Walker?” Drake played aimlessly with her fingers, looking at her through his dark eyelashes. “Just a future with you, Brooks.”

It was only weeks later that the brown-headed Cordonian boy left without a trace, without so much as a word or call. Soon, Riley’s number couldn’t make it through the dial, and she was left to heal a broken heart on her own. She hated the idea of Drake. The way he held her so close the night before he was gone.

She’d buried her head inside his chest, asking for an answer for what they were going to do after graduation. Graduation was still over a year away but Riley couldn’t help but to think about what was going to happen when they walked across the stage.

After several words of affirmation, Drake held Riley close, kissing her forehead. “It’s okay, I promise I’ll be here when you wake up.”

And then he wasn’t. When Riley woke up, she recognized that the bed was colder than usual, she was free to move around on the small twin xl bed. She figured Drake had left to get something from his room, as this wasn’t like him at all. When an hour had passed by with no trace, no call or text back, she resulted to contacting his roommate.

Riley recalled the sobs that fell from her lips when his roommate was frantic on the phone, mentioning that there was not a single thing left behind except for the clothes he’d left in Riley’s room. They searched high and low for a letter, a note, something, but came up with nothing.

Now here she was, facing the boy turned man that had broken her heart into tiny little pieces. Riley went to the back of the restaurant to control her breathing before facing her past again.

After their order had been delivered, Riley took it upon herself to begin closing up, starting with wiping down the bar and tables. All of this in attempt to occupy her mind. That changed when the blonde who you’d only assume was his friend, Liam, that’d you’d seen in pictures on Drake’s desk, walks up ready to pay for the meal for everyone. Thankful that everyone was told to wait outside, Riley engaged in the casual conversation with Liam.

“So you’re the infamous Riley?” “So, that’s what they call me in your parts.” Riley responded, swiping the credit card through the machine. Liam could only grin, but there was no doubt that he could see why his friend fell so hard for her. Of course he’d gotten to know her over phone calls and video chats when she was in Drake’s room, but seeing her in person, watching the way she was able to pull herself together so quickly in what must have been a hard moment, Liam knew why Drake never stopped talking about her.

Drake hadn’t said her name in well over a year, but Liam had caught his friend stalking her social media just months ago. “Look, I’m sure you have a thousand assumptions about the man, but I promise he didn’t leave you. He had to leave behind a life he created over something he had no control of.” Riley scoffed, Liam noticed she was barely taking in the excuse. “If you love someone, you don’t leave without a trace. It doesn’t matter anyway, that was college and many years ago. Not like it means anything now.”

After leaving a rather large tip, Liam thanked Riley for her patience and hospitality before heading out the door. Liam noticed that Drake had separated himself from the group, wandering around and staring up at the sky as if he was searching for something. “Ready to go?”

——————

Riley felt her phone buzz in her pocket for the eighteenth time, she was sure. When she clocked out, she finally slid her phone out of her pocket, revealing several text messages from Cassie. Riley knew a brisk call would be better than even attempting to read through all of the messages.

“Cassie, what gave you the idea that texting me a thousand times was okay?” “Look, you have to come out with me tonight. Sarah bailed and you know I don’t want to go clubbing alone.”

Riley mumbled goodbyes to the cooks who were closing up, placing the phone between her shoulder and ear. “Cassie…” “Please, I’m begging.” After the night she had, she thought it could be a good idea to get her mind off of things, aimlessly flirt with some guys and get some free drinks. “Meet me at my apartment in ten so I can get ready.”

——————

The driver followed his directions that Maxwell had given to the club. Drake sat with his head at the window, staring at the lights, wishing he could just go back to the penthouse and fall asleep for the night.

“Drake..” Liam pulled the man from his thoughts as he looked over to his friend. “Why didn’t you say something?” “It was clear she didn’t want to see me. And, who knew we’d run into her anyway? That was the last thing I’d expect in this city.” Drake replied, sitting further back in his seat.

“Did you expect her to welcome you with a hug and kiss? Dude, she got her heartbroken. And I feel just as guilty because I know why you came back but she deserves something.” “Can we just drop it?” Liam shrugged his shoulder with a slight scoff, knowing this was how hard-headed his best friend was.

As they walked into the club Maxwell had sought out, Drake felt the dread enter deeply into his body. Individuals dancing on others, music blasting through the speakers, nothing but the smell of too much perfume, alcohol, and sweat. Drake pushed pass his friends to sought out the bar, where he’d occupy for the rest of the night.

Drake reached the bar, taking an empty seat as the bartender diverted his attention to him as he cleaned a glass. “Whiskey, please.” Drake placed his elbows on the counter just as he heard a familiar voice coming up behind him.

“You tricked me, Cass.” “I knew you wouldn’t come if you didn’t feel bad for me. Sarah may have changed her mind, okay.” Drake turned his head the other way, in hopes she didn’t notice him. He couldn’t help but side-eye her though, taking in the tiny emerald dress that was hugging her body - instead of the baggy t-shirt and shorts she was wearing prior. Her hair was pulled out of the loose bun and was now laying down her back in loose waves.

“Whiskey, please.” She sighed. Drake smirked, knowing he was the one who got her hooked on a simple glass of whiskey. Then he heard a groan, knowing she’d looked and noticed him. Drake cleared his throat. “You following me, Drake?” A very Riley thing to ask.

“I wish I could say so, but my friends dragged me here.” “Thought so, you always said this wasn’t your scene.” Riley air quoted as she talked, nursing the whiskey that had been placed in front of her. She never made eye contact though. “You know, I never thought I’d see you again, and now that I do, I don’t even know what to say. Maybe… Fuck you?” Drake almost let out a laugh, nodding his head. “Guess I deserve that.” “Yeah, no guessing. Flat out.”

Drake admired her for keeping herself calm and collected. Drake himself was about to pass out from his nerves of being so close to the one girl he’d loved the most. “It’s been five years. You’ve changed a lot.” “That’s what happens to people, typically.” Riley remarked. “Can we talk?” Drake blurted out. Riley still didn’t make eye contact with him. “Please, I just.. I need to be honest with you.” “For once in his life, Drake Walker wants to explain himself… wants to be honest. What does me the honors?” “Brooks.” “Fine, lay it out.” She patted the table. “Not here.”

Riley’s eyes finally met his face. “You think I want to go somewhere with you?” “You once trust me, didn’t you?” “Yeah, once.” “Trust me again.” “It doesn’t work like that, Drake.” Drake nodded his head. “I get that but please, just not here.” His eyes wandered the room. “Fine.” Riley shoved herself from the table, Drake scrambling to leave some bills on the counter before attempting to catch up with her. She had dragged who looked to be her friends to the side who were eying her with devious smiles, in which she returned with a slight shove.

Drake shot a quick text to his friends that he’d meet back up with them later. When Riley was out hailing a taxi, she still had yet to say a word to him from leaving the table. The ride to whatever location made Drake’s heart wrench. When they pulled up to a brick building, Riley handed the man cash and got out quickly, Drake on her heels.

Shockingly, Riley had managed to feel comfortable enough to bring Drake to her haven, her home, in the midst of New York. “Welcome to my humble abode.” She stood in her studio apartment, leaning up against the counter as she watched Drake observe the room. “Much different than your dorm decor.” “Yeah, not so much into patterns anymore.” Riley replied.

The silence between them thickened. “Okay, Drake, I didn’t invite you to my place so you could stalk around trying to take in the bits of me you missed out on. You said you’d explain yourself. And I’m tired of waiting.” Drake found himself speechless. “See, you don’t even care to say anything. After all these years, after the heartbreak and the hurt you put me through, you can’t say anything. Do you know what you leaving did to me? Do you know how much it hurt to plan a future with someone then wake up to no trace? Hell, I get we were kids but come on, that doesn’t mean it didn’t affect me.” “Riley…” “No, I gave you the chance to talk. I’m taking my opportunity. Do you know how low you have to be to drop the girl who’d do anything for you? I was willing to wait for you. I was so patient with you, for you to come around to your senses that we belonged together. I was there. Do you-“ “Dammit, Brooks.”

Drake moved swiftly, crashing his own lips on Riley’s in efforts to shut her up - and it worked. Drake rested his hand on her cheek, the other on her back pulling her into him, suddenly reminiscing on the times that those lips had been all over him before. Riley slowly lifted her arms up to tug the back of his head, before finally coming to her own senses and pushing him away. “What the hell, Drake?!”

“You wouldn’t let me talk and I need to get this out. For five years, I’ve wondered about you. I’ve thought nonstop about you and what we couldve been. I regretted so much, recognizing that we could’ve been fucking married by now. Isn’t that crazy? Yeah, we were two college kids who couldn’t get enough of each other but I met you and I knew you were special. You wanna know why I left? Because my best friend needed me. I couldn’t tell you what was going on because it’s confidential what goes on in his life. I couldn’t bring you home to meet my family because I didn’t have a home - I lived in a palace with my best friend because my mom couldn’t take care of me and my sister. That’s the truth. My best friend needed me and just like I always do, I went back. I ran. And I missed out on the greatest thing in life but I couldn’t tell you. I was sworn to secrecy.”

Riley stared, lips slightly opened, tears brimming her eyes. “Brooks, I’ve thought about you every single day. Liam told me how stupid I was to leave you, I knew how stupid I was, but I needed to be back. I needed to be in Cordonia. But that didn’t change the way I felt. I thought about you… every damn day.” Riley swallowed hard before stepping just a little closer.

“I’m not saying this will fix everything or hell, I don’t know if you ever want to see me again, but just know I never wanted to leave you. My intentions were to start my own life with you. It’s been five years but that hasn’t stopped me.” Drake took his own step closer to the love of his life, closing the gap between them. “Show me.” Riley said above a whisper. “Hm.” “Show me that you never wanted to leave.”

Drake’s body crashed into Riley’s before picking her up and setting her on the counter. “I never stopped loving you.” Drake mumbled between kisses, moving his lips desperately to her neck. He couldn’t believe this was happening. He never thought he’d see this girl again much less be kissing her.

Drake swiftly brought her from the counter, holding her body close to his as she mumbled directions to her room. This was real.

Drake laid Riley on the bed, careful to make sure she was really in front of him. “Are you.. are you sure?” “Yes.” Riley shimmied quickly out of her small dress, laying back on the bed before urging the man in front of her to prove her wrong - that he did care all this time. Drake felt his heart jump as he slowly hovered over her, kissing her neck, down to her breasts. His fingers slowly traced down her arm, to her stomach, right above her underwear.

“You are so beautiful. Always have been.” He said. Drake slowly caressed the skin above her waistband before inching his fingers down to her heat, slowly sliding a finger in, causing her to arch her back. Drake kept his mouth placed on her own as she let out small desperate moans. This was it.

Drake managed to slide a condom out of his wallet, giving a few pumps before putting it on. “Brooks, are you sure?” “Yes.” Riley consented. With a long kiss, Drake slowly pushed inside of Riley, managing to fit his entirety into her. Gasps came from both of them, wide eyes staring into each other. “Are you okay?” “Yes, go on.” Drake slowly began rolling his hips into Riley’s, moans slipping through both of their lips.

This was different. It wasn’t two horny college students handling their frustrations. This was two adults who needed each other. Two people who were made for each other but didn’t know how the world would work to make it happen. And here they were riding out their highs together, Drake collapsing on Riley as she pulled him into her.

Her hands found his curls, twirling them around on her fingers, recognizing that she hadn’t felt this in a long time - and never thought she ever would again. After the moments they spent together, Riley found herself getting insecure.

Barely any conversation had been held for both of them to really understand what this could be or what realm had just been opened. He still very well lived across the world, and they both had growing up to do since the last time they saw each other. Of course they were different people, but who were they for each other now?

A silent tear escaped Riley’s eye as the man on top of her steadied his breathing, getting up quickly to clean himself up. Riley scooted over, bringing the blankets to cover her body. When Drake joined her again, he wrapped an arm around her, placing kisses to her forehead. “What is it?” He asked, noticing her tears. “Where does this leave us?” “We’re gonna figure this out, Brooks. I���m not leaving you again. It’s okay, I promise I’ll be here when you wake up. We both need to understand what this is and could be and who we are now. All I know is, I’ve missed you, Brooks. And I hope you missed me too.”