Requested by: @lmrwriter: Could you please write a fix about a sister reader of dean having to deal with his antics about her going on a first date? thanks!
Warnings : None
A/N : sorry for the dumb writing KISSES ENJOY
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"SHE'S GOING ON A WHAT?"
A mixture of a growl and a whine parted from your lips at the sound of the bark that. You plopped back on your bed- a fake cry perpetuating as Dean's sudden shout thundered through the thin motel walls.
As heavy steps echoed through the other room all the way to yours, you readied yourself for what's coming. And soon enough, the door connecting your room to your brothers' flew open.
Dean strode inside.
"You beg and beg for a separate room and when you do get one this is what you do with it?!"
Damn it.
You rolled your eyes, your cheeks puffing up as you heaved an exhale. You interlaced your fingers and stretched both your arms to the side- an avoidant move that your brothers particularily hated because it made you look careless.
You didn't do anything, though...so why are we doing this?
"Deeean..."You whined. "It's not like i'm bringing him in....i'm going out with him." Although your pouty lips immaculately expressed your concern, your choice of words- as ffffreaking always- didn't seem to help your case at all-
At your words, his eyebrows lowered. And he was no longer annoyed but rather provoked.
Wrong move.
"This isn't happen-"
"But Sammy already said Yes." You cut him off- staightening your back impatiently as you had already anticipated the trajectory of the conversation.
But turning to Sam, you realized you probably shouldn't have said that either- from the gulp and the death stare he gave you-
Dean didn't know about Sam knowing.
Well....what's done is done. You'd care but-you've got far more important things to worry about, one of them being Dean marching towards you.
"Well- who's the oldest here?"
You daringly squinted your eyes, locking yours with his. "But you always said to ask either you or Sam if i ever had anything-"
Dean's eyebrows sank again. And he licked his lips before turning his attention to Sam. And while both men stared at each other- you took a moment to anticipate the next few moments, one fo which was the moment you'd make them both leave.
You haven't gotten ready yet- and since Dean wasn't facing you, you could only rely on Sam's facial expressions to apprehend the situation.
And from the shrug of his shoulders and his not so discreet face tilt- relief started coursing through you.
Okay- saved for now.
"He's not allowed to touch you-anywhe-"
"Ew-Dean- it's my first date-"
"Trust me...i've been on a first date myself and believe me-far more than that happens."
Your shoulders hunched as you jabbed your index and thumb into your eyes, frustrated and disgusted.
"Okay...when's this...date."
You straightened your back again, darting your eyes to Sam. Both of you shared a glance. Because the date was-
"in half an hour."
Dean tsk'ed, rocking his head up and down.
"Oh that's why you've been showering for an hour." Dean pointed his finger at you accusedly and your eyebrows unconsciously frowned.
"It's not my first shower ever in life, Dean."
"Whatever you say- listen here-" Your brother started, grabbing you by the arms to lift you off the bed.
You awkwardly followed, sheepishly standing in front of him.
"I want his number, his parents number, where he lives, the name lf his goddamn granmother if it's possible."
Nevermind.
"Come on, Dean, be serious. I don't have much time left" You turned your back to him, bending slightly to pick up your dress- in an attempt to finalize the conversation.
"Oh-kid. You have no idea how serious i am."
You huffed, plopping down on the bed, your dress still hanging from your fingers. You turned to Sam and locked eyes, fixating him in another unspoken plea to help get Dean away from you.
"Let her be-Dean- i already checked him out-"
"And i want t"
"If he touches you-kid-"
"DEAN....Come oooon..." Sam interrupted him, grabbing him by the shoulder. He squeezed gently. "Let her be, i'll tell you everything about the boy when she leaves."
Dean turned to his brother. "But what if i don't like him."
"Well too bad you're not the one who's going to meet him." You joined in. And Dean only granted you a glare over his shoulder.
"Come on, let's go-" Sam pulled Dean back to their room. "It's almost time. She's got to get ready."
"Wait-last thing. I'm taking you there."
You sucked your lips in-once again darting your eyes to your saviour. But this time Dean noticed.
He sighed, tilting his head slowly to face Sam.
"What now?"
"He's coming to get me." But before Dean could argue, you ran over to them.
"Okay bye now-come on-out out out-"
You pushed against Dean's back. " I need to get ready-i will see you boys when i'm ready." And then Sam's.
"Hey-I did nothing."
Once they were out of the way- you closed the door with a soft motion- out of respect.
You breathed in, turning to your dress.
Finally....
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Hiii, thank you for this request and i hope you enjoyed it. Yall do not hesitate to leave a comment! They are much appreciated. See you next tiime 🖤🖤🖤🧚🏻♀️🧚🏻♀️🧚🏻♀️
Potential Pairings: Azriel x Archeron!OC, Archeron!OC X Illyrian!OC, Nesta x Cassian, Elain x Azriel (pairings are unconfirmed)
Summary: Elain meets with Azriel the night before he embarcks on the journey to Montesere.
Taryn and Tristan spend the night training her mental shields in preparation.
Nesta finds out the morning of that her sister is gone, and she will not be returning for a week
Warnings: allusions to self harm, mentions of trauma and memory relapses, depictions of drowning, allusions to child abuse/neglect
Author's Note: The warnings sound terrible, dw it's really not that bad yall. The time line here is chronological btw, in case anyone gets a little confused. This chapter is a bit short, mostly to transition to 'part two' of this fic!
Getting a little Elain action here. I think she's neglected a lot in sf, so I wanted to explore her character a little more!
Thank you all for the support you've given me on this, I love interacting with you and seeing your opinions!
Read on Ao3 / Chapter 1 / Chapter 4
There, she thought to herself, finally. The last of Autumn’s yellow roses brightened up her kitchen. The kitchen, she corrected, but it felt like hers now. Elain filled the glass vase with water, a sprinkle of ground eggshells. It had grown late, and she was alone.
Alone doesn’t feel very good, she pursed her lips. Nuala and Cerridwen were gone on Rhys’s orders. It was something to do with one of the queens. She remembered their visit to the Archeron Manor so long ago. Politeness and good manners hadn’t gotten her very far with them. Power struggles were at play, but Elain didn’t understand them. She had tried listening in, lingering at the edges while Feyre talked with Rhys and Azriel in the early hours of morning. She had nothing better to do after all, not when sleep eluded her. She let it stay blissfully far away, like a cat that had grown tired of playing with a toy. Sleep filled her mind with too many thoughts. Unhelpful thoughts.
Elain fussed with the flowers, arranging them again and again. If she stayed idle too long, those thoughts would find her, and that couldn’t happen. Not when it scared her sisters so much. She did not remember everything that happened to her, but Feyre often expressed how pleased she was that Elain was better now, healed. Oh Elain… so worried… and Nesta, she was half-mad with fear… do you even remember… the balcony… knives out of the kitchen when Taryn…
Little snippets. She rearranged the flowers. Perhaps the fuller ones should face the island… Yes, that was where everyone would sit. Once morning came. In nine hours. There would be no one for the next nine hours. She rearranged the flowers as her head began to split. Water, not like the icy chill of the Cauldron. Warm. Laughter. And then a staircase, one with a big looming spiral. Sparks of silver. A storm rolled in.
She rearranged the flowers. The stems had not been de-thorned. She pushed her finger tips into the sharp little daggers and sighed as a pin-prick of blood welled up. The visions faded out like mist on the horizon.
As she pressed her fingertip to her lips to suck the blood away, she felt a familiar presence. His shadows were warm, and she felt them brush her arm in greeting. He made sure not to startle her.
“Azriel, you’re up late.”
“I could say the same to you. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
She smiled and let the flowers fall naturally into the vase. “Oh, I couldn’t sleep…” She brushed her fingers across the soft, butter colored petals. “I wanted to make sure these beauties were saved before the first snows hit Velaris.”
He stepped closer. So close to her. She could feel the willowy pressure of his shadows, slightly warm with his scent. Mmm, something woody. She slowed her breathing, trying not to seem… excited? Interested? It was so much easier to talk to the human boys. They couldn’t hear the fluttering of a heart.
“Yellow?” he asked, his voice deceptively bored.
“Do you dislike yellow?” She asked. Maybe next time she would plant red.
“No, they’re very nice Elain. The River House always feels more home-like with your touches.”
Something bubbly and warm welled up in her. She didn’t think many people noticed the little changes she made. Feyre had an eye for decorating, sure, but her style was far more moody, regal. Elain preferred the subtle elegance of a brighter palate. It seemed Azriel had noticed.
“How was training today?” she tried to sound cheerful, but weariness weaved its way through her tone. Cassian hadn’t been by the River House to update Feyre on Nesta’s progress, but Elain assumed there was none to report. Taryn was a bit more unpredictable on where she drew her lines.
His lips titled to the side, hesitant. “Her blade work has gotten stronger, she wields truth teller almost as well as you did-” Elain couldn’t keep the smile from her face. A small one. This was about Taryn, not herself. Azriel went on without noticing. “But when I left her with Tris… I suppose you and Nesta are lucky. Mental shields take a lot of work to employ for those who haven’t had them magically fortified. I wanted to tell you though-”
She turned, her face tipped up to meet his gaze. So close. Azriel paused, taking in a breath, as if he had suddenly realized the proximity between them.
“I’ll be gone for a few days. Rhys is sending Tristan and I east, to Montesere,” another pause, “Taryn will be accompanying us to speak with their court about preparations for another war.”
“Taryn?” Elain’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Azriel shrugged, but his gaze turned interested, as if he sensed Elain knew something that he didn’t, “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“She dislikes high society. When we were girls there was a lot of… pressure on her and Nesta.” Elain had missed her debut. The year she had come of age was the year they lost their fortune. Sometimes she was jealous of the attention her sisters, mostly Nesta, had garnered for the family. Most of the time, she was thankful that the weight of expectation had avoided her shoulders in those formative years. Nesta was their mother’s little queen. She was the oldest, after all. Taryn had come a few minutes after her. But there was a unique kind of pressure there too, one Taryn could never live up to. If Nesta were to fail at securing an advantageous match, Taryn was essentially the spare heir. She was coached just as rigorously, waiting in the trenches to see if she’d be needed.
“Feyre seems to think she’ll do well,” Azriel said, bracing his hands on the kitchen counter. His gaze drifted through the window, out, she imagined, toward the House of Wind.
Elain pursed her lips. It didn’t really matter what she thought, the decisions Feyre made were always final. “I’m sure it will all go as planned.”
That splitting feeling returned. Now was not the time. She looked around, suddenly antsy. Her trimmed fingernails found their way to the little cut on her finger. It had stopped bleeding after she let go of the thorns. She dug the crescent of her nail into the wound, pressing until the feeling banked into nothing.
Azriel’s eyes widened. “Elain, I didn’t know you were bleeding.” His nose flared at the sudden tang in the air.
“It’s nothing, the roses got me earlier.”
He took her by the wrist, forcing her to show him the wound. He hummed, reaching for the weapon belt around his hips. There was a small roll of gauze tucked into it, and he unrolled a piece, ripping it off with his teeth.
She didn't realize she was trembling until he gripped her hand again, holding it still as he wrapped it with an almost painful gentleness.
He noticed her trembling. “Are you afraid of blood?”
Get out Get out Get out Get out, she screamed at him. Oh he would have it coming to him after this.
Tristan’s voice, calm and steady despite it being hour three of training, washed across her mind. Every time Taryn thought she had managed to push him out, she would hear his deep, rumbling echo. It was like a riptide, the kind of surge that dragged you back and back, further out to sea no matter how desperately you paddled toward shore.
You need to relax, Taryn. You’re not focused.
She growled, then flinched at the sound of her own voice. She had been forced silent this whole time. She was finally getting somewhere.
“Get- out,” the words came out choked and garbled, and then she was under again. A man was dancing with her, spinning her around the dance floor. She couldn’t keep up. She tripped, fell past his arms and to the floor. But there was no floor. Only water. Deep and cold, endless water. She reached out for someone, for something, but there was nothing. Her hands were empty… and then they weren’t. There was a knife in her hands. The image of the knife was warbled through the icy water, but the piercing metal was aimed for herself. She forced her eyes further open, fighting the weight of the water. Gone again. The village boys surfaced. Tomas and Isaac, Grayson and Wendell. Wendell, the butcher’s boy… Tomas’s voice echoed in her head. He doesn’t mind a little meat on the bones. She shivered, wrenching her gown closer to her body. It was soaked through with cold. Let me go, she yelled, but no sound came out.
I said focus, Taryn, you were so close. She tried to hold onto the sound, as if those words were a tether that would lead her back out.
Hands were wrenching her away, pulling her from the Cauldron with a roar. Nesta? Her mother looked down at her. Those hands tightened, pulling her away from another failed Gala. You are useless, a burden on your sister, her mother said. Do not speak to her again, I don't want her seen with you.
Let me go, she choked again, swallowing mouthfulls of cold air. She could see Nesta’s small face in the window, watching her as she curled up in the chilly brambles outside. Her body trembled, and she could not tell if it was real or just memory.
The patience and calm in Tristan’s voice was turning sour, I can’t. Not until you can push me out.
He was mad at her. Nesta was mad at her, mad at Taryn for ignoring her all night, her small fists clenched. Her mother was mad at her, angry that she could be so careless as to ruin the future of all of her sisters. She was mad. So mad at herself. And confused. She stared at herself, at her broken body reforged, the white nightgown sticking to every violated inch of her.
Something fluttered inside her, clicking and whirring like an automaton. Light flared beneath her skin, arcing like lightning through the darkness. She saw threads of shadow, weary now, as if they too wanted to leave this place in her mind.
Taryn extended her hand. It seemed her body knew what to do, even if her mind did not. The blue of her veins turned fluorescent, glimmering violet as pure power sluggishly swam from her heart to her fingertips. It sparked. It struck.
She felt a low hiss thunder through her mind, but the voice gritted out, Good, again.
The hollow space between her breasts flickered and surged, churning like a storm. She made herself the eye. That whirling storm grew thick and heavy. Like a shield around her. A shield. She put all her energy into reinforcing it. The Cauldron had boiled when its icy heart was torn out. She pulled clouds from its heat, coiling mist around herself. She felt the shadowy threads again as they brushed up against the raging hurricane inside her, and each time, her lightning found its mark.
The darkness retreated. Taryn was back in Windhaven, though she had never really left. She felt dizzy. Strong, rough hands gripped her before she hit the forest floor.
Nesta ate in a silence that Cassian seemed determined to keep breaking.
“I already told you, I will not train in that miserable village.”
She watched him huff a breath, shovel more of the bland porridge into his mouth angrily. He was an animal, and so were all those other Illyrian brutes in Windhaven. Dawn crinkled the clouds, turning them iridescent and rosy. It was too early for this.
“Why can’t you be more like Taryn. Azriel tells me she’s doing well. So well, she’s been promoted,” Cassian said.
“Azriel,” she gritted her teeth, “must be a better teacher.” Not to mention, Taryn didn’t have a hundred pairs of eyes on her, calculating how weak she was at every interval. Nesta chanced another bite. She was starving, but she didn’t want Cassian to know that.
“There are things, Nes, that you’d learn in lessons with me. You would be a hell of a lot more impressive if you could back all of your threats up.”
Tch- Nes. She eyed her fork, wondering how hard it would be to stab him with it.
“You could do that, too,” he said, reading the direction of her stare. “I could teach you how to turn anything into a weapon. Even a fork.”
She ignored him, taking another delicate bite of the fruit she had been mercifully provided. It made the sloppy porridge bearable. At the height of their poverty, the Archerons hadn’t been able to afford delicacies like strawberries. They couldn’t even afford salt.
Nesta chewed quietly. Suddenly, something clicked in her head. ‘So well, she’s been promoted.’ “What do you mean?” she demanded.
“Huh?” Cassian looked at her funny, and her jaw tightened.
“What do you mean Taryn has ‘been promoted’?” Something clawed at her insides, threatening to escape.
“No one told you? Taryn is going with Az and Tris out to Montesere for the week. Something about needing her as a statement piece for good intentions.”
“Who else would have fucking told me, Cassian. You’re the only one here. Feyre hasn’t visited, Elain-” she swallowed hard. “When does she leave?” This had Rhysand written all over it, and Feyre? Why would she let him put Taryn up to this?
Cassian glanced at the clock. “They left before dawn. It’s a long flight out there, and they’ll need breaks for their wings.”
Nesta tamped down a growl of anger. Why hadn’t Taryn said anything? She could have found Nesta, explained. That anger paused. Nesta still hadn’t spoken to her since… well, since their last fight. The Prison, The Hewn City. Everything the Inner Circle had planned to put Nesta through still pinched at her mind. Silence was not what she owed Taryn, but she couldn’t bring herself to say thank you just yet. The wound still pulsed, bleeding her out each time it reopened with her thoughts.
“A week,” Nesta asked, drowning out the silent roaring in her mind.
Cassian nodded. He stuck another spoonful of porridge into his mouth, swallowing it down. “Why does it even matter to you, you haven’t been speaking to her.”
Nesta hadn’t realized they noticed. She had only imagined the tension to be between her and her sister. It wasn’t supposed to be a visible rift, only a quiet, temporary thing. “Why didn’t they ask me to do it? I could’ve-”
“Are you fucking kidding Nesta? You haven’t participated in anything we’ve asked of you for months. You won’t even pick up a training sword.”
Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “Because I shouldn’t have to involve myself in your schemes at all.”
“Well, there’s your answer. No one wants to touch you with a ten foot pole. They trusted Taryn,” he added quietly, under his breath, “for some reason.”
She wanted to yell. She wanted to march upstairs and find Taryn. They could figure something out. She was gone. Nesta was stuck here, with Cassian, without even Azriel as a buffer, useless as he was in her arguments with Cassian. They were long gone. She needed a drink, a fuck, something. What if she got hurt, what if something went wrong? Nesta didn’t trust Tristan, not even Azriel. They were still Rhysand’s court, no matter how much they played nice. Taryn wasn’t cut out for this.
She felt her lungs seize, and she held a breath. The rapid beating of her heart rose with her panic. She needed a distraction. The door to the ten thousand steps was already open, the faelights in the hall dimmed to near darkness. Her boots scuffed on the stones as she approached, glancing behind her to make sure Cassian was staying put. This was her business.
a john wick x Helen'sSister!Reader fic You are Helen's baby sister. Set a few years after the first movie, 2-4 never happened. Use of y/n. Warnings: canon typical violence. Smut. Mourning. More smut. Forbidden romance. Grey areas. Questionable decisions. Sweetheart!John, BAMF!John Depressed!John - If you can handle the movie you should be fine here... divider by saradika-graphics PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5
And I, I come here to be what you need, so you can fly, so you can fly -Detune, Kaleida
PART 6.
You always thought the boxy behemoth of John and Helen’s house looked more like a museum than a home. The dramatic lighting in the landscaping out front reinforces this impression, though gliding into the garage where the Mustang gives one last dying rumble before John kills the ignition maybe contradicts this notion.
You have the startling realization that you have never been here, without Helen.
You see no traces of her in the garage. Her Lexus is gone. A motorcycle is parked where her SUV used to be. You wonder if John cleaned out her other belongings inside. It’s none of your business, how he decided to handle the remnants of her things, but the thought makes your heart ache in your chest all the same.
“Ready?” he asks quietly, perhaps sensing your inner turmoil as you sit dead still in the passenger seat for too long, paralyzed in your thoughts of your sister.
Not sure if it’s true, you nod anyway, making to extricate yourself from the low-slung sports car. John removes your duffel from the trunk, slinging the strap of the bag over his shoulder. You’d thought it heavy, but he handles it like you’d packed nothing but a bag of feathers, and it’s possible you admire the view of his powerful form from behind as you follow him inside.
A part of you still can’t believe you are doing this.
Now that your thoughts are only partially clouded by lust, your inner voice of judgement is still yet undecided as to how much loathing you deserve for this escapade. The garage leads into a mudroom, then the kitchen. John tosses his keys into a wooden bowl and flips a light. The open plan of the house gives you a clear view across the dining area and the recessed living room, and something in your heart unclenches as you realize he has not changed a thing.
All of Helen’s carefully curated curios and objet d’art remain in place, and it’s almost as though she’s still there, in a way. Your eyes fill with tears, and desperately you try to blink them away before John notices you’re having a mini-crisis over the sight of Helen’s coffee table books on modern architecture.
You are saved by the sound of claws clicking on the tile floor. A handsome blue pitbull trots up to you, immediately leaning on your legs after a perfunctory sniff. “Oh. Who’s this?” you ask, leaning over to pet the friendly fellow.
“That’s Dog,” John answers with the chagrined smile of a man who knows your next thought will be something along the lines of “You couldn’t be bothered to actually name your dog?”
In an attempt to be original, you let it go. “What a sweetie.”
You wonder what changed Helen’s mind from her original plan. “I thought she was getting you a beagle for some reason,” you remark quietly as Dog licks your chin. You scratch him behind his ears and down his back, smiling as he wiggles blissfully under your longish nails.
John sighs heavily in response. “Yeah.” You sense there’s a whole explanation behind that one word, and maybe you’d talked a tough game back in your apartment, but it’s late, and you’re tired, and you find you don’t have the mettle to pry any more explanations out of this man tonight.
Especially not ones that seem like they’re going to hurt him.
You get the sense that John has endured a lot in his lifetime. The last thing you want is to cause him more pain.
He weighs you with those soulful eyes, and you can’t help but feel like he’s reading a little too much between your lines. “I…can prepare the guest room for you, if you prefer?”
You wonder if he senses your unease in this new and tricky situation–or if he’s the one changing his mind.
“I’m not…sleeping with you?” you ask, trying and failing to hide your own disappointment at hearing this proffered out.
“Only if you want to.”
You find the last thing you want tonight, is to toss and turn with your thoughts of Helen, alone.
You can still see the hint of lace of your panties peeking out from his breast pocket, and a part of you wishes he would just sling you over his shoulder and take you to bed.
And take all the blame, you chide yourself.
No. If you’re digging this hole…you’re doing it together.
Maybe it’s not entirely fair, the way you close the space between you slowly, your heels clicking on the tile. “What do you want, John?” you ask gently, and you don’t mean to purr it so sweetly, but it just comes out of you when you’re with him. And maybe it’s also not fair, when your hands find his trim torso, sliding under the warmth of his suit jacket. You feel he is strung taut as tightrope beneath his fine clothes; yet the moment you touch him something seems to let go.
His eyes slide closed, and he does not answer you with words, ducking to press his lips to yours. Whatever feelings of guilt had been stewing beneath your skin utterly evaporate, immolated by the fire this small gesture ignites within you again.
“Me too,” you admit against his pillow-soft lips, and you think his huff of self-deprecating laughter is nine tenths relief.
“Come on.” He nuzzles your nose with his before turning to lead you upstairs.
You realize you’ve been in his bedroom before–but again, only with Helen, as she shared some new pair of shoes or designer dress she’d bought, putting on a fashion show for you in the walk-in closet, usually before foisting “hand-me-downs” she'd never actually worn (and clearly bought with your taste in mind) upon you.
It certainly feels different now, the neatly made bed glowing in the moonlight streaming through the floor to ceiling windows. You know that they’re mirrored on the outside, but you still wonder how one goes about not feeling like they live in a fishbowl. You suppose you are unaccustomed to living in a house without close neighbors. It’s a luxury you could never afford in the city.
John turns on a lamp, and sets your bag gingerly by the bed. “I’ll make room for you in the closet.”
You’d barely packed enough to require it, but still you nod, touched by the thought because you never would have presumed to ask. “Tomorrow,” you say quietly, your hands finding their way under his jacket again, pushing it from his shoulders. You drape it carefully over the back of a nearby chair, certain it cost more than your rent.
He watches you with those soulful dark eyes, and you feel yourself melting all over again. He seems to enjoy your hands on his body as you slowly work on undressing him, loosening the knot of his tie, sliding the patterned silk from under his collar. You move on to his shining white gold cufflinks. “Pretty,” you compliment, working the toggles carefully.
He hesitates a moment before admitting, “They were a gift.”
“I know. I helped Helen pick them out from Dunhill.”
He looks at you from beneath his lashes, the flash of sorrow in his dark eyes fathomless as the sea at night. He still hurts so much, and you understand. You feel it too.
“It’s ok,” you say, speaking to yourself as much as him. “We should say her name. We shouldn’t skirt around it. I want to remember her.” You don’t want her name to be taboo between you, even if what you are doing is more than a little fucked up.
He closes his eyes, dipping his head in agreement. “Thank you.” You get the feeling he means for more than just helping your sister pick out an anniversary gift for him. You just nod, and he presses his forehead to yours. You stand like that for a long while, two people who are broken but maybe, just maybe, have found a bit of light in each other against the crushing gloom.
You fancy that you feel the exact moment, when John makes up his mind for certain about you. He gathers you to him with a new edge of desperation, grips your curves just this side of too hard, like you might slip away if he doesn’t hold on to you. His mouth slants over yours, and you take the onslaught of his passion gladly, holding him to you with arms around his neck as he devours you. The fine zipper down your spine proves no obstacle for his clever hands; your dress slides down your body, pooling around your ankles.
The hunger in his expression as he looks down at you in just your strapless bra makes your legs weak–it doesn’t matter, because he holds you, and he’s not letting you go. His voice comes rough with the edge of desire: “Y/n…I know I don’t deserve you. But God do I want you.” He doesn't give you much of a chance to answer, manhandling you onto the bed like you weigh nothing, which isn’t the case at all.
You would have told him that you want him too, more than you've ever wanted anyone, but his mouth is on yours and you're happy to kiss him instead. His lean body presses you down deliciously into the soft mattress; you open eagerly, twining your legs with his, holding him to you. He's still completely clothed, and you make an attempt to undo some buttons, craving his bare skin on yours like air to breathe. The promise of his hard groin against yours makes your vision spin.
“I’m sorry,” he growls, seemingly at your breasts as he moves down your body, his hot mouth searing trails of fire down your skin. Your brain function is not at its best at the moment–you’re not sure what he’s talking about at all, and he doesn’t expand on his point until his teeth are grazing the curve of your hip.
“I haven’t…been with anyone…since Helen,” he explains, his voice rough with want. “I might be…a little rusty.”
You have to bite down on a laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because it’s so endearing you could scream, and if this is John Wick when he feels like he’s not on his game…you don’t think you can handle this man at his best.
“I don’t think you have to worry,” you sigh as he kisses the inside of your thigh, moaning as his soft lips travel higher. It’s almost embarrassing how wet he finds you, when he slips the tip of his thumb just past your weeping hole. The sound he makes is more animal than man as he falls to his knees at the edge of the bed, guiding your legs over his broad shoulders, and when his tongue touches your clit you see God. You cannot sit still but he holds you down with one big hand spanned across your belly, two of his fingers sliding inside you as he laves at your aching slit.
“John,” you pant, your hands fisted in the bedspread out of desperation for something to hold on to, your back arched like a bow as he gives you this blissful pleasure between your thighs. “Please…” You can hardly think past his mouth upon you, your brain gone completely offline while in this man’s skillful hands. “Please, I want you inside me?”
He growls against you, making your toes curl. You’re not sure if he’s arguing with you, or himself, but in the end he withdraws, wiping his mouth on the bedspread before standing between your legs. He towers over you from this vantage, and in a blissful stupor you watch him undo the buttons of his shirt with deft fingers. You find yourself holding your breath as he reaches the last one; a whine escapes you as he pauses in the unveiling.
“Y/n…I have to warn you…I have scars.”
He seems self-conscious about this, or maybe afraid of how you might react. You sit up, giving him your full attention.
“It’s ok.”
“I don’t…want to scare you.”
You touch his hands on his shirt halves lightly; it’s possible you're trembling. “I watched you take out three guys tonight and stab one of them in the leg…and I’m still here.”
He lets out a long, shaking sigh, nodding. “Yeah.”
“I’m kind of figuring out that you’re a dangerous man. But I don’t feel like you would ever hurt me. Am I wrong?”
“No,” he answers immediately.
“Ok. Then take off your shirt, please,” you say with a hint of insouciance you hope will break his hesitance, your lips curving in a smirk. You unclip your bra in a gesture of solidarity, tossing it to the foot of the bed.
He looks down at your bare form with a tenderness in his eyes that warms you all over. Are you allowed to look at each other like that yet? Like you are something precious to behold? There are unofficial rules against this, but you feel yourself doing exactly the same. You feel yourself falling, hard, and you don't have the sense tonight to catch yourself before you hit rock bottom.
“Cheeky girl,” he chides you gently, and you can see your ploy succeeded in nudging him out of his cycle of self doubt, at least for now.
“You want me to be quiet, John?” you tease him further, reaching for his belt. “Give me something to put in my mouth.”
He makes a sound low in his throat that makes you think of predatory animals that stalk the deep dark forest at night. For a moment you get an inkling of the beast that lurks beneath this man's skin as he pushes you back down on the bed with a hand that engulfs the base of your throat, his gaze sharpening upon you in a way that sends a wave of gooseflesh rolling across your skin, your nipples tightening painfully. He kisses you, hard, and once more you forget everything due to this man's mouth upon you.
Through half closed lids you watch him shrug out of his shirt, tossing it in the general direction of the chair. He was not joking about the scars; your eyes sweep over his torso, your lips parted with awe, your thighs pressed in an unconscious effort to relieve some of the exquisite ache inspired by seeing him like this, a god of war finally bared before you.
You inventory the evidence of past altercations. Cuts large and small, and puckered round rosettes of flesh you can only assume must have been bullet wounds. This man has endured so much, and your heart aches for him, even as you know he must have given just as good as he got.
You fixate on a long, thick scar that leads down the center of his abdomen, disappearing into his waistband; the sight of it makes your mouth water.
He's beautiful, scars and all. Maybe more so, because of them. This man has been to hell and back– and now he's chosen to be here, in this precious moment, with you. Your fingertips itch to reach for him, to trace his contours and hollows and the evidence written on his skin that he's cheated death more than once. But he seemed to want you where he put you, and so you wait, trembling inside like a blossom waiting for the kiss of the dawn to open.
You watch as he divests himself of the gun again, tucking it into the drawer of the nightstand. You see him eyeing the lamp, considering plunging the room into darkness again, and you click your tongue in warning. “You're not shy, are you John?”
He narrows his eyes at you, though he smiles like he enjoys your teasing. “You’re not going to let me get away with anything, are you?”
“I think you're beautiful, and I want to see you while you fuck me.” Again, there's a flash of that predatory look behind his eyes, a leviathan surfaced from the depths, there and gone. It’s possible that you squirm a little, when he fixes you with that sharp black gaze, and you don't notice for a good long moment when he's finally taken off his pants, because you can't stop looking at his eyes.
“I think you’re beautiful too,” he tells you, and finally he is crawling towards you, and you can run your hands over the expanses of his powerful physique. The curves of his biceps and the plane of his chest. The ladder of his ribs and his trim waist, and the velvety hard length of his manhood filling your hand. He groans into the bend of your neck as you stroke him, guiding him where you need him most between your legs.
“I want you so much, John. I need you.”
He pulls back to look at you with the expression of a drowning man. You think you’re beginning to understand him better. That the thing he wants most deep down is to be wanted, and that maybe it surprises him, that you do. It breaks your heart a little, that he’s so taken aback by that, like he can’t quite allow himself to believe it.
He’d said he hadn’t had a happy life before Helen. You wonder what exactly that entailed. All this flashes through your mind in a millisecond before you guide him to your entrance, teasing yourself with his tip slicked delectably with your own juices. You should take a moment to grab a condom, new partner and all, but you’re on birth control, and you simply do not have the willpower to leave his arms.
He lowers himself so that he is pressing you down into the soft mattress with his body and his mouth on yours. He rolls his hips, his thick cock gliding against your folds torturously. You throw your head back, keening with need, the muscles of your pussy cramped so tightly with desire that it hurts. “Please? I’m so empty without you.”
Maybe he senses the truth in your plea. It is the thing that breaks him, unable to tease you anymore. You groan as his thick head pushes past your entrance, just a taste but god it feels like heaven. He buries his face in your neck as he thrusts, little by little until he is fully sheathed inside you.
“So fucking good,” he groans into your hair, and you hold him against you, your nails digging into his back as you hook your leg on his hip, pulling him deeper. “My good girl, taking me so well.” He rocks against you, rubbing your clit with his pubic bone as he fills you better than anyone ever has, and you are already on the edge of climax, your pussy fluttering around his length. You squeeze him inside you, winning a moan that feels like you've won a prize.
He fills you like he was made for you, and you are lost. Lost in the sensation of him inside you, engulfing you–you’ve never felt so claimed, nor, you reckon, have you ever submitted to a man so gladly.
“You going to cum for me, y/n?” With his thumb on your clit as he thrusts, hitting that perfect spot inside you, it feels more like a demand than a request, or maybe just a sure prediction.
“Yes. Fuck. John…”
You lose the faculty for higher language as your second orgasm of the night crashes through you, ecstasy ripping up your spine like a tidal wave. Maybe because it’s been a while like he said, or just maybe because he’s that into you, John loses it too as he feels the clench of your greedy little cunt milking him, thrusting deep inside you as he fills you with the hot flood of his release.
Maybe it should scare you, that you’ve never connected so perfectly with another man–but all you can manage in this moment is to hold him to you like you have no intention of ever letting him go. It feels like a long time before he rises from what the French call the little death, and how true it is. How is it possible to feel so exhausted, yet born anew?
Words seem to escape him as much as you; instead he kisses you, a long and languorous lock of lips that curls your toes all over again, your pussy clenching in answer around his still semi-hard manhood inside you. It wins you another groan that makes you chuckle against his lips.
The first thing he says to you after this complete mutual ruin is: “Imp,” and all you can do in answer is grin against his mouth triumphantly.
He’s not wrong.
The two of you barely manage to clean yourselves up before you are snuggling down into the covers together, falling into a deep sleep. Maybe it’s foolish of you, but tangled up tightly in John Wick’s strong arms–you feel as though nothing can hurt you.
Summary: Harvey visits his sister while she is studying abroad in London and is entirely unsurprised to find that old habits die hard.
Characters: Harvey Specter & Charlie Specter (OC)
Suits (Lines to Live By) Masterlist
Comfy-vember 2024 Masterlist
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The suite Harvey had booked for his visit to London had two private rooms, each with their own emperor-size bed, and yet, Charlie had spent the first night of his visit in her brother's room after falling asleep mid-conversation. Harvey had been jet lagged and in desperate need of some sleep, but Charlie had found herself with a never-ending stream of things to tell her brother and an almost compulsive need for his closeness. It was almost as if Charlie was afraid that if she didn't get it all out right then…if she didn't cherish every available moment…Harvey wouldn't be there to speak to when she woke up, like his visiting was just a dream.
Harvey was almost impressed by the amount Charlie seemed to have to say. Harvey and Charlie spoke every day now, more intentional about it than they had ever been before she went abroad. Shortly after arriving in London, Charlie had quickly figured out the time difference and the most opportune times to call her brother, making sure to place her weekday calls to Harvey's office rather than directly to his cell so she could say hi to Donna at the same time and ask to be transferred to Mike if he wasn't busy. Harvey and Charlie also video chatted on the weekends, keeping to a Sunday schedule that didn't deviate even if Charlie was traveling Europe with her study abroad friends. Sundays were sacred to the Specters, even across time zones, and Harvey looked forward to the video calls whether she was in her London flat or exploring Europe.
It was during their last video call that Harvey had told Charlie he was coming to visit the next weekend. He had business with a firm here in London and had leveraged a Thursday meeting in order to make a long weekend of it. It probably could have been a phone call, but Harvey had been eager to see his sister and more than happy for the excuse.
It was his second trip to London since Charlie started to study abroad. The first time, he had brought Donna along, but this time it was just him. They had booked only two rooms on the last visit—one for Harvey and one for Donna—assuming Charlie would want to stay in her own flat, but the girl had met them on the first night with an overnight bag and had just bounced back and forth between Harvey and Donna's rooms for the whole visit, insisting it just "didn't make sense" for her to go back and forth between their flat and the hotel. It wasn't time or cost effective.
On that first visit, Harvey had insisted it wasn't an issue to pay for a cab. Charlie had scoffed at that. She didn't take cabs in London. She walked or she took the Tube, but she hadn't been eager to engage him in that particular fight. She assumed her brother's feelings on the matter of public transport in London would be much the same as they were about the public transit in New York City.
But it didn't matter anyhow. Charlie's arguments about the ineffectiveness of traveling back and forth weren't about the merits or demerits of any particular form of transportation. They were just an excuse, something she could say to avoid saying that she had just wanted to be close to her brother and Donna. Charlie had just wanted to spend as much time in their presence as possible. Harvey hadn't gotten the message at first, but Donna had, so when booking this trip, Harvey had gotten a suite ensuring his sister could stay with him without the need of excuses.
"What are you doing up?" Harvey asked as he opened his eyes.
Charlie had fallen asleep in the middle of their conversation on the first night, but realizing how jetlagged her brother was, she had gone to her own room on the second night only to end up in his room at the crack of dawn. The sky was barely just beginning to lighten, the new day had barely even had a chance to take hold, but Charlie was already wide awake and seated at the foot of Harvey's bed with her computer open in her lap.
"Making arrangements," Charlie answered.
Harvey sighed as he pushed himself up. "What arrangements?"
They had discussed a handful of ideas for activities for the weekend, but had yet to settle on anything concrete. Donna had offered to do all of the arranging from afar, but they had turned her down, claiming they could handle it on their own. And they could, but Harvey didn't feel much like a spontaneous day trip just now.
He usually handled international travel well, but the jet lag was hurting him this time around, and all of the walking Charlie had made them do the day before wasn't helping. He needed to stretch and run and reset before they did anything.
"Well, the train leaves from St. Pancras today at 11:07. It's a little over an hour ride to Dover, and then just a 45-minute walk to the White Cliffs."
"You want to do the White Cliffs again?" he asked.
Charlie nodded. She had already been with friends from school a few weeks prior, but she knew her brother would like it. Knew there was something so special about being in that place, especially on a dreary day when she figured not many people would be there. She figured her brother could use the calm and the quiet.
"We can rent a car and drive. It'll be—"
"It's not faster to drive, Harvey," she said. "Slower, actually. And it'll be nice to walk through town.
"Please?" she added.
Charlie also liked the train because it meant her brother wouldn't be distracted with directions and navigating. They could just be.
"It'll be nice, Harvey. You'll like it. I swear."
Harvey raised an eyebrow, but leaned over to grab his wallet off the table.
"Fine, take my card and—"
"Oh, um, I already bought our tickets," Charlie answered, holding out his credit card.
Harvey grabbed it and put it away. It was more symbolic than anything. She had a matching credit card with her own name on it, but he figured old habits were hard in dying.
"Anything else you charged on there?" he asked as he took his credit card back.
The knock on the door couldn't have been timed more perfectly, nor the subsequent call of, "room service!" from behind the door.
Harvey snorted, shaking his head.
"Just a little breakfast." Charlie shrugged as she quickly scooted off the bed. "Don't worry. I know you're tired. I'll go grab it."
Harvey leaned back in the bed, listening to the sounds of Charlie making conversation with the person who brought up the breakfast trays.
Harvey waited until they were alone before getting out of bed and coming to the suite's living room.
"This is supposed to be a little breakfast?" he asked, looking over the assemblage of plates that covered the table which could easily hold 6 people.
Charlie shrugged and took a sip of her coffee. "Blah, blah, blah. Most important meal of the day and all that."
"Yeah and I'm sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you're addicted to room service," Harvey answered as he slid into the chair across from her.
"I'm not addicted to room service," she answered, pulling her legs up to sit criss-cross on her chair. "I just think breakfast is supposed to be eaten while wearing pajamas...and preferably in bed."
Harvey chuckled. "Well if you're having any ideas of that this morning, make sure you take it to your own bed. I don't need you spilling crumbs in the sheets."
"I'm not going to spill—" Charlie stopped herself as she knocked over a bowl spilling porridge across the table while reaching for a piece of fresh fruit. "Oops."
Harvey didn't bother answering, simply sipping his coffee and watching as Charlie cleaned up the mess, a self-satisfied smirk on his face the whole time. Old habits, indeed.
So I changed the request slightly to fit into my listtle sister universe, so i hope this is ok!
Word Count: 1643 M.list
Ever since the whole fiasco with Jungkook walking in on you and Chan having sex , he’d been acting weird, almost as if he were ignoring you.
Apparently things weren’t as good as he lead you to believe after the three of you talked about the situation. At least, that’s the only reason you could think of as to why he would be ignoring you.
You stared down at the unanswered messages on your phone. The word ‘read’ was almost mocking you. Scrolling back up, the last message your brother sent was a few days ago to remind you to call your mom back.
‘Hey Y/N, we’re getting back to it!’ Han called out to you from across the practice room. The other boys were mostly ready to begin practice again, so you quickly shoved your phone into your bag and ran to join, hoping to push the situation with your brother to the back of your mind.
‘Y/N! What the heck is wrong with you today!?’ Chan called out, effectively halting rehearsal after one too many mistakes on your part. The last straw was you turning the wrong way and slamming straight into Seungmin, causing the two of you to fall to the floor, slightly winded.
‘Mistakes are one thing, but stuff like this could be serious!’ Chan rushed over and stared down at you in annoyance. Seungmin had already been helped up and was claiming that he was fine, despite holding his stomach. Chan ignored him, staying focused on you. Jumping up, you immediately went into apology mode.
‘I’m sorry I just have something playing on my mind...’ You bowed your head as you spoke, staring down at your scuffed shoes.
‘Well figure it out! We don’t have time for this!’ You felt tears sting at your eyes as Chan stormed off, but you quickly wiped them away before any of the boys saw them. You knew you shouldn’t take Chan’s scolding to heart. He was still the leader after all and it was his job to make sure you were all at your best. If something went wrong, then it would fall back on him. Didn’t mean it hurt any less.
‘Y/N? Are you ok? It’s not like you to b distracted like that.’ Felix had approached you when he realised you hadn’t moved from your spot. You snapped out of it and tried to give him your best smile.
‘I’m fine! Just got distracted by my thoughts.’ Felix gave you a look but nodded slowly. He wasn’t convinced but decided to let it go for now, not wanting to risk delaying rehearsal longer and effectively making Chan angrier.
You pushed thoughts of Jungkook to the back of your mind and the rest of practice went on without a hitch, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid talking with Chan later at home.
Even though Jungkook still hadn’t replied, you felt better after having a long hot shower. You sat on your bed in your fluffy dressing gown, whilst you towel dried your hair.
‘We need to talk!’ Chan burst into your room without knocking.
‘What the heck Chan!? Ever heard of privacy?’ You pulled the dressing gown fully closed, just in case one of the other boys was walking past your room.
‘Nothing I haven’t seen before.’ He scoffed before closing the door behind him, and coming to sit next to you on the bed. He’s also showered and changed into comfy clothes too. You tried to glare as he reached up and pushed your hair over your shoulder, but you couldn’t stop the smile appearing at the gesture.
‘You’ve been really off lately... You want to talk about it?’ He shuffled closer and placed his hand on your bare knee poking from your gown.
‘It’s going to sound stupid.’ You sighed, shaking your head.
‘Hey, if it’s upsetting you then it’s not stupid.’ His thumb began stroking soothing circles on your knee. You flicked your eyes from your knee to his face. Chan’s eyes bore into you as he waited for your answer. You stared back and decided that it was probably best to get it off your chest.
‘It’s Jungkook... He hasn’t spoken to me since he came to our apartment.’ Chan’s brow furrowed in confusion.
‘but he seemed fine about it when he left?’ He was right. Jungkook did seem fine about the situation and even assured you as much, so why was he now ignoring you out of the blue?
‘so did I! But look.’ You pulled out your phone and opened your message thread with Jungkook. Chan scrolled through your unanswered messages, and got more and more confused with each one.
‘You see? He’s even read them!’
‘That’s messed up. Why would he do this?’ Chan locked your phone and threw it down on the bed in frustration.
‘I don’t know.’ You blinked back the tears you felt forming, not wanting to cry over the situation. Chan pulled you into a hug, knowing you needed the comfort.
‘Y/N please don’t cry over this. I’m sure there’s and explanation.’ Chan rubbed your back soothingly, though he himself couldn’t think of a reason why your brother would be ignoring you.
Chan had managed to convince you into leaving your room and having a movie night with the boys, hoping to get your mind off everything for a few hours.
Whilst you were laughing with Han at a particularly funny scene, Chan used the opportunity to sneak away and pull out his phone. He knew you would never approve of him talking to your brother about the issue, but he couldn’t carry on knowing it was effecting you so much.
Chan
Hey man, I know we haven’t talked in a while... But this is important.
Jungkook
Hey...
What’s up?
Chan
Oh?
So you can answer me right away but not your own sister?
Jungkook
Excuse me!?
Chan
You’ve been ghosting her.
She’s been really upset and it’s starting to effect her work.
Not cool man...
Jungkook
...
Chan
Nothing to say?
Jungkook
I didn’t realise she was upset..
I thought she wanted space...
Chan stared down at his phone in disbelief. He’d seen the messages you’d sent him so in what world did he think you were giving him that impression.
Jungkook
After what happened at the apartment, I thought she’d want me to be less protective.
Chan
Mate come on.
Maybe talk to her first.
Chan was about to put his phone away, but decided to send one last message to close the conversation.
Chan
And make sure to make it right with her. I can’t stand seeing her upset.
He then pocketed his phone, not waiting for a reply.
Chan quickly made his way back to the living room and slid back into place next to you, smoothly sliding his arm round your shoulders. You smiled at his prescience and cuddled into him, laying your head on his shoulder.
Not even 10 minutes later, you felt your phone vibrating as a text message came through. Pulling away from Chan, you checked your phone and your face paled at the notification.
Jungkook
Hey... Can we talk? Call me whenever you’re ready.
‘Um, excuse me.’ You mumbled and jumped up, almost tripping over Changbin’s legs as you scurried from the room. Chan looked on with a smile, knowing that Jungkook was doing as he said.
The other boys gave uninterested ‘hmms’ as you stood and tried to calmly leave the room.
You quietly closed your door and locked it, not wanting to be interrupted.
Jungkook answered after the first ring.
‘Y/N! I didn’t know if you’d want me to call you...’
‘Oppa, what’s been going on?’ You wanted to get right to the point.
‘Chan told me you’ve been upset so I wanted to explain myself.’ You were a little taken aback.
‘Chan talked to you?’
‘’Yeah. And I’m sorry you’ve been upset because of me.’ He sucked in a breath, as if he expected you to unleash on him.
‘Just-‘ You stopped yourself when you began to get angry. You took a deep breath and sighed impatiently. ‘Tell me why you’ve been ignoring me.’ You flopped down in your desk chair and leaned back. Jungkook sighed down the phone before answering.
‘After I burst in on you and chan... You know..’ You blushed at the embarrassing memory and Jungkook coughed awkwardly. ‘Anyway... I thought I was being to overbearing and maybe you wanted space.’ You pulled the phone away and stared at it in disbelief before scoffing.
‘Are you being serious right now Jungkook!?’ Jungkook cringed when you used his name. When you called him anything but oppa, he knew he screwed up. ‘You thought the best move was to ignore me for days instead of , I don’t know, fucking talking to me!?’ You were beginning to get angry again. He’d made you go through all these emotions, just because he was self conscious?
‘I know! I know! And I’m sorry. Is there any way I can make it up to you?’ He pleaded down the line, desperate to make things right. You once again pulled the phone away and threw your head back to stare at the ceiling.
You could hear Jungkook’s muffled word’s coming from the phone. Taking a moment to compose yourself, you lifted the phone once again.
‘If you want to make it up to me, you can start by buying me all the ice cream.’ You said, only half joking.
‘Done! Do you want to go now? We can meet up now!’ he jumped in right away with his excited ramblings.
‘Oppa it’s like midnight! I’m not going out this time of night!’ You laughed down the phone. Jungkook sighed a sigh of relief when you called him oppa again.
