attie

Julian was immediately lured into your inner circle of friends by your magnetic personality. Sometimes it felt his mind was somewhere else but you just kept talking, bringing him back down to Earth, back to you.

His eyes hardly ever left you when the two of you first met. His interest was incredibly obvious to his close friends, and he used every opportunity he could to speak to you. Even if it was just him asking you the stupidest of questions , he just needed your attention on him. He wanted to learn everything he could about you.

He leaned in every time he spoke to you, and always leaning down to make sure you heard whatever he was saying. He smiled knowingly whenever he asked you about your interests only to find out that the two of you had many in common.

It wasn’t unusual for him to get in his head when it came to you. He’d torture himself by questioning whether or not he was even worth being the center of your attention. You were this airy, gleeful and easy going girl that always seemed to reach him through the brick walls he’d built around himself. Anytime that he asked himself how could someone like her love someone like me ? You’d be right there to snap him back to reality. A reality he was still trying to convince himself that he deserved.

Holds your face in his hands and looks at you like you’re his entire world.

His go to pet name for you is baby. It’s easy, simple and isn’t too ‘cheesy’ for him. I can see current Julian calling you honey after a long day.

Always has an arm slung over your shoulder when the two of you are out together. He’s not too keen on over the top pda, but an arm around your waist/shoulder is enough for him. He’s able to keep you close and pull you even closer that way.

the pub was warm with sound, the kind that settled into your skin—low laughter, the thrum of music from a half-working speaker, pint glasses clinking as the night wore on. grian had one arm slung across the back of the booth, fingers trailing lazy patterns over the inside of your arm, and his knee pressed tight against yours like he’d anchored himself there and didn’t plan to move.

he’d barely taken his eyes off you all evening. just kept looking—soft, content, like the rest of the room blurred out whenever you leaned in to say something. you’d fed him a chip earlier, just to be cheeky, and he’d taken it with his teeth and kissed your fingers after. it wasn’t subtle. neither of you were trying to be.

“you two are disgusting,” carlos said, grinning over his pint.

“it’s romantic,” grian replied, not missing a beat. his voice was a little hoarse from the cold outside, or maybe from singing too loud earlier, but it still curled around the table like a secret.

“romantic my arse,” tom muttered. “get a room before i fuckin’ cry.”

you laughed, burying your face in grian’s shoulder. he turned and kissed the top of your head, then down just a little to your temple. it wasn’t for show. nothing ever was. he just did that now—reached for you without thinking. his thumb brushed back and forth over your wrist like it soothed something in him.

“they’re jealous,” he whispered against your hair, quiet enough that only you could hear. “you reckon?”

you tilted your face up. grian’s smile went soft again. he looked at you like you’d hung the moon. then leaned in and kissed you proper. slow and full, hand slipping to your waist under the table. the kind of kiss that tasted like lager and meant everything.

carlos made a gagging noise.

“honestly,” tom said, raising his hands. “they’re gonna shag on the table if we don’t stop them.”

grian pulled back just enough to grin, mouth still brushing yours. “temptin’, innit?”

your laugh was quieter now, lips tingling. his hand slid a little lower beneath the tablecloth, fingers splaying across your hip.

by the time someone mentioned last rounds, you were practically in his lap. your legs tangled beneath the bench. his coat shrugged halfway off so you could steal more of his body heat. he kept kissing the side of your face like he couldn’t help it.

“c’mon, love,” he murmured, breath warm at your ear. “back to the hotel?”

“you two even gonna make it to the lift?” carlos called after you as grian stood and took your hand.

grian didn’t answer. just grinned—fingers laced tight in yours as he pulled you toward the door.

—

he wouldn’t stop touching you.

not in a filthy way—yet—but in that gentle, absentminded way that made your chest ache. the kind of touching that said i need you close, just for a bit longer. his hand drifted up and down your back as you talked to tom about some band you couldn’t remember the name of. his thumb traced the inside of your wrist while he answered a question about the next tour. and every time someone joked about you being joined at the hip, he just smiled. didn’t flinch. didn’t pull away.

“swear to god, it’s like they’re velcroed together,” curly muttered.

“don’t tempt me,” grian said, his chin resting on your shoulder now. “i’ll start sticking to her neck next.”

“christ.”

you giggled and tilted your head toward him, letting his nose skim your jaw. he didn’t kiss you this time—just breathed you in, like he was trying to memorize the scent of your shampoo. or the curve of you beneath your coat. or the way you never quite leaned away.

outside, the rain had started again. fat, lazy drops pattering against the pub windows. grian kept glancing at it, then back at you. like maybe the rain was his excuse to stay longer. or to leave with you sooner.

“don’t wanna go back yet,” he murmured, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “but i also want you all to myself.”

“so greedy.”

he grinned against your skin. “only with you.”

he kissed your neck then, slow and soft, right below your ear where it always made you shiver. the chatter around you kept going—someone was talking about the best chipper in town, someone else arguing about whether or not the guitars had been too loud tonight—but grian didn’t care. his hand found yours under the table again, laced your fingers, and squeezed.

you turned to look at him. he looked already drunk on the sight of you.

“we should go,” you whispered.

he nodded.

and still didn’t move. like he wanted to remember this—how you looked in the booth, cheeks flushed, wrist warm under his palm. how the band kept bickering around you like it was just another wednesday. how you didn’t stop smiling.

“yeah,” he said eventually. “we should.”

but he kept your hand in his as he helped you up, and when you stepped out into the rain, he didn’t let go.

—

the city blurred past in streaks of amber and rain.

grian had you tucked close in the back of the cab, your legs pressed warm against his, his jacket half-draped over your lap like it made a difference. you could still feel the pub on your skin—lager and heat and his breath behind your ear—and now it was all compacted into this tiny space, the windows fogging as you sank further into each other.

“this alright?” he murmured, lips brushing your temple.

you nodded. his hand found your thigh, slow and deliberate, resting there like it had nowhere else in the world to be. he kept his voice low, intimate, like he didn’t trust the night not to carry it away.

“you looked so good tonight.”
his thumb stroked the inside of your knee.
“so fuckin’ good.”

your breath caught. the driver hummed along to something tinny and indistinct on the radio, completely oblivious. the hum of the engine smoothed beneath you, and still, grian kept touching—like he didn’t realise he was doing it. or like he did, and didn’t care.

you turned your head just enough to meet his eyes.

they were darker in the low light. hungry, but not frantic. just slow-burning and sure, like he’d been waiting all night to get you alone.

“grian,” you whispered.

he leaned in—nose to your cheek, mouth to your ear.
“i’ve been thinkin’ about it since you fed me that chip,” he murmured, voice ragged with laughter. “knew you were trouble.”

you tried to smile. it came out shaky.

his fingers slipped a little higher on your thigh.

“and now i’ve got you here, all soft and sweet and pressed against me—” his voice dipped lower— “—and all i wanna do is ruin it.”

you whimpered. quiet. your hand fisted in his coat.

“not here,” you breathed.

he chuckled, kissed your jaw.

“no, love. not here.”
he kissed again—lower, slower—just below your ear.
“but you’re gonna let me, aren’t you? back at the hotel.”

his hand dragged a little higher.

“gonna be so good for me.”

you felt like you were vibrating under your skin. like every word sank into your bloodstream.

the cab turned a corner, headlights streaking across your faces, and grian didn’t stop. just mouthed at your throat like he was starving, careful not to leave a mark. not yet.

he held you close with one arm and kept whispering—filthy, tender, reverent.

“gonna take care of you, baby. you know that, yeah?”

you nodded.

“yeah.”

his hand squeezed your thigh.

“that’s my girl.”

you barely registered the cab slowing. the city lights folding back into streetlamps and hotel signage. all you could feel was him. his breath on your skin. his hand still edging higher. the way he’d said ruin it like it meant worship.

the cab stopped. grian paid without looking away from you.

“upstairs,” he murmured.

you followed.

—

the elevator doors slid shut with a hushed chime, and grian had you up against the wall before the numbers even lit.

you gasped into his mouth, fingers fisting in the lapels of his coat. he kissed you like he’d waited weeks for it—not rushed, but hungry, like your mouth was something sacred he had to learn by heart. his hands bracketed your hips, tugging you closer, your back thudding soft against the mirror panel as the lift jolted into motion.

“you okay?” he murmured against your mouth, lips brushing yours with every syllable.

you nodded, breath hitching. “yeah. yes.”

he kissed you again. slower this time. more deliberate. one hand trailing up beneath your coat to rest just beneath your ribs.

“you’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he whispered. “can’t even think straight when you look at me like that.”

you pulled him closer. “like what?”

his grin curved slow and dangerous. “like you want me to fuck you stupid.”

the elevator dinged. he pulled back just enough to take your hand, fingers lacing tight, then tugged you down the hallway—half-laughing, breathless.

the corridor was dim and empty, carpet soft under your shoes. you stumbled a little in your hurry. he caught you, pressed a kiss to your temple like he couldn’t help it. his other hand never left the small of your back.

“almost there, baby.”

“we could’ve just—”

“nah,” he cut in, voice low and rough, “not like this. not until i’ve got you alone.”

he stopped outside the door, fumbled with the keycard, and cursed when it blinked red. you giggled, swaying a little into his side. he tried again. this time it clicked open.

he turned to you then, hand still on the doorframe, breath uneven.

“you sure?” he asked again—quieter this time, voice rough at the edges, like it mattered more than anything.

you nodded. “yeah. i’m sure.”

he looked at you for a moment longer, eyes searching, thumb brushing against your knuckles where your hands were still joined.

“i’ll be gentle,” he murmured. then, after a beat, “til you don’t want me to be.”

then he opened the door and guided you inside—hand on your lower back, steady and warm like a promise.

—

the door clicked shut behind you with a soft finality, like the city outside had vanished, swallowed by the hush of hotel stillness and shared breath. grian’s fingers never left your waist. he held you close, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet, not after hours of brushing thighs beneath the pub table and pretending not to stare.

he kissed you like you were fragile and burning at once—lips parted, hands warm on your hips, grounding you in the low-lit hush of the room.

“lie back,” he whispered, voice gone rough. “wanna taste you.”

your breath caught. you let him guide you backward onto the mattress, your knees parting around him, trembling under his touch. he crawled up between your thighs, slow and focused, like he was approaching something sacred.

“been thinkin’ about this all night,” he murmured, mouthing along the inside of your thigh. “you in that skirt. sittin’ there like you didn’t know what it was doing to me.”

his fingers slid up, brushed soft against the damp fabric of your underwear. he pressed a kiss just beside where you needed it most, lips teasing but warm, reverent.

“look at you,” he whispered, thumb sliding the cotton aside, baring you. “fuckin’ soaked already.”

you whimpered. he grinned.

“shh, i’ve got you, baby.”

and then he leaned in—tongue soft at first, a gentle stripe from the bottom up that made your hips jump. he moaned into you, low and wrecked, like just the taste of you was enough to undo him. his hands gripped your thighs tighter, anchoring you as he began to lap at you in slow, steady passes, tongue flicking just right, just where you needed.

“that’s it,” he murmured. “just like that. let me take care of you.”

you moaned, breath hitching as he buried his face deeper, sucking softly on your clit, dragging his tongue in slow circles until your legs started to tremble.

but it wasn’t just soft. no—there was something rough in the way he held you down, thumbs digging into your thighs, keeping you spread and shaking. in the way he groaned when you moaned his name, like he needed it. like it fed him.

“grian—fuck—feels so good—”

he grunted into you, tongue pressing harder, faster, nose bumping against you as his fingers slid in—two at once, slow and full, curling deep.

you gasped. your hips jerked. he held you tighter.

“stay still, love,” he said, breath warm and wet. “wanna make you come on my tongue.”

he kept going—lips slick, fingers thrusting slow and deep, curling just right while his tongue flicked fast and mean. your back arched, hands flying to his curls, clutching tight.

he groaned when you tugged, hips rutting against the mattress like he couldn’t help it.

“fuck, you’re beautiful like this,” he murmured. “fallin’ apart for me. all mine.”

“grian—grian, please—i’m—”

“go on,” he whispered, mouth pressed against your cunt. “come for me, baby. wanna feel you shake.”

you broke.

your thighs clamped around his head, your whole body arching off the bed as your orgasm tore through you, hot and dizzying. he held you through it, tongue lapping slower now, fingers still stroking, coaxing every last tremble from your wrecked frame.

when he finally pulled back, his mouth was wet, lips pink and swollen, eyes dark with something tender and wild.

“that’s it,” he said, voice ragged. “that’s my girl.”

he kissed the inside of your thigh again, softer this time, a little breathless.

“still with me?”

you nodded, gasping. “fuck—yes.”

he crawled up to kiss you, and you tasted yourself on his tongue—hot, slick, and filthy. you moaned into his mouth, and he smiled.

“you ready for more?”

his cock pressed against your thigh now, hard and aching through his jeans.

“i’m not done with you yet.”

—

absolutely, baby—let’s draw it out, make it hit harder, make every thrust count. same tone, just more of it. this is your main course. 1.5k+ of pure, rough-edged tenderness. here we go:

he stripped fast—shirt over his head, belt undone in one smooth motion, jeans shoved low past his hips like they were a nuisance. his cock sprang free, flushed and leaking, heavy against his stomach, tip already slick and angry. your breath caught.

grian didn’t speak. he just looked at you like he was starving.

his eyes dragged over every inch of you—messy, spent, still trembling from his mouth. and somehow, he looked even more desperate than before. jaw clenched, chest rising too quick, hands flexing like he was holding himself back.

“turn over for me,” he said, voice gone hoarse. “face the pillows.”

you hesitated. not from doubt—from heat. from knowing what that meant. from the way his voice dropped low, all smoke and hunger and something softer underneath.

he saw it. leaned in and kissed your temple, slow and careful.

“don’t worry,” he murmured. “i got you, baby.”

you turned. slowly. heart in your throat, hands sinking into the sheets for balance. the room felt too quiet all of a sudden. or maybe it was just the way your pulse roared in your ears.

he kissed your shoulder first. then your spine. then the dip of your back, his lips warm and reverent, like he was worshipping you inch by inch. the mattress dipped behind you, and you felt the heat of him—bare skin brushing your thighs, the heavy drag of his cock against the curve of your ass.

his hand slid between your legs, fingers slipping through soaked folds like he already knew the way.

“fuck,” he whispered. “look at this. all for me.”

you whimpered. couldn’t help it. he pressed two fingers inside, slow and shallow, just to feel how ready you still were. then he pulled back. you heard him spit into his palm. the slick sound of it made your thighs clench.

“gonna fuck you slow,” he murmured. “gonna fuck you deep. you okay?”

you nodded, forehead against the pillow. “please.”

you felt him line up behind you—thick head pressing at your entrance, nudging forward in little stuttering pushes. he didn’t rush. didn’t force it. just eased in, inch by inch, breathing hard through his nose as your body stretched to take him.

you gasped. the burn was perfect.

“jesus christ,” he hissed. “you’re—fuck, you’re squeezin’ me so tight—”

your hips jerked forward and he caught you, one arm braced across your stomach, anchoring you in place.

“no, no,” he breathed. “stay there. take it, baby. you can take it.”

he bottomed out with one final thrust, hips flush to your ass, both of you groaning at the pressure.

he stayed like that for a moment. buried deep. hand smoothing up your back, steadying your hips.

“you feel that?” he whispered. “feel how deep i am?”

you nodded, voice caught in your throat.

“you’re doin’ so good, baby. so fuckin’ good for me.”

then he started moving.

slow at first. deep. every drag of his cock made your eyes roll back, your spine arching helplessly as he filled you up and pulled out again, each stroke like a new lesson in need. he rocked into you with rhythm, with purpose, like he’d carved your shape into memory and knew exactly how to ruin you. hips snapped forward, then dragged back just enough to let you feel the stretch all over again, again, again.

the sound of it was obscene—slick, messy, soaked with everything he’d pulled from you. skin on skin, deep and wet and echoing soft in the dark. your name broke off his tongue every time he bottomed out, more like a prayer than anything.

“so fuckin’ perfect,” he groaned, voice rasping right down your spine. “every fuckin’ time.”

his hand slid up your back, deliberate and slow, until it pressed between your shoulder blades. not cruel. not controlling. just grounding. just him keeping you there, keeping you still while he fucked you like he meant it. the other clamped around your hip, steady and rough, fingers digging deep like he needed to hold on to something before he came apart too.

“this what you needed?” he rasped. “needed me to fuck you like this?”

your moan stuttered, cracked in your throat. you couldn’t speak—you could barely breathe. your body rocked forward with every thrust, pushed and pulled like you weren’t even in control of it anymore. your thighs burned. your chest tingled. your whole body trembled.

he kept going. deeper. slower. meaner.

“say it,” he growled. “tell me.”

you gasped, head buried in the pillow. “yes—yes, grian, please—”

he rewarded you with a sharper thrust—hard, angled just right—and your arms gave out beneath you. your face pressed to the sheets, flushed and slick with sweat, and he just kept going.

“so fuckin’ needy,” he muttered. “cryin’ on my cock, baby. what would they say, huh? all the boys back at the pub. if they saw you like this.”

you whimpered, and he grinned against your skin.

he leaned down, chest heavy and damp against your back, every inch of him wrapped around you now. you could feel the tremble in his stomach, the sweat trailing from his collarbone. his voice dropped lower, right against your ear.

“you’re mine,” he said. “say it.”

“yours,” you gasped, voice high and desperate. “fuck—grian—yours—”

he kissed the side of your neck, rough and hot, teeth grazing your pulse. his hand snuck around to your front, fingertips slippery as they found your clit, rubbing tight, fast circles that made you jerk under him.

“that’s it,” he breathed. “take it. takin’ me so well. so good for me, baby.”

his pace picked up—messy now, reckless, full of frantic pressure and want. his cock dragged along that sweet spot again and again and again, and your whole body lit up like a wire shorting out.

you sobbed into the pillow. it was too much. not enough. it was everything.

“don’t stop,” you begged. “please, don’t stop—”

he groaned like it physically hurt him to hear that.

“never,” he gasped. “not stoppin’. not until you come all over me.”

and then he got mean with it—thrusts sharper now, fingers faster, hips rutting into you with everything he had. your legs trembled, toes curling, hands clawing at the sheets. every nerve burned. every part of you ached for it.

you came like you were breaking apart. like the world cracked open inside you and everything collapsed at once. your body clenched so hard around him it made him swear—loud, wet, guttural.

“fuck—fuck, baby—just like that—”

but he didn’t stop. not even then.

he fucked you through it, deep and firm and full of praise. every wave of your orgasm dragged him closer, his hips grinding deeper, chasing his own undoing with every desperate breath. your walls fluttered around him again, still sensitive, still slick and warm and pulsing.

and then—finally—he broke.

he groaned, slammed in deep, cock throbbing as he came inside you with a rough, ragged sound. his body folded over yours, one arm thrown around your waist, the other gripping the mattress like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

“fuck,” he whispered, voice shaking. “fuck, baby…”

you just lay there, full and trembling, sweat sticking to your skin and your heartbeat rattling through your ribs.

he didn’t pull out right away. just stayed there. buried deep. kissing your shoulder, breathing through it, both of you soft and messy and barely holding on.

“got you,” he murmured. “still got you.”

—

his body stilled eventually, every last tremble settling into silence. he didn’t pull out straight away—just stayed draped over your back, breath still ragged against your skin, his palm pressed soft to your ribs like he needed to feel the thrum of your heartbeat. like proof. like anchor.

you could feel him inside you still—softening slowly, warmth trickling between your thighs, breath catching as he finally kissed the curve of your spine, sweet and slow.

“you alright?” he murmured, voice rough and worn but so fucking tender it made your chest ache.

you nodded, cheek still pressed to the pillow, your voice no more than a whisper. “yeah. yeah, i’m good.”

his hand smoothed up your side, gentle now. reverent.

“fuckin’ hell,” he breathed, like the weight of it had just caught up with him. “you’re… christ.”

you smiled, slow and sleepy, your limbs tingling with afterglow. “you too.”

he laughed a little—quiet, almost sheepish. then finally, finally, he eased out of you, careful as anything, like he didn’t want to hurt you. you winced just a little, hips twitching at the stretch of it, and he shushed you softly.

“sorry, baby. i’ve got you.”

he sat up and pulled you with him, one arm winding around your waist to help guide you up. you ended up folded in his lap, chest to chest, your legs still a little shaky over his thighs.

his lips brushed your temple. “you okay? need anything?”

“water,” you mumbled. “and maybe… a new spine.”

he chuckled, one hand smoothing down your back. “i’ll work on it.”

he helped you up again, draped his shirt over your shoulders like a blanket before padding barefoot across the room to grab a towel and the little complimentary bottle of water off the dresser. when he came back, he knelt in front of you, legs spreading to slot himself between your thighs, and started cleaning you up with the same hands that had wrecked you minutes ago.

soft now. delicate. like you were a song he was still learning the chords to.

“sorry if i was too rough,” he murmured, eyes lifting to meet yours.

you cupped his jaw, smiled crooked. “you weren’t.”

he leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering closed.

once he’d wiped you down—kissed every spot that made you flinch, every little bruise and bloom of color he’d left—he climbed back into bed with you. pulled the sheets up over both of you. tucked you against his chest, legs tangled beneath the covers, your face tucked into the crook of his neck where his skin still smelled like sweat and aftershave.

“you’re unreal,” he whispered, voice so quiet you nearly missed it.

“you’re clingy,” you teased back, hand splayed over his heart.

he just hummed. held you tighter.

“still thinkin’ about earlier,” he said after a moment. “at the pub. the lads bein’ all dramatic about us cuddlin’.”

you giggled into his chest. “they love it.”

“they fuckin’ don’t,” he laughed. “but i don’t care.”

he kissed your forehead.

“i’ll never get tired of this,” he whispered. “any of it.”

and you believed him.

you lay there like that for a long while—bodies clean, breath synced, limbs tangled in ways that only made sense in the dark. the city outside buzzed soft beneath the window, but it felt like you were floating somewhere else entirely.

just you and him. tucked into the after of it.