Julian was jolted awake by a hand at his shoulder.
"Jules." Her whisper was heartbreakingly raw-sounding. Her hair was down and she was in a tank top and cotton shorts.
She didn't need to say anything more. He understood immediately. Another nightmare. She needed him. He moved over to allow her into her side of the bed. He had always thought of it as "her side", even though she rarely slept there.
As she laid down, her breathing was sporadic and her eyes were full of a strange expression. It was scared and pleading and vulnerable.
He whispered little words to comfort her. Anything to take the fear out of her eyes.
"It's okay. Your okay. We're okay. I'm here. I'm here."
But he didn't touch her. He didn't trust himself.
After a few minutes she was asleep. He was sure when her breathing evened out. He looked at her face as sleep overtook her. So innocent. No different from 5 years ago, before everything changed. But physically she had changed. Her eyelashes were darker and fuller and her lips were fuller. Her cheekbones were higher and her skin tanner. Her hair draped over her forehead and across the pillow. Even in the dim lighting, it glimmered and looked like movement. He had never been quite able to capture it in his paintings, which was terribly frustrating. She was so breathtaking. So undeserving of any and all harm.
Sometimes he found himself wishing that she didn't fight. That she was somehow exempt from the dangerous duties of Shadowhunters. But then he realized how incredibly selfish the thought was. She was strong, the strongest person he knew, in more ways than one. She didn't need to be babied. But he still got an urge of need to protect her every time she got a tiny scratch, every time someone got too close to her for his liking.
Then his eyes flitted downwards. Of course her face wasn't the only thing that had changed. Her body had been developing too. It was something he noticed much more than was appropriate. Whenever she wore the tank tops that she always did, whenever they trained or fought together, he was aware of it.
Right now she lying on her side, the blanket badly covering her, which did amazing things to her figure. Her breasts were pressed together. No bra.
He bit his lip and looked farther down. The curve of her waist and hip was emphasized. Her skin looked so smooth, stretched over the toned muscles in her thighs.
As he laid beside her, he felt like a creep. Like he was committing some large sin just by allowing himself to look at her for a few seconds. Well, he was.
He tore his eyes away from her body. He was just making things hard for himself.
He forced himself to put the covers over her properly and then turned onto his other side.
The next night, all he could think about was her. He had had a long day, with all the information of the serial killer and dealing with Emma's stubbornness that he actually loved.
He stared at the spot she was in last night. His heart ached at her lack of presence.
And with thoughts of her came forbidden thoughts.
Thoughts of her flimsy red tank top that didn't cover much. He wished he could've torn it off of her. Her lower lip that stuck out slightly. He wished he could bite it. The soft skin of her long legs. He wished he could've touched it, grasped it, wrapped those legs around his hips. His brain told him to stop with his fantasizing, but he couldn't.
He had no experience with girls, but with the amount of things he had imagined doing with Emma, the things he had imagined doing to her, he was definitely not a stranger to his sexuality.
Of course he had to release the tension she gave him somehow. He had control over himself, but sometimes she got him so worked up that he was worried he wouldn't be able to hold his urges in.
So late at night, when he was sure everyone was asleep, he let himself give in and think about her.
Images of her sparked through his mind. Of her mouth. Her tongue running across her lips. Her ample chest, rising and falling as she breathed heavily during training. Her touching his skin, her warm calloused fingers sending mini jolts of electricity through his body.
His hand was now reaching down to rub himself through his pants. If only she knew what she did to him. There were times when he was legitimately worried that he'd get hard in front of her. That would be terribly awkward.
He kept thinking of her. His Emma. Her voice. When it was lightly raspy during early mornings. The gasps and whimpers she made for effect when she bantered with him. The way her face looked when she got all sweaty and flushed during fights. He wished he could make her react to him like that. He wanted to make her moan and gasp and sweat. He wanted to watch her as she came undone.
He was now stroking his bare length. He wondered if she ever did this. Alone in her room. Trying to keep quiet as she gave into her sexual desires. She must. God he'd love to watch her. Watch her hands touching herself with her hair messily plastered to her sweating face. He imagined staring at her face as her back arched while pleasure overtook her body.
He was biting his lower lip hard to keep himself from making noise. He wanted her so bad. He was suddenly angry. Angry at the fucking law. The useless, stupid law. If it weren't for that, he could have her. He could love her, he could make love to her.
His strokes increased in speed. If he could, he would pleasure her, make her forget her troubles with his touch. He could watch as her stress and nightmares faded from her mind while he distracted her with his fingers and his lips on her skin. He imagined her moaning and whimpering his name as her body trembled underneath him.
As he imagined all the things he would love to do to her, his movements increased in speed even more and his left hand gripped the sheets next to him to release some pressure.
He was close now. He imagined her doing things to him as well, her small, delicate hands, touching his chest. Then moving lower.
She'd tease him, he thought. She liked to have control. To get what she wanted. Her fingertips would just graze his skin before wrapping around his member. He imagined that it was her hands stroking him right now, trying to make his hand feel like it was hers. As much as he hated to think about it, he knew she had experience from past boyfriends. So she'd be skilled, rubbing him, teasing him, possibly using her mouth...
He couldn't help but let a grunt leave his mouth as the thought passed his mouth. His vision was going spotty. His thoughts were of her tongue, her mouth, how they would feel. How he'd be free to grip her beautiful hair. How her face would look a she's looked up at him with her gorgeous eyes, innocent yet mischievous. At that thought, he exploded, sensation rocketing throughout him. He growled her name into the empty room as he came.
After he was down from the high, he had to take a couple minutes to catch his breath and clean up the mess he made. And that's when the guilt started, just like it always did.
He should not be having these thoughts. It was wrong. What would she think if she knew that he jerked off to sexual fantasies of her? She'd probably be disgusted, think he was a pervert.
He cursed quietly to himself. What's wrong with me? As much as he knew it was stupid, he couldn't help but believe that maybe his situation was a punishment.
Punishment for killing his father, for not doing more to save him, to save his family. For making the choice to have Emma be his parabatai.
But he would never regret that. He would rather have forbidden unrequited love for her than not have her at all. She was his everything and he would never lose her.
The next morning, he got up and continued in his routine, making breakfast for the kids. He knew Emma was out jogging as she always did. When she came in and everyone gathered to eat, she was lightly sweaty and her face was flushed. Shít. He tried to will away his thoughts.
But when she used her finger to pick up a bit of whipped cream off her waffle and licked it up with her small tongue, he couldn't help but stare at her mouth, thoughts of last nights's fantasy fleeting into his mind. She glanced up at him absentmindedly and he quickly looked down. He closed his eyes and bit his lip for a few seconds to will the thoughts away.
When he opened his eyes, she was looking at him. "You alright Jules?" There was a bit of cream on the corner of her mouth. Oh God. Is she doing this on purpose?
He looked down, anywhere but at her. "Yeah, um, I—I'm fine. Just tired."
A noise startled him and he looked over to see that Tavvy's cup spilled. Julian rushed to help clean it up, grateful for the distraction.
But he still felt electricity in him. Her presence alone made him feel like he was tingling with a strange energy that wanted him to get up and do something, whether it be kill a demon or push Emma against a wall and kiss her. The feeling had been getting stronger lately, ever since he returned to LA. He told himself it was just hormones, but it felt like more.
After breakfast, they had tutoring. After a while, Emma and Julian were back to their regular bantering and Julian was happy. But he wasn't sure how much longer it would last.
When he thought about going through his entire life without ever telling Emma that he loved her, it hurt. He knew he couldn't do that. Someday, she would find out the truth. It was inevitable. He just didn't know when...
Thank you for reading! Please vote and comment if you liked!
I just had this idea in my head and so I wrote it here even thought it's 4am so please forgive grammar mistakes and overall suckyness :/
I have zero sexual experience plus I don't have a dick so idk how masturbation feels for those who do so this may be inaccurate af lol
I'm thinking of doing a part 2 (maybe Emma's version?) but only if this one can get a couple votes first :)
JEMMA FOREVER. PEACE OUT.