Taylor observed you from head to toe with an indifferent expression on his face as you stood outside his door, your eyes puffy and red from crying, drenched from the rain. Even you didn’t know why you’re here, but when you caught your boyfriend having sex with another girl less than 30 minutes ago, the only person you felt like you could go to was Taylor.

Taylor leaned on the door frame, his eyes still roaming your body. The silence was too loud and You felt like you were under a damn microscope. Maybe he was enjoying seeing you in pain, maybe he saw it as a little victory for himself. After a long and painful silence, he finally spoke.

"What's your deal?" his voice was gravelly and cold but not entirely dismissive.

Thoughts: Jesus fuck, they're going to catch a cold. And why did they think it was a good idea to drive here during a storm. What a dumbass.

*Taylor rolled his eyes and pushed away from the door frame, making room for you to step inside. "Well come in then." He grumbled, still not entirely happy about your presence but not wanting to be a complete asshole either. Once you were inside, he pointed you towards the couch and said, "You can sleep there, if that's what you want."

Still not sure what's going on inside your head, Taylor decides to try and stay away from you as much as possible while you sleep. He doesn't want to make things any worse than they already are, so he retreats to the kitchen and starts making some food. As he cooks, he can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance mixed with... something else. Annoyance because you're here, and something else he doesn't quite understand. Maybe it's pity? He refuses to admit that out loud, so instead he decides to ignore whatever it is and focus on the task at hand: making dinner.

After some time, he finishes cooking and sets your plate down next to the couch before sitting down on a chair across from you. "So, what's the damage?" He asks coolly, not meeting your gaze. "You want me to kick his ass for you or something?"

Taylor snorts derisively at that. "Always the fucking martyr, aren't you?" he mutters, eyes still fixed on your plate instead of meeting yours. There was something about the way you said it that made him pause for a moment, however, and feel... unsettled. He shrugged it off, trying to return to his usual sardonic self. "Fine," he says eventually, "you don't want me to kick his ass? What do you want then?"

"Well, you're not going to get it here." Taylor says, sounding almost annoyed by the situation and himself. He takes another sip of his drink before setting it down on a coaster. "I mean, don't get me wrong," he continues in a slightly more conciliatory tone, "you can sleep if that's what you want... but I wouldn't count on getting much peace and quiet."

His eyes flicker briefly to your lips, noticing the plum-colored lipstick still visible even after all this time. It was an oddly sensual thought to have about someone he usually found so irritating... but there it was, nonetheless. Maybe the storm was getting to him too.

Taylor watches you sleep for a while, trying to ignore the way your soft breath caresses against his skin. Even angry and irritated, it was hard not to notice how fucking gorgeous you looked when you let your guard down like this. His body tenses when he feels himself growing hard beneath his pajamas, and he curses under his breath. Getting up suddenly, he decides it's best if he goes back to the kitchen. Maybe making some more coffee would help calm him down.

It was no secret that your enemy || Taylor had a thing for tattoos; and as he glanced down at your arm while making more coffee, he couldn't help but notice the small yet intricate designs etched into your skin. The thought of tracing them with his fingers made him even harder under his pajamas.

Grumbling to himself, he decides it's time to call you out on this whole thing. He takes a sip of his coffee before walking back over to the couch and sitting down in the chair opposite from where you lay. "You know," he says casually as he continues watching you sleep, "it's kind of pathetic that you had to come here."

There. It was out there now. The thought that maybe, just maybe, you weren't as indestructible or invincible as you liked to pretend to be. He watches your face for any reaction, but you only shift in your sleep, mumbling something unintelligible under your breath.

Taylor snorts derisively at that. "You need someone?" he repeats with a sardonic grin, eyes narrowing as they sweep over your sleeping form once more. There was something about the way you looked so helpless right now that made him feel... off-balance. His heartrate quickens, and it takes everything in his power not to reach out and touch you. "Fuck's sake," he mutters under his breath, before standing up again and taking a step back from the couch.

Maybe some fresh air would help clear his head. With one last glance at your sleeping form, he decides against trying to wake you up. You could stay here for as long as you wanted, but there was no way in hell he was sharing his bed with you... or anyone else, for that matter.

With a huff of annoyance and amusement alike, Your enemy || Taylor stomps off towards the bedroom, leaving you to sleep peacefully... for now.

Taylor growls low in his throat as he takes in the sight of you beneath him, your eyes wide with fear and shock. The knowledge that he has such power over you right now fills him with a strange mixture of triumph and self-loathing. He rolls his hips, grinding his erection against your ass as he savors the feel of your body pinned underneath him. "Don't think I'm going to fucking rape you," he snarls, "but don't try anything funny either."

His hand around your waist tightens, digging into your soft skin as he starts to move it upwards towards one of your breasts. With a vicious smirk on his lips, he gropes at the fabric of your tank top, baring your nipple to the cool air before pinching and rolling it between his thumb and index finger. "Do you like that?" he whispers, almost caressingly, watching as your body jerks under him in response.

His grip around your breast tightens almost painfully as he roughly squeezes, and then releases, relishing the sounds of your moans and whimpers. "That's because I am a fucking dominating son of a bitch," he growls into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "You like that roughness?"

Without waiting for an answer, Your enemy || Taylor rolls you over onto your stomach and yanks down the bottom of your shirt, exposing your ass to the cool air once more. He spanks it hard enough to make you yelp, and then does it again, even harder this time. His hands slide upwards, gripping your hips roughly as he drags them off the bed and toward the edge, leaving you completely exposed and vulnerable beneath him.

"You like that?" He asks, voice hoarse with desire now as his lips trail hot, wet kisses along your spine. His teeth scrape against your skin, and then he bites down, hard enough to make you gasp in pain but not so much that it hurts. "Do you want more of this? Do you want me to be gentle?"

His hands slip lower still until they're resting on the small of your back, just inches from where he knows you're aching for his touch.

Taylor groans, pleased by your request. It gives him the chance to take control in a different way, to show you that even when he's gentle, he can still make you feel good. His rough hands smooth over your hips and ass, massaging circles into the soft flesh before spreading your cheeks apart. "You want me to touch you like this?" he asks, his breath hot against the skin of your neck as he speaks.

He takes a moment to savor the feel of your ass in his hands, the heat radiating from your body, before slowly sliding one finger inside you. You gasp and arch your back, pushing yourself further onto his hand in search of more contact. With another growl, he follows suit with two fingers, stretching you wider until they're buried deep within you.

His thumb circles over your opening, brushing teasingly against your clit as he thrusts his fingers into you in a steady rhythm. "Feel good?" he asks, his voice raspy and low. You can feel the head of his cock rubbing against your entrance, demanding entry.

Taylor growls low in his throat, satisfaction rippling through him as he feels your body tighten around his fingers. With a groan of approval, he pulls back, forcing you to watch helplessly as he positions his hard length at your entrance. "You're such a tease," he whispers before slamming forward, burying himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

Pain and pleasure mix together as he fills you up, stretching you to the breaking point and beyond. He begins to move roughly, his hips slapping against your ass in a punishing rhythm that has you moaning and whimpering with each impact. His hands dig into your hips, holding you down as he takes what he wants, claiming you as his in the only way he knows how.

"Faster?" he growls before picking up the pace, thrusting deeper and harder into your aching body with every stroke. You can feel his strength reverberating through you as he takes control, claiming what is his in a primal display of dominance and lust. "Harder?" he asks, grinding against you so roughly it's almost painful, and yet you only moan louder for more. Your body tenses underneath him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you arch your back off the bed in search of deeper penetration.

"That's it," he groans, his voice rough with desire. "Give it to me." He thrusts hard one last time, hilt deep inside you, and holds himself still for a moment before slowly withdrawing, watching as your body clings desperately to his retreating length. Your wet heat spills over his shaft, lubricating him as he resumes his brutal pace, driving harder than ever before.

"Goddamn," he curses hoarsely, "I've always wanted you..." His hips snap forward again and again, each powerful thrust sending jolts of pleasure through your body until it feels like you might explode from the sensation.

As you writhe beneath him, your body shuddering with each orgasmic spasm, he growls and thrusts harder, his hips slapping against your ass in a relentless rhythm that mirrors the pulse of his heart. Your cries of pleasure only serve to fuel his desire for more; he's determined not to stop until you beg him for mercy or collapse from exhaustion.

He feels his release building deep within, felt as much in his core as it is in his cock. With a harsh grunt, he lets go, pouring himself into you in a hot, thick rush that leaves both of you gasping and shuddering with the force of their shared climax. His fingers tighten painfully around your hips as he comes to a halt inside you, his body trembling from the exertion of holding back for so long.

It takes several long moments before he can catch his breath and regain control of himself enough to speak. "Fuck," he groans hoarsely, collapsing on top of you with a tired sigh as your sweat-slicked bodies cool together under the sheets. "That... was amazing."

His fingers trail down your stomach and between your legs, brushing over your wet folds before slipping away entirely, leaving you empty and aching for more. He rolls to the side, propping himself up on one elbow so he can look down at you as you lie there panting under his touch. "You know," he says conversationally, "that wasn't really fair of me... taking advantage of you like that."

Your eyes flutter open, filled with confusion and something else entirely as you search his face for any hint of mockery or sarcasm. But all you see is sincerity, and a tiny spark

Taylor's lips twitch in a half smile as he looks at you lying there, flushed and disheveled. He knows it felt good, and the thought of that knowledge only makes him harder again despite their recent release. "Yeah," he says slowly, considering his next words carefully before finally deciding to push forward, "it did feel pretty fucking good... for both of us."

His hand reaches out, tracing a line down your cheek and neck, coming to rest on the skin of your shoulder. "But if that's what you really want," he continues in a quiet voice, his gaze never leaving yours, "you should probably go find someone else who won't just use you for their own satisfaction."

There. He'd said it. The thought of seeing you with someone else makes something twist uncomfortably in his gut, but he knows it's the right thing to say. He waits for your response, bracing himself against whatever reaction he might get.

Taylor hesitates, not sure what to say next. He wants to be honest with you... but he also doesn't want to push you away entirely. "Look," he says finally, his voice gentler now, "you can stay here as long as you need to. But when you leave..." He trails off, searching for the words that will convey what he means without sounding like a complete bastard.

You look up at him then, and there's something in your eyes that stops him cold. It's not the fear or anger or hurt that he expected to see; it's trust. Trust that he hasn't earned, but might someday soon if he can just stop being such a fucking ass and learn how to be there for you the way you deserve.

He swallows hard, the lump forming in his throat making it difficult to speak for a moment as he wrestles with his own feelings about this whole situation. Finally, he manages to force out a hoarse, "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have taken advantage of you like that." His hand moves to cup your cheek, the touch somehow both tender and possessive at the same time.

"What do you want?" he asks softly, searching your eyes for some sort of answer that will give him clarity as well as a direction forward. He doesn't know why it matters so much to him, but suddenly it feels like everything does.

Taylor's eyes narrow slightly as he listens to your answer, but he doesn't press you on it. "All right," he says carefully, "then maybe... I could help you with that." A thought occurs to him, and his lips twitch into a small smile. "Or at least try."

Without giving you time to react or object, he scoots closer, sliding one arm under your shoulders and the other beneath your knees, lifting you effortlessly until you're nestled against his chest. The warmth of his body envelops you like a blanket as he curls you into a loose spoon position against him. "I could work on some exercises with you," he suggests, "to help get your strength back up."

He holds you close, feeling the steady beat of your heart against his chest and listening to the soft sound of your breathing as it mixes with his own. It's a strange sort of comfort they share now, this physical closeness and vulnerability. And yet he can't help but wonder where it will lead from here...

Taylor hums noncommittally in reply as he continues to hold you close, his mind racing with the implications of what just happened and where it might lead. Part of him wants to push you away again, back into your own little corner where he can't hurt you or be hurt by you; the other part, the far smaller but infinitely more stubborn part, wants nothing more than to keep you close, to help you get better and maybe... just maybe... be there for you.

As if sensing his internal struggle, you shift slightly in his arms, drawing a low moan from deep within his chest as your soft curves press against him in new and intriguing ways. It's like his body is betraying him even as his heart begins to beat a little faster at the thought of spending more time with you.

He can feel your trust, your faith in him, surrounding them both like a warm blanket on a cold winter's night. The realization that he hasn't felt this sort of connection with anyone in a very long time only serves to confuse and disturb him further, making it impossible for him to do anything except hold you tighter, breathe you in deeper, and hope against all reason that things won't blow up in his face before they have a chance to figure everything out.

Taylor nods, his breath stirring the hair at your temple as he says softly, "I understand." The weight of what you've just said hangs heavily in the air between them for a moment before he continues, his voice steady but rough with emotion. "Well, I'm here now... and I want to help you get better. Not just physically, but... you know..." He trails off, searching for the words that will convey what he means without sounding like he's pushing too hard too soon.

You shift again in his arms, nestling even closer against him, and it gives him the courage to continue. "I want to be there for you," he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper as he admits it aloud for the first time. "To help you through this... whatever it is." His fingers splay out over your back, curving slightly at the small of your waist, as if trying to hold on to this moment forever.

Time seems to stretch and warp around them as they sit together like this, their breathing falling into sync once more, their hearts beating in perfect harmony. The weight of the past and all its painful memories feels almost insignificant compared to the possibility of a future with you in it.

Taylor's chest swells with an emotion he can't quite identify as he feels your smile against his skin. His hand cups the back of your head, drawing your face closer to his until your cheek rests against his shoulder. "It's my pleasure," he whispers, his voice hoarse from trying not to let himself say anything more. He holds you close, feeling like everything in his life has been leading up to this moment and that if he lets go now, it will all be for nothing.

He wants to ask what happened to you before; he needs to know so he can understand how much of a chance you're willing to take on trusting him again. But the words stick in his throat as he listens to your steady breathing and feels your heart beat against his chest, reminding himself that there is more than one way to get answers.

Without saying another word, he settles back into his pillows, pulling you along with him until your head rests on his shoulder and your body curves naturally into the shape of his. His arm snakes around your waist, tugging you even closer as he wraps himself around you like a blanket on a cold night, determined not to let anything come between them again.

Taylor smiles into the darkness, feeling his heart swell with pride and happiness at your words. He stirs slightly, nudging you gently so he can see your face lit up by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. "I'm always here for you," he whispers, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. "Always." And with those final words, he finally allows himself to drift off to sleep, safe in the knowledge that he's found someone who means more to him than anything else in the world.