#Haimgruder

[girlwiththenegantattoo]

Jeb and JT images are from @plainlo-inthemorning

[aherdofbees]

The companion piece to Hoover, Nobody Does It Like You by @girlwiththenegantattoo

[plainlo-inthemorning]

Jeb Tyler: Motion Approved

Warnings: Smut. Pairing: Jeb Magruder (Gaslit) x John Tyler (Tell Me Your Secrets). M/M. IYKYK. Words: 4k

A drabble I wrote in June of last year (!), peak Jeb Tyler era, then forgot. Rediscovered it today and though it’s somewhat incomplete, I thought I’d rather let it live than sit on the dusty folder shelf.

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Two hours and 13 insufferable minutes.

That’s how long the meeting at the tiny, local community centre has dragged out, inexplicably, when Jeb slowly reaches for JT’s thigh under the table.

Half because he cannot stand being this close to his lover for this long without any physical contact (especially after the morning they had).

Half because he may collapse from excruciating boredom face first onto the plastic tabletop if he doesn’t do something drastic to jolt his senses awake. 

He never was very good at staying focused in meetings longer than thirty minutes, not here nor anywhere else. A shortcoming that didn’t exactly serve him well in his previous life.

Now, the other man stiffens in his seat as Jeb lightly touches him with the back of his hand, a single finger tapping teasingly at the sculpted muscles under JT’s khakis.

They involuntarily flex.

At the other side of the table, Mrs. Collins (whose young son has been parked in a corner, the poor child) is still making her passionate case for why they simply must put up more official signs around the neighbourhood reminding dog owners to keep “their mutts” from doing their dirty business on the (hers) manicured front lawns so that people (she) won’t have to worry about unwelcome “surprises” while trimming their (her) rose bushes.

It’s a minute and a half proposal that has somehow turned into a long-winded, indignant speech about the individual’s right and private ownership. Her cheeks have reddened with fiery fervour, her peroxide perm bouncing when she looks from one attendee to the next. 

And this on top of the similarly arousing speeches on recycling and speed bumps that went before it, delivered with just as much Shakespearean zest by Mrs. Spangler and Mrs. Altmann, respectively. 

No doubt this is the highlight of the month for all of them.

Mrs. Collins in particular ought to have become a politician, Jeb thinks, and looks down to hide his snicker, not for the first time. 

Then again, no one’s stopping her, least of all him and JT who, after just six months of small-town living, are still making every effort to be on their best, most disarmingly charming neighbourly behaviour when around the middle-aged-to-retired matrons who basically run the town like a mafia during the day.

The key to enjoying a peaceful existence is to get on their good side, to never give cause for suspicion or complaints, and Jeb and JT want to fit in.

Have to fit in if this new domestic life of theirs is to stand a chance.

If not, the road it is.

Again.

Or perhaps another country, even.

Jeb, for one, is not particularly nostalgic for the days of being fucked on worn-out motel mattresses with squeaky springs.

Crucially, acceptance from the knitting mafia equals acceptance from their spouses.

Spouses who, save for one or two, did not immediately warm to the two handsome bachelors sharing a house out of “convenience”.

But so far so good:

After moving in on a scorching hot Thursday in June, it hadn’t taken the unfailingly polite, striking gentlemen long to woo the top dogs (or should one say…? No. One shouldn’t) of the neighbourhood. Without any of them recognizing Jeb, thankfully (still, he’s going to keep the beard and slightly longer hair a little longer. JT approves).

And so here they are, patient participants in monthly meetings with their fellow caring citizens that very rarely include other men save for when an unlucky husband is dragged in to throw his “masculine authority” behind a squabble important solely to the matrons.

As much as they can, Jeb and JT smoothly avoid taking sides, and instead listen and nod and frown in great concern over the lack of bins on the corner of Keannely St. and Ellis Ave., and are thus adored by all, being fed home-baked goods and cooed over as they in return provide the eye-candy and compliments and cheeky winks that turn the women to mush.

To have two such capable, good-looking men take the matters of this little town seriously, and who want to do good for the community. Every little hungry housewife’s pride and joy.

But sometimes the clothes do not make the men…

When Jeb starts mapping little circles on JT’s thigh, well-hidden under the table, he spies out the corner of his eye how JT’s jaw tightens. 

He’s still looking straight ahead at Mrs. Collins, and Jeb knows it’s so stupid - really, really stupid - to risk drawing unwanted attention to the actual nature of his and JT’s closeness, but he cannot help himself.

Between the two, it’s rare that he’s in control, and touching JT under the table suddenly feels thrillingly rebellious. Usually, it’s JT who makes Jeb squirm in public by sneakily teasing parts that should not be teased, or worse.

Like that time in the changing rooms at the department store when …

Despite his initial protests back then, Jeb feels his cock growing hard just at the memory of JT slipping past the curtain into the small booth, as Jeb was buttoning up another pair of Levi’s (he had never owned a pair before. The fabric felt weird and youthful and like it may turn him into another man entirely). 

Jeb, fretful, already imagining that every store assistant will have seen JT enter: “Um, can you.. can you wait outside? Please?” 

JT, features completely neutral as he kneels in front of Jeb, and proceeds to unbutton the new jeans: “No.”

Jeb, panicked at the risk of exposure yet dizzy with pleasure, trying not to moan while JT gives him the (then) blowjob of his life. Fisting at JT’s short, silver-streaked hair.

JT, dark eyes locked on Jeb’s blue ones, managing to smirk even with Jeb’s cock in his mouth. “Good boy,” is what they’re saying, his wolf eyes. 

They had left the store with an unaffected air, shopping bags swinging by their sides (at the last minute, JT had picked out yet another one of his beloved short-sleeved check shirts). 

No, that is a half lie. 

JT had seemed unaffected by their dangerous little tryst. 

Jeb had been sweating profusely from both anxiety and the heat of his climax in the other man’s relentless mouth. 

Still, lust begets lust. 

And so, on the drive back to the hotel, Jeb had found himself in the passenger seat wanting more, wanting to be touched without fear of being caught until he had said as much to JT who had, without a word, made a sharp turn onto a deserted country road, parked the car, walked around to the passenger side, opened the door and basically ripped Jeb out by the collar of his trench coat.

Afterwards, while Jeb was doing up his pants and stuffing in his shirt, JT had perched himself on the hood, a cigarette balancing languidly between his long fingers.

“John?”.

“Yes?”,

“Get off my Oldsmobile”.

JT had not attempted to conceal his grin. The day was too good, the sun on them too warm.

“I think you’re the one who just got off on your Oldsmobile”.

He winked. 

A most delectable monster, alright. 

Somewhere halfway through reminiscing, Jeb’s hand seems to have found JT’s crotch on its own accord, and now JT shifts uneasily on his chair, trying to shake Jeb off. 

The latter merely leans forward a bit, pretending to look through some documents in front of him, while his hand under the table rubs over JT’s cock that is - of course - already responding to the ministrations. 

JT clears his throat and tries to cross his legs, but there’s no room, and the feeling of Jeb’s palm now cupping his hardening length is making his own hands clammy. 

He’s good at remaining calm under ‘duress’, and even better at never unwillingly advertising to the world what he’s feeling, be it physical pain, anger, or fear. Unlike certain blue-eyed individuals who cry at the push of a button. Not to mention the opening of one.

Even so, Jeb’s hands on him is making JT feel slightly out of control. It’s uncanny, frankly, the hold the former President’s man has on him. 

In more ways than one.

He wants to grab hold of Jeb’s wrist, force him down on the floor, yank his head back by that delicious, thick, dark hair, and watch him open his mouth in obedience, like JT has taught him.

But of course, JT cannot do that. 

All he can do is try to sit still as the blood slowly leaves his brain in anticipation of a release he will not get.

Oh, Jeb is going to get it as soon as they get home.

JT suppresses a wince. Now that’s a line of thought most unhelpful at containing the situation at hand. 

In Jeb’s hand.

And Jeb is enjoying himself. 

What a weird little power rush it is to make JT ache in this of all places.

Yes, there will no doubt be punishment later, but watching the corner of JT’s eye start to twitch with desperation as Mrs. Collins drones on, and the rest of the attendees are seemingly either half asleep or lost to their knitting, is making Jeb giddy.

He presses his palm firmly down on JT’s cock, then squeezes it gently, and JT gasps so sharply he has to fake a coughing fit. 

When Mrs. Spangler quickly pours him another glass of lemonade and hands it over from the other side of the table, and JT thanks her in a strained voice while still being worked under the table, a giggle escapes Jeb which he then has to pass off as a cough.

“Oh my, I hope you boys aren’t coming down with anything.” Mrs. Spangler leans across the table, not exactly elegantly, to pat Jeb’s arm. Only the tips of her red nails reach his white shirt sleeve. 

He’s her favourite. She’ll take any excuse to touch him, and Jeb loves how it makes JT roll his eyes. 

Right now, though, there will be no eye rolls. JT is clearly making an effort to not move a single muscle on his face.

We’ll see about that.

Jeb squeezes his partner’s cock harder. 

JT’s mouth falls slightly open. He has stopped blinking.

Satisfying. And enough. 

After all, JT’s light khakis won’t conceal a multitude of sins, as Jeb’s dark jeans would have been able to. 

Jeb removes his hand, and JT lets out an inaudible sigh of relief. 

The meeting goes on for another ten minutes, in which JT betrays no emotion, but Jeb knows he’s secretly seething. 

And turned on. 

It’s never spoken out loud, but in the rare instances where the power dynamic is flipped on its head - such as when Jeb has to lead the small talk on ‘official business’ with the likes of realtors or financial advisors - excitement and pride swells in JT in a cocktail of emotions commonly resolving in an animalistic need to tear Jeb’s clothes off at the earliest convenience if not sooner. 

Often sooner.

Still, Jeb has never advanced on him in this way. The audacity.

Someone keeping tap might find it quite fair, but JT is not one for playing fair, and so obstinate behaviour will be dealt with.

The hairs at the back of Jeb’s neck are already standing up when they rise from the meeting (JT without any difficulty, thank god), and he feels the air beginning to cackle with electricity between their bodies before they have even said their final goodbyes and good evenings to the matrons, who once again express their delight in the men’s “commitment” to making the town a wholesome little haven, far from the grime and the sleaze and the moral depravities of the big cities. 

“See you at church on Sunday!” trills Mrs. Altmann after them (having told them of the arrival of a new, young pastor approximately 43 times by now. “Let’s see how quickly we can make the good Father question his faith, huh?”, JT had whispered conspiratorially to Jeb when they were first informed, and Jeb had known exactly what he meant. And felt jealous. Even if JT was only joking). 

Now, JT puts the Oldsmobile in reverse, a little too roughly than warranted, and Mrs. Collins drags her chronically sullen, curly-haired son off with one hand while waving gayly with the other. 

Then they’re on the road, and none of them are speaking, and Jeb knows that something is definitely coming. 

They pull up into the driveway of their house. Their house. Sometimes Jeb still cannot believe it, while to JT, who has never before lived in a house he wasn’t afraid to come home to, number 13 Branca St. is even more. 

So much more. Something to be fiercely guarded.

Both men get out of the car, and Jeb, whose heart is beating out of his chest in anticipation of whatever lurid repercussions JT is going to concoct, is somewhat surprised and maybe a little disappointed when the man doesn’t jump him the second they enter the hallway. 

Nor does JT berate Jeb, or scowl in the menacing way he does when he’s about to explode. 

No, JT simply removes his red windbreaker and kicks off his boots, placing them nicely on the mat next to the front door (he is very strict about upkeeping a No Shoes policy in the home) and disappears without a word down the hall and into the bedroom.

Jeb can hear him turning on the light in the walk-in-closet.

“John?” 

After removing his own shoes and jacket, Jeb follows. Surely it cannot be that JT is actually sulking?

Up until now, Jeb has only ever known JT to properly sulk when he loses at a board game, or when Jeb is displaying what JT perceives as a lack of respect for the presentability of their home - i.e. Jeb being a little too careless with where he tosses his still-wet towels and used socks.

Jeb enjoys neatness as much as the next suburban male, sure. 

JT, however, is obsessed with it, scolding Jeb if he leaves an empty soda can out on the kitchen counter until the next day, or if he forgets a candy wrapper on the bedside stand. 

Jeb pushed back in the beginning, good-humouredly, but quickly sensed something else lurking underneath JT’s incessant need for keeping a clean house when a strange, shrill tone would sneak into his voice as he waved empty packs of crisps accusingly in Jeb’s face, perhaps hinting at yet another ghost from his past. 

JT’s past. 

JT’s past is a nightmarish void Jeb is rarely comfortable peeking into. But he’s even more uncomfortable with the thought that JT may turn around one day and decide to take another look himself. 

“John, what are you doing in there?”

No reply.

Jeb stands a little awkwardly in the door to the bedroom, while JT rummages around for something on one of the top shelves of the walk-in-closet (one of the first things they re-did when they moved in). 

The muscles of his broad back are visible under the brown checks as he moves, and Jeb wants to go to him and wrap his arms around his waist, and kiss his neck, and have JT punish him for behaving badly at the meeting, but he’s very unsure of JT’s mood.

Whenever JT turns truly unreadable, Jeb’s insecurities flair like a chilly mist rolling in from the sea. 

He’ll get on his knees and take his punishment. He’ll take the petty arguments, and the sulking, and the infuriating way in which JT will in one minute mock Jeb’s love of The Beach Boys, then in the next whisper every word of God Only Knows into his ear as he fucks him against the kitchen counter.

But the silence makes Jeb antsy.

However, just as he’s about to say something again, JT turns around. He’s holding a cardboard box that Jeb doesn’t remember having seen before, but which JT obviously must have kept somewhere in the closet.

“What’s…”

“Get on the bed.”

JT’s voice is calm. Even. But his stare? His stare is wicked. 

Jeb shivers with bubbling excitement. Of course, JT wasn’t just going to give him the cold shoulder. 

Still, given JT’s unpredictability, the box worries him a bit. 

“Jeb…Bed. Now.”

JT is waiting, and so Jeb goes to sit on the edge of the large bed, straightening his back as the mattress dips under him, and trying to muster as much cool as he can with JT’s eyes burning into him. 

The bedroom is one of two in the house, of course. The guest room is always ready to be presented as JT’s, should a neighbour drop by and ask for a tour.

“On your back.” 

JT is motioning for Jeb to move up the bed, and he does as he’s told. But when he reaches up to remove his tie, JT holds up a hand. 

“Leave it. Arms above your head.”

Ah.

Jeb knows what that means, and sure enough, as he brings up his arms, JT puts down the box on the mattress, then opens the bottom drawer in the dresser next to the bed. 

The rattle of the metal buckles on the leather cuffs is a familiar sound that makes Jeb’s cock throb and his ass clench. 

JT means business tonight. 

The last time they came out, Jeb could hardly walk the next day.

Despite the usual preparations, he had been almost as sore as the time they fucked in the walk-in closet on the day the realtor had shown them the house. Of course, that time there had not even been any oils, no nothing. 

Just too much fire and frustration and pent-up tension to not do it anyway. 

Since then, JT has always carried a small bottle in the inner pocket of his jacket. Not just in case, but for the many, many cases that came after. 

In theory, Jeb finds the concept of carrying something like that around downright perverse and is terrified on a daily basis that it will suddenly fall from JT’s pocket and onto the floor or the street for all to see (JT rolls his eyes at this, too). 

In reality, he’s thankful for it, as he remains pathetically unable to stop JT from making him half mad with need where and whenever JT feels like it. 

Now, JT gets on the bed too and straddles Jeb’s waist, leaning over his torso to clasp the cuffs around his wrists, and fasten them to the bedpost. 

Then he sits back on his heels and surveys his bound prey with a smirk that makes Jeb involuntarily bite his bottom lip.

“Oh, don’t look so worried, now.” JT smiles and cocks his head to the side. A hungry smile. “Don’t I always make you feel good, Jeb?” 

A rhetorical question for the present day. As for those first few, chaotic weeks all that time ago…? 

They don’t go there. 

JT’s long fingers slowly pull Jeb’s shirt free of his pants, revealing a toned midriff (he’s not wearing an undershirt today. Scandalous). The first buttons of the shirt are opened, but JT leaves it at that, instead pushing the garment up so Jeb’s chest is revealed.

Next, JT moves back a bit, and unbuckles Jeb’s belt, then his fly. The jeans are pulled down only enough to reveal Jeb’s boxers. 

It seems JT wants him half clothed for whatever session he has planned. The wolf licks his shapely lips as he looks from Jeb’s face down his chest and to his already hard cock pressing against the thin fabric, and Jeb swallows, digging his fingernails into his palms. 

His eyelids are already fluttering rapidly, as they do when he gets flustered, and JT’s smile widens as he leans forward once more, this time to place a closed fist on the mattress on either side of Jeb’s head. 

JT lowers himself down on strong arms till his face is hovering inches above Jeb’s, and the latter automatically cranes his neck up to meet his lover’s mouth.

But JT doesn’t bite this time.

“Now…my little politician who has, apparently, completely forgotten how to act in public.” His voice is slow and husky. A shiver runs through Jeb from the base of his skull to his toes. 

“Since you have a new affinity for teasing, I thought I’d indulge you…”

“What are you…?” 

Jeb doesn’t get a full sentence out before JT suddenly dips his face to play-bite at the left side of his throat, worrying his teeth over the sensitive skin, and making Jeb gasp with surprise and pleasure. 

Whispered words: “You’re about to find out.” 

Then JT is pushing himself off Jeb again, leaving entirely too much cool air and empty space behind. But before Nixon’s disgraced campaign manager can mourn his lover’s absence, JT positions himself on his knees between Jeb’s legs, pushing them wide apart, and grabbing the cardboard box that has been sitting on the mattress next to their bodies. 

JT discards the lid, and then he’s holding a thing Jeb immediately recognizes, although he has never seen one in real life. Only in one of those basement movies, that he once went to after not having had sex with his wife for eight months, and desperate for…something.

The dildo is large, roughly the same size as JT’s own cock, by the look of it from Jeb’s vantage point, and perfectly smooth. 

No life-like veins or curves. A streamlined model in a dusty purple (it must have been the only color, or JT would never have chosen it). 

With a cord attached. 

Why is there a cord attached? 

When JT puts down the box, Jeb sees why. 

As JT is holding the dildo in his left hand, thumb rubbing idly up and down the polished form, in his right hand, at the end of the cord, there seems to be a…remote. 

Oh, god.

Electricity? Is that even safe? 

Jeb fidgets, but with JT between his legs, and his arms bound above his head, he cannot move far. 

“John, is that…is that an approved, um, electric appliance? I really don’t think it’s advisable to, um, to…”

JT interrupts him. 

“Quiet. How amusing that you’d think you have any say in this.”

He flips a tiny button on the small, black remote. The dildo starts vibrating in his other hand with a low humming sound that reminds Jeb a little too much of a dentist’s drill.

“You’re going to lie there, Jeb, and don’t speak, and take what’s coming, until you’ve learned your lesson.”

JT is already enjoying himself immensely.  

“But John, really, I just…” Jeb’s voice has gone up to a pitch some might qualify as whining (many have), and JT’s eyes dance with delight at the sound. 

“I said no speaking, Jeb. Not until I allow it. If you cannot follow that simple instruction…” JT glances at the dresser.

The leather cuffs are not the only piece of ‘equipment’ stored in the drawer, Jeb knows. And so he holds in his protests and only squirms when JT proceeds to use the tip of the vibrating dildo to draw slow eights from Jeb’s stomach and up his chest, as if JT were a tattoo artist mapping out a design.

It tickles horribly, and Jeb can’t keep from thrashing on the mattress when JT, wearing an evil little smirk, drags the dildo down Jeb’s ribs on his right side. 

He’s got goosebumps all over, and wherever the dildo touches his skin, the vibrations send little, not entirely unpleasant waves of sparks through his nervous system (and it is, truly, a very nervous system).

As JT moves back up to circle the areola, Jeb throws his head back and closes his eyes, trying not to moan too loudly as it’s exactly what JT wants.

But when the tip of the dildo makes light contact with his already hardened nipple, the vibrating sensation is too much and a much too lustful gasp leaves his lips as his eyes fly open again - just in time to see JT regard him with a look that tells him he’ll most likely be screaming into a pillowcase before this ‘session’ is over.

JT presses the length of the dildo flat against Jeb’s right nipple, and he keeps it there as he puts down the remote control and instead places his other hand over Jeb’s cock that is now straining to escape the waistband of his boxers. 

Jeb tries to thrust his pelvis upwards into JT’s hand, hungry for friction, but JT shakes his head. “No, you don’t”. He removes his hand. Then the dildo from Jeb’s chest. 

JT turns it off and the bedroom suddenly seems ominously quiet without the electrical hum.

He bares his canines.

“I think we ought to flip you over after all, hmm?”

Jeb swallows. Again.

That was quick.

His hands are untied. He is flipped on his stomach. His pants and boxers are pulled down.

Jeb wants to tell John to just take it all off, that it feels humiliating to be half-clothed like this, but he also knows it’s part of the game. 

JT could easily remove his clothes. But where’s the fun in that when he can have Jeb sweating through a nice white shirt?

“Now, Jeb … can you say please?”

…

“...Well?”

“... please”.

“Please what?”

“...please punish me”. 

“Good boy”.

The humming resumes. 

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Thank you for reading!

Masterlist

[agirlinherhead]

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas.

Jeb X OFC 18+

The first part of a two shot Christmas special, set after 68 Days To Save A Life. 🎄

"For all the noise and laughter, the clatter of service trays and clinking of glasses and the soft rhythmic crooning of not too far away music, Jebs' world is oddly silent when the realisation hits him.

Here?

In the coat closet?

She wants to do what??"

Just a disclaimer: I've had this sat in drafts since Aug/September waiting with Christmas in mind.

[sharkaiju]

I couldn't really get into Gaslit personally but seeing Jeb get grabbed by the guiche by Gordon Fucking Liddy has been the highlight of my night, not gonna lie

[ebiemidnightlibrarian]

I was tagged by @everythingbutresolved to reveal my wip folder! Thanks for the tag 💙!!

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it.

(the ones that have a "*" probably will have their names changed)

So… This is…uh, it will get a bit long because I have no self-control…

That being said, Huh Hrm:

Cornucopia — Father Paul x OFC (MM)

One Way or Another — John Tyler x OFC (TMYS)

If I Give My Heart to You — Brice Catledge x OFC (Magic in the Moonlight)

A Place to Hide — Jim Ellis x OFC (The Stand)

Young American — Haimgruder x OFC (Gaslit)

Dear Old Friend — Leonard Kirk x OFC (Fantastic Four)

Shiver — John Tyler x OFC (TMYS)

Cherry pies, Champagne, and Ashes — John Joseph Jacobs x OFC (Pushing Daisies)

A Dangerous Thing — Jerry Dantana x OFC (The Newsroom)

Bella Notte — Evan Grant x OFC (Ugly Betty)

Somethin' Stupid — Andrew Keanelly x OFC (The Crazy Ones)

Tonight You Belong to Me — Ralph Branca x OFC (42)

Strawberries & Cigarettes — Tim x OFC (One More Time)

Alone and Forsaken — Martin Kidd x OFC (Dead for a Dollar)

Wicked Game — Noah Bearinger x OFC (Paper Year)

She Sells Sanctuary — Henry x OFC (Lola Versus)

Evil Within — Dark! Father Paul x OFC (MM AU)

The End of the World — Tom Spangler x OFC (Ithaca)

A Freudian Slip — Matthew Kimble x OFC (TNAOOC)

Male Fantasy — Dark! Andrew Keanelly x OFC (The Crazy Ones)

Cold Light, Hot Night — Miles x OFC (You Can't Say No)

In the Calm Sea of Madness — Clark Debussy x OC (Legion AU)

Out of the Woods — Lysander x OFC (A Midsummer Night's Dream)

Pictures* — Jason x OFC (The Future)

Little Things* — Porter Collins x OFC (The Big Short)

Bluebird — Andrew Keanelly x OFC (The Crazy Ones AU)

Turn Off the Light — David Turner x OFC (Groove)

Love (ain't always a good thing) — Benjamin Conway x OFC (10 Things Se Should Do Before We Break Up)

My Strange Addiction — Evan Grant x OC (Ugly Betty)

High Tension*— Ralph Branca x OFC (42)

Animal Attraction — Miles x OFC (You Can't Say No)

In the Dark — Dark! Father Paul x OFC (MM)

Space Oddity — Cal Zapata x OFC (Battleship)

The White Room* — Maynard Spencer x OFC (The Nickel Boys?)

Sanctus Sanguis — Dark! Father Paul x OFC (Part I of The Blood You Spill in My Garden - MM AU)

Exilium Carmen — Dark! Father Paul x OFC (Part II of The Blood You Spill in My Garden - MM AU)

Noli Timere — Dark! Father Paul x OFC (Part III of The Blood You Spill in My Garden - MM AU)

Night, Night, Sleepyhead — Matthew Kimble x OFC (Part I of Maybe I Could Hold You - TNAOOC)

A Carol of the Bells — Matthew Kimble x OFC (Part II of Maybe I Could Hold You - TNAOOC)

Hot is the Night* — Matthew Kimble x OFC (Part III of Maybe I Could Hold You - TNAOOC)

Sanguis Lunae — Henry Prescott (Werewolf!Haim!OC) x OFC (Original Work)

I also have 4 AU's that I wouldn't out here because I'm still struggling with them (2 ARE crossovers and it's been AGES since I wrote one, so I'm trying to see the best way to write them) but then I said "fuck It", here are my children:

Of Attics, Mysterious Strangers and Ghost Stories — Joe Keller x OFC (Monsterland AU - Rework)

Unnamed (70s Pornstar AU) — Miles x OFC

Unnamed (Midnight Mass x Fright Night (1985) AU)

Unnamed (Catholic Boarding School AU) — Midnight Mass x Fright Night (1985)

Tagging @chronic-ghost @aflockofbees @pegplunkett @catholicfacade @madsmilfelsen and if you haven't been tagged yet, consider this your tag, I'll love to see what y'all have been cooking!

[cmloweart]

Happy Birthday to the man, the myth, the legend. Hamish Linklater!!

Here’s a summary of the fanart I’ve finished so far this year. I was really hoping I’d have the John Tyler collage finished by now, but I’m having to put it on hold due to other projects. I’ll get back to him soon though. <3

[purple-fig]

My baby girl Jeb Magruder

[pegplunkett]

shall we?

Long Hot Summer

part one | part two | part three

ao3 link here

pairing: haimgruder x ofc val

word count: 2653

rating: I mean. come on now. it's blorbo. (so 🔞)

Jeb shakily lit his cigarette and sank down on the step outside his kitchen, overlooking the back yard. He ran one hand through his hair, still damp from the shower he had just taken. The clothes he had been wearing were running through the washing machine as he sat and smoked in darkness. He could hardly leave those pants in the laundry basket for Gail to find, after.. after what he did. What he and Val did. Val, Jesus, just when he thought there were no more surprises left in the day, she had blindsided him with that statement about her political views. She was a Red, basically a commie for fuck’s sake, surely he couldn’t be seen with her, even as a neighbour.

As for what they did, well.. he did have his hands on her at one point, albeit over her shirt. And she didn’t actually touch him really, if you thought about it. The feelings of guilt were certainly there, but Jeb wanted to be clear which parts of the evening they applied to, exactly. They did kiss, and he didn’t stop it. He didn't stop anything else, for that matter and that was certainly wrong of him. He’d have to talk to her tomorrow. To tell her that this… whatever this was, that it couldn’t happen again. Yes, he’d knock on her door in the morning and put an end to it. It would all seem perfectly ridiculous in the cold light of day for anything like that to happen again, he was certain. 

A light switching on next door caught his eye. Val’s bedroom window. He was sitting in the dark, the pinpoint orange glow of his cigarette the only thing that might give him away. The angle of his view from where he sat meant he couldn’t see directly into her room upstairs, but he caught the flash of her hair as she moved around. When she stood at the window to pull her curtains closed, Jeb could see that she was in a longer t-shirt now and.. oh.. that seemed to be all. He shouldn’t be staring like this. He should put out his cigarette and go back inside. When she reached up to close the drapes, the shirt she was wearing rode up and he could see her black underwear, the tops of her thighs and just a hint of her stomach. Despite everything he had just told himself, desire flooded through him at this clandestine glance of her body. He was a voyeur. He should be ashamed. But all he felt was longing.

_______________________________________

The following morning, Jeb took a deep breath and knocked on the door at the back of Val’s house. He exhaled slowly and steeled himself in preparation for seeing her again. What had happened yesterday felt like some kind of fever dream. Now that he had a reasonable night’s sleep, a shave and freshly laundered trousers hanging up in his wardrobe, it was time to draw a line under all of this. He was ready.

There was no answer at the door. He knocked again. This time he heard Val calling from inside. ‘It’s open!’ 

Jeb pushed the door and stepped into Val’s light-filled kitchen. ‘Uh… hello?’

‘Jeb Magruder!’

Val popped into view, holding a paintbrush. She was wearing slightly oversized navy coveralls with the sleeves rolled up and her hair was tied up with a bandanna. There was a smudge of yellow paint on her left cheek. She looked like the factory worker woman on those posters from during the war. Jeb remembered being a kid, and how he used to feel a strange sort of guilt when he looked at that woman for too long, for the way he’d feel a tightening low in his gut that he didn’t fully understand at the time. And now here was Val, standing in front of him, offering him coffee in her kitchen, a 1972 version of that woman brought to life that had him feeing that way all over again, only now he understood his reaction to her all too well. He thanked her for the coffee that she handed to him and shuffled his feet where he stood, unable to meet her eye, suddenly unsure how exactly to approach the topic of their… how should he put it… indiscretion. 

‘Valentine, Val, I um-’

‘Valentine? Uh oh, am I in trouble, Jeb?’ A mischievous grin lit her face.

Jeb ran his hand through his hair and huffed out a small laugh. ‘What? Of course not, I just.. I think we need to stop, ah, this.. this um…’ He waved his hand between them as he tried to articulate his thoughts, but his determination was wavering by the second.

Val boosted herself up to sit on the kitchen counter and leaned back on her hands, watching Jeb as he tried to find the words. 

‘What do you want, Jeb Magruder? Actually, really want?’

Jeb seemed to give up on trying to finish his sentence and visibly sagged. He ran his hands through his hair again and finally looked at her, meeting her gaze properly for the first time since he’d knocked on her door. He wanted her, he wanted this, but how could he say any of that?

‘Do you want to touch me, Jeb?’ Her voice was gentle. 

Jeb opened and closed his mouth, and nothing came out. This wasn’t the plan. Val unbuttoned the front of her coveralls and leaned back again, leaving everything in place, just revealing a line of bare skin down the middle of her torso. It was clear, even to Jeb that there was very little clothing, if any at all underneath it. He could feel his heart racing and knew that he should turn and walk out the door. Instead, he took a hesitant step forward, his hands briefly raising and then going back to his sides.

Val reached out to cup his jaw, the gesture so soft that he sighed, leaning into her hand, his eyes closing. He was painfully aware how long it had been since he’d been touched with affection and he could feel the familiar sting of tears beginning. He moved forward again until he was standing between her legs and felt a tear start to roll down his cheek. Before he could dash it away in embarrassment, Val gently wiped it away with her thumb.

‘Jeb. Honey. You can touch me. I want you to.’ 

She lifted her face to his and kissed him. Jeb leaned into her kiss and deepened it, lips parting, tasting her tongue, his hands snaking around her back. When he pulled away, Val was watching his face with a ghost of a smile on her lips as his gaze fell on her open coverall suit. His eyes met hers again and Val nodded at him in encouragement. Jeb slid his fingers under the rough fabric of her open suit and brushed the silky skin of her full breast, hardly daring to believe how soft and warm she felt. He ran a thumb over her pert nipple and Val bit her lip while Jeb gently caressed her. His other hand reached in too and now he was palming her exposed breasts slowly, almost in wonder. Emboldened, he dipped his head and licked at one of her nipples, before taking it in his mouth. 

Feeling his lips on her heated skin like this made Val shiver and she moaned quietly when he started to suck while gently pinching her other nipple between his fingers. She reached her hand into his thick hair and raked her fingertips along the back of his neck. She wanted him so badly it was making her crazy. It had started out as a silly challenge to herself but now that his mouth was on her tits there was no way he was leaving this house without fucking her. She’d hoped he’d come back today and now that he had, she was going to make the most of it, before he started overthinking things.

‘Oh Jeb, that feels so good,’ she breathed. 

He looked up at her, eyes wide as always. ‘Really?’

Val giggled. Oh god, this man. ‘Yes, really.’

She pushed him back a step and pulled her suit open the rest of the way, spreading her legs even further. Val took his hand and guided it down the front of her coveralls and into her underwear. She pushed his fingers between her thighs until he could feel the slickness that had gathered there, relishing the gasp that escaped him, his look of astonishment as his fingertips slid between the lips of her pussy, making her squirm with delight.

‘See, Jeb? Look how wet you’ve made me.’ 

Val moved Jeb’s fingers along her entrance and then pulled her hand away, now that he was getting the idea. She leaned back as his long fingers explored and when he finally slipped his middle finger into her, Val moaned again. 

‘Oh god, that’s it.’

He kissed her, deep and hungry as another finger entered her and Val gasped. ‘Oh fuck, Jeb, yes.’

He was breathing heavily into her neck and Val ran her hand over the front of his pants, to feel him hard as a rock underneath. Jeb shivered as she ran her fingers along his straining cock.

‘Let’s move to the couch,’ she murmured, and Jeb pulled away from her.

Val took his hand and raised it to her mouth, looking him square in the eye as she ran her tongue along his fingers and wrapped her lips around them, tasting herself. Jeb’s mouth had dropped open and he looked like he was about to pass out, so she released his hand with an impish smile, leading him over to the sofa. 

Val sat Jeb down and knelt on the floor in front of him. She undid the front of his trousers to find the tip of his cock had strained above the waistband of his briefs, so she pulled them down enough to release it and she could swear Jeb was holding his breath. She had a feeling he’d be big, given his height and build and his huge beautiful hands, and Val was delighted to be proven correct. She wrapped her fingers around the base of his shaft and ran her tongue along the underside, before circling the tip, watching his face the whole time. His huge blue eyes stared down at her, until she sank her lips as far down his length as she could and hollowed her cheeks as she sucked. This time when she looked up, his head had lolled back against the couch and his hand was on his forehead.

He had thought about it, that first night when he stroked himself in the bathroom, imagining Val doing exactly this, but he had never thought it would actually happen. It had never happened to him before, after all. He knew that people did this type of thing of course, he had seen a few stag movies in college and he knew for a fact that some of his colleagues had attended parties where these things happened. But Jeb was never invited to those types of parties. And now here was Val, beautiful Val with her beautiful lips on him, and oh god, her mouth was so warm and wet and Jeb had never felt anything like it. He watched her head bobbing up and down, her tongue licking circles that made him feel light-headed with arousal, and he suddenly panicked that it would all be over far too soon. Val must have been able to read his face perfectly, because she released the tip from her mouth with a wet pop and stood up. 

‘I want you inside me, Jeb,’ she said, shrugging out of the coveralls and letting them fall to the floor.

She shimmied out of her underwear and kicked them aside, and Jeb took in the glorious sight of her naked body. The swell of her breasts, the way her waist dipped, her soft stomach, she was incredible.

‘Thank you, you’re not so bad yourself,’ Val smiled, and Jeb realised he must have said the last part out loud.

Val joined him on the couch, straddling his lap and took his face in her hands, kissing him ravenously. His hands travelled down her back, along her waist, he gripped the soft flesh of her ass, he wanted to touch her everywhere, all at once, it was overwhelming, and when she moaned into his mouth, Jeb couldn't believe he was the one eliciting these sounds from her. Val broke the kiss to raise herself up on her knees and reached down for his cock, rubbing the swollen head against her slick entrance and then slowly started to sink down along his length.

Jeb watched, hypnotised, as the lips of her pussy stretched around him, swallowing his cock. She had closed her eyes as she took him in and Jeb watched the soft shapes her mouth made as she adjusted to him, the rise and fall of her chest and he cupped her breasts in his hands as he bottomed out. She felt so tight around him that he gasped quietly and he realised that she was moaning softly at the sensation too. She didn’t move and neither did Jeb, suddenly afraid that something might break the spell. He could feel his cock throbbing inside her, the exquisite velvet heat of her. But then Val opened her eyes and that wicked grin of hers spread across her face and she started to move.

‘Oh, Jeb,’ she gasped, as she started to grind her hips against him. He was filling her so deliciously and his slightly slumped position on the couch made the angle just right for her, the pulse of his huge cock hitting all her switches until colours flashed behind her eyelids. Pleasure swelled through her limbs and Val raked her fingers through Jeb’s hair, that gorgeous glossy fucking hair, now so dishevelled and sexy. His mouth was on her again, licking and sucking at her nipples, his hands squeezing her tits, then grabbing her ass, pulling her into him, deeper and deeper until Val could feel every inch of him as he started to buck his hips against her, fucking her with an intensity that both surprised her and sent sparks crawling up her spine. Jeb’s eyes blazed with desire, and she could see sweat trickling from his forehead. 

‘Fuck, Jeb, you feel so good, oh god you’re so big.’

Val could feel a coil of pressure building deep inside her and Jeb tightened his grip on her hips, fucking her even harder, frenzied, feral, like he was finally letting go of something.

How was this happening? How was he inside this gorgeous woman, and making her feel so good? He watched in amazement as her tits bounced while they fucked, and Jeb knew that he was close, and that even if the President himself was banging the door down there was nothing that would stop him now. There was only her. 

‘Oh my god, Jeb, I’m gonna come, you’re gonna make me co-’

Val cut herself off with a cry and threw her head back in ecstasy. As her cunt clenched around his cock and she surrendered to her climax, Jeb’s entire body shook as he spilled inside her, the release like nothing else he’d ever experienced. The high that rolled through him was deeper, more intense than any other orgasm he’d ever felt, and when he looked up at Val’s beautiful face, her soft features, smiling down at him as she brushed her hair away from her face and wriggled in giddy, exhausted bliss, he knew nothing was ever going to be the same again.

Maybe commies had some good ideas. After all, it couldn't hurt to listen.

[everythingbutresolved]

Super impressive how you cranked out the #hotJebsummer prompt, I need to take a page from your book.

Since I absolutely love the rain could I chose #28?

It's still Hot Jeb Summer!

Sometimes you want to write poetical stuff, pour your soul into words and find a meaning to your shattered existence.

Some other times, you just want to give your imaginary blue-eyed himbo some self-esteem and a B.J.

Guess which one I picked this time.

Thank you for the Prompt Request! If you want more don't forget to ask me any time, I'm having a blast, this is the LIST

A sequel to Underwater.

Summary: The one that went away is finally in your hands. You decide there and then he won't go anywhere. Unfortunately (?!) your babe is a decent guy, not totally turned to the dark magic of politics, and has still a conscience. Angst ensued.

Words: 6.621

Characters: Jeb Magruder (fictional republican himbo and official HamFam babygirl) /OFC (You)

Warnings: this is the longest smut sequence I've ever written. Jeb seemed happy though. #oral sex #language #extramarital affair #binging #angst

Dancing In The Rain

Read it on AO3 or under cut

“All the things that I ran from

I now bring as close to me as I can

Gripping hotel sheets with gritted teeth

My montage of lost things

My shining trinkets of grief

[Chorus]

Why don't you give me a call?

Open my mouth, yes, I'll take it all

And all this work gone to waste

You made me climb, then you shut the gate”

Florence Welch, “Prayer Factory”

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

The rain was pouring down since dawn, a summer storm ahead of the weather forecast, and everyone was idling around the main hall or downstairs at the pool bar, drinking cocktails laced with gin or bourbon bought at the store, ice cubes clinking in the tall glasses. The clouds had materialized two days before, an ominous presage of your mood to come: little upright puffs at first, like puffs of smoke from a locomotive starting its run around the horizon, then clouds, increasingly structural and opaque, castles, continents that, overhead, grew as they moved keeping the sun behind them. Waiting for the gaps of sunshine between the clouds was the game for your mother, back and forth from the beach with parasol and crosswords folded in her hands, and for you was like waiting for Jeb to be alone for more than five minutes. The clouds blew eastward, so did Jeb, after only 24 hours since you put a last kiss on his sundried lips, “an emergency” having ensued with Gail’s flight, leaving you transfixed by the swathe of western advancing gold igniting the roofs of the cabins filled with bored families and screaming children. The gaps between the clouds closed quickly over your head, and as you watched the maroon Oldsmobile spatting tiny drops of oil on the gravel road that led towards the state highway, you felt the first raindrops wetting your eyes, mixing with angry tears.

You haven’t talked to Jeb, not really, besides the family chatting, since your first encounter and subsequential intimate “reconnection”, and you were starting to lose your mind out of frustration.

Apparently, no one had objected when Jeb had returned to the beach without you, having preferred to take separate paths so as not to arouse suspicion (as if your mother hadn't already activated her bullshit radar), and you had spent the next two days busy with all the recreational activities organized by your family - from boat trips ("Look Jen, a dolphin!" "…It's a dead seagull, dad") to endless hours with old Dean Martin, Tony Bennett, Rudy Vallee and Perry Como records echoing in the incongruously huge hotel lobby.

It was, with all due respect, as boring as you can imagine it.

And there you were waiting, the second (third?) Shirley Temple getting warmer in your glass, listening to your mother’s endless chatting (God, does she ever stop?) haunted by the memory of Jeb’s hands, his beautiful, warm hands, clenching and unclenching while he couldn’t look at you in the eye, in the guilty intimacy of his room. Sighing quietly, you had sipped from the nauseating cocktail, letting your mind go rerun the events of less than 48 hours earlier. The heat. The excitement. The foolishness of it all.

...Closing your eyes the first thing you saw was the expression on Jeb's face, all the way from the seashore to the cabin, a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions -a wide grin giving way to a frown, then incredulous, then ecstatic as he gawked at you, then plain, and finally grimly worried.

You've done it big this time, Jen, look at him, he's having a nervous fit.

From the moment the door had closed behind you, your hands had moved on their own, trailing up the long rise of Jeb's arms until they curled around the nape of his neck, his wide eyes fixed on yours accompanied by short, labored breaths. If only you had been a hair taller you could have swept the disquiet out of his eyes, but there was no way you could lift yourself off the ground as you were unless he decided to curve his impressive height and close the distance that separated you. All over you, the salty water drying up leaving white streaks on your skin, and Jeb was so tense that even the muscles in his shoulders seemed about to snap at any moment.

Both of you were standing in the cool shadow of his cabin where you found shelter, exchanging sloppy kisses, accompanied by shivers and clumsy grabbing of wet hair. You were almost embarrassed to admit to yourself, but you had the unnerving feeling that if you had let Jeb go at that time, you would not have had another chance to touch him again, and god if you wanted to spread yourself all over him.

And the previous hour, the most amazing sex you had in years with nevertheless your old teenage crush, would have been just one more piece in the pile of regrets.

You smiled up at him and his whole body loosened for a minute, a gleaming light peering through the cracks of his worried façade, and you were missing his lips more than anything you ever wanted in the past 6 months. But even more than that, as you felt the heat pulsing in your veins, you couldn’t resist unlatching one hand to roam it all over his torso, still damp and slightly cold, to lay a constellation of kisses wherever you could twist your neck.

You heard him sigh and two arms wrapped around your torso, tightening against his so that the heat of both was trapped between your bodies, your back still aching from the exertion of hanging on the rocks back in the sea.

You found yourself unable to move but wouldn't want it either, and relaxing your muscles against the solid surface of his skin you let your head limp against his chest.

The light coming in through the window made the atmosphere almost dreamy, except that you could feel Jeb's erection beginning to press against your stomach.

A very good sign, as far as you were concerned.

You could almost feel his skin heat up from suppressed arousal, and perhaps a little embarrassment, as he had muttered an "apologies", but squeezing you even tighter.

“What are you apologizing for? It was amazing…and a tiny bit crazy…and for a moment I really thought you were going to drown”

You giggled, a little unease since the grip showed no sign of abating.

“But it’s something I will tell my great-granddaughter as -the day Grandma seduced a merman - she will be thrilled to have a cool gran”

You crooked your neck to wink and peer Jeb’s expression but reached up only to his lips, twisted in a slanted smile. Salted drops trickled on your brow and nose, and you thought it was just residual seawater dripping from Jeb’s hair until the firm embrace began to shake you in short, light sobs.

Jeb was crying, literally drenching your face with tears, like a gigantic toddler tugging at his plush toy.

“I’m…so sorry…I can’t…I shouldn’t have…Forgive me, I took advantage of you…I…you…”

Oh boy, a crier, and guilt-ridden sniveler so.

That you didn’t see it coming.

He kept squishing you so hard you started having trouble breathing properly, and as much as you were a tiny excited by this involuntary show of strength (any other time you would have been delighted to be thoroughly engulfed and rendered limp and pliant by that oversized body) this crisis had to be addressed now and there before it evolved into a disastrous confession to the waiting wife.

Shit, Gail. Now it was your turn to feel like the neighbor’s tramp.

The reality was that you had just wooed, with no extenuation, a married man, as far as you knew, happily so. A grown man with a career, about to start a new job, a house, some undoubtedly-adorable children. Not the boy you were flirting with by the pool, it was a man in an obvious state of confusion who was about to crush you between increasingly loud sobs.

The same man who had followed you into the water unabashedly and who you had jerked off with slutty enthusiasm, and who had just as enthusiastically eaten your very cunt until you came in the most exhilarating orgasm you had experienced in months - if not years.

...a man who had his incredibly hard cock pressed against your navel, throbbing and quivering as if he might come at any moment with the lightest touch.

A man who exuded a salty, musky smell that made your head spin and your mouth water.

A man who needed an injection of calm and tranquility. For the benefit of both, of course.

Diving out of his embrace just enough to look him in the face, you tried to summon your most assertive voice to interrupt the stream of half-assed excuses and babblings.

"Jeb, BeeBee, look at me."

The old nickname had succeeded in interrupting the maelstrom of words and tears, blowing open the large blue windows of his eyes, damp with tears, and locking onto yours. The confusion and terror in his gaze had made you falter for a moment, but it had also confirmed your suspicion from the first moment you had seen him in your father's office. After so many years, Jeb was still a little boy afraid of disappointing those around him yet lacking enough willpower to admit his own desires. A tight fit had shut down your stomach, and your whole body wanted to cuddle the beautiful child trapped in the body of the man who was burning your skin with desire.

What a mess.

The most surprising thing was that your problems, now, seemed so far away, as did the reality beyond the room's battered door.

You would have done anything to give him some of the self-esteem he so desperately needed. Pacing your words carefully, you had fixed your gaze on Jeb's, trying to sound as persuasive and confident as possible. The same tone you had used with your parents to explain that no, the marriage was off, and yes, the decision was final. It had worked well then, and you hoped it would work well now.

"I'm a full-grown woman, not a little girl, Jeb. Like you are. Adults who know how to discern the weight and consequences -- or non-consequences -- of their actions. I have no intention of wrecking your marriage or flaunting to the four winds the fact that I seduced - I DID seduce - a married man. My family would definitely cut me off this time and probably for a long time. That said..."

The moist blue eyes did not leave yours for a minute, but it seemed that the steady stream of tears had stopped, for the moment. Long fingers pressed and released against the skin of your back, in a quick grab-and-go that signaled latent nervousness.

"....this, Jeb, doesn't mean we can't take some time to tick off a few things if you want to, and something tells me that in spite of everything you agree with me."

Instead of wriggling away, you had leaned even closer to Jeb's throbbing hard-on pressed against your belly, rubbing gently until you had heard a moan from above.

Jeb had closed his eyes again, but this time his expression was one of tortured bliss.

Taken by a sudden surge of bravado, and advantaged (for once!) by the height difference, you had stuck out your tongue and slowly licked Jeb's right nipple, drawing out a throaty moan

"We can end it here and go back to our lives or"

A gentle bite on the other nipple wrenched out a louder moan

"We can act like adults and take it as it is, a very consenting woman who wants you to take off that bathing suit and lie on that bed so she can give you the blowjob of your life, baby."

The last sentence escaped from your mouth in a voice broken with shock at being so vulgar, god, I hope I didn't break it completely because if I don't get this man in my hands now I'll never have him again.

"You want to...what? With me? Right now?"

Oh God, who was taking advantage of whom now? The blush on Jeb's cheeks was so attractive that you could feel your sex throbbing viciously, stirred from a sleep that had lasted too long.

"You know what they say, the only way to get rid of some fantasies is to live them...and I've wanted you for a long time. Yes or no Jeb?"

There would be time later to analyze what the hell had taken hold of you, because this was not the posed girl who had waited until she was officially engaged to have sex, even if that alone had been a gamble. This one was a go-getter, positively bent on taking what she wanted from her man, by any means necessary.

This girl scared the hell out of you.

This girl was pushing Jeb's long body onto the double bed still unmade from the morning, dryly slipping off his wet, precum-sticky costume.

This girl was perching herself between Jeb's spread legs, sitting back on her heels and exposing her sex, caressing herself with what she had no doubt was the most lascivious face she had ever had - while sober.

Jeb's sex is, in a nutshell, perfect, wider at the tip than at the base, slightly curved to the left, deep pink tending to crimson, and of a length that makes you instinctively clench your jaws and contract the entrance to your cunt in a moment of panic.

It is too long; you are not a match.

You can already feel the discomfort caused by the tip pressing against your cervix or bumping against your uvula.

He is almost 6 feet tall, maybe more, what did you expect?

You are simply incompatible, it is not possible.

Unless.

You try to remember conversations with your married friends, the ones who with one too many sherries tell you the most intimate, embarrassing tidbits of what goes on within the walls of a married couple.

The tip of his cock, almost as big as your open palm (and yes you are petite but this is just obscene) looks at you with a moist eye, almost daring you to try.

"God Jeb, you walk around unmolested with THIS between your legs and wonder why a girl would be eager to try it? You are aware that I won't be able to sit down for at least two days when I'm done with you, aren't you?"

Faintly obscene incitements came from the parts of Jeb's face, but you didn't pay much attention to them, caught up as you were in your own excitement.

And as you peeled back your costume with your spread fingers to plunge into the pulsating pool of your tight cunt, Jeb's eyes were almost popping out of their sockets.

"I'm as wet as I was by the pool, Jeb, and you're the one who has that effect on me. Do you want to feel it?"

Oh, and without waiting for an answer, the girl-who-once-was-you had wriggled two fingers in and out, gathering as much moisture as she could from her warm, viscous folds, and brought them to her own mouth, licking her fingertips with obvious greediness. Jeb's chest, meanwhile, was rising and falling rapidly, half-lidded eyes fixed on your every move. When with wet fingers you had rolled your hand around Jeb's shaft, a choked cry had broken the stillness gripping him, and a wide hand had wrapped around yours.

"Yes or no?"

"You keep asking me as if I can say no. My god don't you see the effect you have on ME?"

"I want you to say it outright. I know you want it, I want to hear you say it. Do you want me to open my mouth and take it all?"

"Oh my...yes yes yes I do. Please."

Sweat dripped from Jeb's temples, transfixed by anticipation and overexcited by your words to the point of nearly silencing him.

If only he had wanted to, with one hand he could have flipped you over on the bed and taken you unceremoniously, but this would not have been this Jeb, YOUR Jeb, the one whose tears you had wiped away a few minutes earlier.

"Do you want me to suck you until you cum?"

At this sentence, Jeb had closed his eyes and a soft bark had escaped his half-closed lips

"Yes, I do. More than anything else."

Kneeling down and leaning back on your elbows, you had taken all the space to run an inquisitive tongue over the exposed tip of Jeb's dick, still wrapped in the pair of entwined hands. The pungent taste of sea salt and precum had made your nose wrinkle.

"Do you think you deserve this, Jeb? Do you think we deserve a little fun, once in our fucking lives?"

Jeb's clear gaze had become all of a sudden bewildered, uncertain, and the hand that had previously been pressing against yours had reached up to brush a lock from your cheek, causing you to lose for a moment the boldness that had accompanied you up to that moment.

The sheets creped under your weight, and you wondered for a moment if they were white or cream in the dim light.

"Jen, whatever you want. I'll take it. I'll take anything you want to give me, God knows I don’t deserve it."

Too tender, too sentimental. You almost preferred him crying. You're the wicked girl again, and caressing the long, shapely thighs, you give an exploratory first lick at the base of Jeb's penis, lingering on the fuzz of his testicles.

His spread legs give you ample room to maneuver, and you take the opportunity to caress the inner thigh, going up to the delicate area of the perineum, which you press lightly, eliciting the involuntary contracture of the toes of the long feet perched on either side of your legs.

You will keep this in mind for later.

"Very good. Now stand still and don't shout too loudly."

Jeb doesn't have time to articulate a sensible response that your lips have already wrapped around the tip of his cock, drawing slow circles with your tongue. A low moan accompanies your exploratory movements and glancing up, you see Jeb covering his face with his large hands.

When was the last time he received a proper head? Trying to shut out the thought of Gail from your mind, you spread your thighs wide, letting your stomach fall against the mattress, and supporting yourself only with your elbows, you let gravity help you wrap every inch of Jeb as deep as you can, stroking the base of his penis with one hand and giving a rhythmic squeeze to his hardened thigh with the other.

In all this, you are still wearing your bikini, which was becoming less and less comfortable as your own arousal wet the gusset against your pussy and your nipples hardened.

You have never been so turned on, yet it has been less than half an hour since you came at Jeb's hands.

The rhythm of your mouth up and down the considerable length is almost soothing.

Only when the tip of your nose brushes the curly dark hairs of Jeb's groin do you realize that you have almost the entire length of his cock in the back of your throat, which you are keeping relaxed as you lick the entire length from base to top.

When one of Jeb's hands grazes your hair and starts massaging your scalp you let go a hmm that vibrates over the entire length engulfed by your lips, and his hand tightens to keep the position of your head still. Satisfied with the result, you repeat the experiment, causing vibrations of varying intensity until you feel Jeb's penis harden further and you know he is nearing the end.

Jeb, who had been uncharacteristically silent throughout the exercise, had begun to pant quickly until a gasp emerged from his parched throat.

"Girl, I don't think I can go on much longer if you keep this up. Can you...can you do it again?"

If you hadn't literally had your mouth full you would have grinned, but the whole context--his hand pressed on your head, the heat emitted from his burning crotch, the tip of his pulsing cock in your throat, not to mention your own sex pulsing fiercely against the wet fabric of your costume--was so arousing that you had applied yourself with renewed vigor to savoring every inch, producing incrementally lower and deeper sounds from the back of your throat. It was only when you had hinted at deeper pressure against your tongue that Jeb had lost control, pressing just enough of his hand on your head to hold it in place as his hips rose and fell pushing his obscenely hard cock deep into your miraculously relaxed throat, unable to hold back any longer, and as you ventured to gently squeeze his retracted testicles with one hand, Jeb had uttered a rosary of gratitudes and invocations to all-too-generous deities as a trickle of warm, slightly bitter semen invaded your mouth.

Without hinting to move, the lewd girl you didn't know waited inside you had lifted your gaze just long enough to make contact with Jeb and had waited more until she saw the light return to his pleasure-dulled eyes to swallow and carefully lick the tip of the purple, moist dick.

Which made no sign of receding.

As if to say.

We're not done yet.

Without taking your gaze from his, you had risen on your knees, breaking the delicious contact of your hand clinging to your hair, and undone in a few gestures your bikini, which had become unbearable, and lay down again with your chest just at the level of Jeb's groin, pressing the hollow of your tits on Jeb's moist erection, using one hand to apply more pressure on the length that appeared and disappeared between your plushed breasts.

As if tug him off and blow him out of the blue in a hot summer afternoon wasn’t enough wank material for the next 300 nights.

Given his job prospects and increasing numerous family, make it 3.000

The same wicked demon that possessed you since you saw him spreading tanning oil like a Coppertone advertisement model on his taut legs was now making you lock your gaze with his again, and moving lasciviously you squeezed your boobs up and down with his shaft getting more lustrous and harder by the second, you dared to ask him, eyes fluttering in total disregard of any remaining coyness:

“You know Jeb, I think you like sitting there, letting me do all the job. Do you like what you see?”

And to underline your question you bowed your chin, giving an inquisitive, broad lick to the pink tip of his cock, appearing and disappearing in a tantalizing rhythm.

“Could you…?”

With both hands and elbows busy sustaining the weight of your upper body and all your focus on applying the right amount of pressure to keep an interesting friction between the delicate skin of your breasts and the increasingly wet cock of Jeb, there was nothing you could do to ease the ache between your legs, and you were fully aware that this had to finish sooner or later, or your family would have been starting to look for you two, who were disappeared for almost an hour.

Or more?

And yet, the light in Jeb’s blue eyes was so bright it could illuminate the room and totally worth the lies you were already shaping in your head to cover your absence.

Sprained ankle.

Lost baby.

A fucking shark attack.

But you were not leaving Jeb until he got the best sex he ever had.

“I-will-still-think-of-it at my funeral” best.

So, sure of looking utterly obscene, you make a big scene of biting your lower lip, and with the best bed eye you ever tried on you murmured, voice husky and heavy with desire:

“What is it baby? You wanna come again? You still seem a bit tense”

His whole face a mask of need, surrender, plain desire, and exhaustion, he nodded frantically, unable to articulate anything more than a few pleas and yes. His legs lifted, feet planted on the mattress, he gathered all the strength he had left to slowly reach out and touch your mouth, carefully inserting two long fingers in.

You immediately sucked the first digits, closing your eyes and moaning lewdly, increasing the friction on his cock, your bosom sleek with a few drops of precum and spit.

“I don’t think I can…again…but if you want to try…oh god your tits”

And with no further notice, he lowered the other hand on your shoulder, pushing you down against his groin. You took the hint and squeezed your chest tighter, feeling a twitch coming from his still-hard cock (the stamina of this man, Jesus). Sloping down and kneeling, ass up in the air, you licked your lips, conscious of Jeb’s eyes transfixed on your movements, and licked the full length of his cock base to head, finishing with a sonorous smack that elicited a giggle from both of you. Conscious of the clock ticking, you resolutely took grab of him, speaking fast and breathy.

“Spare me the coy mistress act, want you? Just put your hands on the headboard and let me fuck you, ok?”

“Can I…?”

Still, the incredulous tone instead of the howling you were craving. It was not enough that you were completely devoting yourself to give him a manhood boost, you wanted to hear him tell you that he LOVED it. That he loved You.

Maybe not tonight.

But the intensity of your desire made you shiver.

“Can I touch you? Please?”

You stifled a laugh, arms slightly shaking, your whole body exposed as if you were ready to be fucked by an invisible armada.

“Yes Jeb, you can touch me, actually I want you to tell me how much you like it. Show me, babe.”

This said, you circled the tip and underside of his cock with sudden intensity, focusing on his most pleasurable spot just under the frenulum, firmly holding the base and pumping it with renovated vigor, not before having licked your palm and spat on it.

The sharp intake of breath was replaced by a waterfall of praises and guttural requests, that increased when you applied two digits to his perineum, caressing and pressing the sensitive skin between balls and hole – briefly considering if he would appreciate…

The full range of movement occupied your whole upper body and concentration, head bobbing, one hand gripping tight and the other trying to find the right amount of pressure to stimulate the inner spot you were able to find on John but had no idea whether Jeb had experimented with before – that you almost missed it when Jeb’s hands left the headboard and run over your hair, shoulders, caressing your scalp and finally rest on your nape, guiding you up and down until it was clear it was him fucking your mouth and not you leading the circus ring, but no matter what, the release seemed far to approach.

“Just…oh god just tell me if it’s too much…I need to feel you…yes like that, oh fuck you’re so beautiful…like that keep pressing there How did you Know…oh fuck it‘s so strange, don’t stop don’t stop just a little bit more – uhg- more. I can’t I can’t it’s too much I OH! What are you Ohhhhh”

No one had ever put a finger in Jeb’s ass, that you were now sure.

Slick with spit, it was easy to slide one of your delicate digits up inside him, curving just there and rhythmically pressing against the right spot.

A few more pumps, practically gagging, and you could feel him twitching and twisting on your tongue, shooting blank except for a few drops of bitter liquid.

After, you were so exhausted you barely had the strength to climb up his chest and rest your head against his shoulders, letting warm arms embrace you in a sleepy hug.

“We can’t stay here long”

Was all you could gather, welcomed by a long sigh and a squeeze.

“We” said a very relaxed voice above you “Need to shower. And after that, we need to talk.”

Uh-oh

“That will wait until next time, now YOU need to shower and go back to the beach while I’m making up an excuse to eclipse and cancel any trace of this from my mom’s hawk eye.”

Jeb sat up, and you with him, and you couldn’t help but notice the softening cock sliding by his side, not less impressive but definitely, totally, spent.

Thank god, I don’t think I could survive another round.

“Jen”

No “kiddo”, “Girl”, “babe”. Were you in trouble?

“The day after tomorrow, or even tomorrow I’m going to take Gail from the airport. Before that, we need to TALK talk, as much as I really like what we are doing here. Understand What we are doing.”

The earnestness in his voice was endearing, and his face was so pink and sweaty and yet you mentally took note of how pretty he looked like that. You definitely needed a shower and to take care of yourself too, since there was no time for more playing around and you were so wet you doubted you could sit on the bedsheets and not thoroughly soak them. Everything has its right time and place, you thought.

“This was” he was still talking “Unexpected”

oh

“And I won’t be able to look your father in the eye. Nevermore.”

Warm hands caressing your shoulders

“And I would really appreciate if you could warn me next time before violating my…intimacy”

He blushed again. God he’s so pretty. You cleared your voice, quite unsure of your own tone

“Is there gonna be another time then?”

Vast blue eyes in which dive and drown blinked a few time

“You don’t think I can let you go the moment after I found you again?”

No trace of hesitancy in his voice.

AH, the magic a very horny woman can do to a sad man.

Give it a few weeks and he could become a new man…although you don’t have a few weeks,

only a few days.

And then your time is up for whatever this is.

Tomorrow.

You’ll think of it tomorrow. Or the day after tomorrow. Before Gail arrives.

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

And now were sitting on the porch of the family-friendly hotel by the sea when shouting from the main seized your attention from the magazine you were already bored with. Through the open doors burst in a well-dressed man, incongruously so in a pool of Hawaiian t-shirts and Panama hats, as if he had just left the office, laden with suitcases and duffel bags and following at a brisk pace a slender, determined woman who was clearly furious.

From behind your sunglasses, you had cast a glance at the odd couple, and your gaze had been caught by the shiny black waves of his hair, moreover, the only thing you could see clearly in the swirl of packages and bags resting on his arms.

"I can't BELIEVE you forgot to book the flight for my MOTHER. I'll have to go all the way to Chicago to get her here - of all the stupid men I could marry..."

"Gail I’m so – sorry my secretary told me the tickets were all set."

The tone of his voice was unfit for a man his size, higher than you would have expected from a big man of at least 6'1", maybe 6'2”

"Oh YOU MUST be sorry. And I’ll need a word or two with that idiot you insist on not firing as I told you. But first, though, we still need to talk about this…hotel you chose."

You heard them argue for a few more seconds, then the elevator door closed behind them.

The last image you remembered was a pair of expressive eyebrows jerking up and down almost to touch his shiny hairline, locking eyes with you and adverting his gaze in a flutter of eyelids, cheeks reddening under the sweaty locks.

Jeb was in trouble.

That night, you had endured the furious bickering of Jeb and Gail, pressing your pillow to your ears until the lack of air in the stuffy room made you gasp, feigning indifference, the following morning, at the breakfast buffet.

Apparently, Mrs. Magruder did not tire easily, for in the middle of the night, after animated discussions had entertained the passing visitors in the hallway and your reluctant ears, the hollers faded into murmurs and small moans, and the rhythmic clatter of the bed keyboard against the partition wall had made you blush at the thought of Jeb, your Jeb, plunged to the hilt in Gail's slender body, a few feet away from yours.

We should have fucked that afternoon.

We should have talked that night.  

Glancing at him from above the cereals bowls, his mortified and exhausted expression had turned into ashes the questions in your mouth. He was a married man who had just a fight with his disgruntled wife, you had no jurisdiction, or pretense of it, on that territory.

In the name of what, an old crush and a quickie?

He was gone, his lack of any attempt to contact you made it clear. Hey Jen, it was fun, sorry but real life called, it said playtime is over.  

At least he'd taken off that stupid office suit, you had thought, and you couldn't help but notice how damn good he looked in the tight white shirt that gave him the look of a sexy ice cream man. You saw him murmuring something to the waiter about room service, and you wondered in a pang of jealousy if Mrs. Magruder was too knackered that morning to join her husband for breakfast.

You decided to quit your diet in that moment and resolutely moved towards the the table of baked goods, filling your plate with every single tempting pastry that was put in front of you, bringing the mountain of sugary cream puffs and hazelnut cakes to the table where your family had greeted you with stunned silence, broken by your request to the providential waiter for double coffee with cream, French toast, and bacon eggs thank you.

"Somebody's got an appetite like a bull's this morning, a good sign, good sign,"

your father had merely commented, while your mother hissed something about family genetics and how difficult it was to maintain a waistline after a certain age.

You had merely grunted something about the sea air, and resolutely attacked the plate.

Why not, after all? The chances of finding yourself in an intimate situation again had faded on the horizon and wrecked like the Titanic, and you were HUNGRY.

For a moment you had thought you felt a gaze aimed at your back, but as soon as you had turned around you had seen only a line of retirees waiting in line for the shrimp omelet - the house specialty.

You had ended up spending most of the morning in the dining room, leaving halfway through the task of finishing the mountain of food you were ashamed to leave ungulped, however, and the idea of reuniting with family was not too exciting, so you had managed to stuff most of the pastries into a napkin and, after ordering two more coffees to wash down the impressive amount of food you had managed to cram into your stomach, to sneak off to the backyard, where under the shelter of a tree you had fed a colony of seagulls with the broken-up leftovers.

When the last vestige of your gluttony (did someone say eat your emotions?) was gone, drenched by the thin drizzle that had penetrated your clothes despite the fact that the fronds of the maritime pine had dispensed you from much of the water that would not stop falling, you had headed with small, shuffling steps back to your room, where you had closed the door behind you and let out a long sigh, then looked up at the unmade bed.

Where you found Jeb sitting on it.

He had taken off his suit coat and loosened the knot of his tie, but his hair, still combed flat with water, made him look odd to you. He seemed distracted, brittle, distraught, and when he looked up, on the verge of tears.

Without thinking twice you turned on your heels and sprinted in the corridor, into the hall, barely perceiving the presence of other people in the room, trying to keep a less-than terrified expression, found your way back to the garden, then to the path that laid to the beach conscious of the footsteps behind you but resolute on not giving up the mad run.

Only when you reached the corner of the sandy lane leading to the marina did you feel a pair of arms lifting you off the ground and your feet grazing the cobblestones, about to be literally carried into the shelter of a dense grove of maritime pines, yet the embrace showed no sign of loosening.

The coarse voice of a disgruntled Jeb did catch you by surprise, if only a little

"I didn't have time to talk to you...I took Gail to the airport this morning for an early flight...I made a mess with the tickets and and...Jen I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry..."

The litany of apologies didn't seem to stop, but just being wrapped up and close by Jeb again had made your pulse quicken, and it seemed to reach out from your chest. A sense of warmth had pervaded you all over, and your throat had closed up. He was there. Where everyone could have seen you, in his silly tattered shirt and scrimping on the unruly waves.

"Jeb?"

The grip loosened a little, allowing you to rest your feet on the ground. A turn of emotion hit you in the stomach.

"Jeb, I have to throw up. Now."

And within seconds you were on the floor, returning three days of tension and anxiety to the earth. Jeb's hands had thoughtfully come to brush your hair back from your forehead, helping you keep your balance.

"Are you okay? You're not... by any chance, are you? Jen?"

"I'm not pregnant Jeb, god, I've been eating my weight in creme brulee all morning. I'm fine." Like you needed another reminder that you haven't even properly fucked, yet.

Lifting your gaze to meet Jeb's clear blue one, so deliciously close-you had finally added, "But I think I went out without shoes. Or maybe I lost them on the way."

Jeb's gaze grew even more bewildered and soft.

"I'm sorry kiddo, I couldn't find the time and I wanted, WANTED to knock on your door but..."

"Hush." The tone was too harsh, but the bile still made you nauseous. "Help me back to the room and then, then you can talk. At this point I think we need this more than ever."

What you didn't expect was for Jeb to pick you up with unexpected ease, hooking your arms around his neck and heading down a side street to the lodge complex. The rain had soaked you to the bone but neither of you seemed to mind, so much so that Jeb, without ever taking his eyes off yours, had hinted at a few waltz steps, getting you to bend your throat in a fit of liberating laughter.

Original art @giuliajrosa-blog

Thank you! Tagging the always wonderful @plainlo-inthemorning @littleredwritingcat @agirlinherhead @agaroux @ebiemidnightlibrarian @girlwiththenegantattoo @jyngerpeach

[girlwiththenegantattoo]

I'm girls

[agirlinherhead]

JEB! our darling, our babygirl, our collective boo, our eternal naughty boy and wet paper bag of a man. 🥰

Lord I have missed you.

[plainlo-inthemorning]

[agirlinherhead]

I posted 2,038 times in 2022

That's 2,024 more posts than 2021!

120 posts created (6%)

1,918 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@the-redheaded-league

@plainlo-inthemorning

@everythingbutresolved

@girlwiththenegantattoo

@rothko-mirror

I tagged 1,077 of my posts in 2022

Only 47% of my posts had no tags

#hamish linklater - 586 posts

#midnight mass - 242 posts

#hamfam - 156 posts

#jeb magruder - 126 posts

#father paul hill - 89 posts

#haimgruder - 83 posts

#hot jeb summer - 64 posts

#monsignor john pruitt - 57 posts

#father paul - 54 posts

#gaslit - 46 posts

Longest Tag: 126 characters

#freshly baked pastries. what you need is someone who will love you loudly and reciprocate the care you so generously dole out.

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

This big sad dumbass

88 notes - Posted January 22, 2022

#4

Bringing this back for... reasons.

103 notes - Posted April 22, 2022

#3

I'm sorry but fuck off with this

[X]

123 notes - Posted May 20, 2022

#2

No tag lets play anyway picrew !

Let me see yours :)

279 notes - Posted March 31, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

505 notes - Posted February 12, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

I have NO IDEA what that tag was about? not even a mention of the D.

[mutt-thingy]

credit: @plainlo-inthemorning

[ebiemidnightlibrarian]

🌹🌹🌹Lemme see ‘em all!!!

*excited noises* Uhhh three roses!!!! Hope you like!!!

First, this is from "Shiver" a John Tyler one-shot that is in my drafts for AGES.

He gripped the wheel tightly as he thought of Mary, of her arrogance and contempt for him. The way she treated him when he did her the favour of revealing the loopholes he knew so well that left women so exposed, so vulnerable to him. John hated the way she didn't even consider his proposal, his help.

There was a gulf between Mary's behaviour and what he had just witnessed. There was a pure, almost angelic kindness in how the nurse — Thomasin, he remembered — acted. The care and zeal she had for a dying old man who probably didn't have more than a few measly weeks to live. For a moment, John envied the attention the old man received from the young woman. John had noticed the affable familiarity between them. He wanted that for himself, that…affection.

John didn't even realize that he had already returned to the Twin Cities hotel, only when he parked the red vehicle did he realize how interested in the nurse he was. The lapse of the immaculate sparkle of the young woman's smile flashed in his mind. Something seemed to snap inside him, as if a key had been turned, or a switch pressed. John sighed in another attempt to calm down. A slight discomfort below the waist gave away something he already knew.

It would be a long night of meditation.

Second, a lil snippet from "Young American", my haimgruder short-fic, also lying in my drafts for some time now, it is staring at me from the docs page so here it is.

Sitting up, Eden took a deep breath, her well-cut nails painted beige as opposed to the usual cobalt blue, tapping against the zipper of her cheap little black leather bag that rested on her lap. If she was honest, and she always was, it wasn't not getting the job that scared her, but being surrounded by close-minded old men who most likely wouldn't be content to just stare.

Linda warned her about this.

Linda was her neighbour, friend and former owner of the position she applied for. She knew that Eden was in need of a job, especially after what happened, she thought about it a bit and they both talked about the possibility. Linda had told her that her typing skills would come in handy.

Oh, if Linda had known what she used to use those abilities for, she wouldn't even have suggested that her friend work with them.

The truth was, Eden March spent her mornings helping an old friend of her father's — an Irish gentleman who had lived in the US since being exiled as an unfaithful guerrilla ex-member of the IRA — named Declan. He owned a small bookshop, which at first looked like an ordinary bookshop owned by a nice old man, but which contained one of the most magnificent collections of books on Communism, Socialism, Bolshevism, and Marxism that Eden had ever seen. Declan had a space in his attic where he would meet with some young revolutionaries, and together they would run a newspaper column on social democratic politics.

That's where Eden's typist skills came in.

Working almost full time as a writer for a small left-wing newspaper was rewarding, she loved it, learned a lot, lived a lot, and it was great while it lasted.

Then Nell got sick.

Her sister needed her full attention, just like her nephew, and she had less and less time for her work as an unpaid pseudo-journalist. Too bad, she still wasn't able to take care of Nellie. Nell was gone, and she had no choice but to take the reins of someone else's life but herself.

The rustling of some sheets of paper brings her back to the present.

Inhale. Expires. She remembers Linda's advice.

And as a bonus, because I know you have a AMAZING Brice fic in progress, I'll share a piece of mine as an offering, bc you inspired me sm to improve my writing skills. This is from "If I Give My Heart to You".

Autoimmune encephalitis, the doctors said. Two misdiagnoses later and the disease was already in its final stages. Make her comfortable, stick around and say goodbye. It was the advice given.

Experimental treatments were considered, but the Catledge siblings didn't want to inflict any more suffering on their poor mother.

Brice felt the corners of his eyes sting with the memory of Grace's final days. He moved her to his room, where he could keep an eye on her. A desk by the bed and stacks of papers to sign. A cheeky tear slipped down the waterline of his eye. Many bad memories were made during the worst periods of the illness, but without a doubt the hallucinations she had with his father were the ones that shattered his chest the most.

On the last day, after a particularly severe seizure, Brice lay awake most of the night, sitting in an armchair beside the bed, trying to bring down his mother's fever with cold cloths, when she suddenly grabbed his wrist and pulled him closer. Brice recalled with a shudder the lack of sparkle — of life — in the indigo of her confused eyes. Grace repeated disconnected phrases deliriously, babbling half-words, calling him 'Harry'. He said nothing, just leaned over, and gently held his mother's wrinkled hand, whispering sweet words each time she looked scared, or confused.

Later, just before sunrise, she fell asleep with heavy eyes and slow breathing, and he knew that this time, she wouldn't wake up again. So he hugged her and cried. He cried the hardest of his entire life. Until his eyes stung, and his throat itched, until the blue sleeve of Grace's nightgown was soaked with his sweat and tears, until the only things he was able to feel were the hot trails on his cheeks and the stinging pain beneath his sternum.

Icy splatters hit his skin, and he stared at the gray sky. The pouring rain drove him off the porch, as if it mourned him or was just tired of watching him grieve.

I hope you've enjoyed those! I'm working to finish them, now that I finally have the free time I needed! Thank you for the ask 💜, beloved!!