#IN CONCLUSION……….WE MAKIN BABIES

[gutsby]

Make It Stick

Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader

Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.

Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk

Word count: 4.7k

Prequel | Part 1 | Part 2

He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.

Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:

‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’

Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.

But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:

“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”

And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.

Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.

If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.

But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.

With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.

Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.

No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.

Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.

Where the FUCK was his cum?

In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.

He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.

“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”

But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.

You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.

“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.

Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.

“Hold still,” he grunted.

“How come?”

“‘Cause I said.”

How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.

“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.

But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.

Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.

He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.

He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:

“Jo-el—”

“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.

“Push?”

“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”

You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.

Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.

And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.

At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.

You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.

He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.

You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.

Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.

“Joel, what’s—”

“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”

Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.

“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”

Well, fuck.

Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.

“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.

An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.

“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”

You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.

“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.

You’re old.

Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.

“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”

You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?

For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.

“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.

Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.

“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”

What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.

He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.

“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”

You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.

Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.

Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—

“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.

“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.

Joel carried on without a hitch.

“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”

You nodded along, not hearing a word.

“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”

Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.

“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”

That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:

“My own age?”

Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.

You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.

“What?”

“What?”

Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.

“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”

Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’

And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.

This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.

“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.

No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.

Smiling a little, too.

“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.

“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”

Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.

“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”

You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.

“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”

“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”

Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.

“Baby…”

To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.

Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.

You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.

It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.

Feels nice.

Tastes alright, too.

You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.

“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”

Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.

And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.

“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.

Joel cursed under his breath.

“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”

“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”

As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again

“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”

In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.

He communicated as much by moving to pull out.

You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.

“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”

Of course, it had been Joel.

Always, always him—the only one, in fact.

Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:

‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’

He couldn’t.

Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.

But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.

“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.

“I do.”

In fact, he loved it.

“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?

Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.

Idiocy.

“Just once?” Joel croaked.

Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.

“Just one?” you murmured back.

He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.

“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.

“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.

Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.

“One?” Joel panted. Confused.

He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.

“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.

Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.

“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”

The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.

In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”

Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.

“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”

Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.

To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.

“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”

Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.

That’s all he’s ever wanted.

Let the neighbors talk.

Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:

“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.

The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.

Something to stick.

“Please say it, baby.”

Someone to call yours.

“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.

A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.

“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.

“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”

As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.

“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”

“Ri— right there. Right there.”

Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.

It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.

Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it

“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”

He kissed the tip of yours.

“Hope they get this.”

He kissed either one of your cheeks.

“These too.”

You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.

The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.

Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.

There it is.

[hit-song-showdown]

Year-End Poll #47: 1996

[Image description: a collage of photos of the 10 musicians and musical groups featured in this poll. In order from left to right, top to bottom: Los del Tio, Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men, Celine Dion, The Tony Rich Project, Mariah Carey, Tracy Chapman, Bone Thugs-n-Harmony, Donna Lewis, Toni Braxton, Keith Sweat. End description]

More information about this blog here

A lot of major moments to talk about this year. Like my birth. I was born out of the Macarena Summer.

In 1996, the Bayside Boys remix of Los del Rio's Macarena became a cultural phenomenon as well as an incredibly popular song (I'm clarifying it's a remix, because the non-Bayside Boys version also reached the Hot 100 at number 98). The track's record for longevity in the Hot 100 would only be broken almost two decades later by Adele.

Speaking of record-breaking songs, One Sweet Day, the duet between Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men, is a towering R&B number. At 16 weeks, the song held the record for most weeks at the number one spot until Lil Nas X came out with Old Town Road in 2019.

One Sweet Day is a song about grief, specifically the track was inspired by the ongoing AIDS epidemic. It's not the only song on this poll related to this issue. Bone Thugs-n-Harmony wrote Tha Crossroads to honor Eazy-E, one of the establishing figures behind the West Coast rap scene who passed away from AIDS-induced pneumonia in 1995 when he was just 30-years-old.

Sadly, the stretch between 1995 and 1996 would be marked by several losses among legends in rap and hip-hop. In 1996, The Notorious B.I.G. and Tupac Shakur would be murdered with only a few months between their deaths. These losses will be relevant in a direct manner when we get to the next poll, but it's not an exaggeration to say that the music world was shaken by their deaths. There were those who were quick to make bad-faith arguments blaming the violent subject matter of the music itself. And while the coast-based rivalries did get extremely intense, I think this is a reductive conclusion to come to. To many, however, this moment in music history felt like a nation-wide wake up call.

As rap became more mainstream and started to absorb more of pop music influences into its sound, the genre was bound to change. We've already seen this with the increasing number of R&B fusions and rap verses on pop songs. But some mark this year as another turning point for the genre, as the gangster rap era starts to fade in the mainstream music scene. Even outside of rap, after this point pop music starts to feel a lot sunnier, for lack of a better term. Whether this is due to coping with these recent tragedies, a larger demographic of younger music listeners dictating the majority taste, people gearing up for the new millennium, the record industry reaching record numbers in profits, or genuine positivity and optimism (think that might have been still a thing lol), the times are certainly about to change.

[c1air-de-lune]

In conclusion, we makin babies

[rainsmediaradio]

Drake - Virginia Beach Lyrics

Drake - Virginia Beach Lyrics Intro: Drake & Frank Ocean I bet your mother would be proud of you, ooh (You, you, you, oh) I bet our mother would be proud of you, oh I know what you say You say I coulda treated you better or whatever, but I don't know, I think I did alright Know what I'm sayin'? And you know how you get Drawin' conclusions like you got a Parsons degree or somethin' I coulda treated you better, that's crazy Nope Chorus: Drake Lean in, lean in soda, Fanta, fantasizin' That's not love you're in, it's more like compromisin' I move mountains for you, fuck that social climbin' Lean into me, lean into me Yeah, lean in, lean into me Verse 1: Drake Pussy, it makin' me tweak, ended up stayin' a week She pretty but ghetto, pretty but rough, just like Virginia Beach I wanna get back to the days that you loved me for nothin' but what you could see You bust down the Jubilee, I swapped it and made you go factory, wait You put some pain in me, I wanna get back to the major league She wanna grab on the throttle, I wanna get back in the driver's seat That nigga spent his last check on your car and you got it and drove it to me Asked me if I coulda treated you better, but no Chorus: Drake Lean in soda, Fanta, fantasizin' That's not love you're in, it's more like compromisin' I move mountains for you, fuck that social climbin' Lean into me, lean into me Lean in, lean into me Break: Drake Yeah, yeah Yeah Grr, grr Yeah Verse 2: Drake Our texts feelin' like a fencin' match, your temper shorter and I'm sensin' that You keep talkin' 'bout some, "Period," but where you 'bout to end the sentence at? 'Cause you been goin' off on my ass, then I tell your ass where I'm at And you act like I'm not supposed to mention that I introduce you to my friends' girlfriends, you ain't interested in makin' friends Talkin' 'bout you wanna cook for a nigga in the kitchen, can you make amends? Least we know you got the cakes on you, girl, you should prolly stick to bakin' then Birkin is croc like the rubber shoe, I swear that I'm not tryna smother you I got to know a whole other you, but let's not forget how I discovered you We ain't even gotta mention that, any nigga try and trouble you He gon' find out that it's on-site like W-W-W On site like dot-com, put a baby in you, you a hot mom Yeah, ask me if I coulda treated you better, but no Not at all, not at all Outro: Frank Ocean I bet our mother would be proud of you, ooh (Mother would be proud) Read the full article

[smoothoperator55]

Can we all just take a minute to appreciate how cute and awesome this hot man is

[nymphiria]

☰PANTALONE IS HOT! REGRATOR’S WIFE MODE ACTIVATED!!

┋SO i saw the harbinger trailer and i’m coming off hiatus for five minutes to thirst over this man.

⸝⸝⸝ CW: fat cock alert, pantalone stretching your poor pussy, faux sympathy dom, pet names, daddy/master kink, breeding kink, creampie

LOOK AT HIM

more harbinger thirsts ♡

REGRATOR knows that he’s big. the look on your face when you sink down on his massive girth is enough to tell him that. it’s cute how you stretch your cunt to the max just to hear that little grunt he gives once he’s balls deep. it’s even cuter when he sees the tears threatening to spill down your face at the sensation of being so full. with the tip of his cock pressed snugly against your womb, he knows it’s only a matter of time before you’re rendered his braindead cockslut.

REGRATOR adores how you innocently bat your lashes at him when you want something. most of the time he gives in to your wishes, but if you’re being a little brat about it? he’s going to edge you until you’re screaming for him to fuck you. once you’re at that point, he’ll give you that same innocent look he always wears like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “just one more, darling”, he purrs at you as he dips his head back down to bring you to another orgasm.

REGRATOR likes when you call him “daddy” or “master”. you said it once as a joke to tease him, but he became infatuated with hearing the sultry words come out of your mouth. now, you must address him as that whenever you’re alone together. god forbid another fatui member or even another harbinger heard you call him that — he would never be able to live it down. more embarrassing than someone hearing you call him that would be them seeing how hard it makes him. his pants tighten rather quickly when you whisper the word in his ear and he can never put off fucking you dumb for long.

REGRATOR hates wasting. whether it’s time or money, he absolutely despises those who throw it away. more importantly, he can’t stand wasting his cum. why would he want to cum down your throat when you have a perfectly good pussy? obsessed with emptying his balls into your tight cunt, he pretends that it’s all about his philosophy about wasting. it’s not. he doesn’t want to admit that the sight of you stuffed to the brim with his seed makes his head spin. once he’s emptied his load, he’s using his fingers to push any cum that leaked out back into you.

in conclusion, we makin babies.

[binniesthighs]

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

a/n: I sincerely apologize for the pain caused with last chapter...so naturally, i had to go and write more pain muahaha. i also apologize for the wait on this one, for some reason i had a weirdly hard time getting this one out of my head, ahhh i think I’m just lil sad about it all ending :( but! we’re almost out of the woods cuties!! thank you so very much reading as always!! <3 this is the second to last chapter and idk how to feel ahhhh 

Part 7 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung 

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst 

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, establishedfwb!jisung, artist!reader, skz side characters, bestfriend!chan, bestfriend!felix, roommate!minho, explicit language, some kissin’ and that good, good makin’ out, soft n’ intimate body touchinggg, mentions of getting drunk in the past, mentions of a toxic familial relationship, gahhh lots of crying and emotions in this one but it’s bc we’re figuring things out :) 

CW: dub-con-ish scene due to conflicting feelings but it gets stopped pretty quick

Word count: 7.6k 

Chapters 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART ? 

Jisung shared his apartment with two equally messy boys. You had forgotten their names despite meeting them and seeing them around on more than one occasion. Lucky for you, they each had distinguishing features so you named them as such: tall one and younger one with white hair. Once upon a time the four of you had hung out and they weren’t unbearable, just a bit cookie-cutter as you had called it. Both of them were in the same music school as Jisung and didn’t have many other interests outside going to music shows and playing PC games while loudly shouting. 

There was never food in that apartment but somehow there was always dirty dishes in the kitchen. Sure, it smelled a bit like dirty socks, but you never paid too much attention to that when you would clambering in the door with your lips locked with Jisung’s. It was strange walking in not doing so. Tall one and younger one with the white hair sat on the couch eating pizza with feet kicked up on their banged up coffee table. They didn’t say anything as they watched you walk in, but merely rolled their eyes and pretended that you weren’t there anymore. 

“We can go to my room.” Jisung raked his hand through his greasy brown strands, then kicked aside approximately ten pairs of sneakers. He held onto your hand tightly--so tightly that his knuckles turned white. 

You nearly slipped on that rug that lined the wooden floors of their hallway. It wasn’t the first time. 

Just as the rest of the apartment was, Jisung’s room was strewn with all kinds of random articles such as dirty clothes, tangled up cords and old to-go containers. His bed was unmade; it was those navy sheets that likely hadn’t been washed in several weeks. You could never really pinpoint what they smelled like, just that they smelled like him. You had spent nights there too, but they were nothing memorable. No groggy mornings with coffee or sunlight streaked onto his features for you to admire in the golden sheen. It had been running late to class and the dozens of times that you had left jewelry and hair-ties. 

“Wanna sit down?” Jisung patted the spot next to him, and you did so. 

The two of you sat in silence, the atmosphere became thick with the tangible sense of disaster that hung around the both of you. It was catastrophic.

His trembling hand came reaching for yours, and you let him take it. He sniffled, and it triggered your eyes to fill with the same hot tears. 

For the first time, you wondered, what am I doing here? 

“You want to lay down?” His puffy eyes asked you. 

You nodded, crinkling those bedsheets that were probably full of dust. 

In all your months of knowing him, you had never, never cuddled. This was the first time and you really weren’t even tied together anymore. 

His nose had turned pink, and he rubbed a bit of snot away with his wrist. 

“Thank you for coming here.” Jisung whispered. “But--what are you doing here? I thought that you were with Changbin now?” 

I am. You thought briefly. Am I? 

“I just...so confused right now. I don’t know...there’s just...I don’t know...” 

A tear fell down Jisung’s cheek, and you couldn’t fathom why he would be the one crying when it should’ve been you. You wiped it away. You had never thought of it before, but seeing him cry brought a sting to your chest. 

Jisung leaned forward, and the bed creaked lightly, then he kissed you. It wasn’t really a passionate one, but one that he had used to say more than he could himself. His lips tasted salty running over yours, and your brain froze deciding what to do. Jisung never changed: as broken as it felt, he was still starving, needy, and rough. You tried to find meaning in it, or if it made you feel. 

It didn’t. 

Jisung held your face in his hands, and with a hesitant sigh, he said, “I really, really wanted to do that for so long.” 

As desperate he had seemed for you, you couldn’t find the same desire if you had tried. Maybe, you had to find it? 

“Kiss me again.” You hushed. 

He licked his lips with a gaze softening. “Okay.” 

This time he swung his legs around your hips and straddled you with the kind of pressure that you had craved, once upon a time. He bent down to press even more of his heated desire on your skin. He was a good kisser, and you remembered once again how you really had wanted to have him kiss you like this, once upon a time. His tongue slicked against your bottom lip and you gave him the permission, testing it out just to see. 

You had thought back then that he was unreal. 

Jisung rutted his hips down into your waist, and you had already felt how he had hardened in his sweatpants. 

You knew how it would go...or how it used to.

“Baby, I want you so bad. You have no idea. I-I don’t think that I want anyone else besides you--” He broke to meet your eyes. Your world blurred, and sobbed out from under his gaze. 

What am I doing here? 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Worry flooded over his face. 

“I-I can’t do this, I shouldn’t do this, fuck--what the fuck am I doing?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Please just...get off of me. Please...” 

He did so, but still looked just as shocked. “Did I do something wrong?” 

He too started to tear up again. At last you could finally name what it was that tugged at his soft brown eyes. Fear. 

“Can you please tell me what I did wrong? Y/n, I don’t understand, you’re confusing me so much--” 

“--This isn’t right Jisung!” You nearly yelled with broken sobs. “We aren’t right.” 

Jisung’s face fell, crestfallen. “N-no--” 

“--We destroy each other!! Don’t you see?? Never have we ever been happy together, we’re just...coping! That isn’t love!!” 

“Then why the hell am I in love with you??” Jisung spat out the words, and then it was immediately evident that he had regretted saying them. 

A deadly silence fell over the room, and all that was left was the both of your weak sniffles. 

“What did you just say?” 

Jisung grabbed one the pillows then threw it down on the floor with a poof. 

“Fuck!!!” He literally shouted. His face had turned red, and snot dripped down to his lip. “I have fucking feelings for you okay?? Is that enough for you?” 

“Ji...yo-you can’t--” 

“I can’t what?! Is it a fucking crime? Listen, I’m scared out of my fucking mind saying this to you, alright? I don’t know why the hell I am but--” 

“--We-we can’t, Jisung..” 

“Can’t what?!” He threw his hands up into he air in his exasperation. “Stop fucking confusing me!!” 

“We destroy eachother.” 

Jisung grabbed another pillow to pummel to the ground, but then stopped himself, digging his fingers into the fabric until his nailbeds turned white. 

“We hurt eachother too much. An-and...I don’t think that it’s really our fault either. It’s just...who we are. I can’t give you what you want and you can’t give me what I want.” 

Jisung sobbed out horribly, then buried his face in his hands. 

“But I fell in love with you...?” His voice was terribly cracked. 

You watched as tears dropped into your lap and made little wet dots on your jeans. “I fell in love with Changbin...” 

His eyes were puffy and bloodshot, but still glistened, like the way that oil would slick in rainbows with the snow. 

“Then what are you doing here?” He asked one more time, but now he had appeared to be utterly broken. 

You rose from the bed, looking down at him and drying your face. “I...think I know why.” 

“And?” 

Outside of Jisung’s window, the view was similar to your own: city lights in an array of colors; each of them like stars on the ocean. On the wall adjacent from his bed, you noticed there was a crack. You had never realized that it was there before. 

“I’m admitting something that I should’ve a long time ago.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

You had likely forgotten to close a window in your apartment somewhere because the winter cold had pervaded the whole space. It took you about ten minutes to realize that it was in your bathroom from when you had taken a shower earlier to air let out the steam. 

The second thing that you noticed was the crumpled up blanket resting on the couch from before. For some odd reason, you felt the strong desire to wrap it all around yourself like you could capture some essence of him in it. Sure enough it did smell like that scent of his that you had grown so used to. You let the blanket trail behind you has you made your way to your room to pull on one of his shirts over your head. 

“Who told you that you could look so cute in that?” He had said one time. 

[23:16] Bin

me: can i call you? 

[00:18] Bin 

me: if you’re asleep, can I call you in the morning? if that’s okay? i said things that I didn’t mean...i just didn’t know it then. 

i’m so sorry 

how i treated you...you didn’t deserve that 

i understand if you’re mad at me. you have every right. 

i’m sorry that i couldn’t see that things that you were trying to show me. 

i see them now. 

You had thought that now the snow had finally faded into the edge of the winter that near it’s conclusion. Early March, and you wanting nothing more for spring buds to peep from the snow capped floral beds on street corners and for the white hugging the trees to dissapear forever. The winter had felt as if it had lasted for a year--even though this year you had seen less snow than other years. 

There had been a time when you firmly believed that once the snow melted, it would get better. Snow was a bitter memory, and it was curse that had to happen each and every year. 

The night that you had met Changbin, it had been cold. Cold like the winter that you had tried to hide from. You hadn’t thought of it until now, but he was much like the way that snowflakes melted on your skin. It reminded you of the icy coldness of the world for fleeting moments, then faded just as quickly as it arrived. The little wet mark of him warmed on your skin. 

Outside of the miniscule window to your living room, snowflakes got caught up in the edges of the frame, and sprinkled the surface of the glass in their variety of gorgeous fractals and unique shapes. A full moon was painted into the sky with a brightness that could’ve paralleled the sun on this clear night swimming in deep azure. 

You hugged the fabric of one of his shirts even closer to your frame, pretending for a moment that it was him that had been hugging you and not the cotton. 

“I’m so sorry.” You cried out weakly to the empty room. 

Your phone screen flashed with the time: [00:42]. You wondered, maybe he really had given up like he said that he would’ve. Maybe he walked home in the shivering cold, hands shoved into his pockets and decided that he was done waiting; that you weren’t worth his time and the effort. Maybe he walked in his front door, closed it behind himself, and said the words, This is it. No more. Maybe he walked into his room and cried. Maybe he didn’t. You couldn’t decide if you had wanted him to cry for you or not. Both hurt. 

[01:13.]  

Your eyes dragged with sleep, but your mind moved faster than the pace of your dry eyelids. Dust had settled on the white sheet that you had drawn over the painting in your room. On the underside of the sheet, globs of acrylic had dried and turned into multicolored flecks: a bit like the sheet was a piece of art and and of itself. It was nearly finished, and only had about one more quadrant left that was void of color. 

Your wooden pallet had been resting by the window, so it was cold to the touch--as were the little aluminum bottles of paint resting beside it. You used your shirtsleeve to dry away one tear that had battled its way to your lid, then sat back on your desk chair, facing the easel head on. 

Black first. Then deep blue, then bright yellow, burnt orange and gold. 

Hairs brushed over the canvas, and swept in wide strokes back and forth. With an empty mind, you smeared over the dark colors that faded to the edge of the canvas into the glowing light of the edge of the alleyway painted here. His figure was prominent, even though you couldn’t see his face. He wore black clothes that were simple. Frankly, you didn’t really remember what he had worn that night, but it didn’t matter much. Neon blue and red restaurant signs met on as reflection on his dark black hair. 

It was as if your chest and hand had been weighted down even further, but you fought through it to raise them. While you let the tears fall at first, they dried after long and made the skin of your cheeks tout. The room was silent, and so it was outside with the drifting snow. Soon, the painting would be finished, and you could sleep. You couldn’t sleep until then. 

if your art didn’t mean anything, what even was it? 

The pink lights lining your room provided the only light to the room, however not much else was needed than that. 

You bit your lip, now mixing yellow with red. 

If you couldn’t tell him. You hoped with every fiber that this would. 

[04:51] Bin 

me: if you’re up to it, can we talk? or, i can call you? 

goodnight  

wait its morning 

good morning then. 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Chan was good at keeping his promises. There was not one time in your whole time in knowing him that he hadn’t kept a promise, no matter how absurd it might’ve been. He had promised you to buy you ice cream on the first day of snow, and he had promised to share his lyrics with you, no matter how much they would make him cringe. He promised that if you ever needed someone to watch your guilty pleasure reality shows with, he would be over as soon as he could. Next to Felix, you had figured a long time ago that if there were ever people in your life that you were destined to meet, he was one of them. Admittedly, there had been a time when you had harbored a crush on him, but as usual, you had been best at getting in your own way before anything could’ve happened. This, and you loved him as a friend too much. 

Too many jell-o shots were both of your enemies. Halfway into the driest seven minutes in heaven of your life, and halfway into your confession to him, he had passed out right in your arms. You were lucky that he had forgotten the event entirely. Or, he was keeping his promise that you had hurriedly made asking him to forget that it ever happened when you and Felix carted him out of there. 

While he was good at keeping promises, you more so wished that he had forgotten that one. 

Chan had promised that he would personally use his ID card to get into the soundproof booth in the music department to scream. 

You hadn’t ever taken him up on the offer until today. 

It was nearly midnight and unopened text messages still sat in in empty bubbles on your phone screen. 

Even though you had consistently texted “good morning” and “goodnight” for three days straight, the action of sending them didn’t make you feel any better. 

Chan didn’t ask any questions, but merely let you through the halls which echoed from your squeaking wet shoes. The green light of emergency signs appeared to be the only guiding lights, but Chan knew the way well. 

“Careful. The floor is slippery. They mop after everyone leaves.” He hushed in the silent hallway. 

Your fingers and lips cracked from the cold and felt tingly warming up in the dry heat of the building. The two of you turned two more corners, then Chan carefully wrapped his veiny and red hand over the handle to the door marked with “Studio Five.” He tapped his key to the reader, and it beeped with flashing green and orange lights. 

“Here. This is the entrance to the booth. I’ll enter from that door to get to the other side of the glass. You don’t...want me to go in with you?” 

“Want me to wreck your ears?” You have him a feeble smile. 

He mustered his own kind of strength that he had been keeping up just for you. “Hm. You’re right.” Your friend clicked on the light, and it burned your eyes at first compared to the black hall. “Take...all the time that you need, I’ll just be over there. If you wanna...talk about things, I’m here for that too.” 

The booth was an ugly shade of lime green, and you wondered how anyone could ever be creative in a place such as this. On the other side of the tinted glass, you watched as Chan flicked on the light, then made his way to push the button to the little intercom system. His voice buzzed with a tinny sound. 

“No one can hear you, so....go nuts.” 

The walls were too padded with black foam insulation, and for a moment you considered how strange it was, that you, had entered that place to scream--not make music like the room had been used to. Even though the walls were lime green. It still brought a sense of sadness to your chest. 

The room spun lightly behind your eyes, and you panted out frantically. 

What the hell am I doing in here? 

[23:29] bin 

me: I hope that you sleep well tonight. i’m thinking of you. 

“Is everything okay in here?” Chan’s voice said over the speakers. 

“W-what am I doing here?” You repeated the question, feeling panic rise up your throat. 

“Getting your anger out?” He tiled his head. “I-I don’t know why else because you didn’t tell me. You angry at someone? Something?” 

“N-no? --I mean, yes...I-I don’t know.” You said with uncertainty. Suddenly the foam walls of the room started to close in. “I need to get out of here.” 

“Woah! Woah! Y/n! What’s--” Chan chased you out of the room, back into the empty hallway with the squeaky floors and the green light. 

“Hey, let’s just...take a breather here for a sec.” Your friend reached out to smooth down your arms. “If you wanna talk about it, I can help maybe?” 

You tore from his gasp, then slumped against the wall to slide all the way down and sit on the cold linoleum floors with the heaters pumping steadily above your head. 

“He’s not...messaging me back, and I think that I royally fucked up this time. I think that I finally did it, I finally pushed him too far.” 

“Who? Changbin?” Chan crouched down to sit next to you. “Is that what this is about?” 

Shallow breaths filled up your lungs, “I think...I think I just lost everything that I could’ve had with him, and it’s all my fault...I’m fucking angry at myself, Chan.” 

“A-are you sure?” 

“I basically told him that I didn’t know if I wanted to be his girlfriend...after everything that’s happened, everything that he’s done and how patient he’s been...but...there was Jisung an-and...I realize that I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean any of it, I want to be with him so fucking badly and I was just too caught up to see it and--” 

“--Stop!” Chan barked. “Stop and give yourself a second to breathe! Did you realize that you’re not doing that? 

You hadn’t. Nor had your noticed your shaking hands. However, Chan had seen them, and held them with his. 

“You said that you do want to be with him but you told him that you didn’t?” 

Somewhere in the hallway, one of the emergency floodlights blinked with a harsh white light. 

“Yes.” 

“And did you tell him that you didn’t mean it?” 

“I have but he hasn’t gotten back to me? He would always get back to me, no matter what it was--it makes me worry--” 

Chan cupped your hands then brought them to his chest where he held them earnestly. “Some things are out of our control, Y/n. And, I hate to say it but, now, I think you need to come to accept the possibility that maybe...” His gaze softened. “I’m sorry. I wish I could say something more or better but I’m not him and I can’t know...” 

You scoffed, “Is that supposed to be comforting?” 

Chan tsked, as he often would do with a little sarcastic drag to his voice. “A long time ago I promised you that I would always be honest with you, and you know that I hold to my word.

He rubbed his thumb into your hands. 

“Do you want me to say then to go running after him? Throw it all to the wind? Even if it doesn’t end up going your way?” 

“...Maybe.” You swiped a tear from the corner of your right eye. “Would it be worth it?” 

“Maybe.” He sighed. 

A silence filled the hall and the space between you two, and Chan kept holding your hand. It was a simple touch, but you hadn’t realized that you had craved something as such. 

“Y/n? Can I say something?” 

“Yeah?” 

“Even if it isn’t him that it ends up being, I think that you should know that you still deserve happiness in someone. Even after all that you’ve been through, you still do. It sounds like to me...you’re finally realizing it.” He smiled with a bit of a wrinkle to his lips. “I’m proud of you.” 

You squeezed his hand. “Thank you. Its...been a long time coming.” Your head hit the wall behind you with a slight thud. “I’ve been painting recently. And...it means something to me. I feel like I found something, like I’m seeing something for the first time in a long time and it makes me really... full. Like he does.” 

Your friend let go, then went to play with his shoe-laces. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, what was the final straw?” 

“He just...loved me different. Better than I ever could myself, and I think that it made me realize that in order for me to love him too, I had to make peace with myself, and just...” You breathed out a laugh, “...Chill the fuck out. But--I know that I can’t let go of it forever. What happened, made me. I can’t give that up, but that doesn’t mean that I should wallow in it forever. I don’t deserve that.” 

Chan leaned to give you a light slap to the arm. “Look at you.” 

“I...saw Jisung too.” 

While anger laced his voice, Chan remained level headed. “...And?” 

“Me and him just dug ourselves into a deeper hole. Even he...he could do better. He needs a “Changbin” too. You know? I can’t be that for him. I never was even close. I feel sorry. I should probably see him one last time...” 

The image of Jisung’s disparaged face burned in your memory in the midst of it all. Somehow you had forgotten that he had gotten feelings tangled it up in it all, and you had just left. Through all that you had been through with him, you couldn’t let it just go so easily. 

“There’s a lot of things that I need to make right.” You sighed out with finality. Next to you, your best friend did the same. 

“Whatever happens, Felix and I will be here for you. Like always.” 

“Mm. Thank you, Chan. Really. Thank you so much. The two of you are the best friends that I could ask for. I don’t know how you put up with me...” 

“Ahhh, don’t mention it.” He shoved his shoulder into yours playfully. “Ya know, if this goes south, we could just date.” 

“What?!” Your head whipped over to him so hard it hurt. 

“As I recall, about a year ago all it took were some jell-o shots...” 

You smacked him upside the head, causing him to burst out laughing in that empty hall. 

“I told you to forget about that!!” 

“I’m just joking!! Jeez! Can you take a joke!?” 

You laughed with him, your goofy and kindhearted best friend. You realized it hadn’t happened in quite some time. 

“Yeah Changbin is alright, but me and Felix are forever. Got it?” He teased, and you slumped your head on his shoulder. 

“I know.” 

In your pants pocket, your phone vibrated and flashed with a white light. 

[01:36] L. Minho 

minho: i fucking hate that i’m in this position 

but 

bin’s in a bad way and i’m fairly certain that he hasn’t told you about it all 

idiot. 

anyway, his parents are being shitty assholes and i think that he really needs you right now, even if he isn’t saying anything about it. actually i know that he does. 

i also wanna ask you to kindly resolve whatever shit that you have going on before you walk in our door. out of kindness for both yourself and him. 

sorry not sorry. i really do love the both of you and it hurts me to see it be like this. 

i suggest that you come over as soon as you can. 

Your heart beat its way into your throat with a million emotions, but out of them all, fear for Changbin ached the most. 

 “Chan, I have to go.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

It was likely Minho who had buzzed you in. 

Luckily, the night had somehow gotten warmer--at least warm enough to where you couldn’t see your breath in front of your face any more. Unfortunately though, you had still worn the shoes that Changbin would scold you for wearing on snow-packed nights. Luckily, the snow had started melted too. 

The door clicked when it unlocked, and you slid inside the glass entrance that was smudged with fingerprints and the wet from dog’s noses pressing on the surface. 

For a reason unknown to you, you decided to take the stairs--even though he had lived on the seventh floor. Partially you had decided that you had done so because it meant that you had more time with your thoughts; more time to decide if you really had resolved all the shit that you needed to leave on the outside of his doorstop. 

You thought back to the painting sitting finished in your room. It waited in all of it’s beauty for the sun to shine on it and the rest of the world to see it. For him to see it. It was for him that you had painted it in the first place. Every ounce of pain and confusion was lathered across the canvas, it was bare for anyone to see after you had kept it concealed for so long. 

He would see it. 

You took each step slow and carefully, and listened to the way that the sound bounced off of the walls and how the carpet matted on each stoop.

Chan had said, “Even after all that you’ve been through, you still do.” 

Minho opened the door after three clicks wearing a bathrobe and slippers. For being so distressed like his message had said, he looked perfectly cozy. You remembered that Minho really was one to keep it all together when shit would get intense. Somehow he had the ability to write whole papers over the course of one day and had passed tests after studying for only four hours. You wished you could manage as well as he could. 

“Fuck. It’s late.” He rubbed his eyes. “Come in. Take off your shoes please.” 

You did so, and rubbed your toes into their carpet. It was almost as if you were waiting further instructions, but you knew full well what you had to do. 

Minho glared at you expectantly. “Well? Shits left outside?” 

“Shits left outside.” You repeated with a nod. 

“l’ll let him explain. It isn’t really my place. Just--listen to him okay? I think that’s what he needs right now.” 

The apartment itself was a bit barren, the only things that were placed in the small space were the things that the inhabitants needed: a dining table, a leather couch, a TV set, a few beanbags and a kitchen kept clean by Minho. It was strange seeing a place so organized and...neat. It was as if this apartment was from an other side of the world compared to what you had grown used to previously. Changbin’s thick and dark black coat hung on one of the dining chairs, the same that he had worn the night that he had last seen you. You wondered if it had been sitting there these past few days. 

“Go on.” Minho flapped his hands to usher you down the hallway to Changbin’s room. At the end of the hallway was the bathroom, and seeing it flooded your skin with the feeling of warm water and defrosting skin, lips on lips with heated desire; tracing fingertips that got caught with the translucent stream of water as they brushed down spines and hips. If you could’ve gone back to then and done it all over...you wondered if you would’ve. 

“Knock first.” Minho mouthed. 

You did, breath hitching when it opened slightly, and you called out his name. “Bin? Its me. Can I...can I come in?” 

His hesitant voice called back to you, “Yes.” 

He was a crumble on his bed, black socks twisted up with his dark bedsheets and his hoodie riding up his back to expose a sliver of skin where he laid facing away from the door. His beautiful dark hair was knotted. 

“B-Bin? A-are you okay?” You advanced forward carefully, reaching out to touch his arm. You had never seen this confident and headstrong man reduced to something so small, it broke your heart into shards to see him as such. You didn’t know what to do with yourself: sit with him? Stand? Crawl in to bed next to him? Unspoken words filled the air, and he sniffed out loudly into it. 

“Thank you for messaging me still.” Was what he had said first. “I saw them a little bit ago. I was...too scared to open them at first...your messages. I was...ashamed to...” 

“--Bin,” You took two steps closer. “You don’t have to explain yourself.” 

He sniffed in with a clogged nose once more. “I’m sorry.” 

Two more steps. “No, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry that I didn’t listen to you, and took all of your patience with me for granted. I really don’t deserve it. I tore you up, and that was awful of me. You somehow ended up being collateral damage to me figuring my shit out and I can’t say I’m sorry enough. I understand if you don’t want to keep this going that we--” 

“--Can you get into bed with me?” He suddenly interjected. Changbin twisted his hand back as if he knew that yours was there in some superhuman way, and grabbed at it. “It’s...cold.” 

Your heart paused, uncertain if you had heard him correctly. 

“Please?” Changbin muttered. “Two bodies is warmer than one.” 

Silently, you crossed the room and shimmied off your coat so it fell to the floor. It had been partially absentminded, but you had pulled on one of his shirts that day. It was light grey, and had nearly lost all semblance of his scent on it. You pulled the covers over both of you, peering just enough to see his puffed and red eyes and red wet nose. Seeing him like this, you had to fight every instinct to pull him into your arms, but rather keep a respectful distance. 

From seeing the way that he dominated the stage to how he looked under the soft glow of your pink lights, to how he had looked as thin and as fragile as glass now, it had all finally made sense to you. As brash and forthcoming as he was, it wasn’t all of who he was in the slightest. If anything, it was who he had pretended to be. 

Tears fell over his pink lips. “I didn’t tell you because...I was embarrassed. Fuck,” He laughed a little, “It’s so fucking pathetic. I’m so pathetic for getting so messed up over this all. I-I shouldn’t. That and...it’s not something that you should--”

“--Don’t you dare say that I shouldn’t worry about this Bin. How many times do you need me to say it?” You traced his dark hair over his ear. “What happened to being each other’s problems?” 

He smiled with a weak grin, then wiped his eyes with his sleeve. “Minho didn’t tell you?” 

You shook your head. “He said that you should be the one to.” 

Changbin sighed out, then pulled the comforter up to his nose, adjusting himself to meet your eyes with his that were strained with pink. 

“They’re disowning me. For real this time. They asked me to do a legal name change and everything...as if...they’re cutting me out of the family line. Fuck, I mean, they basically are.” 

His chest shook with an inhale, and a thick and burning mucus felt as if it had clung to your throat. It was anger and rage, the kind that was so foreign to you, it even started you to feel such a thing. 

“Bin, I’m so sorry. They’re...they’re fucking less than human is what they are. Treating you their own son like this...like they think that they can reverse time so that you were never even born of them...” Under the sheets your knuckles clenched so hard it bit the skin of your palms. “I-I’m sorry too...that you were going through this by yourself--” 

In one single motion he had spread out his arms to circle them around your upper body and pull it into hm. 

There he was again. Rosemary and cedarwood. 

You were in shock, but feeling the warmth from his body on yours made you shiver--it was the contact that you had craved so intensely now that you had it, it was so all encompassing that your brain scrambled feeling it. 

“Thank you for coming.” He whispered to the top of your head. 

Your hands snaked around his body, and you held him back. 

In that very moment, you had decided that you would spend the rest of your life holding him back if he would let you. If there was someone out there listening to your thoughts, you prayed that they would let you hold him. 

Changbin patted to top of your head with a trembling hand.

“What the fuck do I do?” 

Your fingers tugged at the thick cotton of his hoodie. 

“They said that either I meet with them to sign away my name, or I pack up, and go back with them as if nothing happened. They said that they were willing to “forgive” everything that I had “done” if I chose to come back home with them, so to school, and forget everything that I’ve ever written, performed...” 

“They said that??” 

The young man remained silent, but instead nuzzled further into you. 

“They said that they could arrange for a meeting with their legal team to finalize it in as little as two days if I decide to do it. Those assholes expedited the whole process and called up their lawyers to make it happen as quick as possible...” 

“Bin...” You cooed, and smoothed up and down his back. Being close to him like this you could nearly feel his own heart breaking in his chest against yours. 

“Do I forget everything that I was to chase this...dream? Or do I go back, get their support, live a normal life...” 

“--Stop.” You gently pushed his hand away to look up at him. “This, all of this is your life Changbin. It’s what you’ve worked hard for relentlessly and it’s what makes you happy, isn’t it? Yeah, it’s harder to do, but you’ve gotten so far, people love you! You’ve made a name for yourself, people want to hear your music--” 

“--Yeah, my names gotten itself out there a little too well for my parent’s opinions.” 

You wiped a tear cascading from one of his exhausted eyes. “They should be proud of you, not trying to suppress you.”  

“They...don’t want me to be Changbin any more. Do you know how that feels? I’ve lived my whole life being me and now they just want to take away the very last thing that I have that they didn’t touch?” He stifled a sob. 

“Hey! Just because you change it on paper, doesn’t mean we have to call you that!” You laughed out gently, “If you want to get a driver’s license or something it might be important...but, you’re always going to be Changbin to me, and Minho and everyone else who knows you. A name is just a word. You make up who you really are.” 

Changbin laughed out, then returned his hand to pat at your head. 

“Who told you to say that?” 

You chuckled back at the way that he had turned your words back on you. “No one.” 

“I’m just me, but...” Under the covers, your legs intertwined. “I think that if we compare a life of missed oppurtunties to a life where you leave a couple things behind, its worth leaving.” 

Body heat swirled between the two of you, and it was as calming as a song. Changbin brought his hand down to caress the side of your cheek with as much gentleness one would with those fragile snowflakes. 

Past his shoulder, your eye caught a small piece of paper that had been pasted to the wall above his desk: right in a space where he could see it if he had sat at his desktop. It was crinkled and held several creases and the lead that had been used to draw on it had smudged as if it had rubbed up against itself. 

It was a picture of a bench, some Christmas lights, and the city skyline behind it.

Tears flooded your eyes, and then fell freely onto his his fingers where he held your face. They caught in the corners of your mouth, and heated up your eyes. 

“Woah, hey, what is it?” Changbin rubbed away the wet and pulled you even closer to him. 

“Y-you kept it?” Your voice wavered. 

“Kept what?” 

You pointed a shaking finger to your drawing posted on the wall, and his eyes widened at first like he was embarrassed, then he slowly faded into something much softer. 

He nearly whispered the words, “Of course.” 

“W-why?” 

“It reminded me of you and that night. I think that I realized something then.” 

“What’s that?” He wiped your tears once more, stretching the skin of your face as he did so. 

“I realized that, well...I’m in over my head here.” He laughed out lightly. “Do you need me to say it again? I love you a fuck ton, alright? Getting over things, and healing from things...it’s not easy. You...don’t have to apologize for the mess of things and what it did to you. It’s not your fault.” 

You threw your head into the crook of his neck to sob openly. But I hurt you. I made you wait...I-I don’t wait you to wait any longer.” 

“And I made you wait too. My stupid...my parents fucked me up too, and I couldn’t get over the fact that this fucking mess that they made of me put a wedge between me and you. I didn’t feel like you deserved...I’m a mess too. A fucking nervous, cocky bastard at times and I don’t know how to talk about it. Isn’t that pathetic?” 

“What?? No--” 

“You wanna call it even then?” He grinned out, and it was his sly little smile that you had found yourself thinking of after you had seen it for the first time those months ago. 

“I--” 

“Damn. It does feel kinda good to talk about things.” He joked. 

You cried out his name even harsher, then melted into his whole body. He was boundless in the way that he had understood you, and how he had looked you without condition or pause. 

You don’t have to be scared any more. 

With your face muffled in the fabric of his shirt, you let the words fly of your tongue with reckless abandon, and it felt as if you had finally been rid of the crushing shroud fogging your mind, and chaining your heart. 

“I-I want you to be...my Changbin. An-and I want to be--” 

“--Wait!” Changbin pulled you back by the shoulders with a new and wild smile on his face that only grew wider by the second. A type of excited panic flamed in his chocolate brown eyes. “Willyoubemygirlfriend???” He said at light speed. 

You were confused as to why he had said it as such, but you nodded, finally feeling the sense of respite that you had searched so hard for. “Y-yes?” 

Changbin startled you with his sudden crack of laughter, then squeezed you so tight that it became hard to breathe. Once he let go looser, he bowed in deep to press dozens of kisses on your mouth and around it. Most of them missed the mark, but that didn’t matter to him. He only stopped for a couple moments to mutter the words, “I wanted to say it first.” You would’ve laughed had he not been attacking you incessantly with more and more pecks that you struggled to keep up with. 

“I-I’m sorry again that I made you wait--” 

Changbin rolled his weight over to lean carefully over your body tangled up in the sheets, then kissed away at your lips with��“don’t say that’s “ quietly. “Thank you for trusting me.” He said quickly, then returned, pouring out oceans of admiration onto your lips until they felt a little raw. You kissed him back too, and you kissed him like you wanted to spend your whole life holding him back. His blissful little “oh’s” tickled at your lips, and you giggled at the way that they vibrated. 

Once you had properly kissed nearly all of the air out of each other’s lungs, you laid back, gasping, and each still a bit bewildered. 

“Thank you for trusting me too.” You turned your head to look at him where he lay with quickened breaths quaking his chest. 

“When I go through with this name thing, can you...be there?” 

“Yes.” 

“Thank you.” He said, barely loud enough for you to hear. His strong hands fell down his shirt which you wore; down to the small of your back where he snuck up the fabric. His fingers tickled at your tiny hairs there. 

“I have one more loose end to tie myself. One more place that I need to make peace.” 

Changbin nodded. “Mm. We’ll get through it together.” 

To your surprise, Changbin then took to pulling his sweater over his head, revealing his bare chest, then pulled off his pants from his legs a bit awkwardly under the covers. 

“W-what are you doing?” 

He giggled, then pulled at the hem of your shirt for you to do the same. 

“Trust me.” He whispered. 

You held his eyes as you did, and your bare skin too met the crinkling edges of the sheets which were a bit colder than you had expected. Changbin watched as you did so with a prideful little grin. 

“I-I’m confused.” You hugged your arms over your cold torso. 

“You’re so gorgeous.” He merely muttered, uncrossing your arms for him to look at you fully, then pulled you by the under sides of your chin back to his lips. He pulled gently at your bottom lip with his teeth. “Clothes were getting in the way.” He hushed, then set to unhooking your bra behind your back. 

“Getting in the way of what?” 

“Me being as close to you as I possibly can.” 

While he had said the phrase calmly, it still sent heat rising straight to your cheeks. 

“I want to hold my love like this for as long as she’ll let me. Can I?” 

Your two bodies met in the middle, flush, buzzing with a kind of giddy energy that only heightened the more curious that your hands got eating up each other’s presence. 

“As long as you’ll let me do the same.” 

You couldn’t quite tell, but it had almost felt as if Changbin had scribbled little invisible messages into the skin of your back. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He answered. 

You took his wrist to kiss at the line of a scar that lived there. Naturally, Changbin blushed rosy from the action--then promptly pretended that he just hadn’t. 

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @eunaeiekim @lunarskzzz

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause: A Bruce Banner One Shot

You’d been in the kitchen, kneading dough for cinnamon rolls in the morning. Intent on keeping to tradition and having a homemade pastry for Christmas morning. You’d come back to find your husband of Seven years dressed as the man himself. Complete with snow-white beard and heavy black boots.

“Bruce,” you whisper, giggling, “What are you doing?” 

“Buying an extra year believing in Santa,” he murmured, inclining his head towards the landing where your son sat waiting for Santa. You press your lips together to keep from laughing and walk into the living room, proffering a cup of cocoa.

“Cocoa, Santa?” you ask, a teasing smile tugging at your lips.

Bruce took the mug and smiled, making sure to face you and not the stairs, even though the beard hid most of his face, “Thank you, Ma’am,” he rumbled. “Has Riley been a good boy this year?” he continued.

“He tries,” you say beaming. 

“Huh,” Bruce teases, “He couldn’t have learned that anywhere.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Santa,” you pout.

Giggles and scampering feet on the stairs make you smile, Above your head, the sound of Riley leaping into his bed makes Bruce look up at the ceiling before setting his mug down and pull you closer. “I’m sure you do, Mrs. Banner,” he rumbles as he dips you back to kiss you softly.  You giggle and wrap your arms around his neck, tugging the beard out of the way and kissing him back, eager and hungry. 

Bruce can’t say no to you. He’s never known how. He hadn’t wanted a wife. Or a baby. But now that he had those things, he wasn’t going to let them down. Even though his son was six. Six and very smart. He knew Riley was putting pieces together. Some kid at school was bound to tell him before too long. He hated that. And he knew it was going to break your heart when it happened. 

“You know,” he teased, tugging you into his lap, “We could have another baby and then you could get to do all this longer.”

“I thought that after Riley you didn’t want another,” you snort, “Especially not after you fainted when he came out.”

“But I know what to expect this time,” he says, patting the swell of your bottom lovingly, “And I know you want a girl.”

“I really do,” you sigh, nuzzling his neck.

Bruce chuckles and kisses you softly, “Hold that thought,” he rumbles, eyes warm, “I’d better get out of this before Riley catches Santa going down on mommy.”

You snort and wiggle off his lap, “You get changed and Check on our resident skeptic,” you tell him, “I’ll get our Christmas Juice and get the cinnamon rolls cut.”

“I thought we weren’t doing Christmas juice after last year’s hangover,” Bruce snorted.

“Shh,” you tell him, “It’s fine. It’s all fine. You’ll just have to help me drink it instead of letting me have the whole bottle.”

Bruce shook his head and slipped into the downstairs bathroom to change. He stashed the suit he bought in the duffle bag to hide in the hall closet until he could sneak it up to the attic again. That done, he slipped upstairs to check on his son. Riley Alexander Banner. His pride and joy. He peeked into the bedroom, smiling softly. He’d told Bruce about the plot to catch Santa when Bruce walked him in off the school bus. A big kid had told him Santa wasn’t real and Riley, bless him, had reached the only logical conclusion he could. He needed proof.

It was clear he still wasn’t asleep. He was wide awake. Excited for in the morning. For presents and aunts and uncles. For cinnamon rolls. “Go to sleep, Riley,” he chuckled.

“Dad,” he said, sitting up, rubbing his eyes, “You woke me up.”

“Mhmm, is that why your door closed just a second ago?”

Dad?” he said in a smaller voice.

“What is it buddy?” he asked, coming to sit on the bed, holding out his arms. 

“I caught Santa,” he said wide eyed.

“You did?” Bruce said beaming, “then why aren’t you celebrating?”

“I caught Santa kissing Mommy,” he whispered.

Internally Bruce smacked himself in the forehead and he smiled, “Buddy,” he soothed, “It’s okay.”

Riley still looked uncertain and Bruce chuckled, “Mommy’s known Santa a long time,” he said, “It’s like when Uncle Thor gets excited and kisses people. Remember the last time he came to visit and Mommy made him brownies?”

Riley giggled. Uncle Thor had pulled you off your feet and kissed you, forgetting for a moment that that’s not what casual affection looked like with married women on Earth.

“Then why was she sitting on his lap?” Riley asked.

“Well, how else do you tell Santa what you want for Christmas?” Bruce countered, ruffling his hair. 

“Dad,” he started.

“Mommy’s been a good girl this year,” Bruce reasoned, “She takes good care of us all year long. Santa wanted to give her something special.” Riley opened his mouth to protest and Bruce kissed his head, “I promise, buddy. It’s fine. I was standing in the kitchen the whole time.”

“You were?”

Bruce nodded and breathed an internal sigh of relief when Riley flopped back on his bed to be tucked back in. “What’d Santa bring?” he asked yawning.

“Spoilers,” Bruce scolded affectionately. 

Riley pouted and Bruce tucked blankets around him, “Go to sleep, booger,” he said, covering his face in kisses until he giggled.

“Night, dad,” he said, snuggling into his blanket.

“Night, Buddy.”

_________

Bruce stops in the kitchen door and watches you for a moment, “You’re lucky,” he rumbled, wrapping his arms around you.

“What’d I do?” you ask confused.

“Got busted makin’ out with Santa,” he chuckled, searching for the hem of your shirt with his fingers.

“Oh no,” you groan, “What’d you tell him?”

“Not the truth, obviously,” he chuckled, “I told him Santa has the same social skills as Uncle Thor. And also that you were sitting on Santa’s lap to tell him what you wanted for Christmas.” His fingers graze your belly as he starts nibbling your neck tenderly and you giggle.

“Bruce!” you protest.

“But it’s Christmas,” he pouts, “And I’ve been a good boy.” He turns you roughly to face him with a soft growl that’s more Hulk than Bruce and your cheeks color.

“Bruce, you murmur again, more breathless and less protest as he kisses you hard, groaning against your lips as your nails trail over his neck, scratching lightly.

“Minx,” he chuckles, his hand slipping into the waist of your Pajama bottoms.

“You keep pushing buttons,” you murmur.

“Can’t help it,” he rumbles, “Wanna put a baby in you now... I miss seeing you getting all round and soft. I loved that belly.”

You look up at him and smile softly. His eyes are so sweet. The way he looks at you when he feels vulnerable. You know that he means it. He’s a devoted father. He has been form the moment you got the first positive test. He doesn’t mean to give you puppy dog eyes, but you melt anyway. 

“You know I can’t say no to you when you look at me like that,” you tell him, pouting.

“C’mon,” he growled, smirking, “Let’s get you wine drunk and get you pregnant.” The timbre of his voice tells you Hulk wholeheartedly agrees with this plan as he throws you over his shoulder, smacking you on the bottom as you giggle.

“Bruce!” you gasp.

“What?” he teased, “Do I need to go get the suit back out, Mrs. Claus?”

[heywritersblock]

trust: g.d

grayson’s best friend has a bit of a problem and i think we might know a guy who can lend a hand (wink wink)

“so you need someone who you trust AND who knows what he’s doing in bed?” grayson concludes.

“so you see my problem!”

you feel him smirk and then, “i bet i could make you come.”

now complete! ~8000 words

exasperated and with more force than absolutely necessary, you throw yourself down onto the couch at the side of grayson, huffing when he doesn’t move his leg from the seat you’ve landed on quick enough. grimacing over dramatically, you both manoeuvre with very little grace to free his leg and to get yourself comfortable. gray takes one look at your face from over the top of his phone, sits up a little straighter and tosses his phone onto the coffee table to give you his full attention.

“what’s up, mama?” he says after a minute of pointedly staring at you in silence, waiting for you to spill.

“nothin’,” you mumble, purposely avoiding his gaze.

he prods your thigh with one of his socked toes as a non verbal way of saying yeah right.

he notices your body language of arms folded over your chest, legs propped on the coffee table but not fully relaxed; not like his best friend at all.

“y/n, spill. c’mon.”

you huff again, tilting your body further towards the arm of the couch grayson isn’t leaning on to try and escape the interrogation. ethan relaxes at the side of on a huge beanbag that’s been added to the living room recently, munching the popcorn you prepared earlier and waiting for the movie marathon to begin.

“y/n,” grayson repeats again, with more force this time.

“for fucks sake, are we watchin’ this movie or not?” ethan says from the beanbag, missing his mouth with the popcorn as he does. he makes an effort to look for the rogue pieces that didn’t quite make it in, then shrugs when he doesn’t immediately see them. he shoves another handful of the treat in his mouth as he keeps his gaze on the two best friends since high school who are sitting on the couch.

you turn away from ethan, finally looking at gray’s unamused face for the first time since you sat down. “exactly, gray. put the fucking movie on. E’s nearly eaten all of the popcorn with all of your dawdling,” you say.

“nah, no movie’s going on ‘til you tell me what crawled up your ass,” he retorts.

“excuse me?” you ask, body still turned away from grayson. you catch ethan wince at your tone combined with how quick your head turned to glare at his brother.

he sits up further so he’s looking directly at you, shoving the remote down the back of the couch cushion he’s sat on when he sees you trying to reach for it. “somethin’s clearly got you pissed so spill! i’m not watchin’ a movie with you with you while you’ve got your bitch face on so come on, out with it,” he encourages.

ethan rolls his eyes and empties the last of the popcorn into his mouth while he waits. he knows how stubborn you are – about as stubborn as his brother – and he’s worried this stand off could take a while.

he’s about to pull his phone out to post a snap about you both when you sigh, pull your legs up from the coffee table and fold them under you and mumble, “fuckin’ jenna,” so quietly you’re unsure if gray heard you. luckily, he did.

“ok, now we’re getting somewhere!” he replies. “what’d she do?”

you turn your body to face him more now and he moves his legs out of the way so you can get comfortable. you still don’t quite meet his eyes but he knows he’s almost cracked you.

“she can just be such a bitch sometimes. always makin’ people feel bad about themselves. she really pisses me off, y’know?” you start to open up, glancing up at your best friend to glimpse his reaction.

“she made you feel bad? she is a bitch!” he agrees immediately with genuine annoyance spread across his features at the thought of someone upsetting you. you smile; he’s always got your back even if he doesn’t know the full story. “what’s she makin’ you feel bad about?”

“so, she’s tellin’ us all about her new boyfriend and how well he treats her and how she’s so lucky to have found someone just like him and it’s like – first of all, no one asked, jenna, and secondly, you’ve been dating him for two weeks – maybe three at the most – so like, keep your opinions to yourself until you know him better, y’know?” you begin. gray nods his head to show he’s listening.

you glance around to see E’s busying himself playing a pretty loud game on his phone while he waits for you two to sort this out before he can watch the movie. you turn back to grayson to continue your story.

“so we’re all nodding politely and giving it the whole wow, jenna, we’re so pleased for you – you deserve a good guy when like, no jenna; you cheated on your last boyfriend with your sister’s crush so no, you probably don’t deserve a good guy but whatever, that’s besides the point,” you rant.

grayson can’t help the soft smile that’s spread across his face as he listens to you. the corner of his smile tugs upwards as he sees ethan’s head lift upwards from the corner of his vision and look towards you both at the story you’re only just starting.

“so that’s bad enough, right? by this point i’m practically chugging these mocktails back and praying for some sort of miracle that’ll drop the drinking age to 18 immediately so i can make it through the rest of this fuckin’ nightmare of a brunch without losing it.”

grayson huffs out a laugh at that, then shoves his unstyled hair that’s falling onto his forehead back as you keep going.

“and then gray - and this is what really pissed me off – she starts telling us all oh god you guys, and let me tell you about him in the bedroom. like, jenna! there’s nothing in the whole fuckin’ world that i want to hear less about than your sex life so keep it to yourself, y’know? but obviously she carries on. seriously you guys, find yourself a guy that makes you come three times in five minutes.”

ethan’s head’s popped up fully now, clearly engaged in what he’s just heard and about to interject before grayson shakes his head at him.

“what happened then?” he asks. he can tell you’re getting to the part that’s really upset you because you’re gesticulating a lot more now, voice getting louder and really spitting the venom into your story.

“so, me being me and feeling like i’d do anything possible to end this freakin’ story as quickly as i can, i raise my glass and say ha! must be nice! then cheers everyone. cool, story’s over, right?”

“right?”

“wrong – she turns and looks right at me and says oh, poor baby in this fucking condescending voice with this look of pity on her face and i swear to god, gray if i hadn’t already downed it, my drink would’ve been all over her,” you hiss.

“great self control, bub. ‘m proud of you,” he mumbles.

“so then the next forty-five minutes of this fuckin’ brunch was everyone giving me the sad face that i’ve never orgasmed when i’m having sex with a guy. like, is that weird?” you ask openly.

you look directly at grayson and note his carefully composed face, then whip your head around to look at ethan who’s not keeping his face in check quite as well as his brother. E looks as though he’s been put on pause with his head held halfway up from his phone like he was just about to look at you but he’s suddenly stopped in his tracks. “well?” you ask him. “do you think it’s weird, E?”

“ummm - well – i think – i…” he stutters looking up at you from his beanbag.

you raise your eyebrow at him to prompt him to finish and he frantically looks at his brother.

“you got this, gray?” he asks, quickly standing up from the beanbag when gray smirks at how uncomfortable his brother is and nodding his head.

“ok, i’m so not used to these conversations. i’ll just leave you to it. shout when you’re ready for the movie. fuck, being best friends with a girl is hard, bro,” he says, and then makes a run for it.

you turn back to gray, still waiting for your answer. you sigh, “i’m gonna take your lack of an answer as yes, y/n, it’s fuckin’ weird you giant freak.”

“hey, hey, hey, hold on. no jumpin’ to conclusions. i’ve gotta get my thoughts in order,” he soothes.

you hide your head in your hands; you’re still pissed that jenna’s got you questioning yourself like this and it’s also a pretty embarrassing conversation to be having with your hot best friend of almost eight years.

“so, can i ask you a couple of questions before i tell you that is absolutely not weird so stop freaking out?”

your hands are still covering your face so when he hears a muffled reply and a nod of your head, he continues. “so i’m assuming from what you said earlier that you’ve come when you’re alone, yeah?”

you groan with embarrassment instead of replying and fling your head back to rest on the back of the couch and look up at the ceiling, questioning exactly why you thought this would be a good idea.

grayson’s not having any of it though. “hey, stop it. it’s only me – you don’t have to be embarrassed. everyone does it, it’s natural. so, you’re good when you’re alone?”

he waits for you to close your eyes and then nod your head minutely.

“ok then. that settles it,” he says.

you wait for him to continue but when nothing else comes from his mouth, you roll your head that’s still resting on the back of the couch to face him with a quizzical look on your face.

“settles what?” you ask.

“that it’s absolutely not weird that you’ve never come during sex with a guy. it’s clearly not you - you’re just pickin’ guys that haven’t got a fuckin’ clue what they’re doing,” he says with a grin and a shrug.

a loud laugh escapes you at his honesty, already feeling a little better after your best friend’s wise words.

“ok, so how do i know i’m picking someone who does know what they’re doing then? do i need to ask for reviews before i go on a date with them? i’m literally wasting weeks of my life with them and then i find out that they’re shitty in bed.” you whine.  

“hey, a review system sounds like a dope dating app idea,” he says, bursting into laughter as he dodges the pillow that you’ve thrown at him.

“if this really bothers you, have you thought about maybe skipping out on the dating part? can you not find someone just to hook up with? get the job done, y’know? then you can get this stupid idea that you’re weird out of your mind,” he explains.

“it doesn’t work for me like that,” you sigh. “i dunno, sex is a big deal for me. it’s like, the closest and most intimate you can be with a person. the idea of being like that with a stranger? it just doesn’t do it for me.”

“no, no. i totally respect that. so you need someone who you trust AND who knows what he’s doing,” he concludes.

“so you see my problem!” you laugh. you pick at a thread on your shorts and then look up at him and see he’s staring at you, eyes focused in thought.

he sees you glancing at him and he smiles, hiding a small laugh and picks up the cushion you threw at him earlier to cuddle. he’s still not breaking eye contact. 

his laugh seems to be infectious as you giggle, “what? what’s so funny?”

he shakes his head and then he smirks, “i bet i could make you come.”

he seems surprised that he’s actually said it out loud judging from the slight flush that blooms on his cheeks but he shrugs, fishing the remote control out from the back of the cushion he’s sat on.

you gape at him, eyes wide as a laugh huffs out of you. you’re speechless – for once – which is a fact that isn’t lost on grayson who’s still got that sinful smirk smudged across his mouth.

he spins the remote in his hand so it’s the right way up and points it at the TV that they’ve got shoved in the corner of the room, setting up the movie as confident and cool as anything.

you’re still looking directly at him, trying to work out what the fuck has just happened when he looks back to you.

he shrugs and says, “offer’s there,” before yelling for E to come and watch the movie with you.

“did you get the – er - problem sorted?” ethan asks awkwardly as he plonks himself back down in the beanbag for the second time today.

“not yet, but bear with us,” his brother mumbles, sending a wink in your direction.

it’s a couple of weeks after that conversation between you and your best friend and thankfully, life has carried on pretty much as normal. grayson hasn’t mentioned the offer since, enquiring about how your dates have been going as casually as usual. the only difference? one friday evening, you’ve joined the twins and a couple of your friends to hang out in their back yard. talk turns to your latest failing after you were set up on a blind date with a friend of a friend.

“he was a nice enough guy, just wouldn’t stop talking about how he’s trying to be ‘off grid’ whatever the fuck that means,” you recall as you sip your drink.

“oh dude, not one of those?” one of the guys sat opposite you says, clearly sharing in your disappointment.

“absolutely one of those, man! oh y/n, you don’t know how good it feels to just unplug, just be with yourself and nature. just living in the moment. like, dude, you live in LA – you’re about as on grid as you can possibly be!”

your group of friends laugh, imagining you trying to school your face into neutrality when you were listening to this dreamer.

“did you meet up with him again?” ethan asks as the laughter starts to die down.

“…yeah,” you sigh reluctantly.

“what?! no way did you meet up with him again! he sounds like such a douchebag!” ethan cries, throwing his arms in the air and leaning towards you for added dramatic flair.

you laugh, “what can i say, E? i’m fuckin’ desperate! he was my only hope!”

“hope? he was your only hope? fuck, i’d rather spend the rest of my days alone than spend them with a pretentious asshat of a man. you don’t need someone like that, y/n!” he stresses.

“what? no! E, i don’t mean he was my only hope of fuckin’ happiness and marriage and all of that – i mean i could see his package through his skin tight jeans and i thought that was exactly what i needed!”

ethan and the rest of the group are nearly crying with laughter at your statement and you glance up at gray who’s sat across from you, chuckling away at his best friend’s honesty. he shakes his head at you as he meets your eye contact.

your friends have just about calmed down from their laughter and just as you’re about to stand up and grab another drink, gray speaks.

“did he live up to your hopes then?”

your eyes glare at his as if to say don’t do this here but he doesn’t flinch. instead, he raises a single eyebrow and smirks, replying to your silent command with his own; answer the question.

the rest of the group is quiet now, looking between the two of you and trying their best not to acknowledge the intense atmosphere that’s just fallen over you.

“well, did he?” he asks again firmly.

you cough quietly to clear your throat, look him dead in the eyes and say a simple, “no,” before you grab your glass to refill.

the last thing you see before you turn around to head inside is grayson trying to hide his smug smile from the rest of the group by looking down at his converse.

you hear a muffled, “well that was weird,” from ethan, and then you slide the door shut with a slam.

night has fallen; it’s late and the group you’re hanging with decide it’s time to head home. hugs are offered and accepted as you all move towards the twins’ front door to say goodbye. you’re the last one there - E is telling you about this sick dance move he saw on twitter - when gray locks the front door and starts to head to the kitchen.

“um, hello? i was just about to leave,” you call. “what’d you lock the door for?”

grayson walks back around into the hallway with a confused look on his face and then ethan speaks for the both of them. “what’re you talkin’ about? just stay in the guest house like usual,” he says and then turns you in that direction with a brotherly shove.

“but-“ you begin.

“y/n, really? what’s the big deal? you always stop over. stop bein’ weird - you’re creeping ethan out,” gray calls across the hallway to you.

you sigh, shaking your shoulders a little because he’s right – why are you being so weird?

“yeah, sorry. guess i’m just more tired than i thought?” you lie. “i’ll see you both in the morning,” you reply, voice carrying through the house as you head towards the guest house.

a chorus of love you and sleep tight bub followed by their brotherly bickering echoes after you and you shut the door behind you with a soft click.

thirty minutes later, you’re showered, teeth brushed, face cleansed and laying in the comfortable bed trying to fall to sleep.

another thirty minutes pass and with a huff, you accept the fact that sleep isn’t very likely any time soon. with a tug on the light covers, you roll over and fumble for your phone that’s discarded on the night stand at the side of you.

after scrolling mindlessly for a while, you see that it’s not even that late – only around 11:30. you sit up and peak through the window of your bedroom facing the house and smile when you see gray’s bedroom is still lit up through his curtains. feeling calmer that you’re not the only one who likes their sleep to still be awake, you settle back onto the bed. you bring up your phone and tap out a quick text:

whatcha doin?????

an immediate reply flashes up on your phone:

sleeping

you smile, then reply:

liar your light’s still on why are you lying??? what are you possibly doing that you can’t tell your best friend?? oh are you…… busy??? wink wink

your phone flashes again:

first of all – stalker second of all… ;)

you’re surprised by the flood of heat that spreads quickly through your body upon reading his reply. is he joking with you or is he really less than twenty feet away from you jerking off? if he is, why is he texting you back whilst he’s…? why can you not get the image out of your mind when you close your eyes? what the fuck is going on?

during your mini crisis, your phone lights up again:

did i scare you off

running your hand through your hair, you swallow loudly to try and get rid of the dryness in your throat and then you reply:

little bit

you take in a deep breath when you see he’s replied again, and glance at the ceiling before looking at your phone:

didn’t mean to sorry :( was only joking

you shake your head and smile when you see his reply. this boy, honestly. the overwhelming feeling of fondness towards him floods through you which might be what encourages you to send a cheeky reply. just banter between friends, right?

that’s a shame was just about to ask if i could join

just as you press send, you wince inwardly and place your hand not holding your phone over your eyes. through your fingers, you see the tell tale notification.

??????? thinkin about that offer are you

the heat from before rages through you again and you can feel a twist deep down in your body. shit. he’s flirting with you – and it’s fucking working. you’re turned on. your best friend is turning you on. you start to type out a reply but then delete it quickly. attempt number two at replying is also deleted. how the fuck do you respond to that?

the tell tale ellipses that shows you’re typing then deleting has clearly shown grayson that you’re unsure of what to say. he takes control of this situation and replies:

come to my room x

your eyes open wide as you read, then re-read the text on screen, just to clarify that you haven’t made this up. shit. your heart beats fast in your chest and your skin feels a little clammy. shit.

he’s impatient now.

y/n stop freaking out come over

not allowing yourself to overthink this situation any further, you listen to your gut, throw your covers back and step out of the room. tip toeing your way across the living room and then down the hallway that leads to the twins’ bedrooms, you try your best not to make any noise so ethan isn’t alerted to what’s going on. whatever that is. as you make your way to gray’s familiar bedroom door, you pause. you can hear ethan yelling at his video game and you smile softly to yourself. you take a deep breath to steady your sudden nerves, and then raise your hand to tap lightly on the door.

within seconds, the door swings open revealing a worked up, sweatpant wearing grayson who’s hair has broken free from its product from running his hand through it. he meets your eyes immediately.

“hi,” is what comes out of your mouth. you inwardly face palm at how awkward you’re acting.

he smirks, then, “hi yourself.”

he pulls the door open wider and jerks his head inside the room as a silent invitation when you appear to be stuck stood in the hallway.

you take one last look into his deep eyes, darker than you’ve ever seen them and step forward, taking the door handle from his hands and shoving it closed. the heated look he gives you as you reach behind yourself to twist the lock shut makes the decision for you.

“so… about that offer?”

he breathes out a stuttered fuck as he steps closer to you, looking you up and down and taking in your appearance.

his dark eyes rake over your bare legs; silky pyjama shorts that you keep in the guest bedroom covering the tops of your thighs but not much else. he pulls his gaze upwards across your shirt – or rather his shirt that you stole – and his jaw clenches and he swallows loudly. as his eyes move across your chest, you self-consciously cross your arm over yourself, moving your gaze to the floor nervously. at your movement, he forces himself to look at your face – that familiar face that he’d forced himself to think only neutral thoughts about; never allowing himself to imagine the things he was thinking right now.

he notices that you’re nervous; on edge for more reasons than one. the look in your eyes gives him some encouragement so he takes a step closer to you, feeling more relieved than he’d like to admit that you don’t flinch away from him. he lightly runs his large, calloused hand lightly down your neck, brushing over your shoulder until he reaches where your arms are still crossed. a soft smirk blossoms on his face as he looks up from where he was following the slow path of his hand to see your eyes have closed at his touch. with the slightest bit of pressure, he pushes down on your folded arms to get you to drop your arms back down to your sides.

“hey none of this. there’s nothin’ to be embarrassed or nervous about. we don’t have to do anythin’ you don’t want to,” he whispers reassuringly. the hand that pressed at your folded arms creeps forward and he slowly – surprisingly gently – intertwines his strong fingers with your smaller ones. eyes still closed, you take shuddering intake of breath, then open them slowly as you feel him step even closer. you look up to meet his eyes and notice that his forehead is almost touching yours. any doubt in what you were about to do starts to dissipate as you feel his breath brush across your cheek and then your lips as he shuffles closer still. you grip his hand you’re holding tighter as rational thought leaves your mind, leaving you only with one focus – him. you make the move he was waiting for and push your forehead against his lightly and mirror the grin that covers his face at your movement.

“hi again,” you whisper, pleased that you at least managed to speak.

“hi,” he replies still whispering, not wanting to break the intense atmosphere that is cocooning you both. “whatcha thinkin’?” he mumbles as he nuzzles his nose lightly against yours.

the constant tiny movements he���s making – nose rubbing against yours, breath tickling your cheek, stubble scratching at your soft skin – feels like he’s hypnotising you.

“thinkin’ i wanna kiss you.”

he breathes out a whispered shit and moves forward to finally – finally – press his lips to yours. lightly at first, so, so lightly to make sure you’re comfortable, in control and not freaking out. the pressure of his lips against yours, reacting effortlessly to your every movement drives that feeling of pure want in you and you use the hand not gripping his to slide up to the back of his neck and pull him forward. the feel of your nails at the base of his hair makes him groan almost silently – you feel more than hear it – and he pushes forward to meet you. he kisses you properly then – now he knows you really, truly want him to – and fuck, your mind empties at the pure bliss he’s causing you. his tongue kitten licks at your plump bottom lip and immediately, you grant him entrance. shit, if this is how he kisses, you’d grant him anything he wanted right now.

the hands that you’re holding untangle from each other for a second before both pairs relocate to grip each other’s bodies, trying to ground yourselves from this earth shattering kiss. your hand slides up grayson’s hard bicep to join your other hand on his neck, pulling him closer, closer, closer. his are both resting on your back; one cupping the back of your neck beneath your hair and the other low on your back, keeping you pressed close to him. you’re plastered against him now and he kisses you and kisses you and kisses you. the intensity between the two of you is on fire. you pull away with a gasp but effortlessly he tilts your head to the side and continues his attack onto your cheek, then straight down onto your neck. a breathy moan escapes your mouth as his tongue flicks on that spot right below your ear. his teeth scrape against your skin as a reply and then he sucks that same spot. fuck, you need more.

dragging your hands away from his neck and pulling them down to his chest, never once losing precious skin contact, you push gently and whisper, “gray.”

he replies to your statement of his name by trailing his lips back up to your ear, resting his temple against yours and nodding, not yet opening his eyes.

you feel his breath against your ear and you squirm in the best possible way, gripping your hands in his shirt just by his ribs as you try to arrange your thoughts enough to speak a full sentence.

all that comes out is, “shit, gray.”

you feel that familiar smirk against you and he turns his head to smash another open mouthed kiss against your burning cheek, his other hand holding you in place on your other cheek.

you try again, “gray. please. want you.”

you hear his groan this time and he swoops his lips down to capture yours intensely again. he kisses you so thoroughly you whimper as he retreats from you, placing one last kiss against your lips before finally opening his eyes to look at you.

he sees the burning red flush on your cheeks, your plump, red, swollen lips and the already fucked look in your eyes and wastes no time in tangling his fingers back up with yours and walking backwards into his room, pulling you along.

the coloured lights in his room glow a sensual red and as he stands in front of his bed still holding onto you, you glance behind him. the white sheets were still neatly made from this morning and show no signs of wear. you glance to your left to see the computer on his desk with the editing software loaded, clearly half way through a video.

you frown and look back to his face. you say simply, “you weren’t jerking off.”

he rubs the back of his head nervously. he’s been caught. “err… not at that moment.”

“why’d you say you were?”

“haven’t stopped thinking about that offer i made you since we talked about it,” he replies honestly. he rests his forehead against yours again, unable to not be touching you in some sort of way right now. “wanted to see if i could get you worked up after you talked about that douche earlier. thought i’d blown it to be honest with you. thought i’d scared you off. was so pissed at myself.”

you shake your head slightly and smile, “fuck, i’d convinced myself i didn’t want your offer to happen. as soon as i read your text, i couldn’t think straight.”

he untangles your fingers again, grasps the back of your head with one hand and caresses dangerously low on the bottom of your back with the other as your lips frantically meet again. you physically ache with want. barely moving your lips from his, you mumble, “bed,” authoritatively, the embers of lust bursting into the flames you had desperately tried to keep at bay since he made that ridiculous offer as he immediately followed your instruction.

almost flinging himself backwards in want, he bounces ungracefully on the bed as he shuffles his way further up towards the headboard. he reaches immediately for you and grins cheekily as he sees you trying to hide your giggles at his eagerness.

“keen, are we?” you tease.

“baby, you have no idea.”

his honesty and gruff voice makes you shiver – something that he definitely notices - and you give into the heat that’s flooding through your body and accept his awaiting hand. you plant your knees on either side of his legs at the bottom of the bed and crawl upwards until you’re positioned just above the zipper on his jeans. the heat in his gaze as you make your way slowly up his body makes you feel unbelievably sexy and makes the ache for him in between your legs pulse even more. you finally take a seat in his lap, legs straddling either side of him when he sits up suddenly, desperate to meet your mouth again. you can’t quite register where his hands are at this point – all you know is they’re all over your body and fuck, they feel good.

he moves his mouth across your cheek again and down your neck, making sure to give that secret spot he discovered a little attention. he moves around to the front of your neck and starts to suck a bruise into there. your hand is grasped in his hair, tugging lightly as you moan at the feeling he’s creating in you. needing more of him, you reach behind him and tug gently at the shirt he’s wearing. when he doesn’t immediately respond – he’s still busy marking you up – you groan and tug harder. he pulls back reluctantly, smirking when he sees the red mark that will soon blossom into a bruise and then planting a quick kiss on your chin.

“what’s up, baby?” he teases. “you want somethin’?”

this smug little shit knows exactly what you want right now and the fact he’s teasing you even in this situation works you up even more.

“shirt. off.” you command through gritted teeth.

he winks at you, removing one of his hands from your back and reaching to the back of his neck, quickly shucking his shirt off over his head and tossing it to land on his desk chair.

“if you want somethin’ baby, all you have to do is ask,” he mumbles into your ear and returns his hands to your body.

you breathe out a moan at his openness combined with the feeling of your hands meeting his bare back. your nails scratch slightly as you rake them across the newly exposed skin and his hands travel immediately down to cup your ass through your shorts in response. the material of them is so thin you can feel the callouses of his fingers through them and you immediately grasp his chin to bring your mouths back together.

the force of your kiss sends him backwards and he soon ends up laid flat on his back, you bearing down on top of him, tendrils of hair from your bun falling at each side of his face. he huffs a tiny laugh against your lips which causes you to pull back - only enough that his face isn’t blurred to you - and raise your eyebrow in question as if to say i’m kissing the hell out of you here, why the fuck are you laughing?

he giggles again, trying to school his face into neutrality when he responds, “tickles.”

you pull back even further as if some distance from him will allow your brain to catch up with what he’s talking about when he removes one of his broad hands from your ass to twist in the tendril of your hair that was touching his face.

laughter bursts out of you as you realise what he’s meaning and you fall forward again, this time landing your head in the crook of his neck. his hands pull you close, completely plastered against him as you both shake with laughter. when only short giggles are left between the both of you, you push against his chest to lift up your head and look at your best friend’s face. the offending locks of hair drop forward to tickle his cheek again so he reaches up, sweeping his hand through your hair until he finds your hair tie and then tugs. your hair cascades down over your shoulder and you sweep it to one side so your view of grayson isn’t obscured.

he smiles up at you, tucking a tiny bit of hair behind your ear.

“better?” you whisper to him.

“the best.”

he pulls you to him again, mouth meeting yours and gasping when your teeth nip into his bottom lip. he unconsciously pushes his hips upwards at the movement and you both simultaneously groan at the feeling. he wants – definitely wants you – as much as you want him. you both pause, waiting for the other to react. when he doesn’t make another move, you decide to take control, reaching your hands back to meet his that have travelled back to your ass. placing your hands on top of his, you squeeze and grind your hips down into his hardness.

this is the sign he wanted – needed – from you and the deep moan that echoes from his chest at your movement reminds you of the heat of want burning inside you after your joint moment of laughter. still rocking your hips in that delicious rhythm, grayson’s hands travel under your shirt, moaning into your mouth when he confirms his suspicions that you’re not wearing a bra and then cursing into the heated air when you sit up and pull the shirt straight over your head.

you hear him whisper, “fuck, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous,” before his sinful mouth attaches itself to your breasts. you can’t help the high pitched whine that escapes out of your mouth, quickly turning into a squeal of surprise as grayson flips you - arm securely around your waist - and lays you carefully back onto his bed. his mouth is still laving at your hard nipples as he settles his weight firmly between your legs. you buck up your hips as if to say move and you feel his rock hard bulge pressing through your whisper thin shorts up against where you desire him the most. you grab his face in order to pull his lips back to your mouth – firstly to keep the sounds threatening to keep spilling out of your lips in and secondly because you think you might be addicted to the feeling.

the intensity of his weight on top of you, bare skin on bare skin, desperate hips rocking together and his devilish tongue battling yours gets a little too much for you, forcing you to pull your mouth away from his to gasp out, “gray, gray. please, gray.”

he nods against your cheek, replying in a deep, breathless grumble, “i know, baby. i know. what do you want?”

you groan louder than you’d planned to as his hips continue their movements and his mouth relocates back to the mark he’d sucked into your neck earlier as he waits for your reply. you lift your legs and lock them around the back of his thighs, moaning out, “fuck. want you gray; want you now.”

he returns your groan, nodding eagerly which internally makes you smile, seeing how enthusiastic he is to please you, but physically you can do no more than tug and grind against him to get what you want. you can’t recall ever being this worked up when you’ve been intimate with others in the past.

he speaks, “yeah. ok. yeah, wanna taste you,” and begins to move downwards towards your pulsing centre but is quickly stopped by your hand behind his head, pulling him right back up to where he’d just come from. you look directly into his eyes, pulling your legs extra tight around his waist and you watch his eyes roll backwards at the pleasure you’re giving him. tugging on his hair lightly to get him to refocus on you, you say quietly, “gray, if you don’t get inside of me in the next 30 seconds, i’m going to fucking scream.”

he huffs out a laugh, smacking a fond kiss on your cheek at your directness that he’s grown to love over the years and whispering a cheeky, “yes ma’am,” before reaching over to his bedside table and fumbling around in there for a condom. once he finally locates one – taking far too long for your liking – he turns back to you, smiling sheepishly at your raised eyebrow and throwing it lightly to land on your chest. you grab hold of it as he reluctantly detangles himself from you and quickly stands to the side of the bed and strips out of his sweats and underwear, leaving them discarded in a messy pile. 

quickly, he moves back to you, kneeling between your still clothed legs and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. he looks up at you to gain permission and groans when he looks at your face; your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth as you look at him, gloriously naked and waiting to please you. you sit up on your elbows, condom still gripped in one hand as you take him in your other. the relief of your tight grip around him makes him almost fall forward but he catches himself by placing his hands tightly around your hips. his eyes flutter closed after watching your hand move up and down his length a few times and he breathes out a shuddering breath before swatting your hand away. before you can question why, he laughs out an embarrassed, “shit, if you don’t stop that the offer will be over before it’s even started.”

you join him in his laugh, feeling that familiar fondness bloom again in your chest as you look at his pink, blotchy cheeks flushed with embarrassment whilst he looks at you openly, waiting for permission to remove the only items of clothing that are still separating you both. you nod, leaning forward even further to brush your lips against his coloured cheek before laying back down on the bed, letting him take control as he gently tugs your shorts and underwear down your legs.

it’s your turn to blush now as he leaves you bare, throwing your clothes to join his in the pile, black eyes never once leaving your throbbing core. he reaches forward, finger running lightly through your folds as you keen loudly, rocking your hips up to follow his hand, desperate for more. he pulls his hand away, tacking his fingers together and looking mesmerized at your wetness on his fingers before he returns his hand to your clit, rubbing small circles until you’re moaning again.

ungraceful but desperate in your attempts to get him inside of you, you throw the condom you’ve been holding tightly onto at him, hitting him in the chest as it takes him by surprise.

he grabs the condom up from the top of your thigh beneath him where it finally landed and teases, “tryna tell me somethin’?” with a grin.

you nod your head, too worked up to reply using words and breathe in deeply at the sight of him rolling the condom down his length. as he positions himself at your entrance, he checks – just to be doubly sure – “are you sure? do you need anything? maybe my fingers first? shall i get some lube or-“ before he’s interrupted by you.

“fuck, gray. i’m sure – so, so sure. i’ve never wanted anything – anybody – as much as i do right now. i’m ready so please fucking move,” you plead.

he nods and rocks forward, his tip just pushing inside of your walls before he stops at the sound of your whine. “you good? just tell me to stop if –“

“keep going, oh god,” you moan in pleasure. he’s big and you know he’s going to feel incredible when he’s fully in you. you rock your hips forward to encourage him and rub your hand against his hip as he breathes out, “oh fuck.”

eventually, he’s in deep, pressed fully into you and you both pause breathlessly to take in this moment. he leans forward to press a soft kiss to your lips, placing his hands on either side of your head to hold his weight from crushing you. you rock your hips slightly upwards to encourage him to move and his kisses you once more and whispers, “fuck, y/n,” before he pulls out almost to the tip and then grinds back in. his pace isn’t fast and furious but holy shit – it’s intense. you throw your head back in silent ecstasy as gray positions himself just right and hits your spot continuously. his hands are still holding himself up as he sucks more marks into your neck and chest, never faltering in his delicious rhythm. your hands are gripped onto his ass, pushing and pulling with his thrusts, nails pressing in and dragging quiet, cut off groans out of him.

the noises he makes start to get louder and more frequent, echoing in your ear and driving you closer and closer to that sweet edge that you’ve never achieved with another person before.

“shit, y/n, you feel fucking incredible,” he whispers.

“like we’re made for each other, holy shit,” you breathe in return.

“fit me like a fuckin’ glove,” he grins, before slamming harder into you, covering your noise with his mouth so his oblivious twin brother remains that way.

he lowers his weight onto his elbows beside your head and suddenly he’s so close, surrounding you everywhere and in every way and you feel as though you’re drowning in him in the best possible way. he positions all of his weight onto one strong elbow and he reaches in between your two writhing bodies to press the tips of his calloused, broad fingers to your clit. your noises turn to almost silent breathes now, eyes tightly closed and hands and legs gripping to the boy making you feel this incredible.

gruffly into your ear, he whispers, “fuck. can feel you clamping down on me.”

you moan in response, gritting out, “feels so good, gray. so close,” to which he doubles his efforts, pounding into you harder, rubbing at you deftly in mind blowing figures of eight. you’re there - you’re right there - and you quickly slap a hand over your mouth, not only to muffle your sounds but to cover the elated grin that’s covering your face.

grayson notices – of course he notices – and he huffs out a laugh, combined with a simple, “what? what is it?” still not stopping his movements.

you look him directly in the eyes, remove your hand as there’s no point in hiding it now and you say, “you’re gonna make me come.”

he laughs again, the vibrations from both of your giggling making you both groan too, and he replies, “damn straight i am,” as you finally, finally snap, body convulsing in waves of pleasure as you hit your high. you’re only aware of two things right now: the intense pleasure that’s flowing through you and the boy who’s caused it, looking at you in disbelief and a few moments later, following you right over the edge.

seconds, maybe minutes pass, when grayson finally lifts his head from the crook of your sweat covered neck. he’s not looked at you yet as he pulls out of you, slips the used condom off and ties it, throwing it skilfully into the trash can beside his desk. then – then, he looks at you. you’re lying on his bed, marked up by his mouth and blissed out, lips swollen, cheeks flushed and hair wild on his pillow and shit – he’s never seen anything so beautiful. 

you smile softly at the look of wonder on his face and burst out into a laughing grin which he quickly mirrors. he reluctantly lifts himself off you and lays himself gently at the side of you, close enough to be sure that your arms can still touch – he can’t quite pull himself away from you fully yet.

“so,” you begin, both of you looking up at the ceiling. “that was pretty fuckin’ sensational.”

he guffaws out in the loud bark of a laugh that you’re so fond of and agrees, “it certainly fuckin’ was. wow.”

“you must be feeling pretty smug right now,” you prod.

he laughs again, more of a smirk this time, and turns his head to face you. “oh yeah? why’s that?”

“first boy to ever make me come - a pretty special feat, i’d say.”

“shit, that’s hot,” he replies honestly with an embarrassed little giggle, turning his head back to face the ceiling so he doesn’t have to see your reaction to his confession.

“damn straight it is!” you respond enthusiastically, making him laugh again. “i’m not sure any other boy will ever live up to you. don’t think i’ve ever been as turned on in my life,” you flirt, loving how your honesty is making him squirm at the side of you.

he throws an arm over his eyes at that, groaning out loud, “stop, you’re making me hard again and i literally only came like two minutes ago!”

laughing, you roll onto your side, planting your elbow into the mattress and propping your head up on your hand. “wow, what a terrible thing that would be to happen. i sure would hate a round 2,” you say sarcastically, rolling your eyes at your clueless best friend.

grayson quickly removes his hand from his eyes and surveys your face quickly, looking for any signs of you teasing him. his pupils dilate again and that sinful smirk grows on his face. “yeah, yeah. sure would be an awful thing to happen,” he plays along whilst turning on to his side to pull you back down flat to the bed. “what was that jenna said? her dude makes her come 3 times?”

“so she fuckin’ says,” you say, accompanied with an eye roll.

he nods, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he prepositions directly into your ear, “how about we go for 4?”

i hope the full fic was worth the wait :) thank you for being patient!

[dopescotlandwarrior]

A Hero Among Us-Chapter 11

Previous chapters on AO3                 Special thanks to @Statell, for all your help

Chapter Eleven

The day after Thanksgiving, Ned Gowen left for San Francisco promising to be back by Christmas. He was charged with a hugely important mission, find and contact the owner of the hidden property and make the purchase. He and Jamie built a plan over whisky and midnight oil and agreed to as sweet a price as Jamie could afford. It was anyone’s guess if the family would sell, or for how much. They didn’t have the luxury of negotiation, it just took too long for a letter to make it to Europe and back. The transatlantic telegraph was fast and reliable for making an offer, the legal signatures could take up to a month.

Jamie clasped Ned’s hand and held his horse. He could barely lift his eyes from the gravel under his feet and Ned noticed his mood.

“Jamie, all is not lost. Ye need to keep riding each day and find other properties that will work. There are thousands of dead acres nearby so don’t give up hope.”

Jamie nodded and sent Ned off with a fond farewell. He decided after worrying for half the day, it would not serve to sit idle. He wanted more information about the hidden vineyard. He and Claire mounted up and galloped into the fields vanishing into the wilderness to all observers and finding the property again with little trouble. They pushed the horses to the house and tied them in the long grass for grazing.

Jamie stood on the shore of the lake and looked across the water until boredom drove Claire inside. She wasn’t feeling well and thought to find a covered sofa to sit down for a few minutes. She wandered through the giant house going from room to room. The master’s bedroom was like the royal chambers of the Persian princes she read about as a girl. Sumptuous, elegant, ridiculously dirty from neglect. She tried to imagine how long ago the family left. She continued to wander and found herself in the nursery again. She pulled her hand along the crib and imagined a tiny baby squealing for his mother. She saw herself holding a child to her breast while another child played at her feet. Drawers were pulled open and her mind filled them with tiny clothes and mittens and boots. The last drawer she opened had a piece of paper, dusty but readable, assorted items of clothing, tiny shoes, and mud handprints of a small child. The piece of paper was a hand-written note that read;

My love, Nikoli, I leave the possessions of your children to comfort you until we can join you. You are loved and deeply missed husband. I return to Romania with a sad heart to leave your body behind but never forgotten. If you can breathe life back into this land your loss will have meaning. A depth of love I never thought possible lived here and I will return to spend eternity with you my love, as soon as I can. Your loving Churassia.

If the finder of this note will contact me and promise to lay my bones in this land with my loving husband, I am grateful, and the land is yours to be exchanged with the same instructions until my death.

Claire wept for the young woman and her unbearable loss. Sweat rolled down her temple and her stomach churned pushing her back outside to find Jamie. Descending the staircase seemed to tap every ounce of strength she had so she gripped the banister and pulled herself along. She could see her husband in the same place, looking out at the lake, but when she stepped outside, she felt her feet leave the ground as the dirt rushed toward her.

“Sassenach! Tell me, love, are ye alright? What happened to ye to make ye so white and cryin.” Jamie held her to him.

Claire looked up and feeling a massive dizzy spell, sank back into Jamie’s lap. “The paper, where is it, did I drop it?”

Jamie looked in the direction she had come from and picked it up. Placing the paper on Claire’s chest he carried her to a sofa. He watched her pale face sweat and tears flow. She looked at Jamie, her rock, her dearest love.

“Let’s hope you are more stout than that poor bugger.”

Jamie read the document and felt a chill go up his spine. He could not leave Claire’s side when she was feeling so sick, but the afternoon waned along with the light.

I’m sorry love, but we must go or be lost in here until tomorrow. Can ye sit in my saddle and let me hold ye home?”

Jamie knew he could not pony Brimstone and hold Claire at the same time. He lifted Claire onto Brimstone and swung up behind her. He had pulled the bridle off Donus and locked his stirrups up into the saddle.

“I hope ye’ll be coming with us, friend. If not, I wish ye well and the bugger that catches ye, my condolences.” Brimstone was set into an easy lope toward home with Donus right beside her. Jamie called for Misses Crook at the porch and whistled for the men, several came running, including Rupert.

“What’s happened to the lady boss?”

“Take her Rupert, carefully, follow Misses Crook. I’ll be right there.” Jamie handed Brimstone to the men and warned them not to handle Donus. “Just open his stall door and he’ll find his way.”

Jamie ran to the cabins yelling for Cho.

Misses Crook paced outside Claire’s rooms while Jamie and Cho were with her. The door was open, but she could not stand seeing her face so white and lifeless. When she could no longer stand being away from her, she rushed in and fainted on the spot when she saw Claire. Cho’s entire kit of needles bounced from various points of Claire’s body. Neck, face, arms, and ankles. Cho walked to the older woman and pinched the skin in the middle of her forehead until she took a deep breath.

Cho blocked Misses Crook’s view and asked her to lie down until he came back to check her. Misses Crook left meekly like she had seen a ghost, or the ghost of her Mistress.

Jamie looked down and touched Claire's face, “Christ Cho, she’s burnin up!”

“This is good Jamie. Her body is boiling the offender, it is good.”

“Why her? Why couldn’t it be me?”

“A king will succumb while the beggar lives in health because the beggar is exposed and becomes stronger. Claire has not had this exposure, she is kept from the enemy of life and is weak to fight it.”

“Yer not makin a lick of sense.” Jamie could feel his anger, fear, and frustration ready to explode and raked a hand through his hair.

“You have put her life in my hands twice now. I ask you to open the window three inches and leave the house. Please, trust me.”

Jamie held her face and whispered in her ear, “I’ll be waitin for ye on the swing, lass, dinna be long.”

Jamie shot out of the house and was riding toward Ben’s place like hell’s fire was chasing him. He tied Brimstone and knocked on the door fearing he would have a heart attack if Ben did not open this instant.

The door swung open to a sight that broke Ben’s heart and he knelt next to the big man and pulled him to his feet before walking him to a sofa. A large whisky was pressed into Jamie’s hand and pushed to his mouth for two big gulps.

Jamie felt broken or broken down. He lacked the strength for a deep breath and looked at Ben like he did not know him, but then he began to speak. He explained to Ben about the note Claire found in the drawer of the nursery and the offer of the land, with the unusual stipulation that would make it binding.

“I’m very good at helping Jamie, what is it I can do?”

Jamie’s face looked terrified suddenly like he needed to escape. Ben kept his voice low and suggested things that Jamie might need. Something catastrophic had occurred for his friend to be this unraveled. Ben came to the awful conclusion that it was something to do with Claire, but Jamie’s condition was fragile, so he preceded with caution.

I’m comin back to the vineyard with you Jamie. But first, is there anything you need?”

“I need to borrow two horses so my men can travel to the city and stop Ned. We have the property! I just need to telegraph the promise, asked for in the note, and then Claire will get well, and we can go on to the abandoned estate tomorrow. It’s easy! We can do this!” Jamie jumped up and headed for the door. Ben stopped him and asked for help with the horses. Keep him busy with tasks and his mind off Claire. That much was obvious.

Jamie had the horses brushed and tacked up in ten minutes. Ben ponied his second horse and Jamie jumped on Brimstone. The men rode hard to the vineyard and Ben saw Jamie’s eyes fixed on the upstairs window. They galloped to the cabins and were surrounded by the men. Angus looked at Jamie and took a deep breath for his friend and locked eyes to give him strength.

“Whatever ye need boss.”

“Two men to ride to the city and give a message to Ned Gowen. Pick a man, not Rupert.” Jamie turned and looked at the window. He started running for the house leaving the horses and men behind.

Ben wrote a message to give to Ned and sent Angus and another man on their way. All the men had gathered around him now, looking concerned. “Those of you that pray, it’s time to ask the almighty to save the lady. Forget the prayers you learned and pray from your heart. She is no ordinary lady so think of her when you talk to God. Your prayers will have more power. I will be doing the same and showing strength to Jamie.” Ben looked at the men, “if the time should come, we will pray for Jamie.”

Jamie walked quietly into the room. Claire had no needles in her skin and was covered in wet towels to keep her body temperature down. Jamie had never been so scared in his life, ironically because of the absence of needles. Cho was dipping towels in a cold basin like he had given up healing Claire. Jamie couldn’t speak so he knelt next to her with his mouth at her ear and told her stories about the Highlands, and his family, and where they would go for adventure when he took her there. He kept talking for hours. Through another needle treatment he was not aware of. It was just him and Claire, free and wild in the Heather and hills of his home.

The men gathered on the porch and around the house, heads bent, rosaries in hand. They each had their own memory of the lady, bowing before them, face bright with happiness at the fiesta, looking after them when they were sick, calling them by name, taking their hand to say thank you, wonderful job, so glad you’re with us, so thrilled you’re staying, you may not be excused until you fill your plate again, your mother would be so proud Shawn, Kenneth, Morgan, William, Robbie. Each man heard her say his name and prayed to hear it again.

Cho removed the needles and covered Claire with fresh towels. He put a sopping corner of a towel into her mouth. Jamie looked at Cho pleadingly, “she’s too hot.” He ran for Misses Crook and the men were chased out of the room while she stripped her Mistress leaving as much skin exposed as possible and covered her with towels.

As the sun came over the horizon Jamie looked at Cho and asked the impossible question, “Is she with child?”

“No. Her womb reaches for life but is yet empty.”

“How do you know that?”

“The energy inside touches points around the body, it is the life force. If she was with child, it would flow through the womb, always, but it does not. This is her blessing, she can fight for herself and live. It won’t be long now.”

Jamie waited a long minute before asking, “long for what Cho?”

“Chinese believe in deep sickness we are given a choice, to live or to join those we love and have lost.” Cho gave a rare smile, “She will stay.”

Jamie gasped, he had no strength left to fight his tears, so they came, either by fear or by relief, they came.

Cho covered Claire in fresh towels and inserted a needle into Jamie’s hand so he would sleep. There was concern that Jamie would fall ill since he was so close to her during the fever. Cho would know in a few hours and until then he would make him rest.

Misses Crook brought a tray of food to Claire’s room and she almost cried at the lovers, locked in an embrace and sound asleep. “Mr. Cho, can I relieve ye for a bit? Ye have been tendin the Mistress all night.”

“Thank you, but I am fine.” Cho was delighted to see a tea service on the tray. It was all he needed.

Angus and Robbie made it to the city in the early morning and found Ned at his office already. They handed him the note and waited. Ned, being the astute observer, noticed the heavy melancholy in the men. “This is fantastic news gentlemen, do you agree?” They nodded. “What might be keeping you from clicking your heals and smiling?”

“The Mistress is sick Ned. We have to be goin.”

“Alright, you two get back and try not to pitch forward in sleep on the way. I will tend this business and be back at the vineyard in a few days. God speed lads.”

Ned did not say anything about the telegraph that was waiting for him from Randall senior. He announced he would be taking possession of the vineyard in the spring and asked Ned to facilitate sending Claire home to England as soon as she could travel. He did not offer to pay for her trip or support her in any way. Ned worried there would be no one to send home and quickened his steps to the telegraph office.

Misses Crook was called to Claire’s room just before noon and the lovers continued to sleep. Cho requested a shift be put on Claire and left the room. Misses Crook looked after him like he was crazy but when she touched Claire’s cheek she gasped. Her skin was cool and was gaining color as she watched. The towels were removed and Misses Crook pulled her from Jamie’s grasp wondering why he didn’t wake up. A fresh shift was on the Mistress and as Misses Crook turned to leave, she noticed the needle that bobbed in the air, stuck into Jamie’s hand. “What kind of voodoo is this then?”

Cho was back just as Misses Crook was reaching for the needle. “Thank you for your assistance Misses Crook.” Cho bowed as the older woman left the room. Cho removed the needle and touched Jamie’s face, still cool, a good sign Jamie would not get sick.

Jamie opened his eyes and looked around in confusion before remembering how sick Claire was. He pulled her to him and touched her face before looking at Cho.

“I leave now. The lady will wake.” Cho bowed and left.

Jamie pulled his wife into his arms and held her close praying his thanks to God. He couldn’t wait for her to wake on her own, so he called to her.

Claire’s bloodshot eyes fixed on her husband with a tinge of confusion, “I don’t want to fish today Jamie.”

“And why is that mo chridhe?”

“The fish are mean.” She cuddled up to her husband and was drifting off again.

“No more fishing then, the finest lassie says so.” Jamie kissed her forehead and let sleep take him as he held his heart and soul in his arms.

It would be two more days before the men saw Jamie. He took his meals with Claire, encouraging her to eat. When she slept, he did too. The men were informed that the lady was recovering and they should enjoy some time off. Angus and Robbie returned completely exhausted and hearing the good news took to their bunks for an entire day and night. There was a constant supply of fresh fish coming to Misses Crook’s kitchen because Highlanders don’t idle well. During the evening meal, Angus noticed a glum Rupert leaning against their cabin looking out at the vineyard.

“What’s eatin ye Rupert, ye foul mood is lastin more than I can handle. What say we play a game of dice and challenge the willin.” Angus poked his friend and smiled his toothless grin. Rupert walked away saying he would start his watch early.

Rupert watched the road and tried to calm himself. For days he suffered with anxiety, knowing something was wrong. Now that the lady was healing, he still felt the unrest and it took over his mind, but he didn’t know why. He was being tortured by an unseen foe and wondered if he was losing his mind.

Jamie bundled Claire up on the swing and sat next to her so they could read their love poems again, really so he could. She was the picture of health except she had not spoken again since the mean fish comment. She would talk but no sound came out. She was easy to understand without speaking because Jamie knew her so well and when she indicated he should get back to his duties he flatly refused. Jamie read the poetry and pushed the swing with his foot while his wife cuddled up to him and kissed his cheek when she loved one of the poems. The men elbowed each other and nodded toward the boss smiling. Everybody felt relief that life would go on. Except Rupert.

Jamie laid Claire in their bed and smiled at her open eyes. He turned to bathe and get ready for bed, but she held his hand and pulled him to her. He covered her with his body and kissed her softly, allowing a touch more heat with his tongue and then jumping to the floor when he felt her tongue. She followed him out of bed and removed his shirt, then pants. Taking the cloth in the water she washed him and kissed his chest, arms, and neck. Jamie stood vigilant and shook his head when she tried to lick his nipple. She did it anyway, running her hands up the back of his legs and over his magnificent ass. She walked behind him and washed his back, noticing the tight muscles that were shoring up his resolve to leave her alone. She reached around and wrapped her hands around his erection slowly moving in the rhythm he loved. He grabbed her hand and marched her to the bed, then tucked her in. He snuffed out the lamps and staggered to a chair waiting for her to fall asleep. In his sleep he felt his erection against his stomach, pulsing with need. He tried to get up but realized he was held down by an unseen force. Hands touched him, startling him. He could not see Claire between his legs, but she had all the power because he could not move. She kissed him making him shake with need. When he felt her warm soft mouth come down on him it was more than he could take. With his mighty strength, he pulled on the ties that held him until they snapped allowing him to sit up. He was suddenly awake watching his amazing wife kneeling between his legs rolling her mouth up and down his cock causing his heart to nearly explode.

“Sassenach,” he whispered. “Come, lass, to bed, let me love ye.”

He covered her naked body and kissed her deeply feeling her legs open under him and panting in his ear. He could not stop himself. His wife’s erotic act made him incapable of stopping and the image of her mouth on his cock was fueling an intense need. He entered her slowly feeling panic when her usual sounds were not heard. He looked at the arousal in her face and did his best to go slowly and not hurt her. When he kissed her core, she almost levitated and he slowly sent her to a special place to touch the face of angels. “My love.” He held her pelvis up and felt the electricity snapping at his lower back as it worked deep into his groin. His balls pulled up painfully until he could not take the pain anymore, just seconds before he shattered and growled through the most intense orgasm, he ever felt, he fell next to her, his love. Jamie panted for air while he pushed the hair off her face and pulled her close. They hardly moved the rest of the night.

The days became weeks, Claire’s voice came back, and she was well enough to help Misses Crook decorate the cabins and the house for Christmas. She placed a notice at church for young ladies to join their party on Christmas day since most families celebrated on Christmas eve. Five turkeys were roasting with drippings being caught underneath for gravy. Potatoes were added to the coals and pies of every variety had been baked by the women for days before the celebration. Radish salad, colcannon, Scottish cheese and bannocks, and other dishes from Scotland that made Jamie beam with pride at his wife.

“Ah, the lassies are here gentlemen.” All the men stood with their shiny faces and combed hair to welcome the ladies, offer food and drink, and hope for a dance. The music and dancing were a relief to overstuffed bellies and there was much laughter until the fathers started showing up and the lasses were bid goodbye. When it was just the men again, a beautiful, clear voice was heard in the dark for a rendition of silent night that brought tears to Claire’s eyes. The men were silent until the last note and then the singer went right into Deck the Halls, bringing the men with him. Jamie enjoyed every minute he wasn’t worried about Ned. He was expected weeks ago. Something must have happened.

It would be another three days before Jamie was to know Ned’s fate. Always the first one up, Jamie came around the corner of the house and almost dropped to his knees. Ned was face down in the front yard. The man was still breathing, and Jamie carried him easily to the guest room and laid him on the bed. He ran for Cho.

Ned suffered from exhaustion after losing his horse and walking for two days. The horse had reared when a skunk came out of the brush, scaring the poor beast half to death. Jamie was coming out of his skin waiting to hear if Ned was successful or not. Finally, after two days of resting Ned called Jamie to him and asked the door to be closed.

Jamie shook his head violently, “no Ned, this canna be so!”

While Jamie paced, Ned filled him in on the two telegraphs from Randall, his plan to take the vineyard, and the obvious flow of information from someone in their camp. When Jamie looked up, he had murderous eyes and left without a word. Ned realized he forgot to tell Jamie that Churassi had accepted his offer, the deed was on the way.

The next day Ben rode his horse through the vineyard and came galloping back ringing the bell for all he was worth. Men came running from everywhere, including Jamie who looked at Ben like he had lost his mind. Ben held out a rotted arm off a vine and announced the blight had infected their vines. Jamie grabbed it and shouted “impossible!” He dispatched ten men to follow Ben and check the vines the rest were sent back to digging trenches.

It was everywhere, according to the men, the entire vineyard was infected, their plans were in ruins. The doubters checked for themselves and saw the white dots at the juncture of the arms, it was true. The evening meal was a solemn affair, and the men disbanded early to sleep the terrible day away.

The shape on the road moved silently as it left the vineyard and headed for town. Body stooped, head down, he walked quickly. Jamie waited for him in the middle of the road, no longer concerned with hiding himself. He let the shadow person almost run into him before making a sound.

"Careful laddie, no reason to rush yer death, it’ll happen soon enough." There was a gasp as the stooped figure realized he was caught. He turned around to run as the highlanders were closing the circle of freedom. He was bound and gagged. Jamie asked if anyone knew him.

“I know him, he’s a cousin”

Rupert approached and kicked the man in the kidneys hard enough to drop him. Jamie was without words. He stared at Rupert like he broke his heart. “Did ye know Rupert?”

“No.”

Guilt by association is what Rupert felt and prayed that Jamie would see his innocence. Not for sparing his life but for remaining in the trust of the greatest man he had known since his father. “Who among ye doesna know Rupert as kin or friend?” The group separated and Jamie pointed to a man. “Go with them.”

The bound man would not see another day, that he knew, so he walked slowly toward town ignoring Rupert’s orders to move faster. Exasperated, Rupert pulled the man into the brush. They had hours to wait until sunup, He would use that time to find out what happened, when, and who was involved. Once the telegraph was sent, the three men walked back to the vineyard but only two arrived.

The ruse that Ben suggested two nights prior had worked to ferret out the trader. The men Jamie chose to accompany Ben were told of the plan and handed infected limbs from other vineyards. Claire and Misses Crook had mixed water with pigeon poop, dabbing the vines under the two arms that are left for the winter. They worked quickly in the predawn morning, Claire’s conscious state was attributable to her teeth chattering from the cold. They were back in front of the fire before the first cabin door opened.

It was a devastating change to what was reported to Randall senior and they knew the snitch would sneak out to telegraph an update. It worked.

Rupert sat against his cabin long after the evening meal waiting for Jamie to come and deal with him. He cared only for an acknowledgment of his innocence because he was a proud Highlander. So he waited.

“A word Rupert.” Jamie led him into the vineyard because this was no one's business but Rupert’s. “Do ye know why I held ye back from goin to the city with Angus?”

“Ye needed an overseer I imagine.”

“No. It’s because ye have a special place in yer heart for the lady. I knew you would pray harder and longer than anyone else. I know the kindness ye feel toward her would never allow ye to act against her, or me. Ye will no be judged for a blood association and I want ye to rid yerself of any guilt or doubt in my opinion of ye. Are we clear Highlander?”

“Yes boss, we’re clear.”

[namjoonsthongs]

Deal || M.yg

You knew it. He was doing something shady behind your back. It was more evident now that one of his rivals was right infront of your very eyes.

“Didnt yall get the news, this been overdue.” The other mafia leader said shoving a bill of 69mil in your face. “Tell your girl come through.”

This toke you by surprise, no one ever had the guts to talk to yoongi better yet Agust A like that. You looked up at yoongi to see how he was feeling, how we had reacted to the bold statement by what seemed like a lower opponent he seemed unbothered as he took the money counting it. He smiled contently when he came to the conclusion that it was indeed the right amount of money, he then looked down at you coldly.

“Ight, sheeshe aint nutin, already got a new bbg on deck.” Yoongi shoved you forward you, of course, looking at him in disbelief as you fell to your knees. How could he do this to you, after all, times you two spent together. “Take this nigga Luhan, I need to make a phone call to my new bbg after dis.”

 Luhan nodded, gently grabbing you by your arm placing you in his car. He looked at yoongi’s men.

“Move, got somewhere to go I’m makin’ moves”

Yoongi rolled his eyes getting annoyed. But none the ess started to cupid shuffle in his living room. “To the right, to the right, to the right, to the right, to the left, to the left, to the left, now kick now come on baby kick, now walk it by yourself.” 

Luhan looked down at the shorter man in pure disgust as he got in car driving away his hit song ‘Lu’ playing as he skrrt skrrted off.

[isitgintimeyet]

The Ties That Bind

AO3

Previous

Thanks for the support with this story. Hope you enjoy the next chapter.

thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta and the support.

Chapter 22: A Heartfelt Discussion

Love Jo all your days, if you choose, but don't let it spoil you, for it's wicked to throw away so many good gifts because you can't have the one you want.  Louisa May Alcott, Good Wives

Jamie shifted uncomfortably in his seat. This was not his idea of a welcoming environment. He didn't think that it was deliberate on Geneva's part to choose to meet in a place he disliked, merely that she would not have taken any preferences of his into consideration.

It was, no doubt, an achingly hip coffee shop. He could cope with the exposed brick, concrete and steel heating ducts running overhead. It was the fact that it had all the atmosphere of an aircraft hanger and seemed to be furnished with rejects from a primary school, judging by the lilliputian dimensions of the table and particularly the chair he was currently folded into. And he felt very out of place, dressed for work in his suit and crisp white shirt.

Clearly, Geneva was totally at home here, addressing the staff by name as she walked through the room to his table. At nineteen weeks, there was now a hint of a belly, just visible as she turned to beckon a waiter over.

The waiter sauntered over, ready to take the order. Geneva ordered a fennel tea and looked across at Jamie.

“A large latte please.”

The waiter smiled patronisingly at Jamie's simple order.

His hackles raised, Jamie returned the smile and continued. “Wait. That's no foam, one percent milk, three shots columbian, extra hot, two pumps sugar-free cinnamon. If ye havena got the one percent, i'll have half skimmed, half full-fat… oh and two scones please.”

He sat back, satisfied.

Geneva looked at him questioningly. “Very specific taste in coffee you've developed there.”

“Actually all I wanted was a latte but yon wee man was so patronising I jes’ had to complicate it fer him. So, how are ye doin’? Any movement yet?”

“I've started getting a sort of bubbly feeling. Like I've drunk too much fizzy stuff. It's the baby moving round. Now it's bigger I can feel it. That started last week.”

“Why did ye no’ ring or text tae tell me?”

“I didn't think that would be a good idea. It might have upset Claire.” Geneva said pointedly.

“Claire is…”

The waiter arrived with their order and placed it on the table between them. Geneva took her cup of tea.

“Jamie, I didn't want a scone.”

“Aye, I ken. They're fer me. Have ye seen the size of them? There's no’ but a mouthful in each.”

“You haven't changed.” Geneva smiled at Jamie. “I remember your appetite so well. How you used to have a snack before we went to bed. Said it gave you energy.”

Jamie’s cheeks reddened slightly. He needed to get Geneva away from this line of conversation. To use Jenny's analogy, he felt Geneva was about to try and reel him in again with a series of sweet reminiscences. Actually, he thought, now would be an ideal time to mention the discussions he'd had at Angus's wedding, head her off at the pass so to speak.  

Jamie finished his scones and wiped his hands on his napkin, trying to figure out how to start this conversation with Geneva. He knew she would deny everything - after all she hadn’t actually said anything about them getting back together. She had just somehow managed to spin it so friends believed Jamie and Geneva would soon be a couple again. And this is why, Jamie told himself, she works in PR.

“I went tae Angus and Kirsty’s wedding…” he began.

“Oh yes, I’ve seen some photos on Instagram. Lovely day they had. She went to London for that dress, you know. And Alice Temperley wedding dresses don’t come cheap. Not sure about the veil though, bit too 2009 for my taste…”

“Geneva,” Jamie felt the conversation slipping away from him. Trying to bring it back on track, he continued. “Aye, it was a bonnie day, right enough. Lots of people there and I had a few… er… interesting conversations. Wi’ Rupert and Angus and Hal…”

Geneva sat back in her chair, listening. Jamie noticed her hand move to her small baby bump and start to rub it gently, discreetly drawing attention to their brief reunion and its outcome.

“They all were verra surprised that I was at the wedding wi’ Claire. They all knew about the bairn and somehow thought we would be getting back together. What did ye say tae them?”

Geneva’s eyes widened in surprise. “Me? What did I say? All I said was that we were having a baby together and were very pleased. I can’t help it if people jump to conclusions about our relationship status. Very natural conclusions, you might say. After all, I’ve been in your life a lot longer than some.”

Putting on a concerned face, she placed her hand over Jamie’s. “But it must be a strain on Claire. All these assumptions and strange looks. Is it really fair to her, all this? This isn’t what she signed up for. Are you being cruel to her, carrying on with the relationship? Have you really thought about what’s right for Claire?”

Jamie swiftly pulled his hand away from Geneva. He hoped the look on his face would tell her that she had gone too far.

“Geneva, I’ll thank ye to keep yer opinions about Claire and me tae yerself. We have talked about all this at some length and the fact that she is willin’ tae stick wi’ me shows what an incredible woman she is and how lucky I am tae have her in my life. I have made it clear tae our friends that I am with Claire and that willna change. Ye need tae understand that and stop with the misleading. I dinna want tae be mean, Geneva. Ye may have my bairn, but Claire, she has my heart.”

Jamie caught a glimpse of sadness in Geneva’s eyes, before her calm mask fell back into place.

“I’m sorry, Geneva, I dinna want tae hurt ye.”

“Hurt me? Why would you think that?” Geneva asked defensively as she stood up. “Look, I have to go, I’ve an appointment at quarter past. See you at the scan.”

She raised her fingertips to her lips and kissed them before lightly touching Jamie’s forehead.

“Take care,” he called after her. “Text me with any news.”

******

Jamie lay in bed, his hands behind his head, as Claire finished her bedtime rituals. In many ways this was his favourite time of day, just the two of them here with no external distractions and the anticipation building as he waited for Claire to slide into bed next to him - once she took that damn onesie off, of course.

Having been unseasonably warm for so long, autumn had arrived quickly with cool mornings, dark chilly evenings and Claire’s onesie - wrapping her from toes to the top of her head in pink fleece. To Jamie, who had his own internal heating system all year round, it was a unnecessary item of clothing that hid Claire’s luscious curves and long legs from his gaze and made any access to said curves nigh on impossible. To Claire, it was, together with her hot water bottle, a winter necessity. But, Jamie consoled himself with the thought that she never came to bed wearing it and in many ways, the excitement as she slowly unzipped it in front of him made it worthwhile.

Claire finally put her moisturiser away in the drawer Jamie had set aside for her and moved over to the bed. Jamie rolled onto his side and waited expectantly for the unveiling. Which did not disappoint, Claire seemingly unaware of the effect she was having on Jamie as she stepped out of the onesie, followed by the little vest top and pants she was wearing underneath. She slipped into bed and reached to turn out the light as Jamie halted her and pulled her tightly to him.

With her head on his chest, she could feel the vibrations as he spoke to her. “Sassenach, can I tell ye about my meeting wi’ Geneva today?”

Claire nodded, his chest hairs rubbing against her cheek. She wasn’t thrilled to be talking about that, but knew it must be important to Jamie.

“She felt the baby move, like bubbles, aye? Last week it started.”

Her eyes pricked with tears. She tried to blink them away, unsuccessfully. It was the hint of excitement in his voice that cut her to the core. Excitement in this experience he was sharing with another woman. She remained silent, afraid her voice would betray her.

Jamie continued. “I reminded her tae text me wi’ new developments. Are ye ok with that?”

Claire nodded silently again. Jamie shifted onto his side, forcing Claire to change position and he brought his face close to hers.

“Claire, look at me. I ken this is hard fer ye. I love ye and only ye and I dinna want tae cause ye more hurt than I already have. But these things that are goin’ on in my life, I want tae share with ye. If it hurts too much, if ye dinna want me tae tell ye about these things, let me know. I dinna want tae keep things from ye, but it’s yer choice. Ye had a choice tae make when I first told ye about the bairn and ye chose to stay with me, for which I am eternally thankful. Now, ye can choose how much ye want tae know, fer me tae share.”

Claire shifted her gaze to Jamie’s face, a look of concern etched there. She suddenly felt guilty for worrying him, surely it was better that he shared these moments with her, rather than keeping them between himself and Geneva, perhaps even forcing them closer together.

“No, you can tell me. I won’t always want to hear what you tell me, but I want you to want to tell me everything. Do you know what I mean? And I’ll always listen. You know that. I’m... glad you want to share it with me. And, truthfully, it may sometimes make me sad but nowhere near as sad as what I’d imagine if you didn’t tell me. Am I making sense? I feel like I’m rambling.”

“Aye… I mean no...aye, ye’re makin’ sense and no, ye’re no’ ramblin’. So, are we agreed… honesty and truth it is between us?”

“Yes.” Claire forced a smile. “Jamie, it’s small steps. Neither of us really knows what we’re doing… just making it up as we go along...together.”

Jamie gave a sigh of relief. “I spoke tae Geneva about what she’d told people… about her and me. Of course she denied sayin’ anything. She reckoned people came tae their own conclusions, but I put her right about us.”

“Again.” Claire turned her head away from Jamie. He lightly stroked her cheek and brought her face back to his, sharing the same pillow, their breath intermingling.

“Aye, again. I’m bein’ honest wi’ ye here. I think Jenny is right. It’s no’ that I’m biggin’ meself up, but I dinna think Geneva is goin’ tae stop trying tae…”

“Get you all to herself? Get me out of the picture?”

Jamie sighed. “I dinna think this is about ye at all. In her eyes that’s jes’ collateral damage. I’m no’ defending Geneva, but…”

Claire tried to pull away.

“...I’m no’ defending her, but ye have tae understand how she’s been brought up. She’s always been the favourite in the family, the pretty wee pet. Always indulged, always got what she wanted.”

Claire finally relaxed in Jamie’s arms as he continued to talk. “Ye ken Isobel. She’s a couple o’ years older. She told me that, as a child, she can remember Geneva havin’ tantrums if she couldna get her ain way. And she meant real tantrums... screamin’, bitin’, pukin’ tantrums. So her parents always gave in. And that’s how she’s grown up. She’s never learnt ‘no’. Even now her mother spoils her. No’ Isobel, jes’ Geneva.”

And now Jamie was keen to draw the conversation to a close, finding the naked woman in his arms far more enticing.

Claire, however, wasn’t finished. Ignoring the big hand that had descended down her back and was voluptuously kneading her left buttock, she continued.

“But what about Isobel?”

“Ye’d think that all this would make Isobel bitter, would ye no’? But far from it, she’s a lovely wee sweetheart- a teacher in a tough school. And surprisingly, she still loves her Mam and sister. No’ that they always deserve it. But I promise ye, Sassenach, I will always say no to Geneva.”

As Jamie’s hand continued it’s exploration, Claire finally decided to join in with the proceedings. Wrapping her legs around his waist, she rolled onto her back, bringing Jamie to lie on top of her.

“But you’ll never say no to me, will you, James Fraser?” She muttered in his ear.

“Oh God, Sassenach, no… I mean, aye.” Jamie spluttered before Claire brought her lips to his and the time for talking was over.

[eerythingisshaka]

#Fictober Day 14

“Some people call this wisdom.”

(Erik Stevens x Black!OC)

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: Ya girl, Smuttina

Yvonne and Erik sat down for an evening of Netflix as the weather grew cold outside.  Yvonne felt particularly more like a homebody during cooler months, so she kept herself snuggled up to her man at any chance she could get.

They watched a movie that had been in Yvonne’s cue for more than a minute.  It was a chick flick movie essentially, which made Erik roll his eyes and sigh every other minute of dialogue.  Yvonne however loved it, tearing up when the characters decided to put their love on the back burner, cursing anybody that stood in their way and sighing romantically as the characters made love for the first time, so sweetly and passionately.

When the credits rolled, Yvonne sat up, crossing her arms in a huff.  Erik barely noticed, thanking God for the conclusion as he picked up the remote to choose something else.  “What’s up with you?  I watched your movie, like you asked.”

“That’s not it, Erik.  Did you see what happened?”  Yvonne asked, irritated.

Erik leaned back, looking at the ceiling.  “The two white folks wanted to open a cake shop but the business went under and they broke up but realized love was more than business and got together for richer or poorer.  Am I close?”

Yvonne blinked a couple times.  “That was actually a pretty good synopsis, but that’s not what I am asking for!  They looked so damn happy right?”

Erik nodded.  “Their acting left a lot to be desired, but there was chemistry, yeah.”

“But….did you see how he spoke to her?  So nice and kind and gentle?”

Erik looked around expectantly.  “Uh huh…”

Yvonne throws her hands up.  “Why aren’t you ever that sweet with me!  You are always so damn nasty, and ignorant with me.  What about softness, romance and shit.  What don’t you treat me like a lady for once!”

Yvonne gets up, picking up discarded snack wrappers heading to the trash.  Erik groans, following her.

“That shit ain’t real on the movies, you know?  They show people in a bubble, with controlled situations to make the plot go smooth.  That ain’t real life, baby!”

Yvonne looks back at him with contempt.  “Oh, sure.  Think being good to your woman is make believe.  Well I’m telling you what I want, so you can either oblige, or step, Erik.  I’m sick of it!”

Yvonne goes to the dishes to start rinsing them off and loading them up.  “And it couldn’t kill you to do some damn chores around here, instead of me picking up after you all the fucking time!”

Erik stands beside her.  “The hell is this all comin from?  Didn’t we just watch some lovey dovey bullshit, and you come off of it like your ass itch or somethin?  Makin demands and shit?  The fuck is wrong with you?”

Yvonne tosses a dish roughly into the dishwasher, closing it up to start.  “Oh well shit, I guess nothing, Erik.  Forget all I fucking said in the meantime.  Aight?”

Yvonne rinses her hands off as Erik encroaches behind her.  “You want me to talk sweet and nice to you?”

Yvonne, unphased, “I’m not repeating myself.”

Erik brings his hand around to her belly, holding her close.  “You want me to tell you that you’re my everything?  That you’re the reason I wake up and hustle to get shit done.  You wanna hear that?”

Yvonne freezes, hearing all that she wants to.  “Yeah...that sounds nice…”

Erik turns her around.  “You wanna know how just seeing you get up and get ready everyday, lookin all cute and shit, makes me wanna take you down on sight?  Cuz you’re so damn sexy, I can’t help but get hard at the mention of your name?”

Yvonne presses her thighs together as she leans back on the sink.  “You’re getting a little dirty again, but it’s still not bad…”

Erik sneers as his hand reaches her waistband.  “Nah, cuz you tellin me one thing, when your body is doing something else.  You don’t like it when I make your pussy throb like it is now?”

Yvonne shakes her head.  “I don’t know what you talkin about.”

Erik takes his hand between her legs, forcing her thighs apart with his knee.  “You know what I’m sayin.  You talkin all this cash shit, but you’re quiet now.  You got that heat on you, I feel it.”

Yvonne grabs his shirt.  “You a damn bastard.  I asked you to treat me-”

Erik, grips her legs up, sitting her on the edge of the sink.  “You a lady now?  You wanna be a lady?  Why your legs open so easily for me then?  I ain’t even gotta try!”

Yvonne was tired of his games.  He switched the subject on her too quick and she couldn’t take it anymore as she reached for his fly.

Erik looked down.  “Is that what a good girl does?  Reach for niggas dick instead of asking first?  You need some training, obviously.”

Yvonne was taking her own shorts down as she tried to keep from falling in the sink.  “Erik, I ain’t worried about that no more.  I want you to fuck me.”

Erik stepped back, scratching his chin.  “Wooow.  Look at little sweet Bo Peep, just giving in to the wolf.  I told you already, I want you to ask me.  I can’t get no sweet talk too?”

Yvonne sat on the sink spread for Erik, touching herself to relieve some of her tension built up.  “Please, I just want you inside of me.  I’ll be good.”  She whined.

Erik undid his pants.  “You remember this next time you ask me for some Disney Princess bullshit.  You ain’t a lady, but you MY lady.  And my lady takes dick like a dirty, fucking champ.  My lady creams for me before I even stick her with it.   My lady begs me for air while that pussy chokes the life out my dick for more.”

Yvonne’s nods as she pulls Erik to her, stroking him to his peak hardness before lining him up to her entrance.  "I understand, baby. Forgive me, but I need this so bad...." She gasps as his tips enters her, putting her hand to his belly.

“Nah, baby girl, chill with that.  Move ya hand, put that pipe in your lap, you don't know how to act.”  Erik scolds her as he presses his hips forward to penetrate her deeper.  Yvonne buckled under the pressure, gripping the back of his neck as he took down her authority stroke by stroke.

“This is the pussy I like to see.  You tryna white my dick out as I speak, but that shit ain’t goin nowhere.  It’s stayin in this pussy.”  Erik growls as he throttles Yvonne’s box in retaliation.

Yvonne tries to speak.  “Ohhh, Erik!  You ain’t gotta do me like this.  Come on, eat me out.  I need a break!”

Erik smacks the side of her ass, ignoring her request.  “Lick you for what?  You better shut up and take this nut.  I’m tired of you tellin me off.  Fucking cum already.”

Yvonne whines, tearing at his hair for stability.  “I….am….cumming...I...can’t...stop….”

Erik grips her legs up on his shoulders to go in deeper.  “You need to quit interrupting your pussy talkin to me, I’m tryna listen.  Play with that shit so I can finish your motor mouth ass up.”

Erik grips her hair at the root as he fucks her more deliberately, giving her the long stroke that she so desperately needed, that romantic shit that could get her pregnant if she wasn’t careful.

Yvonne’s face stretched like a Salvador Dali painting when she seized up in climax as every muscle in her body was exerted by the force.  Erik felt the shock waves on his through her walls, just like he liked it. He pops his dick out of her as her legs fall down, and cums right on her stomach in streams, tapping the last drops off on her belly button.

Erik pulls his pants off to head upstairs and clean up, leaving her splayed and coated in his seed like a blasphemous sacrificial lamb.

“You swear you fucking know what I want Erik.  You ain’t shit for that.”  Yvonne says in between exhales.

“Just look at you.  I know from experience.  Some people call this wisdom.”

[brohood-assassins-imagines]

So We Endure - Chapter 3: Times of Change

A/N: Yet another chapter of heartache. I’m going through a bit of a writer’s block for it, so next post I make will probably be a Connor smut I’ve been cooking up for a while! As always, this fic has a playlist (made by me) here

Word Count: 4k+

“What do you mean I’m out?!,” you screeched, eyes watering as a painfully cold grip took hold of your heart.

Mr. Jackson — Jack, as he liked to be addressed to — sighed wearily, cleaning one of the various pints of beer behind the counter. “It is what I said,” he shrugged, not looking you in the eyes. “Your out.”

“Jack, you can’t do that!,” you pleaded, pointedly ignoring the looks some of the early in customers shot you.

“Already did,” the man put the pint down, picking up another one. “Don’t need myself a singer who’s gonna whore herself out to my customers and have them never come back,” he stared you down, expression bitter and anger barely contained. “Shoulda said so before, that your a whore. Woulda treated you likewise.”

You felt the world stop around you, a shiver of fear running down your spine. The squeezing of your heart tightened and you leaned in towards the man. “Jack, I have a son. I need this job, I have to keep him fed and—“

“And on your way to a new one, I see,” he spit the venom casually, not minding the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes. “Shoulda thought ‘bout him before, eh?”

“Nothing happened, Jack! For fucks sake!”

“Yeah, right,” he cackled at his own inside joke. “Outta here with ya. Already hired a new girl, don’t need ya makin’ a scene now.” The man picked another glass up, polishing it without really watching he was doing, “and to think one day I hoped to get it on with ya…”

Humiliated and wrecked, both emotionally and physically, you hunched your shoulders and allowed yourself to cry quietly before being shunned out of the pub. As much as you hated the job, it was what had kept you and Charlie relatively warm at night; with a roof over your heads. You risked a look at one of the clocks on your way home — a quarter after 6 — and tried to think positively. The rent was paid. You had money for the next one, it was okay, if you tightened the belts. There was food at home, you’d get to spend some time with Charlie—

It all felt like a bad joke on you.

The door whined and creaked as Mrs. Dolloway opened it, letting a small gasp of surprise get past her thin lips. “Oh dear!,” she put a chubby hand against her cheek, “ya certainly dropped by early today! I wasn’t expecting ya around ‘til half past nine or so, girl.”

You forced a smile, fidgeting with the tattered cloth-bag in your hands. “Yes, I… got out early.”

Mrs. Dolloway frowned at you, closing the door a bit as she leaned closer to you so the kids wouldn’t eavesdrop. “What happened?”

Closing your eyes, you sighed and twisted your lips as if tasting bitter medicine. You never managed to lie or cover things from your neighbor — and possibly best friend —, as much as you wanted to. She didn’t need to worry more than she already did. “Dolls, really…”

“Dontcha ‘Dolls’ me, girl!,” she pouted, a slight rise of color coming to her complexion. “Come on, out with it. Ya can tell me things, ‘m not made of glass!”

You huffed out a laugh, shaking your head. “Jack fired me today.”

As expected, the woman gasped indignantly. “Whatever for?!”

“It doesn’t matter, really,” you cut in quickly, eager to change the subject. “I’m already looking for a new job.”

“This close to winter? Best thing ya gonna find will be laundry work, probably worse,” she stressed, brows knitting together in worry. “Want me to ask aroun’?”

It wasn’t entirely fair, you knew. You already felt like a parasite with all the help people offered so freely — the guilty pang of Mr. Fry—Jacob’skindness still all too recent in your mind. Drawing your lower lip into your mouth, you bit nervously on it. “If that isn’t a bother, Dolls—“

“Silly girl,” she stopped you before you could finish. “Silly, silly girl.” The plump woman closed the door behind her, pulling you into a tight motherly hug; her soft hands smoothing your shoulders lovingly. “Already taken care of, I tell ya. Stop worryin’, eh?,” she whispered as you awkwardly wrapped your arms around her.

“Thank you,” you offered meekly, allowing the tears to well in your eyes, “thank you so much, Dolls. I just—“

“Hush now,” she pulled away, patting your face gently. “Don’t ya dare go all soft on me now, we still have to talk, eh?,” she smiled. “I asked Tommy what happened that day n’ I think ya should talk to Charlie too.”

“I tried, at the park,” you confessed, leaning against the railing of the stairs, “but it didn’t feel right, at the moment. Didn’t want to make him get antsy on me while we’re out, you know?”

Mrs. Dolloway nodded sagely, but it didn’t seem to smooth her ruffled feathers. “When you can, then. Sooner than later, is my advice.”

You frowned. “What did Tommy tell him?”

“Charlie?,” you called softly, drying the boy’s hair with a towel. He answered by turning around and looking you in the eye. “Mummy loves you very much. You know that, right?,” and upon his nod, you took a breath in before continuing. “Remember last time I fetched you at Auntie Doll, you and Tommy had a fight?”

Your son’s face scrunched up and he cast his gaze down with a slight pout. “It wasn’t my fault,” he offered, although hesitantly.

“Mummy knows,” you said, sitting beside him at the bed, back resting against the wall as you appraised the boy. “I just want to make sure you’re not holding things back from me.”

Charlie’s lips twisted a bit, as he seemed to fight an internal monologue with himself. “I just…,” he fidgeted with the edges of the shirt you had finished fixing. “Tommy said our family is daft.”

“Daft?,” you prompted him on, already knowing the answer.

“Yeah,” the boy agreed, picking at his nails. “Because I don’t have a dad.”

You had been preparing yourself for this talk, but that didn’t stop the cold drop in the pit of your stomach. “And what do you think about that?”

Charlie frowned, looking at you as if he hadn’t fully grasped what you had asked. “Tommy asked me if I had a daddy…,” he started, although hesitantly, “I said no, because that’s what you told me,” Charlie cast his eyes down once more before talking again. “He said that’s dumb, that everyone has a daddy, but I said I didn’t n’ he told me our family is daft,” he started crying, shaking slightly, “’das why I hit ‘im. ‘M sorry, mummy.”

“Hey, now,” you called in, opening your arms for a hug, “our family is not daft. We love each other a lot, don’t we? Isn’t that what matters?”

The boy sniffled, moving closer as you allowed him to rest upon your chest. “But he’s right,” he mumbled quietly, “it’s true.”

You pressed your lips together, smoothing his hair and trying to hold back your own tears. “Don’t you like mummy, baby?”

“It’s not that,” he said, voice brittle with emotion, “I just…,” a quiet sob, “I wanted to have a daddy too.”

Silence grew heavy, broken only by the sniffling and sobbing from your son; and all you could do was hug him tighter.

Thursday morning came slowly, daylight barely making its way through the fraying edges of the ruined curtains. Days were growing colder with the approach of winter; you registered distantly and stretched, burying your face into the thin pillow as the tell-tale sounds of town started rumbling around you. Job hunting hadn’t been going the way you wanted — after walking around for 3 days straight, until your feet ached and chaffed in your boots, you came to the grim conclusion that Mrs. Dolloway had been right to some degree, because even the laundry houses and the few factories that offered jobs year-round were overstaffed.

At some point, you started doubting if there really had been such a sudden shortage of jobs around the slums or if people were simply avoiding you. Everyone loved to gossip around here, even if most tended to show you their kinder side; there were still the ones with venomous tongues and ill spirits, who’d pounce at the opportunity of pointing their fingers at you in a heartbeat.

You wondered if Mr. Jackson was to blame or if your poorly-thought-through display with Jacob earlier on Sunday to the bus stop had had anything to do with it.

Universe definitely wasn’t kind.

Charlie stirred against you, sleepy murmurs stopping as soon as you rubbed his shoulder. The boy was a blessing, truly, and you didn’t regret it; not him. He wasn’t to blame for anything. You closed your eyes again, opting for sleeping in for a bit more today. It wasn’t like you were to change anything and magically find a job today after leaving no rock unturned last few days. Sleep crept slowly, its pull gentle and sweet and—

A knock.

A knock?

Frowning, you sighed; halfway hoping it was your imagination or for another floor. You opened your eyes, resting a tired gaze upon the weathered wooden door. Someone — a male voice, you recognized — called your name through it, now knocking more insistently which made Charlie groan and turn to bury his face into the mattress.

“Heavens…,” you whispered, slipping out of bed, careful not to wake your slumbering son, to answer the door. It couldn’t be Mr. Ross, you had paid the rent on time yesterday and Mrs. Dolloway usually wasn’t up this early. “Who’s it?,” you inquired quietly, hugging yourself to retain the warmth from the bed.

“Jacob,” the voice answered, sounding far to anxious to belong to the same calm and confident man you who’s had tea with you in the kitchen last Sunday. It was early, you frowned, much too early than what proper education demanded to a breakfast visit, and it made you feel uneasy. What on earth did he want? Then he called your name again, “will you open up?”

Pressing your lips together and sighing resentfully, you unlocked the door and Jacob wasted no time at slipping in and closing it behind himself. “I— Jacob, I have never—“

“I know, etiquette be damned,” he spoke hastily, taking off roughened up cap that matched his outfit. No top hat today?, you thought to yourself. “But— I swear, as soon as I heard about it— Wha— How— Uh… you… you were fired?,” the words tumbled out of his mouth, tripping on each other as he cast a worried gaze at you; a wild look in his eyes that made you wonder distantly if he had slept at all.

“Jacob.”

“Are you okay?,” he continued, “do you want me to talk to Jack?,” the man asked now, pacing around the flat, trying to school his voice into something less anxious. “We can see to it, you’ll have your old job in the blink of an eye, I swear—“

“Jacob.”

He stopped, frowning and fixing you with a puzzled look. “What?”

“It’s fine,” you offered lightly, trying to force a smile into your lips. “I hated it there, either way. I’m a singer to some degree, it kept a roof over our heads for a while, and it’s okay.”

Jacob swallowed thickly, staring at you with a dumbfounded look. “You… Ah, you’re not mad?”

“Whyever for?,” your voice came out like a tired sigh. “It wasn’t your fault. If I am to blame anyone, I’d point fingers at myself for doing something so reckless and stupid—“

“You were desperate, there is a difference,” he quipped in, grimacing at the thought. “I’d have come sooner had you told me— why— why didn’t you tell me?”

You huffed out a laugh, crossing your arms in front of him. “Because I don’t know where you live, Jacob Frye. Much less how to contact you.”

Something seemed to click in his mind and Jacob scowled. “I’m sorry,” he offered, the high of his cheeks adopting an embarrassed shade of pink. “I feel like— I thought you’d have my head if I showed up here.”

Frowning as you moved closer to the kettle, you gave him a confused look. “Whatever for?”

“Because— well, because…,” he mumbled, shifting his weight from one foot to another. “I just...,” Jacob coughed, looking away with a somewhat relieved face and his shoulders stopped tensing up. Well, that went off terribly. “I thought you would be mad at me for making you lose your job that day—“

“You didn’t,” you said casually.

“—and I wanted to make sure you and Charlie were okay, so I just came flying here as soon as I could.” As you put the water to boil, he shoot a look at you that pleaded for something, even though you weren’t entirely sure what. “Are you sure you don’t want me to explain the situation to Jack?”

You splashed some water into the teapot. “I don’t want to have anything to do with Jack any longer, Jacob,” your voice came out colder than you intended and you tried to soften it a bit. “We had our divergences and he wouldn’t take me for my word,” you explained, opening the cabinet and pulling the tea box. You weren’t going to lie, seeing the kitchen cabinet filled with food like that eased the anxiety in your heart. “Besides, he’s a bloody penny-pincher and a pig.” At that, Jacob laughed and you turned around to catch his mischievous smirk at you. “Believe me, I’m better off out of there.”

“’Suppose I’ll have to find a new pub to drink at, then,” Jacob started, putting his cap back on, “because that new girl can’t sing for shit, I’m telling you.”

It didn’t surprise you, honestly.

“It’s not difficult to please the drunkards,” you shrugged, “a pretty face is all they need at some point,” after your jesting, noticing what you had said, you clapped a hand over your mouth and turned to give him a horrified look. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to—“

“It’s fine,” Jacob waved a hand dismissively, smirking as he walked closer to the stove and it occurred to you that he might be cold, without a thick coat on, “you can speak your mind around me,” he threw a few coals into the stove, proceeding to rub his hands together for warmth. “Besides, it was funny, and I believe I did tell you etiquette is not my best trait.”

You fidgeted with the kitchen rag in your hands, scoffing at his commentary. “Yes, I’ve been told.” As much as you hated to admit, you wanted to have someone’s company— needed it, really; someone who wouldn’t fuss and ask questions you didn’t want to answer, and last time had proven that Jacob wasn’t unpleasant at all to talk to. You shoot him a glance, trying to sound nonchalant. “Would you like to have breakfast with us? I was just about to start cooking.”

Jacob tensed, looking at you as if you had just told him to leave the flat, giving you a piercing gaze that deeply unsettled you; as if he could see through your lie. “That’d be lovely,” he blew into his hands, a smile already plastered upon his face, “thank you.”

Nodding, you turned around to cut up the cheese and bread — it was still so soft it made you wonder if Jacob bought it the same day it had been baked. Walking around, he got rid of his cap, putting it over the table, and asked “are you still looking for a new job?”

It was bound to happen, sooner or later. “Yes, although not with much luck, I’m afraid.”

“Oh?,” Jacob prompted, coming up next to you and pulling the same two mugs you had used to drink tea last time from the cabinet. It made you itch uncomfortably, for some reason.

“No one would hire me,” you explained, giving him an exasperated look that suggested you weren’t overly fond of the topic. “Not even the washhouses or the coal factory.”

Jacob hesitated for a second, looking mildly guilty. “I can help you, with anything you’d like.”

Just as he never ceased to surprise you, the annoyance seemed to come along in equal measures. You started to regret the invitation.

Turning around for a second, you offered him a disinterested “oh?”

The man shuffled awkwardly, giving you a pained look. “What I mean is… I can… help. More, is what I’m trying to say.”

Not knowing what to do with the silence, you allowed it to stretch a bit. “That’d be nice of you, but what I really am looking for is a job, Jacob.”

Jacob nodded, looking away with furrowed brows and as if he wanted to say something else; but ultimately stayed silent. You were somewhat thankful for it, but wouldn’t settle for having someone else paying your bills; you’ve been able to make things right up until now. The quiet that grew in the room evoked a heavy cloud of uneasiness and you wondered just when Charlie would wake up.

As if on careful coordination, a sleepy “mummy?,” called from the bedroom and you sighed in relief.

Offering Jacob a somewhat apologetic look, you hurried to the bedroom — which wasn’t really that far away, “hey, baby…,” you whispered, bending slightly in order to caress his head, “are you hungry? Mummy’s making breakfast now.”

Charlie yawned, turning to press his face into the mattress again and stretching out his arms for you to pick him up. “Are you going out today?,” he asked when you fixed him against your hip, resting his face against your collarbone.

“I don’t know yet,” you answered truthfully. “Let’s eat first, yes? We have a visit over today.”

“We do?”

You nodded, rubbing his back a bit. “Do you remember Jacob?”

The boy stayed silent for a moment, mind still hazy as he tried to recall where he had heard the name before. “Jake?,” he asked, looking at you with a confused look, “the magician?”

“Jake the magi—,“ you cut yourself, laughing softly, “yes, the magician.” Charlie’s eyes widened a bit, letting go of the heavy lidded look he was giving you. “Why don’t we go talk to him, mhm?”

He shifted a bit in your arms, as if embarrassed, until ultimately agreeing; although hesitantly. “’kay…”

Turning around to leave the bedroom, you caught sight of Jacob watching you with an expression you couldn’t exactly pinpoint; but it didn’t look bad on his face, you decided ultimately. The softness in his eyes made the hazel stand out against the olive skin and you wondered what he must’ve been thinking.

“Hey, sport!,” he called cheerfully, waving a hand at Charlie as the other took a hold of the backrest of a chair, “thought you’d sleep in forever.”

Charlie got flustered, resting his head against your chest in a gesture of comfort. “Hey,” he answered timidly, fiddling with the frilly neckline of your dress.

“Now,” Jacob started, approaching you both with a disarming smile, “I have a little something for you today,” the smile broadened when he saw that it had caught Charlie’s attention, “I wonder if you’re gonna like it.”

Your son looked at Jacob curiously, weighing his next words carefully. Charlie had never been very talkative strangers, but seemed to be growing out of it at times; with moments where he oscillated between both before ultimately making up his mind about the person. “What is it?,” he inquired, starting to develop a mild interest at the promise of a gift.

“Oh, I’m not really sure,” Jacob frowned, crossing his arms rather hilariously. “A little bird brought it to me and said it was your favorite.”

“Don’t be daft,” Charlie spoke in a half amused and surprised voice, “birds can’t talk.”

Jacob smiled at him, looking at you briefly. What Jacob lacked in etiquette and good sense, he made up with the way he got along with children — Charlie, in particular. You still weren’t entirely sure about him, but allowed yourself to be swayed over the attachment your son seemed to have developed over him.

“Well, you got me there,” he said, touching his chest lightly, “but you forget I’m a magician. I read it in the bird’s mind, actually.”

“No way!,” Charlie exclaimed, pushing away from your body and getting rid of whatever traces of sleepiness remained in his face, “really?!”

“Really!,” Jacob assured

He seemed to think on that for a few seconds as you shared a knowing look with Jacob. “Can you read my mind?”

“Oh, I can only read bird’s minds,” the man answered simply, “but I bet you’re still thinking about what the bird told me to give you.”

“Wrong,” Charlie giggled childishly, “I was thinking about what color your talking bird is.”

“See?,” Jacob gestured towards himself, as if resigned, “only bird-thoughts for me.”

“I want to know its color!,” Charlie protested and you giggled at the demand.

“Didn’t you tell me it was a blue one?,” you asked Jacob with a fake confused voice.

Jacob looked up at you, surprised at your input, but played along, “ah, yes,” he agreed, “a little blue bird asked me to give you this as a gift.” At that, the man pulled out the thin package from the insides of his coat.

“What is it?,” your son asked suddenly, twisting out of your arms as he leaned over and you were forced to put him down.

You looked at what Jacob had in hand — a bar of chocolate, of all things, and you were surprised the man even kept such a thing in mind. Smiling, you settled your gaze upon his face, at the pleased expression that spoke volumes of his character without the need for words.

“Chocolate,” Jacob explained, raising a finger before the boy could freak out, “but you gotta eat breakfast first, okay?”

Charlie pouted a bit, looking mildly disappointed even as Jacob offered him the candy. “Not even a piece?”

You supposed you owed him that much. Pretending not to pay attention at the exchange, you moved towards the stove and took the kettle out of the fire, pouring the fervent water into the teapot at the well-known ritual of making tea.

Looking over his shoulder — as you saw from the corner of your eye —, Jacob leaned down and whispered something to Charlie, who nodded eagerly, and gave him the candy back. You pretended you didn’t hear the clear sound of paper being unwrapped and the pleased giggle of your son as he rushed towards the bedroom with what you hoped wasn’t the entire bar right before breakfast.

“You shouldn’t have,” you whispered, voice softer than before, “you’re spoiling him.”

“It’s fine,” Jacob interjected, “he’s a kid.”

“Kids need to eat proper meals,” you huffed a laugh, looking at him as he leaned back against the counter beside you. “Thank you, though.”

He broke a piece of the chocolate and offered it to you. “You don’t have to thank me,” Jacob smiled when you took it, the candy melting a bit at where he had touched. “I’m glad you appreciate it, but you know that’s not what I’m looking for.”

You nibbled at it, reveling in its sweetness. It had been ages since you had had any chocolate and it was equal measures refreshing and heartwarming. “I hope you didn’t go out of your way for that,” you pointed out, fixing him with an amused look.

Jacob scoffed, breaking a small piece for himself, “no, I just happen to be a fan of chocolate myself,” he confessed, waving the still-considerable-bar in the air. “This is from my personal stash, actually.”

A stash. Again, the question about just who this man was nagged at the back of your mind. Chocolate was no cheap treat. “Don’t spoil him,” you looked at Jacob, stirring the infuser inside the teapot, “he’s too young and impressionable. Reality isn’t…,” you trailed off, lowering your head and staring at the chocolate in your hands.

“Reality isn’t what?,” Jacob called out, goading you on.

Sighing, you let go of the candy. “Reality isn’t this; random strange benefactors showing up at your flat,” you picked up the teapot, setting it over the table and moved towards the counter again, “with chocolate and food and offering to pay off your rent,” grabbing the piece of ham, you set it on the cutting board, “and wanting to give you money for whatever the reason!”

Jacob weighed your words, unmoving, and it both astounded and annoyed you in equal measures how he didn’t even flinch. “What is reality, then?”

You put the knife down, feeling the wet hot tears of anger welling up in your eyes. “It’s struggling,” you answered in a cold, matter-of-fact voice. “You work hard to gain your money, see that it’s not enough and you worry. You pay rent on your own, you buy food on your own, you teach your kids why’s that they can’t have a new toy or a pair of shoes on your own,” wiping the tears away, you fixed the man with a harsh stare, “that’s what reality is, and it’s not kind.”

He stayed silent for a short while, seeming to be mulling over what you had said and you were thankful for it in order to recollect yourself. “Maybe it doesn’t have to be that way,” Jacob whispered above the crackling of the fire and the distant chatter of the streets, “maybe fate has a kinder outlook on life than what you might be used to.”

Hesitating as you steadied yourself against the counter, you thought on what he had said. “It’s…,” stopping, you fixed a strand of hair behind your ear, “…a nice fantasy,” you decided ultimately, setting the plate of sliced ham on the table. The flat felt eerily quiet now, the tension in the air drowning out the sounds of the outer world. “But I won’t wait for it.”

It was a while since Jacob had been around.

Deep down, you feared you had been too harsh on your words; but in your defense, you were on the edge for days on end, looking for jobs that didn’t exist with people whispering behind your back in accusing tones; not to mention the whole situation with your son, now that he didn’t want go to Mrs. Dolloway’s. It wasn’t one of your best moments, you knew, but you couldn’t help but to lash out at anyone who pushed your buttons.

Sighing, you shook your head slightly, stitching a button into one of your worn out shirts. You wouldn’t be surprised if the man never showed up again; it had been almost a week, after all. You had paid rent with whatever was left of the money he had given you so freely before — under the doubtful gaze of Mr. Ross, who didn’t ask where you were getting those shiny new coppers — and feared what might come to happen if Tuesday came to be with you penniless.

Maybe you could sell one of your things, but what? You didn’t own anything but the necessary. It had been that way since father passed away, and—

No.

It wouldn’t do you any good to dive into painful memories and replay things over and over — you had to push forwards, no matter what.

With your mind set, you decided to get rid of the armchair if things didn’t improve soon. Nodding at your own decision, you looked over at the bedroom where Charlie slept soundly; lulled into sleep by the yellowish glow the fire from the stove cast into the walls of the flat. You couldn’t help but feel your heart squeeze tightly for him, as if someone had taken hold of it.

And that’s when frantic knock came down on the front door.

Startled, you hurriedly got up on your feet in order to stop the hellish noise before it woke your boy up. Muttering low curses, you went for the door and yanked it open with furrowed brows, only to be face to face with Jacob — a sweaty, red from exertion, with a manic smile Jacob.

“You won’t believe this!,” he started, letting himself in as he pushed the hood down from his face.

You were dumbstruck. He couldn’t be serious. “Jacob, you better have a good reason—“

“To come here in the middle of the night?,” he cut you, stepping closer and taking hold of your forearms with bare hands. “Believe me, I do!”

Curiosity spoke louder than the annoyance in your mind. “Out with it, then,” you spoke quietly, expertly shutting his mouth the moment he tried to speak again, “and try to be quieter, yes? Charlie’s asleep.”

Smiling wildly, Jacob leaned forwards — perhaps a bit too close than what you’d like — and whispered, “I got you a job.”

[thelastspeecher]

☠️ -Spy au, Stan and Angie must attend the funeral of Ford's cover identity. Stan has to fight back laughter, while Angie has to fight off Fiddleford's worried concerns in her ear. They also have to find a way to sneak ford out of the casket before he's buried. (perhaps a shrinking ray? or maybe they de-age Ford before the funeral starts and Stan sneaks young!Ford while no one is looking.)

☠️- Dead

Send an emoji for a ficlet!

              Remember Grannie’s service.  Yer not here, yer there, at that church, withyer pa cryin’.  It’s the first timeyou’ve ever seen him shed a tear. Angie opened her eyes and let out a sob. There.  That’s more like it.  Yer the devastated widow of Lenny Fields.  Someone put a gentle, reassuring hand onAngie’s shoulder.  She turned to smileweakly.

              “Hello,”Angie said softly, hesitantly.  Theperson, Herb, smiled at her.

              “I’m sosorry that your husband passed,” Herb said gently.  Angie sighed.

              “Thanksfor your condolences,” she said, carefully adopting a Midwestern accent, to betterfit her cover as a violinist from Kansas. “It’s been difficult.  Especiallysince…since…”  Angie took a shaky breathand let a single tear trickle down her cheek. “Lenny wasn’t here when his father…” Angie trailed off.  Herb frowned.

              “Pardon?”

              “Lenny.  My son. Leonard Fields II.”  Angie frownedright back at Herb.  “I- I know I’vementioned him before.”

              Angie hadmentioned her fabricated son twice: once when they decided that it would benecessary for Ford to change from being an adult to a child to collect the datafor the mission, and the second time a couple days after.  Just to make sure that it wouldn’t be a hugesurprise for “Penny Fields” to have a child that looked like “Lenny Fields”suddenly live with her.  Herb noddedslowly.

              “Oh.  You’re right. That’s- I’m- that’s awful, Lenny’s son wasn’t there.  How, um, how old is your son?”

              “Eight.”

              “Wow.  That’s so young, to- to lose-” Herbstammered.  He rubbed the back of hisneck.  “Wow.”  He moved closer to Angie, pressing hisshoulder against hers.

              “Damn, this guy is really gonna make a moveon a new widow?” Stan’s voice said over the communicator hidden in Angie’searrings.  Angie choked back a laugh atStan’s disgusted tone.  Luckily, Herbmistook it for Angie choking back a sob. Herb let out a small tsk ofsympathy and took a hold of Angie’s hand. “Get your mitts off my wife, youlittle-”

              “Mama!”  Angie looked over.  She beamed at the child rushing over toher.  “Mama, is- is-”

              “I’m sosorry, baby, it’s true,” Angie gushed, running her fingers through the child’swild curls.  The child – Ford, freshlyde-aged – met Angie’s eyes.  “Your Papais- he’s-”  Angie stroked Ford’scheek.  “He’s no longer with us.”

              “I’msorry that I couldn’t get him here sooner,” the adult accompanying Fordsaid.  Angie stood up and looked at theadult, Fiddleford.  “It- there weren’tany flights out, and-”

              “Ned,it’s fine,” Angie said firmly.  She tooka hold of his hands.  “What matters isthat you’re here now, and you brought Lenny with.”

              “Geez, Ang, laying it on a bit thick, huh?”Stan muttered.  Fiddleford let out thetiniest huff of impatience.  Herb frownedat Fiddleford.  Fiddleford carefullycoughed to disguise the noise he had just made.

              “Mama, amI gonna go back to Uncle Ned’s?” Ford asked. Angie shook her head.

              “No,sweetie, you’re gonna stay home now. Okay?  And your Uncle Ned saidhe’ll stay with us for a little while.” Ford cocked his head.

              “Why?”

              “Well,your mama is gonna need some help around the house and with you, while we allhandle your- your papa’s…passing,” Fiddleford said gently, stroking Ford’srambunctious curls.  Ford scrunched hisface up.

              “But Iwanna go back to Uncle Ned’s,” Ford whined. Laughter burst over the communicator.

              “Sixer, did you pick that up from my kids orsomethin’?  ‘Cause you sound just likethe girls right now.”  Fordscowled.  “Don’t blow your cover just ‘cause you’re pissed at me.”

              “Well,Lenny, you’re gonna stay at home for a while, since we lost your father,” Angiesaid patiently.  Ford’s frown deepened.  Angie sighed and looked over at Herb.  “Herb, I’m sorry to walk off, but I don’t-I’m not sure that Lenny really understands what’s going on, and I should reallydo my best to explain things to him.”

              “Death isdifficult for children to grasp,” Herb said quietly.  He sighed. “It’s- it’s fine, Penny, no need to apologize.  This is your husband’s funeral, after all.”  Angie smiled gratefully.

              “I’ll beback in a bit.  Come on, Lenny.  Ned, you wanna come with?”

              “Sure.  Anything I can do to help, sis,” Fiddlefordsaid, putting an arm around Angie’s shoulders. Fiddleford, Angie, and Ford walked into the deserted mausoleum.  Stan emerged from a darkened corner.  He raised an eyebrow at Angie.

              “Hey,babe,” Stan said sultrily.  Angie beamed,dropped the hand of Ford’s she’d been holding and rushed forward to embrace herhusband.  Ford and Fiddleford avertedtheir eyes from the reunion, which quickly progressed to a makeoutsession.  After a little while,Fiddleford checked his watch and sighed.

              “Break itup, you two.  We can’t stay in here muchlonger without folks gettin’ suspicious.” Stan and Angie pulled apart.

              “Sorry,Fidds, it’s just been so long since I’ve seen Stan,” Angie said.  She grinned at Stan.  He grinned right back.  Ford cleared his throat.  “Right. We need to discuss the state of the mission.”

              “It’spretty obvious that Herb is feelin’ close to ya,” Fiddleford said, clasping hishands behind his back.  “So hopefullyhe’ll let somethin’ slip or even outright confess to his involvement in thecartel.  All else fails, you gain accessto his home, and get the evidence that way.” Angie nodded.

              “Ned andLenny will be staying with you,” Stan said. “Guys like Herb can be dangerous, and get dangerous fast, withoutwarning.  You need as much protection aspossible, in case things go south.” Angie nodded again.  “This guy’sclearly scum, I mean, even I wouldn’thit on a widow at her husband’s funeral-”

              “Ya mostcertainly wouldn’t, since ya have a wonderful wife and two beautiful daughtersright now,” Angie interrupted.

              “Well,yeah.  Obviously.”

              “Speakin’of, who’s watchin’ the girls?” Angie asked.

              “Ma,”Fiddleford said.  “Please, focus.  We don’t have a lot of time.”

              “I’llkeep trying to pull things from behind the scenes,” Stan said.  “You guys just make sure you stay in Herb’sgood graces.  Ford, be as cute as youcan.”  Ford glared at Stan.  “You can be cuter.  I’ve seen it.”  Ford sighed heavily.  He mussed his hair, rolled back hisshoulders, and then looked up at Stan with wide eyes.  Stan nodded appreciatively.  “That’s more like it.  Keep it up. Fidds, remember, Ned is a mechanic, and he’s lonely, which is why LennyII stays with him during the summer.” Fiddleford nodded.  “Ned is gonnatry to keep his nephew outta the house as much as possible, to distract himfrom his dad being dead.”

              “Right,”Fiddleford said.  “But we won’t befar.  So, Angie, if you need help, we canget there fast.”

              “I know,I know,” Angie said.  She sighedworriedly.  “Stan, Ford, are ya sure thatno one saw ya?  It was a pretty riskyoperation, removin’ Ford’s ‘body’ from the casket and then de-agin’ him.”

              “Not asingle witness, babe,” Stan said confidently. Ford fussed with his polo shirt.

              “Are yousure you brought the right size of clothes? This feels big on me,” Ford said. Stan crouched down to look at Ford more closely.

              “I usedthe records we had on how big the both of us were when we were eight,” he said.  “It should fit.”  Stan frowned. “Open your mouth.”

              “Why?”

              “I’mgonna take a look at your chompers.”

              “I’m notactually a child,” Ford mumbled.  “You cancall them ‘teeth’.”

              “We’ve gotmaybe three minutes left ‘fore folks get suspicious,” Fiddleford saidanxiously.  “Stop pickin’ a fight, Stanford,and open yer mouth.”  Ford silently didas he was told.  Stan peered closely at histeeth.

              “Shit.”  Stan stood to his full height.  “You’re missin’ that tooth you knocked outright after we turned seven.”

              “I’mseven?  Not eight?” Ford squeaked.

              “Doesn’t looklike it,” Stan said, awkwardly patting Ford on the shoulder.  “Sorry, Sixer.”  Ford spun around and glared at Fiddleford.

              “You broughtthe serum for me.  Did you measure thewrong dosage?” Ford demanded.

              “I- No!  I’m very careful with that stuff!” Fiddlefordsaid defensively.  “It’s more dangerousthan McGucket moonshine!”  Stan snorted softly.  “I- oh.” Fiddleford paled.

              “What?”Angie prompted.  Fiddleford bit at histhumbnail.

              “We don’tknow what effect the serum might have after repeated use.  It could be that yer tolerance is bein’lowered.”

              “Wouldn’tit be raised?” Angie asked.

              “Well,sure.  But folks also shouldn’t agebackwards, Banjey.  We have to be careful‘bout makin’ logical conclusions with things what defy logic.”

              “Fantastic,”Ford muttered.  The alarm on Fiddleford’swristwatch went off.

              “Okay, wehave to get back out there,”Fiddleford said.  “Stan, when ya get backto HQ, go right to R&D and tell ‘em that Ford might have had a strongerreaction to the serum than he should have.”

              “I thinkI definitely had a stronger reaction,”Ford said, crossing his arms.  “It’s agood thing you and Angie will be around to monitor my vitals.  If I wake up tomorrow as a toddler, I willnot be happy.”

              “You won’t,”Angie said.  “It’s goin’ to be fine.”  Ford scowled. Angie pecked Stan on the cheek quickly. “Bye, darlin’.  Give our lil onesplenty of kisses from me.”

              “You gotit, babe.”  Stan nodded at Fiddleford andruffled Ford’s hair before fading into the shadows again.

              “I’m notpleased,” Ford mumbled.

              “I know,but there’s nothin’ we can do about it right now.  HQ will contact us as soon as they haveinformation,” Angie said soothingly.  Shetook Ford’s hand.  “Now, come on.  We have to go play the part of the grievin’fam’ly.”

[pastelbrachypelma]

I’m very tired, but I have this growing fear...

...that Dan may be pulling away from the Grump family. 

There are several possible reasons for this and, first of all, before y’all go ape shit because I’m about to talk about Dan’s personal life, I’M NOT CLAIMING ANY OF THIS IS TRUE, NOR AM I ABOUT TO TRY AND FIND OUT IF THIS IS TRUE. I ain’t got the money or time, and more importantly, I respect Dan as a human. THIS IS JUST SPECULATION because the Grumps are my hyperfocus, and THIS IS NOT MEANT TO HURT ANYONE. I like analyzing shit for fun, so if you can’t deal with a little harmless conspiracy video type analysis, bye bye! :)

Now then. 

1. He has a girlfriend.

This is the most plausible reason, and I talked about this when I analyzed “Heart Boner” very briefly, but it is certainly possible, especially since he mentioned going to Disneyland with someone who was (obviously) outside of the Grumps circle. The evidence that he has a secret girlfriend is all very coincidental, of course, however, I do believe it is plausible. 

2. He’s leaving/stepping away from Grumps to focus on NSP

Dan has been stepping away from Grumps since his burnout in 2014. He rarely (if ever) was on streams (pre-2018 when the Grumps radio streams began), or would only come for a few hours towards the end of the stream, or, as was the case with the Crisis Text Line charity livestream, was there for the beginning and left halfway through. People are gonna get mad at me for being “whiney,” but frankly, I don’t care. I’m sorry (?) that Dan specifically is the center of my hyperfocus on the Grumps. I love both of my boys, but for some reason, I’ve become particularly attached to Dan (this has also happened to several other fans who focus on Dan, so it shouldn’t be a new concept, but I got several mad comments about my focus on Dan before, so y’know.) This is just the way my hyperfocus works. If you’re mad about it, go somewhere else. Also, I know why Dan does this. He is a busy man, and he has to look after his voice. Unlike Arin, he can’t talk nonstop for hours on end without resting his voice. Also, despite his Myers-Briggs test pinging him as an extrovert, he is more introverted than Arin in a lot of ways (who has probably had to adapt to being a people person, and can probably deal with humans for a longer amount of time). Dan is not a party person, so I get the feeling he’d bail (or look for the first opportunity to bail) the minute things got too crazy. (Can’t exactly blame him for that, seeing as I’ve done the same thing.)

So how did I reach the conclusion that he might be leaving Grumps? His true love is music. It’s what he’s wanted to do since Day 1, and NSP is his baby (just like Grumps is Arin’s) and thus his priority. Now that NSP has a successful fanbase, thanks in large part to many Lovelies migrating to NSP, he has the ability to make money simply off of touring with NSP. We saw Brian step back earlier this year to work more on NSP stuff (and probably be a dad more often). It’s not unthinkable that one day, Dan would simply leave Grumps for good. I don’t know if Arin would keep the show running by himself and do a sort of permanent Guest Grumps (probably including Dan at varying points to keep the views rolling in), or simply abandon Game Grumps and do something else. (Because now that Arin has success and a name for himself, he could do something else. Make games full time, maybe, or focus on Real Good Touring. I doubt he would go back to animating, but that is also a possibility as well.) I’m of the opinion that Grumps peaked in 2015-2016, and I think that with a rising preference of facecam channels/personalities (and this ties into a larger theory of mine that I have yet to write about why the GG fandom offline is mostly male), it is unlikely that the Grumps will reach a growth spurt like Jackspeticeye or Markiplier have experienced. And you could argue that people who rarely/never do Facecam like CallMeKevin and RTGame rose in sub count fairly quickly, but they have a specific kind of content that they post consistently and that is funny in its own right (and these large subscriber counts, I am willing to bet, are males). GG’s format hasn’t aged well, and would be better suited to a full-time podcast where Dan and Arin talk about their lives as opposed to playing video games all the time. (My opinion, but feel free to disagree calmly and civilly.) 

My point is that Dan could leave, and could be gearing up to do so.

3. Dan is choosing to be less visible

This is probably the most plausible explanation. Dan has said many times that he doesn’t like the spotlight, and wishes that he wasn’t a celebrity, even though he is grateful for what fame has enabled him to do. Since he has been a target for some rather undesirable behaviors lately (whether you view them as assault or not), it’s only natural that his first instinct is to make himself as invisible as he possibly can. He hasn’t been posting as much on Instagram, he hasn’t been seen on Arin or Suzy’s Instagrams, he didn’t come/refused to be in the picture Suzy posted on Thanksgiving, and he seems, to me, to be slowly playing more and more of a “character” on Grumps and during the Power Hour. It could just be me, but the show doesn’t feel as genuine as it used to. It’s possibly Arin and Dan are trying too hard to be relatable, to give fans what they think they want (and maybe some fans do want that? Who knows?), but it’s possible that this is a sign. Dan may be withdrawing more from the public eye, at least as much as he possibly can. And we know he’s a very private person, and he is beginning to lament aspects of his fame. So we may see him retreating more and more from Grumps, more vacations away from LA, starving his social media. He’s also a generation ahead of Arin (I think?), so his views about the changing world, liberal as they may be, are different than millennials like Sean and Mark. I wouldn’t be surprised if, one day, he just announced he was deleting his Instagram for good.

4. Dan needs to step away for health reasons

This is the most unlikely, as (supposedly) he works out with Arin, which would indicate his health is the same as it’s always been, if not improved. But it’s not entirely farfetched. Chronic illnesses can be very tricky, and Dan isn’t getting any younger. If his chronic illness is acting up more often, or if it’s getting progressively more serious, Dan may be spending more time at home resting and recuperating as opposed to hanging out with friends.

5. Dan and Arin are no longer as close as they once were

This one...hurts me to the core, honestly, and I so desperately don’t want it to be true...but there are a lot of signs that they are forcing their closeness, or were for a while. Again, this has to do with how I interpret the tone of recent Grumps episodes and some of the power hours, so this may be the real least plausible option from this list for some people. (I remember seeing a fic where their friendship was completely fake once in 2016 and thinking it was bullshit...then we get to 2018, and I’m not so sure). I think I’ve talked about before how some of the “gimmick” power hours (the tie dye episodes, and candy makin candy men specifically) made me feel distinctly uneasy about the state of their friendship, and while they seem more comfortable with each other now, Dan’s increased absence makes warning bells sound off in my head.

Make of this what you will. Again, these are to be treated as FUN CONSPIRACIES because I like to overanalyze things. THEY ARE NOT MEANT TO HURT THE GRUMPS, NOR AM I IMPLYING THAT ANY OF THESE ARE TRUE.

Please don’t come after me for posting this. If you come at me off anon, I will block you. Don’t test me.