#Joshifer Fanfiction

[thgfanfictionlibrary]

Do you guys have any Joshifer fanfics by any chance?

Hello Anon!

I do not know of any Joshifer fanfiction but I do know of a list of authors who at least wrote it in the past found here courtesy of @jhutchmyanchor! Hopefully, you'll find some fics there!

As always, any questions, comments, or suggestions feel free to send them my way!

-Admin: E

[saltpepperbeard]

lovely-tothe-bone replied to your post:hey pssst @archersandsunsets-I can’t be...

This sounds angsty. I am not happy. *Grumpy Kat scowl*

[jhutchmyanchor]

Attention Joshifer Fanfiction Authors

Banner was made by the wonderful Sammy @joshua-ryans!

I have a Joshifer fanfiction authors list on my blog. It is a great resource! Many people on Tumblr use it and it’s a great way to discover new authors. I look for the authors myself, but sometimes I need help.

If you would like me to add you, please message me or reblog this message with your info.   All of you are amazing and I would love to add you to my list.

Here is my list if you want to check it out:

Joshfier Fanfiction Authors

Please reblog this and spread the word! Thank you!

[mikeysgerard]

when you find a fanfic of your otp that you haven’t read yet

[italk-too-much]

Listen / resd the lyrics to Sam Hunt's "House Party" and tell me that doesn't have Josh if error written all over it. Also consider this a joshifet prompt. :-)

Hey anon! So I’ve been considering this a Joshifer prompt for far too long now and have finally managed to get it done. Sticking to my new years resolution and getting this done! I kind of combined with another idea I’d given myself (the bit about chicken nuggets if you wanted to know) so I hope I’ve not deviated from the song too much! Thank you so much for sending this to me! I hope you like it! PS that song, and the video (it reminds me of Josh’s Treehouse, just me?) definitely do have Joshifer written alllll over it! 

Unbeta’d as usual so all mistakes, also as usual, are nine mine.

___________________________

House Party...

I’m bored. I’m bored but I don’t want to move and I definitely don’t want to leave the couch, never mind the house. I sigh, making my lips pout and vibrate against each other, the noise covering the argument on the TV. Not even Real Housewives is cutting it tonight. I want to doooo something. 

“I’m borrrrred.”  I text, and toss my phone to the couch cushion beside me, groaning as I stretch. I put the heels of my hands to my eyes, mostly for something to do. I’m not tired at all. I thought I would be, I thought I’d get home from working today and not want to even talk to anyone but it turns out I feel exactly the opposite. And there’s been only me in the house all night, talking to the walls, trying not to drink too much alone.

The screen lights up and I pounce on it. 

“Should’ve came out then, little homebody.”

“I thought I’d be tired and go to bed. But I don’t wannaaaa.”

I puff a little laugh but worry that I might be coming across as a pathetic and very whiny school girl. I quickly send another message.

“When will you be home?”

But I don’t want him to leave his friends early either. I send another.

“No hurry, don’t think that means come home for me... does saying that make me sound like I want you to come home for me? Please don’t. Stay out and have fun X”

I groan again and give myself an actual, physical shake. What is wrong with me? I’m fed up, I answer myself.

My phone flashes and doesn’t stop. He’s calling me now. Dammit, he’ll be leaving early. I feel so stupid. I should’ve just let him have - 

“Hey!”

“How bored are you?” He laughs. “You never pick up on the first ring.”

I huff. “Bored enough.”

He laughs again and I smile, my defensive tone slipping. “How un-bored are you?”

“Un-bored enough.” 

I can hear him smirking and I know he senses the roll of my eyes and mocking wiggle of my head when I hear him chuckle again. 

“Jen, how tired are you? Like seriously, are you a “Josh come home so we can chill together” bored, or a “I’m bouncing off the ceiling” bored?”

I snort and swing my legs up on to the sofa, bending them into me. “Second one. Definitely the second one.”

“Good. Don’t change, we only have like ten minutes.”

“What? What are you talking about? Don’t come home early, Josh, I’ll feel bad!”

“No, I’m not coming home early. We’re bringing the party to you!”

I hear the sounds of cheers around him and have to pull the phone a few inches from my ear as I wait for them to die. I grin and a jolt of anticipation runs through me. “You’re serious?”

“A hundred percent. Turn off the TV and get the speakers out. We’ll be there soon.”

“You’re an idiot,” I smile into the phone.

“I know,” he replies. “I love you too.”

“Don’t think that doesn’t mean you’re not clearing up in the morning. Your house -”

“Our house,” he corrects smugly. I can hear him and a bunch of other voices moving, the buzz of car engines. They’re on their way. 

“Yeah well... this is your party, your idea... but yes, I do love you, you dork.”

I hang up and look at my clothes. A white button down shirt and some grey sweatpants from when I could no longer be bothered with my jeans, but didn’t want to get fully changed cause that meant I would be going to bed. I’ve long since showered and taken off my make-up, but my hair is dry at least. I shrug. He said keep what I’m wearing on, and I don’t care all that much anyway. I plug in the speakers and stick my iPod in. It’ll get changed no doubt within a half hour of people getting here so I just let it stay on shuffle. I stick some chips in a bowl and put it on the kitchen counter half-assed and decide we can just order pizza later. It’s been so long since we’ve had or been to a house party and I’m just checking that we have ice when I hear them pull up outside and I nearly burst with something resembling nerves, relief and/or excitement.

~

I’m dying. Actually dying.

No, this is worse. I think I’d rather be dead. I’ve never felt so bad, nothing has ever come close to this. I hate me.

I roll over slowly and oh so gingerly, feeling like a dead weight and as though my head is made of iron. Everything hurts. The room spins, even though my eyes are still shut. “Dammit,” I breathe gently.

He’s beside me and I scrunch an eye open only slightly to confirm it but keep excessive light away. Yup. He is still asleep yet he doesn’t look peaceful. He looks how I feel. God, what did we do last night?

In fact, I don’t even want to know right now. I close my eyes again and scrunch my nose as my stomach lurches. No. I will not puke. Slowly, I slide one leg then the other across the mattress and then lift my shoulders and ease the rest of my body over too as smoothly as I can. The roundabout doesn’t stop and I keep spinning - getting faster even - until I return to a speed I can bare with. I take my arm and gently place it over to where I know his torso will be, and lower my head to his shoulder with a sigh. And then I curl in close and wish for death.

“Mojrnfing,” Josh speaks groggily and I have no idea what words he attempted to speak.

“Mwhat?” I’m just as groggy and my voice sounds as gruff as sandpaper, my mouth as dry as a carpet in the Sahara.

He swallows and clears is throat but doesn’t move, his mouth still next to my ear and his chest pressed against my back. “Morn-ing.”

“Is it?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and then regretting my decision to move that much.

Josh laughs once and then inhales sharply.

“Oh Josh, please don’t puke on me. I can’t move if you do.”

“I won’t.” He presses his lips to the sweet spot under my ear. “You’re probably right. About it not being morning. I don’t want to look.”

A wave of nausea hits me and I feel disorientated again. For a moment I think it might be me running to go puke, but just like a wave trails away back to sea, it passes as I exhale. “Me neither.”

We stay like this for a few minutes, pressed together and silent but for our breaths and sighs and occasional moans as our heads pound. I know we need to get up and drink some water and take some kind of medication in a bid to make the awfulness of this hangover go away but I don’t think I have it in me to. My face is smooshed against the pillow and I’m pretty sure i can feel some dried in drool along my cheek. My hair is splayed everywhere and my sleep shorts are on backwards. I don’t have a top on, only my bra, and Josh is only in his boxers.

“Want to try and sit up?”

“Not really,” I mumble in a pitiful voice nothing like my own.

“I’ll make… I dunno what I’ll make, but I’ll make something.” Josh inhales sharply through his nose and rises. It takes him far longer than usual, and he sits on the edge of the bed a moment before he stands, but he has beaten me in making it to a non-horizontal position. I miss him against me and roll over to his side to take up his remaining warmth.

“Okay,” he speaks slowly. “It’s not as bad as I thought. You want anything?”

I give a tiny nod and then begin to open my eyes again now that I am facing away from the window. I vow not to close them this time. I let my mind reel through foods and drinks that I might want and then stop when I think of the only possible thing I could be after right now. “McDonalds,” I state firmly. “Cheese burger, fries, chicken nuggets… and a milkshake.”

“Strawberry,” we both say at the same time and I grin before sliding up to sit in bed. I watch Josh as he tosses on an old tee and some jeans quickly.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and scrunches his eyes, using his thumbs to rub away sleep from them before he comes back to me. “I won’t be long,” he says, his voice still all gravely and throaty. I nod and wind my fingers around the back of his neck past his ear as he gives me a sweet, but quick kiss.

“I promise to be out of bed for you coming home,” I say as we pull away and he makes for the door.

When he doesn’t make a joke about me staying in bed for him to join me I know he is very very hungover. And I know I am too because I didn’t even mean for him to be able to make that kind of joke.

I allow myself two more minutes in the safety of the bedcovers before I throw them back quickly and carefully swing my legs and myself out of bed. My head spins again and I stand frozen to regain my bearings. I reach first for Josh’s shirt and pull it on over my head. I kick off my sleep shorts and pull on some leggings - the right way around this time, I check three times.

I’m just pulling my hair up into a hair tie when I hear Josh pulling up. By the time he is back in our bedroom, I have put our discarded clothes into the laundry, started up the washer, made coffee and tidied our bedroom to make a cosy nest for the two of us hungover messes. I know we won’t be moving far from here today.

We unpack the brown paper bag, and get comfy on the bed again. We sigh as we sink on top of the duvet and against the pillows, my stomach flipping and growling at the same time. I bite into my burger and know that this is definitely the only thing that is going to cure me today.

“Do you have any idea what happened last night?” I say swallowing.

Josh frowns and finishes his bite too before speaking. “It’s…. hazy. There was wine… and champagne… I think we were dancing.”

I nod. “I remember champagne… Did I get us shots? Oh my God - I kept getting us shots of whisky!” I groan at myself and the mention of the poison now. Normally I’d take whisky no problem, but shots? And with champagne?

“Didn’t you break a glass as well?”

I laugh. “Probably, but I wouldn’t need to have drank anything for that.”

Josh laughs too with an agreeing bob of his head. “I think you were singing in the backyard. Like loudly…”

I feel my body chill and my face grow cold as I remember. “Did the police show up?”

I watch as Josh’s face turns to slightly guilty. “Noise complaint… I’d put the music on too loud... They were pretty reasonable though.”

I try to feel guilt but the severity of how hungover we are is definitely punishment enough and I can’t help but bursting out laughing when I catch Josh’s eye as he grins. We have one party and the police stop by. We’re lucky we didn’t get shut down.

We carry on eating ourselves back to health, and I feel myself getting sleepy again as I finish my burger and fries. I snuggle in close to Josh again and allow the steadiness of his breathing to lull me back to dosing as we watch some Friends reruns.

When I waken again, I do so with a start, my head shooting up and Josh starting at my sudden movements. He opens his mouth to ask but before he can, I mumble. “I forgot I still have chicken nuggets,” through a slack, sleepy mouth and wide but bleary eyes.

I see him smile widely and chuckle at me as I untangle myself from him. I sit up beside him again, though not quite straight and find my packet. They’re still fairly warm. I get through them at a steady pace, taking in some more of the room as I do. Josh has switched from Friends to some sports show. It’s late afternoon, the sun is fading again.

Crumpling the empty wrapper in my fist, I toss it to the end of the bed where it lands and then rolls right off. I roll my eyes and vow to get it later, just not now. I flop back down beside and a little on top of Josh and close my eyes once more, letting sleep overtake me in a matter of minutes.

[rupertgrintsweasleycharm]

Late night thought

There should be a book named "tumblr" and it should contain every story to fan theories to fan fictions etc. omg I would legit be the first in line to buy this book. Tumblr has the most intellectual people of this planet.

[itskeisy]

#not that silly story #i was just a teen with thrist for THG knowledge #all started with #gifs of THG #the amazings fanarts of THG #and eventually #the fanfiction #all about THG #and everlark #to know all about THG #tha cast #red carpets #interviews #almost forgot #Joshifer too

reblog and put why you started being on Tumblr in the tags.

[saltpepperbeard]

hey pssst @archersandsunsets-

I can’t be alone. I need him for this. Despite how we feel about each other now, I need him like nothing else.

“J-Josh...” I whimper, hoping to coerce a reaction from him.

Nothing. He can’t shut me out. Not now. It was hard enough the past times. But now I absolutely can’t handle it.

“Jos...Joshy,” I cry, hiccuping on his old nickname, “Josh...pl...please...”

I don’t specify what exactly I’m begging for, because I don’t exactly know myself. Just...some kind of reaction. Any kind of reaction. Anything is better than this void he’s left me with.

“I...”

He weakly coughs, and my cries miraculously lessen for a moment, my whole body prepping for him to talk.

“I just...I need a bit...Sorry...”

Click.

I wheeze, scrambling at my phone, disbelieving that he really just cut our contact.

“J...Josh...Joshua...JOSH.”

But I’m talking to no one, an empty line.

I’m alone. I really am alone.

[jhutchmyanchor]

I saw some Joshifer FF so I was wondering, since you seem really expert, if you know some good Closh too :)

I honestly don’t read Joshifer or Closh FF. The only blogs that I know of that wrote Closh fanfiction are @joshs-left-earlobe and @opeeta. If anyone knows any others let me know!

[hutchhitched]

The Vintage Joshifer Series: End of Love—Chapter 21 (Final Chapter)

End of Love by hutchhitched

Finally, y’all! A million years ago during Catching Fire promo, I stumbled into a friendship with some amazing Joshifer fans. Despite not being a full-blown shipper, I was absolutely thrilled to see an interest in writing historical AU fanfiction. For a long while, I knew what I wanted to write, but I couldn’t get the words to come. By the time I started posting, it seemed most of the Joshifer fandom had (understandably) moved on, but I still wanted to write this story and complete the commitment. After numerous delays and more stutters and stops than I can count, my contribution to @thevintagejoshiferseries​ is complete.

Big thanks to @burlesonspride​ for the banner and encouragement to join in on the fun. I know we don’t talk much anymore and you’ve moved on to other ventures, but I still adore you. There are a lot of others who deserve thanks, too, but you know who you are.

I chose the 1960s because the decade of rebellion speaks to me in so many ways. With recent events, I hope it does with some of you, too. There are so many people still struggling for political, economic, and human rights. The fight’s not over. Keep going.

Historical events in this chapter include the following:

The concert at Altamont in December 1969 became the symbol of excess and the end of a peaceful counterculture. If Woodstock was the ideal, Altamont demonstrated excess and danger and a drug culture that was out of control. There’s a lot of information on the event itself, but here are some great articles from Rolling Stone, the History Channel, Forbes, and The New Yorker.

Berkeley, California, December 1969

 “Oh my GAWWWWWWWWWD!!!!!” Brenda squealed as Jen emerged from the airport and streaked toward her college roommate. “It’s been so long. You look so good!”

 “You look so good, too!” Jen cried as she enveloped the other girl. “It’s so good to see you. I missed you so much, honey.”

 “You don’t miss me. I’m nobody. Unlike my former roommate who’s the toast of the networks. I’m so proud of you, Jennifer!”

 “Well, my professional life is great anyway,” Jen offered wryly and swallowed against the anger and pain that always lingered just below the surface since Josh’s disappearance over a year ago. “I’m happy about that.”

 “You really haven’t heard from him at all? No phone call? Not even another letter explaining anything?”

 Jen chuckled as she imagined Josh sitting down to write to her. The last time she’d seen him, he hadn’t been very interested in the written word. She couldn’t imagine that had changed much in the past twelve months, no matter how badly she wanted to hold onto the image of her former whatever-he’d-been as the guy she’d met in college and fallen in love with despite her best intentions. And now look where that had gotten her.

 “Nothing. Besides, I don’t live in Chicago anymore, remember? New York City’s a better fit, and my coverage of Stonewall made my career. He knows how to find me if he wants to hear from me again.”

 “But Jen—”

 “I looked for him, you know,” she admitted. “When I was in the Village and the protestors were marching in the streets. I saw Andre, Josh’s college roommate. He’s been part of the gay underground for years, and I thought maybe he might be there. Still an activist. Still fighting for change. To make the world better, but he wasn’t. None of his friends have heard from him since Nixon was elected, and I’m damn sure not going to call his family. They don’t know me, and I’m not going to beg him to be part of my life anymore. I’ve sacrificed enough for him.”

 Jen’s pronouncement hung in the air, and Brenda had enough grace to pretend she believed her. The silence stretched between the two women until Brenda shook her head and suggested they make their way to the cab line and head to their hotel. After all, they had a limited amount of time to get reacquainted before the alumni event they were supposed to attend.

 Jen blinked away tears as they drove through town and by campus. Memories assailed her at every corner, and she suddenly felt very old for someone who’d only graduated from college a few years prior. She wanted to kick herself for running out on Josh the night they’d first slept together, and she regretted not working through their problems when they lived together in Chicago. It had just been so easy to run or to seduce him instead. Sex had always been good between the two of them, and she liked it. She’d felt empowered when he lost himself in her or when he’d turned to her body for comfort. The problem was that he’d stopped looking to her and started hiding, too. When they’d both ignored their problems, they’d lost each other.

 A year later hadn’t dulled the ache of his absence. She’d been grieving since the election, but Josh had been for far longer. If she was fortunate—no, lucky—enough to find him again, she wouldn’t make the same mistake twice or however many times it was now. It would have to be pure luck to run into him again after all the ways fate had brought them together in the past, and she’d never been one to find four-leaf clovers. Unfortunately, last November seemed to be the end of their love story, no matter how much she wanted it to be another way.

 “You know there’s a big Stones concert tomorrow not far from here. Some of my friends are going.” Jen jumped when Brenda’s words broke through her reverie.

 “Really? I love them.”

 “I know,” her old roommate said with a grin. “Want to go?”

 “Absolutely! Wait, is this at Altamont? Woodstock West?”

 “I knew you’d know what I was talking about. Sometimes it’s hard to remember you’re in the news business and have your ear to the ground more than us mere mortals.”

 “Please,” Jen scoffed, but the wheels in her brain started turning. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a quick phone call.”

 With that she made a beeline for the payphones on the far side of the hotel lobby. If she could pull a few strings, she could tie this to her job and make her friend really happy. What use was working herself to death and making her way up the ladder, slapping away the roving hands, working ten times harder than her male colleagues only to get a third as far—what use was any of that if she couldn’t sometimes cash in her success for press passes at a major counterculture event? None, that’s what, so she was damn well going to call her affiliate and let them know where she was.

 After she completed her call, she made her way back to Brenda and they retired to their room to get ready for the alumni event. Jen made it through with as much grace and class as she could while attempting to stymie the rush of emotions that hit her every time she turned her head. She drank a little too much and laughed louder than she would have if she’d been acting completely like herself, but she survived. More than anything, she held onto the promise of seeing her favorite band in concert the next day. If she managed to score the press passes, even better.

 “We need to make a stop on the way to the speedway. Can you be ready to go in 30?” Jen asked when they woke the next morning.

 “What’s going on?”

 “I need to stop by the local NBC affiliate to pick up some papers. My boss is being a real stickler about my time off while I’m out here. Something about an assignment. I want to make sure we have plenty of time to get to Altamont before the big names go onstage.”

 “Why?”

 “Well, it was supposed to be a surprise, but… Because I got us press passes. We’ll be able to get anywhere with them—including backstage.”

 Brenda squealed and hugged her friend, which made Jen smile. It felt good that her hard work could help make someone else feel so good.

 “Altamont, here we come!”

 ****

 “This is a gas!” Brenda yelled into Jen’s ear. “These passes are the best.”

 Smiling, Jennifer nodded and then pointed to the crowd indicating she was headed into the fray for a little bit. Brenda indicated her approval, and Jen headed off by herself for a few minutes. There were so many people at the racetrack. The music was loud, and she needed a break. Besides, she wanted to check out the crowd in case she could use the information she gathered for a news story later. After all, she was a journalist, a damn good one, at that, and her career came first. Now that her love life was dead, something had to.

 Experiencing Altamont made her regret not taking her boss up on his suggestion she cover Woodstock. She’d considered it for a second, but she’d been exhausted from coverage of the Stonewall riots and then traveled home for a family function. At the time, she hadn’t wanted to take off on another assignment when there was plenty of news to cover in the city itself. If she had, though, she’d be able to compare the two music festivals.

 The crowd at Altamont seemed perfectly content, albeit jittery. The lower the sun dropped in the sky, the more unrest she felt. She stepped around a shirtless, bearded man on the edge of the mosh pit in front of the stage and froze. There, not even ten feet from her, was Josh Hutcherson, alive and in the flesh. The man who’d haunted her dreams and had made her weep far too often over the past year was there, cheering and whooping as the Rolling Stones shifted into another song.

 People surged around her. Frozen in place, she couldn’t drop her gaze from his face. Josh’s face. She’d imagined reuniting with him a million times, but now that the opportunity existed, she had no idea what to do or how to act or what to say. Stunned and breathless, she tried to smile, but she was positive her face held more of a grimace than anything else. And then he turned slightly, and she could tell the exact moment when he saw her. His handsome face went slack in shock, and he took a tentative, hobbled step toward her.

 It took a minute for her to realize something had shifted. Someone pushed while another shoved back, and the concertgoers pressed closer together. Squeezed between two large men, she fought for space and scrambled frantically to keep Josh in her sights.

 All hell erupted around her as men in black leather infiltrated the crowd. She saw a person fall and then another. Panicked fans stepped over the bodies on the ground, and she had to fight to stay upright at people swarmed around her. She struggled against the tightening noose, but she was losing ground.

 “Jennifer!”

 Suddenly, he was in front of her, pulling and tugging her free from the throng. He grabbed her hand and bulled his way toward the perimeter where it seemed there wasn’t quite so much danger.

 “What are you doing here?” he shouted over the noise. “I thought you were in New York?”

 She gaped at him. “How did you know that? Why are you here? Where have you been? And why the fuck did you leave me in Chicago, you shitless bastard?”

 Josh opened and closed his mouth a few times before his face broke into a wide grin. “God, I missed you,” he laughed and cupped her face in his hands. Before she could shake him off, he leaned forward and kissed her.

 Stunned, she stiffened under the onslaught, but she gradually melted into him. She’d forgotten how good he was at this, how his lips and tongue and teeth combined to weaken her knees and shatter her resolve. Then, she was kissing him back, passionate and frantic as he held her to him. She was seconds from tearing his shirt over his head when someone slammed into them. Hard.

 He broke away and glanced around them to assess the situation. “We need to get out of here,” he shouted and grabbed her hand to pull her along.

 “Wait! Brenda’s here. She’s backstage. I can’t leave her.”

 “Jen! I want you safe.”

 She shook her head and twisted to look at the stage. Everything was in chaos, but she glimpsed her roommate briefly. She waved and ducked away under the arm of one of the workers who’d been flocking around them when they’d first arrived. If the wide grin on her face was any indication, Brenda would be absolutely fine.

 “Let’s go!” she yelled but allowed him to pull her behind him through the rioting crowd and into a clear area near the parking lot.

 “Are you okay?” he asked, his hands running over her shoulders and arms and then back up to her face. “Are you hurt?”

 “I’m fine. I’m okay. Josh…”

 His lips were on hers again, warm and comforting and more than a little urgent. She wanted to lose herself in him, find comfort in a way she hadn’t been able to for so long. More than anything, she craved his skin against hers. More than she wanted to know why he’d gone or where he’d been or what his future plans were. She just needed him in a way she couldn’t explain. She only knew that she felt like she’d come home when she was with him. After all this time, he was still the person that made her feel more herself than anyone else.

 It felt like seconds and decades at the same time, but finally, their frantic make out session ended and they could look at each other more fully. She had a million questions, but the most important was the one she managed to blurt as he studied her with his hazel gaze.

 “Do you love me?”

 He raised his hand to her left cheek and traced her cheekbone with his thumb. His eyes flickered over her, and his lips curved into a smirk. “Of course, I love you,” he laughed. “I always have. I’ve been an idiot—worse, I’ve been a complete ass—but I’ve been in love with you for a decade.”

 “I live in New York. I’m not moving.”

 “I’ve already got my plane ticket back there. I was just staying with Connor through the holidays.”

 “I don’t trust you.”

 “I don’t blame you. I haven’t been very trustworthy, and I’m sorry.”

 She glared at him, but she couldn’t find her anger. His presence was a balm she hadn’t even known she’d needed. When he’d left, she’d thought it was the end of their love, but maybe tonight was really the beginning. If the last decade had taught her nothing else, everything was a gamble. Maybe she had another big one left in her.

 “Hey, Hutch.”

 “Yeah?” It felt like the world around them was holding its breath.

 “Take me home.”

 When he reached for her hand, she took it.

 ****

 The drive to his brother’s apartment seemed to take forever and not nearly long enough. She wasn’t nervous, exactly, but it had been over a year since he’d left. How would it feel to be with him again after all this time and so much pain between them?

 “Connor’s out with friends tonight. Spending the night with his boyfriend,” Josh announced as they pulled into a parking spot.

 “Okay,” she replied and sucked in a breath to hold. At least they wouldn’t have an audience for their reunion.

 “We don’t have to do anything,” he said, and she raised her eyes to his. Vulnerability poured from him, and she suddenly wanted to soothe him. She had the ability to provide him comfort, and that’s what she wanted more than anything else in that moment.

 “I want to do everything,” she answered firmly.

 He led her up the stairs to his brother’s apartment and unlocked the door. When they were inside, he tossed his keys on the table and turned to her. She went to him, and he pulled her close. His arms wrapped around her back to nestle her against his chest. Slowly, he lifted her chin and pressed his lips against hers.

 It was a chaste kiss, but it lit a fire inside her. She deepened the kiss by tilting her head and opening her mouth. Her tongue begged for attention, and he slid his against hers. His muffled grunt was matched by her lusty moan, and the thin veil of control they clung to snapped.

 “Jennifer,” he sighed. Their hands grappled with their clothing as it fell piece by piece. Frantic, she hopped onto the kitchen table and tucked him between her legs. He rubbed her quickly, just a tiny bit of prep, and then he was inside her, thrusting with his head thrown back. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hung on as he rammed into her. The table creaked under them, and she gripped him inside her tighter and tighter as he plunged erratically into her depths.

 “Fuck!” he shouted to the ceiling when his body tensed. He sank into her, and she felt a wet heat pulsing inside her when he came.

 She cradled him to her, grateful for his warmth in the chilling apartment, until he came back to himself. His mouth sought hers in a lazy journey across her cheek until they were kissing and kissing and then kissing more and more and more. She couldn’t get enough of him. He surrounded her, made her feel like she’d found everything she needed, and grounded her to the present.

 “I love you,” he mumbled against her lips. “I’m so sorry for leaving you.”

 She whimpered, both at his words, and him pulling out of her, but that turned to a forceful howl when he sank to his knees in front of her. She spread her legs further, and he leaned forward. Falling back on the table, she pressed her eyes closed and allowed herself to float. His tongue and fingers and lips and facial hair all worked to drive her over the edge, and she gripped the edge of the table as an orgasm rushed through her. Panting, she begged him to keep going.

 He took his time, nuzzling against her until she writhed under him. He prodded her legs into different positions, interspersed sucking on her clit with shoving his fingers inside her until she was wailing. She couldn’t control the sounds that poured from her any more than she could stop from climaxing multiple times as he took her apart.

 She lost track of time, of her name, of her roles and responsibilities. Nothing mattered but him on her, connected and intertwined in a way she always wanted them to be, that they’d never quite managed when they held back from each other. For the first time in ages, she felt he was completely open to her, and she responded in kind. Any inhibitions she still held fell away, and she ground against his face harder and harder.

 “Josh, I need more,” she whined, desperate for him to be inside her again.

 He stumbled to his feet and scooped her from the table. Half-carrying, half-supporting her, he walked them across the room to the ratty couch in the living room. Woozily, she glanced at the rumpled blankets and sheets where he’d obviously been sleeping and sank onto his lap when he sat.

 “You deserve so much better than a shitty couch in a rundown apartment. I’m sorry—”

 “Stop apologizing,” she slurred and kissed him. “I forgive you. I love you, too. Now, fuck me.”

 Josh buried his face in her neck and guided her thighs to the outside of his. She sank onto him and rocked her hips, meeting his stroke with hers. She rode him, then, bouncing and moaning his name, clutching his hair and raking her nails down his back as they raced to the finish. They reached it together, clinging to each other as they panted each other’s names. Her back bowed, and she dove over the edge, reaching for him, clinging to the man she’d met so many years ago, who’d helped her discover who she really was, what she believed in, and how she could fight for those principles. She didn’t want anyone else to take his place, and this time she’d battle for him as long as she needed to keep him by her side.

 When they finished, they lay together, hearts beating rapidly, and caressed every inch of bare skin they could reach. They made promises and plans, both grandiose and mundane, but most importantly, they made a pledge.

 Despite everything, there wouldn’t be the end of love. Instead, they were at the beginning.

[jhutchdirectory]

August fanfiction postings

8/2

F Yeah Joshifer’s Fanwork Challenge: Second Time Around, A Joshifer WIP [@starsmahogany]

F Yeah Joshifer’s Fanwork Challenge: A Drop in the Ocean, A Joshifer One Shot  [@jenniferandjoshua​]

F Yeah Joshifer’s Fanwork Challenge:  Ball Adventures— Balloons (Episode 9)   [@hutchhitched]

8/3

The Vintage Joshifer Series: End of Love—Chapter 6 [@hutchhitched​]

8/10

The Vintage Joshifer Series: End of Love—Chapter 7 [@hutchhitched​]

A Dream Come True—Chapter 7 [@jhutchfan14189​​]

8/12

Momentum: Chapter Twenty-Four [@lovesbiggerthanpride]

8/15

A Father Can Stay   [@jhutchfan14189​]

8/21

Tear You Apart: Chapter 3 [@jenniferandjoshua and @joshhutchersn]

8/22

Tear You Apart: Chapter 4 [@jenniferandjoshua and @joshhutchersn]

8/24

Tear You Apart: Chapter 5 [@jenniferandjoshua​ and @joshhutchersn​]

8/30

Tear You Apart: Chapter 6 [@jenniferandjoshua​ and @joshhutchersn​]

[haydenanakin]

Tear You Apart: Chapter 6

Listen to When We Were on Fire while reading.

“Drifting apart, getting harder to hold you. Days getting dark and the nights are growing cold. Are we burning out?… Take me back to where it was before when we were on fire.”

by: @joshhutchersn & @jenniferandjoshua

Previous Chapters

Jen Now-

My ears pop as the plane travels hundreds of miles in the air. I stare out the window as Sophie is fast asleep next to me, wearing my Beats headphones, her head leaned against my side as my arm is wrapped around her.

The movie I was filming wrapped about a week ago, and I completely fell back in love with acting. After a lot of thinking, I decided to pack up and move us out to California so it would be easier to break back into the industry. Sophie is still just as angry about it as she was when I told her; upset about missing her friends, her nanny, her school, and the house she’s always known.

But this is something I have to do.

Her breaths come evenly; I can feel them with my hand on her stomach. She twitches slightly in her sleep, just like she used to do when she was a small baby and I’d hold her in my arms, waiting for her to fall so deeply asleep that she wouldn’t stir when I put her down in the crib.

Taking care of an infant on my own was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I badly want to have resentment towards her father because of it, but I know the only person I can be angry with is myself. It was my choice.

Towards the end of the flight, Sophie wakes up and keeps the headphones on, claiming that they keep her ears from popping. She crawls onto my lap and lays her head sideways on my chest, resting the bulge of a headphone on my collarbone.

I reach to pull them off so we fit more comfortably together, but she grunts angrily and jolts away from me. “Need them,” she insists, and accidentally knees me in the gut as she goes back to her own seat.

I keep my eye-roll to myself.

When we land, I hold Sophie’s hand even though she fights me. “You need to stay close,” I say, checking my phone to see if my driver has texted me. He told me what exit he’s at, but I’m not sure how to get there. My assistant insisted that I have security with me, but I had thought that was ridiculous. I compromised and now have one bodyguard dressed in streetclothes walking a few paces in front of us.

When we get out into the open, there are mobs of paparazzi awaiting our arrival, flashbulbs going off everywhere. My first thought is Sophie, who has never experienced this before.

“Get under,” I say urgently, fanning out my long cardigan. “Sophie, get under now.”

She obeys me without a fight, clinging onto my waist and digging her fingers into my opposite hip. I shield my eyes with the one hand that isn’t protecting my daughter and squint, trying to see where my bodyguard is going so I can follow him.

He ends up taking my wrist to lead us out of the fray, doing his best to not let the photographers get as close as they want to.

When we make it to the car, I uncover Sophie from my cardigan and see that she’s trembling and wiping tears from her cheeks. My protective instinct flares and I pull her to my chest, rubbing her back and pressing my lips to the top of her head, whispering comforting things to her.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” I assure her, swaying slightly. “I got you, babe. I got you.”

She clings to me, her fingers tight like vices. “I hate it here,” she whimpers, her tears soaking into the collar of my t-shirt.

“It’ll get better, I promise,” I say.

“No, it won’t,” she says, continuing to sob. “It won’t and I hate it.”

During the car ride to our new house in Beverly Hills, Sophie cries herself to sleep with her head on my lap. I keep my fingers running through her hair, and find myself wishing she was as easy all the time as she is when she’s unconscious.

Our place is already fully furnished, we just have to unload all of our personal items to get settled in. I make pizza in the oven for our first night, and Sophie is working on coloring a huge picture on a strip of butcher paper that I unpacked from one of the kitchen boxes.

“Mommy,” she says, sitting up from the hunched position she had been coloring on the floor in.

“What’s up?” I ask, setting the timer on the oven.

“Can I play dress-up in your clothes?”

I sigh, imagining how hard it’s going to be to find clothes and then how much harder still it will be to put them back. Everything is still packed up, it’s impossible to discern what is where. But she’s already had enough drama for the day, and I don’t have a fight in me.

“Go ahead,” I say. “I don’t know what you think you’ll find, but all the clothes boxes are upstairs.”

She races up the wooden stairs and I hear her footsteps traverse through the rooms, still trying to figure out the layout of the house. When her footsteps go silent, I know she’s found what she’s looking for and is working on putting together an outfit for me to see.

I expect her to be in some sparkly dress that I forgot I own, an old bikini, or maybe even a slinky nightgown. What I don’t expect to see when my daughter descends the stairs is Josh’s old brown flannel draped over her shoulders, reaching past her waist to almost touch the floor. Besides that shirt, she’s only wearing pink and white striped underwear, and her hair is up in what looks like an attempted bun, but has turned out more like a rat’s nest with a clip-in bow settled on top.

“Don’t I look pretty?” she asks, spinning. The end of the shirtsleeves go past her hands and flop over like paws. She’s beaming.

I’m glowering.

“Do you like it, m-”

“Take it off,” I say sternly, as I walk over to her.

“What?” she asks, her wide blue eyes blinking up at me. “Why?”

“I don’t want you playing dress-up in that, Sophie. It’s not playclothes. Take it off.”

“But you said-”

“I didn’t meant this. Take it off. Now.”

She stands there and stares at me, unmoving, so I take matters into my own hands. I try not to let my anger make me rough with her, but I pull the sleeves down so the shirt comes off and she’s left there in just her underwear and knotted hair.

Then she starts to cry. The look in her eyes is unlike one I’ve ever seen come from her before: pure disdain. From a five-year-old.

And I know I’ve done everything to deserve it.

– – – – –

Within days of arriving in our new city, I’ve reluctantly agreed to do a spread for Vanity Fair. My agent insisted that it would get my name out there so that everyone knows I’m back in the business and ready to act again after my long hiatus.

I don’t yet have a nanny lined up for Sophie, so she gets to tag along today. She’s sitting next to me in the back seat of the car that’s driving us, bouncing up and down in her booster seat.

“You seem more excited than I am,” I tell her, reaching over to squeeze her thin little arm.

“I getta watch you be fancy!” she says, smiling big. “Never did that before. I can’t wait!”

We pull up to the building and my security ushers us inside. I learned my lesson and hired more after the airport incident, and Sophie has made friends with all of them. She waves them goodbye once we’re inside, and they go back to wait out in the car while I get beautified and photographed and interviewed about things that no one cares about.

A chorus of people say my name when Sophie and I walk through the door, and I keep a protective hold on her. This will be the first time that my daughter is introduced to this whole different world that I was once so immersed in.

“Is this Sophie?” someone asks, and she shyly gravitates to my side, pressing her forehead against my outer hip. “Little Sophie Lawrence?’

“Yep, this is the famous girl herself,” I say, petting her blonde hair. “Soph, this is what my days used to look like all the time.”

She glances around, her eyes wide and wondering as she takes in the whole scene. “This is crazy, momma,” she says, and makes everyone laugh. She instantly wins their approval.

I get set up in a high hair and makeup chair and they put Sophie in one right next to me. Her legs dangle, not even coming close to touching the ground, and she’s examining an eyeshadow palette that one of the makeup artists gave her so she wouldn’t be bored. She’s entertaining herself by sliding her finger down each of the colors, turning it every which way under the light, and then wiping it off on her jeans.

She doesn’t have to wear a school uniform anymore, so yesterday we went shopping for a whole new wardrobe. These jeans were part of it, and I’m silently hoping that the makeup will wash out. I don’t reprimand her though, because we’re both having a relatively good time.

They’re taking my photos first, then doing the interview. Once I have a full face of makeup on and my hair is styled, they bring me over to a white backdrop. Sophie follows close behind, feeling special because she got her long hair straightened and a tiny amount of mascara put on her eyelashes. They also gave her a fresh new outfit; vibrant blue jean capris, a pink empire waist sleeveless shirt, and pink buckled sandals.

She sits off to the sidelines while I pose in a myriad of different ways, turning this way and that, helping the photographers get the shots they’ll need for the spread. After about thirty minutes passes, Sophie hops down from her stool and walks right through the staged area to where I am.

“Mommy, potty,” she says.

“Oh, honey, okay,” I say, and start to get up, but get stopped.

“Wait, stay there! You two, do a few shots together. It’ll be great.”

“Oh, I would really prefer if we didn’t, I-”

I don’t get to finish my sentence before the flash-bulbs start going off again. They encourage us to pose, so I give in because Sophie is loving it. Having apparently forgotten about her bathroom needs, she’s posing like her whole life has been lived before a camera. I watch her with a smile on my face, positioned behind her as she takes over the stage. The room falls in love with her all over again.

When the shoot is over, I go up to the photographer so I can speak to him privately. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t use any photos of Sophie,” I say.

He looks at me through his thick-rimmed glasses. “Mm-hmm,” he says, studying a sheet of paper. “I get where you’re coming from, but I just don’t agree. I have a compromise for you. No big spread for Sophie. Not even a page picture. Just a tiny little insert of you two together, the one with the confetti. People will love it.”

I don’t care if people love it, but he’s choosing not to understand that. No one in this business understands the concept of privacy.

I know I don’t really have the platform to tell him no, though, and I’m aware he knows that. I have to agree with him if I want to keep this spread, and though I hate that I’ve been put between a rock and a hard place, I don’t put up any more of a fight.

“Sure, fine,” I say, and I know he can hear the tone in my voice. I try to fix it in fear of being labeled “difficult” as I break back into my career. “As long as the picture is small.”

He assures me that it will be and I don’t need to worry. I don’t entertain the conversation with him further.

I sit down in a plush armchair across from my interviewer whose name slips my mind almost as soon as she says it. Per my request, Sophie is taken by my assistant into a different part of the studio. I haven’t been briefed on the sort of questions that will be asked of me in the interview, and I don’t want her hearing something that she shouldn’t.

We spend a good ten minutes with pleasantries, and I find myself wondering if this is turning out to be more trouble than it’s worth. None of this seems to mean anything, and I’ve subjected both myself and Sophie to so much change and strife in the past weeks for it.

Snapping me out of the trance I had let myself fall into, I hear Sophie’s raucous laughter sound from three or four rooms over.

“Wow, that’s quite a cackle,” the interviewer says with an amused grin.

I let a puff of air from my nose and smile. “Yeah, for sure,” I say.

“Does she get that from you?” she asks.

I shake my head, my mind only half-present. “Not really,” I say. “I’ve got more of an ultra-sexy snort.”

“So it must be her dad, then?”

I raise one eyebrow, my jaw set firm. “Must be,” I say. I hadn’t wanted to get into this territory. The name of Sophie’s father has never been released for public knowledge or really even private knowledge, for that matter. His identity has been a secret kept only between myself and Sophie’s DNA.

“Let’s talk a little bit about him,” the interviewer says, leaning forward to rest her elbow on a knee that’s crossed over her other one.

“I’m not really comfortable with that,” I say, with a taut smile and a subtle shake of my head.

My publicist used to brief reporters on what they could talk about with me and what they couldn’t. Now that I’m a newbie all over again, obviously that didn’t happen.

“We don’t have to go into much detail,” she says, “but you’ve done plenty of things to keep us all wondering. You got pregnant out of the blue almost six years ago and disappeared from the public eye entirely. That is, until now. Now you’re back and ready to talk about it. Ready to clear things up for us.”

“Um…” I let out a strangled-sounding laugh. “You’re putting words in my mouth a little bit there, don’t you think?”

“Not at all,” she says. “It’s what we’re all thinking, Jen.”

There’s a loaded pause between us. She knows exactly what type of situation she’s put me in and I know exactly what I have to do. There’s no getting out of this.

“There’s really not much to tell,” I say, attempting to keep my tone light and conversational. “Sophie’s father and I are no longer on speaking terms. She’s never known him and she never will. It’s easier for everyone that way.”

“I see,” she says, making a few hurried notes. “Talk a little bit more. Would you ever consider outing who he is to the public? Have you talked about it with him, or is there animosity between you two?”

She looks so intrigued; the smile on her face reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat. She has me trapped and she loves it. I’ve never felt like this during an interview; like I’ve been completely set up.

Somehow, though, I’m not mad. I come to the realization that I’ve probably had it coming.

“It’s not much of the public’s business, that’s how I see it,” I say.

“Does he know?” the interviewer asks, asking the hardest hitting question so far.

I sidestep it. “The people who need to know, know,” I say. “Sophie is a happy, healthy little girl. She’s going to start first grade in a few months. She’s very smart, so of course she asks about her father sometimes. I do the best I can to tell her as much of the truth as she’ll understand. Does she know that I love the fact that her father gave her to me? Of course. Does she know that he’s the son of a movie star who has all but disappeared in the past five years? No, she does not.”

I know I’ve gone too far as soon as the words pass my lips, but there’s nothing I can do now. In the reporter’s opinion, I’ve done just enough.

– – – – –

“But mommy,” Sophie whines, flopping down on my bed. It’s just past 5pm and she’s already dressed in her princess nightgown; she had gotten it in her mind that she wanted to wear it and I hadn’t been able to convince her otherwise. “I want to go, too.”

“Remember what I said?” I ask, closing one eye to perfect my eyeliner. “When we looked at the invitation you were okay with it. It’s grown-ups only.”

“Well, I’m not okay now,” she grumbles, kicking one leg repeatedly against the underside of my bed.

“You get to spend time with Evelyn, you’ll like that,” I say, blinking into the mirror. I had finally hired a suitable nanny for Sophie after weeks of searching, and she hadn’t been easy to find. LA is very different from New York.

“Not as much as Sam,” Sophie mumbles. “Or you. I want you. Want mommy.”

“Oh, come-” I don’t finish my sentence because my thoughts are cut off by my phone buzzing on the vanity next to my brushes. I look down and see that I have a text from a number I don’t recognize. “Soph, come on…” I try and finish my thought, but I trail off again when I open up the message.

Hey Jennifer, not sure if this is still ur # if so could u call or text me back that would be great. Thanks

I narrow my eyes at the screen and dig back into my memory, but I have no clue who might be texting me. I send a quick, un-thought out response.

It’s jen, who’s this?

When the number texts back, a strange sound must escape me because suddenly Sophie is pulling on the sleeve of my robe trying to get my attention. “What, mommy, what?” she asks, ever persistent.

I click the button on the side and turn my phone’s screen black.

My fingertips have gone numb and my skin has grown instantly clammy. My tongue feels like it’s three sizes too big for my mouth and I can’t seem to produce any saliva.

I never thought I’d get a text from him, not in a million years.

“Mommy, what?” Sophie insists, crawling onto my lap and facing me.

I blink my eyes open into hers and only see him. Him; the man who has just lit up my phone after more than five years of silence. Him; the man who helped me create this insistent little creature who’s holding my face in her hands, begging for me to respond. She has his eyes, I’ve always said that; a piercing, magnetic blue. Different than mine, which can go gray or green in certain lights. But both Sophie and her father’s eyes are infallible blue.

With his text waiting on my phone, I can hardly bear to look at her.

“Nothing, Soph,” I say, trying to snap out of it. It’s impossible, though. I can’t believe he’s just contacted me, adamant that we see each other and talk face-to-face for the first time in more than five years.

I can’t answer him, not now. I have the wedding to prepare for. I try to shove the thought of him from my mind so I can concentrate on tonight only, since I’m already nervous enough. I know for a fact that Josh will be there, and I haven’t seen him in years.

He will most likely be there with Selena on his arm, looking like the perfect couple they are. The only saving grace is that I know he will be avoiding me, so I’ll be able to do the same. If we act like the other doesn’t exist, maybe tonight will have a chance of going smoothly.

I hang my robe on the back of my chair and stand up, gently lifting Sophie off of my lap. I walk over to my closet, trying to shake the thought of his text sitting in my phone, but I can’t. My thoughts are jumbled, and I can’t straighten them out. I slip my phone into my pocket only to hear it clatter to the floor, and I look down and remember that I just took my robe off and am left in my bra and underwear, standing in the closet looking for a dress.

“Why did you drop your phone?” Sophie asks, picking it up for me.

“I didn’t mean to,” I say, and take it from her when she hands it to me. I take it quickly, like she might unlock it and read the text from her father.

“Mommy,” she says, wrapping her arms around my waist and pushing her head into my stomach. She clings as I flip through my clothes and I touch the top of her head. I can’t help but wonder if she wouldn’t be so attached so me if her father was around. “Don’t go.”

I can’t deny that I agree with her; I’d like to stay home as much as she wants me to. But I can’t. Even with the text weighing heavy on my mind, I have to go support Liam and be in the vicinity of the man whose heart I broke all those years ago.

– – – – –

When my car pulls up to the venue, my hands are shaky and my heart hasn’t slowed down since I left my house. When I walked out the door, Sophie stood on the front stoop, dripping from her bath, with only a towel wrapped around her, and begged me not to go.

Evelyn had done her best to coax my daughter back, but it was to no avail. I had already been sitting, but stood up out of the car to get Sophie back inside. It wasn’t going to be a good first day for poor Evelyn.

I dried her off to an acceptable level and then held her on my lap, shushing her and rocking her until her hysteric sobs lessened to hiccups. Then her thumb found its way to her mouth and she closed her eyes, and I somehow got her to the couch and covered with a blanket as she stayed asleep, and I was able to slip out the door.

Now, I wish she would’ve put up even more of a fight so I would have an excuse not to be here.

I sigh and tell myself I just have to do it, no matter how much I don’t want to. Still though, I just got a text from no one else but Sophie’s father. I don’t know how I’m expected to function, let alone be social.

During the ceremony I sit by Liz and Woody, who both had greeted me like they hadn’t seen me in decades. In reality, it’s just been a year or two. I try to keep up with them. Liz wipes her eyes as Liam says his vows, but I can’t keep the smirk off my face. Just the sight of him so dapper and put-together makes me laugh because it is so not him. It’s nice, though. I’m happy for them, if not a little envious of what they have.

Josh was sitting three rows up from us on the opposite side. From where I was, I could see the back of his head and profile at the same time. I watched small smiles appear on his face as Liam spoke, but most of the time he stayed solemn. He didn’t look back once. Throughout the whole thing, I couldn’t stop wondering if he knew that I was back there.

On the way to the reception is when I really get nervous. The ceremony is for the bride and groom; no one talks. The reception is for socializing, which is exactly what I’m dreading.

I get out of my car and check my phone, hoping that Evelyn called during the ceremony and needs me back home. But all I see is my lock screen; Sophie’s kindergarten school picture smiling up at me. Her baby teeth, light freckles across the bridge of her nose, and her father’s blue eyes are all on full display.

I’m not needed at home. I’m needed here.

I make my way inside and see round tables positioned around a big ballroom area. Chandeliers hang low and the mood lighting is dim. There are candles in the middle of each arrangement, flickering intimately. Mostly everyone is in their seats already, talking amongst each other.

My mouth goes dry and I smack my lips together quietly to try and counteract it, but it does nothing.

I scan the room for people I know. When I see Woody and Liz, relief floods over me and I make my way over to the table they’re sitting at. Alongside them are Francis, Sam, and Willow, and after I sit down there’s only one empty chair left. Willow hugs me before I have a chance to look at the name on the placard in front of it.

“Hey guys,” I say, sounding a bit breathless.

They all greet me warmly. I feel at ease for a short moment before he appears next to the table, tense, but looking sharp. He always cleans up nice.

“Josh!” Francis exclaims, standing up and clapping Josh hard on the back. “We were hoping you’d make it.”

He sits down. “Why wouldn’t I?” he asks. His tone is clipped and forced.

“You came alone, then?” Sam asks, raising his eyebrows.

“She’s filming,” Josh says, fiddling with his silverware on either side of his plate. He hasn’t acknowledged my presence; I’m not sure if I want him to or not.

I haven’t said hi to Sam yet, so I lean over and get a kiss on the cheek from him as he sits to my right. Josh is to my left, eerily silent.

The table makes conversation for a while. Everyone speaks but him.

I can’t stand the tension any longer.

“How are you, Josh?” I ask.

His eyes widen down at his plate, neck stiffening. He clenches the cloth napkin in his fist and I can see the veins in his hand bulge.

He doesn’t look at me when he says. “I’ve fucking never been better, Jen.”

I recoil from his words. This is going to be a long night.

Then–

Mon, Jun 27, 1:37 PM

“Hey, Jen! It’s Taylor. How have you been? I was just reaching out to let you know I’m having a big Fourth of July party, and I want you to come! You can bring whoever. I apologize for the late notice! Hope to hear back from you soon :)”

I’m surprised to see a text from Taylor. We’ve hung out and spent some time together in New York, but I haven’t seen her in quite a while. It would be nice to catch up with her.

“Hey, Josh?” I call into the kitchen.

“Hmm?” he replies, his mouth full of food as he makes us lunch.

“Do we have any plans for the Fourth?”

“It’s what…next week?” he asks. “I don’t have anything planned yet, but I’m sure something will come up.”

“Well, I just got a text from Taylor Swift…”

“Oh,” he says, sounding surprised.

“Yeah, I mean, we have hung out before. But she invited me to her big Fourth party.”

“Sounds fun,” he replies dryly.

“You’ll come with me, right?”

“I highly doubt that I’m invited to a Taylor Swift party…”

“Why the fuck not?” I snap.

“I just,” he pauses, as if he’s trying to chose his words as carefully as possible. “I won’t know anyone. I don’t wanna feel awkward.”

“You’ll know me,” I say, standing up from the couch and walking into the kitchen. “I think it sounds fun. Please, will you go with me?”

He sighs, and I notice that he hasn’t made eye contact with me yet. “I know for sure I’ll have to stop by my aunt’s for a little bit. But I’ll meet you there after.”

“You promise?” I ask, mostly joking, but he’s been known to flake out on bigger parties like this, especially if he already feels uncomfortable.

“Yes, Jen, I promise,” he says, along with a lighthearted eye-roll. “Do you want me to stick my pinky out so you can shake it?”

I scoff and sit up on the counter. “Come on, Josh. We aren’t kids,” I say, holding out my pinky and smirking. He laughs, and wraps his pinky around mine and we shake.

I take the half of a sandwich that he’s handing to me and take a bite, nodding my approval. We eat together there on the counter, and then I hop down and stretch my arms high above my head.

Josh is still hunched with his elbows on the counter, munching away. I look at him and smile, studying the curve of his biceps under the sleeve of his t-shirt, the cutting edge of his jaw, and the way his fingers curl around the sandwich that he’s eating. I don’t know why that kind of turns me on…but it does.

“Josh,” I say, slinking up to him and wrapping my arms around his shoulders. “I wanna go back to bed.”

“It’s 2:00 in the afternoon.”

“So what?” I say, grabbing hold of his wrist and leading him up the stairs.

We both finish the remainder of our sandwiches as we walk, so when we get to my bedroom, our hands are free.

I haven’t done anything today besides work out, so it’s not hard to remove the clothes that I’m wearing. I pull the stretchy tank top off over my head and then shimmy out of my leggings, which leaves me in my racerback sports bra and black underwear with little pink stars on them.

“What are you doing?” he asks, plopping down at the foot of my bed. He rubs his eyes with both fists, looking disillusioned and tired. I try not to get irritated with him, hoping that I can snap him out of his mood.

“What do you think I’m doing?” I ask, pulling my bra off over my head so I’m left in just my underwear. I straddle his hips and sit on his lap, and his arms stay at his sides. I furrow my eyebrows and yank his wrists up from the bed and wrap them around my waist myself. “Come on, just touch me,” I say. “I know you’re in a shit mood, but this always helps.”

“Not always,” he says with a sigh. “Jen…”

“I miss you,” I say, overlapping his hands with my own. “Just lay down, I can make you feel good.”

I try to push him back by his shoulders, but he’s reluctant. I’m not ready to give up, though. I run my hand between his legs and discover that he’s hard, which is more than I expected. I smirk at him and raise my eyebrows, then drop to my knees to undo the button of his jeans pull down the zipper. I shimmy his pants down his hips, and when I look up at him he’s staring at me but his eyes don’t hold much feeling.

“Are you okay?” I ask, crossing my ankles and resting my weight back on my heels. Suddenly, I feel severely underdressed kneeling in front of him topless.

“I’m fine,” he says quietly. “Just come up here.”

My heart leaps. I scoot up on the bed so my back is leaning against the headboard, and Josh makes his way up to lie next to me. I press my hand against his chest and pull myself closer to kiss him, but he shies away before my lips barely brush his. “What?” I breathe, my eyebrows furrowing together. “What is up with you?”

“Nothing,” he says, attempting to make his voice sound lighthearted. “I’m fine. I just…had something else in mind.”

“What?” I ask, laying totally flat with my fingers laced together behind my head.

He doesn’t answer me with words. Instead, he slips his hand inside the front of my underwear and without much warning, two of his fingers are inside of me. It catches me off guard more than anything, but he knows just what to do to make me come and he doesn’t waste time. It’s unlike him to be so quick – usually he purposefully drags out the process, knowing that it tortures me. He gets so entertained by it. Now, he won’t even make eye contact.

He rushes me to my orgasm, but I don’t complain once I hit it. My mouth drops open and I clench his hand with my thighs, but he pulls it out before I’m even finished. When I’ve caught my breath, I move my hair over to one shoulder and crawl on top of him, yanking his pants down like I wanted to before. Maybe he just needed to warm up. We’re just getting started.

I get him off with my mouth, but as I do he doesn’t so much as even touch me. I can usually count on one of his hands to rest on my head, or for him to talk to me, but he does neither of those things. He does end up coming, but instead of being turned on when I swallow, he looks more embarrassed than anything.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says.

I frown. “I wanted to.”

“I’m just saying, you don’t have to feel obligated.”

“Josh, I’m not obligated. You’re my boyfriend. I love you. I want to make you feel good, and I want to have sex with you.” At my last words, I push myself up onto my knees and straddle him, hoping that he’ll get the picture. I want to go all the way; we haven’t in so long, and I’ve been aching for it.

But all he does is sigh.

“What?” I snap, immediately dismounting him. Now I just feel stupid. “What is it about me that’s so repulsive to you lately?”

“Stop being dramatic,” he says. “I’ve just been stressed and tired. I told you, filming is kicking my ass.”

I pick my shirt off from the carpet and shove it on over my head. I don’t want to be naked in front of him anymore. I wish I had never initiated this; it only made me feel self-conscious.

“Sure, whatever,” I say, standing up and stripping off my dirty underwear to trade them for clean ones. “I get it. It’s fine.”

– – – – – – – – – –

My stomach is in knots as I approach the mansion where Taylor is hosting her Fourth of July party. I park my car in a spot along the massive driveway leading up to the house, and take a moment to breathe some deep breaths to relax before I get out of the car.

For some reason I’d underestimated the amount of guests, and feel overwhelmed because I most likely won’t know many of these people.

The walk up to the house takes longer than anticipated, and when I’ve finally arrived on the front step, I triple-check to make sure my outfit is okay; my brand new red string bikini and white lace cover-up dress. I adjust the bottle of champagne I’m holding awkwardly in one arm multiple times, and my tote bag in the other.

Someway, somehow, I muster up the courage to walk through the door.

I feel a huge relief when I walk inside, and spot Taylor only several feet away. She’s engaged in a conversation with Karlie Kloss, whom I’ve never actually met.

“Hi, Taylor,” I say as I approach, outstretching my arms for a hug that she quickly returns.

“I’m so glad you came!” she says.

“I didn’t really know what to bring, so I just got some champagne,” I say awkwardly, thinking about how much I could really use a glass of it right now.

“Oh, thank you so much. You didn’t have to bring anything!” Taylor takes the bottle from me, and sets it down on the table next to us which has other alcohol as well.

“Jen, this is my friend Karlie,” Taylor says.

Karlie smiles a big, beautiful smile as she reaches out her hand to shake mine. “Nice to meet you!” she says.

Eventually they move on, and I walk over to one of the tables containing bottles and bottles of alcohol. I pour myself a vodka with club soda, and glance around the room, taking in the sights around me.

Thankfully I run into a familiar face, Ella, while I browse around the house. We’ve known each other for almost two years now, after her involvement in Mockingjay Part 1, and the soundtrack. We sit down and catch up for about 15 minutes before another one of her friends swoops in and steals her away. Once again, I’m left alone with my drink.

I decide to use this opportunity to call Josh. I haven’t heard from him all day, and he’s supposed to be meeting me here soon.

The phone rings, and rings, and then I’m sent to voicemail. I send him a quick text.

Are you coming soon?  

I give him a few minutes to respond before I begin to lower my hopes. I shouldn’t have expected him to show up in the first place, he never really seemed like he wanted to. Maybe I just thought he would do it for me.

But I was wrong. Just another disappointment.

I toss my phone back into my crossbody bag, and begin my own personal tour of this house. Part of me thinks I should just rejoin the rest of the party and try my hardest to enjoy myself. But I can’t just yet, I need a few more minutes to myself.

As I walk around the upstairs of this house, hearing the loud voices on the level below me and outdoors, I wish Josh was here with me. Our first Fourth of July together as a couple, and he won’t even answer my calls or texts.

Out of frustration, I dial his number again.

Voicemail.

– – – – –

I’ve been here for about three hours, making conversation with people I’d never expected to, and I’m surprisingly having a lot of fun. I decide to check my phone for the millionth time, and there are still no texts from Josh. I don’t realize how loud I’ve sighed until a man that I instantly recognize begins to speak to me.

“Still nothing?” he asks, referring to my disappointment over the lack of texts on my phone.

It’s Scott Eastwood, Taylor’s co-star from her ‘Wildest Dreams’ music video.

“Unfortunately not,” I say, chugging down the last of my second vodka and club.

“He’s sure fucking up,” he says, mimicking me and finishing the last of his drink.

“And what makes you say that?”

“Any guy would be stupid to stand you up.”

“What if it isn’t a guy? What if it’s my mom?”

“That look of disappointment on your face could only be from a guy.”

“You don’t even know me,” I say, unable to tell if he’s being a dick or just fucking with me.

“You’re right,” he says, smiling and holding his hand out for me to shake. “I’m Scott.”

“Jennifer.”

“Seems a bit formal, don’t you think?” he asks, while pouring himself another drink.

My phone vibrates in my hand and I lift it quickly to read the message, hoping and praying that it’s Josh. When I see it’s just a friend wishing me a Happy Fourth of July, I make myself another drink as well.

“Jen.”

“Hi, Jen. Nice to meet you.”

Our conversation doesn’t last long, because Ella comes back over to where we’re standing and demands I go into the pool and spend some time with her. She asks me a lot of questions about The Hunger Games cast, since she has barely seen anyone in a couple of years.

It doesn’t take her long to realize my mood has significantly shifted from earlier. Since I’m already comfortable with her, and I just need someone to talk to, I can’t help but vent.

Going all the way back to the beginning of mine and Josh’s relationship, I stand with my friend and my cocktail, and spill my guts. At this point, the alcohol has started to give me a bit of a buzz. “Like, I don’t know,” I say, gesturing grandly with my one free hand. “At this point he’s acting so fucking weird I’m not even sure if we should’ve ever started something.”

Ella widens her eyes, jutting her chin forward like she’s silently asking me if I really mean that. She’s more of an ‘actions over words’ type of girl. Easy to read, mostly pretty quiet.

“Okay, okay, I don’t mean that,” I backtrack. “But things were easier when he was just my best friend. Then… feelings had to get in the way and fuck it all up.”

“Have you tried talking to him about it?” she asks.

I narrow my eyes. “Of course I have.” Lie. We hadn’t talked about it, really. “It’s awkward, though. I know he doesn’t have anything physically wrong with him. I got him hard the last time, fast as usual. So that’s good,” I pause. “I just think… I don’t know, I think it’s in his mind.” I point dramatically to my temple. “He just needs to get out of his own fucking head. He gets all entwined in all his fucking smart thoughts, or so he thinks, and he doesn’t let me in.” I’m aware I’m being cruel. I shouldn’t be talking about Josh like this behind his back, but I’m angry and a little drunk and at this point, I can’t stop myself. “I want to know what about me is so off-putting that he doesn’t want to fuck anymore.”

“I’m sure it’s not you.” Ella says, tipping her head to one side. “Guys are stupid sometimes. Just talk to him.”

“I thought that at first, too. But after a while, it starts to get to you. And you start wondering… I don’t know, you just start wondering, okay?” She nods complacently, letting me rant. “It makes me feel like shit when he doesn’t want to sleep with me. Most of the time he doesn’t even want to hold me at night. He claims he’s ‘hot’. Yeah, okay, with the air conditioner blasting, you’re hot? He just… he just won’t touch me. And he won’t talk to me about it. He expects me to fucking read his mind!” The more I talk about it, the more enraged I feel. I find another drink and slurp it down. I’m past the point of pacing myself. “God, I should really shut up.”

Just as I say those words, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out and see the name across the screen that I’ve been waiting for all day.

Hey babe. I’m so sorry my family forced me into a few games of beer pong. I lost track of time and now I’m too drunk to drive. We can still hangout later tho?

I have to read it over multiple times before it sinks in. He’s disappointed me yet again.

“Josh isn’t coming,” I say to Ella, beginning to make my way out of the pool. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?” she asks.

"We're taking shots."

[dagger-undisclosed]

Blame It On Me

Wow... I actually finally got around to posting it! All distractions aside, it’s been a really busy month! I went on holiday, had trouble at work, and found out I’m going to be a Mommy next year! I’m so excited!!

Like I’m always saying, I’m really sorry about the wait, and I hope this month’s story makes up for it, even though I have to apologise for the length of it. I couldn’t stop writing! I know I for one am missing all the Joshifer...

Anyway, here’s the next installment in the 2015 series, and as you know all know, it’s rated M, along with all the other stories in the series.

My other Joshifer stories can be found here. Enjoy, my lovelies!

*Disclaimer* I don’t personally know Jennifer Lawrence, Josh Hutcherson or any other person included in this story; it is all a work of fiction, and in no way do I wish to infringe upon any of The Hunger Games franchise or anybody included in my stories.

Okay, I know it shouldn’t bother me, but it does. I’ve been left cleaning up the chaos that every party at our house seems to leave, while Jen puts all the kids in bed. Well, all the kids except Ava who’s in her bouncer, watching me whizz around the kitchen whilst waiting for her Momma to come feed her. It’s not the cleaning that bothers me. What does, however, is Hope’s pile of presents, ladened with copious amounts of red and white Cardinals merchandise. How can such an avid supporter of Louisville come from such a strong Wildcats supporter? It just doesn’t make sense!

I sigh as I throw the last of the waste into the garbage, and walk over to the table, picking up the first item I find. I must admit, it’s kinda cute; the red and white stripes on the sundress are mesmerising, and the bow at the top makes it very ‘girly’. It’s such a nice dress, but the tiny emblem at the bottom ruins it. The very same emblem that also ruins the bow, the stationary and the pyjamas that I can see in the pile.

Huffing, I throw the dress back down, annoyed that everything I tried when Hope was younger was met with cries of ‘no, Papa, I not like sport’, or ‘sport is for boys, Papa’. But as soon as the boys were born, all it took for Ben and Blaine to scout her to their side was a single sentence; “You look so pretty in red and white, Hope.” A single sentence, and almost four years later, my daughter is a huge fan of the Cards, and never misses a single home game.

I hear Jen coming down the stairs, so I pick Ava up out the bouncer and walk into the living room to meet her, sitting down to have a cuddle with my youngest.

“Everything okay?” I ask as Jen flops down beside me, putting the baby monitor on the coffee table in front of us. She sighs, and leans over to wipe Ava’s bangs out of her face.

“Yeah, they all went down straight away. Peppi only cried a little. I think she’s getting better at being separated from you now.”

“Pep?”

“Peppi’s in bed, baby” I tell the wriggler in my arms, “And you will be too in a few minutes.”

She stares at me, confused as she tries to work out what I’m saying, and I stare back, smiling, until a sudden urge to sneeze takes over. I manage to stifle it, but my sudden movements have startled Ava, and I see her bottom lip tremble while her eyes well up. Shit.

“I’m sorry baby,” I apologise, attempting to soothe her. “Did daddy scare you?”

She looks at me again, and suddenly, she detonates. Loud, wailing noises fill the room, tears flowing down her face as she pushes herself away from me and holds out her arms for her Momma, who reaches over and takes her as she shoots me daggers. Ergh, I can’t seem to do anything right. I huff again, and storm into the kitchen, opening the fridge and taking out a cold beer. I pop the cap off and take a big swig, resting against the counter as I bring it down from my lips.

‘Calm down, Josh. You’re just worked up because of the presents Hope got.’ I scold myself, taking a few deep breaths to recompose. ‘Jen didn’t mean anything by that look, don’t let it bother you.’ Noticing that the wailing has stopped, I push myself off the counter, and slump back to the sofa, beer in hand. Jen stops her humming, and looks up from Ava, who’s feeding on her breast.

“What’s up, Joshy?” she asks softly as she rocks our youngest to sleep.

I place my beer on the table and turn to her, tucking my right leg under my left, my arm draped over the back of the sofa.

“Just…. I know it sounds stupid, but it gets to me how much Hope supports the Cards. I can’t believe I tried to get her to go blue for so long, and then your brothers came along and won her over straight away.”

“Josh,” Jen giggles as she takes Ava from her breast and hands her over to me while she fastens her top back up, “it’s just sport, not life or death. Let her support who she wants to.”

“But…”

“No buts Josh,” she interrupts as she lifts her head up, her shirt now buttoned. “We should be supporting them no matter what their choices are, and anyway, I’ve told you before. This is between you and my brothers. I couldn’t care less. But what I do care about is getting Ava to bed so I can spend some time with my Husband.”

I look down at the sleeping form in my arms, kiss her goodnight, and pass her back to Jen, who smiles at me before heading towards the stairs.

My eyes follow Jen as she goes, fixed on her peachy ass. She rounds the corner, and just as she disappears from sight, I hear her say “I know what you’re staring at, Joshua.”

I chuckle and untuck my legs, sinking into the sofa. Despite that little distraction, I can’t shake the other thoughts out of my head. Picking up my beer again, I bring my free hand to my face and pinch the top of my nose, sighing. Why is this getting to me as much as it is?

I gulp down another mouthful, and place the bottle back down before closing my eyes; maybe I’ll catch a few minutes. After all, it has been a manic day, and maybe I’m just tired….

I’m startled awake when Jen rejoins me on the couch, lays her legs over me and places a glass of wine next to my Bud.

“Hey, sleepy,” she smiles. “If you’re that tired we can just go to bed.”

I swallow and lick my lips, the slumber having dried out my mouth.

“How long was I asleep?” I croak.

“I’ve been upstairs about twenty minutes. I wanted to change into something comfier, and I had to put some more cream on my nipples.”

“Again?” I ask as I put one arm on her legs to stop them from sliding off as I lean forward. I pick up Jen’s glass and hand it over to her before picking up my own and sitting back.

“Mm...” She takes a sip of her drink, and I watch it go down. My eyes sink even lower and I notice that she’s not wearing a bra.

“I think we’re going to have to cut this last feed out,” she says, forcing my eyes back up to meet hers. “Now that almost all her teeth are through, she’s really starting to hurt me.” She rubs her boobs for emphasis, and then takes another sip of wine. “What’s on TV, hon?”

I chuckle at her choice of name, but pass her the remote nonetheless. No sooner has it entered her hand than The Real Housewives lights up the set. I shoot her a questioning look.

“It’s catch up!” she squeals, placing the remote on the floor beside her as I place my free hand on her thigh, stroking circles with my fingertips.

I shake my head, and turn to the set, trying to be as interested in what’s happening as my wife is, but it’s no good. The whole Hope-Cardinals thing is still niggling at me.

“You know...” I say, turning my head to Jen.

“Ergh.” She rolls her eyes. “Josh. Seriously. There’s nothing I can do about who Hope supports.”

“But it really does bother me that she wouldn’t ever support Kentucky. I mean, I tried so hard when she was younger, Jennifer. So goddamn hard!”

“I know, Josh, but what do you want me to do? She’s made up her mind. Besides, it’s only sport!”

My mouth falls open. “Only spo…”

“Okay, okay!” She raises her hands in defense, making sure not to spill any wine. “I take that back. What I meant was, it’s not like she’s sixteen and has hooked up with some drug dealer and is now pregnant. It’s sport, Josh. Sport. Team rivalry is normal.”

I sigh. She is right, I know it. But that doesn’t mean it has to automatically stop bothering me.

“I guess…” I admit. “But that doesn’t stop me from hurting a little.”

She smiles, and sticks her bottom lip out at me, making her eyes wider.

“Oh baby!” she teases. “Do you need Momma to make everything better? Shall I kiss it all better?” She pulls the hand that was on her thigh up to her mouth, and places a gentle kiss on it before letting it go. “There we go, all better!” she giggles as she turns her attention back to the screen in front of us, my hand now resting on one of her breasts.

I feel the pulse between my legs getting stronger, my pants starting to get tighter. Hearing Jen call herself ‘Momma’ along with her laugh and the fact that my hand is now resting on her braless chest, are all turning me on.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, too enthralled to do anything. Well, I say enthralled. Jennifer’s enthralled by the happenings in the TV set, but I’m more interested in watching her. Every little movement makes me love her that little bit more, and makes my erection grow that little bit harder. The way her eyes light up when she laughs at something stupid said on the show. The way she continuously and absentmindedly runs her hand over my arm while she watches, her other hand around her glass. The way her breasts move up and down in time with her breathing. Oh my god, her breasts. I find myself staring at her body again, only this time, there’s nothing to stop my eyes from going lower. They venture away from her boobs and over her stomach, it’s toned form amazing me after giving birth so many times. My eyes continue wandering, drinking up all her curves, before coming to rest on the waistband of her yoga pants, my mind sketching out all the times that I’ve seen what’s underneath, planning out new ways I could pleasure her. Drops of precum are pooling around the tip of my dick as my mind races with fantasies. I try shifting around, but nothing will help; there’s only one thing I need, and I know just how to get it.

I gulp down the rest of my beer, before putting the empty bottle back on the table, and carefully lifting Jen’s legs onto the floor. I crawl my way onto her, and start kissing her neck, taking her by surprise.

“Josh, wha...”

“Shh,” I interrupt. I carry on peppering her neck with kisses, and I hear her breathing hitch. I reach her ear, so I stop, and take it between my teeth, nipping it as I pull away ever so slightly. Taking the wine glass from her hand and placing it on the table, I move her now free hand over my pants, making her feel my erection. She gasps.

“You feel that?” I breathe into her ear as she swallows. “You did that. It’s all your fault, so I think you need to help me sort it out... Momma.”

Her eyes meet mine, and for a minute, I’m scared that I’ve pushed her too far, but then her eyes mirror the lust in mine, and she’s pushing me onto my back. She unzips my pants, pulling them down in one swift motion alongside my boxers. My cock bobs from side to side, and she eyes it before winking at me and licking her lips. Beads of precum are gathered around the head, but I don’t have to ask Jen for what I want; her lips find my dick straight away, and she starts sucking, taking me all in her mouth. Fuck. I don’t know how I’ll last. She continues moving up and down, massaging my balls with one hand while her other tickles the inside of my sensitive thighs. I run my hands through her hair and grab a fistful, guiding her movements up and down my length. This carries on for a few minutes, but just as I’m on the verge of coming, she stops, my dick leaving her mouth with a ‘pop’. 

She looks up at me, and smirks, knowing that her teasing is almost unbearable as I’m only moments away. I can tell she’s happy at being able to get me off so quick, but that’s not how I want to play; I’m still annoyed at her. I grab another fistful of hair, forcing her away and onto her back. I follow, pinning her down, our arms locked together above her head, my erect penis rubbing against her crotch as she stifles a moan. I bring my hands down, caressing her face before kissing her, biting her lip. I pull away, bringing her lip with me, and smile as Jen groans from the combination of pain and pleasure. I let it go and start making my way down her body to my target. My hands rub over her boobs, and she arches her back, pressing them harder against me. I continue my journey, and when I reach the bottom of her shirt, I hitch it up, revealing her toned belly. I look at it, taking it in for a minute, and then kiss every single mark on her body; marks given to her by our children. Marks that make me love her more and more every day. She giggles, and tells me I’m tickling her, so I stop, and venture even lower. Reaching her waistband, I tuck my thumbs beneath it, and pull it down slowly, revealing her bare pussy. I wet my lips in anticipation before giving her one long, slow, purposeful lick from bottom to top. I take her clit in between my teeth, and nip it, just like I had done her lip only minutes ago.

“Please, Josh,” my wife pleads.

She only has to ask once, and my tongue attacks her, circling her clit with hard, fast movements. Her arms come down from above her head and grab onto my hair, pulling me further into her. She arches her back again, and I look up, noticing she’s biting her own lip, holding in the screams that she knows would wake the kids. Wanting her to suffer even more, I glide two fingers into her, and start fucking her with them in time with my tongue. Her hands leave my head, and she picks up a cushion to bite down on, stifling the moans that she can no longer hold in. I feel her muscles contract, and she shouts out my name, a sign she’s not far from coming. Slyly, I stop what I doing, and Jen lifts her head.

“What are you doing?!?” she almost screams at me. I move myself back up to her ear, my cock bobbing against her clit, and whisper to her.

“Finish yourself off.”

She freezes. Her eyes move to meet mine.

“W...what?” she asks in almost a whisper. I smile to myself; she sounds so innocent, as if she’s never done this stuff before.

“Finish yourself off, baby.”

I push myself onto my elbows, enjoying both the view below me and the feel of her wetness around my tip.

“But Josh... I don’t like touching myself in front of you, you know I don’t.”

“I want to see you squirm.”

She doesn’t move, but keeps her eyes fixed on mine.

“You don’t do this for me,” I tease, putting the tip of my penis against her opening, “then you won’t get any of this.” I shove my cock an inch into her, and she throws her head back.

She moans, and arches her back once again.

“Baby,” she moans. “Please.”

“No, Jennifer. I’m still pissed off about the whole Cardinals thing, and this is all your fault.” She lifts her head and looks at me.

“What the fuck are you on about, Josh?” she huffs. I’ve riled her up. Good.

“The presents; your brothers bought them for Hope.” I pause for a second. “My erection; you’re the one that got me so turned on. So now it’s your turn to suffer. Finish. Yourself. Off.”

“Joshy…”

“Do it.” I demand.

Reluctantly, she puts her hand between her legs, and places one finger on her clit. She begins circling it just like I was a few minutes ago, her hand brushing against my dick with every circle she does. Her whole body flushes, and I’m assuming it’s a combination of her embarrassment and being turned on. My eyes trace her body, and I want to see more…

“Let me take off your top,” I tell her. She carries on touching herself, her breathing slow, as I bring one hand down and lift her top, revealing her breasts.

“Oh my god…” My eyes soak them up. They’re still full from breast-feeding, and her hard nipples would make anyone think that it’s freezing out. I want to squeeze them, or even bite them, but I stop myself when I notice the  marks left from Ava, as well as several of my own. I might want her to suffer, but not physically. The temptation to take myself in my hand mounts with every passing second, and the beautiful pain in my cock becomes excruciating when this perfect woman takes her right breast in her own hand and gently squeezes, eliciting a low, drawn out moan.

“That’s it baby,” I breathe, “just like that.”

Her movements quicken, and she plunges two of her own fingers into herself before bringing them out, glistening with her own moisture. In and out they go for what seems like an eternity, her hand still rubbing against me, her moans getting quicker and more frequent until eventually, her back arches up, her head shoots back, and all her movements cease as she pulses round her own fingers while cursing out my name. I groan; watching my own wife make herself come has made it impossible to wait any longer. I practically pounce on her, crushing her lips with mine, entering her in one quick, hard motion, causing her to yelp. My own tension starts to slowly unwind as I pump in and out as we kiss deeply, the last of Jen’s spasms edging me closer to where I want to be. To where I need to be. I try to push deeper, but from where I am, I just can’t do it. I pull out, and put my hands on her waist, flipping her onto her stomach. Pulling her back towards me, I lift her hips up, forcing her face flat against the sofa, muffling the sounds she was making again. One hand rests on her ass cheeks, the other below her, my thumb rubbing circles on her clit. I look at the beauty before me, not believing that she’s willing to play this out the way I want.

“Please, Josh,” she moans into the sofa, “let me sort you out.”

“Oh, you’ll sort me out, alright,” I say as I line myself up, resting my tip against the folds, lifting one of my hands before bringing it down, spanking her bare ass. She lifts her head and lets out a shriek, pushing against me, forcing my member to enter her. This time, however, it’s Jennifer who does all the work, rocking back and forth as I spank her, making her ass red. I start lightly at first, but as her pace quickens and I get closer, my strikes get harder, and Jen’s moans turn into screams. I’m scared that she’ll wake up the kids, so I lean over her, forcing her to let me set the pace as I bring one hand up to cover her mouth, quietening her, while the other moves from her clit to her nipples, twisting and squeezing them harder than usual. Her whole body shakes as she fights to prevent her knees from buckling. I carry on thrusting, feeling my own orgasm nearing. I groan, and push deeper, hearing Jen moan before she bites my finger. The pain reminds me of all the times that she’s bitten my hand during labor, and my head fills with images of another addition to our family. But I don’t get the chance to think about it for long, as the muscles in my legs tense up and I feel my release pulsing through my dick. I thrust once more before spilling into her, and then continue, willing her to take it all.

“Oh, Joshy,” she cries out. “I can feel you. Oh…” Her breathing stops for a split second, and then she chokes out my name, her muscles clenching around my cock, milking me for everything I have.

I thrust into her once more, but it seems it’s a step too far; Jen’s legs buckle beneath her, and I end up laid on top of her, spent. We stay like this for a few minutes, panting and breathless, but eventually Jen speaks up.

“As much as I love you being on top, you’re squashing me.”

I chuckle, and push myself up, leaving her with a loving kiss on her neck, and pull out, causing her to shiver. I sit on the opposite side of the couch, still trying to catch my breath, while Jen turns over onto her back, wincing as her red behind makes contact. Jesus,

“Jen,” I tell her, “Why didn’t you say I was hurting you?? I mean, I wanted to hurt you, to make you feel how I felt, but goddamn it Jennifer! I didn’t want to hurt you to the point where you can’t sit down!”

“Relax Josh,” she giggles, “If this is what I get when something is apparently my fault, I wish you'd blame me more often!”

I smile to myself, and take her words on board, thinking about what else I can pin on my partner in crime...

[iloveeverlark]

Dear Joshifer authors:

Thank you! I appreciate each and every single story ever written.

[hutchhitched]

End of Love, Final Chapter SSS Preview, The Vintage Joshifer Series

~Coming, August 11, 6:30 pm CDT

“You know there’s a big Stones concert tomorrow not far from here. Some of my friends are going.” Jenn jumped when Brenda’s words broke through her reverie.

 “Really? I love them.”

 “I know,” her old roommate said with a grin. “Want to go?”

 “Absolutely! Wait, is this at Altamont? Woodstock West?”

 “I knew you’d know what I was talking about. Sometimes it’s hard to remember you’re in the news business and have your ear to the ground more than us mere mortals.”

 “Please,” Jenn scoffed, but the wheels in her brain started turning. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to make a quick phone call.”