#sex doesn't start developing until a few weeks into pregnancy

[wasabikitcat]

Do you think he realizes that this implies all humans are female?

[fayes-fics]

Mrs Bridgerton

Mrs Bridgerton Masterpost

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader, modern AU

Summary: Modern AU. Your ex-husband craves you in a way you had no idea about until one fateful call...

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, explicit language and thoughts, dirty talk, sexting, sex tape, masturbation, pregnancy kink, smidge of breeding kink. Mentions of marriage, divorce, pregnancy, custody, parenting, heartbreak, emotions. Bit angsty maybe? Not sure.

Word Count: 4.3k

Authors Note: This is an anon request fill from January here. (tldr summary: ex-husband Benedict can't stop thinking about you) Nonny, I changed up a couple of details of your ask; the porn he watches is your old sex tapes from when you were married. Also, he doesn't call once he was spent; he accidentally calls very much in the act ;) I hope that is okay. Guys, I have no idea what this is; sorry. Thanks to @colettebronte for checking I haven't completely lost it and @eleanor-bradstreet for the gif used above. <3

“Mrs Bridgerton!.... Mrs Bridgerton!” A teacher calls out across the playing field as she jogs towards you. It takes you a few seconds to realise she is indeed addressing you. It's been a couple of years since you went by that name—almost a ghost from the past at this point.

“Ah, actually, it’s Ms y/l/n now,” you correct as she draws closer. “I’m, well, I’m divorced from Emilia’s dad,” you explain somewhat apologetically.

“Oh, I am so very sorry! I'm new here. I just asked her if her parents were here, and she pointed you out.”

“No, no, it’s okay. It's an entirely fair assumption to make,” you placate, shielding your eyes from the sun to catch Emilia's gaze and give her the thumbs up at the end of the grassy running track.

“Well, I just need one of you to sign this permission form for the trip to the Science Museum next week,” the teacher states, thrusting a clipboard towards you.

“Oh certainly, no problem,” you assure, taking the proffered pen and signing on the dotted line she indicates. You know how excited Emilia is about that upcoming trip, even though she insists on going to the museum with you or her father at least once every few months.

“Wonderful, thank you.”

You just nod as another teacher brings them all to the starting line with a blast from their whistle, and your focus shifts entirely to cheering on your five-year-old daughter in her first school race.

-----

He knows you haven't seen him, and he doubts even Emilia has clocked him, wearing a baseball cap pulled low as he is. He deliberately keeps a low profile when you arrive. He is here to see Emilia on her first sports day. Only that. Or so he keeps telling himself.

But then he sees you, and something in his stomach knots hard. It’s been more than two years, and still, every time, it floors him. A few months after your split, he took to using Eloise as the go-between for your shared custody arrangements and has never stopped. Since then, he has not seen you in person, too cowardly to face you. His biggest mistake was letting you go.

You met in your late twenties at a party hosted by mutual friends, and that night, he knew his life would never be the same. Something about the connection was instant and electric. He had the best sex of his life, right there in a spare room of a party. Both drunk and foolish, you didn't use protection. So it was only a few weeks into your burgeoning relationship when you found yourselves staring dumbfounded at a blue and white stick that would alter your lives forever. You married quietly two months later at the town hall, with just a few family members and close friends attending, neither of you wanting a big fuss. It was a big gamble in many ways, but you were both willing to try, crazily in love and filled with a youthful optimism that can be so blinding.

All was well until parenting a newborn drove you both to exhaustion and beyond. A wedge grew between you, even as your beautiful daughter developed into the best miniature version of both of you, with his beauty and your brains. You tried to make it work. But bickering about petty things and distancing became the only constant in your dynamic. Part of him had hoped Emilia would be enough glue to hold you together, but it was too much to pin on a small child. Just after her third birthday, he watched his world crumble as you tearfully packed up your possessions and took the light from his life with you.

And now. Now it's a regret that haunts him every day. Replaying the mistakes he made over and over, the ones that meant you slipped through his fingers. Too preoccupied with his career frustrations and plagued by chronic lack of sleep to realise the damage before it was irreparable. He knows now, too late, that with a little more effort and compromise, perhaps you would still be together as a family. He certainly never stopped loving and desiring you.

So when the teacher calls out Mrs Bridgerton, his heart almost stops beating and, to his shame, there is a stirring in his jeans. God, he wishes that was still your name, so much so there is a bitter taste in his mouth as he watches you correct the teacher in an endearingly accommodating way. A large part of him wants to leap up and grab you, lift you into his arms, beg that you use the name again. His name. But he doesn't; he just lingers in melancholic reverie, recalling with perfect clarity how it felt to push the white gold band shakily onto your left hand as you recited your vows.

Then with a sharp nearby whistle blow signifying the race start, his focus is pulled back to why he is here. His little wonder, the centre of his universe. Emilia Bridgerton. The most beautiful person on the planet. 

“Go, Emilia!!” he shouts, transfixed as his little girl moves out ahead of the pack, unthinking of anything but supporting his baby girl.

-----

Your head cuts to the side, and you freeze. You would recognise that voice anywhere. And how many Emilia’s can there be in the race?

He's not looking at you; his whole focus is on the field, but you can't seem to look away. Not even to watch your precious daughter. You haven't seen your ex-husband in more than two years. Using his sister as a go-between just seems like the best way to deal with your residual guilt about leaving him. But now? One look and your insides feel like you are falling down a chasm, lungs suddenly too small for the breaths you need to take.

Time seems to slow like molasses as you observe him. He’s wearing a baseball cap, almost akin to a disguise, but you can see underneath it that profile that still makes your heart flutter. Too much, really, considering you are exes. But his beauty was never the problem; it was part of the reason you always stayed. Those soulful eyes would draw you back every time. Those eyes that now haunt you daily, the Bridgerton genes far too strong not to override all of yours. Emilia is the prettiest little female version of your ex-husband you could ever imagine, and it's both your greatest joy and your greatest pain point, living with a growing reminder of the person who still owns your heart regardless of how much you might wish otherwise.

Looking back now, leaving him was an impetuous decision made from a place of utter exhaustion, not able to see a way out of the treadmill your lives had become at that time. But pride stopped you from admitting perhaps you made a mistake, serving divorce papers before you could think too hard about it. He didn't contest and agreed to all of your terms of custody without a fight. You didn't ask for spousal support; you earned more from employment anyway, most of his income coming from his trust. You never loved him for the Bridgerton name or fortune; in fact, sometimes, it felt like you loved him in spite of it. 

And now, one look at him, and you are breathless and in a complete emotional and, yes, physical quagmire. Your body yearning for him, your traitorous brain supplying image after tumbling image of intimacy, the likes of which you have never known before or since—warm bodies wrapped around each other in ecstasy, that velvet voice pleading with you to come with him, for him, always so eager. It makes your chest heave so hard you have to look away to regain composure, doing so just in time for the universe to seemingly return to normal speed, as you watch Emilia cross the line, victorious in her first-ever race. 

You cannot help it; you leap up and cheer too. And she looks over, beaming and jumping up and down. Running towards you and throwing herself into your arms as you kneel with a huge grin.

“Mummy mummy mummy!!” she peals excitedly, her breath gusting hard into your ear. “I did it! I won!”

“I know; well done!” you exclaim, rocking her happily in your arms. “You did wonderfully!!!”

“Did I see Daddy?” she asks, craning over your shoulder. You tense and swivel yourself to follow her eye line, but where he was standing just moments ago, there is now just an empty patch of grass.

“Oh, I don't think so, my love; it was probably someone else’s daddy who looks similar,” you suggest, the lie feeling odd on your tongue, It's obvious he doesn't want to be seen, and a part of you is grateful to avoid an awkward meeting. Emilia is still scanning the crowd, unconvinced by your assertion. “How about an ice cream from the van over there?” you offer cheerily, wanting to distract her from looking too hard for him.

“Okay!” she chimes happily, squirrelling a warm little hand into yours and pulling you towards the pedestrian gate. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you spy a navy blue Jaguar pulling out of the other gate and know without a doubt it was him.

-----

He couldn't do it. He thought he could, but he feels the weight of your stare and has to leave. The minute Emilia crosses the line, he gives a little victory punch and takes off. Not able to face you. So much of him wants to, but the gutless part of him apparently resides in his leg muscles. Before he knows it, he is in his car and pulling out onto the West London streets, not daring to look back. It's not his day to pick up Emilia; that's still two days away. He would not want you angry for overstepping the agreement you have in place.

As he pulls up at a traffic light, his phone pings a match on the dating app Anthony bullied him into downloading last week. The temptation to fling his phone right out the window is strong. The idea of being with someone else, especially after the tumult of seeing you today, just feels wrong. 

The only person he has slept with since your divorce was the second biggest mistake of his life. Someone he met at a bar celebrating Colin’s last birthday after too many whiskeys. A close enough facsimile to you that, through the haze of alcohol, he let himself be seduced. The lizard part of his brain somehow convinced it was you, even as she rode him in a way that chafed. Nothing like the way you moved, positively undulated, on his cock. Regret clung to his skin, the fug of hangover already kicking in as he watched her wordlessly re-dress and leave almost immediately, never exchanging numbers. He never saw her again. The fact he called your name as he came was probably the majority of the problem.

The only thing that stops him from flinging the phone is all the history it contains. Pictures of Emilia growing up from a tiny infant to now. But also his text exchanges with you, that increasingly he finds himself scrolling back through on self-indulgent nights, back to when things were good, and you would send each other little notes of love interspersed with sexting that; even now, he can barely read without getting hard. Unable to resist, as he waits for the light to go green, a dozen or more quick thumb flicks upwards on the thread for your previous number, and he finds some of his guilty pleasures.

8 March, 3:25 pm

Y/N: You had better plough me over the kitchen table when you get home xoxox

4 April, 5:02 pm

BB: Tough work day, need you, babe

Y/N: How’s this, daddy? 

Y/N: [photo of your naked glowing, slightly rounded pregnant body]

BB: Fucking helllllll, I am one lucky man

Y/N: Come home, fuck me, daddy

BB: You need to stop calling me that…

Y/N: Why? I am literally pregnant with your child.

BB: Yeah, and that’s why it's so wrong…

Y/N: Just get here, pls. I am so fucking wet….

He is pinch-zooming on the photo, head tilted, his tongue peeking out the corner of his mouth… when a car horn makes him jump, the phone slipping from his grip and falling onto his emergent hard-on. 

The traffic light has turned green. 

With an apologetic nod in the rearview mirror, he drives off, shaking his head, knowing it’s probably very wrong to be looking at pictures of you, his ex-wife, and wanting to fuck you so bad that his foot leans heavily on the accelerator. His blood pumping hard, already knowing he will be taking himself in hand the minute he gets to his place.

-----

Emilia is happily smushing the cone of her 99 ice cream in her little fist as you walk the few streets to your sister's place, where you left your car earlier. She has kindly agreed to let Emilia stay tonight and have a sleepover with her cousins. 

Later, you have your first date since your divorce, and you’ll probably need the rest of the late afternoon to psych yourself up enough to go. You've already cried off so many matchmaking attempts that you had to say yes eventually, just to stop the incessant badgering from all angles. Strangely, this one is Eloise’s doing, and you are still slightly weirded out that your ex-husband’s sister is engineering your first date in more than seven years.

Waving goodbye a few minutes later, you slip into your car and sit for a few deep calming inhales, trying not to think of how much Benedict stole your breath earlier. Some part of you thinks maybe you just imagined him there, a fevered mirage, your subconscious telling you to cancel this stupid date idea and stay home with your two best friends, Ben and Jerry. But then Ameila seemed to think he was there too, and honestly, it feels like you don't know what to do about anything anymore. 

-----

He wastes no time, flinging aside the cap, tossing his car keys onto the hallway table and sprinting upstairs to his bedroom, only pausing to insert his noise-cancelling earbuds and discard his clothing.

He is already leaking a little when he throws himself onto the bed and fists his cock with a groan. His other hand is hovering over the play button on the video he definitely knows he shouldn't be watching, hidden in a nondescript folder.

Your soft giggle tickles his eardrums as the video jolts to life. It's one he shot of you on his phone on your honeymoon—it’s one of his favourites lately.

“Bennnnn,” your voice a teasing murmur as the screen fills with a glimpse of your breasts, his hand trying to take a sweeping shot of your body as you writhe underneath him, both of you buried in a soft glow under a tent of sheets wrapped around your bodies.

His own younger self chuckles loud in his ears, behind the camera as he is, both of your breaths loud as the movement becomes more pronounced.

This is him fucking you and filming it. The camera pans down, and there, almost too tough to see in the grainy low light, is his cock surging into you; the shot is never still enough to see in full detail.

Somehow the lack of clarity makes it more of a turn-on. Benedict whines low as his hand moves in a firm motion, jerking hard, losing himself in reminiscence of what it is like to be buried inside you, your scent, younger you panting hard, pleading quietly for him.

His hand speeds up, and he gasps as the video grows more urgent, the noises so loud right in his ear. He can hear the delicious sound of your wet cunt around his shaft, and it's like a sense memory, that viscous heated cling he can never forget.  

“Ben, oh god Ben, you are so good, fuck me harder,” younger you moans loudly on the video, and both Benedicts, the old and new, couldn't resist that siren call.

“Y/n, oh god, give me your all, y/n,” Benedict growls, screwing his eyes shut, just relying on the auditory experience of the video now. 

But not realising with his slurred speech; it's just given his phone a command…

-----

You are driving towards your place when your hands-free car display lights up with the last name you expect.

Benedict.

Your stomach plunges. Just like earlier when you found yourself staring at him and reimagining so many things you know you shouldn't. You reach over and click the little green button to connect the call, heart in your mouth.

“Ben?” you say his name softly, almost timid. Worried about what it might mean after that strange non-encounter less than an hour ago.

The noise that greets you makes every hair stand on end. It's a throaty groan. He seems to hiss your name, and all you do is frown as your car speakers vibrate with the sound.

“Ben, are you okay?” you check.

“Oh god, I am more than okay, baby,” he growls, and every inch of your body is rioting. “Just please, please don't stop, fuck you feel so good. So tight and hot. I want to live inside you,” the words panted, desperate.

Your foot slips hard on the pedal, and you almost crash into a damn tree. 

-----

Your voice sounds different in his ear, and there is a background hum that wasn't there before, but he is so close to something so intoxicating he doesn't think to open his eyes and check the video.

“Talk to me,” he pleads low, knowing you on the video won't respond but somehow still wanting to talk to you regardless, “tell me how you feel.”

There is silence and then a slight shaky exhale. 

“Ben.”

“Yes, yes, yes, say my name,” he pleads, leaking over his own knuckle as his hand becomes a frenzy on his cock.

-----

You pull over, quaking. There is only one reason he uses that tone. That's his bedroom voice, and fuck if it doesn't make you as weak now as it did back then. You can only assume his phone has accidentally dialled you while he is what? Masturbating? You flush so hotly at the very thought, and yet you can’t school what you say next. Your treacherous libido taking command of your lips.

“Are you touching yourself for me, Ben?” you breathe, and your clothing suddenly feels too tight, too hot.

Your speakers vibrate your seat as he groans loud and lewdly, and it's a beeline straight for your clit, now throbbing insistently against your car seat.

“Yes baby,” he moans and now, in the background, you can hear it, a slight slapping sound, his cock passing through his fist. 

Your pussy clenches instinctually, and you feel a heavy pull, a depth charge of lust. Your lips tingle with the thought of kissing him, running your mouth over his body, wrapping around that cock you remember so well.

“I want you to come for me, Ben,” you plead, a hand straying down between your thighs, scarcely believing what is happening, what you are doing so brazen, parked up on the street mid-afternoon on a Wednesday.

“I will; oh god, I'm going to come so hard,” he snarls. “Do you want it inside you?”

Your fingers glance your clit over your yoga pants, and the heat is overwhelming. “Yes, Ben,” you pant, “inside me, give it to me, give me more of your beautiful babies.”

What you are saying is taboo. And so truthful you don't think to censor it. You would bear as many children as he wants to fuck into you. Still, even now.

“But you are already pregnant with my baby darling,” his voice taking on a softer edge, more wistful, “and you look so, so beautiful.”

You freeze.

“Benedict?” you say quietly.

“Yes, my love,” he purrs.

“Who do you think you are speaking to?” your ask is awkward, screwing your eyes shut, your hand moving away from the apex of your thighs. Suddenly mortified, perhaps it's not you that he thinks he is speaking to after all. Oh shit, did he get someone else pregnant? The panicked bile rises until he sighs the following words.

“Y/n, my wife, my life. God, I miss you so much. I know this must be a fever dream; I know we didn't talk like this in the video, but fuck if it doesn't sound so real,” he ends so wistfully.

“What video?” your question is slow, a weird weight on your chest that is your heart pounding out of control.

“Our honeymoon, darling,” he moans, and you can hear he is still masturbating, although slower-paced now. “When you let me video us fucking. I watch it so much these days that I'm surprised it's not worn out. And yet I can't not; every time I fuck my fist, it's to you.”

“You watch us? Every time you…?” your hand clutching your chest now.

“Yes, my love. I miss you so so much. I should never have let you go. You are my angel, the love of my life, the mother of my child and the only person I ever, ever want to fuck.”

The confession knocks your whole world off its axis. And you crave him. The feeling is so utterly all-consuming you struggle to take your next breath. You have to go to him. You have to see him. It's not even a choice not to. Every fibre of your being needs him.

“Ben,” you murmur, “don't come for me yet; I want to fuck you.”

“You do?” the hope in that gasp makes you lightheaded.

“Yes,” you breathe, “I miss your cock so much.”

You scramble to throw the car into gear and pull out into traffic. You are about a minute's drive away or less if he is home. Something in your movements so very urgent.

“Tell me what you are doing,” you whisper, trying your best to pitch the ask just the right level of seductive as you race down the road, turning into his street.

“I’m fucking my fist,” he moans, “but I wish it were you, my love.”

“I'm almost there,” you pant, pulling into his driveway with almost a squeal of tyres. You grab your phone and jump out of your car, crushing the handset to your ear as you run up to his front door and punch in a code, hoping it's still the one he uses. The crest of victory is palpable as the lock beeps and relents, the door popping open.

“Keep stroking yourself gently,” you order as you close the door and start to disrobe as you bound up the stairs.

“Y/n…” his voice is suddenly tremulant “this…. This isn't a dream, is it?”

“No, Ben, it's not,” you breathe, and you are down to your underwear as you skid into his bedroom, panting.

His eyes are wide with shock as you stride across the room, his cock still in hand and utterly naked; he looks just as delicious as the day you married him.

“Hello, Mr Bridgerton,” you purr.

“Y/n,” he stutters, and it's everything—surprise, desire, hope, relief, yearning and ardent.

“Call me Mrs Bridgerton,” you shoot back, and the responding noise he makes is so utterly feral you almost orgasm without so much as touching him.

-----

Eight months later

“Emilia, not there,” Benedict chuckles good-naturedly.

“Then where daddy?” her pout turns epic as she hands the offending item to him. “You do it!” she huffs.

“Okay, hold still,” he laughs and slides the small tiara into her hair. “See? Just perfect,” he opines, dropping a kiss onto her chestnut tresses.

“I look like a princess!” Emilia exclaims proudly, twisting to look into the mirror.

“Yes, you do,” Benedict concurs. “A pretty princess bridesmaid.”

“The prettiest,” you agree from the doorway, and both heads turn around and greet you with mouths that gape open.

“Oh, Mummy, you look like a real princess!” Emilia gasps, running towards you and giving you a quick hug before skipping out of the room gleefully as her grandmother Violet calls her name from downstairs.

“You look breathtaking,” his tone full of wonderment as he slowly gets to his feet, his eyes never leaving you. “But isn't it bad luck for me to see you like this?” he adds with a flash of concern.

You move towards him, and him towards you, drawn together. “I think we’ve had all the bad luck we are going to have,” you smirk, very much enjoying the sight of him in a sharp, custom-tailored suit. “At least I hope so, seeing as we have this thing to deal with,” you raise an eyebrow, pointing to your five-month bump.

“Thing? Darling, I thought we agreed; his name is Henry,” he sighs in mock indignation, his large hands skating around the swell of your belly, his lips warm on your temple.

“When did I agree to that name?” you frown amiably.

“Last night,” he responds silkily, right into your ear now.

“Oh no, you can’t possibly hold me to that,” you decry. “Anything said when inside me is null and void, Mr Bridgerton; you know I can barely remember my own name at that point.”

His rich chuckle vibrates against your whole body. “Well, let me remind you….”

“I’m listening,” you sigh, eyes closing as you sway into his hot neck kisses.

“It's Mrs Bridgerton,” he rumbles. “Or it will be again in about an hour.”

“I can't wait”, you whisper. “Say it again.”

“Mrs Bridgerton,” A dark, slow tease. 

You are almost late for your own (second) wedding just downstairs.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus

[smiley-mcdoggington]

OUGH i LIVE your abo stancest stuff….. esp your way of doing the anatomy regarding it?????? would you perhaps like to share more about that?:3

-🟢

OKAY SO--

Anatomy is pretty much standard for the first 13 years, human stuff. Then 14-15 it's typical for different behaviors to start appearing alongside body types to go with those behaviors. Actual changes to bodies depending on your future secondary gender is a myth, but increased oxytocin or adrenaline in a teenage hormone soup can affect behavior which affects body type. Not always, though, especially with Stan and Ford who are identical twins. 16 is the danger zone when presentation actually happens, which makes alphas and omegas both more sensitive to smells and depending on the social climate usually pushes them into a stereotype. The chemical soup doesn't calm down fully until you're like 30, the goal is to have settled down by then because estrous cycles start decreasing to like once a year instead of once a month (Stan would lie about being in his thirties to try to get jobs because young omegas and alphas both were considered unreliable and animalistic). 16 is also when knots and cervix-like tissue develop so there's just vague itchiness and discomfort, it's not fun but no one talks about it in the late 60s-early 70s so the boys just don't mention it. Also BITE MARKS AREN'T PERMANENT they last like a few weeks max they last as long as the wound does, Ford is dedicated to chomping on his brother frequently to keep it up.

ONTO THE GENITALS SITUATION WHICH IM GUESSJNG WAS THE POINT OF THE ASK SORRY FOR THE RANT--

Okay first off afab and amab have different operations for their secondary genders, knots are Just an amab thing, afab alphas have internal testicals and. I mean this in the kindest way they kind of fuck like birds. Still got the same rutting chemical soup but different How. Afab alphas can get pregnant but it's difficult and painful, they need the right setting to ovate and pregnancies are high risk.

Amab on the other hand is more classic a/b/o, they all get to keep their dicks, knot at the base of a penis, cervix tissue in the rectum creating discharge, bla bla bla, anyways you know that line on the taint? In omegas that is a pseudo-vulva. Kinda like how everyone has nipples, everyone's got that line, but omegas are born with it attached to the faintest hint of a uterus that develops attached to both that and the rectum. If a male omega gets pregnant (and that's a big if, it's dangerous for male omegas to get pregnant but they're expected to anyways because "if not then what are they for?") that line develops into a full vulva along with breasts developing, because despite my bird sex comment earlier it would be very dangerous for us to have fewer holes. Very strenuous, a lot can go wrong, should not be expected, but it is. Most postpartum amab omegas have both for about a year before the pseudo-vulva shrinks to its original size and the milk dries up. Male omegas can train to fit small things in their pseudo-vulva not postpartum but its kinda painful and with much fewer nerves than an actual vagina so pretty niche.

[fizzabelwritesrambles]

For that one anon :) Trust me there's way way way more backstop where Dave is also the step-dad's enemy but boy that would take some explaining!

P.S androids exist in this universe

---

It had been a few weeks since Ben had taken Dave to hospital, he still wore his cast because of the damage to it and wore it to school, but now that it was a two week holiday mid-term, Dave returned to the run down house to keep doing it up. Aiden, his boyfriend, came over after school to help out or stay the night, but his dad was sometimes quite strict on him being home since he still had school to go to.

Dave didn't tell him, but he was struggling. After paying his dad more rent to stay there, and last time he accidentally spent most of his money on tools to fix the place, he was still low. His cast meant he couldn't do the same job he did near his boarding school, so his hours got reduced to the point he couldn't afford anything. Train tickets and taxis were expensive!

At the moment it was mid afternoon, he and Aiden were cuddled up on the sofa under a blanket watching TV. "Your dad texted you at all?" Aiden asked, looking down at him.

Dave shook his head. "He didn't even ask if I got off the train okay. I bet Ben put him up to all this.. I'll learn my lesson if I distance myself."

Aiden groaned. "Just forgive him already! Seriously.." Dave didn't answer. "I don't get it anymore, my dad says everyone deserves second chances. Ben ought to get one, especially since he's still treating your dad right."

"You really think that? You think my dad wants three babies that aren't his running around the house? The parent living with him? He's just too stupid to realise Ben is manipulating him just like everyone else he's dated! He can't leave because he'd be poor again. He's given up and Ben is playing games with him."

Ben, the richest man on earth, met Dave's dad William on a one night stand. As a child, Dave's mum left and they were penniless so his dad became a prostitute to get money, often bringing back strangers who weren't too kind. Child services nearly took Dave away due to an unsafe home environment just a year ago, when Ben stepped in and offered to marry him so that William could keep custody.

Coincidentally, Ben and William fell in love. Ben's history is...unknown. He doesn't like to talk about it. His actual name is Jun-ho, from Korea, but he changed it when moving to the states to leave his old life behind. His habits didn't leave though, he has a butler named Sam who was an android. Ben accidentally made them sentient when they were simply a roomba in his childhood, and over the years developed into a human-type android body, capable of anything. Literally, anything.

Dave had been living with Ben in his mansion for a few months at the time, but was scared of him. His fear produced itself as anger, so he would often yell at him or try and hit him. Something he used to do to his own dad due to his childhood. It was only made worse when Ben's abusive aunt visited, and mysteriously disappeared. Dave's theory was that Ben had killed her, and while he was right, Ben would never tell him that.

To try and improve his behaviour and mental health, Dave transferred away from Aiden's school to a boarding one some hours from home. He loves it, he has friends, and he stopped using drugs. ..Until the news hit. His dad texted him that Ben had a confession. He'd secretly been having sex with Sam, which had started before he grew feelings for William, but now he had feelings for both and was too afraid that Will would reject him. But the pregnancy..

Ben came clean. He was polyamorous without even knowing it, which Will was shocked by as it was an affair but had since forgiven him. Sam was pregnant with triplets, three girls. Will said he will help raise them, as their own. Dave.. hadn't been so keen. Ben had been friendly to him, gave him new clothes, an art studio, warm food everyday.. and this ruined it.

In Dave's eyes, Ben was a traitor. Just like all the sleazy men his dad used to bring home. Just like all the rest, he'd call him, a worthless man that his dad didn't deserve. He wanted them to divorce, he didn't want to legally be his child so he idolised his 18th birthday when he would be able to totally detach himself. He called his dad deluded for staying with such a horrible person, and if he couldn't convince him to leave him then he'd simply abandon him too.

So he did, he wanted to go back to his real home. The house with rats, broken taps, a dead boiler, chipped floors, and moldy walls. His dad figured Dave had gone too far and made Dave pay him rent to teach him a lesson. So he picked up a job at a café near his school to pay it and to fix it.

Only problem.. his dad was right. Everything he said Dave couldn't do. He couldn't look after himself, the project was too big.. but it was still better than living with Ben!!! ..right?

The first few days were great, he and Aiden bought supplies, had a take away, and he was fixing the house. Unbeknownst to him, Ben had installed security cameras; not to stalk, only to be careful. He heard what was going on from Will and was worried; he cared about Dave, he wanted to call him his son. They'd almost gotten Dave to behaving and he ruined it by knocking up Sam.

One afternoon Dave was up a ladder to paint the walls, but he fell and broke his arm after landing on top of a paint can. His hip and leg were bruised so badly at the time he couldn't get up and his phone was out of reach. Ben saw him and rushed over, taking him to hospital. He was discharged the same day, but after one night in the mansion Dave returned to the house.

It messed up his perception about Ben, which is why even Aiden was getting frustrated with him. His anger wasn't even justifiable anymore, Ben was doing everything he possibly could to apologise and Dave did nothing to thank him. "You wouldn't get it' Dave muttered.

The topic was dropped and they kept watching TV. Dave's stomach growled. With so little money, he did what his dad used to do, and that was stretch pennies as far as he could. He hadn't eaten since Wednesday, and it was currently Friday evening. He chose to pay for WiFi rather than food. Bad idea. "Someone sounds hungry" Aiden commented, unaware

"Only cus I'm jealous that you're going to a party and I'm not."

"Well make sure you eat later then. Otherwise all the photos of the buffet will make you starve!" He chuckled.

Oh boy it would. His friends arrived about an hour later to pick him up so they kissed goodbye and Aiden left. Dave turned off the TV and the lights to save electricity, just sitting wrapped in two blankets on the sofa scrolling through his phone. The boiler had been broken for years and he certainly couldnt afford to fix it now.

At 9pm his stomach began to cramp with hunger pains so he went upstairs and got into bed, wearing his thickest pyjamas and two layers of socks. He stared out the window, watching snow begin to fall. No wonder it was so cold inside! There were drafts in almost every room, he'd tried fixing them with some kind of sealant, but clearly it hadn't worked too well.

His mind began to wander back to what Aiden said, and all the things his therapist at school told him. It was always Ben. Everything was about stupid Ben. With his cotton suits that he'd call his casual wear, or the button up pyjamas that he claimed was totally normal to wear.. his big kitchen always full of food, or the cinema room and popcorn machine. The pool. The studio.. the heating turned on to whatever temperature he wanted.

Dave curled up as small as he could. He was ignoring Aiden's photos, he knew it would only make his stomach hurt more. It was painful, shivering in the cold, his body so tense that he was getting a headache. Empty and broken cupboards, paint stains on the carpet, broken bathroom tiles..

He cried.

He ugly cried.

He used his pillow as a tissue, unable to stop his sobbing. He wanted help, he wanted to go home, but he didn't have one anymore. He wanted someone to tell him it was okay. He wanted a chocolate biscuit.

Sitting up in defeat, he saw his cycle helmet on the floor. Maybe.. he got out of bed. He pulled on a random coat and a pair of shoes from the end of his bed, shoving the phone into a pocket. It took a lot of squirming to get his cast through since his elbow was permanently bent at the moment, but he managed. Then he put on his cycle helmet, managing to do up the clasp with one hand.

Still mid crying, though less severe as he was concentrating, he went downstairs and picked up his bike, wheeling it out the house. There was nothing worth stealing, but he locked up anyway.

He had cycled with no hands before so one was fine. He leant forward so his cast arm could rest on the bars while his good hand controlled the steering and brakes.

He cycled off into the night, the bitter cold wind turning his tears and snot into frozen streaks on his face. The adrenaline stopped him feeling the cold despite his hands quickly turning white but he'd either make it to his destination or die trying and right now he didn't mind which outcome it was.

Avoiding black ice he managed to make it outside of the city and down the darker roads. No cars came by. After over half an hour later he began cycling along the familiar brick wall, approaching the iron gates. He cycled smack into them as he couldn't break in time and fell sideways. "Shit!" He yelled, but he whined rather than grumbled

As he was standing up, a familiar voice sounded through the intercom. "Dave..?" It was Sam.

Dave kept his head low, feeling ashamed. "Please.. let me in."

"Of course.." The gates opened up. "Do you want me to wake your dad?" Dave didn't move. He shook his head. "Do you want me to wake Ben?" He nodded. "Okay.."

Dave dragged his bike through and up the long driveway for over five minutes, then dropped it by all the cars parked out front. He walked up the steps and the front doors opened automatically. Sam had connected themselves to the entire house, usually only being in the house rather than android form before the affair started.

The lights were on low, but enough to see. He stood there, but Ben was already rushing down the stairs. "Dave..!"

He stopped a few paces in front of Dave, confused. Why was he here, and why did he ask for him and not his dad? Except- "Dad..." Dave whispered and burst into tears all over again, throwing himself at Ben and hugging him.

The tip of the helmet jabbed him in the ribs but he didn't care, he bent over and squeezed Dave tight. This was.. the last thing he expected in the middle of the night. "It's..  okay. I'm here.. what's wrong?"

Dave just kept sobbing, burying his face in Ben's chest. "I'm.. I'm so.. hungry.. and cold.."

"Oh son.." That made him sob harder. "You can have whatever you want here." He gestured for Sam to go and get some blankets. "What do you want to eat?"

Dave tried catching his breath. "A chocolate biscuit.."

"Of course." They slowly let go of each other and Ben took off Dave's helmet, helped with his shoes, and his coat. He pulled a handkerchief out his pocket and wiped Dave's face clean.

Sam came back and wrapped a blanket around Dave, offering him slippers. "Go and sit down in the blue living room, I'll bring you all the biscuits you can eat."

Dave nodded and walked away, Sam following him. Ben went to the kitchen and got out a tray, getting out biscuits and displaying them on a plate. Nothing pretty, he doubt Dave cared about the presentation. Then he put some fruit and meat on there as well in case he wanted more proper food. Hopefully this meant he would stay... should he wake William?

He carried the tray down the hall to the living room and placed it on the table in front of Dave. "If there's anything else you want then you tell me, okay? I'll get it for you, or order it for you."

Dave nodded and reached forward for the biscuits, taking one and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. He moaned at how good it tasted, everything was always so much more delicious when he was hungry. He took a couple more and leant against Ben, his feet tucked up underneath a pile of cushions. Ben wrapped his arm around him, gently rubbing his side. He wanted him to feel safe.

He ended up finishing most of the plate before going quiet, still focusing on his breathing. A couple minutes passed and Dave's body completely relaxed, asleep.

[spookysanta]

miss you. (g.d.)

part i of ii.

Summary: long distance relationships suck; but especially for (Y/N) and Grayson.

Pairing: Grayson Dolan x Reader

WARNINGS: mentions of sex (not yet), angst??????????????????????????, fluff, bad writing

UNEDITED

YUH look at me on a writing streak :) and let’s all reminisce on fetus baby boy by these precious “date” snaps:

(@trapezoidmouth on IG)

***THIS TAKES PLACE AROUND APRIL/MAY***

i only mention that bc it’s talking about graduation and it’s july so i didn’t want people to make a big deal about it

***

"So," she told him with a big sigh on the phone when she got home from class. "I did my presentation today."

"Oh, really?" he replied, while cooking himself an omelette. It was three o'clock her time and noon in Los Angeles, where he was; so it was brunch time. "How'd it go?"

"It..was awful." She tried to force herself not to cry, because when she cries, Grayson is quick to get up and go wherever she was to comfort her. Which might be good in the moment, but she doesn't want to do that to him (anymore--this would've been the fourth time he'd done that). "Gray, I did everything my teacher told me to! I added the information I needed to, took out some stuff, and I even memorized everything! But when I got up there...I couldn't do it."

"What was your topic again?"

She recited her research question as if it were read out of a book. "How listening to music during pregnancy helps a baby's development in the womb."

"Really? That doesn't sound hard at all."

"It wasn't that my topic was hard, it was that the questions I got asked were too hard for me to answer, and how I answered questions was a big portion of my grade." she was getting a little misty-eyed. She'd been working on this project for months; she thought she'd learned just about everything there is to know about music's effects on child development. "Gray, I really thought I had it until then."

"Listen, baby. Regardless of how you think it went, I'm sure you did better. Because I've heard your presentation and you sounded like you knew exactly what you were talking about. I think it's all in your head, angel." He sighed, flipping his omelette in the pan. He liked omelettes when she made them for him when she visited, because she knew exactly what he wanted, how much of each ingredient to add, and she makes sure they're always cheesy and delicious. But when he makes them, sometimes they're a little...underdone.

"I can't focus." she put him on speakerphone and took off her top, pants, and bra, opting to wear one of his t-shirts for comfort. She has a few of them, but her favorite one to wear is the black crew neck. It's plain and simple, and it fits him like a god. But she managed to take it when she left L.A. the last time; and honestly, she took a little vile of his cologne, too, to spray on the shirt after she washes it. "It's so close to graduation, baby, and I know you're gonna call me a loser for saying this, but I can't do this anymore. I want to drop out." she groaned.

"You're a loser either way, in my opinion." he heard her laugh on the other end of the phone. And that laugh was like air to his lungs, if he's being completely honest with himself. He hadn't heard that angelic laugh in months. The last time they'd been together was when she visited him the last few days of her Winter Break--and that was in January. "But you literally graduate in a month. Shut up."

"Okaaaaaaaaaaaay." she groaned again. What she wouldn't give for his bone-crushing cuddles right about now. That's all she wants. She'd been feeling weepy and anxious and a bit sad all day, but now that she's talking to her man, she's starting to feel the heavy weight of her stress lift. "I miss you." she confessed. "I know we agreed that we wouldn't get all sappy like this but I'm wearing your shirt right now and all I smell is you."

“I miss you, too.”

She heard noise on the other end and nearly vomited at the sound. "Move your mouth away from the receiver, Gray. I can hear you chewing."

He chewed louder, his mouth hovering over the phone's microphone. "Like this?"

She hung up the phone.

***

He called her again later, at around four o'clock his time. He and his brother were outside and he was about to grill some steaks for dinner. "Hello?" he greeted into the receiver. "Baby?"

"Hey." she groggily replied. She'd fallen asleep while talking to her best friend on FaceTime and she woke up about five minutes ago. "What's up, boo?"

"Just checkin' on you. I wanted to make sure you're in better spirits than earlier."

"Yeah, I'm fine." She sat up and stumbled down the stairs and into the kitchen , finding a box of Kraft mac and cheese in the pantry to cook. "I'm just glad everything’s over with."

"I understand. I just don't want you to be all sad and mopey."

"I'm not sad and mopey only because of my presentation, I'm sad and mopey because I miss my boyfriend." she sighed. "I really don't think I can wait until my birthday to see you."

"So what do you want me to do? You want me to come there, or fly you out here?"

"It doesn't matter, honestly. I just want to see you." she stirred some salt in the pot of boiling water, then poured the noodles into the pot, turning down the heat, and shutting the lid. "Doesn't even have to be long. I just want cuddles and kisses."

"I'd be glad to give you that, and you know I would come and see you right now if I could, but I can't right now. We're filming all week this week and both of us need to be here for it."

"I'm dying without my fuckin' cuddles, man." she drained the pasta, hissing to herself when a little bit of water got on her brown hand. She cursed quietly, already assuming that Grayson knew she'd injured herself somehow--as she usually does. She put the pasta back in the pot and added butter, almond milk, and the powdered cheese, stirring it and letting it cool a bit before pouring it in a bowl next to the stove. "I wanna see your pretty face." she spoke, holding the phone to her ear and with her bowl in one hand and a bottle of sparkling water in the other.

"Hold on a second." she heard shuffling on the other end of the phone. He was making a space on his desk for his phone to sit on, but she already knew that that'd been what he was up to, because his desk is constantly cluttered with papers, receipts, pens and pencils, etc. His desk was riddled with stuff. She heard the quiet his of "ah dammit", and then she finally saw it. That gorgeous grin that makes his hazel eyes crinkle in the outer corners. "Hi, honey."

And as happy as she'd typically be to see his face on FaceTime, all she did was sob. "Hey." She grabbed her food and her drink and with cloudy vision, she guided herself to the couch to eat.

His face fell. "What's wrong? Did I catch at a bad time?"

"No." She sniffled. God, she was so emotional today. "I just...I want you."

"Oh, babe. I wish there was something I could do about that but right now my hands are completely tied."

"I just want cuddles and kisses and hugs! And I want to wear that new shirt you just bought because it looks comfy and I bet it smells good."

"Baby I promise—hold out a little bit longer and you can have whatever it is you want." He paused. "Except for that shirt.”

"Why?" She whined.

"Because I bought that shirt last week. It's still new."

"So? I want it."

"You can have every other shirt except that one. At least not for a while."

"Ugh!" She groaned. "You're the worst."

"I've been told."

She looked away from her phone that was propped up on a pillow and turned on the television, turning to a DVR recording of Botched and settling into the couch, fully accepting the fact that she had to cuddle with the pillows next to her instead of her boo. She picked up her fork, sadly poking the orange-dyed macaroni noodles and putting them in her mouth. "I don't want this anymore." She muttered to herself, catching the attention of the boy on the other end of the phone, who'd only just found something to do on his laptop to distract himself from looking at her tear-stained face.

Because if he did, he'd be at her every beck and call and give her exactly what she wanted. And he was a busy guy; he didn't have time to fly across the country to snuggle her like he has the slight habit of doing.

As much as he craved her—her body, her mind, her laugh, her smell (God, the way she smells? Absolutely intoxicating. He finds himself thinking of the inticing scent on the days when he misses her the most, and it's almost as if she infiltrates his nostrils. Ergo, causing him to miss her 1000x more.)—he cannot leave Los Angeles for at least the next week. If he leaves, then that means Ethan would be left with editing their upcoming video's footage, and that's the last thing he needs right now.

"Why not? When we texted earlier, you said you were hungry."

"Yeah. I was. But now...I don't know." She shrugged. She stopped the recording on the TV, picking her bowl back up and setting it in the microwave for if she wanted it later. Then, she trudged her way back upstairs and got in her bed. She sighed, feeling the lump in her throat form again.